The college at which I am staying is, so I've been told, one of the oldest in Oxford (and I can well believe it when dealing with their plumbing system). It is made up of three quadrangles surrounded by the college's light-colored stone walls, and a building separate from the main portion. Though relatively small, it is a place very easy to become hopelessly lost in, especially for a person like myself who possesses no sense of direction.
The building is full of oddly-shaped rooms, awkward stairwells, snarled passageways, and accidental closets of widely varying style, muhc of it clearly following no unifying plan. It seems to have been added bit by bit, haphazardly, following the modes of the numerous times the work was done throughout the years, leading right up to the present. Ancient wood floors are abruptly interupted by inlaid weather-resistent carpeting. Parts of one room will look like a history museum while different parts of the same room look like a Menard's.
Whenever I tour a historic building preserved as a museum, I lament the ropes and calm but insistent guards that don't allow me to touch, sit, walk across the rooms. Here, there are no ropes and no guards, but a price has been paid: though beautiful, and soaked with antiquity, the buildings and hallways and staircases are also practical for the current era, and it is impossible to feel as though I've traveled back in time. It gives me a little more respect for the security guards and their ropes.
Still, there is one aspect of the college that is likely much as it ever was--the flowers. Re-planted every year or at least brought out of dormancy, the plants are not altered by the development of modern conveniences. Huge trees grow beside worn stone walls, bright rose blossoms burst from vines climbing up to windowsills (finally finding a place grand enough to bear the large beauty of their flowers), flowering bushes are resplendent at the edges of quads. Even the grass is lovely--soft and green and closely-clipped, it appears a delightfully matted carpet. However, the privilege of flinging oneself or even walking upon the grass in two of the three quads is reserved for Fellows of the College only, who no doubt have no idea how to take advantage of it.
3 comments:
Hah! No one has commented to your latest post yet Danika. Christine just gave me the link to your blog - thanks Christine!
Glad to hear you arrived safely. And don't worry about not packing something - I'm sure you'll be able to purchase what you need from those street-side vendors pushing their barrows. Oh, wait, you might even find they have shops over there - I seem to remember a few when I lived there ;-). They're really quite progressive.
Seriously though, your blog is making me homesick. I spent my youth in Norwich and Cambridge. Cambridge is very similar to Oxford in many ways - you know - cricket on the greens and rowing down the river...(not that I've done either).
I miss the centuries old buildings but I know what you mean about the odd mixture of new and old - sometimes they make strange bedfellows.
I'm looking forward to hearing more from you and Old Blighty,
Take Care,
Louise
I found the Gardens at Kew and the backyard gardens I spied from the train to be similarly amazing. Apparently English gardeners expend so much more time and attention to little details and do more of the work without power tools. Their sense of history is clear in the designs of their beds, the shapes of their hedges, and their care of aged trees. American gardens can be beautiful, but they are generally of a different character. If you take any photos, please post a few!
Best,
Papa.
Hopefully, Oxford will help you to hone your sense of direction and you will find getting around home to be easy. (I'm afraid this is just a mother's wishful thinking.)
Post a Comment