Lake District

Off to the Lake District until Monday so the blog will be quiet for the next few days. The weather isn't projected to be nearly this good, but hopefully the rain will just heighten the sense of adventure!

The Oxford Exchange

What do you get when 20,000 students come to Oxford from around the world? Well in the first couple of weeks, of course you have your stimulating political conversations, raucous parties, amusing cultural barriers/misunderstandings, etc. But the most significant annual tradition is Fresher’s Flu- a virulent epidemic that sweeps through the student body like a fire in a hayfield. Some theorize that it is spread through the dining halls, sharing drinks at parties or just a bit too much free romance but the severity is undeniable. Historians say that during the Columbian Exchange in North America, the introduction of European diseases decimated the native populations, killing fifty to ninety percent of the population in a matter of years. Well in the Oxford Exchange those percentages sound about right- everyone I know has been driven to their bed or is part of the walking-wounded who are struggling through class and spreading the virus even further afield.

Normally, I have an impermeable immune system. I haven’t spent a day in bed in years and almost never spike a fever. But Fresher’s Flu caught me too. Last week I started with a scratchy throat, then a stuffy nose, then the runny nose, etc. I thought the symptoms were just running their course and true to form, I just pushed through. Rest is for the weak. But by dinner time  on Monday I could tell I had spiked a fever. Still, I had a rowing session and water polo back to back and have always been taught that missing practice for a team sport is not acceptable unless you are so sick you plan on visiting a hospital. So I went to the erg workout and raced off to water polo, where we had the full pool for scrimmaging for the first time since school started. So of course I yelled me head off to call out positions, tell players to release for the ball, etc. And then there was the late night dash to finish a paper. Tuesday rolled around and I had no voice. The fever broke but I seem to be cycling back through all the symptoms again. As of Thursday, I think I am finally on the mend but let this be a lesson to me. My California immune system cannot operate at fully capacity in the suboptimal conditions of Oxford- excessive amounts of mayonnaise and potatoes with an insufficient amount of fresh produce and lean meat seems to be taking its toll. Looks like I will need to request some Vitamin C in the next care package. 

High Table

Just got back from formal hall and I have to say that this is one of the true gems of Oxford. All of the colleges have an informal dinner every night but there are also formal hall dinners- a three course meal for which you have to make a reservation and wear your gown. But they are always so much fun because the act of making a reservation requires advanced planning and encourages you to get a large group together. Usually you try to invite friends from other colleges in exchange for an invitation to their dinner at a later date. And St. John’s is amazing because we have formal hall almost every night and it only costs 3.45GBP, which is at least half as much as most other colleges.

Tonight I barely made it since I was coming from rowing practice and had to be in my seat before the Latin grace or they wouldn’t let me in. I arrived with moments to spare and found a group of Rhodies staking out fully a third of the table. Often times these dinners are a culinary adventure with menus that read like a page in a French textbook, but tonight the menu was both intelligible and delectable. We started with minestrone, moved on to baked chicken with smoked bacon and mozzarella and topped it all off with blueberry cheesecake. During breakfast and lunch the clamor of hundreds of plates and bustle of students dashing to and from class can make the dining hall feel a bit like a cafeteria but during formal hall, the candlesticks and drape of black gowns makes you more aware of the vaulted ceilings and the portraits peering down on you. At one point, Luke and I were in the middle of a discussion about the challenges of living in a developing country like Jamaica where politicians literally buy votes with cows and pigs that people need to feed their families. The setting and the conversation were an odd juxtaposition of privilege and struggle and I remember looking up and thinking, “Wow, do people really live like this?” Apparently they do. But surely the privilege of this university experience merely makes us more aware of the inequity in the world and increases our debt to society. This train of thought was a bit heavy for an after dinner musing but I find that it typifies the social and intellectual roller coaster that is Oxford. 

Check Your Pige

Today marks a momentous occasion- my first piece of mail arrived from the US!! So a big thanks to Jessica, even if it is an invitation to a party that we both know I can’t attend; it’s the thought that counts. And this brings me to a unique little Oxford oddity called the pigeonhole. Everyone has a little mailbox near the porter’s lodge and “check your pige” is a common instruction around here as the intercampus mail system is the source of information on upcoming events, departmental deliveries and actual post mail. More often than not I get junk mail from clubs like the Oxford Business Society who wants to help me find a job or NatWest, my bank in the UK who insists on sending six different letters to explain how my ATM pin works before they finally send me an actual ATM card. But every once in a while, I find something interesting there- like my student ID card, which I seem to misplace with alarming frequency in the dining hall and about town. But my unique ability to lose this indispensable piece of plastic is a separate issue. Two weeks ago I emailed my first paper to my supervisor and when we met the next day it wasn’t ready so he promised to return it later in the week. I asked if I should come pick it up or if he would email it to me, and he looked at me quizzically and said no, it will be in your pige. Right, because sending an essay across Oxford is obviously as efficient as sending an email? But I guess if Oxford has it, then it intends to make use of it. And quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the pigeon hole system predates the establishment of England’s Royal Mail system four hundred years ago.  Anyway, that’s about all I have time for today but in case anyone was wondering, this post is not a shameless plug for more letters from the US. Although, if you are so inclined my address is St. John’s College, St. Giles, Oxford OX1 3JP, United Kingdom. 

Matriculation

This post is about a week past being timely but some people have asked about matriculation so I though I should explain. Matriculation is an official ceremony at Oxford by which students become members of the university. This comes matricula, the Latin for register, as students were officially entered into the Oxford register following the ceremony. Up until the 1960s students had to take formal exams administered by Oxford before they could be admitted into the university community. Perhaps the advent of standardized tests made this process a bit unnecessary and I for one appreciated this rare instance in which Oxford opted for efficiency over intransigence. Now that the colleges and departments have full purview over admissions decisions, the matriculation ceremony, whereby students process through the Sheldonian Theater, is the last vestige of this ancient tradition.

Subfusc (Latin for dark/dusky color) is the formal attire for Oxford students and is worn for matriculation, examinations and degree ceremonies. In addition to the black cap and gown, men are required to wear a tuxedo and white bowtie while women wear a white blouse with a black ribbon tied at the throat, a black skirt, black tights and heels. Of course this is Oxford so these archaic and at times incomprehensible traditions are accompanied by innumerable rules. For example, only the Chancellor, Vice Chancellor and Proctors may wear the mortarboard caps indoors. Women may wear a soft cap or a mortarboard but should they choose a softcap they are required to wear it indoors. Most people have stopped wearing caps altogether and merely carry them around. This has led a lot of students to erroneously conclude that the cap can only be worn after graduation, when fortunately enough, there is no need to wear it. But the truth is, people have simply chosen not to wear them as they look absolutely ridiculous and the bobbing tassel can make one positively dizzy. Undergraduates wear what is called a commoner’s gown- it is a short gown that barely covers the suit jacket and in place of sleeves it has two streamers coming out of the top of the shoulders (this is a remnant of the closed sleeve style). The graduate gown follows the same design but hits at the knee. The gowns are also required at formal hall dinners, chapel, and a variety of other college functions. And it seems as though learning to eat without getting caught up in the streamers coming out of the armholes is a bit of an acquired skill.

I wish I could say that matriculation was a profound experience but really I was just amused by all the pageantry. We spent an hour assembled in the Canterbury Quad of St. John’s waiting for people to drag their friends out of bed. (If you don’t matriculate, you cannot use the university facilities or attend classes, so obviously Oxford takes the tradition quite seriously). The Rhodes scholars in college tend to flock to each other at these formal functions and we entertained ourselves as best we could at 9AM on a Sunday morning. The men incessantly fiddled with their bowties and we took a ridiculous number of pictures, including a couple where we tried to get the whole group to jump at the same time, much to the amusement of the surrounding undergraduates. The pictures turned out great but I concluded that while the men look dashing in their tuxedoes and billowing gowns the women all look a bit frumpy- the neck ribbon looks silly no matter how you tie it, blouses won’t stay tucked neatly into the skirt and black tights are a bit matronly. But what can you do? The outfit was probably selected by a man and in their defense, it is difficult to find outfits that uniformly flatter women’s varied figures. When we finally filed into our seats in the Sheldonian Theater, the Vice Chancellor and podium processed in. The Vice Chancellor was mercifully brief, as I imagine he had about ten such ceremonies to perform. We were reminded of the rich intellectual history, the tremendous honor of being admitted and the serious academic work that lay before of. But of course, as soon as we walked out, all thoughts turned to the champagne receptions and sexy subfusc parties that were happening later on. At least the world is predictable. Oxford is reliably entrenched in tradition and students will always find ways to make even the most stodgy affair an excuse for a party. 

Rhodes' Legacy

Last night was the annual “Coming Up Dinner” at Rhodes House. Arrival at Oxford is known as “coming up” and when one departs it is called “going down.” Obviously no one around here is subtle about the perception that attending Oxford is the apogee of achievement in life and all other accomplishments, no matter how prestigious, will pale in comparison. But in the warm afterglow of this lovely evening, it seems like an opportune moment to reflect on the Rhodes community.

Rhodes scholars are a dime a dozen at Oxford. There are approximately 200 of us in residence here at any given time and several thousand have passed through these halls in the last century so no one is automatically awed by our brilliance or taken aback by our curriculum vitas. In fact, most everyone tries to keep the distinction a secret outside of Rhodes House, as you don’t want to be seen as pretentious or invoke the resentment of other students because you are here on a plush scholarship while they struggle with increasingly exorbitant fees. But on the whole, I can’t say enough about how much I have enjoyed getting to know the other scholars. They are a truly exceptional group of people. And it has nothing to do with overt displays of intelligence. Everyone is incredibly understated but has a fascinating life store, a vision for global change and is equally comfortable discussing the rugby world cup and the political tensions between Quebec and the rest of the Canadian Provinces. This only goes to reinforce my preconception that the Rhodes is truly exceptional not for the funding benefits, but rather for facilitating access to an incredible peer network. The scholarship has given birth to innumerable lifelong friendships and a surprisingly large number of marriages as students from around the world spend two years exploring Oxford and traveling across the globe in search of new enriching experiences.

Scholars I’ve talked to unanimously agree that the monthly “Mix & Mingle” evenings are their favorite activity in Oxford, bar none. These are a great chance to meet scholars from other years, see people that you wouldn’t run into in college or your department and just generally while the night away in stimulating conversation. At the first Mix & Mingle we saw a short video from six current Rhodes scholars, all women, who had successfully completed a relay swim of the English Channel the week before. Of course I immediately tracked them down and picked their brains about training, fundraising, hiring a captain, timing the weather etc. Apparently you need at least six people to do the swim- I have already recruited four women and am keeping an eye out for anyone else with a strong swimming background.

In case there is any confusions, the Rhodes House is quite literally a house, but it is also an events venue on par with a university club. It has a large ballroom, multiple foyers for cocktails, a library, a professional kitchen, offices for the Rhodes staff, study rooms, and more. The Warden’s house is attached to this but it is not fully integrated into the public spaces. The Warden is the head of the Rhodes scholarship and before arriving you hear everyone refer to him in such awed and reverent tones that I couldn’t help but imagine him as a demigod- someone aloof and officious who ruled over Rhodes scholars with an iron fist. After all, in the US, warden’s usually run prisons, not scholarships. But nothing could be further from the truth. Warden Markwell is one of the most charming and endearing people I have ever met. During Mix & Mingles, he migrates around the room holding platters of cheese, French fries, pizza bites, etc. He always offers them to people by reminding us how fattening they are so we absolutely must try them, everyone politely refuses and he laughs and insists that you really must partake, so of course you do. This happens all night long, and he succeeds almost without fail. Even with the fish sticks. And no one can actually claim to like those so it really is a sign of our affection for him that we oblige.

Another social highlight is the weekly informal teas at Rhodes House. Usually a couple scholars bring fresh bread or cookies and people drop in after class or on their way to an evening lecture. This week my conversations ranged from the ideal flour for baking break and research on using beta-blockers to inhibit memory retention in PTSD victims, to perceptions of female education in rural Pakistan and comical mishaps during block-starts at swim meets. I can’t imagine a better depiction of what Rhodes scholars are like and am increasingly convinced that these small exchanges, more so than any curriculum or grand adventures, will prove to be the most cherished element of the Oxford experience.

The Mystery of International Relations

Navigating the academic experience at Oxford is perhaps the greatest challenge thus far. I’m reading for the MPhil (Masters in Philosophy) in International Relations, which is the equivalent of a masters degree in the US. It is a two year taught course that consists of a first year of coursework and essay writing, followed by a year of limited coursework and writing a 30,000-word thesis. This term I have about four two-hour classes: the main class is on the international system from 1900-1950 and there is a class in research methods and design, a statistics lecture and a lab where we learn to use statistical software. In the lecture on the international system, we are assigned a reading list every week and two questions for discussion. Each week students take turns writing essays on the question topics, they then read their essay to the class and we discuss each one for an hour. In addition, each student is assigned to a supervisor who they meet with every other week. The supervisor will assign a question for each week and you write a paper for them and then meet to discuss it (this is the famous tutorial system). So that is six papers on the international system in the span of an eight-week term and another paper on a methodological controversy in international relations for the research methods class. Oxford doesn’t have exams like we conceptualize midterms and finals in the US. At the beginning of the third term in the first year students take a Qualifying Exam to advance to the second year. The exam is scored and the grades get posted publicly but they don’t ever go on a transcript. The only test that really matters is the final examinations in the third term of the second year. This set of four three-hour exams will determine a student’s grade from Oxford.

The system of assessment is foreign enough but learning to navigate the everyday course work presents a puzzle in and of itself. Sometimes the weekly reading list is so long that is seems as though it might take a week to read the list itself. A professor explained the objective as developing mastery of a new topic for each week’s class. Apparently this requires a superhuman intuition for discerning the relevant information and locating it within a frame of reference. It sounds simple enough but the breadth of historical factors and theoretical frameworks at play during analysis is positively daunting. In the first week we were studying the causes of the First World War. So you read a few books, develop an understanding of the timeline of the war, read about how the experiences of the Napoleonic Wars shaped European perceptions of conflict in the twentieth century, and consider the domestic political, economic and social conditions that may have contributed to instability and the international insecurities fueled by imperialism, militarism, liberalism and the like. But once you start discussing the topic in class it becomes clear that the outbreak and latter settlement of the war is influenced by Britain’s colonial holdings in India, America’s perception of Manifest Destiny, the circumstances under which the state of Germany was created and more. What is unclear is the extent to which students are expected to be aware of all of these historic circumstances or merely attempt to muddle through and pick things up as we go along.

This seems to reflect a much more fundamental difference between the US and British system. In the US, students are provided with a very closely tailored body of information and expected to memorize it and regurgitate it on command. Oxford offers a much broader intellectual experience that prizes reading widely and engaging with self-selected materials. But after over 15-years of studying in a system where the material is defined and the benchmarks are clearly indicated, that level of academic freedom and corresponding responsibility is slightly terrifying. You have to decide for yourself what knowledge is important, where to find it and how to internalize it. No doubt it is a skill that is going to take some time to develop and it is clear that my fellow overachievers from universities around the world are currently sharing in my discomfort.  

When in Rome...

Rowing is one of the most esteemed traditions at Oxford so of course I have to give it a go. The Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race is the second oldest intercollegiate athletic competition in the world and began in 1829 (two years after the first Oxford-Cambridge cricket match) when a Cambridge student challenged one of his Oxford friends to a race down the Thames. Oxford won and every year since then the loser has demanded a rematch the following year. Cambridge leads the competition by a slim 78-80 and Oxford won last year. In addition, the college boat clubs have their own competitions. Every November the novice boats race in the Christ Church Regatta and the senior teams compete in the Torpids and Summer Eights series. The Isis (part of the Thames river) is too narrow for head-to-head races so these are bump races where teams compete in single file line and try to “bump” the boat in front of them without being caught by the boat behind. The series lasts for four days and if a crew bumps the boat ahead of them on each of the four days without being bumped themselves, they are awarded “blades”- the right to get trophy oars painted in their college colors. In Summer Eights 2011, St. John’s entered six boats and both the men’s and women’s first boats won blades, making St. John’s one of the most successful boathouses on the river.

I have only been rowing for about two weeks but I have already concluded that it is the type of sport that fetishises pain. Tuesday I did five 1000m intervals on the erg (rowing machine), which took about twenty-five minutes and by the end of it I had five blisters on my hands. Yesterday was out first early morning session. And it was cold!! Maybe forty degrees doesn’t sound that bad, but I’m from Southern California and was wearing workout clothes rather than a parka. We meet at the porter’s lodge at 5:20 for a 6:00 water practice (also called an outing, which makes me think of a picnic or a stroll through a park and thus is comically misleading). The point of the rendezvous is to make sure that all eight rowers managed to drag themselves out of bed. Because if we walked twenty minutes down to the boathouse only to realize that we were missing someone, I think everyone would be pretty miffed. Oxford has a lot of rules for the rowing teams, which suggests that people probably have a tendency to overdue it. Each college can only have one boat on the river at a time, no boat can go out without a full crew and no boats can be on the water after 8:30AM.

So it’s freezing, the sun still hasn’t come up and I’m sitting on a narrow slab of wood that seems specially designed to grate against my hip bones. Eventually my hands go numb holding the oar, which is something of a relief since my blisters are still fresh. Watching from the bank you have no idea how much work is required just to keep the boat level. Right now our novice boat lacks the coordination to have eight people row at once, or at least I assume we do since we haven’t been allowed to try. So four people sit with their oars flat on the water and either push up or down to restore balance as the boat tilts from side to side. This is incredibly important because when I am on the recovery of my stroke, if the boat is leaned to far to my stroke side (which is in fact bow), there is not enough space between the end of my oar and the side of the boat to push the blade of the oar all the way out of the water, so I may end up pushing the blade backwards through the water and slow the boat down. The worst is when the blade can’t even clear the water at the finish of your stroke, so you are quite literally pinned under the oar handle until the boat levels out again.

Meanwhile, the cox is yelling out odd commands, like “come to backstops!” “bow four ready!” and all of us have to take a few seconds to translate each request in this foreign language. I for one spent a great deal of time reflecting on how inefficient the terminology is. For example, I sit in the back of the boat (which is actually seems like the front) and my seat is called stroke while the person at the opposite end of the boat is called bow. But the rowers with their oars on the left side of the boat are called bow side and stroke side is on the right. So when the cox says “stroke take a stroke” it means something very different than “stroke side take a stroke.” In the first case I take a stroke, in the second case all the rowers with oars on the right take a stroke. I mean honestly, there are enough nautical terms to avoid this confusion- why not just call the right and left port and starboard and refer to the front and back as bow and stern. Meanwhile our coaches are biking along the bank and barking instructions as they chase us up and down the river. For every ten minutes of rowing in any given direction you have to spend three to five minutes turning around. At one point the coaches were yelling for bow to take a stroke while the cox is asking stroke (me) to take a stroke and the person sitting in the bow seat has forgotten that that term refers to them. When bow finally figure it out, the pulls from the bow and the stroke are canceling each other out until finally the coaches and the cox realize that they are giving contradictory commands. By this time one of the senior boats is bearing down on us, the swans are upset at having their morning swim disrupted by all this ruckus so they start honking and before you know it absolute pandemonium descends on the river. Now whoever said watching the sunrise is relaxing?

St. John's

Well it is all well and good to know about the college system as a whole, but you are probably more interested in my particular college. The first question is, how did I end up at St. John Baptist College? When students apply to Oxford they get to preference a college, which often ends up being an interesting exercise in game theory. Some want an all graduates college, some want a small college and some just want to be near the city center. Most American’s tend to favor the older, more traditional colleges. Magdalen (pronounced Maudlin, because the English are special like that) is probably the most popular college because it is right on the river, has an expansive dear park and an enormous tower in the front quad makes for great photos. But the colleges try to admit a diverse group of students (as far as I can tell, that boils down to a mix of nationalities and degree programs) so not everyone gets into the college of their choice and getting assigned to a college with left over spaces is a risky proposition. I picked St. John’s because I knew that while it was a popular choice, it was also not the most sought after college and so my chances of getting accepted were fairly good.

With approximately 400 undergrads and over 200 graduate students, St. John’s is considered a large college. And after being at a school of over 25,000, I couldn’t fathom anything smaller. It usually ranks in the top five on the Norrington Table (inter-collegiate ranking system- but this is most relevant for undergraduate degrees). And it is one of the older, more traditional colleges. Now when people around Oxford ask what college I am in and I say St. John’s, their first response is “Oh, they’re rich!” And yes, that’s true, St. John’s endowment is be one of the largest and it reputedly owns more land than almost any institution in the UK (except probably Eton and the Church of England).  But Oxford has many wealthy colleges and what’s great about St. John’s is that they use their wealth to heavily subsidize the student costs, making the housing, dining hall and bar among the cheapest in Oxford. One policy that makes St. John’s the envy of every student is allowing students to turn in their room key to the porter’s lodge during nights they are away in exchange for a nightly-refund at the end of term. So basically St. John’s is paying us to travel, or at least subsidizing the cost of our hostel.

As an aside, porters guard the gates to the college and are the keepers of all wisdom and the latest gossip. They can tell you where to find the cleverly hidden power outlet that controls your heater, recommend the best falafel truck and may even look the other way if you have a raucous party in your room. But they are a good person to have on your side as many students have had to run across the multiple quads in a bath towel after locking their keys in their room while showering and it’s up to the porter how quickly you get let back in.

But back to St. John’s… It was founded in 1555 when Sir Thomas White obtained a royal patent and purchased a series of buildings from St. Bernard’s monastery. Initially it was not well endowed financially but some early property gifts that were shrewdly sold during the Industrial Revolution gave St. John’s new financial prowess. Notable alumni include Jane Austen’s father and brothers (the college library even has some of her letters) and more recently, former Secretary of State Dean Rusk and former Prime Minister Tony Blair. Despite many picturesque areas, some unfortunate architectural decisions during the twentieth century keep St. John’s out of contention for the most beautiful college in Oxford. The Front Quad was part of the original monastery and Canterbury Quad is a beautiful series of colonnades and the first example of Italian Renaissance architecture in Oxford. But then you progress into North Quad, which is where an odd mix of 18^th, 19^th and 20^th century styles start to clash. When you wander into Tommy White Quad the sight of an enormous concrete monstrosity makes you start to wonder if you have entered a developing country. It was built in the 1970’s and of all the architectural styles St. John’s could have utilized, it chose the brutalist style- which employs a harsh blend of raw concrete and repeating angular shapes. Ironically this is the same style that UC Irvine selected when constructing its original ring of buildings in the 1960’s. So I have to admit that something about the hideous structure feels rather homey to me. Last week I was doing laundry in the bowels of the building and as I came up the stairwell and stepped onto the patio, I noticed a bronze plaque. Upon closer inspection, I learned that Tommy White won an architectural award in 1976 from the Concrete Society. Anyone who has seen this building has to wonder if the judges went on a little pub crawl before the voting session, but then again, given the chosen medium, they probably didn’t have many promising choices. If this nerdy little monograph has piqued your curiosity, the following link provides access to a virtual tour of the college: http://www.chem.ox.ac.uk/oxfordtour/stjohnscollege/map.htm#

The Residential College System

The residential college system is one of the unique hallmarks of Oxford (and Cambridge) and permeates almost every element of a student’s life. Oxford has 38 colleges, each with their own autonomous governance structure and unique style. These are where students live, eat, participate in sports and generally establish a sense of community. The college community is broken into three groups- the junior common room (undergraduates), the middle common room (graduates) and senior common room (college fellows/professors). Each of these groups quite literally have their own room for socializing, taking tea, watching TV, reading, etc. Undergrads take classes in their college and receive their degree from the college, hence the prestige is quite important. However, as a graduate student I am academically based in my department and merely use the college as a social hub.

In many respects the college system is the antithesis of a major public university like UC Irvine where 21,000 undergraduates navigate the campus on an individual basis. While the sense of community is a tremendous advantage, there are also significant disadvantages, most notably the quality of the facilities and access to resources. Each of Oxford’s colleges has its own gym, sports fields, boathouse, library, dining hall, computer lab, etc. This means that there is significant disparity among the colleges, but also, on the whole, the facilities are less impressive than those at large public universities in the States. For example, the St. John’s gym is reputed to be one of the nicest in Oxford. But it is barely the size of a squash court and contains a squat rack, a handful of weigh machines, three treadmills, two ellipticals and a stationary bike. Compare this to the UC Irvine ARC (Anteater Recreation Center), which is quite literally the size of the Arc, and holds four indoor squash courts, three full size basketball courts, an indoor track, over a hundred aerobic machines, two separate weight rooms, group fitness rooms, a pool and more. The same argument can be made for the dining hall. Breakfast entails four types of cereal and a handful of hot items as opposed to the full General Mills spectrum and a veritable smorgasbord of waffles, pancakes, omelets, etc available at UC Irvine’s cafeteria. And rather than a buffet of pizza, burgers, soup, salad, casseroles, etc., dinner here usually consists of two choices. Last night it was between stuffed beef olive (I don’t even know what that is and wasn’t brave enough to find out) and stuffed tomatoes. And of course this is invariably accompanied by some type of potato and a green vegetable- peas, lima beans, etc.

Now this criticism is probably just my American prejudice- an obsession with variety and quantity. However, the true inefficiencies of the college system can be seen when you look at the libraries. Last week I needed to check out Henry Kissenger’s book, Dimplomacy but St. John’s didn’t have a copy available and the one in my department library was checked out as well. Even though 29 other colleges own the book, I can’t borrow from them. So my only choice is to go to the main library, the Bodleian and sit there while I read. You see, the Bodleian doesn’t check books out. To anyone. Ever. Just ask King Charles I and Oliver Cromwell, both of whom tried to borrow books and were soundly rebuffed. Also, should you choose to use the Bodleian, you have to swear an oath promising not to light a fire within the library. Apparently 117 miles of shelving makes for excellent kindling. Interesting side note- at Oxford I’m not “doing a” MPhil in International Relations, I am “reading for” and MPhil. And that is because centuries ago, the chief allure of Oxford wasn’t the quality of it’s teaching but rather access to the university’s 100+ libraries. So obviously there is something to be said for the breadth of Oxford’s collection but unless you are looking for a rare manuscript, the inaccessibility of many texts is likely to be the chief consequence of the decentralized system.

In short, the college libraries, dining halls, gyms, and other facilities leave something to be desired when compared to US universities. However, these shortcomings are probably offset by the delightful tradition that is formal hall, college sports competitions such as rowing and the highly subsidized drinks selection in the college pub. But these are topics for a later date. 

Home Sweet Home?

The accommodations have been the greatest disappointment thus far. Perhaps this was overly idealistic, but I was expecting something quaint- ancient wooden beans jutting across the ceiling, stone fireplaces, wooden staircases with grooves from centuries of students trudging up to their quarters. Or perhaps something decidedly modern- large windows, centralized heating and standardized room layouts. But alas, it was not to be. My college, St. John’s (a note about the college system to follow), rates the individual accommodations on a scale of A+ to C-. My room rates a C. It looks to be part of a building that is about 100 years old, but was probably renovated in the 1970s, as evidenced by the burnt orange and yellow color scheme.

The room is quite cramped- it barely accommodates the desk, bed, dresser and side chair that are provided as furnishings. I think that if more than two people stop by, I will exceed the maximum occupancy quotas established by the fire marshal. So I guess the parties are going to have to happen elsewhere. The pipes also have an alarming tendency to gurgle and creak. I can only hope that they learn to keep time with my wheezing space heater when winter arrives. A subject of particular ire is the twin mattress. I have noticed a disproportionate amount of elderly men in this town hobbling around with the assistance of a cane and I am beginning to wonder if it might be from a youth spent sleeping on Oxford mattresses- a charitable characterization of a series of springs loosely cushioned with cloth. Also, the English must on a whole be shorter than Americans; that or they are more inclined to sleep in the fetal position, because apparently this country has yet to discover the XL mattresses that allows full grown adults to sleep without their feet hanging off the edge. But I digress…

This rant is not to condemn the housing at St. John’s as a while. My friend Danny has a palatial suite in Garden Quad. I kid you not- it looks like a penthouse. His building was built in the 1990s in the neo-Italiante style and features a charming combination of stonework, pillars, arches and winding staircases. His room has two massive windows, a sprawling window seat, a loft bedchamber and opens onto a balcony. And herein lies the frustration. My room is quite livable but the inherent inequity of the rooms and the arbitrary nature of the assignments grates on egalitarian sensibilities. The good news is that St. John’s pro-rates the rooms based on quality and on the whole, they are all far more affordable than the other colleges, Translation- more money in the travel fund!!

Reconciling Expectations with Reality

With two full weeks in Oxford already come and gone the creation of this blog is long overdue. I feel as though I should wax poetic about the grandeur that is Oxford, but would be disingenuous. Thus far, the journey has been about reconciling expectations with reality. Oxford has a reputation with mythic proportions- it’s the oldest university in the English-speaking world and has produced twenty-six British prime ministers and no less than twelve saints, so of course one tends to idealize it. But it’s actual character is much more complicated. 

Oxford is a series of contradictions- both ancient and modern, charming and exasperating, intimate and aloof, egalitarian and hierarchical. The system of exams and tutorials dates back centuries and yet Oxford is in the grips of the modern higher education funding crisis. The slow-paced lifestyle of a small town is charming and yet the amorphous and ill-defined bureaucracy of the university leaves you wondering what is expected of you, much less who to ask. The college system creates small, intimate communities where you see the same people at meals and walking wave while you walk through the quads on your way to the library or your room but this also makes you feel disconnected from the rest of the university. And while the system of academic advisors provides a unique level of access to professors, the system is overtly hierarchical as epitomized by the “high table” at which the faculty sit during meals.

But beyond these cursory observations, Oxford remains very much a mystery. It is a city with a deep history, a complicated personality and a myriad of quirks. And I very much look forward to becoming better acquainted in the years to come.