Don’t get me wrong it is a cute place and I love the hotel, but, I am also mildly freaked out and unsettled by this little town. Here is the wiki of the place.
I was probably tainted by the yelp reviews.
Saturday morning we went down to the restaurant in the hotel for breakfast, but most of the people eating were not hotel guests, they were from “the village”. One man was hanging out in the lobby area with his english hunting dog (puppy, rather, because it was in his arms). I think they take this whole English Village thing pretty seriously. I feel like we should talk like The Crawley’s within the city limits, or Thurston Howell III. It is incredibly silly for me to have that impression (from census data) because this area isn’t very different from where I live in Kentucky (with the exception of having a hotel in the village square, or even having a village square.) Maybe, it is my over active imagination that there really aren’t residents here, just a team of hired actors to appear on set at specific times during the day.
The man with the hunting dog didn’t help.
Nor did the woman and her three companions that sat near us at breakfast and then appeared again when we were having lunch down the street. Same. People.
Then there was the buffalo trophy. Hanging over the door of the entrance to the hotel. It moves. It is a mechanical monstrosity (that the front desk clerk admits taking great joy in freaking out the kids-and this adult by making it move…AND TALK). Part of me expects Cinderella or Snow White to come out of one of the un-labeled doors on the first floor the next time we are walking to our car.
My husband swears this is just further proof that a weekend away is “just not enough”.
I think, he thinks, I am cracked.