Soane Museum and Christ Church Regatta

Some days in Oxford feel like I'm overscheduling myself to the brink. Today was one of those.

This morning I was off to London for an architecture class field trip to the Soane Museum, the rather eccentric home of preeminent 19th century British architect John Soane. In describing this building, let me emphatically repeat myself: eccentric beyond belief. Photography wasn't allowed inside, so I only have this lone shot of the exterior, but in any case I don't think pictures could capture the quirky feel of the entire building. John Soane was a man who lived for architectural whimsy, it seems, and who was also captivated by the ideals of his own designs, especially in terms of the romantic and the sublime. His house (actually, three connected London townhouses) is a rabbit warren and mirror-gallery and exhibit-hall of antiques and unique architectural inventions. The ceilings vault and curve, there are unexpected nooks in the corners, walls give way to hidden painting displays, and the entire back portion is devoted to a gallery containing ancient stone fragments, contemporary paintings, and a chamber where Soane liked to imagine that a solitary monk lived. Light plays throughout the building in odd ways, shining through colored glass here before creating an intentional sense of gloom there, all striving toward a strangely dramatic and melancholy mood. The oddest part is that the house was this way when Soane lived there over 150 years ago, and has only been preserved for the museum! Probably the strangest house I've been to, by far.

After a whirlwind tour of the Soane Museum, during which I got to see some fun London streets and squares I hadn't encountered before, I headed right back to Oxford. The reason? This week is the annual Christ Church novice regatta, in which my Corpus Christi boat was participating. I say was because, unfortunately, we lost this afternoon after winning yesterday's second-round race by a whopping six lengths. No quarterfinals for us tomorrow. But no regrets: we rowed as well as we ever have, and I (for once) got to experience a competitive sport that doesn't involve horses. Rowing all-out for the duration of a race is hard! I go back to the saddle with a fresh appreciation for other sports, as well as a newfound sense of gratitude that my normal life doesn't involve horribly early mornings turning into an icicle out on a pitch-black river. Rowing is quintessentially Oxford, though, and I'm happy I embraced that.

Photo by Celine Zeng. I'm the one in the stroke seat. How strange that I'm leaving so soon, yet these Oxford people will continue to go about their lives...

My Darkest Secret...

...is that I cannot lipread in the dark. (Okay, so this isn't true deep-dark-secret material, but it's still a valid point.) Moving rowing practice back half an hour, so that it's almost pitch-black outside and I can't see the cox at the onset, is a major, MAJOR no-no. Fortunately the time changes this weekend, which might make my life a bit easier.

Also fortunately, the cox is starting to figure me out. She doesn't sign anything (and doesn't seem interested in learning, pffft), but certain meaningful gestures at pivotal times help a lot. Not that rowing terminology is that hard - oars flat, oars ready, stroke, easy there. It's all repetition and rhythm. And when the weather's not freezing cold, which it is more often than not, feeling the boat glide through the water, powered by our strokes, does get rather fun.

Today's random photo: courtyard at Magdalen College. I love all these magical old buildings. Though of course walking on the grass is prohibited - Oxford gets the prize for super-over-the-top grass protectiveness.

Rowing!

Corpus Christi rowing, day one. Seven a.m. meeting time - gah, is it cold out. But the water is still and the morning is quiet.

Some hiccups, yes. Being a totally inexperienced rower in a boat of other totally inexperienced rowers, and feeling ourselves rock from side to side, our oars splayed. The oddity of being completely deaf out on the water and having to lipread the cox - fortunately they've put me in the stroke seat. Trying to figure out how the heck to work this oar.

But yet... The sun rising over the water. Joggers by the river, other rowers streaking by, the ubiquitous ducks watching. And, most wonderfully, the feeling of my body straining and pulling and building heat, from my legs all the way through my core to my shoulders and arms. That sensation of rhythm and tautness and muscle, even if it's not too well-coordinated yet. All of these make the early wake-up call worthwhile.

And no blisters... yet!