April 14, 2026

UK. Day 1. Cotswolds. Around the World in 80 Days reunion

On the first morning in Cotswolds we slept in.

What woke us up was a light but ceaseless chatter coming from outside of our window. It reminded me of the May Day parades that walked under my bedroom window in Moscow. Sans festive music.

Last night, Broadway left an impression of a quiet village, we did not see any crowds, not too many cars.

We stayed in bed for a while. The sound was not dying out and seemed to increase rather than decrease. Something was going on.

I came to the window. All the tables that last night looked like a pretty decoration were taken by the local people and everyone had a glass of beer in front of them:
— Tom, look! It’s still morning and they are already drinking outside!
— What morning? Look at the clock.

Oops, it was after noon. We really slept in. Quickly dressed and washed we hurried outside to catch up.

The weather was beautiful and all kind of creatures — young and old, furry and bald — wanted to be outside.

We relaxed for a while and were considering if we should we get something for breakfast. Fish with potatoes and pie from last night were still holding us up.

Then a picture arrived on my phone and answered that question. We were invited for lunch.

Our lunch was taking place in Childswickham, another village about 40 min walk from Crown & Trumpet. We had some time to look around our whereabouts.

Next to our Inn was a 13th century Church of St. Aldhelm and St. Eadburgha. Soft color stones and the quiet around it made the atmosphere here especially peaceful. An English idyll, as they say.

On one side of the church, there were green fields and neatly clipped hedges. There were benches to sit on and listen to bleating sheep in the distance and feel the breeze on your skin. The feeling was open and spacious.

The place was preserved so well that it seemed like we travelled back in time — little cold and eerie, quiet but lovely with all the snowdrops around.

The church looked over the Broadway Court, the business center of the village.

On a Saturday afternoon the square was showing some activity.

We did a circle around the church and moved away from the center of town towards the footpath to Childswickham. On the street, we immediately encountered a car going wrong direction. As a matter of fact, they all are going wrong direction here.

Being prepared, Tom downloaded British footpaths map and we found the one for us.

That network of walking pathways is probably the best British invention — better than the steam engine, rubber band, or World Wide Web. It may be second to the chocolate bar. And it seems like walking is the favorite pastime among people here. The universal access to the land and rights of way allow people here to walk along paths through private land. Rather than hiking, here they call it rambling.

This made me suspect that one of my grandmothers might have sinned with a British guy some time in the past — “I’m very fond of walking!”

This was how we rambled: Tom — looking at his phone for directions to make sure we are not lost, me — looking though my phone camera lens to make sure nothing we saw was lost.

These footpaths we were on went through private land and at various points there were hedges and fences to mark the boundaries.

These little paths are connected into longer paths — some even have the status of National Trails with government support. If you look at a map, it seems like the entire country is wrapped in a dense net of rambling opportunities.

The owners of the land install gates at the edges of their properties and have to make sure these gates open, close, and are free of rust: in a word — that they are functional.

It is hard to describe the exhilarating feeling that comes from within when you walk through these fields. The sky, the land, that open vastness are so poetic.

Once in a while, paths go through little villages and you can get a glimpse of local happenings — like Royal Mail here delivering packages. That’s always exciting.

At this point, the path went through the middle of a village and the privacy of its residences was protected by a neat hedge and a fence. I had to stop for a moment to look back at the rolling hills that we’d just covered.

How beautiful it must be here during summer months when all the leaves are out. And “the distance is nothing, when one has a motive.”

Come to think of it, this is a special arrangement between the owners who take care of the land and people staying disciplined within the arranged boundaries.

Lo and behold, we were getting closer to our destination and St. Mary’s churchyard appeared ahead of us.

A little walk around St. Mary the Virgin, an Anglican church that originally dates back to the 12th century but underwent multiple restorations through the years.

It took a wide angle to capture the tall tower with its Norman gate.

To the side of the tower, there was a very well cared for churchyard.

A view from the church to the village of Childswickham.

A beautiful — and as everything else here, well cared for — thatched cottage right outside the churchyard.

An old telephone booth refurbished into a free library. We looked in and saw there a couple of cookbooks inside. It is at this booth I suddenly got cold feet and panicked.

Here’s the story of what brought us to the little village of Childswickham, happily situated among Cotswold hills in Worcestershire county of England on our way home to the United States of America from visiting our daughter in Sicily, Italy.

In 2014, as a price to pay for opening a business — a little barre studio in northern New Jersey — I entered the realm of social media.

Initially, my Instagram account did feature stories and pictures from the studio. But my clients preferred privacy. Posting my own pictures and advertising myself felt somewhat awkward, like turning into Mrs. Bennett of social media:

— “I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure.., — one does not often see anybody better looking.”

What I did like though was the opportunity to stay somewhat — invisibly, on my own time, on my own terms — social.

At the same time, it so happened that cooking became my favorite pastime. I liked how that process occupied my mind, how it covered so much outside food itself — art, science, language, history, geography, philosophy. And of course the aspect of immediate gratification — watching people eat what you make. This was just the best!

Food pictures were always on hand and were so easy to stick them on the grid that once in a while, Tom joked:

— Are you running a fitness studio or a cooking school?

That comment made me separate my interests and I started the julia_with_a_good_appetite page. The name was prompted by my late father-in-law’s comments:

— Julia is a very good eater, very good appetite!

My Italian father-in-law loved to cook and feed. He was a fantastic chef with an amazing, thoughtful cookbook collection. Having come from behind the iron curtain in the wild 90’s Moscow when there was literally nothing in the stores besides random cans of seaweed, I was very easy to please. And very curious.

My father-in-law ignited in me the pilot light of love for food planted by my mom, who didn’t mind a tasty bite either. Since then, Tom kept this flame going with his sincere interest and appreciation.

Seeing my struggle taking pictures after dinner when it was dark, one Christmas, Tom gave me a professional LED light for photography.

Then the pandemic hit.

Locked at home, now really cooking away, taking well lit pictures and posting them as a way to keep social, I found an incredible community of people from all over the world who were doing exactly what I was doing and feeling the same way.

Time and conversations sorted us out into different groups — or chats — and I found the best one.

Every month, using a random generator, the host of our group picks a country. During that month, each one of us chooses a dish from that country, makes it, and on the last Sunday of the month we post what we made.

Through the course of the month, behind the scenes, there is a lot of talk going on about the chosen country, its cuisine, culture. We complain about our failures, dislikes, share our finds and excitement. By now, we know each other’s families, children, pets, hobbies, struggles, tragedies, heartbreaks. Some of us have met in person, some have stayed in each other’s homes.

As I type this, we are on country #52, which means we are in our 5th year cooking together.

When it turned out that there was no direct flight from Sicily to New York, Tom asked me how do we want to fly back. Naturally I asked him if we could fly though London. When that was set and I told our group the dates, Simon, one of my Instagram friends who lives in England said:

— Come on over! Let’s have a party.

He gave me his address, the time, and a few other people from the group said they would try to make it, too.

This is why we were now on a trail in Cotswolds. And just like that day in Trapani, or any other time when things suddenly go smooth, I panicked:

— Tom, what if there is no Simon? And it was all a prank. And these people do not exist. And we came here all the way from the US for nothing. What if they open the door and look at us like — who are these idiots talking about Instagram?

— Then we’ll turn around, go for another walk. And take a train to London to have more fun there.

OK. That’s good. At least Tom is still not giving upon me.

We turned the corner and there was a Puerto Rican flag. I got so excited! The flag was a secret sign that all was well — it was not prank and Simon really existed. Puerto Rico was our country of the month — #39 at the time.

And this is Simon, one of the driving engines of our group. He turned out to be real and not a prank. The best host, the best chef, and one of the kindest people I know. His adventurous spirit, attention to detail, tongue in cheek comments, and support are like no other.

This is what was twirling on the spit in his back yard as we were making our way through the British countryside. Specially for our party, Simon went out of his way and got a suckling pig to prepare a Puerto Rican Fiesta — Lachon.

Tom, who would not touch social media with a stick, but never minded my Instagram engagement, once told me when I had second thoughts:

— Social media is like a magnifying glass. It makes bad people worse and good people better.

And these are some people from our group to prove just that.

Claire, our fearless leader and captain. A marine biologist in real life, she is the most adventurous, curious cook in the virtual world that I know. At the same time, she never loses the reason.

Claire started the group and made it a safe harbor for all of us to share much more than just food.

Mel and her husband Alex. Practical and sensible person, Mel always makes sure we stay in touch with reality.

Anna and Chloe — their incredible recipes I saved and copied many times. I imagined Anna very business-like because all her posts were always so to the point without distractions. In reality, she turned out to be such a warm person with almost magnetic quality. To these day I feel sorry we live far from each other.

Taking pictures of food — that’s what we are great at.

A potluck Puerto Rican table by the chefs from Around the World in 80 Dishes. Here’s what we have:

— Lachon

— Pinchos de Pollo

— Ensalada de Coditos

— Ensalada de Papa

— Arros con Gandules

— Ensalada Verdecon Aderezo de Miel y Mostaza

— Besitos de Coco

— Focaccia

There were some special cocktails, too:

— Adíos Pantalones

— Piña Colada

— beer and wine.

And although my mind was very much set on beer, I couldn’t resist Claire’s Adíos Pantalones, a recipe she got from a Cuban bartender.

This was not the first time I met with my virtual cooking friends in real life. What I find interesting each time is that people turn out to be exactly how I imagined them to be when we chat via Instagram. Never was I surprised or disappointed. I guess our real personalities translate through the mist of cyberspace quite accurately.

One more picture when we were joined by another group member — Jan, a special guest from Hawaii. By some amazing coincidence, she happened to be in England that day just 14 miles away. She took a trip to Cotswolds to join the party and brought her family, too.

For the way home, Simon offered us a ride. Besides cooking, he was chauffeuring his guests to and from the train station all day.

We would have taken him up on his offer, but the earlier walk through the fields left such an impression on me. I could not miss an opportunity to experience it another time.

It was dark, the sky was rumbling but Tom promised we would be ok.

And we were. A little drizzle, a couple of lightning flashes in the distance. With the help of a pathway map and the phone light, we made it back to Broadway. An unforgettable night walk it was!

Hyped up, I couldn’t go to bed right away and we went to check another Broadway pub before turning in.

The fireplace at Tavern by James Martin at The Lygon Arms was just perfect after dark and rain.

The kitchen was closed. Fun time examining the barrels.

One IPA, one lager — our usual set. To dry off by the fire and then — bed.

Saturday night, not too late, but still no people outside on the way to our inn, closed stores and restaurants. That was definitely not New York. Not even Ridgewood.