With just three days remaining in this project, I've decided it needs to be "travel blog," like I'm Andrew McCarthy embarking on a second career years after my one-note performance in "St. Elmo's Fire."
Today we visited three Cotswald villages and ended up in one city. Here are my impressions of each. Rick Steves, if you're reading and have secretly been searching for the new blood your brand desperately needs, you can contact me through the comments section of this blog.
August 20, 2019 (I seriously just had to check my phone to see what the date is)
VILLAGE #1: Chipping-Campden
Loyal readers -- all 12 of you -- already know how I feel about Chipping-Campden. I'm enchanted, like, I'll assume, all of the wealthy Londoners who make the two-hour drive for a weekend in the country, according to Sandra Bullock's boss, who lived in London for "something like five years" and was once the recipient of the exclusive Lafayette College Pepper Award. Chipping-Campden is the embodiment of England as a Disney production, to such a degree that visitors can be forgiven for glancing skyward every few minutes and expecting to see Peter Pan perched atop one of the villages whimsical cottages. Gloriously tourist-free, Chipping-Campden overcomes its admittedly twee handle (it helps that it's far from the only Costwald village sporting a twee handle) by delivering vintage charm, boasting a handful of solid restaurants, Carmel-level home and gift boutiques and not one but two of those little grocery stores with all of the cheese and the wine that always made me think, 'Oh, we should go in there and get sandwiches."
Chipping-Campden gets extra points for its homey pubs, all with their maximum interior ceiling height of seven feet, which would make visiting Chipping-Campden a big challenge for NBA great Shaquille O'Neal but not supermodel Kate Moss, who Sandra Bullock r
eminded me yesterday also reportedly has a summer home nearby. It's also not too low for the cricket team staying at the Lygon Arms who were supposed to show up any minute while we were eating but were barely trickling in by the time we left. "They're here from Sunday to Sunday, our waitress told us before recommending Stratford-on-Avon for us because of "all the great shopping." Actually, she wasn't our waitress. Soibhan was. But it was Soibhan's first night and she was obviously overwhelmed. And this was before the cricket team showed up. I can only assume that this was not a rowdy cricket team, because if they were rowdy, they would've gone to the Volunteer Inn. That's where rowdy people go in Chipping-Campden, because they don't even have food there.
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| Early cricket arrival at the Lygon Arms. |
If you're Sandra Bullock, weary from six weeks of traveling, Chipping-Campden is notable because it's "peaceful," and has a place that sells really cute tea towels. More than one, in fact.
HIGH POINT: For only being there 18 hours, we had many memorable moments in Chipping-Campden. If I had to single out one, I'd say the second half of our walk to Broad Campden, when we walked through the sheep field and got a close-up glimpse of the big church and nearby ruins. Or maybe it was the wheat field. Or walking through town this morning in 60 degrees and a light breeze. Or standing in the circa-1627 marketplace, arguing about how many stalls could fit. For the record, it's 20.
LOW POINT: None. The creepy hallway leading to our room at the Noel Arms, maybe. Even our parking space was first-rate.
SHOULD I GO? Get on a plane, deal with the roads, book an AirBnB (the hotels are tired). We're already planning to return.
VILLAGE #2: Bourton-on-the-Water
As we are complete Cotswald rubes (so naive that we thought we'd find, in cheese shops, a variety called "Cotswald," which turned out to be double Gloucester with chives and onions),
we spent the end of last night in our hotel room, furiously Googling (me) and poring over the Rick Steves book (S. Bullock). Partly because of my skepticism that we'd find anything more enchanting than Chipping-Campden, and limited by my complete inability to agree on the contents of a "meandering" drive because some of it might interfere with my goal of getting myself out from behind the wheel of our Volvo ASAP, we decided to stop in Bourton-on-the-Water not because it stands out from any of the other whimsical Cotswald villages but precisely because it's "on-the-water." "It's the only one," Bullock commented. It was also easily reachable from Chipping-Campden and sort of on the way to Bath.
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| Bourton-on-the-Water's in known for two things: a water feature and crowds. |
Bourton-on-the-Water, unfortunately, is the yin to Chipping-Campden's yang, a popular tourist spot with all of the attendant hassles of a popular tourist spot. It's much larger than Chipping-Campden and offers no High Street parking kismet -- instead you drive around for awhile, getting unreasonably agitated until you see a large car park. So pleased are you at finding this car park that you just pull in, regardless of whether you've entered through the exit, inadvertently saving yourself several minutes of waiting in line as other cars enter through the proper channels. Then you pay(!) at the machine, put the ticket on your dashboard and follow the conveniently assembled hoard heading toward the center of town.
Bourton-on-the-Water (often called "Bourbon and Water" by insufficiently clever wags who won't let it drop) has twice the charming buildings of Chipping-Campden. It has an automotive museum, several nice restaurants, lots of gift shops and, running through the middle of town, the "water" upon which it's staked its reputation, or at least its identity.
It's not quite a river. More like a creek, or a backyard water feature. It's about nine inches deep, shallow enough that one road simply disappears under it, then reappears on the other bank. It's a much easier cross than the washed out field leading to the Chinese Bridge, but it's enough to give the sun-starved English a place to stroll on that rare August day when El Sol makes an appearance between the clouds.
If you're guessing that Bourton-on-the-Water isn't my particular vibe, you are correct. If you are also guessing that someone spent the hour we were there asking questions like, "Do you think there's any place this obscure and yet this touristy in the U.S.?" to his long-suffering wife, you would also be correct. Maybe we should've gone to Stratford-on-Avon after all. I hear it has great shopping.
HIGH POINTS: The Cotswald Automotive Museum looked pretty cool, but unfortunately I left my glasses in the car and wasn't going to stumble around in there looking like Ray Charles with my prescription sunglasses on (the 90s ones; the other ones never reappeared). The little stone bridges that cross the water feature are nice. If you have a dog and couldn't get a hotel room in Keswick, Bourton-on-the-Water is here for you.
LOW POINTS: Crowds. People speaking really loud. Difficult parking. Too many ice cream shops for any of them to be any good. People stopping every few feet and taking pictures. Buses.
SHOULD I GO? Absolutely, if it's November and it's raining. Maybe the water feature will overflow.
VILLAGE #3: Cirencester
We made it all the way through Cirencester, the largest of the Cotswald villages, without even knowing how to pronounce Cirencester. It wasn't until much later, as Sandra Bullock Googled stuff while I filled up the tank of the Volvo, that we learned it's pronounced Sae-ren SIS-ter. "Like Siren Sisters?" I asked.
"Close."
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| Circencester: just a place -- with a cool cathedral |
We only spent one hour and four minutes in Cirencester, enough time to walk it's fascinating downtown, take some pictures of a huge church, get lost on its pedestrian streets, check the menus of several restaurants and finally decide on Made By Bob, a "modern, eclectic bistro" (we're getting tired of pubs), but not long enough to get ticketed for spending 64 minutes in an one-hour parking spot. We had to park there because the central car park, WHICH IS ENORMOUS, was not only completely full but had no fewer than a half-dozen cars circling it slowly, waiting for spots.
Cirencester has a population just short of 20,000 but it plays as a much larger city, probably because the only place larger is Bath, which is an hour to the west, a good 90 minutes from most of the Costwald's precious, adorable villages. You go there at lunchtime and the narrow streets are teeming with people, mostly looking for lunch, or shopping. It's got street performers who are actually pretty good, though the guy doing saxophone karaoke I could do without, and just when you think you've exhausted its downtown you turn a corner and -- shazam! -- there's a whole new street of storefronts, bustling with people.
Despite not being able to say the town's name out loud correctly until much later, our hour in Cirencester was a good antidote for our mobs of tourists Bourton-on-the-Water hangover. It was perfect light jacket weather, there was a nice breeze, nobody except us was taking pictures. If Made By Bob hadn't run out of regular Coke before I got there, the experience in Cirencester would've been flawless.
HIGH POINTS: Excellent downtown area with lots of shopping and minimal Edinburgh Woolen stores. Record stores. Young guys playing guitars who are not doing covers. Really good, if a bit oniony, salads at Made By Bob. An impressive cathedral that we probably would've stopped and seen, had we not been limited by wondering if they just give tickets here, or do they actually tow?
LOW POINTS: The aforementioned lack of an available Coke at Made By Bob. The millionaire shortbread we got there couldn't hold a candle to the one we had in Dublin a few days ago. Parking anxiety.
SHOULD I GO? Yes, but only if you're worried that charming little villages won't offer all of the stuff you need to complete a successful vacation. I mean, I liked Cirencester, but that was mostly because it was tourist-free and had some cool streets to walk down.
VILLAGE #3: Bath
Village #3, of course, is a city with a population approaching 90,000. We pulled in at around three, navigated the busy (and, of course, narrow) streets until we found the Hertz place and dropped off the Volvo. "Everything looks great!" the rental agent said, as I mentally
committed to never driving a vehicle in Europe again, no matter how wimpy that makes me. That I returned the Volvo without a scratch may count as one of the great accomplishments of my life, which says a bit too much about the extant accomplishments of my life.
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| Move to Bath; invite me to visit. |
We had no idea what to expect from Bath. Other than hearing the effusive praise of everyone we know who's been here, to us it was just another way station, the last stop before dragging our two weary bodies to Heathrow-adjacent Windsor and then home. We just got back to the room after a long and casual walk and I've got to say: sign me up. This place is fantastic, a small and historic city, compact but sophisticated, that takes all of that cool slate 17th- and 18th-century architecture and puts it in the enlargement machine. Sandra Bullock and I strolled its streets with only a loose game plan. We saw the impressive Royal Crescent building and the serene Royal Victoria Park, the not-at-all-confusing train station and the historic Pulteney Bridge, which crosses the equally historic Avon River. This is a place you could live, or at least visit for way longer than two days.
HIGH POINTS: The whole thing, and we haven't even had dinner yet.
LOW POINTS: The guy who was yelling at some kids at the park. "CAN YOU JUST KEEP QUIET? ALL I WANT TO DO IS RELAX AND HAVE A QUIET CIGARETTE!" Legit, but you don't yell at kids who are playing in the park. It's a park. Which is basically the response from the kids' father, who said, "You don't own it, man."
The angry guy's response: "Of course I don't own it! The Queen owns it!"
Come to think of it, that might be a high point.
SHOULD I GO: Yes. In fact, you should move there and then invite us to come visit, and then pick us up at the Bristol airport.
Here are today's numbers:
1 -- ideal number of navs needed to drive through a foreign country. Don't use more than one, because eventually they'll start arguing. Driving on the wrong side on narrow roads is confusing enough without your navs sounding like the P.A. at LAX during the opening scenes of "Airplane."
70 -- vehicles at the Cotswald Automotive Museum, which wasn't enough to entice me inside in my 1990s sunglasses.
25 -- Cricket club members staying at the Lygon Arms. We only saw one, a huge guy who came in early, ordered a white wine and started working on his laptop. Color me slightly disappointed.
60 -- speed limit on two-lane the A242, which is 11 feet wide.
5 -- length, in days, of a popular "Costwalds Walking Tour" vacation offered by foottrails.uk, which sounds very, very enticing, especially if it can end at Bath.
I've taken far too much of your time with this, but let me leave you with this one thing: tomorrow, with two days remaining on this adventure, we finally do it: Stonehenge.
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