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Cotswolds

Apr12


Coursing through the Cotswolds and Castle Coombe

(In Lower Slaughter, one of the most picturesque villages in the Cotswolds)

What does your mind conjure up when you hear the word Cotswolds?  For me, thanks to marvelous memories of a most beauteous region, it has come to mean a clutch of medieval towns whose stone walls and homes are bathed in the warmest honeyed tones, of upscale antiques shops selling a tempting array of period silver, glass and English bone china, of curvaceous bridges spanning burbling brooks, of clock towers in wide central squares that date from the Middle Ages when wool was sold by weight in a thriving national trade.

Today, the medley of picture-perfect hamlets that make up the Cotswolds have become trendy, upscale Meccas for well-shod Londoners looking for luxury and anonymity far from the madding crowd. The are is best coursed by car and the town of Chipping Norton makes a good gateway through which this patchwork of fields, dales, dells, and villages may be explored. The very comfortable King’s Arms Bed & Breakfast in one of Chipping Norton’s quiet street was our stop for the night when Llew, Chriselle and I holidayed in the area.

“The Cotswolds” is the collective name given to a number of small villages and towns to be found in the middle of England where sheep farming once thrived and is still the main occupation. Indeed, during the medieval age, sheep selling and wool trading made the region richly prosperous and led to the creation of beautiful manors by the “wool merchants” who also endowed their local parish churches with their wealth in an attempt to “give back to the community”. The famous Cotswold wool, of course, derives its reputation from this region.

You cannot hurry on your exploration of the Costwolds. Nor can you have a set itinerary. Its best to go where the whim takes you, armed only with a road map that might suggest a route as you hop from one village to the other. There are no motorways to connect this web of villages. You will find yourself in narrow country lanes, some no wider than the width of your vehicle, passing by hedgerows buzzing with bees. Just when you begin to wonder what might happen if another vehicle should approach yours, the exact situation presents itself. Fortunately, the driver of the oncoming vehicle is far more experienced than you are at negotiating such sharply bending hairpin curves and he manages the feat without batting an eyelid. Once you do reach your destination, you will be best off on foot for the towns are walker-friendly and as you go from shop to church, from bridge to river bank, you will discover that your own two feet are your safest ally.

What is particularly remarkable about the Cotswolds is that entire villages and towns are constructed out of the local yellow stone which, over a period of several centuries, had been enriched with a golden grey patina that quite dazzles in the afternoon sunshine. Of course, if your trip includes the university town of Oxford in whose shadow the Cotswolds lie, you will discover the same honey-hued stone walls enclosing all the college buildings. Plentifully quarried in the region, this stone was used for everything from cottage construction to the creation of small dams over local rivers.

And then there is the British penchant for gardening, their love of ivy and wisteria which clings to every stone structure, their delight in roses and rosemary…and you have visual images that are hard to describe and scents that no perfumer can package. Sporting names that can be traced to their etymological and Anglo-Saxon roots, a tour of the Cotswold towns makes for a wondrous journey into the historical past before the days of the Industrial Revolution when rural England was an economic paradise—Stow-on-the-Wold, Chipping Campden, Bourton-on-the-Water, Burford, Moreton-in-Marsh, Upper Slaughter, Lower Swell. Each settlement has the mandatory river rippling gently past golden stone cottages, a buzzing village center, quaint shops and little ‘tea rooms’ advertising “Traditional Cream Teas” (think sultana scones with Devonshire clotted cream and strawberry preserves).

Castle Combe

The Prettiest Village in All England

Though it might not, geographically-speaking, fit exactly within the boundaries of the Cotswolds, there is a little secret village whose unfailing charm I’d like to share. This is Castle Combe in the county of Wiltshire, not too far away from the Cotswolds proper, not yet innundated by the downside of tourism’s throngs. Early one morning in 1962, the residents of this pretty-as-a-picture village woke up to find out that their village had been named The Prettiest Village in England! By noon, their sleepy hamlet was overtaken by tourists and they experienced their first ever traffic jam! Determined not to miss out on this delight, Llew drove us in the direction of Wiltshire and I can’t even begin to express how grateful I was for the research I had done before setting out on our discovery of the region.

Anecdotes aside, the village was the nicest thing we saw on our entire trip. Again, it boasted all the requisites of the model English village—stone cottages, abundant hanging baskets spilling over with colorful annuals—petunias, geraniums, impatiens, begonias were everywhere—a bridge across a babbling brook, the ubiquitous parish and churchyard with towering spire reaching heavenwards, a cluster of small shops and sprucely-pruned gardens. Castle Combe also had cute cottages and resplendent manors, a village well complete with pulley wheel and pail. As if to authenticate the English country scene, we were constantly sprayed with the gentle drizzle of summer rain, and had to explore the village our brollys firmly held aloft. But this did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm for an adorable little corner that, despite its distinction as England’s prettiest village, has yet managed to keep tourist hordes at bay. Indeed, it was the highlight of our entire English sojourn!

We loved the Cotswolds and we hope that you will consider spending some time rambling aimlessly amidst these rustic routes.

Bon Voyage!

Brighton

Apr12

Brighton


Britain’s Favorite Seaside Resort  

 

By the time my coach rolled into Brighton, the intermittent rain that might have plagued my day had petered off, though the skies remain cloudy. The city, as it passed by my window, appeared plain and nondescript until we turned a corner and the fairy-tale like turrets of the Royal Pavilion came into view. The bus terminated conveniently only a few meters away from the Pavilion and I headed there excitedly.

Brighton’s biggest attraction, the Royal Pavilion (left), has attracted visitors for at least two centuries. It is a vast complex of fantastical buildings that evolved from a little farmhouse cottage that King George IV used from 1783 for his secret liaisons with Mrs. Fitzherbert, the widow he loved but was forbidden to marry. Commissioning architect Henry Holland to create a classically styled villa on the site, George was delighted when the palace evolved into a marvel of Chinese design. When his father George III was declared insane in 1811, George became Prince Regent and commissioned John Nash to enlarge the villa. Nash transformed it into a confection of Oriental buildings, complete with minarets and onion domes–as Samuel Taylor Coleridge might have said, it became Xanadu–“a stately pleasure dome” of sorts . Indeed Nash let his creative energies run riot, borrowing freely from Islamic Moorish, Berber and Moghul styles—a combination that he somewhat quaintly termed “the Hindoo style”.

The end result is a series of palatial halls and courts through which the visitor roams quite bemusedly. Thank heavens for the audio guide provided with the admissions ticket (7 pounds) that allowed prolonged inspection of the premises. If you think the exterior is an oddity, wait till you explore the interiors. They quite took my breath away. For George favored the Orientalist style of interior décor that the eighteenth century’s penchant for Baroque excess most admired, resulting in a kind of look that came to be called “chinoisserie”. Characterized by elaborate wall paper and silk tapestry hangings, porcelain figurines, exotic chandeliers and lanterns in lotus designs and the frequent appearance of gilded dragons and snakes all executed in the Chinese style, these rooms truly beggar description. The Banqueting Room, for instance, is so magnificent and so completely covered by opulent design elements that the eye is overwhelmed by so much bedazzlement. There are marble mantelpieces, richly carved furniture, silk draperies on the windows, plush carpets underfoot, as well as china, crystal and silver to fill many museums. A brilliant use of mirrors creates fascinating illusions everywhere as reflections follow the visitor around the rooms.  Faux bamboo is ubiquitous especially when worked in metal and wood. The massive kitchen is a chef’s dream with its gleaming copperware, countless crocks and innumerable baskets. Hundreds of guests were fed, entertained and housed in this grandiose environment, no doubt feeling deeply privileged at being permitted such an intimate glimpse into the life of royalty.

But all good things must come to an end, even for kings and their companions. George IV was king from 1820 to 1830. When he grew old and infirm, the same space in which he had once held court before a stunned audience became a retreat for quiet seclusion. Seeking privacy, he escaped to Brighton, and spent the last ill years of his life in the company of his daughter Charlotte. His brother William IV (1830-1837) shared George’s fondness for Brighton but their niece, Queen Victoria (1837-1901) found the town too crowded and sold the Pavilion to the Town of Brighton in 1850, having first stripped it of its most coveted accoutrements. Most of the furnishings found in the Pavilion today are reproductions of those once possessed by George IV or are similar to the kind of fine goods that gentlemen of the day preferred.

Leaving the extravagance of the Royal Pavilion behind, I crossed North Street to stroll through “The Lanes”, a maze of narrow alleys that once comprised the village of Brightelmstone. Today, the quaint lanes are a shopper’s paradise of boutiques and eateries that entice with their interesting window displays. I lunched on a stack of chocolate profiteroles that I found quite irresistible in the cold cupboards at Sainsbury’s, people-watching unabashedly as the world passed by. Brighton has a huge selection of shops because once holiday-makers have had their fill of the sea and its pleasures, the need to lighten their wallets by splurging on baubles seems hard to resist. Sparkling shopping malls line the busy commercial area where a Clock Tower marks the confluence of several store-crammed streets.

I decided next to check out the Pier (left) , for if you have an English seaside resort, can a pier be far behind? Brighton Pier reaches far out into the English Channel like an arm scooping up the salty waves. But while the simple pleasures of low-tech beach gear such as spades and pails have given way to the hi-tech attractions of video games in noisy arcades, some things remain timeless. Waves still thundered to the shore, raucous gulls still screeched overhead, beachcombers still strolled hand-in-hand along the water’s edge. I was particularly struck by the beach that lacked  sand being composed entirely of pebbles in shades of aubergine, orchre and cream. In sizes varying from walnuts to little marbles, they studded the entire surface making Brighton one of the most unusual beaches I have ever seen.

Bath

Apr12

Bath

Bewitching Bath

Resplendent City of Jane Austen, Beau Brummel and Sally Lunn

(Llew and Chriselle on their day out at the Roman Baths)

Bath is a gracious old city, nestling quietly in the Cotswold Hills, as if guarding some closely-kept secret. Our first view of the city came as we turned a bend on a heightened road while still a few miles from the town center.

Bath’s historical antecedents go back to the Roman occupation of the city when the medicinal waters of the hot springs that flowed under it were first used for therapeutic reasons. The city’s name, no doubt, derives from these utilitarian purposes. In keeping with their fondness for hot saunas, the Romans built public baths in this city and spent many a long hour deriving both pleasure and medicinal benefit from the soothing waters. Excavations on the Roman baths carried out in the 19 th century revealed the complicated series of rooms through which the swirling, smoking waters gushed. These excavated ruins are a site of tourist interest today. Crowned by statues of eminent Roman officials of the time, they are a testament to the power of the mineral springs and their ability to foster human settlements.

Then, long after the Romans had packed up their togas and left, the city gained prominence once again in the 18th century as a Center for Matchmaking. Indeed, it became the place for fashionable and wealthy young “dandies” to congregate with the idea of seeing and being seen. Among this ilke was the famous Beau Brummel who was known to have the most flamboyant sartorial tastes of the day and eagerly flaunted his fondness for extravagant couture. A statue to this Man About Town is seen in the Pump Room on the top floor of the Roman Baths.

The Pump Room was also made famous by novelist Jane Austen who during the Regency period set parts of her novels Northanger Abbey and Persuasion in Bath. In her Sense and Sensibility as well as in Emma, characters make reference to frequent visits to Bath where the rich and famous went “to take the waters”. When Llew, Chriselle and I sat ourselves down to a steaming cuppa and a traditional Bath Bun in the Pump Room, I could hear the faint rustle of crinoline skirts brushing against the chair’s legs as ghosts of eager bachelorettes hovered around our laden tables. In a corner somewhere lurked Austen quietly surveying the scene with her humorous eye for detail.

I found myself in Bath not during the gracious Regency period but at the turn of the 20th century to attend an International Millennium Conference on Film where I was presenting a paper on “South Asian Novels and their Cinematic Adaptations”. Llew and Chriselle joined me on the trip. We found accommodation in student dorm rooms on campus at the University of Bath perched high on a pretty hilltop. At the end of a busy day of conference participation, it was a thrill for all of us, international delegates attending the conference, most of whom were professors of English or Film Studies, to find that our celebratory candlelit dinner was held in the Pump Room (above left) after cocktails were served underground in the Roman Baths. It was a fabulous evening made even more special by the piano and violin recital provided by some of the university’s students while dinner was in progress.

Llew and Chriselle enjoyed sight-seeing around the resplendent Regency city which they were visiting for the first time. The city’s landscape is dominated by its fabulous medieval Abbey which we visited in the morning. Like most European Gothic cathedrals, its spire towers up into the sky. The interiors have fabulous soaring fan-vaulted ceilings. Right outside the Abbey, the road opens up into one of the beautiful architectural crescents for which the city is famed. Of these the Royal Crescent is most famous and is the site of some well-appointed hotels. Built in the 18 th century by some of the leading architects of the time such as John Wood and his son, also called John Wood, they house today some of Britain’s snazzier stores. A shop that several tourists frequent is the Sally Lunn Bakery, home of the famous English Sally Lunn Buns which originated here.

On the way to the Royal Crescent, we passed by the bridges that span the wiers on which water can be seen gushing down in picturesque curving steps. It is the interesting nature of early architecture and the present-day charm with which the city is endowed that makes it endlessly fascinating today.

Bath is best visited in summer when the roads are ablaze with color from the hanging flower baskets that are suspended over Victorian wrought-iron poles giving the entire city an air of freshness and refinement.

If you close your eyes and let your imagination take wing, you will see men in top hats and tail-coats sporting ornamental canes walking arm-in-arm with demurely clad ladies in the high–waisted Empire-line dresses of the Regency era as they promenade through the city hoping to attract the socially correct match.

You may not go to Bath today to sip medical waters or to find your dream partner, but I do hope you will consider going to partake of the rich treasures that history has left behind. Plan to pause a while to enjoy browsing aimlessly in the interesting shops or to nibble at a tea cake in one of the old-world tea rooms scattered around the city.

 

Bon Voyage!

United Kingdom

Apr12

United Kingdom


Brittania Rules the Waves!

(On the South Bank of London’s River Thames with St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Millennium Footbridge behind me) 

I have been afflicted with Anglophilia ever since my mother put the first lip-smacking drops of Waterbury’s Compound gripe water into my infant mouth. By the time I graduated to Britannia biscuits and Cadbury’s chocolates, I was well and truly smitten by all things British. Majoring in English Literature in college only strengthened my love affair with Great Britain. When I did eventually make my first visit to the country, twenty years ago, I found it to be everything I had imagined and more…

Over the years, I have had several opportunities to travel in the British Isles and each time I have discovered something newly fascinating. After I covered the Must-See Sights found in every tourist itinerary, I turned my attention towards the roads less taken. In the process, I developed a huge love for walking over ancient footpaths and canal tow paths, over hilly dales lined with hedgerows and sandy coastal trails , through busy highways and empty byways, along quiet river banks and over mountainous meadows. Whether in the company of my beloved family members, with fond friends, or entirely on my own, my rambles in the United Kingdom have given me some of the most pleasurable moments of my life.

Are there things about the UK I dislike? But, of course. Their frosty reserve, for instance, which for someone from the United States, borders on unfriendliness. The choice of either boiling or freezing water in their dual faucets. When will they introduce mixed water temperatures from the same tap? The high cost of living and their frugality–I was once asked to pay 10p for the plastic spoon that accompanied the cup of takeaway soup I ordered. I could go on…

But as every seasoned traveller knows, every country in the world has its shortcomings. And when it comes to Great Britain, I’m willing to give it a long rope.

Come with me now on a tour of some of my favorite corners of the United Kingdom. Let me show you My London. Let me take you on a unique walking tour of Oxford, one of my most beloved cities. Let me accompany you on an exploration of Regency Bath and the seaside resort of Brighton. Let’s stop to forage for rare books in Hay-on-Wye or see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform in Stratford-on-Avon.   Let’s lose ourselves in the wild mountain pathways of the Lake District and hunt for antiques in the elegant shops of the Cotwolds. Let’s down draught beer in Liverpool and stop to smell the roses in a garden in Kent. Let’s stumble over cobbled streets in Rye where smugglers once plotted to stash contraband and novelists plotted scenes for their contemporary masterpieces. Take your pick and go wherever your fancy leads you through the travel  secrets contained in my enthusiastic pages .

Only don’t be surprized if like Susan Allan Toth (My Love Affair with England) and Bill Bryson (Notes from  a Small Island), Paul Theroux (The Kingdom by the Sea) and Jan Morris (Oxford)–fellow-Anglophiles who have been equally smitten by this rainy isle in the Atlantic and in whose eloquent company I have taken many a jolly jaunt–you too are seriously afflicted with Anglophilia  by the end of your armchair wanderings with me.

Bon Voyage!