Chris’ Pan-European Christmas Tour: Fit the Last: Oxford and London, England

Wherein Chris gets off at the wrong bus stop in Oxford, wanders through a variety of superbly excellent book and music stores, sees a copy of the Medea with handwritten notes by Milton in the margins, eats Thai food at a Japanese restaurant in London’s Chinatown and walks along the Thames.

The England portion of the tour began well enough, if one considers that portion of the trip to begin with take-off from Istanbul. Otherwise it was a beautiful ending. In either case, we chased the sunset for three hours, and that flurry of brilliance which normally passes in mintues was drawn out for hours above the clouds. Absolutely wonderful. The presence of Stardust as the in-flight movie, only maximized the amount of perfection achievable in economy. Good thing, too because the next few hours were going to be miserable.

The first hint of the problems that lay in waiting came when I finally made it through the line to passport control, and the lady looked disapprovingly at my card and lack of address in England. I told her I would be staying with a friend at Oxford, and she made up some address for me, but the problem remained. I didn't know precisely where Emmett lived. But this shouldn't be a problem. I'll meet Emmett at the bus stop and all will be good because plans never ever go wrong. Then the bus driver asks me where I want to be dropped off. Apparently there is more than a single stop in Oxford. Having forgotten to recheck the message from Emmett before departing, I am at a loss for words. He suggests High Street. It's my only real choice. Unfortunately, upon my departure, there is no Emmett there. I half-heartedly try to follow the bus and those that follow at 30-minute intervals to try and see if there are any further bus stops. Eventually I run out of buses. It is now pushing eleven on New Year's Eve, and I have been wandering Oxford for hours and no idea what to do now since everything is closed. So I pay the police station a visit. After convincing the officer on duty I was not drunk and that going ome was not an option, the patheticness radiating off me finally convinces him to suggest a hostel, and that is where my luck begins to change. By all rights, the hostel should have been locked down, but some guy, completely out of his mind on some artificial chemicals, is propping the door open, flagrantly ignoring the 'Please do not smoke on the stoop' sign. When I discover that the computers in the lobby require a pound and that my last piece was spent on chips, the same guy gives me a coin before going off into the corner to play his acoustic guitar. From a quick check of Facebook and correlation with MapQuest, it is only a hop, skip and twenty minute walk to Emmett's house. I get there some six hours after first finding myself in Oxford.

The rest of the trip proves far more relaxing. The next two days in Oxford include walking the grounds of one of the colleges and passing by and through places of such interest as an exhibition of Milton with early editions of the various works and a copy of the Medea with his notes scribbled in the corner, the place where the Inklings used to meet (Eagle and Child? Lamb and Rod? Something of that sort, anyway.), and the Pitt River Museum, a museum in the style of the Victorian Age where various artifacts that caught the fancy of explorers were thrown together in glass cases and given no more labeling than 'Religion' or 'Transportation.' I liked Oxford. It had Blackwell's, simply the best bookstore I have ever seen. Also, it was comfortably sized and none too busy, though that may simply be a result of the post-New Year's timing.

Then there was London. Unfortunately, London was simply too big and expensive for two days and a student's budget. Too big for a month, come to think of it. The banks of the Thames are great, and we covered a lot of the city, making it into the National Gallery and Tate for a few hours on the second day. The thing is, it was nothing more than a tasting, a quick overview to give me an idea what I would like to do were I to come again. It's frustrating.