Day 1

(Actually, more like Day 1 1/2. Crossing time zones makes the definition of "day" tricky!)

My housemate, SuLi, and I traveled together -- a huge blessing for me, since she helped me with my luggage the whole way. The flight was long, but we had plenty of legroom and our own personal DVD players mounted in the back of the seats ahead of us. The food was good, the British stewardesses friendly, and the screaming babies kept their contributions to a discreet minimum. We were on a redeye flight headed east, which meant we chased the sunrise the whole way. The plane hardly ever got dark, and we never managed to get tired. I watched three movies and half of a documentary about two men who bought a lion cub at Harrod's department store, and there we were in London.

We went through immigration and customs, found our luggage, and headed to the bus station where we were supposed to meet up with the Dean of IPS for the bus ride to Oxford. Now I began to realize I was tired. ...no, exhausted. The Dean was late, and I had fallen asleep on my luggage before I got tapped on the shoulder. From there on out, I was like a zombie -- I actually felt pale. I mutely followed the others around the station and onto a bus, where I promptly fell asleep again. I woke up to see the lovely stone buildings of High Street, the main thoroughfare in the town of Oxford. "Lovely," I thought, and stumbled off the bus. As I trudged along down the street towards the gothic chapel of Magdalen College* and over the bridge towards St. Hilda's on the edge of town, I remember thinking something like, "Huh. Oxford. ...yep." If it's enthusiasm and an appreciation of centuries-old architecture you want, I would kindly request 8 hours of sleep and a good meal first.

Once we were established in our (very modern and fairly ugly) rooms at St. Hilda's, the Dean decided that I, at least, looked like death not-terribly-warmed-over, so she very kindly gave both SuLi and I $20 (US) and told us to go find ourselves a really good meal, STAT. Which we did. We found a little cafe down the street, technically outside the borders of the university, where a bunch of locals were enjoying a late brunch. After gratefully sucking down about three cups of very good hot tea, we both ordered the Full English Breakfast. (This, by the way, is apparently the name for the meal, not just a description. I kid you not -- go look it up.) I gather that the British think this is the last word in breakfast fare. The half tomato is crucial. As is the black pudding**.

Afterwards, we each took a brief nap, showered, and then walked across town to the little building on Beaumont Street where the Centre for Philosophical Psychology, the sister program to the IPS, is located. We were promised a wine and cheese "Welcome to Oxford" soiree at 4:30, but instead found ourselves sheepishly slipping in to a pseudo-class which was already in progress. The professors greeted us, told us what to expect, talked a bit about their intents for the class, then turned us loose. We walked around the corner to Blackfriar's Hall for Sunday evening Mass, then went in search of dinner.

Sadly, Oxford shuts down almost entirely on Sunday evenings. Restaurant after restauarant was closed for the night. After much debating and frustrated remonstrating, we finally agreed to eat at the only place that catered to hungy wayfarers after the late, late hour of 6pm -- McDonald's. We then walked the long trek back to our dorms and went to bed.

Happily, things got better after this.

*I have no idea what event that crowd was there for, but the road they're all on is High Street, the route we took to and from classes every morning. Sadly, given that we were there in the height of the tourist season, it often felt just about this crowded.

** I recommend that you taste this before asking your companion what exactly black pudding is made of.