London: Oxford
Wednesday, we left London for a day to go to Oxford, aka “Where Oscar Wilde Was.” I call it that, because even more so than Tuesday, this became an exercise in post-mortem stalking.
When we first boarded our bus, it was raining, and I made use of the fact to leave my umbrella at Victoria Station. Well, bought in France, lost in England, I suppose it was appropriate... luckily the rain had stopped by the time we arrived.
We looked around (I wanted to stop by some record shops, but was not allowed), and then set off in the direction of Magdalen College: supposedly the prettiest of the lot, and the one (of course) which had the honor of matriculating Wilde.
It wasn’t open to the public till another half-hour, so we looked for a place to eat, and by way of several detours, ended up at the very English Nandos, a spicy South American chicken restaurant. Then we returned over the bridge to Magdalen, where we interrogated the man who checked us in for Oscar Wilde info. He helpfully marked on our map of the college the room he used to give lectures, the dining room with his bust in it, and the dormitory where he had lived. He also turned out to be a bizarrely enthusiastic C. S. Lewis admirer, and likewise marked Addison’s Walk, where he used to stroll, and recommended several pubs he used to frequent. I suppose he was no more enthusiastic over Lewis than we were over Wilde, but I will insist on labeling him “bizarre” because:
a) When people ask me for specific destinations, I do not randomly start giving them directions to Wilde sites instead, and
b) He never made it very clear when he was talking about Wilde and when about Lewis, so we thought it was Wilde who used to walk there, and were quite disappointed. Then again, there was also an eponymous poem of Lewis’ there, and then we were glad that it wasn’t Wilde’s work, because it sucked. (I like C. S. Lewis. He wrote “The Narnia Chronicles.” But he wasn’t much of a poet, and especially not at 19.)
Magdalen was indeed exceedingly pretty, all covered in ivy, and refreshingly matching in its appearance and its age (no faux aging of stones here). We sadly weren’t allowed to go through most of it-visitor access was extremely restricted-but we admired its immaculately tended flowerbeds and vast green lawns. It had a Deer Park, a river with boats guarding its banks, and a beautiful wooded area. In fact, it was all almost too pretty, looking more like a sentimental painting than a reality. Anna took entirely too many photos of all the places at least remotely connected with Wilde; I took photos of a red phone booth peeking from an old stone archway, and the swans in the canal. We both took a generous amount of photos in Addison’s Walk, which was indeed inspiring. As we were promenading, we also saw a studious-looking young man, with somewhat long brown hair, brown tweed pants and sweater, who looked so deliciously British collegiate student-y, that I was tempted to snap a picture of him too.
Leaving Magdalen, we then proceeded to Christ Church College, where Lewis Carroll and Ruskin taught. Took some more photos: of some schoolboys playing cricket, of the university in general, of a building that had nothing to recommend it except that it was built in a style Ruskin admired, and of Burne-Jones-designed, Morris-crafted stained-glass windows (we were so proud of being able to identify them correctly! Ah, our area of expertise). Who says kids have no intellectual interests nowadays?
For those of you into Harry Potter: the stairs of Christ College are the ones used for the main staircase of Hogwarts in the HP movies. Took no pictures of them though; you got the movies themselves for that.
Then we wandered around, trying to get into some other places (the Oxford Theatre, etc) which turned out to be closed, because everything in Europe closes too damn early. Accepting the futility of this, we checked our marked-up map, and decided to go see those pubs of C. S. Lewis’, because why not? We were hungry again anyway. The first one we went to was actually not the favorite of the Lewis circle, and served no food anyway. So we went to the other one across the street. This was one called “The Eagle and Child,” (nicknamed “The Bird and Baby” by Lewis and his gang), and actually had a fairly impressive menu.
Lewis and his friends used to come here every week, and sit for hours in the “Rabbit-room,” drinking beer and discussing their respective works. Along with Lewis, there was another famous fantasist in the circle-J. R. R. Tolkien, and it was here that he first read drafts of the Rings trilogy to his friends.
To commemorate these authors, there were several photos of them on the walls, and a framed note of thanks that they’d left the bartender once, plus a newspaper clipping on another wall, but otherwise it remained just as it was, and pleasantly un-commercialized. The Rabbit-room, where we also sat, was indeed very cozy, and I made sure to have a beer to the circle’s memory, since we were there. (Will admit that shamefully, the fact of Tolkien’s once being there only made me think of Marc Bolan instead.) But really, very nice pub, go there if you ever visit Oxford.
Once we got out and walked around some more, we realized we still had quite a while till our bus back to London, and nothing to do. So we dropped by a net cafe, and looked up other places in Oxford connected to Wilde. We found two references: Spiers Emporium, where he’d (among other things) bought a pack of playing cards and a crystal decanter, and the Mitre Inn, where he used to dine.
Armed with this information, we of course went to search these places out. (Anna wanted to buy a pack of cards of her own at Spiers.) Unfortunately, Spiers Emporium no longer existed, so Anna had to settle for taking a photo of the place it *used* to be at. Mitre Inn, however, *did* exist, and so we went to have tea and profitroles there.
As we were being served our tea, Anna inquired of the waiter if he knew where Oscar Wilde used to sit there, but the waiter didn’t know that he was ever even a visitor. We then educated the waiting staff on this subject (factoids about the crystal decanter and playing cards included), and the poor man tried to get away by “trickily” suggesting to her that he “used to sit... why, I believe at that very table!” Even though he was obviously making fun of her (nicely), it didn’t stop her from taking, like, 200 photos of the place. (Note for accuracy’s sake: all the photo-taking attracted another waiter, who asked what Anna found so memento-worthy in the walls, and it was to him actually that we imparted the crystal decanter/playing cards bit.)
Then, when we’d finished our tea, Anna still refused to leave the restaurant, saying she needed to see the original waiter again, and when I asked why, proclaiming with admirable pathos, “I feel a lack of closure.” To give her closure, I suggested we write him a nice thank-you note instead, so that was what we did. (Who knows, if Anna ever gets famous in her own right, they might hang it on the wall.)
And then we went back to the bus station, and returned to London and our hostel.
When we first boarded our bus, it was raining, and I made use of the fact to leave my umbrella at Victoria Station. Well, bought in France, lost in England, I suppose it was appropriate... luckily the rain had stopped by the time we arrived.
We looked around (I wanted to stop by some record shops, but was not allowed), and then set off in the direction of Magdalen College: supposedly the prettiest of the lot, and the one (of course) which had the honor of matriculating Wilde.
It wasn’t open to the public till another half-hour, so we looked for a place to eat, and by way of several detours, ended up at the very English Nandos, a spicy South American chicken restaurant. Then we returned over the bridge to Magdalen, where we interrogated the man who checked us in for Oscar Wilde info. He helpfully marked on our map of the college the room he used to give lectures, the dining room with his bust in it, and the dormitory where he had lived. He also turned out to be a bizarrely enthusiastic C. S. Lewis admirer, and likewise marked Addison’s Walk, where he used to stroll, and recommended several pubs he used to frequent. I suppose he was no more enthusiastic over Lewis than we were over Wilde, but I will insist on labeling him “bizarre” because:
a) When people ask me for specific destinations, I do not randomly start giving them directions to Wilde sites instead, and
b) He never made it very clear when he was talking about Wilde and when about Lewis, so we thought it was Wilde who used to walk there, and were quite disappointed. Then again, there was also an eponymous poem of Lewis’ there, and then we were glad that it wasn’t Wilde’s work, because it sucked. (I like C. S. Lewis. He wrote “The Narnia Chronicles.” But he wasn’t much of a poet, and especially not at 19.)
Magdalen was indeed exceedingly pretty, all covered in ivy, and refreshingly matching in its appearance and its age (no faux aging of stones here). We sadly weren’t allowed to go through most of it-visitor access was extremely restricted-but we admired its immaculately tended flowerbeds and vast green lawns. It had a Deer Park, a river with boats guarding its banks, and a beautiful wooded area. In fact, it was all almost too pretty, looking more like a sentimental painting than a reality. Anna took entirely too many photos of all the places at least remotely connected with Wilde; I took photos of a red phone booth peeking from an old stone archway, and the swans in the canal. We both took a generous amount of photos in Addison’s Walk, which was indeed inspiring. As we were promenading, we also saw a studious-looking young man, with somewhat long brown hair, brown tweed pants and sweater, who looked so deliciously British collegiate student-y, that I was tempted to snap a picture of him too.
Leaving Magdalen, we then proceeded to Christ Church College, where Lewis Carroll and Ruskin taught. Took some more photos: of some schoolboys playing cricket, of the university in general, of a building that had nothing to recommend it except that it was built in a style Ruskin admired, and of Burne-Jones-designed, Morris-crafted stained-glass windows (we were so proud of being able to identify them correctly! Ah, our area of expertise). Who says kids have no intellectual interests nowadays?
For those of you into Harry Potter: the stairs of Christ College are the ones used for the main staircase of Hogwarts in the HP movies. Took no pictures of them though; you got the movies themselves for that.
Then we wandered around, trying to get into some other places (the Oxford Theatre, etc) which turned out to be closed, because everything in Europe closes too damn early. Accepting the futility of this, we checked our marked-up map, and decided to go see those pubs of C. S. Lewis’, because why not? We were hungry again anyway. The first one we went to was actually not the favorite of the Lewis circle, and served no food anyway. So we went to the other one across the street. This was one called “The Eagle and Child,” (nicknamed “The Bird and Baby” by Lewis and his gang), and actually had a fairly impressive menu.
Lewis and his friends used to come here every week, and sit for hours in the “Rabbit-room,” drinking beer and discussing their respective works. Along with Lewis, there was another famous fantasist in the circle-J. R. R. Tolkien, and it was here that he first read drafts of the Rings trilogy to his friends.
To commemorate these authors, there were several photos of them on the walls, and a framed note of thanks that they’d left the bartender once, plus a newspaper clipping on another wall, but otherwise it remained just as it was, and pleasantly un-commercialized. The Rabbit-room, where we also sat, was indeed very cozy, and I made sure to have a beer to the circle’s memory, since we were there. (Will admit that shamefully, the fact of Tolkien’s once being there only made me think of Marc Bolan instead.) But really, very nice pub, go there if you ever visit Oxford.
Once we got out and walked around some more, we realized we still had quite a while till our bus back to London, and nothing to do. So we dropped by a net cafe, and looked up other places in Oxford connected to Wilde. We found two references: Spiers Emporium, where he’d (among other things) bought a pack of playing cards and a crystal decanter, and the Mitre Inn, where he used to dine.
Armed with this information, we of course went to search these places out. (Anna wanted to buy a pack of cards of her own at Spiers.) Unfortunately, Spiers Emporium no longer existed, so Anna had to settle for taking a photo of the place it *used* to be at. Mitre Inn, however, *did* exist, and so we went to have tea and profitroles there.
As we were being served our tea, Anna inquired of the waiter if he knew where Oscar Wilde used to sit there, but the waiter didn’t know that he was ever even a visitor. We then educated the waiting staff on this subject (factoids about the crystal decanter and playing cards included), and the poor man tried to get away by “trickily” suggesting to her that he “used to sit... why, I believe at that very table!” Even though he was obviously making fun of her (nicely), it didn’t stop her from taking, like, 200 photos of the place. (Note for accuracy’s sake: all the photo-taking attracted another waiter, who asked what Anna found so memento-worthy in the walls, and it was to him actually that we imparted the crystal decanter/playing cards bit.)
Then, when we’d finished our tea, Anna still refused to leave the restaurant, saying she needed to see the original waiter again, and when I asked why, proclaiming with admirable pathos, “I feel a lack of closure.” To give her closure, I suggested we write him a nice thank-you note instead, so that was what we did. (Who knows, if Anna ever gets famous in her own right, they might hang it on the wall.)
And then we went back to the bus station, and returned to London and our hostel.