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Thursday July 13, 2006 Logan Airport, Boston I check into my flight and wait through an interminably long security line. Apparently I have been rewarded with a random upgrade to Premium Economy class, and for some reason I've been assigned a Virgin Atlantic frequent flyer number. What a great airline! When I get to the front of the line, the lady checking IDs asks in broken English, "Are you Mark?" "Excuse me, what did you say?" "Are you Mark Johnson?" "Um, no." She points to my boarding pass, which was indeed issued to a Mr. Mark Johnson. Back to the counter I go, causing all kinds of commotion as the real Mark Johnson had also managed to check in with baggage. Managers are summoned to address the situation. Employees are interrogated. Much to my disappointment, I am moved back to coach class. I am forced to wait again through the hour-long security line, just barely making it onto the plane. |
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Friday July 14, 2006 Heathrow Airport, London It is 7 AM. A guy is moving through the line at immigration control asking people what meal they chose on the plane. It seems that everyone had the beef and broccoli. He's looking for someone who tried the lasagne. Headington and Oxford Back at Jeff's flat, I freshen up with a shower and we set out for a walking tour of Oxford that supplements what I saw last year. Conveniently, someone has organized a picnic in a nearby park, so we have dinner there. The cold pre-cooked chicken legs that Jeff buys for us are, according to him, "the best thing ever." For some reason, everybody who eventually joins us first wanders over toward the other group in the park: a bunch of special-ed kids playing with a parachute. I summon my last reserves of energy to play a long game of what Aussie Dave calls "touch footer" (rugby). This is followed by a rather tedious round of Boules, which is probably the dumbest thing ever. I manage to stay awake until about 11 PM. Not bad. |
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Saturday July 15, 2006 Oxford Jeff and I sleep through our 10 AM punt appointment, so we improvise a new plan over breakfast. We start with a walking tour of Magdalen College (curiously pronounced like "maudlin"). It's beautiful in all the ways that you'd expect a 558-year-old college to be. Addison's Walk is a wooded path that runs around the perimeter of the grove, periodically crossing the River Cherwell. I believe C.S. Lewis used to wander here. Inexplicably, there is also a deer park with a herd of captive deer. Perhaps it is for ambiance. While roaming the hallways of the cloisters, I hear the distant strains of a pipe organ. We duck into the magnificent cathedral-esque chapel and listen while the organist practices what sound like 19th-century secular pieces. The sanctuary is closed off with an elaborate wooden gate, but that's fine with me because it offers a place to rest my camera for a quick shot of the dramatic light streaming through the high windows of the cavernous space. They don't build them like this anymore. Next we hit up a few museums: the Museum of Natural History (distinguished from other natural history museums mostly by its beautiful neo-Gothic space), the adjoining Pitt Rivers Museum (guns, shrunken heads, and opium pipes -- oh my!), and finally the excellent Museum of the History of Science. I am truly at home in the latter place, taking in case after case of shiny brass instruments, observing their intricately-machined features, clever designs, ornate aesthetics, and unmatched craftsmanship. Old instruments have a certain quality to them whereby the average engineer can divine how they work with only a little bit of head-scratching -- even the most complex machines have a sense of transparency about how they operate. Most people would probably be bored. (Still reading?) I have mixed feelings about the Marconi exhibit, as it makes no mention of his rival Tesla. Of course, it is sponsored by the Marconi Corporation. After the museum we grill some tasty burgers and head to the Green College Ball. It's important to wear the tuxedo at least once a year, I figure, so this ball is becoming an annual tradition. Once again, the weather is perfect and the event is a blast. |
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Sunday July 16, 2006 London Somehow I make it back to Jeff's flat and of course I sleep until lunchtime. With only the slightest signs of a hangover, it's time to hop on a bus and head into London! Our arrival into London is delayed by traffic backups caused by parades and a political demonstration in Trafalgar Square. Nonetheless we have time for a rapid walking tour of the major tourist sites, although since it is Sunday, none of them are open to visitors. It's okay with me, since the weather outside is perfect. One thing you can count on in England, however, is finding a place to drink, which we do somewhere off Oxford Street. We take the bus back to Headington. I am most impressed by the bus service in England. It's inexpensive, quick, clean, and reliable. And this Oxford-London bus runs at all hours of the day. I don't know how they do it. I buy the most delicious chips (by which I mean french fries) from a falafel truck. The perfect midnight snack. |
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Monday July 17, 2006 Oxford We start the day off with a tour of the famous Bodleian Library. The tour is kind of a big deal because the library has been closed to visitors since it opened in 1602. To enter its hallowed grounds, Oxford students must take an oath not to bring a naked flame into the library and so on. I, however, "borrow" an Oxford ID card from an outgoing student. I am a little nervous about using it, since I look nothing like the guy in the picture, but luck is on my side. While the security guard subjects Jeff to intense scrutiny, she waves me right in with only a quick glance at the card. Unfortunately, photography is strictly prohibited, so I will summarize: the big Bod reading room looks exactly like a movie set, with ornate leather-bound volumes (which you must not touch) stacked high on the walls while a wrinkly big-eared man perched behind the librarian's desk watches like a hawk. It's an intimidatingly quiet space. They didn't have air con back then, you know. London We summon our friend Matt to join us for another afternoon trip to London. The idea is to go to a few museums. But I think we end up going to just one -- the Imperial War Museum -- which is totally fine. The airplanes and tanks are really cool, but Jeff wants to see the holocaust exhibit, which defies my best efforts at being cheerful and completely drains everyone. We head off to the Porterhouse brew-pub to recharge. Matt's friend, a London political analyst who claims to make occasional appearances on CNBC, joins us for dinner. The beer is great and the decor is nice but my $36 steak (done "medium") tastes like a pork chop. Chalk up another loss for English cuisine. We head back to Oxford... Oxford ...just in time for the Half Moon lock-in! The pub lock-in is an old British drinking tradition (of now-dubious legality) in which, after closing time, the pub owner locks the doors and pulls the shades but continues to serve alcohol to his friends inside. Apparently my Oxford friends are his friends. This place is great. It has a certain atmosphere to it that I haven't encountered in the States. I'm pretty sure it's not due entirely to Matt regaling us with stories of famous Canadians, either. |
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Tuesday July 18, 2006 Oxford My flight departs London at 2:30 PM and we still haven't gone punting, so I insist that we all head out at 10 AM for a leisurely punt on the Cherwell. We leave Jeff's flat more or less on time, but soon we realize that the walk to the boathouse is much longer than expected. Along the way, we meet up with Matt, who suggests a shortcut along the river bank that he's certain will work. We simply have to cut across this farmer's field, where pedestrian access is guaranteed by some ancient English law. Well, we get to the other side of the field and discover nothing but barbed wire fence and nearly impenetrable brush. Matt stops insisting that he's taken this shortcut before. The guy driving the tractor is probably laughing. We trudge back to the road and hail a taxi to get us there only 30 minutes behind schedule. Which means that we only get to punt for 15 minutes upriver. A passing duck detects that I'm eating a blueberry muffin in the boat, and starts pecking me in the leg until I visibly threaten it with bodily harm. Fun, nonetheless! Back in Headington, my friends see me off. I manage to make it onto the plane home with only minimal difficulty. Another great summer adventure complete! |
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