Except of course, putting down my nostalgia-tinted glasses, I know the Cotswolds is something special. England’s largest Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, so designated since 1966, it is a swathe of countryside that comes close to a synecdoche for rural England as a whole – a picture-postcard version of this green and pleasant land.

It’s a monied, quietly traditional part of the world, still dominated by country estates and hereditary wealth – even if these days some of them also host music festivals. It has a certain reputation as the cosy country nest of the political, media and business elite. The so-called “Chipping Norton set” of Lord David and Lady Samantha Cameron, Mr Jeremy Clarkson, the Murdochs, the Freuds and other interlinked personalities.

Well connected by road, rail and air, it’s a patch of England where you can unplug and tramp down ancient bridleways, returning to dry your boots by an open fire, or luxuriate in glossy spa hotels, eat food from the same chefs, surround yourself with the same art and dance to the same DJs you would in the city. Mayfair with better air quality.

There have always been nice places to stay, but since the pandemic, there has been an influx of more contemporary and international influences, with members’-club outposts and design-led makeovers of country piles. Has the Cotswolds finally become cool? Travelling with my wife and our two young children (the best way to test the service and flexibility of any venue), I set out to see for myself.

The first order of business was transportation; our little London runabout wasn’t going to cut it on single-track lanes or in the farm shop car parks. A top-of-the range SUV, though, would be perfect, but nothing too flashy. We borrowed a Volvo XC90, which swallowed suitcases, a pram and countless bags with ease, and hustled the whole caboodle up the motorway in great comfort. I’d like to think it also conferred an atmosphere of Scandinavian calm upon the family unit, but that might just have been the superior sound insulation and relative distance between the front and rear seats.

Our first stop – having dropped the children off at their grandparents; there are some journalistic duties with which a four-year-old and a baby are no help at all – was Estelle Manor. Opened in 2023, this country expansion of Mayfair’s extremely exclusive and downright secretive members’ club Maison Estelle is exhibit A in the ongoing boujification of west Oxfordshire. Not even really within the Cotswolds’ bounds, it occupies part of a centuries-old estate just 20 minutes from Oxford.

We visited two weeks after the opening of its Roman-baths inspired spa complex, an adults-only temple of wellness that takes its cues from nearby ancient ruins (somewhere else I poked around as a child, jumping in and out of the hypocausts, before the money was available to restore and protect the mosaics and build a proper visitors’ centre).

I neither ran or jumped at Eynsham Baths, as it is titled, but floated through its stone and marble cloisters in a sack-brown terry-cloth poncho (not the last time on my trip that I would briefly feel like part of a cult). Briefed on the “thermal journey” before us, we lounged in the tepidarium, sweated in the hay sauna, plunged into the six- or 12-degree wells and poached ourselves in the caldarium.

The only punctuation to the airy serenity of hushed conversation and lapping water was the splash of the “Scottish buckets” – two wooden buckets that pitch cold water onto your head at the tug of a rope. It’s all part of a carefully constructed programme of contrast therapy, but looks (and feels) a bit like you’ve come a cropper on a TV gameshow.

It should take nothing away from the studied simplicity of the baths themselves to say that our favourite element was the tea lounge, a domed anteroom where all spa-goers are invited to reserve a table and flit in and out for diced fruits and sorbets. There’s a tea sommelier, master of an apothecary’s worth of spices in mason jars, and if you prefer a bit more tox with your detox, two vast ice bowls of champagne and vodka.

To call the baths the final piece of the puzzle at Estelle Manor would be too neat – there is plenty of construction work still going on, as the property adds new private residence-style offerings and continues to landscape its 60 acres. However, it ticked the largest box left outstanding. Alongside the glass-walled padel courts, spacious gym, shared working space, pristine children’s nursery and equally cute on-site boutique, there’s little the Manor lacks, yet its main draw is still the house itself.

A towering mansion built in 1908 in the throwback Jacobean style, the house retains period features of the original 18th-century hall. Meanwhile, the interiors have benefited from quarry loads of fine marble, a gallery’s worth of contemporary art, copious hangings, potted plants that would dwarf anything in the local garden centre and enough velvet and soft furnishings to muffle a small explosion.

The result is a heady, maximalist indulgence recognisable to patrons of its Mayfair sibling, but as you’d hope for in the country, a bit more laid-back. Members can access a few discreetly curtained-off spaces (more marble, even bigger plants).

Anyone worried that the whole thing is bearing too close a resemblance to a country house hotel should make for the gilt-ceilinged Billiards Room, repurposed from its eponymous role into a Dim Sum restaurant with DJ booth in the corner and self-anointed “party room”. As it was a mid-week lunchtime in March, we opted for the more bucolic Glasshouse for a lunch that meandered through Mediterranean, Levantine and local influences.

Superficially, Estelle Manor attracts comparisons with Soho House, as a members’ club that’s decamped to green-wellies territory. But in reality there’s unlikely to be much crossover in memberships. A point of difference from its Mayfair branch, the Manor is open to all guests, and in its opulent, hedonistic makeover of a stately pile, actually has more in common with other hotels in the area.

Take Cowley Manor, over on the eastern edge of the Cotswolds just outside Cheltenham. Under its previous management, it was already known for its spa and had long since shed the wood-panelling and white-tablecloth stuffiness of some manor house hotels in favour of kitschy mid-century interiors. But since a 2022 acquisition by the Experimental Group, founders of the Experimental Cocktail Club, it has been elevated to new levels.

The interiors are brighter and funkier than anything a 17th-century building normally houses, and the crowd had a more distinct vibe than the traditional Gloucestershire set when we called in for Sunday lunch. With chef-consultant Mr Jackson Boxer – feted for his London venues Orasay and Brunswick House – on board, the food is worth the drive alone. The idea might not set the world alight, but a flawless (no exaggeration) roast beef is harder to find on this Earth than it should be. Dishes such as smoked honey and potato brioche and warm madeleines with sea buckthorn and Chantilly are still tripping around my brain several weeks later.

It’s not all down-from-London foodies gushing over a chef they’ve heard of and Instagramming the cocktail bar, though. Locals love it, too, and there’s nothing nicer than sitting back on the suntrap terrace after lunch.

The Lakes by Yoo is an expansive development of self-catered cabins, flats and entire residences that dot the shores of six lakes over 850 acres. It’s a gated enclave of back-to-nature experiences – swimming, paddleboarding, zip lines and campfires. It has a hushed, hands-off approach, although when we needed them, the on-site staff were perfectly helpful.

Its Mr Philippe Starck-designed houses are about the furthest thing from sunny Cotswolds stone cottages, instead bringing a Scandinavian, modernist air to the site with their boxy, timber-lapped silhouettes and wraparound balconies. If you’re lucky you’ll have a swimming jetty or even entry across a miniature moat. Interiors are Hamptons-y and sumptuous, with chic, spacious en-suites and MoMA coffee-table books.

Rumoured to count Ms Kate Moss, Ms Lily Allen, Mr Jenson Button and Ms Elle Macpherson among its residents, the Lakes feels more like a private community than a holiday resort. With a newly opened spa, the Lakes can easily compete with more conventional accommodation and offers an unmatched atmosphere of serenity. (Although it’s perhaps quicker, these days, to list the Cotswolds retreats that don’t have recently overhauled spa offerings – not to mention the floral, fragrant converted greenhouse that is Thyme’s wellness centre or Daylesford’s barn of holistic treatments. More on those later.)

Couples can head off for bike rides and unwind in the spa while families hit the climbing wall and treetop walk or take out a flotilla of kayaks – you’ll never feel crowded or overlooked. Perhaps the biggest reason to head off-site will be culinary; the homes are well equipped for self-catering, with the option to book catering in advance. There is a bohemian tepee-brasserie that’s nice for brunch or casual lunches, but with some of the Cotswolds’ most interesting pubs and restaurants less than 10 minutes away, we felt like venturing out. Back to the Volvo…

Just five minutes up the road in the hamlet of Southrop you’ll find Thyme, the aforementioned cookery school turned destination hotel and off-grid hangout for in-the-know types who want to get away from it all (while, it must be said, carpet-bombing social media with the rural loveliness on display).

We ate in the flagship restaurant, the Ox Barn, a note-perfect lunch of endive and blue-cheese salad, ragu with polenta, orecchiette with chilli and cime di rapa and blood orange and almond cake. You’d expect no-nonsense feasting from the venue, perhaps, but it’s an altogether more delicate hand in the kitchen (ex-Quo Vadis chef Mr Charlie Hibbert). And although everyone talks a good game about seasonal produce, how many can walk you through a kitchen garden that must be an acre in size, complete with local sheepskins insulating the winter ground?

Thyme describes itself as “a village within a village”. So extensive is its development – and so organically stitched together – that that’s exactly how it feels. With such a carefully curated aesthetic (the property prides itself on its artistic touches, originally designed floral prints and collaborative exhibitions with contemporary artists), it’s more uncannily perfect than a stroll around the Cotswolds “real” destination villages such as Bibury or Bourton-on-the-Water, but that’s not really the point.

It’s somehow homely and high-powered at the same time. Cotswolds and cosmopolitan – perhaps best epitomised by the Baa Bar. Yes, the name is groan-worthy, and you can take your drinks while sitting on life-sized woolly sheep sculptures (made in the nearby, internationally known Pangolin foundry in Stroud, available to buy and apparently hugely popular with regulars). However, there’s nothing gimmicky about the drinks – classic cocktails with herbal influences – or the atmosphere.

If you’re wondering whether there’s more to the Cotswolds than pristine, closed-off estates, fear not. The cornerstone of the Cotswolds experience is still the village pub – something of a threatened species nationally, but thriving in these parts. At least, when the idea is executed with care and attention, as it is by serial inn-trepreneurs Messrs Peter Creed and Tom Noest.

The duo run five pubs in the region, including the Little Bell at Soho Farmhouse and, based on our experiences, all are a safe bet for well-priced, delicious food in unpretentious surroundings. The Bell Inn at Langford came through for us with perfect sourdough pizzas by the fireside when the whole family was flagging from a long day’s walking and question-answering.

The Lamb in Shipton-under-Wychwood stood out for its Iberico bavette and Tuscan vegetable soup. Classics are well represented, but duck hearts, cuttlefish and rabbit leg elsewhere on the menu provide plenty for more adventurous types. There’s a distinct throwback character – escargots and frogs’ legs even make an appearance – which is aided by the décor of ancient cookery books on wonky shelves, wine bottles and candles in nooks under a lamb’s skull. The result is a pub that speaks to tourists (well-appointed rooms, pop-up cheffing from the likes of London’s buzzy Maison Francois) and locals (quiz night, curry night, a burger and a pint for the Six Nations).

The only possible improvement to the Cotswolds’ pubs would be some kind of high council meeting to agree on names. Are you going to The Bell in Langford, or The Bell at Charlbury (part of the Daylesford family, and equally behind the 1970s-revival menu with its chicken kiev, moules mariniere and tiramisu). In fairness, you’ll leave well fed from either.

Across the road in Charlbury is The Bull, which is a must-visit for carnivores – muntjac meatballs, anyone? – but not to be confused with Bull in Burford, an ancient pub turned 18-room hotel, owned by PR guru Mr Matthew Freud and recently overhauled to include a 10-seater Omakase restaurant and a programme of wholesome classes and events. I could go on – The Fox at Oddington, The Fox Inn in Broadwell, or The Fox in Barrington? – but you get the idea.

Kudos to The Double Red Duke, in Clanfield, for being both sat nav-error-proof and an excellent pub to boot. Gorgeous rustic rooms and yet another menu you’ll want to eat your way through.

Of course, it is rarely enough for a pub to be just that these days. You can also stay at most of the above, and many of the Cotswolds’ best are affiliated with the luxury titans that have colonised the area. Even the boutique, independent Thyme has a pub – The Swan at Southrop – but the real powerhouse is Daylesford, which oversees four, in addition to its 32 holiday cottages, vast farm shop (the word is inadequate; farm superstore?), spa, members’ club, restaurant, cookery school and, of course, farm, all on the periphery of the country estate owned by founders Lord and Lady Bamford.

More than once I hear it referred to as “the empire”. This is the Cotswolds as a brand, complete immersion into a comfortable, ruddy, organic lifestyle. We stayed in a cottage in Daylesford Village, a model cluster of 19th-century cottages on a gravel drive. It was as I ate my Daylesford farm eggs and sourdough from Daylesford plates, washed up with Daylesford detergent, wearing a Daylesford robe, fresh from a shower with Bamford toiletries and, who knows, probably Daylesford water, that I considered that I might have accidentally joined a cult. Again.

But what a nice cult to join – a cult of comfy cushions, clean white homeware, sandy-beige stone interiors and open fires. A cult that had filled my fridge with organic whole milk, fresh pasta and seasonal greens. A cult that would entertain my child (on a farm tour to feed hours-old lambs) and would even welcome me into The Club by Bamford to swim, exercise and stay for ever young thanks to its cryo-chamber therapy (file alongside Omakase restaurants under “things I didn’t expect to find in the Cotswolds”). In The Nest, I’d even find a workspace to write this very article, if I so wished.

Is it cool? It’ll never be east London cool, but that’s not what the Cotswolds is going for. With its myriad connections to the capital – the cultural, the culinary and the clubs – you can come here for a slick, sage-green countryside experience without braving the unknown.

If you want authenticity and history, it’s there – wander through Burford and Stow-on-the-Wold and you’ll bump into it on every corner – but if you just want comfort-zone luxury, that’s here, too. At times it’s almost hyperreal, especially to someone who grew up seeing a more warts-and-all side to the county.

Like the ubiquitous Land Rovers, today the Cotswolds is a polished, expensive, well-trimmed version of something originally earthy and honest. But the good stuff is still present.

It’s undeniably thriving as a region. We ran out of time to visit places such as eco-friendly Whatley Manor in the south and cosy Dormy House in the north, to name just two. It was both telling, and useful, that a week after our stay, two more of my colleagues went to the Cotswolds on their own steam.

We’ll end with one last tip, useful especially if you want a base closer to Bath and the southern Cotswolds region: The Rectory hotel.

“The Rectory, like so much else in the Cotswolds, is an old stone building nestled in a quaint little town that makes you say ‘aww’ too many times to count,” says Ms Lili Göksenin, Senior Editor at MR PORTER. The boutique hotel and restaurant boast interiors best described as classic English countryside updated for modern life. Not too much chintz, lace or patterns, but a good dose of exposed brick and velvet.

The restaurant is a delight and if you are offered the opportunity to sit outside in their Glasshouse, take it. The food is elegant and elevated without being inaccessible, the wine list is reasonable and the atmosphere serene.

Simple modern art on the walls contrasts pleasingly with the view of the old-school garden, in which you can take a post-meal stroll. Whether this is a stop on your winding road trip, or a true destination, you’re likely to feel quietly transported.