The Rose Exchange

(OE’s Title for this Post: Most Amazing Day with OE Ever!!!)

OE and I spent yesterday in London, one of my favorite cities in the world. We started off with a service at breathtaking Westminster Abbey. The acoustics of the choir sent shivers down my spine—so rich and yet so haunting. We walked over Winston Churchill’s marker to get to our seats (sorry, dude!), which were by the gravestone of William Blake, the famous poet. After the service we ran into fellow VPOer JB, headed to a later service. You really can’t get away from Virginia!

Westminster Abbey. Because I’m writing this in the airport, the photos from this post come courtesy of your friend and mine, Google Images.

After Westminster, we walked up towards Trafalgar Square, past Whitehall Palace, whence lived the Tudors (pre-Buckingham Palace), doing the general tourist gawk. After lunch we hopped the subway down to Buckingham Palace itself. Then, not-so-deftly dodging the traffic diversions due to the Bike Race, we went over to the Tower of London for a quick goggle at the crown jewels. The Tower is one of the coolest historical attractions in London: its history of torture and imprisonment, its famous prisoners (Anne Boleyn? Elizabeth I? anyone?), its menagerie, its historical reenactments of medieval swordfights, and, of course, the crown jewels themselves. Amazing!

The Imperial Crown, a perfect accessory to go from day to evening.

We finished up the day with a cruise down the Thames, passing the Globe, the London Eye, 10 Downing Street, and more. It was a full day, but a ton of fun!

Before I leave off, however, OE deserves a special mention for being my constant travel buddy this summer. Together we have gotten through delayed planes, vague tutors, unmarked bus stations, and pushy tourists. And mostly we have laughed. (A lot. Like eleven year olds.) Only OE, when I say things like, “If I go crazy, will you come with me?” responds, “Go?”

So thank you, OE, and here’s to a great senior year at Sweet Briar!

Part of the Bodleian.

The day has come, ladies and gentlemen. I’m (almost) packed and ready to go! I’m ready to go home, but I’ve loved my time at Oxford. I’ve loved getting to know more awesome, smart, funny people. I’ve loved studying at one of the most famous libraries in the world. I’ve loved arguing with my tutors (my superlative award last night? most surprisingly confrontational). I’ve loved getting lost in the Ashmolean, and visits to the market at Gloucester Green, and wandering in and out of 800 year old churches. I’ve loved weekend visits to places I’ve only read about in books. I’ve loved sharing stories with you. 

I won’t miss everything, of course (lumpy mattress, I’m looking at you), but I do hope I come back to Oxford one day. 

And now, thank you to everyone who’s supported me. My parents and grandparents, my professors, my tutors, and my friends, old and new. I wouldn’t have had such a great time without you guys!

But it’s not too sad, because the story doesn’t end here! OE and I are spending the next two days in London before we fly home on Monday. So, a few more posts are on the way!

Sadly, we are approaching the end of the Virginia Program at Oxford. My Oxford to-do and to-see list is unfortunately much longer than the amount of time I have left, so yesterday OE and myself tackled a small portion of it. 

We started with a visit to Christ Church, Oxford’s most famous college. Founded by Cardinal Wolsey and taken over by Henry VIII (same players from Hampton Court), it has been home to some of the most famous thinkers in western civilization. It has hosted Kings and Queens, and, more recently, Professor McGonagall. 

Professor McGonagall waiting to greet students. (Picture Credit: Google Images)

These were the stairs that they did not make Elizabeth I walk up when she came to visit. Instead, they knocked out part of the upper wall and built a bridge across. You can still see where they bricked it back in. (In the picture, if McGonagall was looking straight ahead instead of down, she’d be looking straight at it.

At the top of the stairs is the Great Hall (we had to wait for the students to finish their breakfast) where more Harry Potterness happened. 

My picture.

Harry Potter and friends. Personally, I miss the portraits. (Picture Credit: Google Images.)

Christ Church is notable for its duality of purpose: it is both a college and a cathedral. The chapel is remarkable; however, its lighting is not conducive to photography. It was built by that great opportunist Wolsey on the former convent church of St. Frideswide, another of those awesome medieval female saints. She is buried somewhere under the chapel (they’re not entirely sure where) but the remains of her shrine are on view. 

Among many others, Charles and John Wesley were ordained in this chapel. I attended a service last Sunday and we sang one of  Charles’ hymns. Definitely an amazing moment.

After a final gander through the picture gallery, which was full of 14th-18th century art (my favorite), we said a fond farewell to Christ Church with one item ticked off the list!

Next up was a quick hike up the ninety-nine steps of Carfax Tower, for some great views of Oxford’s famous “dreaming spires.”

That concluded our sightseeing for the morning, as we both still have books to read and papers to write (and for my part, laundry to do). However, we got an unexpected bonus with dinner at the Eagle and Child!

The Eagle and Child was the haunt of the Inklings, who included such literary giants (and personal heroes) as JRR Tolkein and CS Lewis. They called the pub the “Bird and Baby.”

And it just so happened that the only free table was in the rabbit room, the very spot they used to gather! Squee!

So, I’ve been promising an Ashmolean Post forever, it seems like. Now that I’ve finally gotten around to it, what do I say?

THE ASHMOLEAN IS AWESOME.

THE ASHMOLEAN IS THE BEST THING IN OXFORD.

THE ASHMOLEAN MAKES ME VERY, VERY, VERY HAPPY.

However, I expect you lovely readers would have a heart attack if my post was that short, so I’ll give you a little background on the place.

The present-day entrance.

The Ashmolean began as a curiosities collection, donated by Elias Ashmole (1617-1692), including a taxidermied dodo bird, Joseph’s Coat of Many Colors, and Guy Fawkes’ lantern (of these, only the lantern survive). Eventually it evolved into its present state, Oxford’s museum of Art and Archaeology, under the premise that civilization is best understood when studying those two subjects together (a premise I very much agree with). 

Nothing beats actually visiting a museum. To be surrounded with the results of human activity, with the products of thousands of years of energy, creativity, and life—it gives me as much of a rush as some people get from a roller coaster. It took me three full visits to see everything, but I’ll try to pick my top five favorite galleries, in no particular order.

1. Greek and Roman Sculpture

Athena, one of my favorite goddesses. (Of course I have more than one!)

2. Early Italian Art

(Sorry, no photos of the art. Conservation, people!)

3. Aegean World

Sir Arthur Evans, who discovered Knossos on the island of Crete, one of the most important early classical sites, was one of the keepers of the Ashmolean.

4. Music and Tapestry

This one’s for you, Reed. 

5. Ark to Ashmolean

Guy Fawkes’ lantern. Guy Fawkes was one of the men who conspired to blow up Parliament during the reign of King James.

Walking around the Ashmolean is like walking around your grandmother’s attic, times one thousand. It’s full of little treasures in nooks and crannies—Henry VIII’s hunting gloves, 19th century dolls of Oxford dons, coins from the ransacked Jewish temple. A few things are copies, others are of questionable validity, as the museum is just as interested in the very idea of collections as it is in facts and figures. Why do we create museums? Why do we treasure pottery shards that were valueless a thousand years ago simply because they existed a thousand years ago? What does humanity share, and how does humanity express itself? What is our responsibility towards our heritage? 

I will miss the Ashmolean. 

I’ve found my fairy tale palace. It’s about half an hour from Oxford, and its called Blenheim.

Blenheim is a baroque palace from the 1700s, which means it fits exactly into my fairytale ideals. I was reminded at every turn of my favorite, Beauty and the Beast, especially the retelling by Robin McKinley, Rose Daughter. No pictures indoors, unfortunately, but here’s one of the library from the internet.

It holds over 10,000 books. Be still my heart.

Blenheim Palace is famous for being the birthplace of Winston Churchill. It also briefly was home to Consuelo Vanderbuilt, the American heiress who hated her arranged marriage to the Duke of Marlborough. Consuelo was famous for her beautiful long neck; apparently she could wear 19 rows of pearls on a choker necklace!

Blenheim is situated on over 2,000 acres, and SP and I saw only a small portion of them. (You can take a train out to the pleasure gardens, if you choose.) The gardens were designed by Capability Brown (best name ever, by the way).

A side view of the formal gardens.

My favorite may have been the rose garden. So Beauty and the Beast!

“Roses are for love. Not silly sweethearts’ love but the love that makes you and keeps you whole, love that gets you through the worst your life’ll give you and that pours out of you when you’re given the best instead…”

Robin McKinley, Rose Daughter

Of course, the elegance couldn’t last long, and the longer we hung around, the sillier we got. SP is the new undisputed queen of corny photos (she blames me). I present the following for your perusal.

Lounging around in the backyard.

Blenheim a la “Cristina’s World.” Yes, we know we got it backwards, but as SP says, in England everything is opposite.

In case you can’t tell, that’s a duck topiary. There were also pigs. Surrounding the Italian gardens. I’m guessing they weren’t part of Capability’s original design.

Everyone from the group who’s visited Blenheim has had to pick a statue to copy. Here’s mine. 

SP being impaled on the gates. This was only partially intentional, I swear.

A look back as we race to beat the storm clouds. Success is sweet!

Saturday OE, SP, and myself visited Salisbury, Stonehenge, and Old Sarum. Our first stop was Salisbury Cathedral, an incredible old church-and-cloister combo from the 1200s. Its tower is the tallest from medieval Britain, and the third tallest from the medieval world.

The cathedral is full of tombs, from an unknown crusader to Edward and Catherine Seymour, Henry VIII’s in-laws through his third wife and aunt and uncle to his heir, King Edward VI. Salisbury Cathedral is also famous for housing one of the four extant original copies of the Magna Carta, written 1215, which may be the second most influential document in our culture, after the Bible. It’s basically a rights document, signed by bad King John (think Robin Hood).

After Salisbury Cathedral (and lunch) we dropped into St. Thomas’ Church, which is believed to have been built as a space of worship for the workers building the Cathedral. In its smaller way it’s rather magnificent in itself, with a fantastic “Doom Painting” on the the wall over the apse, an embroidery from the 1400s, and a tower where an alchemist once practiced his secret arts!

The Alchemist’s Door. (Picture Credit: OE)

As much fun as Salisbury was, we also wanted to check out this little site nearby called Stonehenge. A short bus ride through the Wiltshire countryside later, we found ourselves at one of the most famous places in the world.

Stonehenge with dramatic clouds. So. Cool. 

Stonehenge is contemporary with the pyramids, and we know almost nothing concrete about it. In that light, I particularly love the myths associated with it. Here’s two of my favorites from the guide:

Three thousand English nobles died in battle when the Saxons invaded in the 5th century. The King wished erect a monument to them, and Merlin (yes, that Merlin) advised him to use the “Healing Rocks” which the giants had brought from Africa to Ireland (gotta love it).The King sent Merlin, Uther Pendragon (Arthur’s father), and 15,000 knights to Ireland to go get the stones. The knights could not move them, so Merlin ‘magicked’ them to England. Supposedly, a few chips of the rocks thrown into a well will cleanse it. 

Another myth involves the devil. Liking the power of the stones, he dressed up as a gentleman and went to the house of the old woman who had the rocks in her garden. He promised her that she could keep all the money she could count while he moved them, and, knowing how heavy they were, she expected great riches. However, the devil merely flew them away before she could count a single penny, leaving the woman poor and her garden bereft of lawn ornaments. Knowing how proud the English are of their gardens, this must have been quite the punishment!

SP, OE, and myself. (Picture Credit: SP’s camera + nice lady tourist.)

On the way back from Stonehenge we stopped at Old Sarum, where the original Roman settlement began. The castle there was founded by William the Conquerer and at one point imprisoned Eleanor of Aquitaine, mother of Richard Lionheart and Bad King John (again, Robin Hood). The castle was situated on a high hill, which made it very defensible, but difficult to get water and other everyday necessities. Eventually, the decision was made to move the entire settlement down to Salisbury plain, which has not one but five rivers running through it. Because they took down much of the castle to build the new settlement, the ruins are very ruin-y, but still a lot of fun to ham it up in.

What follows are the results of a long day. Just be grateful the rain stopped us early.

Roman Centurians. (PC: SP)

Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble! (PC: SP)

OE and SP give due reverence to the ruins of the chapel altar. (See, it wasn’t just me going nutso!)

Carol, Patron Saint of Tacky Tourist Moments. (PC:SP)

Okay, one real picture, just for kicks. Isn’t England spectacular? (PC:OE)

*This was the title of our lecture on Wednesday morning, cheeky precisely because many people don’t like the play. 

The second half of our Wednesday excursion took us right into London to see a production of As You Like It at the Globe. We crossed over the Thames to get dinner, and found ourselves right next to St. Pauls Cathedral, made famous (in my mind, at least), by “Feed the Birds” from Mary Poppins.

The Globe, like it was in Shakespeare’s time, is an open air theatre. I splurged on a cushion, but some people, called groundlings, stood for the whole three-hour play. Only one fainted. Gave you a real sense of what playgoing in Shakespeare’s time was like, only I don’t think they had emergency medical personnel then!

Having never read or seen As You Like It, this was my first experience with it. The Globe’s production set the piece in Victorian times, and turned at least one major male character into a female. It had a definite Vaudevillian quality to it which I very much enjoyed. 

In case you’re in the same boat I was, here’s the main plot:

***Spoilers***

There are two brothers. One has banished the other to the forest of Arden and taken up residence in the court, along with his daughter Cecilia and his brother’s daughter Rosalind. While there, the girls meet Orlando, who immediately falls in love with Rosalind. Rosalind is then banished to the forest; Cecilia goes with her. To avoid mishaps, Rosalind dresses as a boy and Cecilia as a peasant girl, and they go as brother and sister. In the forest, they meet with Orlando, who has fled his murderous elder brother. Rosalind, disguised as the boy Ganymede, strikes a deal with Orlando: if Orlando will woo Ganymede as if he were Rosalind, then Ganymede (Rosalind) will cure him of his lovesickness. (Just go with it, people.) There are also various shepherds, unwilling country lovers, the banished Duke (Rosalind’s father) and the nobles who went into exile with him, and a court jester to liven up the place. The play ends with two miraculous conversions, four marriages and the return of everything to its proper place.

My favorite characters were Orlando, who managed to make his character convincingly dumb and yet still lovable, and Cecilia, who perhaps did more with her single-word lines than others did with whole soliliquies. Their Rosalind was quite good at humor and the physical expressiveness of a girl crazy in love, but I never felt that centeredness that makes a character real for me.

The most interesting character by far was that of Jaques, a man in the original but played in this production by a woman. The actress derived her characterization from a kind of Victorian feminist, at turns enthusiastic about the risibility of the world and cynical about her role in it. Her starkly passionate, unfeminine portrayal provided a powerful contrast to the schoolgirl giggles of Rosalind and Cecilia. It was to her that the famous line was given:

All the world’s a stage

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts.

Bravo, Shakespeare. Bravo.

The groundlings mill about before the play starts.

Yesterday the Virginia Program at Oxford took us on our final excursion to Hampton Court Palace and the Globe. Unfortunately, because of restoration work, the Tudor front was covered in scaffolding, but here’s a decent shot of the Baroque back.

Due to hundreds of years of “renovations,” the palace itself is a bit of an architectural mess, but the history attached to it is inescapable. Here’s the short list of People Who Lived in Hampton Court and the Stuff They Did There:

1514: The palace is built by Cardinal Wolsey, Henry VIII’s chief minister on an old monastic site.

1528: After the King turns on Wolsey, Wolsey gives the palace to him as a “gift.”

1536: Anne Boleyn, Henry’s second wife, is executed before she can take up residence in her apartments.

1537: Jane Seymour, Henry’s third wife, gives birth to his son, the future King Edward VI. She dies there two weeks later.

1541: Henry is worshipping in the Chapel Royal when he is informed of the adultery of his fifth wife, Catherine Howard. She later breaks free of house arrest to plead for his forgiveness, but her guards recapture her and drag her back down the hall, screaming. Her ghost is said to haunt the palace.

1543: Henry marries his sixth and final (and my personal favorite) wife, Catherine Parr. Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward all attend. 

1554: Mary and her Spanish husband Philip honeymoon at the palace.

1604: James VI/I holds the Hampton Court Conference to settle religious politics with the Puritans. Not much is settled, but he does mandate the creation of the King James Bible.

1625: Charles I honeymoons with his French Catholic wife Henrietta Marie.

1689: William and Mary (yes, that William and Mary) commission architect Christopher Wren to turn the old-fashioned Tudor palace into a Versailles-like abode.

1702: King William falls from his horse, incurring fatal injuries.

1717: Rooms completed for King George I, the last monarch to reside in the palace.

Needless to say, it was pretty chilling to explore such a history-laden place. (Metaphorically chilling, that is. In reality, we were sweating in the heat.) 

The ceiling of Henry VIII’s Great Hall. The picture doesn’t begin to do it justice.

King Henry’s rooms. Humble guy, really. (Photo Credits: OE)

OE, myself and Henry VIII. And no, Hal, we are NOT wives seven and eight. That’s Catherine Parr on the right, making small talk, wisely, with people who are not other men.

The Clock Court. (Photo Credits: OE)

Queen Mary’s chambers. You can tell it’s the Queen’s because of the feathers.

No. There is no such thing as over the top when it comes to decorating. (Photo Credits: SP)

Yup. Could definitely get used to this. (Photo Credits: SP)

OE, SP, and myself in the gardens. (Photo Credits: Random man in kneesocks)

EL and KG, really excited that we made it through the maze in exactly five minutes. And it was I, for the record, who decided to go right. (Photo Credits: OE)

OE and myself with a guard. I could get used to that, too. 

Yesterday we decided to kick studying to the curb and spend an afternoon on the town. It’s been really pretty recently—I think it got up to 75 yesterday—so we decided to take advantage of the weather and have a picnic in Christ Church Meadows. 

Beautiful Christ Church, home to such figures as John Locke, Charles and John Wesley, Albert Einstein, Lewis Carroll, and WH Auden.

AE, KG, KM, OE, and myself chowing down. Sneaky picture credits to EL.

After lunch OE and I had planned on seeing Christ Church, but as the line was several hundred people we decided to hit up Oxford Castle instead. Despite its name, Oxford Castle has, for most of its life, been a prison. It was built by the Saxons sometime before 1066, but was a prison as early as the 1200s, and didn’t close its cell doors for good until 1996. At no time during this period did it have indoor plumbing for inmates!

The castle/jail is sufficiently ghoulish, and OE and I enjoyed wandering around the crypts, cells, and the mound, where Oxfordians used to go watch executions. The execution block is now a rooftop restaurant, ironically named “The Living Room.” 

On our way home we popped into St. Michael at the North Gate, which bills itself as the oldest building in Oxford. We were both surprised and delighted to find we’d stumbled into an evensong service, centered around one of Bach’s cantatas. The singers were superb—they made German lyrical! St. Michael’s is famous for hosting Shakespeare (his godson was baptized there), John Wesley (founder of Methodism), and King Charles I (used Oxford as his capital during the English civil war), among others. 

It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon. It wasn’t love at first sight, but I really have grown fond of Oxford during my time here. I’ll be glad to go, but I won’t be glad to leave!

Happy August everyone! Just two more weeks left in the program, but exciting things are coming up, so stay tuned!

I held a two thousand year old Roman Briton glass bead today. How ‘bout you?

We are now two-thirds of the way through the program, and I thought it was high time I hied myself to London. I’d been to the British Museum when I was seven, but I really wanted to go again. I also thought I’d spare my friends the agony of going through a museum with me—I am that tourist who reads every label—so today was a solo trip.

The approach. (Sorry about the photo quality in this post. My camera died and I had to use my cell phone.)

The British Museum is known for housing such treasures as the Rosetta stone, the Elgin Marbles, the Lewis chess set, and a vast array of mummies. Its antiquities collections is particularly impressive, and I of course ate it up with a spoon. What I find cool about the layout of the British Museum is that it places the objects in such a way as to restore them to their original power. It’s one thing to appreciate these objects from the pages of an Art History book. It’s a whole other matter to stand next to them.

Assyrian gate-gaurdian. For a little perspective, I’m about as tall as one of the legs. 

One of my favorite things in the museum was a “hands-on” table with four or five objects from their collection. A curator let us hold the objects (in addition to the bead, I also got to hold a small bronze statue of Mars that dates somewhere between the 1st and 4th centuries AD) and walked us through the process of figuring out what they were. It was an amazing insight into the work archaeologists and historians do, and further proved that I do not belong in their ranks! A casual museum-goer will suit me just fine. 

One thing I admire about the British Museum is its awareness of its history and purpose. The Museum knows it stemmed from Enlightenment Era Lords with time and cash to spare, and it celebrates it. That said, there is a spareness and formality to the museum that is mesmerizing. However, I have to say that I don’t love it the way I love the Ashmolean (Oxford’s museum, about which I owe you all a post). Going into the British Museum is like going into a temple; going into the Ashmolean is like going into your grandma’s curio cabinet. 

The Great Court.

It was nearly a perfect day—nearly. As always when you travel in the UK, something goes amiss, and today my train home was cancelled. I was able to grab another one that took twice as long to get home, but at least I got in a solid nap!

Wednesday night after dinner OE, SP, KO, NF and myself headed out to the Perch, a pub about half an hour from St. Anne’s, over the river and through the woods. I thought I’d share some of the photos—it was absolutely stunning. The Perch is said to be one of the inspirations for Lewis Carrol’s Alice stories. 

The Perch itself. Not your average Oxford pub.

The views on the walk there. It made me wish I could recite some Romantic poetry… I really understand their love of nature now.

Artsy shot of the Thames (yes, that Thames) through the beautiful spider webs. (OE was not so taken with the builders of said webs.)

Sailing on the Thames. The little black flag on the top of the one on the right is a pirate flag.

The view from the Perch.

This one’s for Grandma.

The view up from where we were sitting.

Altogether it was a lovely night with great friends. It’s nice not to think about essays for a few hours!

… to bring you the awesomeness that is my brother. RF is teaching summer camps at our local zoo, and today he was visited by our local TV station. Check it out!

Ireland adventurers!

Today began with OE and I taking a tour of Dublin Bay and Malahide Castle. (OK, technically it started with a missed bus, but we’ll gloss over that.) Our first stop was Howth, a seaside town about half an hour from the city. I loved getting to stand by the ocean, looking at Dublin’s eye (pictured below). We’ve been lucky with the weather, and there were several boats sailing around. It made me think of my grandfather, and I wished he were there so he could take us sailing out to the island! 

The most fun thing about the bay were the seals hanging around mugging for tourists. Seals always remind me of puppies (visitor!) but there’s an Irish legend that says some seals are actually selkies, beings who can shed their seal-skin to become humans. This particularly beautiful (and sad) song by Méav Ní Mhaolchatha interprets the legend from the selkie’s point of view:

You promised me gloves from the skins of the fishes

The smile of a dolphin for a ring in my hands

But you left me with nothing but a mouth full of air

And promises wide as the ocean.

Our seals exhibited no such melancholy, and entertained us with their antics. 

So cute!

This one was snoring. I named it Walter. (Picture credits to OE)

Next up was Malahide Castle, built in the late 12th century and inhabited almost continuously by the Talbot family (the castle was taken briefly during Oliver Cromwell’s takeover of Ireland) until the 1970s, when the last lady of the house packed up her bags and moved to Tasmania. As a result, the castle boasts a range of styles, from medieval to Georgian to modern. As an added bonus, the National Gallery uses the castle as a runoff portrait gallery.

The grounds were beautiful as well, though in a bit of a state of chaos, as they’re preparing for a concert by the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince this weekend.

Back in Dublin, we made a beeline for Trinity College, where the Book of Kells is kept. The College itself is very stately, and the Book of Kells exhibit was definitely the highlight of the day. The Book, an illuminated manuscript of the gospels, dates to the 600s. The Book is housed in Trinity Library, a gorgeous barrel-vaulted room with books organized by size. (Probably makes it hard to find a book, but it looks super cool.) Also in the library is the oldest harp in Ireland. Unfortunately, no photos allowed, but I grabbed this one of the Chi Rho page in the Book of Kells online. 

We’ve got just one short day in the emerald isle* left; we fly back to Oxford tomorrow. It’s been a great trip!

* Kudos to those of you who are singing now.

Hello from Dublin!

Once again OE and I are on the road. (Actually, on a bus to a plane to a coach, but I’ll spare you the messy travel details. Stress. Mishaps. Ultimate sucess. The usual.)

Today we took a tour of Dublin, wandered around St. Patrick’s Cathedral, visited the (free!) National Museum of Ireland, and finished up the day with a stroll through Temple Bar. Unfortunately, my camera batteries died almost as soon as we got underway, so this post will be pictureless.

The batteries were not the only dead things today. Or rather, undead.

We were informed by our bus driver that a several thousand person protest would be starting today at two. To beat the crowds, we ducked into St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

I never get tired of cathedrals. They truly are places set apart. St. Patrick’s had a particular dignity to it—a deep serenity. They had a kind of museum around the edges, and one of the exhibits was a door with a hole hacked in it. Turns out there was a feud between two Irish families. One sought sanctuary in St. Patrick’s, inducing a change of heart in the other and call for peace. Refusing to believe his enemy, the first man stayed inside. In response, the second  man hacked a hole in the door and stuck his arm through to shake on the truce. Such an act of faith (as his arm could easily have been sliced off) convinced him of his enemy’s good intent, and thus peace reigned in Dublin.

St. Patrick is also known for hosting the debut of Handel’s Messiah in the early 1700s, but they’ve had a choir there since 1220! I’d have given anything to sing, but I didn’t want to frighten the other tourists.

After the cathedral we visited the National Museum of Ireland—Decorative Arts, housed in Ireland’s oldest barracks. My favorite exhibit by far was “The Way We Wore,” of the last 250 years of fashion and jewelry. It included a pair of Marie Taglioni’s pointe shoes—the woman who invented pointe shoes! The dancer in me was ecstatic.

Afterwards we met up with EL, also studying with the Virginia Program at Oxford. We grabbed dinner at a pub and then strolled through Temple Bar, an area known for pubs, shopping, and music. There was a particularly fantastic fiddler whose take on classic rock made me almost euphoric. The violin is officially my new favorite instrument.

Let me see. Was there anything else I was going to tell you? Oh yes. The zombies.

They were everywhere. Pale, bloody, ragged, dancing ungracefully. Themed zombies. Zombie couples. Historical zombies. We never found out whether they were part of the protest (I suggested they might be upset with the cost of living… yeah) or just part of the usual Saturday night scene. Either way, they added a flair of morbid intrigue to our outing.

Who needs leprechauns?

Tomorrow officially begins our long weekend, and OE and I are flying to Dublin tomorrow morning. I’m not bringing my computer, so the blog will be dark for a few days, but I promise to return with stories and pictures galore! 

In writing about all my various adventures, I realized that I’ve neglected to tell you some of the meat and potatoes of why I’m here! So, here follows a little about academic life at Oxford:

I’m essentially taking two classes: Literature and History. Every week I read for both and write an essay for one. Essay questions vary, but here are this week’s:

Literature: Why did Thomas More present a flawed commonwealth in Utopia?

History: Was there a Catholic community in Elizabethan and Jacobean England?

To help respond to these questions, our tutors (professors) give us a reading list, generally 6-12 books each. That’s up to 24 books to read in four days! I try to get to a half to two-thirds of the list, but it means an awful lot of library time!

We have two libraries available to us: St. Annes Library and the Bodleian. I try to get as much done at St. Annes as possible, since it’s right here. Plus, the Bod, as we call it, is somewhat intimidating. When we first got our cards we had to read out the following pledge:

‎I hereby undertake not to remove from the Library, or to mark, deface, or injure in any way, any volume, document, or other object belonging to it or in its custody; not to bring into the Library or kindle therein any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the Library; and I promise to obey all rules of the Library.

I seriously considered reading it in Latin, its original language, but decided against it. 

We have our tutorials on Friday, which means Thursday is essay-writing day. You can tell it’s Thursday because people start to go back for fifth and sixth cups of coffee, and conversation denigrates to various moanings and groanings. 

Friday I have my Literature Tutorial at 10AM and my History Tutorial at 5PM, with my tutorial partners CM from W&L and NF from H-SC. Together with our tutors we discuss and debate the topic of the week. It’s a fairly stressful system, but I enjoy getting to argue—perhaps a little too much! At the end of the session we get our assignments for the next week and the whole thing starts over again.

In addition to the tutorial structure, we also have daily lectures on a variety of topics relating to Tudor-Stuart England. My favorites so far have been on Shakespearian theatre by Mr. Nick Hutchinson, the structure of Macbeth by Dr. Emrys Jones, the psychological effect of the double bind in King Lear by Sir Christopher Ricks, and the use of rhetoric in forming Shakespeare’s characters by Katie Musgrove. (You can tell I lean to the literature side of things.) 

As you can tell, it’s a pretty full schedule!

I will leave you with a final fun fact: “school” comes from the Greek word “skole,” which means leisure. Back then, of course, only men of leisure could afford time for schooling. Now I sense a bit of irony creeping in!

I really believe I shall always be talking of Bath, when I am at home again–I do like it so very much…. Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?

Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

Saturday OE, SP, KO, and I took the bus to Bath. It was pouring rain when we left—a proper English outing! Bath’s fame as a tourist town goes way back. The Romans came in 43AD and built the famous baths over the natural hot springs there, naming it Aquae Sulis. As a Classics major, I insisted we make a beeline for the baths, and I was not disappointed. 

“These hot springs were used by the Romans as early as the first century. In area, in grandeur, in completeness, the baths of Aquae Sulis were unequalled. The remains of their magnificence are here disclosed.”

Myself, KO, and OE in front of the baths.

The museum attached to the baths were full of supercool Roman artifacts, including curse tablets, architecture that combined Celtic and Roman mythology, and the skeleton of a Syrian man who ended his life in Britain!

After lunch we split up and KO, OE, and myself headed over to the Jane Austen Centre. Touted as “Bath’s most famous resident,” Austen set two of her books, Persuasion and Northanger Abbey there. The Centre is modest, but we did get to hobnob with one Regency gentleman!

The rain having finally abated for good, we traipsed up to the Circus and the Royal Crescent, both architectural feats, and then back down to Bath Abbey, which had been closed earlier for a wedding. It was absolutely stunning—so stunning that I’ll give you two pictures!  

Jacob’s ladder worked into the architecture on the front.

All in all, it was a great day with great friends, old and new! As much as I love studying, it’s really nice to get out and do the touristy thing now and again!

My friends came back from a coffee shop the other day with earth-shattering news: there was a chocolate sandwich on their menu. Okay, maybe not earth-shattering, but pretty exciting for a chocoholic like me. They insisted I try it.

I present the following for your perusal.

Before:

It was basically nutella on toast, but delicious nonetheless. I also have no idea what the small red berries on top were (my friends suggested gooseberries), but they were delicious as well.

After: 

Sometimes it’s the little things that make your day!

EDITED TO ADD: The red berries are not gooseberries. They are, in fact, redberries. Go figure!

RE-EDITED TO ADD: The redberries are more officially called red currants. Thanks Grandma!

In my senior year of high school we used to have debates in English class over whether the Harry Potter books were literature or not. For the most part, it was our English teacher, Mr. C, for the negative and the class for the positive. Whichever side of the debate you land on, I’ve never been able to respond to the epic the same way since. 

What follows are a few of my random analytical observations of the final movie and the saga in general. If you want to keep Potter purely pop culture, you may want to skip this post.

The movie itself was decent, but far from perfect. Some of the adult cast, especially, have their characters down to such a science that the tiniest tightening of a muscle can send you reeling. But, like all movies from books, the necessary reduction of plot, character, and action forfeited some really wonderful moments from the books.

Here’s my best metaphor for the result of those cuts: Imagine melting a bowl of cookie dough ice cream. If you pick out the cookie dough balls and eat them separately, it gets to be too much of the same, however good those chunks are. The movie had to jump from deadly serious moment to deadly serious moment, which were Not To Be Interrupted by Witty Frivolity. In the process, it lost some of its charm.

I also think, having been constantly submerged in the elegance of Shakespeare, I became frustrated with the dumbness of the dialogue rather too quickly.

Harry: Holds the elder wand, which we have now had two full movies to get acquainted with.

Hermione: What is it? The elder wand?

I don’t know if this was intended to make her look so smart that she can answer her own questions, but it made me feel as if the audience was so dumb we couldn’t match nouns to objects.

I also still take issue with the epilogue. Quite frankly, I’m a bit creeped out by the fact that all the married couples met each other by the time they were twelve. TWELVE. Nobody meets anybody new after they graduate (do they graduate?). I was discussing this with a friend.

Me: Don’t you think it’s sending the wrong message, that if you don’t find true love by puberty you’re out of luck?

Friend: But they’ve been through so much together. No one else would understand that.

Me: Like post-traumatic stress disorder? That’s not love, that’s a psychological condition.

Friend: I think love is a psychological condition.

Me: Touche.

I had other complaints as well, which got me thinking—why did I go? And why did I laugh, and cry, and cheer?

I think J.K. Rowling’s brilliance is in her ability to incorporate almost everything that we who have been raised in the western world associate with symbolism into an easily-navigable narrative.  Nothing in the story makes us work hard to understand it. Nearly everything is drawn from either the classical or biblical tradition. (Snakes are bad. Phoenixes are good.) The world of Harry Potter is the world our imaginations are trained to inhabit, and that is what makes it both immensely satisfying and ultimately frustrating. 

So, now that the movies are over, I hope to be able to reassert my first love for the books back over the cultural mishmash that has since emerged around the franchise. Back when I pronounced it Her-mee-own. Back before they designed Voldemort to look like a guy with pantyhose on his head. Back before they cut some of the more subtle scenes in favor of brooding atmosphere.

But mostly, I’m grateful for the world JK Rowling has given us to play in. It says a lot about the measure of our culture, and the narratives, themes, and symbols we harken to most. 

I’ve just come back from the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. In a way, I feel as if I’ve come full circle. I read the first Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, when family friends brought it back from their visit to England. Now I see the final movie on native soil as well.

KW, our resident Harry Potter fanatic, leads the group in her Gryffindor scarf.

Harry Potter may have been the first and only trend I have ever been on the forefront of. About six months after my brother and I gobbled down our friends’ copy, it seemed as if every kid in school had one, too. In elementary school, the students sat in the cafeteria before school. Needless to say, it got pretty loud in there. The best of those mornings happened when every single student was bent over his or her copy of Harry Potter. Silence.

It was that sense of a shared story that I experienced tonight. We sobbed together. We laughed together. We cheered together. And when it was over, we sighed together.

It was that communitas, more than the movie itself, that I really enjoyed.

P.S. I also really enjoy Sarah Rees Brennan’s parodies of the movies. Here’s a good one to get you started. Hint: Use the bathroom before you read.

P.S.S. Ravenclaw and McGonagall forever!

Tuesday we took half the day off from the study grind to go see Phillip Massinger’s The City Madam performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre in Stratford-Upon-Avon. We ate at the Garrick Inn, in a building that’s been in use since the early 1400s—longer than the US has been in existence. They also serve some darn good apple fritters.

The City Madam is a Carolinian-era comedy concerned with the themes of rank and wealth, deceit, female arrogance, and avarice, but it is also darned funny. The plot revolves around the Frugal family. Sir John Frugal is the merchant puritan, whose disgust with his shallow and vainglorious wife (the eponymous city madam) and daughters, and distrust of his silver-tongued brother, whom he has rescued from a debtor’s prison, cause him to devise a plot to catch them all at their game.

The City Madam and her two daughters reveling in their fashionable importance.

The characterization of the brother, Luke, was pure brilliance. He managed to endow a fairly shallowly written character with a compelling depth and a fascinating instability. His self-indulgent descent into moral anarchy was beautifully and repulsively done.  

Of course, this is also comedy, and the second act introduced three Londoners pretending to be Virginia Indians looking for virgins to sacrifice to the devil (17th century beliefs, people, don’t look at me). This allowed for dialogue like the following:

Luke: [Trying to send his nieces to America to be ‘Indian Queens.’] Nor is this feat of majesty far remov’d: It is but to Virginia.

Lady Frugal: How! Virginia! High heav’n forbid! Remember, sir, I beseech you, what creatures are shipp’d thither.

At this point the actors glanced over to where the thirty-six of us from the Virginia Program at Oxford were sitting. Virginia represent!

Like my title so cleverly suggests, I did laundry today. But was it really that simple, you ask? Of course not! I reply.

I began the epic saga of laundry at 9AM and finished at 3:30PM. Yes, it took six and a half hours to do one load of laundry. Here’s the scoop:

9AM: Leave breakfast. Go to porter’s lounge. Put down ten pound deposit for laundry card. Get codes for post office and laundry building.

9:30-11AM: Attend lecture on The City Madam. More of this anon.

11AM: Leave St. Annes in search of ATM. Miss turn. Circle St. Giles graveyard, find turn, and make way down to ATM. Successfully extract cash. Find store that sells laundry detergent (third time’s a charm). Return to St. Annes.

11:30AM: Climb four flights to room. Stuff all dirty clothes in carry-on bag. Go to on-campus post office.

11:40AM: Use code to enter post office. Look bewilderingly at laundry card machine. Figure out how to put money onto laundry card.

11:45AM: Wonder if there is any way to get to the laundry building, two buildings over, from the post office. Discover there is not. Walk down the length of campus and back again.

11:55AM: Use code to enter house. Make way through maze of twisty little passages to laundry room. Discover party going on as six people are waiting for a washer or dryer to open up.

12:30PM: Washer open at last! Insert clothing. Figure out card machine. Start.

1:00PM: Lunch.

1:45PM: Return to find dryers still full.

2:00PM: Overcome scruples, remove someone’s unattended clothes from the dryer, and insert own clothes.

3:20PM: Clothes are dry!

3:30PM: Lug clothes back up to room. Spread out on bed to reduce wrinkles. Victory is sweet!

But of course laundry wasn’t my only accomplishment of the day. (Though I think it would have been enough.) I also walked down to the Bodleian, accompanied by OE, to do some hardcore studying. We may or may not have bought fudge on the way home.

Plus, I now have a thesis for my essay! I thought it would never happen. 

On Sunday our British director, Dr. Ken Fincham, took us on a whirlwind tour of Oxford colleges. I think this is a post best told in pictures. 

St. John’s College

The Bridge of Sighs

A College Chapel

An English Garden in front of Oxford’s medieval wall. The college’s founding agreement states they have to maintain it, so it’s practically the only stretch of wall left with its battlements intact.

If you look very carefully, you can see the Latin for “The Reign of Carol.” (Not really. Carolo is actually Charles, not Carol. But hey, is he still around to kick up a fuss?)

And, as always, I am astonished at these quiet green spaces in the midst of this crazy city. Beautiful!

Last Saturday we went to see Macbeth with the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-Upon-Avon. Sounds so deliciously simple, right? Wrong. Because I’m not actually sure I saw Macbeth. I saw something that was technically impressive, undoubtedly creepy, thought-provoking, theatrically powerful—but not Macbeth.

It’s not that I’m a purist, exactly. I recently saw and loved a production of Much Ado About Nothing set in 1920s gangster Chicago. But in my mind, you don’t mess with the text, and if you do, you better be able to explain each and every of your (probably misguided) choices to me. 

We got nothing on Saturday. Only a mangled Macbeth in which the witches were largely cut out and what few lines they had left were delivered by spirits of children, who later turned out to be Macduff’s children, who were then murdered and returned to their (original?) ghostly form. This is by far the most controversial change in the play—and people tend to fall drastically on one side or the other in their liking of it. Personally, I thought it was sufficiently creepy (the children were dropped from the ceiling looking like hanged dolls), but not particularly illuminating. 

I was split as to the casting. Lady Macbeth rocked it, in my opinion, but then she’s one of my favorite Shakespearian ladies. Macbeth himself… eh. He played the weak-minded serial killer well, but I never felt that he wouldn’t go down the path he did. There was no moment of decision which I find so crucial to his status as a tragic character. 

Here Macbeth stands on a throne suspended from the ceiling. Impressive yes. But also distracting, as I thought more about the fly system than his characterization. 

In this production of Macbeth, the director chose to downplay emotional reactions (Fleance standing unmoved while his father is being murdered, e.g.) in favor of atmosphere. But there comes a point where atmosphere just isn’t compelling, and I reached that point about halfway through the first act. Shakespeare didn’t write for atmosphere—he didn’t have lights, or fireworks, or soundtracks, or fly systems. He had language, and he had characters. Take that away and you’re left with a production that can’t help but be unsatisfying. Valid, perhaps, but not Shakespeare.

It’s now been several days since Macbeth. While some strong yay votes are holding out, most of the undecided have come to my side (not through my doing, of course, but because I am on the side of light and truth). What I will say for RSC’s Macbeth is that we’re still talking about it days later. That’s one part of the mission accomplished, anyway.

After all, what is Macbeth without double, double, toil and trouble? Or when nothing wicked this way comes?

I’m still toning down my rant—er, preparing my critique on RSC’s Macbeth, so in the meantime, I thought I’d share some less controversial takes on life in England. So, without further ado, I give you:

Things I Have Learned

In case of fire, “Shout FIRE FIRE FIRE repeatedly and loudly.” One wonders what would happen if I only repeated “FIRE FIRE.” Do they count to make sure you’ve done it in triplets?

Many toilets flush with a button, not a lever.

Pedestrians have NO right of way. Even at a crosswalk with the go-light on. I have nearly been hit by three cars and a bus, but the bicyclists are the worst, because they can come out of nowhere. Navigating Oxford is a bit like playing a video game (GO! Stop! Now! Jump!), except I don’t think I get three lives here.

Official things (buses, museums, etc.) use the twenty-four hour clock and Celsius. Nonofficial things (people, restaurants, etc.) use the twelve-hour clock and Fahrenheit. This is not helping.

Oxford colleges are very proud of their grass. I can be raving about the beauty of the flowerbeds, and our British tutor simply looks at the lawn and marvels at the “extraordinary grass.”

In America, we call them cookies. Here, we call them biscuits. I’m trying really really hard to remember that, but it usually comes right after I’ve excitedly announced the presence of cookies. Therefore, I have created a new word. Oooooooh, cookieBISCUITS!

The porters know all, see all, and do all.

I am afraid of the laundry. No one will speak of it. 

Today I stood on the same floor Shakespeare did. Ooooooooooooh.

The program took us to Stratford-Upon-Avon, birthplace of William Shakespeare. We had tickets to three Shakespeare-related attractions: Nash’s House, the home of his daughter and son-in-law, the town physician, New House, the site of Shakespeare’s demolished house, and the bard’s own birthplace. All three were lovely and fairly low-key. I am quickly coming to the conclusion that English gardens are the loveliest in the world. 

Here follows some less reverent takes on the afternoon:

I love this sign! So cute!

A proper English garden.

After we’d seen the sights, we went to dinner at the Marlowe Restaurant (named after Christopher Marlowe, Shakespeare’s contemporary, best remembered for Dr. Faustus), which was built in the 1590s, during Shakespeare’s life and towards the end of Elizabeth I’s reign. The food was excellent, though I think we were all a little worried about being done in time for Macbeth, which I will talk about in my next blog post, as I Have Opinions. (Can’t wait, right?)

One of my favorite books is A Little Princess. In it, an ex-heiress turned servant girl is relegated to the attic room and makes friends with a rat, whom she names Melchisedec. In my own attic room, I have made my own rodent friend. This is Oliver.

My desk is right by the window, and Oliver comes to watch me write my history essay. I’m tempted to ask him about power distribution in Shakespeare’s England!

Hold on to your sorting hats, ladies and gentlemen. Here come the Harry Potter references.

So I’m finding that mostly what they drink in England is coffee (yuck) or beer/wine (uh-uh), and only such small amounts of water as are necessary for the health of their livers. Coming off some traveling dehydration, these have not been enough, and I’m feeling pretty dizzy tonight. Tomorrow I’ll have to go in search of a water bottle from the shop across the street.

However, despite feeling like the whole word is slanted to the left, today was pretty darn cool. I met my tutors, Dr. Allen (literature) and Dr. Redgrave (history). They both seem really amiable and I’m excited for tutorials on Friday. My first essay is on history (eek) so I’ve got to really buckle down in these next few days. 

We toured the St. Anne’s library (useful rather than beautiful) but also the Bodleian (beautiful rather than practical). The Bodleian is one of the landmark buildings in Oxford, and before we were allowed in, we had to read a pledge promising not to take out any books and not to set in on fire, which I imagine was more necessary back in the days of candles and torches. We read those pledges in the room where Parliament was held if the plague came to London. Pretty intense stuff.

We set off to explore/get lost in the Bodleian, and found ourselves in a rather amazing room that was, incidentally, where they filmed the infirmary scenes for Harry Potter. It was in a bit of disarray, as there were several workers on pneumatic lifts vacuuming the ceiling, which was beautifully and elaborately carved. I’ll have to keep working on this internet thing so y’all can see the pictures!

There were two lectures today. The first, given by Prof. Michael Dobson, was a bit of a whirlwind tour through the Tudor period, but I was happy to say that I knew pretty much everything he was talking about, thanks to my Tudor-Stuart history class last semester (thanks Prof. L!). The lecturer did have some cool stories about the time Elizabeth I visited Oxford. They didn’t want her to have to walk down and up stairs to get from dinner to entertainment, so they simply knocked out part of the wall and built a bridge between the rooms! It was blocked up after she left, but you can see where it was, and it’s still called “Elizabeth’s door.”

The second lecturer, Mr. Nick Hutchinson, was particularly fantastic. Mr. Hutchinson is an actor and director and has worked with one of my favorite theaters, the Blackfriars in Staunton, Virginia. He was incredibly lively and engaging, which was much appreciated after a long day, and had some really cool points about the difference between putting on a modern play and the way they worked in Shakespeare’s time. Then, they might only have three hours to rehearse a play, so they’d only do the parts that needed choreographing (balls, fights, etc.). Each actor only received a cue script, which gave the last three words before him and his own lines; this saved paper and money. Stage directions were worked into the speeches (Come to my side! Fetch me that pitcher!) as were settings (in fair Verona, where we lay our scene). Perhaps the coolest thing for me, though, was the way the verse was manipulated to suggest meaning. For example, consider the famous line from Hamlet:

To be or not to be, that is the question.

Now, the standard Shakespearian verse is iambic pentameter, or a ten syllable line. The above is eleven. Break it off at ten and see what you get.

To be or not to be, that is the quest-

ion.

And all of a sudden the line has twice as much meaning!

Cool, huh?

Today was mostly spent traveling. This morning SP, OE, and I said a very sad farewell to the wonderful Mrs. McW and began our six-hour journey south to Oxford. It was rather stressful, but everything worked out in the end! I had brought Mansfield Park by Jane Austen with me, having never read it before. As with almost all Austens, it was charming, but even more delightful to find that the train was stopping some of the places I was reading about in the book!

I have to say that Oxford, at least what I’ve seen, is not as pretty as I expected it to be, nor as pretty as Scotland (but maybe that’s just my Ferguson blood talking). However, I think it’s the academic excellence, more than the architectural beauty, which reigns supreme at St. Anne’s. I’ve now met a good portion of my fellow Virginia Program at Oxfordians, and everyone seems very nice and enthusiastic.

After dinner and an orientation meeting, we all went to The Royal Oak for a celebratory drink. Yours truly did not imbibe, since I’m plenty capable of making a fool of myself without paying for the privilege. Case in point: We were sharing stories of things we had inadvertently set on fire (great icebreaker, by the way), and I couldn’t remember that I ever had done anything of the kind. We were just heading on to another topic when I remembered the time I set my eyebrow on fire! The story came out and it was agreed I needed no chemical aid to be a klutz.

Unfortunately, we continue to be without Internet, which has caused considerable consternation among the group. Hopefully the situation will be resolved in the next few days. Tomorrow we have an introduction, orientation, lecture, and tours of St. Anne’s library as well as the Bodleian Library, one of the oldest libraries in England. If I ever return to the interwebs, you’ll have a lot to read about!

I ate haggis and black pudding today. Let me be clear: I ate haggis and black pudding today. If you want to know just how unbelievable this is, look up what’s in them. The haggis was actually not bad, but the black pudding had me reaching for my water. The rest of brunch was lovely, however, and its always fun to try and figure out what the word is for Scottish food. (If our cookies are your biscuits, what are our biscuits? Turns out the closest analog is the scone, here pronounced “scon.” Who knew?)

After brunch OE and I went to check out Edinburgh Castle, while SP visited some of the art galleries (she’d seen the castle before we came). The price was a bit steep, and it was definitely more touristy than St. Andrews had been, but you just can’t beat standing in the room where Mary, Queen of Scots gave birth to King James VI of Scotland/ I of England. (He succeeded Elizabeth I.) Here is one of my favorite stories from the day:

The first king to be crowned in Scotland was Robert the Bruce (and yes, having a brother of the former name and an uncle of the latter confused me entirely). Apparently, there was only one man with the authority to crown him, and he was not available. They crowned him anyway. The missing man’s sister, Isabella, felt as if she was the only person in Scotland with the authority to crown a king. Isabella rode through the night and arrived in Edinburgh to insist that they do it again and do it right this time, with her in the place of her brother. And they did. Sounds like a few formidable ladies I know!

We rejoined SP and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering down the royal mile, which was an odd mix of five hundred year old architecture and kitchsy tourist glitz, like a William Wallace impersonator who looked like Fabio, a satyr (are satyrs even Scottish?), and multiple living statues (no, mom, I did not freak out). Hollyrood Palace wasn’t open since the Queen is currently in residence, but just seeing the outside was special enough.

We had our final dinner with the inestimable Mrs. McW, who is currently making raspberry jam. The kitchen smells like heaven. We’re packing up and getting ready to head to Oxford in the morning. I’m a little nervous, since here ends the “vacation” part of the trip and begins the “school” part, but I’m mostly excited to be seeing where I’m going to live for the next six weeks!

I’ll also have internet at Oxford and I’ll be able to post all these blogs. Congratulations if you’ve managed to read them all. From here on out I hope my posts will be much more regular.  

After we dragged ourselves away from the castle we headed for the ruins of the abbey. Call me macabre, but I love old graveyards, and the one surrounding the abbey tower was a beauty. Here was one epitaph I found particularly touching:

As measured notes of set music we pass, in fast or slow marches, to the grave.

As a singer and music lover myself, I loved the idea of life as music, and death as nothing more than the final harmonic resolution.

We had bought tokens to climb St. Rules Tower, the last remaining part of a cathedral completed in 1318. It was a little scary, but we did it! And the views were breathtaking. Safely back down on the ground (and I’m not ashamed to say my legs were trembling, since I wasn’t the only one), we walked back through the city to check out the links. St. Andrews is famous for being the origin of golf. Not my particular fascination, but cool nonetheless. There was also an amazing bakery, filled with things that are my particular fascination, like shoes made of chocolate.

Eventually we made our way to a pub for dinner and reluctantly to the bus station to head home. It really had been a perfect day in almost every way—a navigable town, beautiful weather, and great friends to goof around with (they probably wish I was a little less goofy, but hey, I’ve got great entertainment value.) I’m very grateful to SP for including us on her Scotland adventure and to OE for continuing to put up with me.

One thing I’ve noticed about Scotland is that they are seriously into flowers. Every lamppost has several planters hanging from it, postage-stamp sized gardens are filled with flower beds, and roses are everywhere. I felt like I’d wandered into some fairy tale garden. (SP also likes the fairy tale theme. So far we’ve identified Cinderella’s staircase and Rapunzel’s tower.) With such scenery, the ride home was a delight.

Tomorrow: Some more of SP’s Scottish relatives are taking us to brunch. I have promised I will try haggis. Gulp. 

I woke up feeling much less like a zombie and ready for an adventure in Scotland! Today SP had promised us a trip to St. Andrews, where the (drumroll please) University of St. Andrews is. The bus there was about two hours through some of the prettiest country I’ve seen in a long time. Every once in a while there was a stretch that would begin to remind me of my beautiful Virginia, and then wham! some field or mountain in a color green we don’t even begin to have a name for would come along and remind me that I was in Scotland.

Disclosure: I’m not Scottish. Not even close. But my last name is, so I like to pretend that I share some connection with this beautiful place. With the wind blowing and the sun shining (who said Scotland was rainy?), it’s easy to do.

We got to St. Andrews around one (or thirteen, in UK time). SP immediately found a map, as is her wont; OE immediately found a book sale, as is her wont: and I followed obediently behind, as is my wont. I am proud to say nobody got lost in St. Andrews.

St. Andrews is, in a word, charming. But this is a blog, so one word won’t do. Here follows many:

Neither OE nor myself had ever eaten fish and chips (neither OE nor myself particularly like fish, but, when in Scotland…). We sussed out a local eatery and all three of us ordered the kid’s meal. Judge away, but it was plenty of food and almost half as cheap. I discovered that I like fish and chips. I wouldn’t say I loved them, but I had really wanted to like them and I was proud that mind prevailed over greasy matter. Moreover, they came with little tiny forks that were just my size! (Not to say I’m short. I’m actually on the tall side. But I take very tiny bites.)

After lunch we wandered through the university (gorgeous gorgeous omg can you believe people actually live here gorgeous) over to St. Andrews Castle, which had a delightful museum before you entered the ruins themselves. I particularly enjoyed hamming it up (picture below) with my bff John Knox, also known as the thundering Scot or the Scottish Elijah, who wrote such beach reads as The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women. This put him in rather ill favor with Elizabeth I, who was soon to join that monstrous regiment herself.

The ruins of the castle were spectacular, and we spent almost two hours taking pictures and oohing over the view. I’m not much a photographer myself, but luckily, OE takes amazing portraits and SP has the artsy look down pat, so I pretty much point and shoot at whatever they’re pointing and shooting at. The system works fairly well, I think. The castle was situated right on the edge of the ocean, so there was a pretty powerful breeze, and it was a bit chilling to think of the people who also bundled up against the wind there hundreds of years ago. Squee!

To be continued…

If I had written this post last night, it would have been something like this:

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That’s my head asleep on the keyboard. We got up at about a quarter to seven (Virginia time) and drove the four hours to Reagan National Airport (thank you Dad!) to meet my friend, roommate, and travel companion extraordinaire OE and her family. We all ate lunch together and then there was much hugging of parents and last-minute admonitions to be careful, and a wonderful present of Godiva chocolate for fortification (thank you Mom!). Then we headed for security and the real trip began.

I should preface this next section by saying that I don’t have good travel mojo. Wrong turns, missed busses, lost tickets—you name it, it can, has, or will probably happen to me. This trip was no exception, but fortunately, they were all minor kerflummoxes. I had carefully packed only three oz bottles of liquids, but at the last moment tossed in a water bottle. Doh! Pulled at security. The boarding pass I had printed on our overenthusiastic printer wouldn’t read at the gate. Pulled for a passport check. Everything went fine at Boston Logan, thankfully, and we got on the plane for Heathrow. We were asked to fill out a landing card for security, which I promptly left on the plane. (Luckily, there were extras near the line). At the baggage claim, OE immediately found her black bag, while I searched in vain for my electric-blue-so-it’s-easy-to-find-wonder. Nowhere to be found. We sent a Delta representative looking for it, who returned a slightly-panicky fifteen minutes later with my no-longer-lost luggage. Success at last!

A shuttle, train, taxi, and much longer train (delayed because of broken signals around Newark), we finally arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, where our friend, the fearless SP, took us back to her cousin’s grandmother’s house. Mrs. McW is our most gracious hostess this weekend, and a fabulous lady to boot. At this point we had been traveling for over twenty-four hours and jetlag had me in its grasp. SP tried to keep us awake with her stunning photos of Scotland, but I kept falling asleep and then whipping my head up to make intelligent comments like “Is that a boat?” (the picture was of a castle) and “That looks like a man with an afro” (it was a tree and a sign). One delicious dinner later and it was bedtime for Carol!

They say the sun doesn’t set here until half past ten. Didn’t bother me a bit.

Next installment: St. Andrews, gorgeous roses, and general Scottish shenanigans!

This blog, baldly put, is going to be about the next six weeks of my life, which will be spent studying Tudor-Stuart history and literature at Oxford. However, I hate things that are baldly put, so when I started thinking of a title for my blog, I jumped immediately to the shared symbolism of the rose in my life and in the lives of the people I will be studying.

I currently attend Sweet Briar College in Virginia, named for the Sweet Briar rose. Our motto is “Rosam Quae Meruit Ferat,” or, for those of you a little rusty on your Latin, “She who has earned the rose may bear it.” Beyond the school connection, I also personally love roses, perhaps the result of a lasting obsession with all things Beauty and the Beast. 

The Tudor period began at the resolution of the War of the Roses, in which the York family (whose symbol was the white rose) and the Lancaster family (whose symbol was the red rose) fought for the throne. The victorious Henry VII, in name a Tudor but a claimant for the Lancastrian house, married Elizabeth York, thus uniting the two houses and cementing the Tudor rose as the symbol of the monarchy until his granddaughter Elizabeth’s death in 1603. 

I know that I will be an American in a foreign country (though less foreign than most others). I say elevator instead of lift. I don’t like fish and chips. I use the word y’all. But under all that, I share a common symbolic impulse with the historic English, at least.

Trade you a Sweet Briar rose for a Tudor one.