Day 10 • Sept. 8

Up at 7:30 a.m. after a good eight hours of sleep.  Sharon couldn’t figure out how to get the electric shower going.  Turns out it just took a good stiff yank.  The shower wasn’t the only peculiar thing about this place: the toilet made a god-awful noise for about ten minutes every time it was flushed, our door didn’t lock, and smoking is not allowed anywhere in the entire hotel.  The innkeeper was a strange fellow himself.

We ate breakfast in the dining room, along with about fifteen Brits in their early to middle twenties.  Listening to their palaver was interesting, or perhaps amusing is a better word.

After breakfast, we got on the road.  A segment of our travels over Route 483 followed the route taken by my dad and me seven years earlier.  While on this stretch of highway, we detoured to the town of Montgomery and the ruin that was once Montgomery Castle.  The castle afforded a vast and splendid view of the countryside.  It also afforded our meeting with puss ‘n’ boots, a soft, furry black and white kitty, who was most friendly.  I took a picture of Sharon holding her with the ruin in the background.

Very soon after leaving Montgomery we were out of Wales and into England.  We headed toward Warwick, which was a rather long trek and featured motoring around, fortunately not through, Birmingham.  Warwick, of course, is where one finds Warwick Castle.  And it is not difficult to find the castle.  We arrived a little before 4:00 p.m., and the first order of business was relief, particularly for Sharon who had been holding things back for over 100 miles.  Relief was had in some bushes behind a mound, which we later found out was directly adjacent to the restrooms.

We entered the castle grounds, after paying the 5£ per person admission, and set off with the intent to see everything in the remaining two hours that the castle was open.  Warwick is considered the grandest English castle of all.  And there is a lot to see: the rose garden, the furnished interior with Madame Troussoud’s wax figures, the peacock garden, and on and on. 

As the hour neared 6:00 p.m., we were set to go to the gift shop believing that we’d see it all.  But wait, we forgot the dungeon.  So we scurried to the dungeon, where a groundskeeper was locking up nearby doors and gates.  We asked if we could take a quick look around below.  He consented.  We descended a flight of steps into the dark, damp dungeon and the adjoining oubliette.  While we were inspecting the area, we heard a door above close.  The first thought through Sharon’s mind (and after she voiced that thought, it ran through mine as well) was that someone had bolted shut the door to the dungeon.  The second thought contemplated the most unpleasant prospect of spending the night trapped in the dungeon.  Our fears were unfounded, but all the same, we were up and out of there in a flash.

Although it was till a few minutes before 6:00 p.m., the gift shop was closed.  That meant I couldn’t get a souvenir guide book, which meant I was bummed.  Warwick Castle, however, was a thrill and lived up to its billing—it was, indeed, most grand.

We drove south-southeast from Warwick through Stratford and on into Cotswold country.  (Time constraints did not allow us to stop in Stratford.)  Our plan was to find a place to eat and spend the night as early as possible, so we could have a relaxing evening.  Of course, we’d had that plan a few times before and had yet to see it materialize.  And this time was no exception.

We drove by a few B&B’s but didn’t stop for reasons unknown.  We drove through the town of Broadway but kept on going.  Outside of Broadway, the road wound its way up the Cotswold hills.  Near the summit, we stopped briefly at Broadway Castle—a small yet fascinating turreted structure in the middle of nowhere.  One we drove.  The sun went down as we neared Stow-on-the-Wold.  The B&B’s in stow proclaimed “no vacancies.”  I proclaimed enough.  Enough driving for me for one day.  The mind was frazzled, the stomach empty, à la Bath.  I stopped at a pub at the edge of Stow, where we had dinner.  I had the Malaysian chicken, rice included.  Quite tasty.

Following dinner, Sharon drove us out of town in search of lodging—old story with a bit of a twist.  We didn’t find any.  So we returned to Stow, parked in the municipal lot, and set off on foot to uncover lodging.  There are a many hotels and B&B’s in Stow, but all but one of them was full.  The one that wasn’t wanted 45£.  At that price we decided to we would sleep in the car in the brisk night air.  But before retiring to our rental, we returned to the pub where we had dinner and drank a few pints.  The pub was warm and hospitable, as was its Irish proprietor, a very affable fellow.

The car, however, was cold.  So we piled on the clothes and made do.