Jet lag made sure that I was essentially unconscious from about 1030pm to 3am. From there on, I found it difficult to fall back asleep. Typical doings for me on first nights in Europe. I did eventually nod back off and we got up around 830 to have breakfast. The Stirrups breakfast consisted of various sad looking cold cuts and a few tiny pastries for £15 per person. We didn’t think that was worth it, so we went toward Windsor.
After parking just across the river by Eton (the stuffy alma mater of numerous politicians, royalty etc.), we grabbed a quick breakfast of pastries and teas at a local coffee shop before going for a stroll about the neighborhood. Windsor Castle was not hard to find as it is the most prominent landmark in the area. We were a bit confused by the large crowds and police presence outside. Even locals were a bit perplexed and inquired with the bobbies. They replied that the changing of the guard was going to take place. I didn’t realize that the changing of the guard at Windsor Castle was even a thing. Apparently it only happens every few days. We didn’t loiter for this spectacle, and walked around the neighborhood instead. We found our way to a pathway called “The Long Walk.” It is a descriptive title. There was some sort of lackluster walking race going on at the same time that seemed to partially be using “The Long Walk” for some kind of long walk.
“The Long Walk” was featured recently on news footage of Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral procession. Numerous senior royals got decked out in elaborate military-style outfits with medals and sashes which apparently mean something like “Most cookies sold” or something. Most haven’t actually served in the military. Contrast that with Prince Harry, who served multiple tours in Afghanistan, but was not allowed to wear his military uniform after very publicly being kicked off the Verizon family plan.
“The Long Walk” is over 2.5 miles, but we turned around after about 400m. We had other things to do. On our way back to the car at Eton, we observed the changing of the guard without having had to wait. Well done us. From Eton and Windsor, it was about a 90 minute drive to the Frogmill Inn in the Cotswolds. We were able to check in and get settled before hopping back in the car and driving into the old market town of Stow-on-the-Wold.
We walked around the town center for a while after being turned away from a couple tea rooms because they were at capacity. Afternoon tea is after all a rather big deal here. We didn’t want anything elaborate like we had in Madeira, and we eventually found a fairly casual place called “In the Mood,” where we ordered cream tea. Cream tea is not actually creamy tea, but refers to an order of tea along with a scone that is often accompanied with jam and clotted cream. We were hoping to charge ourselves with some caffeine. It seemed to have little to no effect.
We walked around Stow-on-the-Wold’s quaint narrow streets for a spell before zig-zagging our way back to the car and a little bit of warmth. While it didn’t rain today, it was a persistent overcast with a fairly biting breeze. Having packed my wardrobe for Mallorca, it does seem a bit chilly.
Then we drove to Bourton-on-the-Water, an even cuter and quainter looking town that had a small river flowing through it. We checked out a couple shops, but remarked on the shocking ubiquity of ice cream shops and people consuming the ice cream. It felt like 45 degrees, but maybe this is nice weather for them. Furthermore, the number of tea rooms per capita in this area is rather shocking. All of them were packed. Allegedly the sun may make an appearance tomorrow and is supposed to be mostly sunny come Monday as well. Oh boy!
We returned to the Frogmill Inn to warm ourselves and grab dinner. I had fish and chips. Nicole had a wagyu burger. England’s food scene is not that varied. Of all the restaurants/pubs we looked at going to, the menus are pretty much exactly the same with the exception of some seemingly random foreign food item that seems more of a mistake. A typical menu might be — Roasted chicken, fish pie, chicken and mushroom pie, fish and chips, pub burger, Moroccan chicken tagine… Wait what? We finished off our dinner with a sticky toffee pudding. The commonwealth uses the term “pudding” very loosely. Though perhaps it could also be argued that Americans definition of “pudding” is too narrow.
Sticky toffee pudding is essentially a sponge cake with finely chopped dates and a toffee sauce. What we, as Americans, would call “pudding” is nowhere to be found in this dish. Either way, it was pretty tasty whether it is or is not actually a pudding. After putting the pudding into our stomachs, we retired to room 21 at the Frogmill to fight through jet lag and greasy English food trying to wreak havoc on our bowels.
passports & pepto bismol 