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We'd wager that all British period TV devotees would correctly identify this as Downton Abbey and that fewer know its real name: Highclere Castle.
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An archway—one of many—at Highclere Castle
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Summer flowers at Highclere
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Jackdaw's Castle, built on the East Lawn to provide "a fine landscape view" from the main castle.
More stopping for no apparent reason on the British motorways makes us get into Bath at about 5 p.m., much later than we'd anticipated. We're only going to have a half day tomorrow to get over to Gatwick to return the car, and although the Druid stuff helped, we really really really want to see some Roman ruins to continue to make us not feel old.
Luckily Hotwire has allowed us to snag a inn/bed-and-breakfast called the Oldfields House, along a rehabbed/repurposed row of mansions on a street leading up a hill from the central city. For about $125 we get a luxurious, high-ceilinged room with a so-called "en suite" bathroom (meaning you didn't have to walk down the hall and share one) and a full English breakfast. But how late are the baths open? The desk person checks the online resources and comes up with dual answers of 6 or 9. We race down the steep hill to find out for sure.
Luckily, they're open until 9, a privilege of summertime. And while we're intoxicated by the ability to see and touch 2,000 years of sequential history -- the baths were also used starting in the Gerogian era -- the mind-bender is the nice Roman woman sitting by the side of one of the pools. Roman, as in not only in period costume and hair, but also completely in character while she engages any passers-by. (Well, not quite completely. She isn't speaking Latin. Graecum est. Non legitur.)
She offers authentic 3rd century hair and makeup tips to my wife while noting that my wife's "slave" (me) looks a little frumpy to be attending such a noble woman. Throughout, with us and with everyone else we hear her talk to, she never breaks character. I can't help but wonder how long her daily shift is, and what she tells people she does for a living.
Bath also features one of the only four Palladian bridges in the world, one of the others being the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. You know what these are -- they have several-story buildings enclosing the roadway on either side.
On the way over, we see that the often-absurdist English sense of humor dates back centuries, as illustrated by a statue outside the restored abbey church with the carved inscription "Water is Best."
Of course, food has been playing a primary role in this whole adventure, and for the evening meal, we set our sights on finding the best pub in the area. Yelp points us at a place called the Bell Inn roughly half a mile up one of the main streets, and upon arrival we confirm the fact that crowd-sourcing isn't always accurate. The place Yelp describes as having a stew that smells delicious and "plenty of snacking options" has only a single (brought-in) sandwich left before the evening crowd has even arrived in force. We wander to a street nearby that's lined with restaurants and settle on a the Bath location of a perky Japanese small chain called Wagamama, where we have a filling grilled-duck ramen.
On the way back to our lodging, we pass the corner of Gay Street and Queens Parade. In Bath. I make a mental note that this would be a perfect stop on a putative Bette Midler retrospective tour.
We've already made a couple of pilgrimages on this trip, so we add one the next morning on our way back to Gatwick -- Highclere Castle. You know: Downton Abbey. We don't have time for the interior tour, but the grounds and gardens prove more than worth the trip. And of course they sell the women's hats there, so a few dozen of the people there for a visit look like extras on the series.
The grounds at Highclere Castle
I successfully navigate all the way back into the lot for Enterprise rental returns. Just before we make our way to the train, we hear an apocryphal story about an unfortunate family of right-side drivers who came to England sometime in the recent past and rented two cars. At the first roundabout they encountered (where else?), one of them went right and one went left and they had a mild but auto-disabling head-on halfway around. Even though we won't be back in St. Louis for ten days, as a preparatory and precautionary meditation I immediately change my mantra to "drive on the right, drive on the right."
Next up: Across the Channel to Paris
