Bourton-on-the-water
The drive from Stroud to Bourdon-On-The-Water was typical, but man was it gorgeous. The English countryside just can’t be explained. It’s magical here…a fairytale….I’m driving through a fairytale & don’t you dare pinch me to wake me up.
Without making one wrong turn (!!), I arrive into the little town, but immediately blech. It’s basically an English Banff. Throngs of tourists everywhere….mostly Asian or Elderly…standing in the middle of the street gaping. Fuck. Yes, there are a hundred million quaint little shops, but most are sickeningly overpriced…if you can even fight your way in the door to look inside. I wondered why Kevin & Alison sighed when I said that’s where I was going. OK, well….I’m going to walk the shit right out of this town. Once the drizzle stops. I think even the sky is crying about this. I wanted to discover hidden gems!! Wa Wa Wa.
Always looking for the positive in situations, I end up walking & walking. There are footpaths through the town, which lead to countryside trails & it is perfect. I stumble upon a community garden site with rectangular plots of flowers & vegetables growing for what seems to be acres. I just meander & see the odd old man minding his plot, which makes me think of my grandparents, Roy & Heather, who were so diligent about their garden.
On I walked. I’m not a taphophile, but I happen upon a bizarre amount of cemeteries everywhere I go & honestly I’m not sad about it. The cemetery in Bourton has an ancient area of overgrown headstones, with long thick grass growing & trees badly in need of pruning, which I absolutely adore, so I spend a great deal of time just wandering it & trying to decipher the headstones. The elements must take a toll on the stones, as they are crusted in moss & badly weathered, which makes them beautifully gothic & add creep value.
I’m three hours into walking & decide I’ve earned a pint. I had walked past The Mousetrap Pub walking into the village from my B & B so I head in that direction, dying of thirst by the time I duck my head to enter the dimly lit old Inn. I settle on a locally produced cider, which are really poplar in the UK, & sit & watch the patrons…just absorbing my surroundings. I don’t play ID THE PERP….I’m comfortable here. People acknowledge me by a nod or a smile, I feel like I’m in the most friendly small town.
It’s past 9 o’clock by the time I get back to my B & B. Pubs all close at 9 p.m. in Bourton, so it’s time to call it a night. I fall into the most luxurious sleep I’ve had since I left Duntrune & don’t wake up until 8 o’clock. Trip luxuries!
