Weekend at Oxford

I have been seduced, I have seen the Disneyland of higher thought: Oxford.

No where else have I seen a “new” college that was “only” 600 years old, grandiose buildings around every corner, lawns that are precisely manicured into checker-boards for sheer aesthetics (tut-tut if you think about walking on them), and lush green spaces as wide as a smile. Oh, and people having sex in a public park. That was not expected.

Sex in broad daylight in the middle of a park aside, it was a weekend of refinement. Lita and Geoff took me out for tea. Not tea like a bobbing bag in a paper cup but for real loose-leaf tea at tea time. There were scones, light and warm. And jam. And clotted cream. A ceremony I would repeat every day of my life if I could. They were delicious, not just the scones, but Lita and Geoff.

I’d never met Geoff before and I hadn’t seen Lita since the wedding, “seen” being a massive misnomer because I didn’t really get to see much through the chaos. And yet once I met Geoff, it felt as if I had known him because he is such a perfect compliment to Lita. Like jam and clotted cream.

A visit to Oxford was exactly what I needed. Because my work is very self-directed and because I’ve been spending a good portion of my time at my desk, amidst drawers of taxidermied mice and amber-coloured jars of “pickled” specimens, reading until my eyes roll back into my head, there has been ample opportunity for quarter life crises. Am I doing the right thing being here? Am I doing the right thing pursing my masters degree in museum studies? Will I be sufficiently qualified to work at the Baha’i World Center? What am I going to eat for lunch? Oh look, a pickled bat!

Yes, a pickled bat. My boss is a dual citizen; she lectures in the biology department of UCL (University College of London) and is also the deputy director of the campus’ museums and collections (they have three public museums and about 14 departmental collections). Her office is in the biology department. And so is mine. And I won’t lie, I love it.

The trip to Oxford was an affirmation. Believe it or not fellow M.MSt-ers, even the masters students at Oxford sometimes complain bitterly about their programs. After walking along the commons (which makes the Halifax commons something to ridicule and spit on) barefoot with Lita, things began to feel much better. And she and Geoff fed me such good food! And they took me punting! I thought punting was kicking a football -- not exactly what I’d like to spend a morning doing -- but it’s not. Think of the gondolas of Venice. That’s punting. And I’m not very good at it; the boat would have moved faster if it was being towed by a minnow. Lita, however, is a master punter. She can outmaneuver river-hogging boats, dodge branches and parallel park.

I calmed down too when we watched Geoff’s team row, zipping down the river like a water bug. The highlight of the weekend was definitely watching an ignorant punter idle in the middle of the river and do nothing about the oncoming water-slicing boat. It was just like America’s Funniest Home Videos. The rowers “braked”, time moved like molasses, the two collided, and the shirtless punter was sent into the murky, green river. He was fine. At least for the time being. Maybe in a month’s time he’ll discover a third nipple. And on the topic of third nipples, I say goodnight!