25.08.12 - 26.08.12 - Eynsham and Oxford, UK

25.08.12 - Eynsham, UK - Arriving

I arrive by cab, worried that I'd get there and that my landlady, Jane, would be asleep. I could have taken the bus. It was a timing thing. The cabbie charges me a small fortune. Flat rate, all places outside city, twenty-five pounds. Ugh. I should have taken the bus. Take it. Just take it. I don't even want my money. Just take it. I just want to get to where I'm going. Timing thing. Yes, yes, now go away. I slam the door and the cabbie speeds off, and I'm in Eynsham.

Eynsham is about five miles outside of Oxford. Not walkable: not at nine-thirty, anyway. I would have gladly done that for twenty-five pounds. Earlier that day, I'd received a text saying that I have to push through the white gate by the side of the house. We don't use the main door, the text reads. Okay, no problem. Jane's home is very large, as though part of the garden had been used to extend the main home. Not sure if that's true; Jane says the house had been remodeled. The rest of the family is in France, preparing their other home for renters. There are two Australians in the room next to yours. Okay, I like Australians. She's tired, clearly; I'm tired, but faking it. Shows me to the room. Looks good. There's the bed. Got it. Put the bag down. Goodnight! Goodnight! Go to sleep.


26.08.12 - Oxford, UK - Walking Around

The S1 stops just a few buildings down from where I'm staying and runs regularly. I hop on the bus and decide to do a little sightseeing.

Oxford reminds me of Cambridge, but bigger and more expensive. It's streets spoke-and-wheel about; its city centre is a footpath around which autos are diverted, its markets, both covered and uncovered, spiderweb between the main driven roads, its signposts, pre-eminently age-obsessed with being first at this, oldest at that, its colleges, scowling schoolmarms who glance away as you go by them, cross their arms in serious poses.

Oh, yes, I'm in Oxford.


Like Cambridge, there is an arrogance in the "old" bits. The center of town, near the colleges that charge you for entry, whisper: we do not really want you here, but if you pay a fee we might let you glimpse the good stuff.

Give me the good stuff, Oxford.

Only if you pay.

Isn't that a bit much?

(scoffing) This is Oxford.

Will you let me take this photograph?

There is a waver that you have to sign.

Do I have a choice?

(scoffing) This is Oxford.

Five pounds for Magdalen (pronounced, "madalen") College. Eight pounds for Christ Church College. Three pounds for...

I'll wait. On the 8th the colleges are "open" to the public. You don't have to be a prospective student. You don't have to pretend to not speak English to snap a few photos of the inner sanctum.

University Examination Building.

Bodleian Library.

The Radcliffe Camera.

The museums are Oxford's jewels. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The Pitt-Rivers museum contained some dinosaur bones, some rocks, some plants, some bees, some...

This thing is utterly terrifying. I dislike the word "utterly" but find it appropriate here.

Inside the Pitt-Rivers Museum.

 The Ashmolean Museum is the best free thing in Oxford. I can't believe it's free. I can't believe this is real.

We'd would like a donation. Anywhere from a pound to a million would be great. We recommend three pounds so that you don't feel unconquerable guilt when...

Stuff it.

Right.

Where was I? Oh yes. I get to the Ashmolean and immediately head up to the Anglo-Saxon exhibit.

The Alfred Jewel. Along the side, in gold, are the words:
 "AELFRED MEC HEHT GEWYRCAN" - "Alfred had me made"

The Alfred Jewel, above, was found in North Petherton near Bridgwater in Somerset. The plaque below the jewel at the Ashmolean speculates that it was once attached to a stick and might have been used as a reading prosthesis for large tomes. There's no real evidence that it was used this way. It might've been part of a staff.







After the museums, I find the "bird and baby" pub, which is famous for being one of the locations where the Inklings (Tolkien and C. S. Lewis's group) would hang out and drink. The pub is not shy about it's celebrity either, having scratched this fact into a chalkboard somewhere near the middle of the pub.

 The pub is actually called the "Eagle and Child" - you might've noticed. But the Inklings referred to it alliteratively as the "bird and baby" when they frequented it.