August 17, 2015
John and I woke early and went downstairs to the Hilton's Executive Lounge for the Continental breakfast. Unfortunately, breakfast was no better than the hors d'oeuvres served the night before. In fact, some of the raw vegetables on the buffet looked very familiar. I decided to settle for machine-brewed coffee, orange juice, plain yogurt from a package, and bottled water. The coffee was bitter; the juice watered down and tinny tasting. The yogurt was OK, but an unopened bottle of water I picked up from the drink buffet was so greasy it nearly slipped out of my hand. I decided to skip breakfast and go back to the room. If the staff was serving yesterday's crudite and putting out an unopened water bottle with grease on it, too little care was being taken with food handling in general.
Photo: Hot beverage service area
The staff was slow to bus dirty dishes. Three cups beside the make-it-yourself coffee machine were dirty. One of the milk pitchers was empty. The coffee machine was leaking from underneath and the "hot milk" dispenser had a piece of tape over the button. According to the writing on the tape, the button dispensed "hot water." But, I wasn't going to take a chance. Eeeikkk.
After breakfast, a shower. Hilton provided sad, raggy towels. "DEAR HILTON, DOES ANYONE MANAGE THIS HOTEL?"
According to the tour itinerary, Coopersmith's bus was scheduled to pick up "Cotswolds" participants on Day Three, August 17 at one of two hotels selected by the tour operator: the Park Lane Hilton (first stop) or the Heathrow Hilton at Terminal 4 (second stop). The exact times and locations had been made available approximately six weeks before the tour began in materials sent through the U.S. Mail, Coopersmith's preferred method for group communication. According to the instructions we received July 2, our guide would identify everyone in the group by colored ribbons we should tie to our luggage. Ribbons were enclosed in the Coopersmith's folder with the final itinerary.
Being met in a hotel lobby by a guide reminded me of day tours we sometimes booked through hotel concierge services. I thought it a strangely impersonal way to start a week-long adventure with a group of 20 people. In contrast to the Rick Steves tour we had finished two days before, there was no opportunity to meet the Coopersmith's guide, or get to know our fellow travelers at a "welcome" dinner or orientation meeting of any kind before climbing aboard the tour bus. A shame.
The meeting place for pickup at our location was supposed to be Oscar's restaurant inside the Hilton, but when John and I figured out which eating area was Oscar's, it looked an unlikely spot. There was no signage; the menus on the tables were marked "Oscar's," but you had to look closely to see that. John said we should sit in the lobby, because it was the only way in and out of the hotel and we were bound to see the bus and our tour guide from there. I agreed. For me, following instructions on a piece of paper was an uncomfortable way to begin a tour.
Based on Coopersmith's Day Three itinerary, the bus would go directly from the Hilton Terminal 4 to Highclere Castle. Apparently, we would be on deadline for an appointment at Highclere, so my fingers were crossed that everyone would be on time for pickup at both hotels with ribbons tied in plain sight.
At ten minutes before the specified pickup time, another tour member came into the lobby. We recognized each other from the red and yellow ribbons tied to our bags. Five minutes later, a second member joined us. Shortly after, a third came over to tell us there were others waiting in Oscar's. The pickup time came and went. Four of us stayed in the lobby and chatted. The rest of the Terminal 4 group stayed in Oscar's. I was glad to meet some of our fellow travelers.
Finally at 10:30AM, fifty minutes after the scheduled pickup time, the tour bus arrived. The guide, Jane Brand (not Alex Cross as originally advertised), greeted us quickly and explained the bus's late arrival: pickup time was traffic-dependent. No apologies. We rolled our own bags outside, turned them over to the bus driver for loading, and climbed aboard.
The bus looked great from the outside, but inside it was not at all what John and I expected. The seats were narrow and lightly padded. There was very little legroom between rows. No armrests. No footrests. No headrests. No tray tables, No toilet facilities. No wi-fi. No handicap-accessible features. And, a poor sound system. Everything we had enjoyed on the Rick Steves' tour bus was missing from this bare-bones Coopersmith's bus. John likened his seat to the ones on the Airbus 319. The good news was each of us could use two seats, just like we did on the Rick Steves bus.
Our tour guide Jane reserved two front row seats - the best on the bus - for herself. I remembered our "Ireland" guide Susie had always used the guide's jumpseat next to the bus driver, leaving all the front row seats for tour participants. I was disappointed Jane didn't follow the same protocol, but I wasn't surprised. I had seen unprofessional guides do the same thing on other tours.
Photo: John, making the best of inadequate legroom on the bus
Seats on Coopersmith's tour bus were narrow; rows were too close together for John to have adequate legroom, but he managed to get reasonably comfortable sitting sideways.
Jane didn't say much at first, except to answer questions. After a while, she announced that we had a 12:30PM appointment at Highclere Castle, so we would make a lunch stop in Newbury, because we would be at Highclere during lunchtime. That sounded fine to me.
When we arrived in Newbury, Jane led us from the bus parking lot into town. She told us she was not familiar with any place to eat there, so she could not suggest where we might like to go, but she did say we should split up rather than all go into the same place. We were to meet back at the bus in 40 minutes for the short ride to Highclere.
John and I picked an outdoor table at a Spanish restaurant and ordered a coffee. It was too early for lunch service, even if 40 minutes had been enough time to eat.
The group assembled in the bus parking lot 40 minutes later, but the bus was not there. We waited. Apparently, the driver had gone to get his lunch and took longer than expected. Was that the real reason for the 40-minute stop? Or was it just a way to kill time until the appointment at Highclere?
After re-boarding, one couple couldn't find a daypack they had left on the bus, and their other things were disarranged. Jane said the bus driver had stopped short during his lunch trip. He had heard things fall on the floor, he said. Jane suggested that when we got back on the bus, some of us must have picked things up off the floor and put them on seats to get them out of the way, and since we didn't know which seats the things had come from, we put them wherever. Not to worry. Everything was safe, she said. Hmmm. I was not reassured.
We arrived at Highclere on time, but Jane had to find out where to pick up our tickets. She said she had never been there before. What? Meanwhile, the attendant who directed the bus driver to a parking space came aboard to welcome us to Highclere.
We all got off the bus and waited for Jane to return with our tickets. There would be no tour of the house, she said, but there would be people in each room to answer any questions. We should meet back at the bus at 2:30PM. Jane thought two hours would be enough time. Based on what? She made no mention of the gardens at Highclere. Two hours was scant time to enjoy what had been touted as the highlight of Coopersmith's "Summer in the Cotswolds."
Here's a link to what we missed:
No photography was allowed inside Highclere.
After finishing a walk through the house and the optional Egyptian exhibit, I found one of the tea rooms and picked up a beef pasty and a jelly doughnut for lunch. Both were fresh-made and delicious.
Everyone in the group got back to the bus on time, but the door was locked and the driver, Kenny, was nowhere in sight. Jane called him on her cell phone as soon as she returned and saw all of us standing in the parking lot. Suddenly, he popped up inside the bus. He had been taking a nap in the back.
Our next stop was Bampton, the village "where Mrs. Patmore shops." Jane had never been to Bampton in a bus, she said, only by car. Maybe that's why she didn't know the bus was too wide for a bridge we encountered enroute. Why didn't the driver know? The bus got stuck between the outside wall of a building and a low wall across the narrow street while Kenny was trying to make a turn, presumably toward the bridge. I heard a crunch just before Jane announced that the bridge had recently "acquired a width restriction." A what? The driver would have to take a different route to Bampton, she said. The bus backed slowly down the same narrow street we had just come up. We must have been a comical sight to the locals.
By the time we arrived in Bampton, it was close to 4:30PM. The bus parked outside the "town archives," a former grammar school, currently used as a library and gift shop. Jane explained the building would be closing shortly, but they might stay open for us a few extra minutes. She directed all of us to gather inside the gift shop where the town archivist, whom Jane said was creating documentation to explain connections between Bampton and "Downton Abbey," would speak to us.
As soon as we crowded into the small gift shop, the archivist told us about a fund-raising effort under way to pay for a new roof for the building. She asked us for a one pound donation (approximately $1.50) per person. She and Jane pointed to the donation box, and that was that. I was confused. I didn't mind the idea of helping put a roof on the town archive/gift shop/library, but I thought being herded into the gift shop to give a donation was awkward. I heard Jane ask the archivist for a receipt. "I have to account for every stop," she told her. I was beginning to wonder about Coopersmith's. I had expected a professionally run tour, with a modern bus and an expert guide. So far, we had a bare bones bus with a driver who didn't know which route suited a 53-passenger bus, and a guide who had never been to the most anticipated stop on the tour. It didn't look promising, but I remained hopeful.
We had a few minutes after making donations before re-boarding the bus - not enough time to do much more than find a restroom. Since there wasn't one on the bus, and because neither Jane nor Kenny could say how long it would take to get from one place to another due to "the traffic," John and I decided to make comfort stops whenever we had the opportunity.
After standing in line for my turn in the "town archives" bathroom (a single outside the gift shop), I looked through the one-room library and walked around a nearby church exterior. Then, we were on the road again. Jane said we would be about a half-hour late getting to the hotel because we were in "rush hour traffic."
We arrived at Corse Lawn House Hotel a little after 6:00PM. Jane told us to pick up our keys at the front desk; someone would bring our bags to the room. The group would meet for cocktails at 7:00PM and have the first group dinner at 7:30PM. John and I picked up our room key and headed for the bar.
People in the tour group started getting to know each other over cocktails and dinner. Jane never made a welcome speech or asked us to introduce ourselves to each other. There were fourteen singles and three couples. I wish she had taken the time to have each person say a little about himself or herself. Isn't that one of the responsibilities of a tour guide on a multi-day tour - to help strangers become comfortable with one another and as a group? Maybe not in this case. As it was, John and I got to know a little about the people sitting near us at dinner and hoped to find time to chat with others during the trip. After the welcome dinner, I didn't feel like part of a group, but I had met some nice people.
All told, it was a strange first day. But on the plus side, the hotel looked promising, and the people on the tour - at least the ones we had talked with - seemed pleasant.
Photo: A cappucino at the Spanish restaurant in Newbury
Photo: Highclere Castle. No photos allowed inside. No mention of the gardens. We were allowed only two hours at Highclere.
Photo: Bampton "archives" office
Photo: The roof at the "town archives" was badly in need of repair
Photo: Our bare bones bus
Photo: Bampton's one-room library
Photo: The indoor Bistro space at Corse Lawn House
Photo: Welcome dinner; second course, lamb three ways
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