Oxford Revisited

Hmm, so what was I saying would be "next up" about that trip to England we took more than six weeks ago? Without further ado, let's finish that thought with the aid of many pictures plus a few words ...

The shopping scene in Oxford is evolving, slowly but surely. My favorite new (to me) store was Northlight on the High Street, which specializes in bright Scandinavian home items and sported this happy, bicycle-centric window display.


I also enjoyed a quick stop in Port Meadow Design on Walton Street, a boutique with some nice yarns and textiles, as well as jewelry made by local designers. And, while it doesn't have an actual storefront, I came across the web site for an Oxford-based, one-woman natural yarn-dyeing business aptly named Oxford Kitchen Yarns. Her blog provides a delightful peek into the crafty life in Oxford.

One place I'd always heard about but never visited is the Cherwell Boathouse, a restaurant on the Cherwell River that also rents punts. Our landlady told us how to get there, so one afternoon we got some sandwiches and made our way up through North Oxford, past a game of cricket at the Dragon School (its real name), and down a narrow lane to this bucolic scene:


It was getting a little late in the day by that point, so we decided not to take to the river ourselves this time around, but we did find our way through the grounds of neighboring Wolfson College and across that arching bridge pictured above to an ancient meadow across the water, and still more riverside footpaths -- Oxford is a great place for riverside footpaths.


Walking back into town, we cut through University Parks and ended up at a place I've seen referenced in many an Oxford guidebook, Parson's Pleasure, once a popular retreat for men's skinny dipping. But no more ... now it was rather flooded and quite abandoned, except for a perilous amount of duck scat in the grass and two young Middle Eastern women in veils, running around taking photos of each other and giggling.


From Parson's Pleasure we passed the island path with the scholarly name of "Mesopotamia," then came to yet another meadow path, this one ornamented with incongruent wrought-iron lampposts, which put me in mind of a similar scene in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, perhaps already in my thoughts because of C.S. Lewis's connection to Oxford.


After all that tramping, we took a load off at The Star pub in East Oxford on Rectory Road, a place that looks much like any other traditional English pub from the street, but which, once inside, had a refreshingly laid-back atmosphere: not quite a student pub, nor a fusty historical watering hole, but a punkish (but not pretentiously so) neighborhood place that seemed well suited to the bohemian aesthetic of this side of Oxford. Even better, it had a large beer garden out back.


Finally, I know you've been dying to know the answer to the question I asked so many weeks ago: What IS an alternative tuck shop? In Oxford's case, it is the Alternative Tuck Shop, a little corner food store on Holywell Street where one might "tuck in" to snack cakes with intriguing (at least to American ears) names like "tiffin" and "millionaire shortbread," as well as Cornish pasty pies and delicious curried things. It is presumably an "alternative" to the much less enticing-looking (mainly because it lacks the window display of baked goods), non-alternative Tuck Shop just down the street.


I've made a bunch of visits to Oxford over the years, and while it's really not that big, somehow there's always something left to discover there. Unsuspected worlds and enchanted pathways open up in the most unlikely places; whimsical goings-on abound. When I first read a line in "Brideshead Revisited" describing, of an unnamed Oxford, a quest for "that low door in the wall ... which opened on an enclosed and enchanted garden, which was somewhere, not overlooked by any window, in that heart of that grey city," I knew exactly what the author meant.

While the low doors in the wall that we found on this particular visit weren't anything others hadn't discovered many times in the past, for us they were, as each time before, all unexpected delights.

British Dispatch

We took a last-minute anniversary trip to England last week, planned so hastily in fact that it was hard to believe we were really there when we alit last Sunday night at Heathrow. However, soon we were toodling off in our rented Vauxhall on the left side of the road, my valiant husband bravely behind the wheel, and then it felt real enough (and only a little scary).

We spent the entire week in Oxford, making a few afternoon trips to places like the Cotswolds and Henley-on-Thames, but mostly just enjoying the local pubs, riverside walks, and free access to such homely comforts as an electric kettle, strong tea, way too many scones, and a giant tub of clotted cream, so generous that even an unrepentant dairy-lover such as myself could not work through it over the course of a week, despite my most gallant efforts.

Rashers of bacon with sultana scones, clotted cream from the Bottomless Tub, and jam


We stayed on the east side of town, a terminally shabby bohemian, multi-cultural area that is very different from the stately scholarliness of the city center's fabled dreaming spires. I was a visiting student at the university in the early (very early) '90s, and this was the part of town where I lived, so it was fun to be back in the neighborhood, shopping for groceries once again at the Tesco Metro and picking up a late-night meal from Bodrum Kebab House on Cowley Road.

Cowley Road in front of Tesco's supermarket


We were able to luxuriate in the domestic pleasures of frying up our own breakfast bacon (both real and veggie) and keeping four kinds of locally brewed cider chilled in the fridge owing to the lovely apartment rental we found, a place off the Iffley Road at 7 Bannister Close.

Before we booked it I searched around in vain for reviews or comments from previous guests, and so as a service to others who may be considering a stay there, here is one contented customer who found the accommodations very comfortable. The apartment is clean, spacious, and notably well-stocked, with a pretty patio out back, and is only a 15 minute stroll into town. The proprietress, the charming Irene, lives upstairs, and struck the perfect balance of being friendly and available if we needed anything, while still giving us all the privacy and autonomy of a more independent arrangement. The apartment also has a wireless connection (not currently mentioned among its amenities on the web site), which allowed us to take care of some work while we were away.

Irene's patio at 7 Bannister Close


Also, compared to the prices of Oxford hotels (particularly with the dismal dollar-to-pound exchange rate for us hapless Americans), it was a really good deal, especially considering the space and the facilities.

Next up: a punk pub, a river ramble, and Parson's Pleasure, located at last. Also, what is an alternative tuck shop?

Bluebell Honeymoon

Long before the christening of Bluebell Halliwell, I developed a yen to see bluebell season in England. I'd I read about the phenomenon of the bluebell wood somewhere ... or maybe it was those dreamy scenes of the hapless Leonard Bast walking through the trees with swaths of bluebells underfoot in the movie of "Howards End."

Daniel and I have been to England together before, and both love it there. We decided the most relaxing honeymoon for us would be visiting a place we already know we like, and discovering more about it together. (Kind of like when you decide to marry someone you've already been liking and getting to know for five+ years, just as a random example.) So imagine my delight when I discovered we'd be there in time for bluebell season.

I was a little concerned about where to find them, exactly, as in England the bluebell often indicates the presence of an ancient woodland area, which is not necessarily something you can look up in a guide book. Happily, my research indicated that the fantastic Kew Gardens has its own bluebell grove on the grounds, so we made a journey out there on one of our days in London. Kew is pretty awesome in itself, with several Victorian conservatories and a towering pagoda, plus extensive gardens.


When I asked the ticket agent if the bluebells were still blooming and where to find them, he looked pained and told me regretfully that they'd started "quite early" this year and were past their prime, but he pointed out the area on the map for me all the same, and off we went. Along the way were rewarded by this rogue patch of stalwart indigo, our first bluebell sighting, complete with picturesque bicycle abandoned alongside it.


And then, wandering further, a full carpet of them, perhaps a little wilted and not as richly blue as at their peak, but for the bluebell novice, it was enough.


Yet England was generous with me, and though I said I was satisfied, she kept throwing more bluebells in my path throughout our visit. Up in York, so much farther north than London, they were freshly emerging and bloomin' everywhere.


Now that we're home again, I'm noticing Spanish bluebells all around our neighborhood. I've read that this variety is a threat to English bluebells in their native soil, but over here I think I can safely admire them. And just this morning as I finished up an issue of In Style left over from my airplane reading, what did I find but a mention of Penhaligon's bluebell fragrance. My eyes have been opened: everything's coming up bluebells.