I was standing at our utility sink, washing the mud off my waterproof hiking boots. I had finally extracted them from the bottom of my suitcase. I was home again in the US and picking up where I left off after our three week trip to England.The stream of brown water trickling down the drain transported me back to our first day of hiking in the Cotswolds of England. At the end of that day, there we stood, outside the entrance of our hotel in stocking feet, using sticks and stones to try to clean off the mud and sheep dung from our shoes before dinner.
The day had started off in the quaint market town of Chipping Camden with a tour led by a National Trust volunteer. Chipping Camden is a typical Cotswold village, where every building lining the narrow streets is constructed with honey-colored limestone. The narrow roads hardly seem wide enough for two way traffic, especially when the bus we are riding in takes up most of the road. I guess that explains why all the cars are small.
The stone buildings are all attached to each other, giving a visual impression that we were in the 18th century, a feeling that was also underscored by the the lack of any traffic lights or electric signs or strip malls or high rises or urban noise. No sirens, helicopters or airplanes overhead interrupted the quiet that we had stepped into. I had not expected the English countryside to feel so different from the US, but this area of south central England, in particular, felt remarkably removed from the ugliness of the 21st century. The biggest danger I perceived was looking the wrong way for oncoming cars when I stepped off the curb. That was a real and present hazard throughout the trip!
Our group of 23 highly functional North American tourists, most of them older than we are, began our first "walk" together. Our agenda was to follow a seven mile trail up to the Cotswold Escarpment and on to the Broadway Tower, and then down to the town of Broadway. “Escarpment” describes the steep slope that divides this region. We walked on Public Footpaths, some hundreds of years old. A Public Footpath gives the public right of way to walk from town to town, across royal land, pastures, fields, along streams and down alley ways. The Cotswold Way, 102 miles long, goes from Bath to Chipping Camden, and our trip took us on different segments of it each day.
One of our English guides, Alan Gent was a fit, silver haired outdoors-man who skis the Alps in the winter. Everything that he said was particularly charming to my ear because of his English accent. We each wore listening devices which allowed him to narrate our experience with his microphone and be heard without having to shout. The first day that we all showed up on time to board the bus in the morning, his voice in my ear said quietly, “Brilliant! Americans are always on time.” Throughout our two weeks together, he and Pam, the co-leader, used “Brilliant” to describe lots of positive things, along with “Lovely!” and “Well done!” His strong commitment to conservation and a deep understanding of the region became clear as the days progressed.
Alan led us now up a lane that took us out of the valley, leaving behind the village’s narrow streets and clustered houses. As we walked, he reminded us to shut the gates behind us and explained the gently undulating geology of the region. We emerged at a quiet vantage point above town, looking down on the stone tiled roofs and the fields of peacefully grazing sheep that edged the village. Ahead we had more altitude to gain before we reached the top of the Cotswold Escarpment.
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| Chipping Camden from above |
My throat swelled. I have a strong sentimental streak, which manifests at funny times like when seeing a marching band. “I can’t believe I’m here,” was going through my mind, but I was afraid if I whispered it to Lynne, I would start crying. I hadn’t expected England to feel so moving, but at that moment I felt awe and gratitude. (Lynne regularly asks me “Are you crying?” when she can’t tell if my nose is dripping from the cold or if I am feeling sentimental.)
Lynne and I had been planning this trip for six months, a special vacation to commemorate our amazing 40th anniversary. Our preparations included big projects like my hip replacement surgery, important details like finding a house sitter for our pets, and just a lot of other decisions like air travel and shuttle service. With all that accomplished, we boarded our Virgin Atlantic 787 to head to England. Between the many meals, the excitement of watching our flight path and the discomfort of sitting upright, neither of us had slept on the all night eight hour flight across the north Atlantic. When we arrived it was mid-morning in England. Once we disembarked and navigated Immigration and Heathrow Airport, we found our transport driver and chatted with the him through an 80 mile ride on increasingly narrow, twisting roads to our first hotel. It took so much energy just to get to Day One, that I fell asleep that evening during the first educational talk about the Cotswolds.
Lynne and I had been planning this trip for six months, a special vacation to commemorate our amazing 40th anniversary. Our preparations included big projects like my hip replacement surgery, important details like finding a house sitter for our pets, and just a lot of other decisions like air travel and shuttle service. With all that accomplished, we boarded our Virgin Atlantic 787 to head to England. Between the many meals, the excitement of watching our flight path and the discomfort of sitting upright, neither of us had slept on the all night eight hour flight across the north Atlantic. When we arrived it was mid-morning in England. Once we disembarked and navigated Immigration and Heathrow Airport, we found our transport driver and chatted with the him through an 80 mile ride on increasingly narrow, twisting roads to our first hotel. It took so much energy just to get to Day One, that I fell asleep that evening during the first educational talk about the Cotswolds.
That day of our first long hike had a happy ending. Our leader led us up to the Saxon era Broadway Tower, a “folly” built in 1799 which stood on Fish Hill, a grassy high point between Chipping Camden and Broadway. Along the way, I was occupied with the usual business of hiking. The skies threatened rain (I put my rain pants on), then cleared and warmed up (I took my rain pants off). I stopped to take pictures even as Alan kept us steadily moving. The group was fast disappearing through a gate ahead of me. I scampered to catch up.
At the back of the line, I had the chance to get to know Pam, the other leader, whose role was “sweep.” She kept an eye on us, chatting and being friendly, and attending to the various woes that impeded the progress of the stragglers. Her friendly, encouraging and funny manner put me at ease.
At the back of the line, I had the chance to get to know Pam, the other leader, whose role was “sweep.” She kept an eye on us, chatting and being friendly, and attending to the various woes that impeded the progress of the stragglers. Her friendly, encouraging and funny manner put me at ease.
I did have one remaining worry: Would I be able to do this seven mile hike? The brochure had promised walks up to six miles. Seven miles would be my longest hike since my surgery 3 ½ months earlier. My new hip was feeling strong but this was its maiden voyage. I was on uncharted waters.
I was tired but happy by late afternoon when we appeared on the small lanes leading into Broadway village, built on a site that had been occupied for over 5,000 years. Broadway had benefited from the wealth of the wool and cloth trade starting in the 1600s, and later as the home of the Arts and Crafts movement.
Our group straggled along and gathered loosely on a sidewalk like a pack of tired dogs with our tongues hanging out, waiting to be fed.
On this, our first day out, I was relieved to find our bus pulling up to take us back to the hotel. Using this day as a measure, I was going to not only survive this trip, but thrive in this peaceful hike through charming countryside.
I spent a lot of time ogling the pastoral scenery and then navigating the hazardous road crossings as we got closer to Broadway Tower. Pedestrians do not have the right of way in England, and I had a primal impression that English drivers were trying to kill us. I headed up the Tower (not to be outdone by everyone else) as I tackled three flights of narrow spiral steps, took in the exhibits inside and made it to the viewpoint at the very top. As I took in the spread of pastures and rolling hills around me, I suddenly noticed that the front half of our group was already heading downhill on the steep side of the escarpment for the second half of the hike. I made a quick descent and caught up with the group. Traversing sheep pasture, I unsuccessfully tried to avoid stepping in sheep dung, while carefully choosing the least hazardous way on the rocky downhill path. Behind me, one of our group slipped on the slope, with no lasting injury.
I was tired but happy by late afternoon when we appeared on the small lanes leading into Broadway village, built on a site that had been occupied for over 5,000 years. Broadway had benefited from the wealth of the wool and cloth trade starting in the 1600s, and later as the home of the Arts and Crafts movement.
Our group straggled along and gathered loosely on a sidewalk like a pack of tired dogs with our tongues hanging out, waiting to be fed.
On this, our first day out, I was relieved to find our bus pulling up to take us back to the hotel. Using this day as a measure, I was going to not only survive this trip, but thrive in this peaceful hike through charming countryside.
