Update from Portugal

[Author's note: posted from Houston, Bush International -- hello America, success in returning from the UK!]

Greetings from London Heathrow! Where I’m trying to get off the ground for the second day in a row… After a week full of travel, I lugged my bags from Oxford to Heathrow yesterday, only to wait for several hours as my flight back to the States was delayed… and delayed… and finally cancelled. Not the best way to start my travels home, but United put all the passengers from said flight up in a hotel, and here I am again this morning, hoping I’ll have some better travel karma this time around.

A very Iberian church in Faro, near the house where we stayed

The travel karma has been strange this week indeed: sometimes horrendous, with delays and awfully early wake-up times, but mostly full of new places, new discoveries, and good company and good food. (Sitting by myself in Heathrow excepted.) Last week, after finishing my big Oxford paper and figuring out how to submit it in the examination schools at long last, I celebrated the end of the term through doing some Christmas shopping, running around Oxford doing some errands, and teaching the Rhodes ASL group how to sign some Christmas songs (too fun). Then, after making a brief appearance at another Rhodes House “meet and mingle” event on Friday night, it was off to bed – since my friend Rachel and I had to get up at 3am to make a 3:45am bus from Oxford to the airport. Ouch. We got to London Luton, one of London’s secondary airports, all of which are painfully far from Oxford, at 5:30am for our 7:30 flight, only to find that air traffic control was down in the UK (for all UK airports; what a travel nightmare) and our flight was about to be delayed for three or so hours. We sat on the plane, since the flight crew warned that we ought to be ready to take off in case the radio broadband system came back up and aircraft could get off the ground, but didn’t leave until around 10am. So much for that early wake-up call…

Faro streets during "magic hour" lighting

An afternoon lounging by the Mediterranean to make up for English weather? I think yes

Still, once we got to Faro, on the southernmost coast of Portugal, the amazing sun, blue skies, and warm weather made it all worth it! (Though that wasn’t the end of the travel woes; two of our friends, who had planned on joining us in Faro later on Saturday, wound up having their flight cancelled and couldn’t come until late Sunday, with several massive travel headaches along the way. Clearly we’ve been passing around the bad-luck jar for flights in the past week.) I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the sun and the sky until I stood in a T-shirt again, with sunglasses on, feeling hot and soaking up the rays. Rachel and I joined up with a few other Rhodies studying for a big end-of-term exam in Faro, and while we largely left them to their own devices and studious vibes we did get to enjoy a few dinners and outings together, including a beach afternoon on Sunday. Wandering around the old part of Faro, grabbing cheap Portuguese coffee, taking photos, and sitting out on the beach with a good book and nothing else to do was the perfect way to wrap up a hectic Oxford term. Faro is small, quiet, and empty, especially in the off-season, and it’s very easy to see the effects the recession has had on the city, but the architecture was still striking, whitewashed with red brick roofs and tiled walls and bright colors.

The American and Canadian ladies in Faro

Chapel of the Bones: detail (alas, poor Yorick! /many Yoricks?)

On Monday morning, the three study trippers we’d been staying with headed back to Oxford to take their exam, and Rachel and I met up with the two other aforementioned friends (both Canadian Rhodies who are in St. John’s with me) for another quiet day in Faro. We visited the cathedral and one of the other main churches, both of which had bone chapels. Yes, chapels made of human bones – apparently of hundreds (actually, thousands) of monks who had lived at those churches at some point in local history. The chapel of the bones is apparently a Portuguese tradition, and it’s something I want to write about more at some point, it raised such chilling and fascinating thoughts in me. Alas, poor Yorick, and all that – except we’re talking about the bones and crumbling skulls of hundreds and hundreds of Yoricks, looking down on visitors from the walls of the chapel. I think two or three of us were similarly engrossed, though one of my friends was definitely very creeped out. Anyway, after our sightseeing we found a restaurant in one of the city plazas, sat out in the sun for a glorious two-hour-long three-course meal with wine and coffee for only €8.50 (cheap travel win), and then boarded the train to head up to Lisbon.

Lisbon square with Portuguese flag flying

Lisbon is quite a different city from Faro, though parts of it had the same quiet, crumbling, engrossingly melancholy feeling. The four of us spent Tuesday and Wednesday wandering around the city (and continuing the same pattern of eating, chatting, relaxing, and avoiding thinking about anything academic) before Rachel and I flew back out on Wednesday night. We kept our pace slow across the course of those two days, but still saw a great deal: Lisbon Cathedral, the Castelo de Sao Jorge (a medieval castle up on a hill), some plazas and museums and churches and monasteries, and some waterfront fortresses and monuments to Portuguese seafaring and discovery. One of those fortresses is the place where Magellan began his voyage back in the day, and is also one spot where Christopher Columbus stopped on his way back from the New World. At the far end of Europe, along the Iberian peninsula, I did feel the vast space of Atlantic Ocean calling to me. Photos abounded, of course.

Lisbon skyline from Castelo de Sao Jorge

Lisbon Cathedral, with tram lines

Like Faro, Lisbon wasn’t at its most outgoing and touristy, probably because it was the off season, but we enjoyed ourselves just the same – and I appreciated not shoving my way through a large city consumed by crowds. The place reminded me quite a bit of San Francisco, not in terms of architecture or city vibe but by virtue of being built on a series of steep, winding hills. We took the famous Tram 28, a wire-car trolley that winds up and down the hills through the old part of Lisbon, on Tuesday and it felt much like riding one of those cable cars from the wharves through downtown San Francisco. Add in the fact that Lisbon is built around a large bay, and that the 25th of April Bridge across the bay is a suspension bridge that looks remarkably similar to the Golden Gate, and I was yearning after NorCal a bit over the course of the two days. The food wasn’t NorCal food, exactly, but it was rather amazing in its own right – lots of good seafood, egg custard tarts and other pastries, the aforementioned cheap coffee, and a Portuguese wine called vino verde (“green wine”) that was incredibly cheap but incredibly good. We had it for sangria one night and I could have drunk it all night – good thing it ran out after a few refills. I also think I had the best salmon of my life while in Faro. (The others agreed, since we went back to the same seafood restaurant two nights in a row and gorged ourselves.)

Another view from Sao Jorge

All in all, I’m glad for the opportunity to get out of Oxford for a few days, get to know some incredible people better, and appreciate a different slice of the world before heading home. There’s honestly no better way to get to know people than traveling with them, talking with them, and figuring out how they tick over the course of several days together, and I got back to Oxford late on Wednesday night (slash early Thursday morning, aka 4:30am) itching to go out and take more Euro trips with friends. I’ve got one planned already, an epic week in a castle in France during the last week of winter break, and am thinking about others for the spring vacation. Can’t wait for more wanderings, more food, more prolonged conversations about interesting subjects, and more discoveries about myself and others and the world around us. All of those things are best achieved through travel, I think, or just about.

Torre de Belem looking fortress-like

Jerónimos Monastery near Belem; the interior had some of the most fascinating Gothic architecture I've seen

But, first, one more bout of travel – all the way home to Albuquerque, where more friends and family await, and where I’ll get to enjoy the comforts of home for a few weeks before new horizons beckon again! Now just to get on this plane…

Oxford Term: Done!

Or close enough. After holing up in the aforementioned study cave for the past week, reading critical articles and writing and spinning myself in circles thinking about melancholia, loss, kinship, and language in Toni Morrison's Beloved, I've just about finished my long C-course essay for the term. After one more glance over in the morning to make sure my tired eyes haven't missed any glaringly awful sentences or arguments or pieces of nonsense (which at this point is very possible), I'll print it out and submit it by lunchtime tomorrow.

Which will be quite a process in itself: turning in a paper at Oxford isn't at all the same as turning in a paper at Stanford, or probably at any other institution. At Stanford, if I had to turn in a hard copy of my final papers at all, I dropped them off at my professors' offices or department mailboxes. Most of the time I just emailed them in, and pressing that "send" button felt so sweet. Farewell, dear paper! Done. Oxford, however, has strict and rather detailed assessment criteria -- for instance, my paper will be read not only by my primary lecturer/professor for the class, but also by a second reader within the department, who will be someone thoroughly unfamiliar with me and my work. If the two don't come to a suitable agreement on what mark my work deserves, the paper will go to another third reader, this time from outside of Oxford, who will arbitrate between parties and settle on my final score. Thinking about it too much gets rather stressful! (Even if, yes, I appreciate the value of objectivity and honest feedback and all that.) On top of that, the procedures for submitting the paper itself get very complicated. Forget sending an email, and forget dropping by the academic department/faculty office. All papers submitted for official evaluation at the University of Oxford must be printed out, prefaced with a cover sheet and declaration form, and taken to the university's examination schools (a fancy, large building in the center of Oxford where all students sit for their examinations, yes in formal wear and gowns). There, I'll have to brave the queues of other tired students at the end of their term and figure out the correct submission envelopes and fill out the forms and, finally, drop off my paper to go off into the cold, unforgiving world of academic evaluation.

I just looked up the step-by-step procedures for submitting my paper to the examination schools; they went on for six or seven paragraphs, probably more. The requirements are voluminous, and I'm feeling like, by the time I walk over tomorrow and complete the submission process, I will have accomplished something indeed. Maybe that is the point?

And, secondary bonus… once I print out and submit this paper, then take an easy end-of-the-term examination for another course tomorrow, it's time for packing and then off to Portugal! Updates on that coming at some point, but possibly not until I get back to the U.S. to spend the holidays. Until then, adeus! (Goodbye in Portuguese, or so Google Translate tells me.) Can Michaelmas be done already?

In the Study Cave for the Day...

…but that doesn't mean nothing else is going on. First of all, tea! Coffee! Crumpets! Study dates! My time in cafes has increased as I try to crank out this paper, and the good thing is many of my friends are working on papers too and are willing to keep me company.

It's not all nerding out, though. Or, at least, it doesn't mean that the nerding out doesn't take a variety of forms. I've been to a few department and Rhodes House lectures this week, the first by Dame Helen Ghosh, a Rhodes Trustee and the Director General of the National Trust (and former permanent secretary of the UK's Home Office). Dame Helen's talk centered around her career background, particularly as it pertains to advice for women wanting to pursue influential careers in the public or governmental sectors. Though many Rhodes narratives seem to revolve around the idea of success, which I and a few of the other scholars find problematic (is it all we should be talking about here?), it's still enjoyable to hear the stories of those who have taken their interests and talents in many different directions.

I also attended the English Faculty's annual Professor of Poetry lecture yesterday in one of the halls of Oxford's Examination Schools. It did not disappoint, because even though I found the speaker a bit abstruse in his subject matter and presentation style, he was one of those old Oxford academic types with an incredibly bushy white beard, a cane, spectacles, and volumes upon volumes of poetry. And he burst into song halfway through the lecture, amidst discussing eighteenth century philosophic and operatic influences on the poetic tradition. Seeing someone who looks like Socrates singing in the middle of a grand vaulted Oxford hall: enough said.

The theme of poetry didn't stop there, either: I got to go to a poetry night last night at Rhodes House, in which a bunch of us sat around in a circle and discussed four different poems centered on the idea of "power." A lot of the Rhodes House events tend to revolve around policy applications or more practical things, so it was nice to have a night dedicated to open-ended humanistic discussion for a change. Wine and cheese didn't hurt either. And how refreshing it feels, to be in a community full of people (from many different disciplines) who are so unabashedly eager to spend their evening talking about poetry, or whatever other intellectual idea you toss in their paths. One of my friends was joking that the sign for "Rhodie" ought to be based on the sign for "nerd," and I think she's right. Maybe that should be the sign for general "Oxford student," too. It's too true.

Weekend Gems in Oxford

This weekend was my last weekend in Oxford before leaving for traveling and home, and while I'd been invited to go do some fun things around the UK (someone had invited me to a big Thanksgiving dinner in London on Saturday, and a friend of mine was heading up to Stratford-Upon-Avon today and urged me to go with her) I ultimately decided to stick around Oxford to buckle down and work on my end-of-term paper. Study cave time. I braced myself.

And so I headed to a cafe yesterday morning, then met some friends at the library to buckle down all afternoon yesterday… but that doesn't mean a few other fun things didn't wind up happening, some of them unexpectedly. First of all were a few lovely lunch and dinner dates at St. John's, which has suddenly decked out its hall with a gigantic Christmas tree and some garlands and other Christmas decorations. With the American Thanksgiving festivities officially over, I'm much more in the mood for Christmas and felt very much like I'd walked into the Great Hall getting ready for the Yule Ball in Harry Potter (or almost -- these Harry Potter references never get old). Food and good company: as warm and merry and enjoyable as always.

Then a few friends and I, after heading out on a long walk around the area near Blenheim Palace last weekend, decided to escape from our studies and take another tramp out in the English outdoors this afternoon. We headed out from Oxford this time, walking through the University Parks past some sports teams at play (some of them shirtless in the cold afternoon weather -- what?) and out into some farmland and sprawling fields and open space. We crisscrossed several of those fields, chatted and walked past herds of curious cows, then eventually made our way back to a glorious late-afternoon burst of sun over the meadows. The conversation had veered over several topics over the course of those hours, and we'd wound up talking about cartwheels and backflips and other aerobic exercises (while discussing physical fitness requirements for the U.S. military) -- so there we stopped, in the middle of that meadow, and let loose. One of my friends taught us what she knew, and we all tried our hands at cartwheels and backbends and handstands and then, grass-stained and a bit exuberant, headed back home in the golden sunset, probably one of the absolute prettiest I've seen thus far at Oxford. That pure, rich, beautiful light! Nothing like the UK to make you appreciate the sun.

I had planned on returning to my paper then, but one of the friends from my walk this afternoon mentioned that she was headed to see Ian McEwan speak at her college, Hertford, this evening. "No way," I said. "Ian McEwan? Why didn't I hear about that?" She urged me to go with her, and I waffled, saying that I didn't have a sign interpreter. She persisted, saying she'd write out what he was saying for me. I should come! It was sorely tempting. I've read McEwan's Atonement and have had a few of his other novels on my to-read list for a while. I'm also going to be studying him in a contemporary literature class next term. And… he's Ian McEwan. Sure, why not. I knew the communication might not be perfect, but thanked my friend and told her I would go.

Ian McEwan is thin, lanky, and wears an expression of thoughtfulness. He looks extremely astute while he is speaking, but although I'd positioned myself near the front so I could fix my gaze upon his face, I unfortunately can't say that made his British accent any easier to understand. My friend, bless her heart, took notes for me the entire time, and while looking over her shoulder I was able to get the overall thread of McEwan's thought. He talked about literary realism from the perspective of the mistakes and factual errors writers inadvertently make in their writing, which prompted him to share several passages from his own novels and share several stories of letters from readers checking his facts. As someone who is fascinated by the use of narrative detail in literature, it was a great talk, or seemed like it was. I sorely wished I'd been able to get every word, but even the bits I did gather were provocative. And I got a book signed by him afterwards! And I met him face-to-face and breathed the same air he did. (Literary groupie alert, even while in another sense I remain mystified by the exact relationship that exists between writers and their readers/adoring fans.)

Even if I had to stave off the disappointment that arose from not quite being able to access the entire lecture as well as I would have liked (GAH IAN McEWAN IS SPEAKING AND I CANNOT UNDERSTAND HIM), I still walked out feeling stirred by what it means to be here. Not only stirred by Oxford's stellar range of speakers and events and opportunities, but also stirred by the generosity and considerateness of the friends who do everything they can to include me, even when that means giving their time and their energy when the situation is not ideal. I've met many of those people here and am so reassured and so inspired by their kindness.

A great weekend, indeed. Now, back to the paper, as ever.

Thanksgiving Week Wrap-Up

The tally is in: 11 hours, 40 pies, dozens of volunteers, countless dishes, 65 bottles of wine, 80 pounds of potatoes, 96 pounds of turkey, and 150 people later, that's a wrap for Rhodes House Thanksgiving dinner! Admittedly my organizational role took me out of the kitchen for most of the day (though I did run a few errands and help with the salad dressing), but the dedication of the people who stuck it out with cooking -- and peeling all those potatoes! -- all day was truly impressive. The food was delicious, the company was just as good, and everyone remained in high spirits all evening even when the edge of our enthusiasm spiraled into the lethargy of feeling stuffed. I'd never been part of such a huge Thanksgiving feast, and despite all the people who swarmed into the hall and filled their plates and their stomachs we still had plenty of leftovers. (A bunch of us from the organizing/cooking committee gathered last night to try to finish off those leftovers, to no avail! We'll need to continue Thanksgiving all weekend.) The day made me feel, again, very grateful for the community here.

Another reason why I wasn't in the kitchen for much of the day on Thanksgiving: this week was the annual Christ Church novice rowing regatta, in which my boat from St. John's took part. We didn't have quite enough novice rowers to fill St. John's Women's Novice B, so had to recruit some more advanced rowers to have a full squad of eight -- which meant that our boat was classified as a "friendly" boat, and therefore ineligible for competition past two races. We had our first race on Wednesday, which we won handily, and then raced again on Thursday afternoon. The Thursday race we lost, alas, despite rowing hard and nearly catching up to the other boat by the finish. I got to try out my new (still rather questionable) rowing skills in the stroke seat of the boat, and while I'm not sure I succeeded in setting an even pace I still had a good time. Getting out on the water amidst all the boat club excitement surrounding the ChCh regatta, and giving my body over to the heat of competition, was a fun way to spend those two afternoons this week.

Despite that, however, I don't think I'll be continuing with rowing next term. Why, you ask? Well, the communication on the water is a little too difficult -- doable, but frustrating, since I miss all the coach's instructions and misunderstand the cox half the time. The people in the St. John's boat club have been willing to adjust their communication styles for me thus far, but another part of it is that I don't enjoy rowing enough to want to persist in getting out on the dark and freezing cold river, with those people, during the winter. I've been reflecting on my time at Oxford thus far (especially since that time has gone so amazingly fast) and thinking about what I truly want to get out of this entire experience. Rowing isn't one of those things. I'd rather spend more time exploring the surrounding area on foot through taking some walks or bike rides, scheme to get myself back on a horse more often, or enjoy different sports such as squash or even croquet and cricket in the spring. And I'd also rather spend more time writing, reflecting, and chatting with people, even more than I already have.

Speaking of which, off I go to write for most of the day! Paper is due in less than a week (or, at least, I'm making myself turn it in then), then it's off to the sunshine of Portugal with some good friends next weekend. Cannot believe the end of the term is nigh, but I'm excited for the adventures that await!

Happy Thanksgiving!

To the Americans reading this (which, I suspect, is virtually my entire readership): happy Thanksgiving! I'm glad to say that the Thanksgiving spirit is alive and well in Oxford, since a bunch of Americans, including me, have been planning a big Turkey Day dinner at Rhodes House for this evening. The planning extended all the way through last night and this morning, with last-minute preparations for buying and making mulled wine, but it should be a fantastic day with fantastic company. Added bonus: all of us on the organizing committee get to put "organizing/planning/cooking a Thanksgiving meal for 150" on our resumes. What more could we want?

Planning the meal has been a great way to connect with other people here in Oxford (nothing like those shared organizational escapades to form friendships, as I found at Stanford), but aside from that I'm using today to reflect upon how very much I have to be thankful for. I'm thinking of my family today and wishing I could be back in New Mexico with them for some Kolb shenanigans and appropriately green-chile-themed dishes, but I'm also incredibly happy to be in Oxford. The last year has been more than I could have asked for or imagined, and I'm feeling very blessed to have all the people, the opportunities, and the adventures and insights that I currently have in my life. To anyone reading this: thanks for the role you've played in getting me here, and may your reflections and your day be as full of gratitude and joy. My heart is full -- and soon my stomach will be, too, as much food as we have sitting in the kitchen waiting to be cooked...

One Year Later

It was one year ago today that I woke up on a Sunday morning in Colorado Springs and let the realization sink in, or try to: I had just gotten a Rhodes scholarship the night before, and I would be heading to Oxford to begin my studies the next fall. It was also one year ago that, on the way back to Albuquerque with my head spinning and trying to make sense of the new direction my life had taken, I started writing this blog.

The details of that day, that weekend, and of that entire interview process stand out in my memory in a way equalled by only a few other days in my life. Over the last few weeks at Oxford, I've had the chance to talk with several other Rhodies about their interviews, about those first few days of astonishment and disbelief, and now I'm thinking of this year's newly elected class and finding myself transported back in time. How much has happened since that interview weekend in November 2012, how much I have changed, and how much has yet to happen as I continue down this path. I'm taking a few minutes today to reflect on the journey, and quite honestly to be thankful for all its opportunities, both the ones I've already had and the ones that lie ahead. Once again, I'm hoping I can embrace this experience to its fullest, and use it for its utmost good. I think the shock and exhilaration and disbelief of that Sunday morning in 2012 is still with me, at least a little.

Week 6: Complete

Another week down. Another week of library study sessions, trying to get reading done for class, roving all about town, grabbing tea and lunch and dinner, meeting with faculty members, drafting up dissertation and final paper proposal ideas, hitting up different college halls, going to the pub, and generally realizing that the best thing about this place is its people. At the end of a long day of studying, when I feel as if I'm never going to get to the end of my reading list, or when I feel as if I'll never be able to articulate my ideas clearly in writing, I take a break and swap stories with new friends here, discover how much we have in common and also how many different experiences we have to share with each other, and leave feeling as if I've gotten a larger dose of perspective. I spend all day thinking about English literature; my friends think about topics ranging from history to physics to philosophy to international relations (and beyond). We're all whirling along through this crazy Oxford experience, and that shared student solidarity has been the highlight of each day, by far. I've only got two weeks left in the term and a lot of reading and writing to do, plus a big Thanksgiving dinner to organize for next week (I somehow wound up as the committee chair for the big day), but I'm still trying to take every moment for friendships, conversation, and shared reflections that I can. That's what makes life here so rich, and the rest of it isn't as worth stressing over as I'd sometimes like to think.

Other new experiences add their own liveliness, too; for instance, today I went to a BSL class session for Oxford's Disability Awareness Week, and felt completely turned around by all the new signs and all the differences (and even similarities) that BSL has compared to ASL. The signs for "what" and "where" are swapped in the two languages, for instance -- very confusing for this American girl! "Please" and "thank you" are also the same sign in BSL, and the BSL two-handed alphabet is of course very different from fingerspelling in ASL. A small group gathered in Oxford's Disability Advisory Service building to learn, and while practicing with the other students I kept itching to sign fluently to them in ASL, but had to put that knowledge aside and admit that I was just as new to BSL as they. I lacked any vocabulary, indeed lacked any semblance of language. This was a new and bewildering place for me, since I'm so used to signs flowing effortlessly off my hands, and I think it gave me an added measure of empathy for my friends who have put in the effort of learning ASL over the years. (I'm feeling added gratitude for those friends right now!) Keeping the vocabulary straight, trying foreign motions with my hands, and trying to piece together sentences and phrases with a language I barely knew was a challenging, stimulating experience.

Then I got to turn around this afternoon and, after coffee with an American friend who is learning ASL, headed to Rhodes House for another weekly signing session (yes, by that I mean ASL signing). Settling back into the familiarity of my sign language, I looked around the room at all the faces of the people who had turned up to learn, thought about how much they'd picked up already and how much intellectual curiosity it took for them to pursue this new language, and felt so very glad to know and be able to communicate with them. We signed for a while, then headed out to a Christmas festival taking place in Oxford this weekend (of course the Brits, not having Thanksgiving on the calendar, leap straight into the Christmas festivities as early as they can). As I said, the best part of this new place is the people, the moments of personal connection I'm finding here. The rest is just frosting on the cake.

Weekend Excursion to London and Wales

Quick post, since I've got a monster of a week ahead of me (and since the last three weeks of term are looking like a sprint down to the finish with classes, papers, lectures, weekend trips, and social events -- so goes it at Oxford). I somehow made it intact to the end of last week, then hopped on a bus and headed to London on Friday night to spend the weekend with a good friend from Stanford, Reagan. She was in my freshman dorm, was my roommate junior year, and also came to Oxford to study abroad the last time I was here through the Stanford program. She's also one of the kindest, most remarkable people I know, and I was thrilled when she decided to pursue a master's program at LSE this year when I was at Oxford. Reunion time in the UK! After some chatting at a pub on Friday night with some of her friends, we spent the night at her flat in London, and then made a trek out to Wales all day on Saturday.

Reagan and I took this exact same photo three years ago in London -- flashback Friday!

Lights dancing off the Thames at night

And, well, I can't say I understood any Welsh (and were the signs strange there with all the long, convoluted Welsh words with their numerous "w"s and "y"s!), but Reagan and I had a fun time wandering around Cardiff, visiting a castle, grabbing Welsh rarebit and sausage for lunch at a cozy cafe, and then stopping for cake later before boarding the bus back to London. I'd wanted to go to Wales for a while, and although we had joined a quick one-day bus trip and didn't have very much time to explore, the change of scenery (not to mention the company) was very welcome after a solid couple of weeks in Oxford.

Cardiff Castle

Just one example of Welsh-language oddities

On Sunday, Reagan and I got up and visited a few markets in London, then stopped at an Indian restaurant for lunch and some good conversation with her flatmates. An hour later, my face stuffed, I proceeded to hop over to Leicester Square to… stuff my face even more, since I'd been able to plan afternoon tea with some of my new deaf/signing/ASL friends in London. I got to meet a few more amazing American deaf ladies over the course of the afternoon, all of whom have found themselves in the UK for various reasons, and had a wonderful time talking (I mean signing!) about many different topics over tea and scones and sandwiches. Three and a half hours later, I couldn't believe how the time had flown, and had to head back on the tube to make the bus back to Oxford. As I started the trip back, I realized how positively happy this weekend of friend time (both new and old) had made me feel.

And that wasn't the end of it, either -- a friend of mine in Oxford had mentioned that she'd be cooking Mexican food with a larger group of Rhodies, so I naturally had to stop by once I got back. "Stopping by" turned into another two-hour conversation over yet more food and yet more dessert, which meant going to bed late, without having done any work the entire weekend, and with an early-morning rowing practice awaiting me at 6am this morning. Alas, c'est la vie. I'm feeling very fortunate to know and spend time with such wonderful people here. Now, back to locking myself in the library...

Just in Case There is Doubt About Whether I Do Schoolwork Here...

...fear not! Dissertation proposal due this weekend, plus an outline for my major end-of-the-term paper due next week. And that's without mentioning the piles of books I still need to read for both. The enjoyable part is that I got to spend most of today reading Jhumpa Lahiri's The Lowland (yes, for one of the aforementioned classes); I truly admire her style and always enjoy reading her prose, so it's a treat to get to do that for "assigned" schoolwork. Toni Morrison's Beloved is up next, and is also a book I've always held in high regard. I'm hoping to start it tonight, and the next few days will likely involve some combination of sitting in libraries, drinking tea, and trying to crank out some actual academic writing for the first time since I graduated from Stanford.

And just in time to flex those writing muscles, too, since I've also got to start thinking about which academic program I want to do next year, since I'm currently enrolled in a one-year MSt -- yikes! It seems like I've just arrived, but one can never stop thinking one step ahead for those kinds of things. Options currently include a DPhil in English or a second MSt degree in a different subject, but my thoughts on this issue change from day to day (sometimes from hour to hour) and I'll need to sit myself down and do some soul-searching about what I want to do. More on that later.

More to follow in a future post, too, about the structure of classes here (and their differences from in the US/at Stanford), but it's buckle-down time in Oxford. This eight-week term does get ridiculously short at times, and the time crunch is looming now that it's week five... gogogogogogo.

Remember, Remember

One of the strangest holidays in the UK, at least for this American, is Guy Fawkes Day.

Remember, remember!

The fifth of November

The gunpowder treason and plot,

I know of no reason

Why the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot...

And it still hasn't been forgot, indeed, judging by the droves of people who still turn out for fireworks and bonfires over the course of the week around November fifth. The actual Guy Fawkes holiday wasn't the only day for festivities; from Halloween and last Friday night (November 1) through last night (November 9), I saw no fewer than four fireworks displays around Oxford, with many other "pops" and "bangs" thrown in, indicating that yet more were taking place as I went about other activities. (The first time I was in my room and heard this telltale banging, I thought I was going mad because I couldn't figure out what the sound was, much less where it was coming from. Then I opened my window -- ah, mystery solved.) There were also several bonfires around town, the largest one being a charity bonfire last night in a large park by Headington, a short walk out of Oxford.

So, last night a few good friends and I headed over to watch the marquee Guy Fawkes fireworks display and bonfire. On the ninth of November rather than the fifth, but who's counting? To be honest, the fireworks display we'd had at St. John's last week had been a bit, erm, disappointing (think one small firework being ignited at a time, over the course of only around 10 minutes). An American friend and I spent much time afterwards bemoaning and joking about this diminished British version of fireworks, but last night we found ourselves far more satisfied -- the fireworks were spectacular, even if we had to stand around in the cold for half an hour waiting for the marshals to set them up or figure them out (or something), and immediately afterward the bonfire began to blaze. I'd been to this same event my last time at Oxford (as had another friend of mine who studied abroad with her university; our mutual/separate memories of our time abroad make for some good conversation), and admittedly it had been more impressive then, with a huge wooden effigy to set on fire in addition to the enormous stack of pallets. But by that time we were so cold that we just gazed at the gulping flames for a few minutes, got closer to see if we could feel the heat (it was radiating everywhere), took a few photos, and then skedaddled to, where else, a pub to warm up. I can't say I understand the reason for celebrating Guy Fawkes Day, even three years after I first celebrated it in the UK, but if it makes for some cozy nights and bonding experiences, all the better.

St. John's Murder Mystery Dinner

One of the things I've learned so far in Oxford is how to take the time to enjoy the wealth of social and exploratory opportunities here. I've gotten a lot of invitations to formal dinners, cocktail parties, lectures, teatimes, social outings, pub nights, and so forth. Part of that is simply part of this strange new Oxford lifestyle, and the way it hails back to nineteenth-century gentrified society, and part of it is simply, well, because I've made more of an effort to make myself available for these occasions. During my time at Stanford, I was very much the kind of person who would go out every once in a while, but who mostly disliked that kind of thing -- noisy parties, especially those involving alcohol and drinking games, weren't my idea of fun at all, and still aren't. I think the Oxford definition of revelry is slightly different, however, because even though people here do drink a lot, and do partake in the pub-hopping culture very often, the social landscape has more of a relaxed, conversational vibe despite its frequent formality of dress. (By which I mean, no frat parties and beer pong, for the most part.) Dressing up and unwinding with friends over a few glasses of wine or some good cider is much more in keeping with my definition of a good time -- and, because I've chosen to prioritize those kinds of social functions more here than I did during undergrad, I've gotten plenty of opportunities to do just that.

Which brings us to the latest week of social outings, which started with a few formal hall dinners and pub nights in the beginning and middle of the week, as well as one very fun night of cooking with a friend (and fellow Rhodie) from Stanford. I had quite a bit of academic work to do this week, including some reading and a presentation -- yes, I am doing schoolwork here and should post about that at some point -- but decided to stray from my usual M.O., let the academic anxiety go, and make time for friends throughout the week nonetheless. It may have meant a few less hours of sleep some nights, but was thoroughly enjoyable, and the fast-paced "Oxford buzz" that I've been feeling kept me going through the end of the week, which led to a special St. John's guest dinner last night. These dinners take place once or twice per term, are black-tie events, and involve copious drinks and a four-course meal served in the hall of the college. The theme was murder mystery, which promised a good time (but which ultimately did not materialize in its planned form, despite some swanky decorations, due to the less-than-clear directions on what either the "murder" or the "mystery" entailed). I tossed on my red dress after a Friday afternoon of studying (thanks again for the dress shopping help, Mom), went with some good friends I've made here, and enjoyed the 2+ hours of conversation by candlelight in the hall. (They were bright candles, and people were seated close enough to me and were considerate enough to sign as much as they knew how, so I surprised myself by how much I was able to engage. Having good people around helps.)

Course after course passed, and finally the evening culminated with us hitting up the end of the Rhodes House "meet and mingle" event in our dresses (and, for the guys, tuxes) and then going out to a pub with a crowd of people after. Needless to say, I stopped drinking after the dinnertime wine, which was quite enough for me... and got back and sprawled out on my bed at nearly 1am (late by my standards) after at least six or seven straight hours of socializing. Different from my usual fare, but in a good way!

Now, for a weekend of studying and working on this dissertation proposal, admittedly not without a few other fun things thrown in. More on that later.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat...

So, I got to Oxford thinking I wanted to try some new sport. It wasn't realistic to expect that I'd be able to make it out to ride more than every once in a while (and, indeed, I still have only made it out once during the last month that I've been here; more on that later, since I do miss the horses). And I'm also the sort of person who needs to be physically active in order to stay sane... what to make of that?

During my first few weeks at Oxford, then, I signed up for and tried out a bunch of different things. Fencing -- fun to try, but I couldn't see myself staying interested for that long. Beagling -- ditto, plus the time commitment of getting out of Oxford every single Saturday wasn't for me. Triathlon and pentathlon -- seriously, I considered both, but hate swimming and running so that was kind of a big problem. Cycling -- would still like to try it, provided that I can get my hands on a bike. Squash -- a friend has been teaching me, which has been fun despite my hilarious lack of coordination, but a casual session once a week with good company is enough for me. Football/soccer and running and so forth -- no way, forget it, especially with an old foot injury that would surely flare up within two or three days of doing those things. I have yet to try some other sports here, such as the walking club (which goes on hikes in various scenic places across the UK) and cricket and croquet. Rhodes House has its own cricket team in the spring, so I think I will be in for that when it comes!

And then there was also rowing, which I'd told myself I wasn't interested in. I'd tried it during my last time in Oxford, during my quarter of studying abroad through the Stanford program, and while I enjoyed it I also got pretty tired of the early mornings and freezing cold weather out on that river. Plus I'm essentially deaf out on the water, since I can't wear my hearing aid/cochlear implant (because of the submersion risk if the boat were to capsize), and need to rely on lipreading the coxswain in order to understand what's going on. That got tiring and stressful, and I told myself I wanted to stick to cozier sports that I felt more passionate about.

Until I started feeling like I needed more athletic structure in my life, after all, since I was getting very bored in the gym and couldn't muster the motivation to go out in the cold every morning to do something else on my own. And until I got an email from the St. John's College Boat Club, desperately seeking female rowers for one of their novice boats. A lot of my Rhodie friends have been rowing, and have enjoyed it as a way to meet people in their college, whereas I still feel like I haven't met as many people from St. John's as I would like.

So, all right. I emailed the boat club captains back, and this morning I found myself out in a boat once again, floating with oar in hand, and then stretching out my body and starting to row. It felt like returning to a past part of my life at Oxford, and under the sunrise and the mist and the swirling clouds in the sky I can't say even the cold was that unpleasant. I'm trying it for now to see how it goes, so stay tuned...

Americans Signing in the UK

A quick post to follow up on the last one: my ASL usage in the UK is indeed alive and well, also due in part to the opportunity to meet other deaf people, interpreters, and ASL users on this side of the pond. This isn't something I would have predicted even a few months ago, I have to say!

The very first time I applied to Oxford, for a Stanford overseas studies program three years ago during my junior year of college, I had one major trepidation hanging over my head whenever I considered my impending studies in the UK: how would I make my time at Oxford accessible? American Sign Language is, after all, very different from British Sign Language, and I'd become spoiled by excellent interpreters at Stanford (as well as in high school and back home in New Mexico, of course). How would I cope with a foreign country with foreign accents and where my preferred mode of access was scarce? I have to say the process was a little more difficult than I would have liked to start, but the Stanford in Oxford program did find a good interpreter agency based in London for my time abroad. They made provision for services, I came to Oxford and enjoyed working with the two interpreters I had that term, though I still needed to plan ahead for my classes and other events and wasn't able to request interpreters as quickly or easily as I had done at Stanford. And then I left. And don't think I realistically expected that I would be back anytime soon; chalk that one up to experience.

And then, two years later, when I applied for and got the Rhodes, I found out that more Oxford was in my future, indeed. Time for this whole ASL-in-the-UK thing again, except I felt much more prepared this time. What's more, my first time in Oxford had proven to me that it could be done, that American interpreters did exist on that side of the world. Over the summer, I was able to get back in touch with one of the interpreters I'd worked with my last time in Oxford; though he's not personally based in the UK anymore, his agency is still in London, and he still has a group of skilled interpreters working in the area. The Oxford Disability Advisory Service was glad to make contact with this agency, I daresay, since I suspect that getting an ASL interpreter wasn't something they had ever done before. Everything is set, they told me in September. So I sat and had to take their word for it. And I waited.

Fortunately, when I got to Oxford at the beginning of October, I showed up at the Welcome Day at Rhodes House and met the two primary interpreters I'll be working with this year, and liked both of them immediately. Since then, I've worked with a few other interpreters and have discovered that the overall interpreter-client relationship is different here than in the US. In short, we're all Americans, we're all expats, we're all part of a very small ASL-using group on this side of the world, and we rarely meet anyone who knows our language and, as a consequence, rarely have any chance to use it. (Okay, so signing Rhodes gatherings excluded, it is nice to have a conversation with someone who is fluent in sign. That's something I keep coming back to, over and over again, over the course of my life, even though I've generally become content with living in the hearing world.) We ASL users have to stick together, and so my interpreters introduced me to a group of other deaf Americans living in London and other parts of England.

A few of them I've only "met" digitally thus far, but earlier today we had our first gathering -- a group of them came up to visit me in Oxford. Sitting down with these deaf and signing Americans, chatting with them over cups of tea and bowls of soup, before heading out on a rambling tour of the city replete with even more conversations in sign, was the perfect way to spend my Sunday. Meeting other smart, talented, articulate deaf expats (some of whom are friends with some of my deaf friends back in the States) reminded me once again of how small the world is, and also reminded me of the importance of community and linguistic access. After grappling with international accents and new friends and classes and activities for the last few weeks (not to mention an entirely new culture and way of life here), it felt unbelievably reassuring to sit down, sign, and watch other people signing back. I grasped the motions of their hands and the expressions on their faces. No uncertain moments of introducing myself and saying, "Look, I'm deaf, and I'm reading your lips right now." No misunderstandings and endless queries for repetition. No missing the joke when the group conversation grew lively. A strong deaf community was something I never had at Stanford, though I did find a few deaf and signing friends around the Bay Area outside of the main Stanford campus. I'm smiling a little bit to realize that I may have tapped into a group of amazing deaf friends, interpreters, and ASL users in the very last place I might have expected -- thousands of miles away from home and the linguistic conventions that I enjoy. Here's to more of these expat gatherings (and signing sessions with hearing friends), and here's to recognizing the value and the understanding that a mutual language can provide.

The ASL Chronicles

A few friends have asked... how goes it, using ASL in the UK? How's the signing? How are the interpreters? Have you learned any BSL?

More on interpreters and BSL in another post very soon, but yesterday I had my third weekly signing gathering with other Rhodies (and accumulated Oxford friends), so my inclination is to answer the former with: terrific! I've been fortunate enough to meet many people here who are very intellectually curious about languages, who are open to learning, and who are exceptionally good at remembering what I teach them. I doubt whether I've ever felt so comfortable being myself with a group of hearing peers, or at least gotten to such a place so quickly, and it suddenly struck me yesterday: this sort of feeling makes me feel so settled and so happy. That doesn't mean there aren't still challenges -- for instance, twice this past week I went to large group dinners in which seven or eight people were chatting around a table and I felt totally lost. And I'm also still struggling with some of the international students I meet (and still gravitating toward American friends, since they are usually a thousand times easier to understand!). I'm currently undergoing some mixed feelings about both of those things, which I am trying to work through -- but I do know what my strengths are and am trying to utilize those while stretching my boundaries as much as is reasonably possible. It is an ongoing process indeed... Some international friends I've made are careful to speak clearly when chatting with me, though, and I'm admittedly loving the other aspects of social life here: the frequent tea and coffee dates, the nights sitting in a cozy pub swapping stories or just talking about ideas with a range of different people. These social affairs are all the more enjoyable when sign language is involved. Which it has been, more and more often as of late.

Much of that is due to the ASL gatherings each week at Rhodes House, due to the good signing conversations that follow with friends after these gatherings, and also due to that principle of openness and honesty I raised earlier. I've been shaking the rust off my usually-pretty-dormant signing skills, taking that plunge, and seeing people start to reciprocate in kind. We're all doing the best we can, I think, combining the visual and the verbal and the auditory and the what have you, in pursuit of some sort of connection and human understanding. But I'll say, isn't it lovely that I should find myself signing so much here!

A British All Hallows' Eve

Happy Halloween! A day late, but then it's practically still Halloween in California at the time I'm writing this, so who's counting? (Also, is it Halloween or Hallowe'en? The British seem to prefer the latter in many cases, so I'm currently a little confused.)

In celebration of the holiday, which actually doesn't seem to go as gangbusters here in the UK as it does in America, a bunch of friends and I crashed the Brasenose College Halloween bop with our costumes (a few people in our group were actually from Brasenose; the rest of us pretended we were and sat in the bar and enjoyed the free drinks). I decided to go as a scarecrow, prompted by a little help on costume ideas/shopping/accessories from one of my good friends here, and put the finishing touches on my costume with a sheaf of wheat that I found at the Covered Market here in Oxford. The result meant that I was dropping wheat stalks wherever I walked, including into other people's faces or drinks, and that I smelled like wheat the entire night, but at least I was hearty and wholesome? (And at least I did get many compliments, which was a big deal for this normally not-so-creative dresser-upper?) The British students either didn't dress up at all, or dressed up in the mysterious and prevalent animal onesies that seem to emanate from one of the stores in the Oxford shopping center, or dressed up as scary things -- for them, Halloween means blood and gore and creatures that go "bump" in the night. Our American ensemble was rather tame in comparison:

Now on to November, which has somehow arrived already! How have I spent an entire month in Oxford thus far? It's been an incredible, incredible adventure, and I want time to quit passing so quickly.

A Pint at the Eagle and Child

Oxford is full of literary traditions. One of them being that, for many years, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien and their friends used to meet every Tuesday in The Eagle and Child pub on St. Giles' Street, where they would discuss the progress of their literary ideas and engage in some good-spirited argument and debate. Over a pint or two, of course. This group famously called itself "The Inklings," and the marks of their literary prowess are still visible in The Eagle and Child, as well as all across Oxford.

Now, The Eagle and Child is just across the street from St. John's, and I see it every day while walking to and from various places. I've also gone there a few times and would call it one of my favorite pubs in the city so far -- relaxed, cozy, and with enough secluded spots for good conversation. Just this past week, a few Rhodie friends and I were chatting about our personal writing, or our aspirations to write more while in Oxford, and the idea came to us. Why not form our own weekly writers' gathering in The Eagle and Child, to share our stories or essays or poems with each other over a drink or two? That is, why not establish our own version of the Inklings? ("The Inkjets," one of my friends playfully suggested.)

The entire idea reeks of literary pretension, I confess, but the four of us eagerly settled on it, circulated some of our work among the group this past week, and then met in The Eagle and Child last night for a night full of good literary conversation. Our gathering took the form of a very informal writers' workshop, in which we discussed each other's works and each other's ideas. We had an excellent time, and I realized how much I've missed writing workshops and discussions about writing, especially with such a small group of nice, smart, curious, interesting people. The pub finally kicked us out at closing time, but then we lingered in the dark chatting a little longer, and I walked away feeling very eager to do more -- both to pursue more of my own personal writing and to discover more of my friends' creative impulses. This Oxford thing may be steeped in quaint ideas and spirited aspirations like ours, but it's all a little bit magical, and all a little bit unlike anywhere else.

Productive Procrastination

I think since I got to Oxford I've simultaneously spent more time reading in old creaky libraries AND more time procrastinating on my work by doing miscellaneous fun things with friends than I ever have before.

This may seem like a paradox, but I beg to differ after spending all afternoon today slogging through James Joyce's Ulysses, which is as much of a monster as it's reputed to be. And more.

And I also beg to differ after spending the entire weekend doing things like beagling. Which is essentially the very English pastime of dressing up in cravats and sports coats and tights and caps and going out rambling with a pack of hounds across the countryside. I've got a trio of beagles at home, who look very different (and in my opinion are cuter) than their English cousins, and seeing the pack out on the move helped satisfy the craving for puppy contact that I've had during the last few weeks. And no, I did not dress up in the traditional fashion; a few friends and I pulled on the wellies and sweaters and spent the afternoon watching the hunt while trying not to get in the way or interfere with the trail. I can't say I always understood the intricacies of the hunt, but how English we all felt!

Oh, and then there was a symphony on Saturday night in the Sheldonian theatre -- the Oxford Philharmonica played two pieces of Beethoven and I went with a group of other Rhodies. Every time I hear a symphony with my cochlear implant, it sounds different, richer and more interesting somehow, so I enjoyed basking in the curiosities of that experience another time around. (Even if it was nice to go get a drink after and unwind in the pub and ask friends what they thought the music all meant. Yes, getting into this pub life.)

And then there was the Sunday when one of my Stanford friends (in the UK for a business trip to London) came to visit Oxford. We met up with another Stanford friend for lunch, had a very fun mini-reunion, and then got into the Oxford touristy thing in the afternoon -- including climbing Magdalen Tower, the tallest tower in Oxford, with a few other friends-playing-tourist-with-visiting-friends. Pictures from high up abounded, as did the gusts of wind. As I curled up with books later on (after a dinner out at a Thai place, overloading my taste buds with spiciness after too much bland British food), I reflected on how wonderful it had been to see familiar Stanford faces and catch up on life in this bewildering new place. That made for a very satisfying end to a not-very-academically-productive weekend. (Now, more U.S. friends, come visit?)

So, there you go: Oxford, the place of distractions, compounded by grabbing tea with various new people and attempting to make it out to the variety of lectures and events happening across town. And continuing to battle the weather, which today was extremely blustery because of a so-called "hurricane" that hit the UK last night and this morning. That, combined with the time change over the weekend and the suddenly dark evenings, is preparing me for a long and cold winter ahead. Blergh.

On which note, back to reading and my companion Mr. Joyce...