Travel days and Sundays always get me down. Actually, Sundays don’t bother me at all since I’m not working. I really don’t even notice them. Travel days are a different story. They make me nervous as hell. Today was no exception. We set the alarm for 7, but I woke up at 6. We agreed to catch the bus around 9, but I was packed, sitting at the door of the hostel, ready to go at 8:30. Was this justified?
When we made the train reservations, we neglected to take into account this was a bank holiday for the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee. Bus schedules are modified. On weekdays, the bus comes every 10 minutes. I saw one pass while I was waiting for everyone to get ready. At ten ‘till 9, everyone was ready and we were out.
We waited 15 minutes, and no bus. We checked the schedule, realized our mistake, checked the holiday schedule and saw a bus was supposed to be here at 9. It was 9:08. I could feel my veins pulsing in my neck and I got a headache. It’s a 30 minute walk to the train station so we agreed to start walking at 9:15. Our train is at 10:06. I was ready to take off at 12 after but they held me back. The bus showed up at 9:14.
The rest of the travel was easier. The big kicker was we had to switch trains twice. We had a half hour between each switch, except for when our train from Reading was delayed because of toilet failure. We still made our next connection with plenty of time to spare.
Morten-in-Marsh was the closest we could get a train to Chipping Campden. From there, we needed to catch a bus. Bank holiday! We got to the bus station and started talking to a family that had been waiting for 3 hours. They finally managed to get a taxi. When the driver showed up, we asked him to come back and get us. He agreed to make one more trip.
More people got off the next train. A couple of Canadians came over and told us there wasn’t bus service today. I asked an Englishman about hitchhiking in England and he said it isn’t done and people aren’t used to it. Bear said he had faith in the taxi driver even though we didn’t get a name or number. Thankfully, the driver came through for us.
Bear is into genealogy. He can trace his family to a village, Blockley, which is halfway between where we were and Chipping Campden. We asked the driver if he’d take a short diversion. Cliff was very agreeable. Cliff was originally from Cape Town, South Africa but relocated to the Cotswolds about 3 years ago. He lives on a country farm with his wife and two daughters. He drove us all around Blockley so Bear at least get pictures of his ancestral village.
Cliff dropped us off at the old Royal Charter Market which is the starting point of the Cotswold Way. Rather than start hiking, we wanted to walk around this village and grab a bite first. Everything is just so beautiful in this region. Chipping Campden is our third Cotswold Village today and each one is just as charming and beautiful as the last. The buildings and houses are all made of the same stone cut out of the local quarry.
Supper was a little ordeal, but not terrible. The place Cliff had recommended was completely booked up for tonight. Not surprising since this is the first day of the Jubilee Celebrations. We walked out to High Street where we found a pub/inn willing to seat us if we hurried on our order. It was only 5 and most supper establishments don’t open until 6.
It couldn’t be put off any longer. We were going to have to walk some tonight. The foursome returned to the Market Pavilion for some pictures to document our start. The ladies started our InReach’s and we were off.
Not a block into our hike was a Catholic Church which is still a bit unusual after Henry VIII got excommunicated and stole all the church properties. Sassy saw the priest out walking his dog, so I talked to him a bit. Father told me this particular structure only dates back to 1898, but its stones were recycled from previous structures dating back to the 11th century. He also told us he used to be a priest in Bath. The last thing he told us before running after his dog was that we need to see Graham Greene’s house just up the hill.
I know I’ve read several Graham Green novels over the years, but can’t remember titles. I’m thinking the Quiet American, and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy are two of them. I hadn’t realized he was from this area. He only lived here a few years in the 30s between the wars. If I got an opportunity to live here, I’d never leave.
Sassy had heard the local beacon for the Jubilee was going to be on Dover’s Hill which is on the trail just outside of town. When we got there, we could see north off the escarpment. Hundreds of hot air balloons were starting up for the night’s festivities, but we couldn’t see evidence that they we’re going to light a beacon here tonight. We would have loved to camp here for the views, but wild camping is illegal in England. There were just too many people in the area to make it feasible.
Against our wishes, we walked on another mile and a half until we found a hidden spot in an old tree filled right of way. There’s evidence of an old trail running through here, but it hasn’t been used for some time because trees have fallen across the trail.
We set up our non-Big Agnes tent next to Bear and Sassy’s abomination. They haven’t successfully camped since last year in the Sierra. When Sassy unrolled her sleeping pad, it had a big tear in it. Bear was able to perform surgery enough that she could blow it up. It’s been a long day and we’re all tired. We went to sleep with the sound of far off celebratory fireworks.
EFG