Screaming Babies and Lost Property: A First Day in England

I’ll say in advance that this is a long post, seeing as it encompasses the past two days and all that has transpired therein. My flight took off from Boston at about 9:45 Sunday night. On board, I sat in an aisle seat next to an Indian woman and her two daughters, ages seven and about one-and-a-half. Sleep, therefore, was difficult to come by for the first couple hours since the infant kept throwing her toys on the floor, and after watching the woman, who might have been five-three, strain to reach them, I’d bend over and grab it with my gargantuanly-long arms and hand it back. Then the baby started crying, then she stopped, then she started again…you get the idea.

So, for entertainment I instead decided to flip through my Esquire 75th anniversary issue, watch You Don't Mess with the Zohan, and eat my meal in peace. The meal, by the way, was a terrific experience, as far as airplane food is concerned. When the flight attendant, an Italian named Roberto who spoke English rather thickly (e.g. when he asked, “Tea or coffee, sir?” I only understood the latter and thus responded with, “Yes, please”) first came around with drinks, I was hesitant to ask for alcohol, even if it was British Airways. So I had water instead and got a “Suit yourself” look from Roberto. Then, when the meal (chicken and mash with bread, salad and lemon cheesecake) came, he asked straight up, “And your choice of wine, sir?” Crappy airline chardonnay with chicken, of course. I also thought the wine would help me sleep, but ‘twas to no avail. I really shouldn’t have gotten in the habit this summer of going to bed after one every night.

Anyway, the flight landed, I made my way through passport control, baggage reclaim and customs, and phoned home before hopping on the first of two subway transfer trains that would take me to the terminal where the 10:20 Oxford bus would be waiting for me. Unfortunately, after making the half-hour journey to that terminal, I reached into my pocket to get my wallet so I could pay for some much needed water, and found that said wallet wasn’t there. Racking my brain, I realized I had left it on the pay phone I had used at the first station, and turned around. It took forty-five minutes to make it back to the first train station, and keep in mind that all this time I was carrying a forty-pound duffle bag and wheeling a forty-pound garment bag. It was, to say the least, a lovely situation indeed: I had missed my bus, was getting callouses on my hands from carrying my bags, was about as thirsty as I’ve ever been in my life…oh, and I had potentially lost all of my cash, my credit card, ATM card, and every form of photo ID I owned apart from my passport. Yeah.

Anyway, to make a long story short, a conductor had fortunately picked up my wallet and brought it to the security office, so getting it back was just a matter of asking a porter and receiving an admonishment of “You’re very lucky” from the security staff. To be honest, I didn’t really give a damn; I thanked them and, after making it all the way back to the required terminal, changed my shirt, bought the water that had prompted my mini crisis, and caught the bus into Oxford.

* * *

As for the rest of my day, I was dropped off at High Street, Oxford’s main thoroughfare. I was going to catch a cab Mansfield College, which is about a five minute walk from the bus stop (longer with eighty pounds of luggage), but, as you can see from the photo, that section of road was devoid of virtually any automobiles at all, let alone taxis (just for reference purposes, the building on the left is University College). So, I lugged my bags through the narrow lanes of Oxford until I arrived, tired and sweaty, at the door of the Mansfield College porter’s lodge. The college porters are the school’s gatekeepers and information kiosks wrapped into one outstandingly helpful package, and after I checked in, Barry, the head porter, was kind enough to call a cab for the half-mile schlep to my dorm. Also, while I was at the porter’s, I ran into three of my fellow Holy Cross JYA’s, which was comforting, in a “So-I’m-not-the-only-stranger-here” kind of way.

The remainder of the day was devoted to unpacking in my bread box-sized room, sleeping (as of my arrival at my dorm I hadn’t slept in about 24 hours), venturing out to a pub to have a beer and nothing else because the food was so freaking expensive, and eating dinner at the local Burger King. Yes, that’s right, my first night in England I had a Whopper for dinner, a testament to how far into the culture I had thrown myself .

And today? Well, I woke up at 11:30 (yay, jet lag!), hungry as I’ve ever been, and promptly went to the Subway across the street for lunch. A toasted foot-long Italian B.M.T. on wheat has never tasted so good, I can assure you. I also made my first UK purchases: an umbrella, because, surprise surprise, it rained all day today, and some groceries to tide me over for the next couple days. My assessment of England thus far? Well, I probably need a couple more days to really let it sink in, but I have no complaints (other than the cost of pub food…and beer, for that matter). I’ll keep writing, and hopefully you’ll keep reading. Until next time, cheerio.