On our sixth full day in the Cotswolds, there was rain in the forecast for the first time during our trip (a boon, I’m told). Between that and attending an event in the evening that we didn’t want to be tuckered out for, we decided to use that day to savor Stow-on-the-Wold, as we would be moving on to another town the following day.

We breakfasted at the popular local chain, Huffkins, which resides in the oldest surviving building in Stow—built around 1450. Between bites of veggie sausage bap (Andrew) and a chocolate chip-studded bun (me), we admired the old ceiling beams and imagined who and all might have stepped foot into that space in its almost six centuries.

After walking past what we have deemed The World’s Most Charming Barber Shop numerous times and being quite intrigued, Andrew had scheduled a morning appointment there. I tagged along, wanting to see more of the interior than I had already peeked through the open doorway.

Before I continue, let me just say that I am convinced the Universe used this day to cement our undying love for Stow.

As I sat in a comfy chair taking photos of the lovely barber shop, I listened to the barber chat with Andrew and found myself feeling so glad to be there. He was easily one of the friendliest people we’ve ever met and told us of how he is originally from Lisbon, but has also lived San Diego, London, and other areas. He explained that in addition to being a barber, he is also an interior designer, photographer, and architect. When I mentioned that it sounded like a busy life, he replied, “Yes, I like keeping busy. But only with the things that really matter to me, and that I enjoy.” This gave me valuable food for thought. When we talked more of travel, he mentioned that he and his family would be moving from the Cotswolds to Spain for a project in which he would be redesigning and then photographing a hotel. On top of that, he spoke of his wife and young daughters with immense love and I was convinced there was an aura of positivity surrounding him. When the haircut was finished, Andrew shook his hand and told him his name, to which the barber replied that his name is Raphael. As we strolled along the sidewalk—a skip in our steps from that inspiring conversation—I said to Andrew, “You just had your hair cut by an artist named Raphael. How cool is that?!” And it was seriously the best haircut he’s ever had.

After running back to our cottage to grab our rain jackets for the arrival of the rain and its chill, we walked around town, soaking it all in as much as we could. At one point, we heard a voice say, “Oooh, lovely tattoos!” This was the beginning of a half hour-long sidewalk conversation with Wendy and Tina, two fabulous and absolutely hilarious ladies from Wales. By the time we’d picked up our walk again, we’d all undoubtedly startled passers-by with our laughter and received an invitation to Wales. Wendy had mentioned that they were sitting in front of Lucy’s Tearoom because her mother’s name had been Lucy and it was a comfort to her. I never take these moments of sweet vulnerability with strangers for granted, and they’re yet another reason I’m grateful for travel.

After days of admiring the exterior of St. Edward’s church, we finally made it inside. This was another church with 12^th century Norman origins and I studied a map near the entrance that dated different parts of the building. As with the other Cotswolds churches we’d seen in the previous days, the ceilings soared and more gravestones were installed in the floor. We gawked at the stained glass windows that were installed as memorials, their panes displaying stories of past parishioners lives. I had never seen such a vast collection of kneeling cushions, which hung neatly in rows on the back of each pew, and took time to admire their various and colorful designs. They had me wishing I had a use for all those fabulous cushions at home.

The walls held several memorials and dedications to soldiers from various wars, and I flipped through a lovingly-collected binder dedicated to those from the area who had died in the World Wars. In addition to photos and other information about the soldiers, the binder often listed which house they’d grown up in. I recognized some of the house names from our walks around town and tried to imagine the person in the photo standing out front.

Feeling the chill of both the rain and the past, we walked the couple of blocks to Coach House, which had become our favorite coffee shop in town. We ordered flat whites, sipping them from low comfy chairs by the front window. The shop’s proprietor—a dachshund named Nelly—greeted us, trotted around, and welcomed more folks in. Of course, we couldn’t go a day without seeing staff from the Hive, so we were glad to spot one of them (maybe the owner?) enjoying their day off and have a quick chat.

Once we were warmed by our coffees and more friendly conversation, we strolled over to Cotswolds Baguettes for lunch. We hadn’t been in yet and were so glad we’d been able to fit it in before leaving. My curried-chickpea pasty was delicious and Andrew enjoyed his caprese-like sandwich so much that he lamented the fact that we hadn’t been getting lunch from there each day.

We’d carried our lunch back to our cottage, and as we were popping back out for a pub drink, one of our AirBnB hosts (Cat’s husband, John) invited us to see their allotment plots. If you’ve read the previous parts of this trip, you’ll remember that we were very into that allotment, so we were thrilled for the invite. We wove around various abundant allotment plots to reach the three parcels tended by Cat and John toward the back. Andrew and I stood in absolute awe as we took in the labyrinth of beds bursting with vegetables, fruits, herbs and flowers. The rain had died off earlier and left droplets resting upon leaves, cucumbers, tiny young pears, and more. Their three parcels held not only beds, but also a micro orchard, small greenhouses (one impressively full of fruiting lemon and lime trees), compost bins, a potting shed, and even a full dining area. This had to be the most productive garden space we’d ever seen.

John showed us every inch of the plots, seemingly happy to have fellow gardeners/plant nerds on his tour. When he invited us to snack on some of the peas with him, I had to fight back tears—not only because these were probably the most delicious fresh peas I’d ever had, but also because of his generosity with both his time and his garden. We continued to meander for a while, talking plants and munching on more peas. When the tour was over and he needed to take some produce to a café in town, he told us to please come back and enjoy the space anytime we’d like.

Next, giddily bopping down the sidewalks after our tour, we stopped in at The King’s Arms for a drink. We took our time enjoying the cozy setting (is there a pub in all of England that isn’t cozy?) and wishing that American pubs had espresso machines like most of the Cotswolds pubs we’d been to. We like the option to enjoy our downers and uppers in the same establishment.

After a lovely conversation with Cat and John (we’d been having a lot of those with them) on our way to the cottage, it was time to get ourselves gussied up for the welcome reception hosted by our friends Julia & Kalei, who were getting married the following day. Edwin, our fantastic cab driver from the day before, picked us up and took us a few miles away to The Swan Inn in Ascott-under-Wychwood (which must continually be in the running for Best Town Name).

Unsurprisingly, the Swan’s restaurant and patio spaces our party was occupying were stunning. We entered into a room with an incredibly long dining table being set with gorgeous-looking food and a table topped with premade cocktails. I grabbed a gin & lemon drink and chatted with our friends’ families, who we were getting to meet for the first time. After an already heartwarming day of being around folks like Raphael, Wendy, Tina, John, and Cat, I was on the verge of tearing up all over again as we talked with even more incredibly friendly folks. We became even friendlier when many of us began to feel the chill of the evening and crowded around the patio’s propane heater.

When Julia & Kalei arrived, we enjoyed getting to catch up after not seeing each other in five months (they live in Minnesota, though I continue to brainstorm methods of getting them to move to New England), especially during such an exciting time. It felt like only minutes when Edwin arrived to pick us up over two hours later.

When we arrived back in Stow, the night was still young and we wondered where to go for a nightcap in our fancy duds. Popping into our cottage for a moment (which took us by Cat & John’s cottage), our hosts strongly recommended The Old Stocks, a gorgeous upscale restaurant and bar in the square. Per their advice, we walked past the dining areas and back into the contemporary bar room, where we sat in comfy sitting chairs and waited until the busy barman, Peter, was ready for our order.

Upon hearing an accent similar to mine, I spoke to some folks sitting in another corner of the room. When I asked if one of them was from eastern Kentucky/southern West Virginia (where I’m from), I discovered that the accent I’d heard was being used in an attempt to make fun of people from my home region. These folks, from Pennsylvania and Tennessee, had the decency to look embarrassed. I pulled out my best “kill ‘em with kindness” routine and turned on my heel. After a day of wonderfully kind people, these fellow Americans had left a sour taste.

Thank goodness Peter was ready for our order, as I was ready for a drink. I ordered the “Resting Spritz Face,” a cocktail with gin, prosecco, and grapefruit. We waited a bit for our drinks, but only because Peter is so seriously dedicated to his craft and its quality. Our drinks were among the best we’ve ever had and we sat and sipped until dessert called our names. I ordered a ginger rhubarb sorbet & cake, and Andrew was enticed by a chocolate torte with cookie pieces & vegan ice cream. I was reminded of one of the numerous benefits of partnership when we sampled each other’s desserts and decided to switch. Before leaving, Andrew ordered a Purity ale that had been recommended by John and was glad he did.

On our usual nightly walk, we ran into the folks from PA & TN (which had me asking the gods why). Most simply said goodnight, but one—the man from TN—seemingly made it a point to kindly chat with us, telling us his daughter would soon be moving to Connecticut and that he and his wife would be sure to stop in at the museum Andrew runs. He was obviously attempting to make up for the earlier snafu, which is a wonderfully southern thing to do. Maybe he learned a tiny bit of a lesson, who knows.

As we walked back toward our cottage, we warmly recounted our day (as had become a habit) and gushed over our gratitude for the Raphaels, Wendys, Tinas, Cats, Johns, Edwins, Julias, Kaleis, and Peters of the world. If only every day could hold them within it.

Until the final part,

Lara