The thing about being in the UK was that I had come with absolutely no plan for where I was going to go. Not a one. The only days when I knew where I would be were on Friday and Saturday, when I would be in Woking for the marriage of one Miss Adrienne Cowey to one Mister Ian Harris. The rest of the time was free for the taking and I immediately grabbed hold of it by walking downstairs for a leisurely breakfast of cereal and toast.

It was while I was seated at table, concluding my white, buttered repast that I finalized the plan for the day, that being a trip to Oxford. With everything settled I immediately hopped up to have a second bowl of frosted flakes before repacking my bag and heading out the door.

The British rail system was much more supportive of the Oxford plan and a train whisked me to my destination, allowing me to enjoy the countryside. Large, grassy plains stretched out toward hills and dipped into valleys while sparsely set houses infrequently interrupted the verdant, rolling landscape. These houses included one that belonged to someone with a yard full of cars surrounded by overgrown weeds. I was very interested to note that there are hillbillies even in England. The only differences I could tell between British hicks and what we Americans are more familiar with were that the house was a Tudor style and many of the cars were Volvo station wagons. After a while I realized that, architectural stylings of the houses and the lack of enormous, caved-in barns aside, rural England was basically a miniature version of Iowa, so I started reading the book I’d brought along.

I arrived in Oxford and promptly set out in the hope that I could find a bed in a hostel. My guidebook was not supportive of arriving without a reservation, but I decided to hit the Globetrotter’s because it was both cheap and a short walk from the train station. In fact, it was such a surprisingly short walk that I arrived at the door before I even realized I was on the correct street. I walked upstairs to inquire as to the availability of a bed.

I was not very happy while I was walking to the desk, as the person there was trying to help somebody with finding a place to stay. This was bad because the next closest hostel I knew of was on the other side of town. I asked anyway, just to be sure, and I was, of course, informed that they had a bed available for that night. I think staying there the next night would have been a problem, but, with it being a Thursday, it was easy. I was there somewhat early though, so they might have filled up as the day went on.

With my bunk sheeted and my pack put away under the bed, it was time to see Oxford.