Week One

The Oxford term officially started this week. Which means that, after two weeks of traipsing around the city streets and going fun places and snapping photos like a tourist, I'm finally settling down into some real work. (Oh yeah, coming to Oxford isn't exactly a vacation...)

My Stanford classes are in full gear with papers due already, as well as some pretty heavy reading. I had my first tutorial yesterday, in which we sat down and mapped out my readings for the remaining seven weeks. I'm lucky in this regard - lots of other students are already drowning in their tutorial work, with lengthy papers being assigned ahead of time. (With strange, seemingly inexhaustible general philosophical prompts like "Do human rights exist?" and "What is creativity?")

Still, my readings for my tutorial, on the 19th-century British novel, have involved lots of secondary sources, which results in me hunkering down in the library surrounded by stacks of books. Even though these books are only "recommended," I feel like I need the broader perspective they offer - and find them interesting besides!

Starting the Oxford term has brought about work of a different sort: that is, deciding which Oxford activities to get involved in. Last week was orientation week for the Oxford freshmen ("freshers"), and the Stanford students took advantage of the activities fair ("freshers' fair") that took place Wednesday through Friday. This was like the Stanford activities fair on steroids. It was almost too much for me: crowded booths, visual overstimulation, enthusiastic (slash aggressive) Oxford students jumping out with sales pitches for their clubs. Interesting but random activities aside (archery, outdoors club, wine tasting club, range shooting) I've narrowed my interest down to three candidates: rowing, riding, and polo. Or maybe even some combination of the above. It'll be nice to get out and get physical again. Not to mention see a horse, hopefully!

My slightly alarming busy-ness aside, here's the random photo of the day, from Oxford's University Parks - England can be stunning when it's sunny!

York Part IV: Rievaulx

Our last stop on the Bing trip was Rievaulx Abbey, a stunning twelfth-century abbey that fell into ruin after Henry VIII dissolved it in 1538, upon becoming head of the English church and expelling all Catholic monks. Basically because he wanted to divorce his wives. (I keep seeing the physical consequences of the oddities of English history.)

So what's so special about a ruin? Well, let me tell you.

After only a 30-minute drive from Castle Howard, through which we saw some gorgeous English pastureland dotted with cows/sheep/horses, we arrived at a terrace where, after a short walk through some misty and beautiful woods, we could gaze down the hills and see the abbey's crumbling walls silhouetted against the countryside. This terrace was physically constructed as a manicured walk on which the gentry could look down at the abbey for inspiration. It was capped by two Ionic temples, both of which were used for (yet more) banqueting and guest-entertaining. Apparently the late 18th-century Brits liked to incorporate medieval ruins into their gardens, in order to capture a sense of the Gothic/picturesque/sublime. They'd even import ruins from another part of England, or reconstruct them, in order to attain the precise landscape they wanted.

Rievaulx, of course, is original (even if the garden high above it was contrived around its existence), and half an hour later we drove the short distance down to the abbey itself. There was no official tour, and so for an hour we were free to explore the crumbling walls, stunted pillars, and empty windowframes, climbing and snapping photos and feeling rather like kids on a giant stone playground. Many of the abbey walls were still intact, though in varying states of ruin, and some of the spectacular Gothic arches still stand, open to the heavens like an organic skeleton from the medieval world. A crowd of pigeons had nested atop the main framework of the cathedral, grass grew all around the ruins, some plants had poked out of cracks in high-up stone walls. Nature was taking back what man had made.

Especially after seeing York Minster, constructed in a similar style, I kept thinking of what the abbey must have looked like back before it was abandoned. It must have been spectacular. I felt it capturing my imagination and my wonder, as it must have done for the generations of British gentry that visited it. I found myself gazing up at its walls, pondering the ingenuity and the history of man, the forces of nature, and the inevitable march of time.

For this reason, in a way I found Rievaulx the most striking destination on our trip. I suddenly understand the Gothic and the picturesque (both of which have worked themselves into literary history) much more clearly...

York Part III: Castle Howard

On Saturday morning, after a hearty breakfast at the hotel (in which I thoroughly pigged out on sausages and ham), we set off a little northeast of York for Castle Howard. This magnificent palace, built for the prominent Howard family in the 18th century, is set between two lakes, both of them man-made, but still beautiful. As we entered the extensive grounds, gazing across the lake to the grand house on a hillside, I think we all had a feeling of "wow." The weather was overcast and a bit misty and cool - typical English weather - but that didn't stop the lawns from sparkling, stretching out all around us.

After a stroll around the house, during which we assessed its architecture and imposing exterior, we set off along the lake at its rear, strolling on a beautiful manicured path flanked by Greek statues. The water was still and dotted with ducks, and soon we reached a little hill capped by an Ionic temple, in which the estate occupants used to have a spot of tea after a brisk walk over the grounds - talk about lavish! The temple, stoic and beautifully proportioned, was surrounded by a field of grazing cows, beyond which was another hill on which stood the family mausoleum. Our professor explained that the 18th-century Europeans were captivated by the scenic picturesque, and indeed this was an idyllic scene: classical architecture, with pastoral cows nearby, a bridge arching across a winding river, the mausoleum lingering behind trees and towering against the sky. Basically, this was a form of living, breathing, outdoor artwork, intended to inspire certain feelings in anyone who witnessed it. There's a reason the estate was designed and laid out as it was: to promote a picturesque aesthetic. And indeed, it was stunning.

After tramping through wet grass, passing right by some cute woolly black cows, including a massive bull who paid us no mind, we found ourselves at the mausoleum, beyond which we could gaze and see, for the first time, the full stretch of the walk we'd just taken, from the cows and Greek temple, then across the lake and back to Castle Howard itself. The pictures don't do the impact of this place justice. It was a view I could have contemplated for a while, probably one of the most grand I've seen so far in England, but soon enough we took the walk back to explore the interior of the house.

Now, this house was the complete opposite of Hardwick Hall. Open, airy, and filled with classical marble busts and colorful portraits and fresher landscape artwork, it reminded several of us of Mr. Darcy's Pemberley estate in Pride and Prejudice. Indeed, this was my first impression upon entering the house (I know, total English-lit nerd), and I wandered its halls dwelling on the descriptions and incidents from that novel. The house was lavish, sure, but in a transfixing and well-considered way. Most stunning of all was the dome in its center, flanked with dozens of Corinthian columns and lined with windows through which we could look out at the lake, garden, and distant hills. I can't say how much I loved this house and its spacious interior, which made me want to sit and read a novel or perhaps sit down at the grand piano, or just gaze outside for hours. Much different than the stuffy claustrophobia I felt at Hardwick!

One last detail: inside the house we found a painting of the grounds almost as we'd seen them from the mausoleum, framed after the fashion of a neo-classical picturesque painting. Talk about being idealistic in designing your estate! (These old-time British lords had too much time and too much money.)

York Part II: York and York Minster

After leaving Hardwick Hall just after lunch on Friday, we rode the bus up to the city of York itself. There, we all disembarked and walked as a group to York Minster - formally the Cathedral and Church of Saint Peter in York or something, but whatever, no one calls it that.

I've seen a lot of cathedrals since coming to Europe, but York Minster is one of my favorites so far. It's constructed in a Gothic style that reminded me of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, with its looming bell towers and ribbed ceilings inside, but it had a much brighter, airier feel - not nearly so shadowy. While it wasn't stunning in the same grand, soaring way as St. Paul's in London, the architecture was still intricately worked and beautiful. Unlike some other Gothic buildings, this one was accented with color and detail everywhere, from its ceilings to its floors and the memorials along the walls. I fell in love with one stained-glass window in particular, a complex and abstract mosaic of different-colored panes, a very divergent (and, apparently, short-lived) alternative to the "picture window" that was common at the time and for centuries after. Our tour guide told us that most onlookers tend to either love or hate this window - but what was there to hate? It was gorgeous!

Speaking of that tour guide, he was excellent, telling us many quirky/funny stories about the cathedral itself, the architecture and artwork we saw inside, and the people who have been part of the Minster's history. Apparently the cathedral has had an extensive record of fires and other disasters - I couldn't tell, it's been so well restored over the years. After our tour, we descended to the crypt below the main cathedral floor, where we found a fascinating display of excavated foundations and artifacts from Roman and Norman ruins. The place where York Minster now stands started first as a Roman basilica, then a Norman chapel, before being built in its current structure around the 13th century. Such an intriguing overlap of different eras.

It was about 4pm when we left the Minster, after which we headed out for a brisk walk around York's amazingly well-preserved medieval city walls. On top of the walls, behind the turrets, I felt like I was a sentry on duty! Plus the views back at the Minster, which towers over the whole city, and at the other historic buildings throughout, were wonderful. Especially with the fall colors bursting out on the trees.

Rounds on the fortress walls over, we wandered the city a bit, seeing old brick and Tudor-style buildings revamped to host more modern shops and restaurants, before heading back to the hotel for a buffet dinner and some R&R. Highlight of the York streets: the Shambles, a famous medieval street where the cramped buildings lean and (seemingly) almost tumble in on top of each other. It's where Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter movies was filmed. (I keep seeing so many Harry Potter places here in the UK... too fun!)

York Part I: Hardwick Hall

Well, our Bing Grant trip took place this past Friday and Saturday, to York in northern England. For those non-Stanford people reading this, the Stanford Overseas Program is sponsored by Peter and Helen Bing, a generous couple who have endowed money for students from each overseas campus to participate in spectacular sightseeing, cultural trips, dinners, and other events - most notably the once-a-quarter Bing trip, an overnight foray to a place of interest within the host country.

There's no other word for it: our time in York was spectacular. I'm too tired to try and consolidate the jam-packed two days into a single post, so I'll break it down into a series of smaller entries. That way I'll also do the weekend a bit more justice!

After setting out early Friday morning from Oxford (I'm a morning person so the 8am departure time wasn't bad, but nearly everyone else was staggering), our first stop was Hardwick Hall, a great Elizabethan house in Derbyshire. In short, it was built by Robert Smythson for Bess of Hardwick, an obscenely wealthy lady who expected her granddaughter to ascend to the throne once Queen Elizabeth died - something which never happened, but which nevertheless drove Bess to build a house suitable for royalty and general swaggering. (The uses that rich people come up with for their money: this is a theme I'll return to.)

The house is huge, with towers at its forefront intended to invoke memories of a castle, each of them ornately worked with Bess's initials. Inside, it is filled with old paintings and tapestries that, I thought, gave it a dark and slightly medieval feel, even though the style is in accordance with the 16th century. The staircases are made of heavy, rounding stone slabs, and the walls (where not covered with musty, faded tapestries) are worked with family crests and crudely classical plaster scenes. Some of the pieces of furniture are beautiful, ornately carved wooden tables and chairs, and the great gallery on the second floor seems a breath away from guests and dancing. But, although the windows grant a pleasing view down onto the estate (including Bess's second manor house, now a ruin, nearby), the gardens, and the rolling green hills beyond, I found its interior oppressive - even though Bess Hardwick meant to impress. Overwhelm is more like it. Apparently the house was last inhabited by a solitary female heir in the 1930s, and I shuddered to think of how she must have felt, wandering those great empty halls and dark chambers alone. Intended royalty aside, this house was too dense, too much for me, and I left it relieved to breathe the fresh air outside.

But still, what an interesting insight into the lifestyle and pretensions of the time. The Elizabethan era was known for its frills and its grandeur - something which shows through even in the language and extended metaphors of Shakespeare. Hmm, this is something I'll have to contemplate...

The City of Dreaming Spires

If there's one thing I've learned since coming to Britain, it's that you have to take advantage of the good weather while it lasts! The last three days have brought in some warmer temperatures and gorgeous sun (for the most part), so this afternoon a few friends and I walked out to Carfax Tower, at the far end of Oxford's High Street, to enjoy some very panoramic sights of the city. After climbing up a succession of tightly spiralling, claustrophobia-inducing staircases, we emerged to see this:



Spectacular. As many pictures as we took, none of them come close to capturing that view. There's a reason Oxford is called "the city of dreaming spires."

An Afternoon in the Library

How surreal, sitting in the Bodelian library's reading rooms, reading from an architecture book that discusses the design and style of the Radcliffe Camera - and then looking through the window to see that very spectacular building towering outside. (Even if the library's policies are strict and its hours limited. Hey, with a copy of every book published in the UK, it has a right to be stingy.)


Many other buildings in Oxford are classic and oft-cited examples of British architecture. I realize how lucky I am to see them every day.


That said, some of the architectural details around here make me laugh. Besides quirky gargoyles, the library has carvings of literary characters. The architects of old must have had a sense of humor - or, at least, a flair for whimsy.

One Way to Spend a Rainy Afternoon

Photo of the day: tyrannosaurus rex skeleton blending into the (highly Gothic) framework of the Oxford University Museum of Natural History.

I keep feeling like I'm spending a majority of my time in Europe wandering through museums...

Tower, Cathedral, Theatre

Yesterday we wrapped up a long week of orientation with a trip into the city for some unbelievable sightseeing.

Our first stop, the Tower of London, is a 12th-century relic right beside the Thames, surrounded by the sleek modern-looking buildings that have sprung up in recent decades. (Interesting contrast, right?) It's served several functions over the centuries, from a fortress guarding the far end of London, to the onetime residence for the royal family, to (most infamously) a feared and bloody prison. It contains the spot where Mary, one of the wives of Henry VIII, was executed, as well as Lady Jane Grey and seemingly innumerable others. Some of the towers still bear writing on the walls that prisoners carved during their time there, from little doodles to outright pleads to God. Very spooky - and the British called themselves civilized! On a more positive note, the royal crown jewels are also stored there, in an extremely high-security vault, and I enjoyed seeing so many crowns and scepters from times of old all the way to the present Queen Elizabeth II.

After our quick whirl through the Tower of London, we were off to St. Paul's Cathedral, which is - for lack of a better word - stunning. In fact, it's almost physically overpowering in person. The attention that went into every aspect of the cathedral, from the physical layout to smaller things like paintings, friezes and engravings, and statues, is mind-boggling. I'm taking a British architecture class while at Oxford, and it was a little surreal to see the structural and design details we've discussed and read about so far, all realized so magnificently. Plus, the view of London from the gallery halfway up the dome was incredible, even with the rain.

To cap off our day, we all reconvened a few hours after St. Paul's to see a performance of Henry IV, Part I at Shakespeare's restored Globe Theatre, on the other side of the Thames. Admittedly I didn't enjoy the play as much as I had hoped; following Shakespearean dialogue with a sign language interpreter is an absolute nightmare, especially when neither you nor the interpreter is at all familiar with the plotline! Perhaps if it had been a play I'd studied in great depth, like Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet, my evening would have been better. But it was still (yet another) surreal experience to see the Globe in person, the actors decked out in period attire, the stage and seats just like I'd seen in reproduced drawings. This would have been Shakespeare's vision, and I felt privileged to witness it, if not to understand it completely.

Now if only the weather hadn't been so rainy - umbrellas or not, after splashing through torrents and puddles back to the bus from the Globe I think we all felt soaked!

Starstruck

X-Men 4 is filming in Oxford! Or was, a few days ago. No lie. Film crew people were swarming the streets, we saw a few extras walking past, a temporary camp had taken over Christchurch meadow, and while out on my morning walk I had a close encounter with a truck and trailer with "Director" on its door. I've long known that Oxford is a popular destination for film shoots (most famously, Harry Potter - I keep feeling like I've fallen into Hogwarts!), but brushing shoulders with such a high-profile film nevertheless left me, and everyone else, a bit starstruck. On our way to the pub the other night, we inadvertently stumbled across a night shoot in progress, which forced us to backtrack and take an alternative route. James McAvoy was supposed to be on set at one point, but alas, I did not see him.