Why Devon’s Salcombe is the new hotspot for holidaying Londoners
Apparently there’s been a raft of Londoners arriving in Salcombe absolutely fuming. Their Chelsea Tractors have been getting stuck down Devon’s tiny roads, and even the most expensive sat-navs are flummoxed by the windy-windy routes.
What’s caused the spike in first-time visitors that seem to be getting lost, and were they aware before they set off that the single-lane roads leading to Devon famously threaten to eat up half your holiday if the traffic gets bad?
The new Harbour Beach Club & Hotel is to blame for all the lost Sloane Rangers. It’s an expensive-looking grand new hotel in a part of the world that’s famous for charmingly small guesthouses. It’s the Devon equivalent of Las Vegas landing in Loughton. With 50 rooms, some offering spectacular balconies featuring full-length sofas for two, a spa with pool, and a private lake out the front, the Harbour Beach Club is the cool new kid in town.
Like all newbies, it’s courting controversy. I learn that an even larger version of the hotel was refused planning permission after locals fought against it taking up anymore of the pretty South Sands beach where it already looks pretty enormous.
Guests open their broadsheet newspapers wide on the generous south-facing terrace, throw supplements across the table to one another, perhaps order another orange juice, and hang out there ‘till lunchtime.
I’ve got very little to fight against when I wake at the hotel though one gorgeous June morning and finish a relaxing breakfast – treating myself to an extra helping of people watching. As well as attracting this new cohort of lost and confused Londoners, I guesstimate that most of the early risers on the terrace have been to Devon a gazillion times before.
After their eggs and bacon, these guests open their broadsheet newspapers wide on the generous south-facing terrace, throw supplements across the table to one another, perhaps order another orange juice, and hang out there ‘till lunchtime. After that they devour late lunches in dressing gowns, then the same sunbathing terrace spot gets filled with couples and families replacing sandwiches with sundowners. Perhaps then they’ll go for a swim in the heated pool or the sea.
For most at the Harbour Beach Club, there seems to be very little reason to venture beyond the hotel. Why bother when you’ve been on a walk before and you’re only here for the sea view anyway? The hotel serves vistas of the stunning coastline as professionally as its eggs in the morning.
I totally get it. Instead of bowling around negotiating scarcely updated Devon boat taxi timetables, these people choose to spend their time traversing from different spots in the hotel which offer slightly different perspectives of the same incredible view.
Guests go from their balconies to the terrace to the restaurant to the beach immediately in front of the property, and every spot pristinely frames the estuary. From my room, I look out onto the water, where sailboats bob patiently to the beat of the tide and nothing ever changes.
Heck, I was tempted to hand in my notice and never return north, up those headache-inducing country roads to London and stay here instead, by the beach. But I must see Salcombe.
Leaving the luxury behind wasn’t too bad: it’s twenty steps from the edge of the hotel to the amphibious boat that leaves every half hour from the beach round to the town centre. Other than water sports this is very much the main attraction at the remote South Sands beach.
I boarded the amphibious vehicle which went fifty metres into the clear water where it met a small boat which pulled in and fitted snugly into the bow. It’s almost like they’ve been carrying locals from one deserted Devon cove to another for hundreds of years down here.
Salcombe’s refusal to promote locally brewed beer feels like the biggest sign that this town hasn’t fully succumbed to the tourist way of thinking.
We sailed around the headland on the ten minute journey to Salcombe, the pretty town which is walkable in around 45 minutes from the hotel. Salcombe is full of holidaymakers, but not in an annoying way. Of course, I am no local, and yes, there are plenty of shops selling expensive art to those that like that sort of thing, but Salcombe just about retains its allure of ‘authentic’ Devon town, not ruined by mass tourism.
I go into two pubs for take away pints and cannot find a local beer in either – bizarrely, this refusal to heavily promote locally brewed beer feels like the biggest sign that this town hasn’t fully succumbed to the tourist way of thinking. (A local gin distillery is very much a sign that in other ways, it has.)
Estrella – or something else forgettable – in hand, I wandered the streets, where this season’s trend appears to be ice cream vendors touting ‘doggy ice cream.’ (I’ve nothing else to say about that.) I ambled to the Yacht Club, where there was a wedding going on and In The Mood by Glenn Miller wailed from speakers. Salcombe is the sort of town where everyone knows everyone else’s business.
I ambled the four hours back to South Sands, past white water churning in chaotic little armpits of coastal rock, past bulls offering formidable stares, and past foragers tugging at branches for ingredients to pickle, boil and brine.
I wandered back towards the Victoria Inn pub where the boat dropped me and followed the coast north for a few minutes until I found a quiet edge of the harbourside to sit, a double whammy, as it was where the sun lasted longest. With my legs over the side, a little girl next to me hauled eight fist-sized crabs from the water in way less minutes. “Show the gentlemen!” the mum said. It felt like time to go.
The next day a regatta took place, the sort of thing that Londoners assume happens every weekend in Devon and it turns out that in summer it pretty much does, though different towns take their turn in hosting. Vintage wooden boats were tearing down the estuary and I watched as tired racers were greeted by teammates with pasties from the shop. I had the rather privileged vantage point of actually being on the water too, next to the boats as they soared past, as I’d taken a kayak out from Sea Kayak Salcombe, the company located next to the hotel on South Sands Beach, so I could bob around watching the races from a close vantage point.
Dinner later that night at the Harbour Beach Club requires little explanation, as it’s much like every other hour at the Harbour Beach Club: relaxed. Seafood, naturally, has main character energy on the menu and a sea bass catch of the day was light and thrillingly fresh. (At two other mealtimes, I compared seafood bisques from the Beach Club and the neighbouring Salcombe Harbour Hotel & Spa down the road towards town, also part of the same group. The latter, a rich and comforting chowder, the former, bursting with flavour.)
The hotel offers guided walks where guests can pair up with locals, which is a lovely idea, but none were available during my visit, so the concierge drove me the ten minutes round to Hope Cove. Just ask and they’ll do these little favours, I’m told, though I suspect I might have been bumped up the queue as they knew I was writing an article.
From here I ambled the four hours back to South Sands, past white water churning in chaotic little armpits of coastal rock, past bulls offering formidable stares while standing on the beaches of impossibly gorgeous coves only reachable by walking, and past foragers tugging at branches for ingredients to pickle, boil and brine.
Arriving back around the final coastline turn, as the Harbour Beach Club fronted itself up in my eye line, I realised I’d enjoyed my walk, but could relate more and more to those seventh and eight-time Devon visitors that do no more than toss the paper about. Staring listlessly at the coastline is all there is to a holiday in Devon, and it’s absolute bliss.
Do it yourself
Harbour Beach Club & Hotel costs from £259 per night with breakfast. Great Western Railway have regular trains from London Paddington to Totnes and from there it’s a forty-minute taxi journey to South Sands Beach.
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