Oxford, the "city of dreaming spires". Home to thirty-nine colleges. Focal point of Western higher education. The place that looks down upon Ivy Leaguers as a bunch of illiterate boobs. The place that has nicknamed Cal Berkeley and MIT as "Who again?" Generally agreed amongst the English to be home to the cream of the crop when it comes to elitist snobbery.

I left for the streets of Oxford with my usual intentions when I am travelling by myself: First, I pick a direction to walk in; this usually involves looking at a map and figuring out which direction will allow me to look at "stuff". The second part of my plan involves wandering into and around buildings, seeing the sights, possibly taking some pictures and generally finding whatever I can find that is worth seeing. The third part of the plan requires the eating of a meal, partly to allow me to relax and rest my feet a bit, but mostly to allow me to look at a map to figure out where the hell I am because, by that point, I would have been completely lost for hours.

Mission accomplished.

I set out for the Bodleian Library, as it seemed to be a prominent destination. I found said library and found out that I couldn’t actually wander about unless I was a student there, which, obviously, I wasn’t. So, I looked around a small sort of library museum wherein several books were being shown that were interesting to look at, but of no real significance to anybody including, I would imagine, the library. The items within were worth a short perusal, but every description I read left me the impression that they half-assed it when they were putting together their displays. Like I said, worth looking at, but it was not really worth reading the synoptic blurbs explaining the content. Actually, they were much more interesting when the little blurb was not read, since you could then imagine them to be important, instead of finding out that they came from, say, an old Oxford yearbook or perhaps explaining, in pictures, the fact that children in Inca culture had their rations increased by half a loaf of bread when they were thirteen. We’re not exactly talking the original manuscripts of Buddha.

I exited the library and, as though the written word were the light of knowledge itself, I saw the outdoors illuminated by… the sun! Yes, I saw the sun while I was in England! Its warmth streaming down from above, bringing a cheerful mien to everything and all. I continued my wandering much better for it. In fact, it stayed with me for much of the day, a very nice way to spend the first of the four times I actually had a glimpse of the sun while I was over there.

I passed by a large, circular domed building purporting to be a library, though its actual contents could have just as easily been pudding pops because, once again, I had to be a student in order to enter. Same thing with the rectangular buildings with the grassy quads in the middle, which were all labeled "(fill in the blank) College. No Visitors." The city is quaint, but not very welcoming. I presume this is what people in westerns feel like when they come to town and are informed that the people, "Don’t like strangers in these here parts."

I continued my rambling through a botanical garden, where I got something caught in my eye. This is only significant because I spent the next two days with my right eye incredibly bloodshot and irritated while the rest of me wondered if I’d gotten pinkeye or something. Anyway, the botanical garden was about what you would expect from a large garden, that being something that is exceptionally dull. When you are neither a botanist nor a gardener, the plants all look pretty much the same. I suppose that bearded, basket-hatted lunatic from PBS’s "Victory Garden" would probably blow a gasket upon seeing the place, but I am not much for trying to see the subtle differences between different species of bamboo. For those who are interested, the place has different plants from all over the world. I can’t remember the reason given for their being there, though I seem to remember the excuse was something to so with their medicinal properties. I think that it had much more to do with some British lord who thought flowers were pretty. However, the garden was bordered by a canal which was, itself, bordered on the other side by a very large park. This vantage point allowed me to stand on the side and see some kids taking cricket batting practice in the park while tourists between us were trying to get the hang of punts.

Punts are boats that are almost exactly like gondolas, only they are in England, so they are punts. Long, flat bottomed vessels for navigating the still waters of canals, they are propelled by a person standing on the back using a pole. Very slow, indeed, but I think they were designed not so much for function as a good way to spend a lazy afternoon in a white suit, playing the banjo and wooing some woman holding a parasol while some grimy Irishman pushes you around in circles for six hours in the hope that you will give him a whole penny. Presumably the crusty old man would have better control of these things, because I saw a couple people travel about ten yards before giving up on the pole, sitting down and using the paddles. One could also rent a person to propel the boats for you, but it seems like it wouldn’t be nearly as fun as running yourself into canal banks and falling into the water because, as any Boy Scout knows, you aren’t supposed to stand up in a boat. Despite a certain desire to engage in making an ass out of myself on the water, I continued walking.

I resumed walking randomly down streets and up alleys and around buildings and along walkways. I passed by numerous colleges, parks and other sites that were also off limits, as well going through some streets and alleyways that were not to be used as throughways by visitors. Go figure. Eventually, I came upon a roundabout with four streets entering it and realized I had no idea where I was, nor how I had gotten there, nor which way I should go. Obviously, it was time to eat.

Grabbing a meal which, of course, consisted of seafood and pasta, I looked at the map and found a listing for a restaurant that I had just passed, allowing me to determine that I had walked clear across the map. I started the day near the left edge where the train station was located and I was now a little past the right edge. Though significantly smaller than, say, London, I had still covered a great deal of real estate. From there, I determined to try to see some different parts of the city.