Farewell, English countryside. We left Ampney Crucis today. Jenny—the caretaker who chauffeured us to Cirencester each day—dropped us off at the bus stop, instructed us to leave a good review for the airbnb, and bid us goodbye. We arrived in London and made it over to our hotel in West Kensington to discover that the
A pitcher of Pimms.
People in Cirencester are legitimately shocked to hear my accent. We drank a pitcher of Pimm’s Cup in unspecific celebration today—we have a lot going for us. We saw the England vs. Colombia game at a low-key pub. Once the game bled into overtime, we moved to the rowdy bar with all the local youth.
Hitchhiked for the first time.
Giles drove us home. Jenna and I spent the day in Cirencester, a stone village dripping with ivy and teeming with shops and restaurants. On our way back to Ampney Crucis, we persisted along a stretch of road with zero shoulder. We leaped into some variety of rashy prickles to avoid a strand of antique
“Oh. That’s far.” – everybody. After spending the day working, drinking coffee, and watching the world cup from a bar in Stratford, Jenna and I combed through our options for getting from Stratford-upon-Avon to Ampney Crucis, near Cirencester. In other words, small town England to even smaller town England. Our only option was to take
A rough timeline of a smooth Saturday.
Took the tube into London, where the weather was improbably nice. Picked up salads at Eddie’s Got on the train towards Stratford-upon-Avon, seated across from a gay couple on their way to a wedding. As the train groaned forward along the tracks, they gracefully added bottles of prosecco and orange juice to the table between