It's Oxford,but it's not Oxford.

I had hoped to get to Christ Church for the third straight summer; Rikki’s class in “Five Centuries of British Poetry” called to me. Unfortunately, it got a busy single. I checked my rather poor finances and decided that with the current the exchange rate, a week taking a class would have just about devoured my yearly travel budget. So, no Christ Church this year.

However, I did get to Oxford. I just came back from two weeks and a couple of days in the UK and a three-day stay in Oxford was on the agenda. Interesting that.

As you might expect there is a difference between being a student and being a tourist. I suppose that most of that is tied up with attitude. Going to Oxford should be all about learning and beer, but as a tourist it becomes more about looking and beer.

First, there were just as many students in the streets as I stumble across in the summer. The difference was that these were actual Oxford students. Not the young high schoolers who had come from Spain or France to take English classes, stand around in groups, move down the street in packs and just generally get in my way.

Nope, these were honest to God college students, some even wearing the long flowing gowns. Tradition is a lovely thing. Seeing people walking about in gowns and carrying books somehow touches the most romantic spot in my heart. I would have loved that experience.


Of course, the pubs were full to overflowing. The first week we were in England it was terrific weather, almost like Southern California. All of the outside gardens at the various pubs were chock-a-block with serious young people discussing everything from football to books to current affairs to subjects I couldn’t understand. Come to think about it, those subjects would include football, books and current affairs.

I was a shameless eavesdropper and enjoyed every single minute of each of the bits and pieces I was able to glean. It was a throw back to all those same conversations that I had when I was an undergraduate. Things like, “After Tito, What?” or perhaps, “Should Red China be admitted to the UN?” Ah, those were the good old days.

But, even being a tourist beats not going at all. It wasn’t as much fun as the summer, it was a different fun, but it was fun.