I have been in Oxford for almost a week now visiting my friend Sam who is a resident of University College, studying International Relations. Originally my plan was to spend three days here, then three days in Bath, and then one additional night in Cambridge. Pressure from Sam to stay turned the Bath sojourn into a day trip and Cambridge was eliminated all together (this was a shame since I had a great desire to visit E.M. Forster's College, but the weather was awful, so I'm saving it for my next trip).
My first afternoon I spent wandering in the grounds of Christchurch College, which has a large field home to a number of cows whose perimeter one can take a picturesque walk around. A windy path, accompanied by a little stream led me past trees that were at least several hundred years old they were so thick and gnarled. It was impossible not to think about Lewis Carroll strolling arm and arm with Alice Liddel (whose father was the head of the College in his day), telling stories about white rabbits, irate Queens, and hookah smoking caterpillars.
The next day Sam and I roused ourselves early to catch the Oxford Tube (a bus), which took us into London. In the morning we visited the Tate Modern and both fell in love with Louise Bourgeois's work (some of which I had studied in school). After a couple of hours there we dashed off to the Parliament buildings to meet up with Sam's friend Tom who works there as an assistant to an MP. We got a personalised tour of the inside and, best of all, had a drink in the bar. Sitting on the patio you can stare out over the Thames, or look up in awe behind you at the splendour of the neo-gothic walls of Parliament.
We had such a good time with Tom, that we tailed him to London Bridge, and there met up with a friend of his from Oxford named Luke. The four of us settled into a cozy bar, far enough off the beaten track that no tourist would dare venture in, and had a night of childish fun. The bar was stocked with a number of games. We indulged in dominoes, Connect Four, Jenga (a dangerous game to play with idle wine glasses), and finally created our own version of that game where you stick a piece of paper to your forehead and then have to guess who you are. We licked pieces of newspaper, which stuck quite nicely to our foreheads, but gave us terrible tattoos afterwards that took diligent scrubbing to get off. Mine was "Australian" - very tricky, but not as bad as Sam's which was "cult membership". I don't know the last time I had so much fun at a bar, and with relative strangers no less.
My first afternoon I spent wandering in the grounds of Christchurch College, which has a large field home to a number of cows whose perimeter one can take a picturesque walk around. A windy path, accompanied by a little stream led me past trees that were at least several hundred years old they were so thick and gnarled. It was impossible not to think about Lewis Carroll strolling arm and arm with Alice Liddel (whose father was the head of the College in his day), telling stories about white rabbits, irate Queens, and hookah smoking caterpillars.
The next day Sam and I roused ourselves early to catch the Oxford Tube (a bus), which took us into London. In the morning we visited the Tate Modern and both fell in love with Louise Bourgeois's work (some of which I had studied in school). After a couple of hours there we dashed off to the Parliament buildings to meet up with Sam's friend Tom who works there as an assistant to an MP. We got a personalised tour of the inside and, best of all, had a drink in the bar. Sitting on the patio you can stare out over the Thames, or look up in awe behind you at the splendour of the neo-gothic walls of Parliament.
We had such a good time with Tom, that we tailed him to London Bridge, and there met up with a friend of his from Oxford named Luke. The four of us settled into a cozy bar, far enough off the beaten track that no tourist would dare venture in, and had a night of childish fun. The bar was stocked with a number of games. We indulged in dominoes, Connect Four, Jenga (a dangerous game to play with idle wine glasses), and finally created our own version of that game where you stick a piece of paper to your forehead and then have to guess who you are. We licked pieces of newspaper, which stuck quite nicely to our foreheads, but gave us terrible tattoos afterwards that took diligent scrubbing to get off. Mine was "Australian" - very tricky, but not as bad as Sam's which was "cult membership". I don't know the last time I had so much fun at a bar, and with relative strangers no less.
1 comment:
Dearest J,
I posted a comment immediately after reading this but, perhaps in a senior's moment, must have forgotten to push send. The subject line - if there was one would read - "How think do you drunk I am". It's a good thing you weren't taking the subway home, it could have wrecked havoc with your shoes. We must try sticking bits of newspaper to your forehead when you come home - which is in 5 little days, not to mention the 30 days, as of tomorrow to the other thing.
Please check your email.
We love you (1,000s, ... millions)
Mom
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