Let's Catch Up Some More

As soon as I get this out of the way, we can finally go live.

Monday: This was our only real day of orientation. A brief survey of British culture, presented by two Brits who run this end of the study abroad program, was my first firsthand encounter with this odd, shorter parent of America. Turns out they’re terribly sensible here. If any conservatives read this, forgive me (or is that not something you do?--forgive me for this as well): The Brits are altogether far more liberal than Americans, and, in such a context, voice is given to lots of views, but political discussion is never hung up on the moral and religious contraries that get so much airtime from the conservative media elite that drag on our national debate like a 28K modem. Gay people have equal rights, with no great hullaballoo over tradition. Abortion is legal, and you can get it or not. Hell, there aren’t even really guns here. In this context, as I said, this doesn’t seem extreme, just sensible (says someone agreeable). (More on all this in the weeks and blogs to come.)

Of course, just because there aren’t guns doesn’t mean there isn’t crime. But the classic American facedown, with its mantra of “gimme the loot,” isn’t how they get the loot. They are, as these Brits told us, a light-fingered nation. There is more what we would call ‘petty theft’ in the UK than in any other European country, even those with shifty-eyed Gypsies and Italians. In fact, it might be a slight against the nation to call it ‘petty theft’. It might rather be ‘good old theft’. Anyway, I’ll be watching my stuff closely, and especially using my fingerproof passport pouch. (Who looks dumb now?) An ex-cop who spoke to us suggested we carry ‘dummy wallets’. Good idea, I think.

They spoke about the program too of course, and I got gradually more excited.

After all these lectures, and two meals, I decided to go for a walk. I took Tottenham Court Road one way for awhile, but it got boring, so I turned around and followed it the other way for awhile. In this direction, I discovered Trafalgar Square, the center of London. The architecture in this part of the world is particularly amazing, old, and quirky in its measurements. The streets follow every pattern other than a grid. People on the busy sidewalks walk on the left, which is of course confusing, although I’d walk the streets of London to practice driving them. The whole place is mad, yet it holds tightly together at a breakneck pace. Even an American in a bright orange hat can’t disturb the...I don’t want to say order.

I was back in time to meet the group to see Harold Pinter’s No Man’s Land at the Duke of York Theater, which was only a few steps from the area I had just explored. It was neat, but is I guess what they call ‘post-modernist’, which departs from the rich structure that I prefer (or maybe that makes it post-structuralist—I don’t want to dismiss it, but...eh). The man who played Dumbledore (not the dead one) and the man who played Filch in the Harry Potter movies were two of the four-member cast. So I guess that’s cool. Then it was back to the room, back to bed. I was still sick.

Tuesday: Another nice hotel breakfast, then a bus ride to Oxford. Our driver gave us a running commentary, pointing out what he said was the oldest road in England, predating the Romans. He pointed it out after we drove under its bridge.

We arrived, and it was raining. I should point out that at this point, we had not yet seen the English sun—or maybe a dull glow is the English sun.

I’ll figure out a way to put up pictures of St. Catz, but meantime understand that it is anything but Gothic architecture. I knew this beforehand, but if you’re still thinking, “He’s at the Oxford of olde!” you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not sad though. This campus is fresh and yet def...I’ll put up pictures. It isn’t the ‘farthest thing’ from ye olde Gothic architecture—it’s just down the street at our neighbor, Magdalen (“maudlin”) College. I learned an important little mnemonic for them recently: Magdelen are wankers. St. Catz is too young a college to have any real rivalries with the other colleges, so they just punch the nearest.

I’m in a double, with another member of the Butler program, Will. The dorm is nicer than my old dorm. It has two rooms, one for beds and one for desks and shelves, and also a bathroom. It faces east, so we get a beautiful sunrise over the sports field that backs up against our dorm. There are no screens in the windows, but they do open. It is quite spacious, and no cinderblock.

At any rate, I put my things in the room, but barely had time to see all of it before I was due at the first event on our very full schedule for the week: Tea with the other visiting students. This didn’t do much for me, since, after walking around in the rain, I wasn’t feeling so hot, and certainly not social. I stood there and drank tea. We moved to a different room and heard from some brass about the tutorials, and received sheets listing our tutors and subjects. My primary is Lucretius, my secondary, either Shakespeare or tragedy. I think I’ll choose tragedy, but have yet to hear from my tutor. Another student in the program is doing Lucretius as well, and with the same tutor, so I suppose I’ll confer with her throughout the term.

Then we went to see the JCR, or Junior Common Room. This is the hub of campus, naturally, because here is located the St. Catz bar. No kidding, they have a subsidized bar steps away from the dining Hall, and it’s open late. It has the WEAKEST pool table I’ve ever played on, no kidding there either. The equipment are toys. Magdalen are wankers. We stood in the JCR and waited for our ‘college parents’, upperclassmen assigned to one or two (or in some cases, six) freshers. Matt and Ryan, my two dads, found me and their other adoptee, Danny, from Liverpool. We exchanged hellos and names, and then Ryan said eagerly, “Pub?” And off I went into English pub culture.

A note about this: The English say their system is more sensible because it avoids a binge culture, which America harbors, but these fellows can drink. We passed pleasantries over pints, and then went to catch the end of the line for Hall, but no dice. They were full up. So Dad and Dad rallied us and a few other kept-outs and we went to make a meal in Staircase 1 (the division of living quarters is by Staircases—I’m 5). We scrounged some furniture from an outdoor cafe set-up that must see about two days of use in England’s climate, and put together a very nice affair with pasta and, yes, more booze. Ryan brought wine, Danny brought Budweiser (an import here!), and a pack of Grolsch had been set aside for the official Staircase party (to follow Hall), that our impromptu dinner guests made quick work of. I was warned not to keep pace with the British, and I took this advice to heart. So I guess it isn’t a binge culture, they just drink as often as possible.

Conversation, etc, followed, and I went to bed. I woke up around 3am to find my new roommate in a sad state in the bathroom, so I coached him out of there in two hours’ time. After this, I couldn’t fall back asleep for the life of me, so I caught breakfast with a small crowd of others at 8.15. Did I mention a wonderful fact about English breakfasts? They have decided it is acceptable to eat baked beans for breakfast. A whole new world of beans, in other words! It turns out that morning is when I most want the life-giving legumes. I’ve been asking Brits about it, and one said, “Yes, they’re a staple of bad breakfast food.” I respectfully disagreed with him, and whatever—more for me.

This brings us almost to the present, although Thursday arrived here forty-two minutes ago.

Wednesday: I scoped out a little of Oxford after breakfast, joining forces with another American visitor, Cas or Kas or Kass, I’m not sure. Oddly enough, she is Malaysian. Seems where I find a new school, I find Malaysians. I can’t tell you where we were, because we just followed streets. I’ll take some pictures some time. Narrow lanes full of bicycles mostly, but even Oxford has a local bus system (you see how sensible?).

The big event of the day was the Freshers’ Fair, where us new kids could sign up for University-wide clubs and such. I signed up for a few, more on that in the coming days.

I made another attempt at Hall, and failed again, this time because of plain tardiness. A group of like-failures and I foraged a meal from the downtown fare. It turns out everything here closes really early, perhaps because it gets so cold when the sun sets. I’m developing an intuitive grasp of direction and streets here, even though I don’t know any street names. The English, for the benefit of their horse-drawn coachmen (or so said our bus driver upon arrival), put their street signs on the sides of buildings infrequently, rather than on poles at every intersection (so much for sense).

Anyway, here I am. I’ve caught myself finally. Tomorrow, more exploration, perhaps a run to Sainsbury’s grocery, Blackwell’s books, or another store whose name I forget.

Cheers! (No, I don’t really say that.)