Opening the boot to load our luggage, we found the previous renter had forgotten theirs. A bag full of ciggies. Blugh. Why couldn't it have been chocolates?
Back to back double-decker buses blocked our view from Waterloo Bridge; peak hour London was very slow going til we eventually got out into the suburbs.
On the motorway we made good time as we passed green hills and paddocks of sheep and drove on the outskirts of Oxford.
The stone houses and buildings with their slate tiled roofs is like nowhere else I've visited before and just gorgeous.
Leaving the car behind, we crossed a small stream filled with brightly coloured mallard ducks and walked along the main street. It felt like the town had been here for ever, with moss growing on the roofs and ivies growing up the walls of the houses.
It was weird walking inside where the décor was modern contemporary. I was expecting low hung rough-hewn timber ceilings and dingy darkness, with maybe a fire burning in a hearth across the room. But no, this was like any modern café I’ve been in before.
I picked the closest thing I could to a local meal, Welsh Rarebit. Welsh Rarebit was the one meal I can remember learning how to cook in home economics in high school.
“White, Brown or Grenry?”
“Huh?”
“”White, Brown or Grenry??”
Um, I’ll have that gren thing please.””
Oh, Granary. Multi-grain!
I got scones too of course. With clotted cream. I can see now that they do not do clotted cream the right way back in Australia. Clotted Cream is solid cream. A lump. Sort of white butter. It was all really good. Oh, and they really upsize their coffee here too. Large is more in the gargantuan sizing category.
We walked around the beautiful town some more, then visited the church again which was surrounded by the oldest looking gravestones, replete with a cawing crow; inside the church a weird little crypt with a statue of two of the founding town members on top lying in state, and beneath the crypt, their bones on display.
Michelle had not returned. Hmmm, that’s taking a while. Our planning for the next destination was completed and Michelle finally showed up. The toilet door had jammed and she was stuck in there. No mobile, nobody able to hear her furtive calls for help.
“Don’t worry, we would have come looking for you eventually.”
Next destination was Bourton on the Water. This town was picture card lovely, though very very touristy. We walked along the river and watched the trout swim by and visited a couple shoppes, including a traditional lollie shoppe.
We toured some more: Upper Slaughter; past fields with frolicking lambs and colourful pheasants, Lower Slaughter; which again is absolutely beautiful with a stream through town and a lovely old church which we visited to escape a light drizzle that had started to fall.
Up rolling green hills and through the Stowe on the Wold, yet another beautiful town, we turned and headed towards where we were staying for the evening.
Heading down windy lanes we came upon Chipping Campden. Here many of the beautiful houses had thatched roofs, just like I imagined English cottages to be.
Chipping Campden, like all of these villages, is truly beautiful. It would be so hard to choose a favourite place in the Cotswolds, and we would happily spend a week or two here. Tramping between the villages would be dreamy magic.
This was our destination for the evening, and our hotel room was huge with an enormous, and very soft king sized bed, and lovely views out the upper floor window.
We decided to eat at the hotel brassiere, and I went traditional local fare with venison faggots and a creamy mash with a very rich plum sauce. It was quite delicious. And so was the Temparanilo; and the Hendrick’s Gin and Tonic.
I think I’d over done it; waking up in the middle of the night… Well, I won’t go into details, but it involved my head in the sink and the emptying of my stomach. I felt fine, not sick at all. But maybe I’ll take it easier for future meals? Nah.
Check out more Cotswolds photos here.
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