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London to Bibury
Have you ever found yourself standing at the cusp of a journey, one where every road promises not just a change in scenery, but a story waiting to unfold? This is precisely where me and my girlfriend found ourselves one crisp October morning in London. Canary Wharf buzzed around us, its towering glass facades reflecting our anticipation and the promise of the day ahead. The Elizabeth line, our gleaming chariot, awaited to whisk us away from the city’s pulsating heart to the quaint tranquility of the Cotswolds. With our spirits high and a sense of adventure as our guide, we embarked on a road trip that promised more than just scenic views and charming villages. It was a journey into the unexpected, a tapestry of moments woven from the vibrant threads of English countryside, laughter, and the occasional misadventure. So, as the train doors closed with a gentle hiss and the city began to blur past us, the question wasn’t just where we were going, but what memories would we gather along the way?
Our journey from Canary Wharf to Slough was as smooth as the train itself, a purple colored symbol of modernity that whisked us across London in just an hour.
Awaiting us in Slough was our trusty steed for the journey: a blue Škoda Kamiq, while looking modern and aggressive, was hiding rather humble 1 litre engine that, let’s just say, wasn’t winning any races.
Checking out the car was a breeze, just a short stroll and a quick flash of the documents, and we were off. My first taste of driving on the left side of the road was, well, memorable. A close shave at the first roundabout had me wide-eyed, but thankfully, the rest of the drive was less eventful.
The motorway was a sanctuary of sorts, with trucks ambling along in the slow lane. I nestled there too, getting the hang of this whole left-side driving business. The Škoda’s line assistant became my new best friend for the time being, guiding me gently and ensuring I didn’t become too acquainted with the local fauna.
Finally, the motorway gave way to the narrow country lanes that led us to Bibury. My girlfriend was all excitement; this was the spot she’d been dreaming of. I have to admit, I wasn’t sold at first, but the warm, dry weather was a welcome companion as we parked at the edge of the village and set out on foot.
Bibury was like stepping into a postcard. We wandered around, snapping photos of the old houses and the countryside, which was showing off its autumn best. It felt as we had explored every nook and cranny, from the well-trodden tourist trails to the secluded paths that appeared untouched for quite some time.
Lunch provided a unique experience at yet another local attraction: the trout farm. It was my first time encountering a fish farm. The center of the village was buzzing with tourists, a veritable parade of accents and cameras. Never thought how popular this place is. As evening fell, we found ourselves at the Catherine Wheel pub, tucking into the most delicious local trout, and making friends with a big and friendly dog.
The day ended as it began, in high spirits, as we settled into our cozy room at the local inn. The dining hall downstairs promised a hearty breakfast for the next day, but for now, it was time to rest, full of good food and great memories.
Exploring Cotswold
The second day dawned bright and early at Cotteswold House, where the breakfast was as tasty as the hall was picturesque. With a decor that whispered tales of yesteryears, we fueled up for the day ahead. The weather, seemingly in cahoots with our plans, was all sunshine and smiles.
Packing our bits and bobs into our trusty blue car, we set off for the town of Cirencester. Parking just shy of the central square, we embarked on foot. The town was a picture of English charm, with its crowning glory, a grand church, standing proudly in the square. Its intricate details, both inside and out, were a testament to architectural devotion.
Lunch and tea were a bustling affair in a cafe tucked away in the market. It was the kind of place where you half expect a local poet to be scribbling away in the corner.
Post-lunch, we meandered through the old streets, our path lit by curiosity and a handy map. Next stop: the diminutive village of Frampton Mansell. It turned out to so small, I half-joked, you could blink and miss it. But oh, the views! The countryside stretched out like a lush, green carpet, inviting us to tread its weave.
The drive, even in our humble Škoda, was a delight. The narrow roads were a ribbon winding through the scenic splendor.
Our haven for the night was The New Inn hotel in Coln St Aldwyns. We got a suite, with a bathroom that could host a ball and a private patio whispering promises of summer lounging.
After a brief exploration of our plush accommodations, we ventured out, walking to a nearby village. The local school, the church with its serpentine dragon, and the park were like stepping stones through the landscape.
At the church, we met a gentleman who, upon learning we were Ukrainians, greeted us in our native tongue. His accent was thick, but the effort was touching. “This is the only thing I know in Ukrainian,” he admitted. It’s the little things, isn’t it?
Dinner back at the inn was a quirky affair, with burgers taking center stage on the menu. We indulged, then set off to walk off the culinary guilt. The night stroll turned into a cinematic experience, with thick fog coming from the River Coln, and the occasional light from an old house setting a scene straight out of a thriller.
We almost lost our way around Quenington, but adventure, it seems, was on our side. Hour later we made it back to the inn, ready to sink into that grand bath.
However, the room’s heating had ideas of its own, seemingly preparing for an arctic winter rather than a mild autumn night. I wrestled with the radiators, but sleep eventually claimed me, ending another day of our Cotswolds caper.
Back home
The final day of our Cotswolds escapade dawned, and with it came a breakfast that, well, left a bit to be desired. Slow service and a missing order weren’t the souvenirs we intended to take from the inn’s restaurant. But, as the English say, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” so off we went for a final adieu to Bibury. A cozy local coffee shop filled our cups and spirits, and a bag of fresh rainbow trout from the trout farm promised a tasty reminder of our journey.
The narrow country roads, now familiar friends, led us to Fairford for one last hurrah. This is where my girlfriend suggested a detour for a riverside walk. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and what was intended as a brief stroll along the River Coln turned into a two-hour exploration. Mud-clad shoes and cheerful exhaustion were our badges of honor as we finally made our way to The Railway Inn, where a friendly ginger cat was waiting to walk us in. And the meal left a lasting impression, revitalizing our taste buds with the flavors of local cuisine.
With time slipping through my fingers like the river’s current, we embarked on the drive back to London. The roads, once daunting, now felt familiar under the wheels of our trusty Škoda. With newfound confidence, I navigated our blue chariot through the lanes, overtaking slower vehicles and brushing the speed limit.
However, the journey took an unexpected turn when we relied on the car’s navigation system. The tension rose as we found ourselves lost in the heart of Slough, the rental center’s closing hour looming over us. At this moment of chaos, my girlfriend’s calm was unshakable. With her fingers dancing over the screen to conjure the right route, she guided me through the maze of streets with the confidence of a seasoned navigator.
Our knight in shining armor, the rental guy, was a beacon of understanding. Not only did he wait for us, but he also made the return process a breeze. VWFS Rent-a-Car Slough, take a bow!
As we settled back into our seats on the Elizabeth line, the whirlwind of the past days replayed in our minds. We had navigated unknown roads, both literal and metaphorical, tasted the richness of the English countryside, and found joy in unexpected places. We’d laughed at our blunders, marveled at the landscapes, and made memories to last a lifetime.
The journey had taught us to embrace the unexpected, to find humor in the hiccups, and to treasure the quiet beauty of a village walk or a friendly feline greeting. As our train glided back into the familiar embrace of London, we knew that this road trip was more than just a journey through the Cotswolds. It was a reminder of life’s simple pleasures, a collection of moments and laughter, and a testament to the fact that sometimes, the best stories are the ones you live.
