episode one

Allow me to start from the beginning . . .

It was the morning that my plane was supposed to leave and I, despite all of my grand plans of exquisite preparation had still not packed my suitcase. I am lucky to own such a small wardrobe - if things were different I may not have made my plane. I quickly divided my clothes into two piles - things I wear, and things I do not wear. The former pile went into my over sized red suitcase ('big red', I like to call her) and that was that.

The first stop on my international journey was Iceland. Now, we all know that Iceland is not really icy, but rather quite beautiful. What we all do not know, until now, is how ridiculously expensive Iceland is. It's a dizzying experience, however, because their currency is worth much less than the American dollar, but they make up for it. Let me explain. I had a 10 hour layover in Iceland, so I decided to exchange my $15 for Icelandic money. I was elated to receive 900 or so units of Icelandic money and was ready to hit to gift shops. To my dismay, a packet of M&Ms was about 250 Icelandic monies. *disclaimer* - I don't know what their currency is called. Sorry Iceland. Needless to say, I saved my whatevers and used them to buy breakfast. After being in the airport for only a few hours, it was only 9am. The bus fares were outrageous and there was nothing to walk to. I felt like a prisoner, an Icelandic prisoner. In the end, I slept on a bench for much of the time, no doubt drawing attention from all of the taller, blonder, Icelandic-speaking people around me. When it was finally time to find my gate, I used the rest of my Icelandic money to buy gum. Well, I actually didn't have enough to buy gum, but the taller, blonder lady behind the counter took pity on me and let me have it anyway. I boarded the plane, and there ended my pathetic existence in Iceland. Better luck next time.

When I arrived at Heathrow airport in, or around, London, I was immediately overcome with anxiety. My flight landed a bit past 8pm. I needed to be at my hostel in Oxford (90 minutes away) by 11pm, or they would close and I would be homeless. This hadn't worried me before because I had, naively, failed to remember what a nightmare customs is, and it was a nightmare. First, I stood in the wrong line, then I was sent to another, much longer line. At this point, I wished I was British so I could have stayed in the first line. When I finally made it through the maze, I raced to where I hoped I would find a bus waiting to take me to Oxford. I made it to the ticket counter at about 9:25pm and was told that if I hurried, I could catch the 9:30 bus. I hurried, but to no avail. Apparently the 9:30 bus decided that it wanted to be the 9:20 bus instead.

It ended up well. I met a nice man from Boston, also waiting for the 9:30 bus that never came. I explained my situation and he kindly offered to let me use his 'mobile' (that's what they call cell phones here) to call the hostel and try to work something out. I did just that, and the peace of mind was invaluable. The bus finally did arrive. The bus driver was in a foul mood. I tried to ask him about at stop in Oxford - trying desperately to figure out how, once in Oxford, I would find my way to my hostel. He mumbled something and then acted as if I wasn't there. I politely, but firmly asked him again until I could make some sense of him mumbling. I was feeling quite irritated, until the nice boy behind me fell victim to a sort of temper tantrum thrown by the ill-tempered bus driver. The poor boy, it seemed, didn't speak English well and so had a hard time interpreting the mumblings to mean 'put your own bloody bag in the bus or don't come - it's too heavy'. People tell me that the Northeast is cold, but I was beginning to think that if we are in fact cold, it is a trait that we have inherited from our motherland.

Soon enough we were en route to Oxford. The bus driver, as I found out later to be very atypical, decided not to announce stops. This put me a little on edge, scouring the surroundings with my eyes every time we stopped, so that I could make sure that it didn't say 'Gloucester Green' - that was my stop. It was the last stop, thankfully, and so difficult to miss. I disembarked and gathered my things. I had prided myself on not bringing much, but once I was carrying everything through a foreign city at 11pm, that pride seemed a little unwarranted.

Despite the immediate situation, I liked the looks of my new home - people everywhere having a good time. It was a clearly a college town and I love college towns. I was glad to see the streets so populated and as a result, less afraid for my life and things. I roamed the streets until I found my home - as much a home as any - I knew I had a bed there. The nice gentleman who had agreed to stay late for me buzzed me in and proceeded to 'check me in'. I wanted nothing more than to drop all my things and then go right back out and explore, but I knew that I would have plenty of time to explore, and only one first impression the next day with my housemates. I got ready for bed, chatted with my nice German roommates, wrote an 'I'm alive' e-mail and went to sleep.

The next morning was lovely. I got up, leisurely took a shower, got my things together and prepared to leave. The nice German girls offered me some breakfast, which I actually was quite hungry for by then, but I refused, not wanting to take anything from them and their lovely holiday. I headed back to the bus station, where I suspected that I could catch a taxi. I was right. One setback was the fact that I had only a five pound note on me, and the driver assured me that it would cost more than that, once I showed his the address. I despaired for an instant, but then he offered to bring me to a free ATM. I wanted to explain that it wasn't going to be free according to Bank of America, but I refrained. We chatted about real estate and vacations, until we reached it - The Vines. It was to be my new home, and I was ecstatic that I was living in a house with a name. It deserved it too - big, old, stone, in England. I paid the man and then, using the big brass knocker, announced my arrival.

I was greeted by Jackie, one of my 'junior deans' - the equivalent of an RD. We don't really have RA's, but a married couple who are there in case we set the place on fire or something. She led me to my room. I was one of the first to arrive, having stayed the night before. This had it's perks - first pick of bed and desk. I could live with that. I chose, unpacked a little, and then ventured downstairs to investigate the 'food' that I had heard about. It was there, snacks and tea. I didn't know it then, but tea was about to become one of my staple beverages.

I spent the next several hours meeting people - lots of people. About 40 people live in the vines, men and women, and we all arrived at different times. It sort of reminded me of the first episode of the Real World, except with much more people, a less cool house and no making out. We all had a spaghetti dinner together and then a sort of orientation with the junior deans - Clint and Jackie. After this was done, a bunch of us set out to a place we had all dreamed of going. No, not Narnia, but close - the Eagle and Child Pub. It is the pub that the Inklings met at in the days of C.S. Lewis and J.R. Tolkien. We found ourselves, over pints of various beverages, drifting in and out of theological discussions, debates and soapboxes. I felt like Jack (C.S. Lewis) would have been proud.

The next few days were similar. Excited by the prospect of so much newness, I was distracted from the magnitude of the semester that faced me. This did not last long. We were given the equivalent of $400 (but worth about half that here) to buy food for a month and a bike if we wanted. Only three days after receiving this money, it was stolen from my wallet, before I was able to buy food or a bike. I was devastated, hurt and frustrated. I'm still not sure what happened, but that event marked the end of the honeymoon phase for me. For the next couple of day, I was anxious, insecure and generally miserable. Something about feeling the loss of people who know me and trying to replace them with people who have no idea. I missed non-verbal communication, hugs and people who knew when I was kidding and at least pretended to think I was funny.

Fortunately, this feeling did not last. I soon found my niche and came to really wonder at my being here. The next obstacle that lay before me was the reason I came here - Oxford. Can I do it? That's a question that I'm still asking. We have our first 'case study' due on Monday and I'm afraid to discover that I don't belong here, that I can't hack it. It seems to be a popular fear here, and we all feel like the only ones justified in their doubts. I spent almost 4 hours in the Radcliffe Camera of the Bodlian Library today. It's a beautiful building that people come to visit - like a tourist attraction. You're not actually allowed in without an Oxford student card. So, I waded through a crowd longing to enter, flashed my student ID and suddenly felt like VIP. I actually accomplished a lot too, which added to the experience.

There is so much more to write, so much more to this experience, but it is late now and I've promised to make pancakes tomorrow :). If you have read this post, I thank you for your interest and hope that you wont be a stranger.