We have a flat! After participating in our version of an Oxford tour of homes, we have started the process of renting. The decision was simple. We decided not to take the flat with the incredible view of the deer park because the landlord lived upstairs and requested we make no noise. She clarified this to include a ban on television, radio, computer whirls or beeps, phone calls, and obviously talking to each other. We next declined the flat that was impeccably decorated by the chatty landlord that lived next door, because it was a 20-minute walk to any restaurant, supermarket, bus station, or other convenience we required. And we declined the studio apartment that asked high rents for fold-out couches and no closets, as well as the flat that was over a restaurant; however, we would have accepted a bakery, as the breads here are amazing. Instead, we will be renting a flat on Iffley Road, the road that goes nowhere in particular. Unfortunately the Iffley flat is not available for 30 days, leaving us in search of temporary housing.
Unable to stay at the University Club any longer, it was with mixed feelings that we left the safety of our first residence in Oxford, along with its colicky infant in the room next door and headed out.
There are many places to stay in Oxford; however, this time of year the town is abuzz with students picking their college affiliations. Accompanied by excited parents, the teenagers can be seen parading through the town by day and gobbling up the temporary housing by night. This made the search for our next residence as competitive as 15 piglets trying to get lunch at one of their mother’s fourteen nipples. Fourteen seems like a lot but, like Oxford, there just it isn’t enough room for everyone to have their own space. The only way to make this work would be to stay in a different place every week, until we move into our new home.
Of the 38 colleges in Oxford, some rent rooms and offer breakfast. It was decided, instead of taking the daytime tours, we would explore these beautiful and majestic fortresses and get breakfast too.
Our first college is Wadham (rhymes with bottom) College. It’s 16th century gothic stone buildings with extensive gardens and much a needed laundry room were called home this week. One of the first colleges at Oxford, they began allowing women in since 1974, a good change or I would have ended up on the street. The graduates are called Wadhamites, which sounds more like something they would expel from the bedding prior to arrival. One aspect I had not counted on when we booked was the sleeping arrangements. We were renting dorm rooms. And dorms mean twin beds! These are just as romantic as I remembered from Lucy and Ricky.
The highlight of our time at Wadham College has been breakfast. While the dining hall is reminiscent of Harry Potter and the food is plentiful and fresh, it is the people that I will remember best.
Each morning two women greet us. First is always a short wide middle-age woman, who is always happy. Her chipper voice, sings out the process. “You may gather your hot selections from your left and your cold selections are just over there. Please take what you like and find a perch. Then we will pop by with coffee and tea”. Her partner has changed a few times but it is always a twenty- something morose girl, who never smiles and never speaks. Both women are always dressed in a conservative maid-type uniform. To offset the 16th century background the younger woman is accented in make-up and hairstyle from the punk rock era.
Each morning I meet someone new. One morning, I met the college’s new Sommelier. Just in from London and staying in temporary housing during his training by the current Sommelier, who is about to go on maternity leave. Between exchanging stories on the Oxford’s housing crisis, he has kept me updated on his training, which to date has consisted primarily of watching his predecessor play Farmville. I met a Cambridge man, passing through on the way to an artificial intelligence conference. He spoke to me for about an hour regarding the differences between Cambridge and Oxford. Because of his accent, I cannot tell you more than the topic of his conference and that was a guess. I met a 50-something immunologist from Wales, here for a wedding, who despite the morning chill in the air was dressed as if she was 20 and living in Atlanta during July. Thanks to her stories, I can tell you with great detail the dangerous areas in Wales and the names of the people to avoid.
Next week we move to Keble College (pronounced Key-bull), a newer college built in the 1800’s. This college prides itself on community involvement and inclusion, something to be scoffed at by the snottier colleges. Then we’ll trot off to Headington, a town 2 miles north of the city. We have lined up two cottages in the suburbs before we return to the City Center and dorm life. All this while we work full-time and play tourist in our new city.
