Daytripping

On Friday, CAPA took all of us to Stonehenge and Bath for the day. I like London, but it was definitely nice to get out of the city.

Stonehenge was the first stop, a two-hour bus ride. As we drove, there was a downpour of rain, but the sun had ventured out by the time we got to Stonehenge. It's literally right next to a highway, appearing without warning on the side of the road.

It was about 10:00AM when we arrived, and we had 45 minutes to wander around the stones and ponder the strangeness of it all. There was an audioguide included. It's true that Stonehenge is "roped off"; that is, you can't walk among the stones. But you can still get pretty close.

I've wanted to see Stonehenge forever, and under normal circumstances I would have been content to stroll around it and contemplate it for hours. However, it was remarkably windy and cold (the wind is evident in my pictures), in spite of the sun. I had no scarf or gloves (poor planning on my part) and could not even listen to the audiguide because it was too cold to keep my hand out of pocket for longer than taking a picture. My fellow students all felt the same way, some of them not lasting even ten minutes.

I did stay out the whole time, and it was an impressive sight. But I wasn't captivated with awe, as I had expected to be. Stonehenge might be too old and too remote--I tried to imagine how it was constructed, what life was like for the Druids who probably built it, what this surrounding area looked like when it forest instead of a highway. But I couldn't really get my mind around it; there wasn't enough information available. There was one moment that really rocked me (no pun intended) though--a helicopter flew overhead while we were there. It was astounding to see a helicopter juxtaposed with Stonehenge, and the sight really highlighted Stonehenge's remoteness. Now that I think about it, that circle of stones is more sombre than anything. It was carefully and painstakingly constructed on that site five thousand years ago, and it's now entirely out of place, huddling awkwardly by a highway, its purpose and creators utterly forgotten.

After Stonehenge, we trekked to Bath, another hour on the bus. I hadn't given Bath much thought before the trip, to be honest--I was too caught up with Stonehenge. Bath turned out to be a lovely town. It's called Bath because when the Romans were in Britain, they built famous baths on top of Bath's natural hot springs. As a result, Bath has some of the most remarkable Roman ruins in Britain.

In addition to its impressive Roman legacy, Bath has an important place in British history. It was the place to be and be seen during the 17th and 18th centuries--Jane Austen is known to have done writing in Bath, and the artist Gainsborough lived there for a while as well. There is an abbey that was originally founded in the 13th century, although I think its current building dates back to the 15th century. The first king of all England was crowned there.

I got lunch at a local cafe (the Walrus and the Carpenter--bonus points for you if you name that literary reference) with Alan and Rachel, and then we joined a walking tour with the rest of CAPA. After a cold, brisk hour and a half of enjoying the town's spectacular architecture, we toured the Roman Baths museum. It was quite cool, full of awesome artifacts. My favorites were little sheets of pewter that people would scratch petty curses onto and toss into the water, hoping that the god Sulis Minerva would heed them. The bath itself is still there, and the stonework around it has been stunningly well-preserved. You can even still see a good part of the original lead pipe. On the bus ride home we watched a DVD of British stand-up, which I enjoyed.

That night I went to bed early, partly because I was exhausted, but mostly because I had an early train to Oxford in the morning. I woke up about a dozen times Friday night, too excited to sleep. This was a journey I'd been planning for years, a stop I had vowed to make when I was about 12 years old even if it was the sole destination of a trip to England.

Eventually it actually was time for me to get out of bed and leave for the train. I left from London Paddington at about 8:30 and was in Oxford by 9:30 (I read Return of the King on the train). When I left the train station, I headed for the bus and taxi stops. My intention was to take a bus out to Wolvercote Cemetery, since it was about three miles outside of the city centre, but as I read the various signs I could see that somehow I had miscalculated bus routes. The tourism information booth in the train station opened at 10:00AM, and I was sure that they could tell me which bus it was. But I was too impatient, so I took a taxi instead. It was a short enough ride that the fare was reasonable.

When I got to the cemetery, I had a brief moment of panic because it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea where to look. It wasn't very big, as far as cemeteries go, but it was big enough that searching through it would be an arduous task. I picked a direction and set off, and I suppose luck was with me, because alongside that path there was a placard with "J.R.R. Tolkien" and an arrow.

It was a cold morning and still. I was the only person in the cemetery. Standing at Tolkien's grave was remarkable. Overwhelming. I will not say surreal, nor will I say that I couldn't believe I was actually there. I'd always known I would be there someday. For a few minutes I stood in silence. Satisfied that I was the only one around, I pulled out my copy of Return of the King (the only Tolkien I brought with me from home; I didn't even bring my DVDs) and quietly read aloud my favorite Tolkien poem (it's the one Sam recites when he's searching for Frodo in the Tower of Cirith Ungol, in case you care. It didn't make into the films). After another moment of silence, I murmured a "Thank you," and then made my way out of the cemetery.

Catching a bus back to the city centre was easy. Once there I took a walking tour, where a wonderful guide showed us around the town and explained some of the history of the city and the various colleges. There are 38 colleges in Oxford, three of which date back to the 13th century. The city is a busy jumble of mismatched buildings, ranging in age from over a thousand years to within the last century. Its grandeur was duly impressive.

But I thought the character of the city was odd. It is a tourist attraction by accident, and only reluctantly. Indeed it felt like there were two Oxfords--the real Oxford, proud and protective of its noble history and academic prowess that wants everyone to go home so it can get on with its reading; and the commercial Oxford that realises people will flock to look at the famous University buildings and therefore set up lots of high-end shopping and tacky souvenir booths (OK, I bought a t-shirt). As a result many of the very cool things--i.e., the library and the majority of the beautiful college buildings--are either closed to the public, have nonsensical hours, or charge visitors nearly ten pounds. But on my walking tour I did get into Exeter College, where Tolkien was a student.

When my tour ended, I made my way to the Eagle and Child pub. For those of you who don't know, this was the pub where the Inklings (i.e., Tolkien & Lewis and some other people no one ever remembers) met several times a week to share their writing with each other. While there I got my first platter of fish and chips as well as my first pint of ale. Tolkien would have approved of the proper Englishness of it all. The ale I had was called Old Hooky's, and was a local Oxford brew. I didn't really like it, but I hadn't expected to and that was besides the point. I sipped it as I read some more of Return of the King, enjoying the fact that I was sitting in the building where bits of that book were first read aloud.

Upon finishing lunch, I went to 20 Northmoor Rd. It was about 0.75 miles away from the pub, and it was the house that Tolkien lived in during most of his teaching career at Oxford. He lived there while writing the Lord of the Rings. It's currently a privately owned home, so I just walked past it, quickly took a picture, then walked back to Oxford.

For the rest of my time there, I meandered about the University park, which was lovely. It would have been great to see some cricket or rugby going on, but there was in fact a big Ultimate Frisbee tournament. After another quick walk around some of the college buildings, I went back to the rail station, feeling thoroughly fulfilled.