…or rather, the accomodation thereof. I’m often asked why, when I go away (previously with company, of late on my own), I book a cottage or the like as opposed to staying in an hotel. It’s cheaper, they say, and more convenient… and that may in the main be true but if you’re staying in an hotel, unless you’re seriously loaded, and the weather is vile, you’re stuck in a room with a bed, an ensuite, a TV and maybe a couch, and you know that the ones on either side are exactly the same. A holiday cottage may be somewhat (but not always) more expensive but… it’s a house: you can make meals, read the books (and I’ve yet to come across one without at least a few: granted, some are a bit niche but hey) or just appreciate being in a proper house, and that may be the biggest plus. With a very few exceptions, I’ve stayed in places that are either at least 200 years old (some much older) or slightly out of the ordinary, and with character to spare. Mostly they’re in the town itself, and there’s something deeply gratifying in stepping out of the door and being immediately in the middle of things, or being able to pop back for a cuppa, a rest or shelter if the weather turns. Shopping at the local food stores is a similar pleasure, as is being taken for a local and asked for directions.
Have I ever had a less than wonderful experience? Yes: the first place we stayed in Ludlow, while perfectly adequate in all respects, was an eighties build and thus utterly without character, while a flat in Rye, despite being in the absolute middle of town, was up some very steep stairs and had the most uncomfortable beds I’ve ever tried to sleep on. But those are the only two, really and over the years I’ve had the very real pleasure of staying in a 15th century gatekeepers cottage looking out on a 14th century town gate (Rye), a barn conversion pretty much in the middle of nowhere (New Alresford), a tiny flat in part literally built into the hillside (the kitchen was 50% underground – Great Malvern), a tiny 16th century cottage too small for a double bed (Alresford again) and possibly most memorably, a tiny tudor chapel built over a Saxon holy well (north Shropshire). For want of a better phrase, it’s the experience of being part of the history of the place, of being if only for a few days part of the community. To me that’s worth a little extra.
