Firstly, let me just say thank you thank you thank you to any and all who have taken the time to read through the bajillion parts of this humble little blog series. I had jotted notes into a tiny notebook during our trip and it was important to me to type them out and elaborate upon them with a plethora of details I didn’t want to forget. And, as you now know, there was a lot within this trip that I didn’t want to forget. It has now been three months since we returned home (not long, and yet absolute ages) and it has seriously been a gift to recall the little details of our time, and to use the absurd amount of photos to help guide me.

And now, back to England we go.

On our eighth and last day in the Cotswolds, I awoke—as I knew I would since our first day—feeling a tad heartsick. This will sound completely dramatic, but I am being entirely truthful when I say that tears fell into my suitcase as I packed it. My brain warred with itself, as it often does, in regards to the guilt I was feeling to be so deflated to be returning home the next day. We were returning to our fur kids in our home we love in our town we love in our region we love, and yet I wished we could stay (and ship the fur kids over, of course). I would miss the heartwarming density of openly friendly people (and this comes from an American southerner, which is really saying something). I would miss the public footpaths encouraging daily exploration. I would miss the jackdaws. I would miss the inspiration. I would miss the magic. Hell, I’d miss the charity shops.

Alas, checkout time was approaching and so was our final town and a wedding.

Once we were reluctantly packed and had voiced our goodbyes and thanks to the cottage (something Andrew & I always do), we had a lovely chat with Cat & John in their home. We had chatted with them quite a bit during our time there, which meant that at this point we were saying goodbye to friends. They urged us to come back again and I almost burst into tears as I expressed that we didn’t want to leave. After asking if we could stow our luggage while we went to get breakfast, they gave us two of the warmest hugs I’ve ever felt. I’ve never hugged an Airbnb host before, so this showed both how well we’d gotten to know them and how sweet they are.

Craving comfort food for our leaving woes, we went back to the bakery Otis & Belle for breakfast. Flat whites, a cinnamon bun (me), and a croissant (Andrew). We started to walk around a bit, but one of the buses was coming soon, and I honestly thought it would make it easier to leave if we didn’t walk most of the town again. After grabbing our luggage, Andrew wanted to pop into Le Patissier Anglais, as we had walked by several times and hadn’t been in. The owner/baker was yet another friendly Stow-on-the-Wold-er and told of us a public footpath that would be near our next Airbnb. These people were really making it harder to leave.

With Andrew juggling his luggage and a mushroom pastry, we hopped onto the 801 bus to Moreton-in-Marsh. Minutes later, we were walking toward our final AirBnB in another ancient town. Our room above the charming Martha’s Coffee House wasn’t ready yet, so we dropped off our bags and went to explore the limestone town that held several similarities to the other Cotswolds towns, and yet—like them—had a personality all its own. We took our time walking High Street and, of course, stepping into every charity shop we saw. Spotting Otis & Belle’s sister location, we went in for more flat whites for the remainder of our stroll. For lunch, we went to Ask Italy (more comfort food was needed) and had to laugh when we finally realized that it wasn’t a local restaurant, but rather part of a large UK chain. Oh, well. We could still get Cotswolds Gin in our lunch cocktails, so all was well. We were pleasantly surprised when our lentil ragu and pesto tagliatelle were absolutely delicious.

By this point, it was time to officially check into our room and get ready for the wedding. Though we were missing our little cottage, the second-floor stone-walled room was cozy and looked out onto High Street. We had approximately ten seconds to appreciate the room before rushing to get gussied up. Soon after, Tina arrived with her cab to take us to the wedding.

The half hour drive to Winchcombe was another little bonus, as Tina pointed out landmarks and gorgeous views. My jaw dropped open when she said her family had been in the area since the fifteenth century at the latest. We also discovered that it was her birthday, so we cheered “Happy birthday!” as we exited the vehicle and proceeded to sprint toward the wedding. Realizing we didn’t know where the hell we were going in such a hurry, we found an employee who somewhat gave us directions. Our haste and confusion must have been obvious as we ran through the labyrinth of hedges because several visitors yelled out, “The wedding is that way!” as we passed.

Once we were out of the tall hedges and trying to elegantly walk toward the wedding party, we had to take a moment to gawk at the setting we’d been waiting for: Sudeley Castle.

When our friends Julia & Kalei had mentioned the possibility of having their wedding at Sudeley Castle months before, my reaction was basically, “Yes! Pick that one!” So, I had been excited for ages to see this 15^th-century former home of Katherine Parr—the last of Henry VIII’s wives (Good for her for surviving him, am I right?).

A large fountain trickled as we walked past and the string quartet lent even more romance to it all (It also lent itself to my pretending to be in a Regency-era film). The wedding was to take place atop a knoll of sorts, so we had incredible views of the castle and some of its gardens. My only disappointment came in not seeing the peacocks I’d read were somewhere on the grounds. Though, seeing as how I may have feared being chased by them had I seen them (a bad childhood memory), it may have been for the best.

Before long, Julia, Kalei, and their wedding party were walking toward us looking like the cast of America’s Next Top Model (Don’t you hate people like that?) and I lamented not bringing any tissues with me. Especially since I proceeded to cry more than anyone else at the ceremony. I felt any elegance I was clutching onto fall away when I had to put on Andrew’s Ray Bans to hide my tears and streaming makeup.

As if Kalei’s aunt officiating the ceremony with her beautiful words wasn’t enough, the vows Julia and Kalei wrote for each other had me looking around and wondering how everyone there wasn’t absolutely bawling. By the time their hands were entwined via handfasting, a drizzle had begun to rain its good luck down upon us all. While the brides were away for photos, we enjoyed prosecco and hors d’oeuvres in one of the gardens and chatted with the family. Several of us took advantage of being able to look through a small exhibit about the castle’s history.

As if the ceremony itself hadn’t already had us melting with its beauty, the reception area had me gasping all over again. The orangery’s tables were packed with flowers and long taper candles, which were later lit, casting their glow upon our happy faces. The dinner courses were delicious. When family members began making speeches and Kalei’s aunt led everyone in a traditional Hawaiian song, I was attempting to keep my makeup in place all over again. I’ll blame the prosecco.

At one point, Julia and Kalei gave me an incredibly sweet and heartwarming acknowledgement by telling everyone of how I had told them “Live your fairytale!” when they had questioned having a destination wedding. Thank goodness I now had access to table napkins.

After coffee and dessert, music and dancing began. Normally, I will dance myself silly at a wedding. Unfortunately, my dress wasn’t cooperating as well as I’d hoped and I feared a wardrobe malfunction. But really, sitting and drinking more prosecco isn’t such a terrible tradeoff.

Since we were going to have a very early morning, we reluctantly left when our cab arrived at 9:30. Just as we’d been confused by the labyrinth of hedges on our way in, we were just as confused on the way out. We changed directions several times and ended up in yet another garden beside some seriously entrancing castle ruins. Since every exit we’d found was locked at this point, we proceeded to simply break out of the castle grounds via climbing over a gate (seems like a very American thing to do).

Tina’s husband, Steve, was waiting for us in the parking lot and drove us back to Moreton-in-Marsh with more local history and lore. When he dropped us off, I was hoping to goodness he was finally going to be able to celebrate his wife’s birthday with her.

The next morning, we soaked in the rare opportunity to see Moreton-in-Marsh with absolutely no one else around. Catching the first train, we walked the misty and wonderfully quiet streets to the station at 5:30. We soon found ourselves once again at Paddington Station, and then at Heathrow, where my carry-on was pulled for inspection, for reasons I’m still unsure of. As tempted as I had been to pack my luggage full of Cotswolds Gin, I promise I hadn’t.

After a light breakfast at Heathrow, we were on our plane to Dublin. From my window seat, I watched the green Irish coastline glide by below us and thought, Should that be our next trip?

And this is where I’ll leave it. Relaying the return home from a dreamy trip is never fun. In fact, I almost ended my stroll down memory lane before we ever stepped on the train. That way, we could all pretend we were still giddily in the Cotswolds and never left.

Of course, I immediately began pondering where we might go next. Something unique for me, however, was that I also wondered when we might get back to the Cotswolds. Generally, after a trip, I’m ready to go someplace new. But this time, I’m still—months later—imagining when we might once again walk the streets of Stow-on-the-Wold and hike to Abbotswood. I recently saw an episode of the UK Travel Planning Podcast pop up about winter in the Cotswolds and thought, “That does sound lovely and cozy, doesn’t it?” I guess we’ll see.

Regardless, I’m endlessly grateful for each and every opportunity to travel. Not just to see beautiful places and savor outstanding food, but to meet new people, and maybe even strike up a friendship with them. To be enlightened or inspired by aspects of the culture you’re experiencing. To garner more joyful memories for this short life.

When we travel, may we take the time to dive in and savor it. To notice, and to learn. May we meet lively women like Wendy and Tina on the sidewalk. May we talk of life’s dreams to people like Raphael. May we take a moment to hug the necks of folks like Cat and John.

Still in reverie,

Lara