We have moved into our new flat. After six weeks and twelve different addresses, we are proud proper English lettors. The marathon moving spree, stumbling around town, suitcases in tow, allowed us a chance to get to discover hidden alleys, restaurants, and gain a sense of history here, but it also brought with it some amazing memories.
We started in Magdalen (pronounced Maude-Lynne) College, with a hidden, unmarked entrance, which made it difficult for us to find, but also a more magical and mysterious start to this adventure. It seemed each of our comings was timed with choir practice, leaving us with the impression that everyone would be announcing our presence with song. That was not the case.
Moving from past to the present, the University Club is a modern building on a quiet street in the middle of the city. Designed for meetings, meet ups, sporting events, and drinking, it is convenient to everything and to our delight, one of the few places we stayed with a bar. Unfortunately, the beds are about as uncomfortable as I could have imagined, until we moved into the colleges.
Wadham (rhymes with bottom) College is an amazing place with well-timed access to cheap laundry facilities. But we discovered it has the best location, warmest people, incredible ancient architecture, most charming gardens, huge rooms, and the tiniest, hardest lumpiest twin beds to date.
Around the corner and a few blocks away from Wadham sits the anthropology museum, and across the street Keble (pronounced Kee-bull) College – our fourth stop. Keble will be best known for unusual colorful buildings that glowed in the morning mist, groundskeepers combing designs into the quad lawn, and beds made only of plywood.
A 20-minute walk up the hill from the colleges is a village called Headington. Here we stayed in a Bed & Breakfast owned by Gordon and his wife Hilda. Our room was so small the entire floor was taken up with luggage, but the bed was mercifully lump-free. For ten days we enjoyed the comforts of home before we returned to college life at St. Benet’s Hall.
A hall is smaller than a college but serves the same purpose. St Benet’s (rhymes with pennant), with large rooms for theology students seemed odd at first but the tiny-tiny beds made out of gravel, were perfect for one to feel penance. Here I met Father Gabriel, a monk who told stories of his life full of travel, food, and exciting cities. It seemed like a good career path but before I could ask what else a nice Jewish girl should know before entering the monastic life, we moved onto St Hughes College.
On a large sprawling estate, St Hughes College’s rooms are tiny, which explains why they assign them to only one person. My husband was down the hall and the bathroom, shared with four other dorm rooms was across from my room. I was open to sharing facilities, if Felix Unger-types were in the other rooms, but my bath-mates were young college boys. This was no playgirl fantasy. The conditions so unspeakable, I regularly went down two floors to the public toilet. After two nights, I fled for cleaner commodes.
Mansfield College, with giant doors that open automatically, giving a feeling of majesty to this City Center college, would be my favorite stop, if our morning shower didn’t require a 30 meter walk through a labyrinth of twisting narrow corridors, through three firedoors, then down two flights of cold stone stairs finally, through a very public hallway.
Needing a break from all the moving around, we planned a weekend get-away. A one-hour train ride from Oxford is the ancient city of Bath. It is best known for the Roman baths but we will remember it best for two nights with a private clean bathroom, a giant soft bed and, something we haven’t seen in weeks, a TV. We’ll have to go back one day to visit the town of Bath.
Back in Oxford, we checked into “The Terraces” a small B&B. Here we met Vicky, the owner, and her bijou puppy, Geneviève. Upon arrival, Vicky offered us tea and cake and told stories about the restaurants, neighborhood, and history of the town. For two hours she entertained us, without taking a breath. She was a fire hose of information and Geneviève a ball of puppy love. Neither let up for the two days we stayed there.
St Steven’s Hall would be our last college. In the heart of the area we would soon be living, the small front door hid a huge labyrinth of narrow halls, stairs, and gardens. For two nights we stayed in the luxury of the Bishop’s Room. This three-room suite had amazing views of the city, a kitchen, private bath, and a very large bed. Should it be this good to be a Bishop?
For our last night we celebrated in luxury at Malmaison, a boutique hotel that was formally Oxford’s old prison. This upscale extravagance kept a prison feel with bars on the windows, exposed brick, and decorated in a “prison” motif.
I have no regrets. The last six-weeks were an incredible nomadic experience but it’s time to settle down and start living in Oxford.
