I didn’t want any grass to grow under my feet, so as soon as I got settled at the hotel, I prepared for the walk to the Broadway Tower, a curious landmark and the second highest point in the Cotswolds.

I quickly settled in at Lygon Arms which feels welcoming like a sweet, aristocratic ancestor. After all, there has been some kind of hostelry here for 1,000 years. In contrast to many open air, high ceilinged American hotels , the Lygon Arms has cozy, dark nooks and crannies, its floors with dips and stone floors smoothed by centuries of feet. I counted four wood fireplaces set in each sitting area, furnished with comfortable leather chairs, in conversational groups.

It also features wonderful green squares, like little parks which are just blooming with delicate blue and yellow flowers.

My room is situated as an attached cottage on the green, decked out with all the necessary modern conveniences, including–most important to me– a teapot, tea, shortbread cookies and plush robes. It has a sporty, masculine style, with brown tweed and plaid accents, two dog portraits and heavy furniture that looks like it might have belonged to King Charles I.

I grabbed a cookie and donned my water repellent jacket and pants, just in case.

Before I could take 20 steps outside, I noticed a woman washing off big boots in a boot-washing stand, with sprays and brushes to remove dirt and mud, caked on the soles like thick chocolate icing piled on a cake. She’d just come from a walk to the tower. “Very muddy out there,” she said. “You can get some boots from the hotel reception area.” This was the best advice of the day. I would have slipped into a puddle without those boots.

I’m never afraid to ask my fellow travellers, who offer better on-the-spot tips than any guidebook.

Walking in the mud is fun in Wellies

A receptionist at the reservation desk found boots my size from a collection offered to guests. Pulling on the wellies,as they are called, I felt ready to tackle mountains of mud and prospective rain that is always a factor in England. These solid rubber boots give you the childhood thrill of splashing directly in mud puddles. The receptionist gave me a map and pointed me in the right direction, down High Street, turn left. Off I trudged, window shopping at the art galleries and glitzy country shops (selling Wellington boots as well as walking gear) as I go. Soon there was an opening on the right, lined in 5-foot high hedges. I asked a sweet older woman with a Labrador in the path which way to the Tower.

Oh yes, straight that way, through the kissing gate, go diagonal that way and follow where the grass is tromped down, she said. (I need affirmation; she was friendly and encouraging though I had no idea what a kissing gate was. I have since gone through a few; they provide a way to go through the gate without letting the animals out.)

In minutes, I found myself in the middle of the prettiest landscape, like a John Constable painting. Greens and wheat colors flowed down and up, lined by hedges and stone fences.

View from the top. On clear days you can see all the way to Wales.

I walked a long time, with the hills growing steeper and the sky growing darker. I didn’t see the tower anywhere, no signs either, and no fellow travelers. I breathed deep and kept admiring the pristine landscape. For a tourist spot so prominent, it was totally unspoiled-without a gum wrapper or any trash, allowing unadulterated enjoyment of the land. I could see the village below, so small I could hold it in my hand.

Another walker came by to reassure me. “Yes, it’s up there just about 15 more minutes. It’s situated sort of in a hollow.”

I couldn’t give up! Finally, there were steps that led up to the tower, just as a light rain began to fall. I made it! The tower was all I had wanted to see. Tall, impressive, fun. And I had to turn around quickly as it was getting dark and rainy.

A couple with a husky appeared from the other direction. I asked them to take my picture. I reciprocated. They had been walking four hours from Chipping Camden and wondered where Broadway was. I was able to point them in the right direction and pretty soon we bonded as the rain drizzled. Their names were Suzanne and Eric.

The couple were the idyllic image; they had just moved to a little cottage in a little village where they worked remotely in wood crafts. Aurora, the husky, was lunging after the sheep, which she wanted to eat. There must have been 20 little lambs cavorting across one field, as the mother sheep baaed in panic.

Rain! I was grateful to come back to the hotel. I told the couple I am so thankful to meet such good, solid company. Suzanne hugged me. They departed for 2 miles further to their village and I went in to the hotel for a shower, dinner and a good sleep.

The walk was really a special accomplishment. Later I found out that the tower is accessible through car, or at least within a few yards on the other side. It has a cafe that sells afternoon tea and Prosecco. For me, having struggled up the hills to the Tower, the commercialization slightly spoiled the lonely image of this limestone oddity in the rain, the design of James Wyatt who built it in 1784 for Lady Coventry. The lady wanted to light the three story tower up for all the people of the Cotswolds to see. And there it still stands for travellers to admire the sheer beauty and folly of it.