I began this trip with grandiose ideas of how I would document my travels. I do not know where I come up with these delusions of myself, but they persist. I dreamt of filling this post with gorgeous pictures of the English countryside, Oxford, and pints upon pints of cider. This is impossible, though, because I have managed to take approximately four pictures all of which are of St. Paul’s dome.
I have yet to buy oxford leather shoes, but that doesn’t make me less of an Oxfordian. I have a favorite coffee shop (The Missing Bean), a favorite pub (The Turf), a favorite lunch spot (Cafe Creme), and a favorite bookstore (Blackwell’s). Within the main part of the city, I know my way around. Today–when walking to get Thai food–I was flustered by all of the people clogging the sidewalk with their lack of direction. Psh. Tourists.
Living like an expat is an especially interesting lifestyle during the Olympics.
The Olympics are all about national pride and international coexistence. In America, the Olympics are all about celebrating our ability to produce athletes that dominate in everything. The Olympic events give Americans national pride in a way that very little else does. We may not know exactly what Obamacare is, but we know exactly how many gold metals Michael Phelps is predicted to win this year.
The British are more lackadaisical. I am 60 miles from the Olympic Stadiums, yet the enthusiasm is mild to say the most. More than anything, the English seem annoyed by the influx of tourism. When I was in London last week the tube was a mess. Plenty of people with maps were already congesting the small aisles worse than the light virus going around Wadham College.
The opening ceremonies were a display of all things British. Here in Oxford, though, students continue to mill about their lives. Conversations overheard are about politics, great literature, Shakespeare, and the “heat.” Here in this shire, life is busy, but full of leisure. I’ve read five books since my arrival and have more in my que. I’ve visited London a few times, eaten the best meal I’ve ever eaten, seen Shakespeare’s birth place and his tomb, frequented six plays, sat 8 rows from the stage for Le Mis, strolled through Jane Austen’s garden, and eaten Jamaican jerk chicken in Brixton.
I would apologize for the sparcity of my blog posts, but I won’t. I can’t apologize for reading outside in 60 degree weather, romping through the English Peak District, learning to be myself in a new place, and becoming Oxfordian.
So cheerio dear Blogosphere. From Oxford with love.