The sky was pale blue and decorated only occasionally with little white clouds. The air was crisp, still, and smelled lightly of fall. The world around us glittered with dew, and a flight of crows made its way north, to points unknown as we lugged our bags out to the car.
Highworth
It was a fairly late morning, despite having been sound asleep by 9:00 the previous night. I was still a little jet lagged, I think, and there wasn’t a huge English breakfast calling us downstairs early like there had been at St. David’s (I believe we made due with granola bars and bottled water in the car). We’d have been moving much earlier if we’d known what lie in store for us.
We’d glimpsed a small portion of the Cotswold’s (at light speed from the train) the day before and thought it might be worth a little detour en route to Southern Wales. We consulted a few guide books that we had dragged across the Atlantic with us and decided to head north via the A361, then drift slowly through the countryside to the village of Bibury.
Somewhere near Coln St Aldwyns it became clear that we hadn’t budgeted enough time for this place. Each little village was as charming as the next and the soft green hills that surrounded them begged us to get out of the car and have a good long stroll. In the end it was too much to resist. We pulled into Bibury around noon, parked the car about a block off the main street and headed in the direction of a church tower we could see in the distance.
From the honey-stone cottages that lined the way, to the crystal waters of the River Coln, the entire place looked as though it had been torn from the pages of an English folk tale. The most incredibly picturesque town I have ever visited.
Saint Mary's Church
We wandered the church yard for awhile, reading grave stones and snapping photos until a door in the perimeter wall snagged our attention. It was small, weather beaten, ancient looking. It was like something out of a dream we had both had. Or, maybe one of those creepy Tim Burton-esque children’s books people read to their kids these days. It was archetypal, irresistible. The idea that opening it and stepping through to the other side might amount to trespassing didn’t occur to us…nor did the thought of not doing so.
Beyond was a spectacular garden with roses and apple trees, green paths and climbing flowers in full bloom. The sort of place one could imagine wandering for the rest of one's life. But the garden was scarcely a side note to the massive Ivy covered stone mansion that sprung into view. At any moment I expected to hear someone yell from somewhere inside “Jeeves, release the hounds…there are trespassers on the lawn!”
We stayed for as long as we dared (maybe 15 or 20 minutes) before sneaking back through the little hole in the wall. It turns out we could have stayed as long as we liked. A local later informed us that the big house was actually a hotel called The Bibury Court. The grounds are apparently a public right of way.
In any event, sneaking through a little hole in the wall of a very haunted looking Saxon churchyard, and wandering through a secret garden in the shadow a 12th century manor house had made the whole scene a little surreal. And it was about to become even weirder.
As we rounded the front of the church we bumped into the first people we had seen in nearly an hour, another couple that was filing out the main door. The woman was tall and quite thin, while the guy was short and fairly broad. They were followed by an older woman who was acting as their tour guide. We walked slowly behind them until we arrived at the ornate wooden gate at the front of the yard.
At that moment Shauna grabbed the back of my arm and whispered something that I couldn’t quite make out.
“It’s…*insert inaudible whispering*" she issued discretely.
“What?”
“It’s...*insert more inaudible whispering* ” she hissed a little louder, but still too softly to understand.
“What?”
“It’s Nicole Kidman!” she said just loudly enough for me (and I suspect everyone else) to hear.
“Oh…”
I looked at the tall, thin woman standing a couple feet in front of us and there could be no mistake…it was Nicole Kidman. Apparently the diminutive fellow next to her was Keith Urban.
There was a short, uncomfortable pause as they looked at us, and then at the camera around my neck. They were clearly expecting us to ask for a picture with them, or to start clicking away without their permission. All at once I felt sorry for them. I could tell Shauna did too. They were, after all, just two people trying to have a quiet day in the Cotswold’s together like we were (I can’t imagine what it must be like to be recognized and approached every time I went out). Moreover, there were suddenly enough people on the street that a couple pictures might have turned into a bit of a scene.
I think I said something very clever like “uh...hey guys" as we pushed past them, and then down the lane. I don’t think they said anything in reply. And so ended our perfectly awkward Cotswold’s celebrity encounter.
Yeah, people used to be much smaller...
From the church we found our way back to the center of town and strolled up Arlington Row, the single most photographed scene in the Cotswold’s. Maybe all of Britain (outside of London and Stonehenge).
Arlington Row
Arlington row was built sometime in the 1380’s as a place to store wool, but converted into weavers cottages sometime in the 1700’s.
I find it very difficult to explain to people how perfect, how idyllic these little towns and villages are. Every angle of every dwelling seems to be expressly designed for maximum aesthetic value. Truly, every fallen leaf and every blade of grass appears to have been individually placed by god, or elves, or disney imagaineers.
We wandered the paths and trails that surround Bibury for another hour or so, finally taking a late lunch at a little diner next to the trout farm. Hoping to avoid the events of the previous night, we hopped back in the car and made for The Brecon Beacons, Southern Wales while the sun was still fairly high above the western horizon. We left Bibury wishing we had a week or more to spend there. Our next trip to the UK will likely be a self guided walking tour of the Cotswolds. I find myself eagerly counting the days.
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