by Dana Rail

Previous “Oxford Spring” posts:

1. Introduction

TRANSATLANTIC PURGATORY

The rough part about travel is, of course, well, the travel.

From the time we left home to the time we (finally) landed at Heathrow, then navigated Immigration, Baggage Reclaim, and Customs, then caught the coach to Oxford and arrived at what was to be our home for the next month, we were looking at a stressful and mostly uncomfortable (sometimes miserably so) 36 hours.

I know, I know…a First World problem. Better yet, an Oxonian-level First World problem, so no complaining, right? Still, at my age, enduring eleven hours cheek by jowl in seats built like medieval instruments of torture with several hundred other sufferers on board a Boeing 777, what with all the trouble they’ve been having, was not nothing.

Still, there was this little consolation out the window on the first leg of our journey, in a much more comfortable Embraer puddle jumper:

AH, MUCH BETTER, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

The Heathrow-to-Oxford leg, however, was an entirely different story. After getting through all the (fairly easy-peasy) Immigrations & Customs stuff, we headed down to Heathrow’s Central Bus station and caught a so-called “Airline Coach” to Oxford. If there’s one travel tip I would give to anyone making this trip (besides avoiding Boeing 777s), it would be to use this service to get from Heathrow (or Gatwick) to the Oxford city centre.

Easily the most pleasant (and restful) part of the journey, as you can see.

 

 

SLEEPING WITH SHAKESPEARE & CO.

Our one-bedroom (with en suite) flat is just off Cornmarket Street, in a courtyard with a direct access to Oxford’s rightfully famous Covered Market.

The flat is in a 300+ year-old building—Mr. Rail has been laughing about the need to “get one’s sea legs” as we navigate the old hostelry’s sloping-and-bulging floors—and is tucked in one of two courtyards right across the street from one another in Cornmarket Street formerly housing one of the two local inns believed to have accomodated the Bard on his many journeys back and forth between Stratford and London. Can’t say as I’ve received any ghostly visitations (or even inspirations) as yet, but the month is young! And in the meantime, there is a terrific Coffeesmith coffee shop down in the courtyard, along with a pizza joint and a South Asian takeaway.

TWO NATIONS SEPARATED BY A COMMON LANGUAGE

Speaking of “takeaways”—what we Yanks call “carryouts”—the flat is also on what Brits call the First Floor, and we Yanks the Second. To understand these small but not insignificant differences in English usage(s) is to grok at once the many and various differences to which we Stateside folk must adjust on this side of the Pond, used as we are to driving on the correct side of the road; to flipping switches up (not down) when we want to turn on the lights; to saying “Excuse me!” instead of “Sorry!” for just about every accidental interaction between strangers on the street; for saying “Watch your step!” instead of “Mind your step” (as in, “Mind how you go”): for looking right as well as left when crossing Oxford’s clamorous streets, lest that car or bus or ten-speed bike screaming down the wrong side of the road interacts with one in a manner for which “Sorry!” will prove wholly inadequate.

(If you doubt the importance of this latter advice, let me remind you that Winston Churchill, when visiting New York City, got ran over by a taxi once and was seriously injured because he failed to look left (the American way) before he stepped out onto a busy New York Street. Ouch.

BUT ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?

Oh my, in spite of our little adjustments and adventures, and occasionally because of them, we definitely moved into the “fun” part by Day 2 (the 19th), once we got situated and started heading out to roam the streets and alleyways and squares we had heretofore only seen on maps, or on TV.

I’ve got to cut this post short, because we’re getting ready to head out for a two-hour MORSE/ENDEAVOUR walking tour (more of that tomorrow), but here are a few of our treasured moments: