Term is in full swing now. This was the first day of Third Week.
THIRD week, people. That’s out of eight. I’m already 3/8 done with Michaelmas term!
Time has been absolutely flying by; our program coordinator warned us that once it started our feet wouldn’t touch the ground, and he was right.
My primary tutorial is on 20th Century British women novelists. My tutor is fairly young (in her 30s), and we meet for one hour each Monday morning. She gives me a reading list and an essay topic, and I send her my essay on Sunday evenings. Our Monday meetings begin with me “reading out” my essay to her, and then we discuss it. Well, in theory we "discuss" it, but in reality she gives me a mini-lecture on all sorts of fascinating historical, political, and geographical context for whatever novel(s) I wrote about. Every so often, she asks me a questions, to which--since I generally don't know the answer--I reply, “uhhh I don’t know,” and then feel ashamed of my ignorance. And then, since she's so sweet and interesting, I become engrossed and forget about my shame until she asks another question.
Life in the tutorial system is about feeling humble and ignorant.
It's also about reading. LOTS of reading. For First Week, I read Charlotte Smith. In three days, I was in the libraries for about 30 hours. I would move from the English Faculty Library (which closes at 5pm) to the Bodleian (which closed at 7pm First Week, but now—thankfully—it stays open till 10pm), to the library at New College (which is open till 12am, seven days a week!). I have never read so much so quickly—well, maybe once, many years ago, when I read The Lord of the Rings. But I didn't have to write an essay about it in one day after I finished.
Second Week was even more difficult. I was reading Maria Edgeworth, and—unlike First Week—my essay question was about TWO novels. That meant twice as much criticism to read, and twice as much support to sort through in an essay. Also, my secondary tutorial began that week. My secondary (which meets every other week) is Creative Writing—Fiction. I meet in my tutor’s house, about a ten-minute walk outside the city centre. Our first assignment was to write a story that evokes Oxford. I wrote about Oxford at 2:30am (it’s quite different from the Oxford you encounter as a daytime tourist), based on my observations walking to the bus station the night I left for Italy, and walking home a couple of nights during Fresher’s Week.
Now, the last time I wrote a story was when I was about 11 years old, so I was dreadfully nervous at our first meeting. He had me read it out, and then pause after two pages so he could go fix our tea. During that awful pause, I sat in his little front parlor, sweating and thinking of how horrid my writing was, while the names and faces of Aurora Leigh and Bob Dylan and Thomas Hardy stared at me from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining three walls.
He returned, and I finished the reading, and then things improved immensely. After giving me plenty of praise, he gently suggested revisions. My tutor is absolutely brilliant; he can pick out the good bits and shift the bad bits with a word or two. Also, he's hilariously random, and we talked about “Americanisms” (like “trash”), and The Great Gatsby, and how British actresses in Hollywood don’t actually speak like British women (apparently they don’t pronounce their “p”s and “b”s strongly enough, it just all melts together as they push air out their of barely-open mouths), and why girls go to clubs and call themselves "girls" instead of "women" (why DO we do that, anyway? The "girls," not the clubs). When I left, as I walked over the bridge on Botley Road, I could not stop smiling as the thought, “I’m a writer. I’m a writer,” sang out in my mind over and over. It’s an intimate, frightening experience to share your writing with someone. To receive praise, to be taken seriously, and to learn how to improve—it’s empowering and exhilarating.
Over the weekend of Second Week, unfortunately, the constant coughs of my housemates finally infected me, and I came down with a horrid cold. Last week was a blur of sleeping late, coughing in the Bodleian (where it echoes dreadfully), waiting in line to buy cough syrup at the drugstore—sinuses pounding, and writing a truly mediocre essay on Jane Austen. I read Mansfield Park and Persuasion, and watched the film versions of each. That part of the process was lovely, but trying to sort through the mountains of Austen criticism to answer an overly broad essay question was not an easy task, especially in the haze of having a bad cold.
It’s over now, though. Time is truly the enemy at Oxford, but once you accept that there’s only so much you can do, life is joyous. I’ve found an amazing church, St. Ebbes. It is what I would describe as an ideal church for me. The songs have lots of verses, we read a corporate prayer of confession, the preaching is challenging both mentally and spiritually, and, the people are lovely; I can’t believe how welcoming and genuine everyone is! I joined a small group, and one of my leaders is a, Irish Third Year reading English (translation: senior English major). The rest of the girls are a mix of years and majors, but we all got on beautifully. God is so good; I’m really happy to have met some British girls, since up till now I’ve only been spending time with American students.
Saturday, I went into London for the day. I met up with Bri, who was an RA with me last year. She’s an au pair in Spain for the schoolyear. We saw all of the major sights in London via bus, and ate some great food. When I arrived on the bus, Bri and her friend were still at breakfast at a friend’s house, so I went to a Pret (there’s a chain of cafes here called Pret a Manger, but everyone just calls them “Pret”s so they don’t have to attempt to pronounce French). I sat inside, reading Atonement, by Ian McEwan, and occasionally scribbling down some descriptions of the street outside (you know, in case I ever write a novel set in London). For an hour, I sat in there, absolutely blissful because I was in LONDON. Reading in a café in London on a Saturday morning, where Wicked is playing at a sparkling theater across the street, what could be better?
Sunday, I got up early to finish my Austen essay, went to St. Ebbes for the church service, and then went to a potluck lunch with the APU students. We’ve started having “family dinners” each week (Hannah, Heidi, and I were inspired after crashing the one at Dorothy’s place in Florence). This week, it was at our faculty advisor’s house. Everyone’s culinary skills blew me away; one girl brought a British friend, and she said, “Wow, if you tried to do this with British students everyone would just bring crisps.” We had everything from grilled ham and cheese sandwiches to strawberry trifle. Afterward, a few of us stayed to watch Notting Hill. ALL I want to watch these days are films set in Britain; too bad I didn't bring any!
Today, I was in New College library for about six hours (with a break in the middle to eat lunch in the gorgeous dining hall), reading a third edition of Jane Eyre (printed in 1848, I believe). It’s bizarre that you're allowed to study with books that old here. It's also bizarre that everyone actually studies in the libraries here. At home, no one goes to the library except during Midterms, Dead Week, and Finals because most students buy their books. At the Bodleian, you can’t check anything out, so you find a place to set up and stay there all day with your stacks of books. Even at the college libraries, where you can check books out, people stay inside and study.
The Bodleian is a wonderful place to study (though I prefer New College at night, since it's always warm in there). I sit in the Radcliffe Camera, under the stone arches, surrounded by dark shelves lined with ancient red and blue tomes. All around me at the T-shaped tables are doctorate students from India or China, old men with beards and mussed hair frantically scribbling notes, and blonde freshers sniffling because they’ve all caught colds from being so sleep-deprived.
And it seems that there’s always a ginger-haired rugby player or a dark-eyed European guy sitting across from me, which doesn’t help my concentration. I have to admit, I'm a sucker for a boy in the library.
The girls here wear boots, cozy sweaters, and all seem to have long, curly hair and glasses; the boys wear tweed jackets or cableknit sweaters. Everyone has a scarf, and most people have a hat. People actually dress for the weather here.
And after I take a break to go outside and sit on the stone steps to eat the nuts or granola bar I brought for a snack, it hits me: this is my favorite place to be. This city, this world of stone buildings and old books and chilly air is paradise to the girl who has always loved to read.
If you could follow me around Oxford with a camera, you’d probably catch me smiling for no apparent reason. Those are the moments when it hits me that I’m here; I’m studying in the place where great minds have been studying for 800 years. I love it, even when it means staying in the library until 11pm on a Friday night. Those moments, looking out the library window to the enormous stone chapel at New College, or turning down Turl Street on the way home to see a full moon over the St. Mary’s Cathedral, are the times when I take a deep breath and think,
This is bliss; there is nowhere I’d rather be but here.
And now, I’m going to turn on my heater, curl up in bed with some tea, and finish reading Jane Eyre.
~Jennifer the Oxfordian, professing Anglophile
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
That Week I Spent in Italy
Before term proper—Michaelmas Term (essentially Fall Quarter in Oxford) began, we had a travel break. Thanks to Gregory Seahurst Swim Club and Grand Central Bakery, I had enough money to spend a week in Italy.
Well, I think I had enough money. I won’t know for certain until I get to the end of term and find out if I can still buy food. But it’s Italy, so it’s worth it either way.
The day after our pre-term class ended, I went into London for the day with three other girls in an attempt to see a play at Shakespeare’s Globe. We found out that the Globe is only open through September, so this would be our last chance. We walked in and got £5 tickets for the matinee without a problem. Since we were a few hours early for the show, we went to the modern art exhibit at the Tate Museum for some culture.
Then, we went back to the Globe and stood one row back from the stage for about three hours, soaking up every word of Much Ado About Nothing.
This just happens to be my favorite Shakespeare play, and the one I’ve read the most.
Of COURSE.
God is so good.
I was standing there thinking, This is exactly what people did 400 years ago. This is where they stood. This is what they laughed at. It was the best theater experience I have had. EVER. The acting was phenomenal, and the venue was brilliant. We laughed; we cried; we “awww”ed at Claudio; and we “booooo”ed at Don John. And, of course, we went to a pub afterward and had some really great conversation.
RANDOM FACT: I watched the 1999 film version of Mansfield Park yesterday, and the actor who plays Mr. Yates is the actor who played Benedick!! And somehow, he was better looking onstage, 12 years later, than in the film.
The day after my trip to London—Saturday— was spent freaking out, packing, and freaking out some more. Traveling, especially for the first time in foreign countries without someone else planning everything, is stressful. Thank God that before I left I wrote out several passages on worry from the Bible in the back of my journal. They were running through my mind over the course of the trip, reminding me of God’s gentle control.
Italy—The Basics
Who? Heidi—who played one of Zangler’s Follies with me in Crazy For You last spring, and her roommate Hannah. Both easygoing middle children with really sweet hearts. They were the perfect balance to my first-time-traveling-detail-oriented-firstborn-girl anxieties.
When? We left on a bus at 3:10am, Sunday morning, and returned at 10pm the following Sunday
Where? The first two nights were at a B&B in Rome, next three nights in Florence (two at a Plus Camping hostel up at Michaelangelo, and the last one crashing in a student flat), and the last two nights in Vicenza at a hospitality house run by an ex-military couple.
Side-note about that 3:10am bus: Oxford at 3am is an interesting place. Two guys who live with me walked me to the bus station (for which I am SO grateful to them), and we saw a very different side of Oxford than the one daytime tourists see. My observations from that late-night walk ended up becoming my first short story for my creative writing tutorial.
ITALIA
What did we do?
Rome/Roma—
1. The Colosseum
2. The Roman Forum
3. The Pantheon
4. The Trevi Fountain (including having a random guy ask if he could take a picture of us)
5. The Spanish Steps. A thunderstorm broke while we were there, and we walked home in the pouring warm rain.
6. Vatican City—Saint Peter’s Square and the Sistine Chapel. We missed the memo on having to cover your shoulders and knees, so we spent an hour shopping for inexpensive Italian clothes (those words do not belong together) so they would let us inside.
Florence/Firenze—
1. Ate breakfast at the Ponte Vecchio (one of only four bridges in the world with shops built on the sides)
2. Put our hands in the lucky boar’s mouth at one of the markets
3. Took pictures at the Piazza de la Signoria (go watch A Room With a View right now).
4. Stood in line at the Accademia and the Uffizi so we could see Il David, Birth of Venus, and looooots of other famous works of art. It’s Florence; you have to see del arte!
5. Overlooked the city at Piazzale Michaelangelo as the sun set. We even witnessed a romcom-worthy proposal there!
6. Went to a house party on a rooftop! Ok, not a real party. It was a DINNER party, Mom. Somehow, I met up with one of my AWANA camp friends from sophomore year; I definitely hadn’t seen this lovely young lady for five years, but she and her housemates were models for hospitality. They even let us crash there for free that night! That may or may not be illegal in Italy, shhhhh.
Vicenza, Verona, e Venezia—
1. Spent an afternoon in Verona, visiting Juliet’s house. And, along with dozens of tourists—from 60-year-old women to 15-year-old boys—we felt up Juliet’s right breast hoping to be lucky in love. Ironically, the statue was only placed there in the 1970s, so it’s just a moneymaking ploy. Oh well.
2. Spent time with my cousin Renae and her family. Her husband is a soldier stationed in Vicenza, and they have two small children (SO precious!). I hadn't seen them in several years, so it was great to reconnect. We went to church on the Base Sunday morning, and they took us to the commissary where we could buy some American snacks for the plane (a welcome treat after a month of British supermarkets).
3. Showed up at the hospitality house and got a free meal. Also got to hang out with some American soldiers stationed there. Lots of man love, just like home.
The couple that run the house are absolutely precious. They made us waffles from scratch for breakfast. And they gave us detailed instructions on how to buy tickets at the “REAL little old Italian train station.” It was an experience. You have to buy tickets at the bar across the street ‘cause it’s an unmanned station.
4. Spent the day in Venice, wandering the streets and Saint Mark’s Square. I also spent several hours in the Doge’s Palace. After chatting with a couple from Denver in line, they paid for my ticket! We had a great time exploring the palace together. They were my surrogate grandparents, sharing their audioguide with me because it was “such a good history lesson.”
You know that moment in Anastasia where she’s singing “Once Upon a December” and the imaginary couples swirl out of the windows and dance with her? I was in that room. Well, not REALLY that room, because it’s in Russia, but I definitely had a moment like that. It was the largest room in Europe until sometime in the 1800s. Enormous! And it had balconies overlooking the Adriatic, which is the most beautiful blue sea I’ve ever seen. The tour included a visit to the prisons and a walk across the Bridge of Sighs.
I know why millions of people visit Venice every year. It is a city from a mysterious fairy tale, and every street is unique. Venezia, queen of the sea, was my favorite stop of the journey.
5. Had gelato for the 14th and final time. Yes, we had gelato twice a day, every day. We calculated how much we spent on it, and were horrified for a minute. But then we remembered that we stayed for free three nights, so that balanced it out. And really, it was a money saver, because we just had gelato for lunch every day, which was cheaper than buying real food.
There you have it, Italy—the high points.
And now you can FINALLY look forward to a post about Oxford academics!
Well, I think I had enough money. I won’t know for certain until I get to the end of term and find out if I can still buy food. But it’s Italy, so it’s worth it either way.
The day after our pre-term class ended, I went into London for the day with three other girls in an attempt to see a play at Shakespeare’s Globe. We found out that the Globe is only open through September, so this would be our last chance. We walked in and got £5 tickets for the matinee without a problem. Since we were a few hours early for the show, we went to the modern art exhibit at the Tate Museum for some culture.
Then, we went back to the Globe and stood one row back from the stage for about three hours, soaking up every word of Much Ado About Nothing.
This just happens to be my favorite Shakespeare play, and the one I’ve read the most.
Of COURSE.
God is so good.
I was standing there thinking, This is exactly what people did 400 years ago. This is where they stood. This is what they laughed at. It was the best theater experience I have had. EVER. The acting was phenomenal, and the venue was brilliant. We laughed; we cried; we “awww”ed at Claudio; and we “booooo”ed at Don John. And, of course, we went to a pub afterward and had some really great conversation.
RANDOM FACT: I watched the 1999 film version of Mansfield Park yesterday, and the actor who plays Mr. Yates is the actor who played Benedick!! And somehow, he was better looking onstage, 12 years later, than in the film.
The day after my trip to London—Saturday— was spent freaking out, packing, and freaking out some more. Traveling, especially for the first time in foreign countries without someone else planning everything, is stressful. Thank God that before I left I wrote out several passages on worry from the Bible in the back of my journal. They were running through my mind over the course of the trip, reminding me of God’s gentle control.
Italy—The Basics
Who? Heidi—who played one of Zangler’s Follies with me in Crazy For You last spring, and her roommate Hannah. Both easygoing middle children with really sweet hearts. They were the perfect balance to my first-time-traveling-detail-oriented-firstborn-girl anxieties.
When? We left on a bus at 3:10am, Sunday morning, and returned at 10pm the following Sunday
Where? The first two nights were at a B&B in Rome, next three nights in Florence (two at a Plus Camping hostel up at Michaelangelo, and the last one crashing in a student flat), and the last two nights in Vicenza at a hospitality house run by an ex-military couple.
Side-note about that 3:10am bus: Oxford at 3am is an interesting place. Two guys who live with me walked me to the bus station (for which I am SO grateful to them), and we saw a very different side of Oxford than the one daytime tourists see. My observations from that late-night walk ended up becoming my first short story for my creative writing tutorial.
ITALIA
What did we do?
Rome/Roma—
1. The Colosseum
2. The Roman Forum
3. The Pantheon
4. The Trevi Fountain (including having a random guy ask if he could take a picture of us)
5. The Spanish Steps. A thunderstorm broke while we were there, and we walked home in the pouring warm rain.
6. Vatican City—Saint Peter’s Square and the Sistine Chapel. We missed the memo on having to cover your shoulders and knees, so we spent an hour shopping for inexpensive Italian clothes (those words do not belong together) so they would let us inside.
Florence/Firenze—
1. Ate breakfast at the Ponte Vecchio (one of only four bridges in the world with shops built on the sides)
2. Put our hands in the lucky boar’s mouth at one of the markets
3. Took pictures at the Piazza de la Signoria (go watch A Room With a View right now).
4. Stood in line at the Accademia and the Uffizi so we could see Il David, Birth of Venus, and looooots of other famous works of art. It’s Florence; you have to see del arte!
5. Overlooked the city at Piazzale Michaelangelo as the sun set. We even witnessed a romcom-worthy proposal there!
6. Went to a house party on a rooftop! Ok, not a real party. It was a DINNER party, Mom. Somehow, I met up with one of my AWANA camp friends from sophomore year; I definitely hadn’t seen this lovely young lady for five years, but she and her housemates were models for hospitality. They even let us crash there for free that night! That may or may not be illegal in Italy, shhhhh.
Vicenza, Verona, e Venezia—
1. Spent an afternoon in Verona, visiting Juliet’s house. And, along with dozens of tourists—from 60-year-old women to 15-year-old boys—we felt up Juliet’s right breast hoping to be lucky in love. Ironically, the statue was only placed there in the 1970s, so it’s just a moneymaking ploy. Oh well.
2. Spent time with my cousin Renae and her family. Her husband is a soldier stationed in Vicenza, and they have two small children (SO precious!). I hadn't seen them in several years, so it was great to reconnect. We went to church on the Base Sunday morning, and they took us to the commissary where we could buy some American snacks for the plane (a welcome treat after a month of British supermarkets).
3. Showed up at the hospitality house and got a free meal. Also got to hang out with some American soldiers stationed there. Lots of man love, just like home.
The couple that run the house are absolutely precious. They made us waffles from scratch for breakfast. And they gave us detailed instructions on how to buy tickets at the “REAL little old Italian train station.” It was an experience. You have to buy tickets at the bar across the street ‘cause it’s an unmanned station.
4. Spent the day in Venice, wandering the streets and Saint Mark’s Square. I also spent several hours in the Doge’s Palace. After chatting with a couple from Denver in line, they paid for my ticket! We had a great time exploring the palace together. They were my surrogate grandparents, sharing their audioguide with me because it was “such a good history lesson.”
You know that moment in Anastasia where she’s singing “Once Upon a December” and the imaginary couples swirl out of the windows and dance with her? I was in that room. Well, not REALLY that room, because it’s in Russia, but I definitely had a moment like that. It was the largest room in Europe until sometime in the 1800s. Enormous! And it had balconies overlooking the Adriatic, which is the most beautiful blue sea I’ve ever seen. The tour included a visit to the prisons and a walk across the Bridge of Sighs.
I know why millions of people visit Venice every year. It is a city from a mysterious fairy tale, and every street is unique. Venezia, queen of the sea, was my favorite stop of the journey.
5. Had gelato for the 14th and final time. Yes, we had gelato twice a day, every day. We calculated how much we spent on it, and were horrified for a minute. But then we remembered that we stayed for free three nights, so that balanced it out. And really, it was a money saver, because we just had gelato for lunch every day, which was cheaper than buying real food.
There you have it, Italy—the high points.
And now you can FINALLY look forward to a post about Oxford academics!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Whitehaven: the Edge of England (and Land of Adorable Sheep)
I promised I’d write about Whitehaven, and so I will (even though so much has happened since I went there!).
A few weeks ago, I took the train up north to spend a long weekend in Whitehaven, Cumbria. I stayed with the family my mum stayed with when she came to England 28 years ago.
I walked to the Oxford train station early in the morning, only to miss my train by going to the wrong platform. I could not believe it! Missing a train produces the most awful sinking feeling, and I stood there forlornly on the platform wondering what on earth i would do.
Fortunately, my ticket was for “any route,” so I got the next train two hours later. I consoled myself saying that I had gotten it out of my system before going to Italy, where the trains might not be so accommodating.
The B-----s, H and J, picked me up from the Penrith station looking exactly the way I remember them from their visit when I was 12. On the way home from the train station, we stopped at the Rheged Center, which had an exhibit of costumes from British films like Sense and Sensibility and Shakespeare in Love. We had lunch there--broccoli soup and soda bread (which is AMAZING).
Arriving at their house in Whitehaven was the only time that I have felt homesick so far in England. I kept thinking, “Mom should be here,” and then they showed me a collage of pictures of my family on their wall. So, though I'd been rolling my eyes at Betsy's homesickness at the beginning of her Europe trip in Betsy and the Great World (immediately after she arrives anywhere she throws herself on the bed and sobs), in that moment I finally understood how she felt.
That evening, after I composed myself, we took a walk around Whitehaven Harbour, and I was consoled. There’s something about the sea that I can’t get enough of. It's enormous and constant, and the waves have a rhythm, but it is also different every time you see it--never quite the same color. That evening, it was a slick and shining periwinkle that melted into a broad golden strip of the sunset's reflection. Walking around, H and J gave me a history lesson about the coalmines and their tragedies, and about John Paul Jones’ failed invasion during the American Revolution (when his men deserted him to drink at the pub).
The next day, we set out for Muncaster Castle—supposedly one of the most haunted in England. On the way, we stopped at Wasdale, the place with the deepest lake, the highest mountain, the smallest church, and the biggest liar. We saw the lake and the church. This was a place my parents had gone, and it was strange to walk into the tiny church and recognize it from a picture I've seen of them.
What I remember about Cumbria most is the landscape. The hills are steep, and low, 300-year-old stone walls curve up and down them. Between those walls, hundreds of black, white, and brown sheep roam. They lie next to the roads or mosey up to the tops of the hills. I have never seen so many sheep in my life. Have ever noticed how adorable they are? They cuddle up together and doze in the rain. It's impossible not to drive by and exclaim, "Sheeeeeep!"
The land itself is the most beautiful I have ever seen. The rainsoaked grass and trees are deep green, and often topped with mist and clouds that are every shade of gray. In a way, you could say it looks like the Pacific Northwest. And yet, it’s so much more wild. The hills are called "Fells," and, as it’s the Lake District, many of these fells touch lakes, “meres,” or “waters.” Even the water is wild—choppy and slate gray; it's not difficult to imagine ancient seamonsters swimming in their frigid depths. Stone farmhouses are scattered along the fells, each more charming than the rest. I grew up reading authors who lived in places like this--James Harriot and Beatrix Potter--and because of their writing, I felt like I was returning somewhere I'd seen before. It was familiar like a land from a dream.
Muncaster Castle is also the home of an owl preserve, so I saw Hedwig and many of her friends, as well as the haunted bedroom in the castle. It’s an odd shade of deep blue-green, and always quite cold. Near the end of our self-guided tour, a scruffy old man in a cap and fleece jacket asked us if we were local. H said that I’d come all the way from Seattle, and the man said, “Well, if you look in the next room, you’ll see me on the wall.” It was Lord Penningtone himself! His family has owned the castle for generations, and he lives there now.
The next day, I went to Michael Moon’s bookshop, which was absolutely magical. Bookshelves are stacked from the floor to the ceiling, and there are piles of books all around the floor. I crawled down the hallway, picking out Thackeray, Chesterton, Shakespeare, and Dickens. I bought 17 books, several from the 1800s, including a beautiful little royal blue volume containing famous poems about flowers. H and J had to drag me out of the shop so we could get to the Beatrix Potter Museum. There, we walked through the tales of Peter Rabbit, Benjamin Bunny, Squirrel Nutkin, and many more. There was a flowery potpourri scent throughout, and gentle flute music played in the background; H kept saying that it reminded him of the Shire in The Lord of the Rings.
That night, we went to Crosby’s for some real fish and chips. The fish was fabulous; doused with salt and vinegar and accompanied by mushy peas, it melted in my mouth.
One of the parts of the trip I enjoyed the most was listening to H and J talk about my mom. She visited them for the first time when she was exactly my age, and they immediately formed one of those relationships that can only be described as providential. They said it was like she had always been there; she would sit in front of their open coal fire, and it was like she was one of the family. It was a gift to listen to them describe the impact she's had on their lives.
The next morning, the J and I went to the neighborhood church, and then I took a train back to Oxford.
Aaaaand there happened to be an RAF guy from Scotland sitting next to me on the train, so I got to listen to that accent for a couple of hours, learning all about haggis and Robbie Burns nights.
A few weeks ago, I took the train up north to spend a long weekend in Whitehaven, Cumbria. I stayed with the family my mum stayed with when she came to England 28 years ago.
I walked to the Oxford train station early in the morning, only to miss my train by going to the wrong platform. I could not believe it! Missing a train produces the most awful sinking feeling, and I stood there forlornly on the platform wondering what on earth i would do.
Fortunately, my ticket was for “any route,” so I got the next train two hours later. I consoled myself saying that I had gotten it out of my system before going to Italy, where the trains might not be so accommodating.
The B-----s, H and J, picked me up from the Penrith station looking exactly the way I remember them from their visit when I was 12. On the way home from the train station, we stopped at the Rheged Center, which had an exhibit of costumes from British films like Sense and Sensibility and Shakespeare in Love. We had lunch there--broccoli soup and soda bread (which is AMAZING).
Arriving at their house in Whitehaven was the only time that I have felt homesick so far in England. I kept thinking, “Mom should be here,” and then they showed me a collage of pictures of my family on their wall. So, though I'd been rolling my eyes at Betsy's homesickness at the beginning of her Europe trip in Betsy and the Great World (immediately after she arrives anywhere she throws herself on the bed and sobs), in that moment I finally understood how she felt.
That evening, after I composed myself, we took a walk around Whitehaven Harbour, and I was consoled. There’s something about the sea that I can’t get enough of. It's enormous and constant, and the waves have a rhythm, but it is also different every time you see it--never quite the same color. That evening, it was a slick and shining periwinkle that melted into a broad golden strip of the sunset's reflection. Walking around, H and J gave me a history lesson about the coalmines and their tragedies, and about John Paul Jones’ failed invasion during the American Revolution (when his men deserted him to drink at the pub).
The next day, we set out for Muncaster Castle—supposedly one of the most haunted in England. On the way, we stopped at Wasdale, the place with the deepest lake, the highest mountain, the smallest church, and the biggest liar. We saw the lake and the church. This was a place my parents had gone, and it was strange to walk into the tiny church and recognize it from a picture I've seen of them.
What I remember about Cumbria most is the landscape. The hills are steep, and low, 300-year-old stone walls curve up and down them. Between those walls, hundreds of black, white, and brown sheep roam. They lie next to the roads or mosey up to the tops of the hills. I have never seen so many sheep in my life. Have ever noticed how adorable they are? They cuddle up together and doze in the rain. It's impossible not to drive by and exclaim, "Sheeeeeep!"
The land itself is the most beautiful I have ever seen. The rainsoaked grass and trees are deep green, and often topped with mist and clouds that are every shade of gray. In a way, you could say it looks like the Pacific Northwest. And yet, it’s so much more wild. The hills are called "Fells," and, as it’s the Lake District, many of these fells touch lakes, “meres,” or “waters.” Even the water is wild—choppy and slate gray; it's not difficult to imagine ancient seamonsters swimming in their frigid depths. Stone farmhouses are scattered along the fells, each more charming than the rest. I grew up reading authors who lived in places like this--James Harriot and Beatrix Potter--and because of their writing, I felt like I was returning somewhere I'd seen before. It was familiar like a land from a dream.
Muncaster Castle is also the home of an owl preserve, so I saw Hedwig and many of her friends, as well as the haunted bedroom in the castle. It’s an odd shade of deep blue-green, and always quite cold. Near the end of our self-guided tour, a scruffy old man in a cap and fleece jacket asked us if we were local. H said that I’d come all the way from Seattle, and the man said, “Well, if you look in the next room, you’ll see me on the wall.” It was Lord Penningtone himself! His family has owned the castle for generations, and he lives there now.
The next day, I went to Michael Moon’s bookshop, which was absolutely magical. Bookshelves are stacked from the floor to the ceiling, and there are piles of books all around the floor. I crawled down the hallway, picking out Thackeray, Chesterton, Shakespeare, and Dickens. I bought 17 books, several from the 1800s, including a beautiful little royal blue volume containing famous poems about flowers. H and J had to drag me out of the shop so we could get to the Beatrix Potter Museum. There, we walked through the tales of Peter Rabbit, Benjamin Bunny, Squirrel Nutkin, and many more. There was a flowery potpourri scent throughout, and gentle flute music played in the background; H kept saying that it reminded him of the Shire in The Lord of the Rings.
That night, we went to Crosby’s for some real fish and chips. The fish was fabulous; doused with salt and vinegar and accompanied by mushy peas, it melted in my mouth.
One of the parts of the trip I enjoyed the most was listening to H and J talk about my mom. She visited them for the first time when she was exactly my age, and they immediately formed one of those relationships that can only be described as providential. They said it was like she had always been there; she would sit in front of their open coal fire, and it was like she was one of the family. It was a gift to listen to them describe the impact she's had on their lives.
The next morning, the J and I went to the neighborhood church, and then I took a train back to Oxford.
Aaaaand there happened to be an RAF guy from Scotland sitting next to me on the train, so I got to listen to that accent for a couple of hours, learning all about haggis and Robbie Burns nights.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)