After
several more hilarious car slip-ups (including only once driving on the
wrong side of the road, "Sorry, I'm foreign!"), we arrived in Plymouth,
in Devon. Steven had warned me that this port town was rather rough
around the edges, but arriving when the sun was still high and seeing
the water in all her glory certainly painted the place in a glorious
light. We dumped our stuff, looked around the place we'd rented in
utter amazement (Kat was delightful: "Oh it's FINE! I've stayed in WAY
worse!"), and then headed out into the evening. Here's a little
glimpse of Union Street, the decrepit old avenue that leads from the
port to the lively downtown Barbican.
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