A trip to the Cotswolds
What started as a quick trip to the Cotswold Village of Painswick quickly ignited visions of a possible future; one lived in the green rolling hills the English countryside rather than in the heart of London itself.
Cue small but vivid existential crisis. All potential possible changes in my life always incite the same feelings. Somehow this possibility felt larger than moving to London from Texas in the first place.
Let’s set that aside for now and talk about the trip itself.
Train from London Paddington > Stroud ~2.5 hours with a quick change at Swindon.
We arrived at Stroud on Sunday around noon with a plan to catch a cab to the village of Painswick roughly 3 miles to north of Stroud. As it turns out, in tiny country towns, even one like Stroud with a bubbling population of 122,000 people, there are not a ton of available taxi cabs waiting at the train station. We called 10 companies listed upon arrival, one answered and when I asked if we could book a taxi, he laughed when I told him today.
Alas, there is a bus that runs from Stroud to Painswick! There are only two more buses running, the next coming in roughly one hour and a half. My father in law is nearly 80 and the small winding sidewalks hugging the narrow 2 lane road did not seem the most comfortable way to travel for our group of 4 but neither did sitting at a bus stop. The Cotswolds are known for long county walks, so I suggested we just take ours slowly, and a bit closer to oncoming traffic than the traditional trek.
Not far up the road we came across an antiques store with a cafe, a place perfect to browse and spend time before the bus. This is the first point in the trip where small visions of a potential future began to unfold, and the magic started to outweigh the lack of available taxis.
Inside were gathered a collection of items aberrant from city living. The selection of Barbour waxed jackets, chunky blocks of aged wood fashioned into kitchen tables, and both simple and ornate chairs conjured up feelings of a country simplicity: long stretches of rolling hills, Wellingtons covered with morning mist and bits of grass, spaniels with wavy hair covering their little ears as they trotted along. Tranquility not found in the centre of London.
Untrusting of the bus schedule, we leave the antique shop and walk three minutes up the road to wait for the bus which should arrive in 30 minutes. 35 minutes later it arrives and takes us a 13 minute drive up the road where we step off at St. Mary’s Church and graveyard.
We check into the our hotel, The Painswick, have an afternoon tea and then venture out to explore the village.
Painswick: Population 3,026
I believe most Painswickians (?) must live in the arterial streets that branch out into the country side, as there are relatively few residences within the town centre itself. The architecture is charming, classic for the area, but the true sights are off the main road.
Glowing in the early autumn afternoon the small lanes which lead out of the heart of the village are the journey and the destination. Wind down one, lightly paved and lined with leaves. When the distance between the houses spread to where you cannot see the next, loop back and find the next to explore. Repeat until you’ve gotten your fill, or should I say your (chloro)phyll of the natural beauty.
There are actual walks you can take out into the hills, which we did not this time, but even these little roads are enough to ignite a little spark.
Of course there are a few Real Estate offices in town, so we stop to look at the properties advertised in the windows. No agents in on Sunday evening so it’s time to call it a night.
As if enough temptation did not already exist, the sun had to go and put on this show. This photo is untouched, direct from my phone, 7:03 AM. I would believe a chariot was pulling the sun up from the horizon if you told me it was true.
After the blaze of the sky has settled, we venture out to see what might be open early on a Monday morning. I buy several books in a charity shop as I have as this is a compulsion that I seemingly cannot, and truthfully do not care to shake.
For posterity, I purchased: Sally Rooney Beautiful World, Where Are You, Richard Osman Thursday Murder Club, Jed Rubenfeld The Interpretation of Murder, Stuart Turton Devil and the Dark Water, and Douglas Adams The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’ve bought and read more fiction this year than the past 5 years combined.
Back to the Cotswolds…there is one property listed “to let” so we walk into the office to inquire, and it’s already off the market.
We make our way down Vicarage lane just to take a look at one of the properties we saw advertised in the window of the Estate office. It’s cute, quaint and looks to be vacant.
I walk back up the hill and enter the agent’s office and minutes later we are down the hill, inside one two bedroom property for sale, imagining a life in the country.
