We left Wimbledon on a high and headed to Oxford by train. Negotiating tubes, undergrounds, subways, metros or whatever the hell they're called, was not our finest travel skill. We got where we needed to go, but it wasn't pretty. Oxford was both a thrill AND a disappointment. It was absolutely amazing to be in such an old city and very frustrating that most of the buildings we wanted to tour were not open while we were there. Christchurch Cathedral was our first stop and it was closed because of an all school ball that happens once every three years. Spectacular timing. It was still fascinating to tour the city and an added element of fun was seeing all the students around town in their tuxes and ball gowns.
The next morning, before leaving for the Cotswolds, we took a little spin through the Oxford Botanical Gardens. It began as a Physics garden where herbal remedies were grown hundreds of years ago. Such an inviting place with ancient trees, herbs, cutting gardens, paths, fountains and all the trimmings. Being there made me happy, but we had no idea how much better our day would get.
After leaving the hotel, we took a train to Moreton-In-Marsh in the Cotwolds. We had arranged for Nick, the proprietor of our bed and breakfast, to pick us up at the train station. There he was, in his Range Rover, and we barreled up the hill (still on the wrong side of the road) to the most magnificent property I have ever seen, and I look at property for a living. Windy Ridge is the quintessential English estate, a family home, overlooking the countryside on forty acres including a ten acre arboretum. Nick, a man in his sixties, was born in the main house and his father was born in one of the cottages. Thatched roofs, Cotswold stone, magnificent gardens, leaded windows, imposing hedges and garden sculpture all combined to glorious effect.
After we checked in we were free to wander about and had the entire place to ourselves. A picnic lunch in the back garden was followed by an amusing interlude of tennis. The court, which was past a cottage, and through the woods, has seen better days. It made the Boyle courts look good. Some type of asphalt, there were large cracks filled with gravel and numerous bumps. The net was in tatters and had been mostly tied up to the net cord. However, the view over the valley was incomparable, with miles of green as well as fields of red poppies. We had fun trying to hit the cracks - it made the ball unreturnable. Tennis was followed by a spectacular afternoon at the pool - just the two of us. I felt like a prop in a Country Life magazine spread. The stone pool house, surrounded by stately trees and topped with a weather vane, had a view of an alley of trimmed Yew trees that were probably twenty-five feet tall. We couldn't read, barely spoke. The place was so peaceful you just had to sit and watch the clouds float by.
A meander through the arboretum, G & T's in the garden and it was off to dinner. Wonderful Nick had made reservations and arranged for one of his employees to give us a ride to the Horse and Groom in Upper Oddington. What a find. The inn has been in operation since the sixteenth century. The meal was as fine as you could have anywhere and quite reasonable. We later found out they have a Michelin star. No wonder.
At breakfast the next morning we chatted with some of the other guests. This is the part of staying in a B & B that makes me very afraid. Chatting at breakfast. I don't really like to talk at all before my coffee, especially with strangers. The conversation is always so polite and stilted and usually a bit boring, but I tried hard to be a friendly sort even if I'm not a morning person. One of the guests was talking about gardens she'd seen. I'd been so impressed that Windy Ridge employed two full time gardeners until one of the other guests mentioned she'd been to Hedcote where they have twelve.
Next stop, Spain, or so we think.
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