The Cotswolds in the UK have become America’s latest luxury obsession. Beyoncé and Jay-Z are reportedly eyeing property in the area to build a family compound. Taylor Swift rented a $4.4 million cottage there during her “Eras” Tour. Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi bought a $20 million Cotswolds property in 2024. Even Vice President JD Vance vacationed there last summer, renting a stately manor.
The only surprising thing about this sudden Yankee fascination is what took so long. The English have known about the Cotswolds for centuries. Stretching across six counties roughly two hours northwest of London, the area has drawn everyone from Henry VIII to J.R.R. Tolkien, to the Beckhams and Kate Moss. Its rolling limestone hills dotted with grazing sheep and honey-colored stone villages are like visiting the Shire.
So when I found myself planning a family trip to England this Spring, I decided to hightail it northwest from London on the Great Western Railway to live like a British aristocrat for a few days. My base of operations was Buckland Manor, my own personal Downton Abbey. The manor dates back to the 13th century, with the current house built around 1580 by the Yate family. Today it operates as a small luxury hotel, the kind of place with sitting room parlors lined with paintings of old lords posing with their hunting dogs. Fresh scones seem to be omnipresent—you smell them the moment you walk in the door.
The rooms are exactly what you’d hope for: exposed beams, antique furniture, views over manicured gardens and the Cotswold countryside beyond. Mornings started with a proper English breakfast in the dining room—eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, grilled tomatoes, the works. After breakfast, we’d wander the grounds, which include enough lawn space for a proper game of croquet. There’s something deeply satisfying about whacking wooden balls through wire hoops on a lawn that’s been meticulously maintained since long before America existed.
Rather than brave driving on the wrong side of narrow country roads, I hired a personal tour guide, Gary Thompson, a former bodyguard for the Rolling Stones who also owns the local art gallery in town. He ferried us around in his white Range Rover to explore the surrounding villages. Every stop felt like visiting a movie set: Broadway is the area’s downtown, with its wide High Street lined with 16th-century stone shops; nearby Bourton-on-the-Water, known as the “Venice of the Cotswolds,” features low stone footbridges over the River Windrush; Lower Slaughter is home to a restored 19th-century water mill.
One afternoon, we hiked up to Broadway Tower, an 18th-century landmark perched on the Cotswold escarpment with views spanning up to 13 counties on a clear day. It’s the kind of place Repunzel might let down her hair. Afterwards, I had Gary chauffeur us over to The Porch House in Stow-on-the-Wold, a timber-and-stone inn claiming to be England’s oldest pub. The claim is disputed, but parts of the building are carbon-dated to around 1000 AD—old enough that I felt the weight of history with every sip of Donnington Ale.
All this mingling with peasants in the Shires made me crave the aristocratic life made me want to shoot some pigeons and retreat to a good old-fashioned castle. I did both. The shooting happened at Ian Coley Sporting just outside Cheltenham. The facility features 25-plus shooting stands set in mature woodland, with high towers reaching up to 120 feet. You don’t shoot real pigeons, but the clay ones suffice and are deeply satisfying to obliterate with a Beretta shotgun.
I asked Gary to take us to a castle like the ones in fairy tales—and Sudeley Castle did not disappoint. It’s the only private castle in England with a queen buried on the grounds—Katherine Parr, Henry VIII’s sixth and final wife. The castle was expanded by Richard III, sheltered Charles I during the English Civil War, got shot to pieces, then was restored by Victorian industrialists.
One surprising find was Adam Henson’s Cotswold Farm Park near Guiting Power. The place sounds like it’s designed for kids—and it is—but it’s worth the stop even if you’re grown-ass adults. Henson, a BBC Countryfile presenter, runs a working 650-hectare estate focused on rare breed livestock. You can pet and feed crazy-looking sheep, goats, and pigs that could have wandered off the set of Babe.
Speaking of livestock, no trip to the English countryside is complete without diving into a Steak and Malbec pie, a local delicacy. The best can be found at The Swan in Broadway—a 17th-century coaching inn turned premium restaurant. Wash it down with a pint of Hook Norton “Hooky” and you’re good to go.
By the end of the trip, I understood exactly why wealthy Americans are buying up the Cotswolds. It’s like stepping into a version of England I thought went the way of the British Empire. In a world where every city increasingly has the same storefronts, chain hotels, and Starbucks, it’s a relief to know there’s still a place where traditions haven’t budged in centuries. Where they still treat a lord like a lord.