A brief flirtation with the Cotswolds

Burford is an appealing little town and makes an excellent introduction to the Cotswolds; the colours, the period detail, the pubs will please everyone. For the overseas visitor, it presents the rose-tinted, theme-park England that you want to enjoy…and why not (for more on the England-theme-park idea, read England, England by Julian Barnes)?

As the Blonde and I are complete gluttons, highlights are often based round meals, and "Jonathan’s at the Angel" in Burford fits the bill completely. They also have bedrooms, which we will be trying on our next trip. Le Manoir aux Quat’ Saisons, Raymond Blanc’s highly acclaimed restaurant, is on the edge of the region in Great Milton. If we make it big…then that’s next…

Wandering around Bibury with a picnic hamper was surprisingly pleasurable, once you escape the hordes. There is a lot of beautiful countryside to get yourself lost in if you’d rather get away properly.

Quick Tips:

The Cotswolds is spread over quite a large area, spreading north as far as Warwickshire and south to Bath. We only dipped into the central area, immediately west of Oxford. A full exploration, with the major sights of Stratford-upon-Avon, Oxford, and Bath, could easily take up a couple of weeks.

If you only have a short time available, base yourself in one place and explore its surroundings – the Cotswolds are best enjoyed at a leisurely pace, and you don’t want to get "pretty village fatigue," now do you?

Find yourself a nice country hotel or pub in somewhere like Burford, Stow-on-the-Wolds, or Woodstock, and find plenty of excuses for long pub lunches overlooking village greens and picnics.

I would avoid the centre of Cirencester as a place to stay – the hotels aren’t up to much and, although pretty much in the heart of the Cotswolds, it is a far less attractive town than many.

Best Way To Get Around:

I would hate to rely on public transport in the Cotswolds. I would advise getting a car if you want to explore a decent-sized area, or bicycles, for those with more energy than sense. Although far from rugged, this area is not flat by any means.

Parking can be an absolute pig in many of the more popular spots, so be prepared to walk from the edge of villages and towns. Several towns, including Burford, have large free parking, which helps a great deal. "Pay and display" parking is prevalent in places like Cirencester (you buy a time-limited ticket at a machine and display it in your car window) – the cost soon adds up if you’re exploring or dining.

There are also coach tours of the area run from London, Oxford, Bath, et al. I personally couldn’t imagine a more sterile way to see the area, but if you must…

The plan was to completely spoil ourselves. It was our honeymoon, after all, and if you can’t live a glamorous life on your honeymoon, then when? We arrived in Burford, one of a number of "Gateways to the Cotswolds," sometime late morning and spotted the Bay Tree Hotel soon after arriving. But we said no – taking the first decent-looking place you see just wouldn’t do. So, after several hours of futile searching for nirvana, we checked in (don’t ever, ever try and stay in the centre of Cirencester, believe me). I suspect that the Blonde had planned this all along.

The Bay Tree is an old coaching inn of appreciable vintage that presents an enchanting frontage out on to Sheep Street. The outward appearance suggests charming, quaint lodgings above a smoky bar full of shepherds and grain merchants in town for the market. The hotel, however, has sold its soul to a regional chain specialising in quality hotel accommodation targeted at the well-heeled. Intoxicated by the heady expectation surrounding all newlyweds, we placed ourselves firmly in the "well-heeled" category and checked in. We were even presumptuous enough to check out one of the larger suites, but remained unconvinced of the added value of a couple of tartan armchairs and a heavy four-poster.

I mock somewhat – the Bay Tree is a very good hotel. It places itself in the traditional/modernised country hotel category with the obligatory set of armour/heavy oak/tapestry décor and its appropriately austere common areas. The terraced gardens say Pimms, strawberries, and summer days, while the interior is much better suited to cold winter nights and gatherings around roasting chestnuts.

Our room was comfortable and sizeable; decorated and accessorised with country-house furnishings and a bathroom somewhat larger than the Blonde’s last bed-sit in Brighton. Everything a hotel bedroom to be – short on quirks but solid and fulfilling.

The staff were obliging. We are not a particularly demanding couple (very much in the English style – smile and say thank you for pretty much any old crap), but they quite happily refrigerated our picnic leftovers and champagne, serving it up to us as requested. The lonely night manager was also more than happy to provide us with drinks when we stumbled in from our night on the tiles in downtown Burford. I can also vouch for the quality of the breakfast, although it was clearly a long walk from the kitchen to our room, judging by the temperature of the bacon.

There are cheaper places in Burford where I suspect you can enjoy similar benefits. I haven’t stayed at places like this before except after wedding receptions, and I always thought that I’d appreciate them a little more if I’d had a little less. With my seedy, morning-after guilt, I always felt that I deserved the snooty, disapproving looks of the staff, but it seems that it really is part of the English country-hotel experience.

There’s a lovely little bookshop on the High Street in Burford, near the junction with Sheep Street. The Blonde and I snuck in just before the assistant closed for the afternoon with the intention of buying a local guidebook. As it was, we got a much better deal from the assistant’s local knowledge. Instead of hurrying us out of the door, she gave us an insider’s breakdown of the local dining possibilities – "Look no further than Jonathan’s," she said.

"Jonathan’s at the Angel" can be found just off the High Street on the narrow, honey-coloured Witney Street. The building is an old coaching inn that has been carefully refurbished to create a light, airy interior. The atmosphere is one of cheerful informality with a comfy bar area and tables to the side, behind, and outside. There are no menus – the evening’s offerings are written on a blackboard above the bar. On that August evening, seafood had a strong presence, although local meat and game were also available. The cuisine would probably best be described as European brasserie, with space for some imaginative and delicious-sounding combinations.

Getting over the disappointment of not being able to sit outside (we had booked about half an hour before arriving), we settled down to the first of several extremely pleasant glasses of Pinot Grigio. The Blonde started with King scallops served on black linguine – fleshy, oversized, and gone in a flash. I had a Terrine of pork, smoked chicken, and pickled walnut. This was something of an excuse to try the Angel’s signature home-baked bread – warm and fresh from the oven, it made a wonderful accompaniment to a delicious dish.

Both of us were attracted to fish for our main course. The Blonde opted for the John Dory, which was not spoiled so much as rendered hard work by its extremely buttery sauce. I had a chunky piece of Monkfish wrapped in bacon with black linguine making its second appearance of the night. I’ll pretty much eat anything wrapped in bacon – see it on the menu and I’m drawn to it. Marvellous stuff, bacon.

The courses were sizeable enough to make dessert seem too much of a challenge on a hot summer’s. Pleasantly full after a great dinner, we decided that some of Burford’s pubs were deserving of our attention and moved on. This is great food at what I would reckon to be a pretty fair price.

We also discovered that Jonathan’s was one of a newly identified breed of hostelries in the UK, a so-called "restaurant with rooms." Jonathan’s has three rooms, each with an international flavour, available for bed-and-breakfast bookings. The pictures looked incredibly inviting. Typical - you always find exactly what you want shortly after you spend twice as much on something that’s good. Still, we have our first-anniversary venue sorted out.

We should’ve popped into that bookshop the moment we arrived.

I live in a large village on the edge of Nottingham, and, as is often the case in English villages, we are awash with pubs. But, alas, we are not a tourist attraction unless you have a particular penchant for the history of Framework knitting in the East Midlands. Sadly, this means that our pubs have a slightly seedy air and do not capture that essence of "Englishness" that the visitor expects from a pub and most locals desperately want too. Burford is somewhat better equipped, almost certainly because of the tourist trade, and makes me hope for a surge of interest in the Industrial Revolution and textiles. Framework knitting is fascinating ? Come see for yourselves!!

The country themes of agriculture and hunting can be drawn from the pub names of Burford. The Golden Pheasant, The Lamb Inn, and The Old Bull can all be found on or near the High Street, with the Cotswolds Arms there to further remind you of your setting should your memory start to fail - as well it might later on. We chose to start in the Cotswolds Arms, a solid stone pub at the bottom of the town. The proprietors don't appear to have tried quite as hard to catch the interest of the moneyed, bruschetta-eating classes and serve no-nonsense "pub grub" in a series of traditionally furnished rooms. The beer is from the Courage brewery and well kept. Venturing out to the rear courtyard, you will be struck by the landlord's twin passions of small songbirds and model railways - a somewhat incongruous mix.

Partway up the High Street is the Golden Pheasant. This pub has been refurbished along more contemporary lines inside and seems to want to be in Islington. The menu is more ambitious and priced accordingly. There's a cluster of tables set on the street in front of the pub from which you can watch the hustle and bustle. The Blonde found the Bloody Mary a little on the weak side'she uses this drink as a test of the bar staff's work ethic. There's nothing worse than a lazy Bloody Mary in her book.

Our last port of call post-dinner was the Old Bull. As with every building in Burford, the Old Bull is pleasing to the eye. A solid stone frontage with the old coach passage to the side, this is one of the larger pubs in town. It doubles as a hotel with reasonably priced rooms above (we didn't check them out) as well as a restaurant behind. We parked ourselves at one of the tables placed in the coach passage and worked our way through a few bottles of the house white at about ?11 a bottle. The staff were perfectly friendly and the Old Bull served as a fine venue for our considerable overindulgence. Quite frankly, what are holidays for?

The Cotswolds are often portrayed as the prime example of quintessential rural England. Bibury goes a step further and fulfills the role of quintessential Cotswolds village – the most charming village in the land of charming villages. If that isn’t a recipe for coach-party hell, then I don’t know what is.

Our next-door neighbours had deviously (and successfully) gone "off-list" and bought us a traditional picnic hamper as a wedding present. The Blonde was particularly eager to road-test it and, having stocked it with expensive, bespoke goodies from one of Burford’s many sandwich emporia, we set out in search of the perfect spot. And so to Bibury.

Bibury can be found about 20 miles west of Oxford, well on the way to Cirencester. You are more likely to know it by sight than name, as Bibury is one of the most photographed villages in the country. More specifically, there is a tumbledown terrace of tiny cottages, Arlington Row, which has featured in more than its fair share of calendars, coffee-table books, and Country Life-style magazines. You know you’ve reached the spot when you hit the row of parked cars, coaches, and accompanying traffic queue. You probably won’t have to wait long, as most people seemed to stop, take the snapshot, and get back on to continue their tour of photogenic Cotswolds spots. This spot, I am glad to say, deserves a little longer.

Arlington Row is exceptionally pretty – half a dozen or so honey-coloured cottages with low doors, crooked gables, and the like. Their conversion to cottages from their original purpose as a barn dates back to the 17th century. Their setting only enhances their charm; a small nature reserve, Rack Isle, sits immediately in front with a trickling, well-stocked trout stream separating them both from the road. If you get lucky and arrive between coach parties, then it really does feel idyllic…easy to forget that these are cramped weavers' cottages that wouldn’t have been such a joy to live in as they are to look at now. Sadly, though, one can’t help thinking that their popularity stems from how easy it is to get a good view and photograph of them – no cramped street or traffic to get in the way.

At the stream end of the cottages, there is a public footpath that leads up a small but steep hill into a copse. We were searching for a sun-dappled clearing in which to enjoy our bountiful picnic...but alas, it was not to be. Wicker picnic baskets may look the very thing, but they are swine to carry - a plethora of sharp corners and sadistic, biting handles - and it didn’t take the Blonde long to realise that, if a romantic mood was to be maintained, any old spot would have to do. At that point, the gods of nuptia and wedded bliss shone down and found us a field corner in which to settle down and gaze romantically at each other over a well-stuffed ciabatta.

The Land Rover, curious cows, and bemused farmers didn’t arrive until mid-feast, and our picnic site’s subsidiary role as a farm track was revealed to us in a somewhat abrupt fashion. The farmers were perfectly charming – apologising to us for interrupting our lunch on their land. I think they were enjoying themselves, though, as we hastily cleared our blanket for the second time in five minutes on their return journey. I’m sure they incited the cattle to riot, because a distinctly off-putting level of lowing accompanied the rest of the meal. It was good while it lasted, and the basket proved itself an admirable present.

Exploring the rest of Bibury revealed the hundred-year-old trout farm doing incredibly good business. You can take a tour, feed the fish, and even try your hand at catching them. Overlooking the farm is a 17th-century mill that has evolved into a museum and teashop, complete with "quality souvenir" outlet. The National Trust–owned Arlington Row and Rack Isle steal the show, but this village is not short of other charming stone cottages and villas. A little way from the village centre can be found St. Mary’s Church, dating back to the Saxon period.

With beer and rooms provided by The Swan Hotel and Bibury Court, Bibury has most of the essentials covered for a romantic venue. Unfortunately, too many people are in on the secret.

It seems to me, from reading an assortment of travel guides, that there is some contention over which town is the "Gateway to the Cotswolds." Clearly there is no actual gate involved, and I guess it depends on which direction you come from, but what puzzles me is how many towns seem to compete for this accolade. Does "Gateway" actually mean "Just inside"; designed to catch those who aren’t daring enough to take on the Cotswolds at their most challenging or who just can’t commit?

Burford is one of those laying claim to the "Gateway" title, and it looks pretty convincingly Cotswolds to me. Entry to the town from the Oxford road (A40) is quite dramatic in a gentle, far-from-dramatic, country kind of way – you leave the busy dual carriageway and sweep downhill into a wide High Street of honey-coloured stone that ends with a narrow stone bridge over the River Windrush. If you arrive by car, don’t trouble yourself trying to locate parking on the High Street; this is the path to insanity. Head straight to the bottom of the hill and follow the signs to the right, taking you to a generously sized free car park.

Once on foot, you can enjoy the many pleasures of this typically pretty town. The High Street is architecturally frozen some time around the late Georgian period, and many buildings date back to the 15th-17th century. This period was Burford’s heyday – this was wool country, and Burford’s prosperity was built on those woolly backs. The "Tolsey" can be found on the corner of the High Street and Sheep Street (it had to be, didn’t it?) – this was the meeting place of the wealthy wool merchants, and it now houses a small museum. Burford also has something of an English Civil War claim to fame. A large band of Levellers were held prisoner in the church (bottom of the High Street, on the way to the car park) – one of the dastardly fellows even had the audacity to carve his name on the font. The bullet holes from the execution of their leaders are still visible.

Now Burford is something of a tourist trap (there might be something in this "gateway" thing), and the trading on the High Street focuses on antiques, stylish household goodies (with a Cotswolds twist…sheep-oriented gadgets abound), tea shoppes, prize-winning sausages, and purveyors of interesting baked products. You could buy any number of brass coat hooks or sheep-milking stools, but you would have a devil of a job tracking down a pint of milk. Pubs also have a significant presence in the town…these are dealt with in a separate journal, due to the Blonde and I devoting considerable time and effort to investigating them (it would have been rude not to).

Many of Burford’s visitors appeared to be day-trippers, which meant we enjoyed a very pleasant, and surprisingly quiet, August evening in the town. The colours of the buildings change as the evening sets in, and it is an absolute delight to sit on the High Street with a cold glass in your hand watching the honey yellows move through their golden spectrum.

The Blonde and I loved Burford. Crowds never really built up – people just seem to disperse amongst the shops, so that it feels like any busy market day. We discovered several attractive places to stay (shortly after booking into the most expensive place in town, obviously), and some of these are covered in other entries in this journal. The town is only 20 miles west of Oxford and well worth a visit for those who want to give this archetypal English countryside a try, but aren’t really prepared to commit. ;)