Britain's Biggest Picnic

After having been here for one week, I feel reasonably qualified to make two generalizations about England. In the spirit of Dr. Seuss, (a former Oxford student...), Thing 1: There is no one on this island named Joe Smith. Everyone here is called something like Charlie Templeton Hawardan Walker III. No joke. Tiny children are running around with these behemoth names trailing along behind them like kite tails. Thing 2: England loves a picnic, and they consider virtually anywhere to be the perfect spot to make one. Beneath a tree, along the riverbank, in the botanic garden, obviously. I looked down from my bedroom window today just in time to see a group picnicking on top of the double decker bus passing by below. The english could fit a blanket, a couple of wine glasses, some apples and a wedge of sharp cheddar onto the head of a pin if they needed to.

Today I put on my best dress and went to the Henley Royal Regatta in Henley-on-Thames, just a half hour downriver from me in Oxfordshire. While officially a boat race, I quickly learned that the main event was picnicking. Gentlemen dressed in blazers, shirts and striped ties and women in pale pastels and florals and bonnets brought their picnic baskets, complete with china and embroidered napkins, and dined along the river. A jazz combo played, and I didn't see a single grilled meat- not a burger, hot dog, steak, or turkey leg all day. On the menu? Baguettes with brie and goat cheese and dried cranberries, cucumber finger sandwiches, baby quiche, fresh fruit, and of course champagne or maybe some Pimm's. England, I think we might be soulmates.

Picnics Pimm's and hemlines: Henley Royal Regatta basks in the sun- Telegraph

Pints, Pubs, and the Farmer's Market

Today I strolled around Oxford and had brunch at the farmer's market. An apricot almond tart, puff pastry stuffed with goat cheese and watercress, and a ripe plum. Mmm.

Last night I participated in my most quintessentially English activity so far. Cricket, you think? Football, a fox hunt? No. Did I have fish and chips or tea with scones and berries in clotted cream? Nope. Did I author dramatic masterpieces or poetry or prose? No, no, and no. Last night I had a pint at the pub. Being that this was my first time visiting an English 'public house', and that the regulars at this particular pub have in years past included Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, I needed to get it right. I discussed my options for local beers with the bartender, and by that I mean that he talked in my general direction for ten minutes regarding each selection on tap while I struggled to look: a.) smart b.) interesting c.) like I could understand more than every sixth word that came out of his mouth. Apparently I failed, because after a long skeptical look at me he broke it down into 'lady terms' and suggested I try the cold, pale, bubbly one, which sounded to me like an infinitely more palatable choice than the beers on tap which are served flat and warm. I slapped my five pound note on the bar and said, "I'll have a pint, please!"

Welcome to Oxford!

To prevent myself from having a nervous breakdown brought on by lack of communication, (thank you very much AT&T, Skype, and particularly Oriel College at Oxford for tucking me away in a 500 year old turret with stone walls and no wifi signal...), I will be recording a travel diary. Please note, I said diary. I did not say anything, for example, that starts with a 'b'. Or rhymes with clog. Nevermind the web address.

So, let's get caught up to speed! I arrived here early Sunday morning, after shivering my way across the pond, courtesy of the staff at Virgin Atlantic, who seem to be labouring (I'm in England...) under the misapprehension that only three people per flight might like their blanket. Anyway! I made it in one piece and, after sleeping for approximately 7,000 hours, am starting to feel like a happy, healthy member of the human race again!

Monday was my first day of classes, which consisted of plants, followed by plants, more plants, and a side dish of Shakespeare. I have a pass for the Oxford Botanic Garden (which is nearly 400 years old, and contains representatives of almost every known plant family on earth...), and when I'm not there or in classes, I have a fair amount of free time to spend looking around. Yesterday I met the dean of Oriel College, (where I am staying and one of the 34? 38? colleges that make up the University), rumpled shirt, barefoot, 'trousers' rolled up to his knees drinking wine, eating cheese, and playing croquet on the lawn. As far as I'm concerned, America can keep baseball, I much prefer picnicking as a national past-time. You really can't turn a corner here without running into someone with a book, blanket, bottle of wine, and their red-and-white-lined picnic 'hamper' lounging under a tree or on the riverbank. So romantic! On that note I'm off to sleep, and leave you with my view of the punters along the River Cherwell from yesterday's picnic in the park: