Thamy and I have been put to shame concerning our so called “Travel Blog” in comparison with our friends who manage to write long, coherent accounts of their stay in Oxford on nearly an every day basis. To our twelve followers, who we are sure have been continually disappointed by our lack of updates, we apologize. In all honesty, though, the only reason I’m writing right now is because I can’t go out due to an impromptu cold and thus cannot enjoy a bunch of pints as Thamy and all our friends are doing at this very moment. I will view this as a blessing in disguise, however, and try to fill in the blank spaces. It will probably do me some good write about something that does not concern Jane Austen or British Politics. (And by the way, my existential crisis concerning Margaret Thatcher WILL be written).
Anyways, the last time I really posted anything was when I stepped foot on this island. Thamy filled you in on last weekend so I suppose I’ll cover the next week and the weekend. I am gradually getting used to the teaching style, and was more encouraged when I got my essay back in my British Politics class, although I’m sure my cold that I acquired this week made the second one a total dud. Yesterday, Michelle and I discussed how the teaching style here isn’t exactly conduscive to a six week program. The tutorial style revolves around reading and writing, and coming to your own conclusions about concepts that you have studied. There are no grades until the end, so you aren’t working for an ambiguous letter that could really mean anything but for the actual expansion of your mind. The problem with cramming this method into six weeks is that it does count towards an ambiguous grade which makes everything ten times more stressful.
The school week mostly consisted of a combination of school work and beer and or cider and sometimes whiskey. I got drunk on a Tuesday and wound up ranting about politics in the White Horse to British soldiers who had worked for Hal Burton. In so many ways, this does not surprise me. I always manage to talk about politics or something that will make one really uncomfortable at probably the most inappropriate times. Fortunately, I lucked out and had a very good conversation with one of them about President Obama and overall American ignorance when it comes to international relations. I love the fact that I can coop myself up in the Trinity Library and look forward to going to the pubs at night. The freedom of it is wonderful, and I won’t have that when I get back to the states for another four months. Also, American bars can compare to pubs, they’re much cozier.
This weekend we took a trip to Bath. Our trip was quite eventful since Michelle, Becca, Josyln, Connor and I among a couple of others managed to get on the wrong train. Thankfully, it wasn’t too big of a blunder and it was highly amusing. Unfortunately, I also lost my one and only sweater. The Roman baths were fascinating. Their ingenuity is truly inspiring and almost more impressive than today’s technology in my opinion. We also tried some of the special mineral water from the spring. It tasted like blood, but I suppose I could have used the iron. The earlier loss of my sweater left me quite cold in the dreary weather and I was resigned to buy another one for ten pounds at the Gap. Despite this, I still managed to catch the cold that I am just beginning to get over and what confined me to Trinity and not the pub crawl (Thamy, that’s all you).
What I did manage to do, was attend a service at Christ’s Church Cathedral. Being a former Episcopal choir girl I have a deep appreciation for good liturgy and music. I got both and even a good sermon, who’s gist was that sacrifice in it’s true form should not feel like sacrifice but a joy and I could not agree more. Also, I know I should not be feeling this since it is church and all, but it felt good (and kind of superior) to know EXACTLY what I was doing among all the tourists. It was the first time I did not feel like a foreigner.
Unfortunately the cold has raged on and made the last couple days kind of miserable BUT tonight I had the opportunity to hear Sir Christopher Ricks, the former professor of poetry at Oxford, talk about the poetics of prose, and I even got the chance to talk to him about my thesis and my notions about the intersections between poetry and law.
That is a patch up of the past week or so, Thamy can fill you in about the more fun things that my damn cold has confined me from. And perhaps if I’m not too lazy I’ll add some photos tomorrow.
Good night!
-Elizabeth