The best approach to the South West map is deliberate misdirection. Don’t follow the A38 all the way; take a B-road that looks like a shaky scar on the paper. That’s how you find Okehampton, a market town with a ruined castle and a café that sells the best scones you’ll never find on TripAdvisor. Or Bridport, where a Saturday market might sell you a used anvil next to a stack of vintage postcards.
I’ve learned that a paper map—or even a digital one with patience—shows you connections: how Exmoor leaks into Devon, how Cornwall’s coast bites into the sea like a hungry jaw. The towns are just pins on that thread, each with a story that’s better if you hear it from a local in a pub with a log fire. So buy a map. Get lost. And if you end up in a dead-end lane with sheep, laugh. That’s the South West showing you its real self.
