Hello all,

I'm currently in Oxford England doing a summer program here at Oxford University. okellyn thought I should post these my comments on the experience here. I'll probably just keep updating this blog as I go. Just personal (sometimes silly) thoughts and observations written to family.

Cheers!

mocking_bird

P.S., I have some pics of this place up under 'my images' aptly and Imaginatively titled, "The Oxford Adventure: Images".

July 2, 2006

They practically strip search you at the airport now. But they are quick about it. My 6.5 hr plane ride was long. I couldn’t sleep at all. My eyes were glued to the television screen in front of me that showed me how much progress the airplane had made. I kept on getting little thrills shooting down into my stomach. Soon, I would be in England.

When the morning came, England was under a white veil of cloud. The plane dipped and the lady’s veil was lifted, her face slipping into view: gold and emerald patches bordered by thick, dark lines dotted with the occasional handful of buildings, crossed by the silver thread of a river or furrowed by a major highway. She looked to be a pastoral country, well manicured and green. The plane swayed again, letting her slip from my view. But I had seen her. England.

Heathrow was hellishly hot, but I think I made good time. Only saw a handful of buildings in London before a bus brought me out into the country again. Acres of blooming English lavender swept by between herds of sheep and fresh green farm fields. The trees are crazy looking, but I recognize a few old friends: maples and oaks, beech and birches. It’s the animals that are really getting to me. I’ve seen three types of birds and I have no idea what they are. One was a set of beautiful doves, that looked similar to our morning doves except they lacked the black bars on the wings, had a white alula and a white patch on the back of their neck. I found out later that they were Wood Pigeons. Very pretty. Apparently it is Europe’s largest pigeon and the feathers weigh more than it’s skeleton. Woohoo! I saw some birds of prey, one a falcon in a dive, and another was a hawk (Common Buzzard) soaring on the thermals above the road. I can’t wait to get my hands on a bird book. Rooks are everywhere, and a lot of the rock doves have very different color patterns than the ones we have at home.

Having no trouble with paper currency, but the coins are a little trickier to get used to. Oxford is an interesting town. Graceful, ancient buildings sit sedately, steeped in time, next to Border’s Books, cell phone stores and a modern shopping mall. The bustling street is filled with people of all nationalities. The English taxis here are hysterical. They look very British, 1960’s style. The buildings of Oxford are very beautiful, composed entirely of a pale stone that is masterfully decorated, or tastefully let alone. The milk tastes different here. Not bad…just different. Even the sunlight seems to have a different cant to it. It seems brighter, and very white. Perhaps it is because I am not used to being at this latitude.

And I saw a red telephone booth.

My day is complete.

July 3, 2006

It’s 9 pm here, and the sky is still bright.

I made way for a lady in a crowded area today, and she said: “Thank you my love. Bless you.� When I looked at her, and this is merely my first impression not at all intended to be unkind, I thought she looked like what people assume a witch to look like. Dark scraggly hair, pale, dare I say unlovely face complete with giant moles on her nose and hair on her chin, but she was the only one to say thank you as she passed.

I woke up at 2am today, probably because I went to sleep at 3pm in the afternoon. Below my window a group of Brits were engaged in some drunken rock ‘n roll singing. It tapered off around 3am, as the sky began to lighten. Sunrise was at 4.50am, and I was outside. I had a suspicion that sunrise on the stone buildings would be beautiful.

It was.

Creams, salmons, pinks, beiges, golden browns. Cool air and the steady onslaught of sunlight, combined with unusual birdsong and the flitting of the singers overhead created a wonderful morning. I saw lots of Wood Pigeons, a magpie I have named George, some Blackbirds, a Winter Wren, a Nightingale and once a Grey Heron in all his stately grace flying over. There was of course the rusty cry of a raven and a few rooks floating about. George, and magpies in general, are by far my favorite birds so far. I took pictures of the buildings as the sun seeped over them and waited for my room mate to wake up. She had left a note on my desk, wanting to know if I would go get breakfast with her at 8. It was only 6.30 and I was starving.

Breakfast was delicious. Sausage, egg, a delicious buttery pastry to die for, hashbrowns and some toast. Tea, of course, as well as coffee and juice. I ate and then went out into the town exploring. Oxford is a small city, and I only took a short walk. I discovered the Covered Marketplace (by far the coolest shopping center ever), the Bodleian Library, an outdoor theatre, and the science building complex. The morning got warm fast, and the day was hot.

At 11am, I gathered at the Porter’s Lodge with some other students. We had all bought passes to the Bodleian Library, and there was to be an induction ceremony. This required me to miss the first meeting of A British Perspective on the American Revolution, but I think it was worth it. The outer buildings of the Bodleian are lovely. We were sheparded into one, into a long, high-ceilinged room with dark wood paneling. The wood was tastefully carved and the room had an air of purpose and age to it. We sat on the benches, and the head librarian (The Ultimate Librarian) spoke to us of the history of the library and its rules and regulations. She wore long robes of black, and between that, her British accent and the grace and eloquence with which she spoke, I knew I was in the presence of a formidable power. I found out that the room we were seated in had been used by the English Parliament during times of strife (i.e., the Plague years). I was seated in the same spot some wealthy nobleman had once occupied. English royalty had also presided there, and an ornate chair at the head of the room, above and overlooking all attested to that.

I learned that Magdalene is pronounced “maudlin� today. I don’t know why. I also learned that my Bodleian Library card gives me free access to all of the Oxford colleges and works as a student I.D. The Bodleian Library is closed to anyone who doesn’t have a library card, and is home to a large collection of historic manuscripts and holds a copy of every single book printed in Britain since 1601. There are literally miles of tunnels, filled with books, beneath my feet. Textures again. I stand on a metaphor.

12.30 a lot of us met in the Dining Hall (which, I neglected to mention, is like a scene out of Harry Potter: Long wooden tables, enormous and beautifully painted portraits of founders on the wall, a High Table for the teachers, and lots of delicious food. I half expected the pitchers to refill themselves, but alas, they did not…). We met to go over some stuff, safety, traveling, etc. After the meeting, I decided I was starving again and went out to The White Horse, a local pub. Great sandwich and fries/chips. Tried them with vinegar and it wasn’t as bad as I had thought. Tasty, surprisingly. Got a tall glass of Addlestone’s Cider and was only able to finish half of it—I decided being two sheets to the wind at my first class of the day would not be a good thing. Rambled back to the college in time for tea, 3pm. Drank English, which tasted considerably better after the addition of a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk.

4pm was my first class of the day. International Law. In all honesty, being a Bio major and rusty in the ways of everything except science, I was a tad nervous. The course is going to be challenging, but the tutor makes up for it completely. I have never met a woman of such sharp, scathing wit. I was delighted with her immediately, especially after she had leaped upon a fellow student’s response and demanded to know why such and such a word was used, or if she could back up that statement with an argument. The woman is lively, one who requires you to pay attention and think on your feet. My muggy brain, drugged into a coma by stress and harried Professors who cater to over 300 students perked up in steadily waking glee. UMASS definitely lacked this sort of teaching style. Arguing with this person and getting my thoughts ripped to pieces is going to be a remarkable amount of fun.

The other students also seemed to like her, but most seemed apprehensive. I, on the other hand, relish the thought of our next meeting. I have only found this type of person in books. I’m glad that they actually exist. My brain feels like it did something productive today. I’m hoping, oddly enough, that she’s a fluke. Because if this is the type of instructor you find at these so called “top-notch� universities, I feel like I’ve been missing out. Although I have found one or two good professors at UMASS, the majority of them do not really incite (or provoke) thoughtful contemplation, or anticipation of things to come. I don’t think it’s their fault. I think it’s the fact that they have hundreds of students at a time to deal with.

After class, dinner. Good food again, didn’t eat so much because of late lunch and tea. Took a walk around the garden and some lady (British) with her bicycle on the street called to me. She wanted to know if I worked there, I replied I was a student, and she rather grumpily (in a steadily growing tone of accusation) demanded to know why the sprinklers were on. Apparently there is a water restriction law in effect that the groundskeeper at Trinity was not observing. I promised her I’d bring it up with the porter, and escaped. The porter just looked heavenward and told me it was nothing to worry about— apparently she had already bothered him as well.

After the Annoyed Bicycle Lady Incident in the Garden, I went back up to my room and attempted to dig into International Law. I read one chapter, and began falling asleep on the next so I took a nap. Presentations are due tomorrow, and it’s already 10pm so I guess I better get cracking.

I have decided to apply to this school for English. A far-fetched, silly dream that some people would question. The money, the fact that I already have a science degree would be points brought up. Let’s not even get into the part about Oxford colleges being some of the toughest to get into in the world.

To this, I would merely sigh and tell them of the bells of Balliol carrying over the soft night air, reminding me that time, like life, is fleeting.

July 4 2006

Still getting the hang of this sleeping in a foreign country thing, although I must admit England is very agreeable. Perhaps it is the grace of the University setting, but I felt instantly at home. I feel a little self conscious about my accent, but I’m sure that will pass. Between Black Tea and my erratic sleep schedule of late, it’s no surprise that I’m taking very random 1 or 2 hour naps at odd times during the day. I just hope I get my eight hours tonight, as although Black Tea really keeps on perky, I somehow feel that a decent night’s sleep would do me good.

After my sleepless night, I heard the wren begin to sing a little before dawn. That started off everyone else, including George the magpie. You will perhaps all be happy to note that I have now identified all the birds I have seen so far. Black Headed Gull, rooks, ravens, magpies, wrens, a nightingale, a thrush, and…the most adorable of all…a European Robin. I can see why these little fellows are a favorite here.

I went out around 4.30am or so. The air was pleasantly cool and chilly. The days here so far have been very hot and clear, and the milder temperature was pleasant. I went out onto the street, which was completely deserted, and took a walk around the city. I liked the quiet, and lack of harried looking people bustling about. It was very peaceful.

The University Park, which was my destination, was unfortunately closed. It opened at the very late hour of 9.30 am. I headed back to Trinity, banged around in the garden for a bit and then ate breakfast with my room mate. Sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, the delicious butter pastry thing and some toast. Then, it was back to the books.

I set a personal shopping record today. I needed a skirt for our formal dinner tonight. I set out at 3.10pm and came back at 3.30. In a mere twenty minutes, I had walked a city block, investigated a very interesting clothing shop (that lends, not sells) called ‘Unicorn’ and then took a headlong dive into a British retail store and came out victorious. 16 pounds, I think, is not too horrible for a skirt. It’s chocolate brown and goes well with my blue shirt, which I will need to iron before dinner this evening.

It’s only day three, but I am becoming a sincere fan of afternoon tea. At 3 (15.00) pm everyday, I go and have tea with whoever else is down there. After eating breakfast at 7am, it’s the perfect pick me up. Although I have to go easy on it. I’ve been drinking Black Tea, and that kept me up all of last night. I only had one cup today, which I needed because of previously mentioned sleepless night. A sugar and milk really help the tea, which tastes incredibly bitter on its own.

Just had my class, International Law. I really like the tutorial/lecture format. Class size is eight people, but on Tuesdays only four of us meet at a time. Learning is part instruction, and part teaching the class yourself. It is a more difficult, but I feel better, way to learn. The material really sticks with you.

The formal dinner was awesome. I woke up from my nap at 7.20 and heard voices echoing off the stones from the quadrangle below. I threw on my skirt and ironed shirt, put up my hair and descended into the throngs. Much mingling as we waited for dinner, and drank Pimms in the warm evening air. Dinner was then announced, and I walked into our ancient dining hall that had been transformed by formal place settings and candelabras. A small card was passed around, showing that dinner would be served in three courses: goat cheese tart, chicken, and chocolate cake. These are simplistic and crude labels for the food that was placed before me. The goat cheese tart was cunningly made with a pastry bottom, goat cheese, tomatoes and olives. The presentation was very nice, and the mingling of flavors, salty black olives, thick goat cheese and tomatoe was very well thought out. A chicken dish with asparagus followed that was also equally tasty, the red wine (not bad, made your mouth feel cooler after drinking it) served to enhance the flavor experience. It was the desert however, that brought us back to why cooking is often called an art. When I say chocolate cake, I do not mean to imply a dark wedge, hastily whipped together after looking at a Betty Crocker box. This cake, light, soft and smooth, had been covered in whipping cream (for lack of a better word, more sugary than cream) and rolled to make a nice visual presentation. A delicious strawberry sauce had been arranged on the plate to make a pattern, and the entire cake was topped with a small slice of strawberry. Each element of the cake had a different texture and flavor that blended together. Who knew eating could be like a symphony.

After desert came a speech by the original founder of the UMASS Oxford Seminar, a very amusing (dare I say) old Professor with a few anecdotes about the program from the past. He told us two stories that have stuck in my mind: The first was how a former President of Trinity college used to collect a particular rare breed of bantam hen, and they kept them in the smaller garden. At approximately 3am (earlier than our rooster, Hendrix, yes I keep chickens) the rooster bantams would all begin to crow. This apparently annoyed a member or two of the UMASS students, for one Saturday the President awoke to find that one (or two) of the bantam chickens had somehow scaled the garden wall, unlocked the door, and had released all 143 of their bretheren into the world. The world of course being all of the gardens, quadrangles and even Broad Street itself. The second story he told was a more romantic one. Up until the 70’s, there used to be nude bathing on certain parts of the Thames. Punters would occasionally get ‘lost’ and end up in these areas, where the foreman of the place would shout “PUNT!� and everyone would cover up. On one such occasion, a punt full of young women had ‘drifted’ into the men’s section of the river. One young man, as he was wrapping himself up in a towel, began to stare very hard at one of the young women aboard the punt, and she returned the look. Later that week they ‘happened’ to meet at the Eagle & Child. The Professor went on to say that they later married in Trinity Church, and were now living in Utah with their three children. Apparently there have been several couples over the years who had met due to the Oxford Summer Seminar, and the story, along with his very true words about the Seminar being a thing that changed your life brought the magic back into the day for me. You see, the night before my rose colored glasses had slipped and shattered upon the floor as I lay awake and thinking about how although I had toiled hard and endured hell while in school, I would never be able to get into a place like Oxford (such as vet school) because my record would show I was not the caliber of student they would look for. There is a depressing discrepancy between their thoughts and mine, for I think I would be well fitted for the place. The paper evidence, however, says otherwise.

[Explanation Note: For those who don't know me, I'm a college student. I've been working for the past four years to get into vet school. If I seem a little too self-reflective on grades and such, it's because I've been made neurotic both from the pressure to get in and various family tragedies (yes, tragedies) that have made my college career really, extremely difficult. Luckily things are calming down, and I'm working on the fact that I occasionally fall into bouts of extremely negative self-criticism. I'm working on that, and ask that you bear with me and my occasional indulgences of acute pessimism.]

Perhaps I am merely deluding myself about what or who I actually am. And of course, perhaps I am merely buying into the hype about “world class institutions�. Oxford is a very lovely place, however, and for some reason I’ve always wanted to go to it. Everyone’s dream I suppose, but does that make it any less powerful?

At any rate, the magic and charm of this old city was returned to me, and to celebrate I went down into the beer cellar. There was a small band down there, doing a very good job at singing rock and roll songs I would normally associate with America, but then I remembered how many of the really good rockers were from the UK. I drank beer on tap, and it wasn’t bad. It’s funny, because everyone has been complaining about the lack of ice and lukewarm. I haven’t really missed it, or found that the temperature of the beverages unpleasant. It could be from the weather. Lukewarm beer feels like ice cold beer when it’s over 90 degrees and your sweating like mad. After a drink I went out with a couple of the Seminar people to a bar called the Purple Turtle and drank the weirdest thing on the shelf, as is my policy. This turned out to be a tasty dark ale called ‘Old Peculiar’. After shouting for an hour or two and leaking a few more gallons of sweat I went out of the pub and into the cool night air. I talked to the bouncer, a really nice person who had the type of mild temperament that one would really need to deal with drunks and pissed off people. The more Brits I talk to, the more I think that people are really just people wherever you go. They are no more ugly or fair, mean or kind than anyone. It’s really just the politics you need to watch out for.

So, after Pimms and wine, and some beer, I wandered back to Trinity around midnightish, took a shower, found my bed and got eight blissful hours of sleep. To cure jetlag, apparently, one must drink.

July 5 2006

It rained today so I didn’t do very much. Woke up at 8, went down to breakfast, learned the distressing fact that all of the buttery-chocolate-pastry things were gone and then tucked into to eggs, sausage, toast and fruit. Tea was of course there also. Contemplated buying umbrella, but I didn’t feel like getting soaked. Spent the day reading, and going to my history class on the brit’s view of the American revolution. There is a lot of reading. After I got thoroughly sick of Joseph Priestly’s ‘The Present State of Liberty’ (very well written, I was just tired) I went outside to find something to do. I ended up getting completely soaked, due to the fact that I had bumped into a group of the seminar people who were talking. Chuckling as I describe, we basically stood in a circle in the quad talking about various things until nightfall. We all wanted to do something but were to lazy to actually go do something. Topics ranged from rain, Star Wars, the bilaterality of the human brain, and how expensive alcohol is in Oxford. We all broke up for dinner, after which I returned to my books and then I went to bed.

July 6 2006

Terrific thunderstorm today around 5am. Woke me up from some really bizarre dreams, the most amusing and odd of which I will relate to you.

I was walking along a dirt road, when I saw a snake cross my path. Now, when I say snake, I don’t mean something little. This bugger had his head raised up, over my height of 5’7�, like a King Cobra, and was darting across the road into the woods. He was Dark gray-blue (a color that would look realistic on a snake) with some faint white bars. I of course dove into the woods after him, being a Biology major. I did not get a good grip on the monster’s head however, and consequently he wriggled loose and bit me right in the ass. It felt like a snake bite, or at least like two sharp curved things going into your skin. In my dream, I was really irritated that he had bitten me, and got a better hold on his head and went off to find a hospital, remembering that sometimes brining in the animal would help them identify what sort of anti-venom I would need.

At that point I woke up, wondering what the hell it was I had eaten or done the day before to evoke such a bizarre dream. I even checked the left side of my rear in the mirror for a mosquito or spider bite in case that somehow been used by my subconscious. Nothing! Only I would have a dream like this, and only my dream-self would just happily leap into some underbrush after a huge, unidentified, potentially poisonous snake. I’m hoping I really wouldn’t do that in reality. At the very least I’d kill the thing or take a photo of it before I went to the hospital. The major-city hospital staffed with venom specialists, conveniently located off the poorly-kept dirt road, the one that ends in the middle of the impassible jungle.

There weren’t any buttery-chocolate-pastry things at breakfast today either. There was, helpfully, eggs, sausage, toast and beans. I’m sensing a theme here. And there was tea. It was raining again, but it cleared up. I read more, puttered around on the internet, wrote my vet school application personal essay, and then went out into the city to take some more pictures. I wanted to buy an umbrella but gave up after a while, my pounds being too precious. I ended up finally going into the Bodleian, which turned out to be a magical place indeed. You could spend a lifetime in there. There are not many libraries that have ‘Papyrus Scroll Collection’ listed on their internet catalogue. Took a few pictures where allowed, tried to get into Balliol but was denied access, which confused me, as I thought the Bodleian card allowed you into the other colleges. Wasted a pound going up into the Sheldonian Theatre, which aside from getting a few pictures of Oxford’s famous spires, was a completely uninteresting experience. Wandered out, heard people grumbling occasionally about tourists, and took a picture for some guy (American) of him standing in front of Trinity College. Skipped tea to read more of enormous pile of reading. Presently thinking about eating dinner and working on my weary novel, which one day will make my piles of money and I will be just like J.K. Rowling!!!!! Hurrah!!!!

I would really just be satisfied if someone outside my family bought a copy and liked it. Wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean, know what I mean, bloggers? :::JAB:::

::Stares at unconcious 'public' on floor. Sighs.:::

That *would* happen...

Around 9pm went out with the seminar crew. One of the girls here met someone on the first day and they went out on a date, then with us. They seem to get along really well together. We went to ‘The Turf’ made an attempt at ‘Eagle & Child’ but found it crowded, then went to the ‘Purple Turtle’ which some affectionately call ‘The Dirty Turtle’. I suppose it is a bit grimy and packed inside, reminiscent of a reptile’s bowels. I drank, once more, the most interesting thing on the board. That turned out to be a pint of ‘Piddle in the River’ and a half pint of ‘Jack ‘o Legs’. Jack ‘o Legs was more bitter, with an odd spicy taste. ‘Piddle in the River’ despite it’s unique name, wasn’t that bad, albeit a little flat.
Smiling from the effects of alcohol, I then wandered out of the Purple Turtle feeling it time to go home. On the way a purportedly homeless guy came up to me, asking me if I’d buy a magazine for 30p. I asked him if he did drugs, and he said he was trying to buy a bed. Being a sucker for animals and the homeless, I gave him a pound and five pence (what was in my pocket) and wished him good luck. As I was halfway down the street he called out to me that it was a good thing there were such nice people in the world. I hope he meant it sincerely, not so much to preen, but as some indication that he was a good person himself.

Wandering homeward, I was suddenly hungry. There was a truck on the street (Hessan’s) specializing in chips, burgers and kebabs. I ordered chips and cheese, and a young man named Jekka poured salt and vinegar on it, and then a lot of shredded cheddar. He asked me if I was American and I replied yes, and he in turn said he was from Oxford.

I tried a fry and nearly died. They were perfect. Jekka must have deep fryed them in magic. Hot, crispy on the outside, they practically melted in your mouth as you chewed. I let myself into Trinity, waved hello to the night porter (his name is Chris, I think) and went out into the garden.

On the path I met a fellow student, whom I said hello to. Then I stopped and turned towards them.
“Are you all right?� I asked. Adding that I could bugger off if I was bothering them.

The student, who shall remain anonymous, replied that no I could stay, and that they were fine. Then they blowed into a handkerchief and then amended that they were feeling a little homesick. I replied by saying that in our day of modern techonolgy, even though you think we’re so far away, we’re really not. What, it’s only a few hours to the states really. That seemed to comfort them a little, and then I randomly offered them a cheese fry and they laughed. I continued on my way, giving them their privacy and hoping that I had helped.

I found my spot (it’s mine because I never find anyone else there) in the far corned of the garden, hidden behind some bushes. There was a small table there, and two chairs. I sat down and ate in the night air, quite comfortable and highly enjoying the rest of my chips. I wondered idly if I was being watched on the porter’s closed circuit television, and then my thoughts were interrupted by the distinct movement in the bushed immediately to my right. Perhaps a cat, or a fox. Maybe even a badger.

I left, unable to find out what the animal was but thinking that I would dearly love to get into the open countryside.

It is here that I should mention a few people. There are the porters I have met, Mark the day porter and Chris the night porter, who are both really cool people. Then there’s the lady who comes in and tidies up our room (I don’t know her name yet) but she’s also really nice. She has two children, 8 and 6, and is an oxford native. She’s very good to talk to when she comes up to the room.

July 7 2006

Today I walked to Wytham with most of the other people on the seminar. It was a pretty good walk, roughly seven miles, and brought us into the countryside of Oxfordshire. We set out from the city at 11am and made our way to the Town Common. This Common is far larger than any I’ve ever seen in a New England Town. It was open, uncultivated and stretched on for miles. It was also covered in grazing herds of beef cattle and horses, and there was a large flock of geese by the edge of the river. The river was of course the Thames, and looked a lot cleaner and inviting than I expected, although I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised seeing as we’re so far north of London.

On the river were of course many interesting birds. Great crested grebes, coots, moorhens, mute swans, swallows and pied wagtails along with a mallard duck or two were the ones I could see. Amongst the geese were Canadas, Toulouse and Embedens. Don’t ask me to sort out the cattle, although I did see a lot of Herefords in the mix. I was amazed at the amount of rural, wide open space. That was something I hadn’t expected in England, which is supposed to be one of those places with a denser population than the US.

We walked along the Thames and came up to an old (ancient) remnant of a building that had once been a nunnery. Honey bees buzzed all over the place and there were an immense quantity of snails everywhere. The building was very somber, and seemed somehow treacherous. I had wondered what had happened there, if anything, and why it now stood crumbling away to dust.

We continued on and ended up in the small town of Wytham. The center of town consisted of four or six buildings, the more prominent ones being the pub and the tea shop, where we stopped. Having forgotten to bring lunch, I bought a loaf of bread and some honey, and was quite satisfied. The honey was very good, local stuff, and more syrupy than the sort I am used to. It also smelled different. More citrusy or something…I was wondering if that had anything to do with the lavender that grew all over the place.

After that, the group went up to an old Church and poked around in there. I took pictures of the stained glass windows and read the graves stones. One by the door had a chrysanthemum carved into it, and was rather sad, stating that a 21 year old woman and her daughter, whose age was not written, had died on the same day. Childbirth.

From the Church, we all headed back, this time on the other side of the Thames. A girl, who’s name escapes me (I’m terrible with names) was tired and I stayed behind with her, as we had been talking on the way down and I wanted to get away from all the people. She’s from India, and is going to school at Smith. As we walked I regretted wearing sandals, for we were now walking through a freshly mown thistle field. Nothing can sting like a thistle. We were amused as the mower, attached to a huge tractor, practically had to run over the cattle in order to make any headway. The man driving would often honk at the confused and anxious looking bovines, nearly at the point of being hit. We wandered back up to the river side, where a couple of cows were grazing, and one of them came up to me and I got to pet him. We continued on, and found our way blocked by an immense flock of geese, that had not looked so imposing from the other shore. I pressed in, keeping my eyes open, for once having had geese I know their nefarious ways, and sure enough a particularly brave bird with a mean glint in his eye began to go at us. I told my friend to stand her ground (she had been edging away, looking nervous), and then ran at the goose. He decided that today was not the day to take on something that had at least a hundred pounds on him. A flock of Embdens began to approach, looking ready for a rumble, but they seemed unnerved by my mad lack of fear (not to mention unpredictability), and so let us pass unscathed. My friend from India was rather impressed with my goose handling ability. Who knew that skills learned from an odd childhood hobby would one day come in so handily.

We re-entered Oxford and stopped at a few shops along the way, and got ice cream. It was really good. No idea what it was, I think it was called ‘Golden Secret’ but it was delicious. More walking, and we eventually made it back after a very long day at around 5 in the evening. After a little reading, some more bread and honey and a bath, I ended up crashing at about 8pm.

July 8 2006

Instead of reading, like I really should be doing, I ended up going to Blenheim Palace in Woodstock, about a half hour’s bus ride from Oxford City. It was pretty cool, and a whole lot bigger than I had expected. Neck kinking big. Photos will describe it best, but the buildings made you feel both large and very small at the same time. It was almost a force of nature. Again, every where you looked, there was a detail. They didn’t just have plain glass in the window panes, they had glass that went in at a slight angle at the frame. There were huge columns, ornate stone designs, elaborate ironwork and statues, and that was just the outside.

The inside was equally insane if not more so. Ceilings were thirty or forty feet high, and often covered in gold scrolly designs. The designs had designs in them. Old paintings were hung on walls, there was an immense amount of marble on the floor, in the fireplaces, in the busts…everywhere. I can’t imagine what the place cost to build or how on earth they maintain it. And we were only allowed entrance to about twenty rooms, and the Palace has over 100.

The Blenheim Palace is “only� a third of the size it was in the 1970’s, coming in at a measly 14,000 acres. I barely had elbow room. Set upon a hill, it overlooked a gracious landscape, carefully maintained. The gardens were all very precise, even the ones that looked almost natural. Everything was carefully cultivated. We ended up getting lost inside an immense hedge maze and taking a ride on a tiny train that ran across the estate. I could just picture Churchill, a cigar jutting from the corner of his mouth, driving the miniature engine. The group of girls I went with also had a running joke about the Duke of Marlborough. It began when we realized it was his 80th birthday today, and our wonderings on what the heck did a person with ‘all of this’ do with their time? We then invented little scenerios, where the Duke of Marlborough would don ‘tourist clothes’ and go out and harass people and generally act silly. He became a super-hero like figure to us, and is sure to be a running joke, with such lines as “NO body expects the DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH!� in a Monty Pythonesque voice. Leave it to Americans to mock European nobility.

July 9 2006

More rain yesterday and I had a lot of reading to catch up on, so I didn’t end up doing much. Italy won the World Cup last night. You could hear people shouting all over the city. “Football� is a very big thing over here, reminiscent of Boston when the Red Sox are playing home in the World Series.

After dinner I went along with some friends to a pub called ‘The Checkers’ to watch the game but became bored quickly and so left. My legs wanted a stretch, so I walked about the city, in entirely new and unexplored directions. Most of the shops were closed, but I found several places to buy cheaper food and a pen shop. I have a slight fascination with fountain pens, and to my excitement I saw that this shop had several varieties. They are probably all expensive, but I thought why not splurge once and for all and get a truly great pen? It must be a writer or artist thing…I really just like the way the ink flows smoothly from fountain pens. Yes, I am a dork. I’ll probably be heading back to the shop tomorrow. I’m hoping that they will have ‘snorkel’ pens, which are the type where you stick the nib in a basin of ink and draw it up into the pen. These of course, have the potential for disaster, for you can also dump all your ink everywhere at the touch of a button. They seemed very practical to me however, for I hate buying ink capsules and regular old ink is a lot cheaper to buy than the capsulated stuff. (Yes, I could buy bic, but come on people. Fountain pens!). This place also had some pretty hot pens: some inlaid with mother of pearl, some of crystal, wood and bone. I don’t want anything too fancy. Just something that isn’t weighted, doesn’t cost too much and writes nicely.

After the pen shop I wandered around Oxford some more and them randomly bumped into my room mate. They were unable to find Checkers, and I was happy to show them the random little alley it was hidden in. After that, escaped once more, found more post offices and places of interest, and went back to Trinity.

I sat down in the garden, which was completely vacant due to aforementioned World Cup. With only the birds, insects and plants for company, it was quite pleasant. I sat very still on the bench, and eventually a thrush hopped out on the path before me. He or she kept on making trips from one bush to another, and as I watched her I realized she had a fledgling or two hidden away. Carefully I moved so I could watch her gather whatever it was she was feeding them. The thrush would get to the base of a bush nearby, laden with bright blue berries, look up, and then leap into the air and neatly snap off a berry before landing again. She was quite dextrous with her beak, managing to simultaneously hold two berries in her mouth and snap off a third from a height of about a foot. Then, she would look at me, scamper across the path, and I would hear her make tiny soft noises to her children. As I was listening, a swift, small movement caught my eye and I then was entertained by a small mouse, completely unharried by my presence, proceed to groom himself, pausing, occasionally, to delicately sniff the air. George the magpie should up, although I couldn’t place him because of the stone walls (ricochet). Feeling a bit calmer (city walking, with its ceaseless bustle and huge amounts of people, always tends to wind me up than down), I went back to my room, read a bit, then hit the hay.