My ode to Oxford

I cannot track it down but there's a poem that says it's impossible to capture in words what one's eyes and ears absorb in Oxford. Now presumably the poet was here studying, in which case, given the subject matter some courses cover, I don't blame them for finding it all too hard to translate back into readable English.  While I can't blame my tied tongue on complex course work, I agree with his point. Words probably can't convey what I've seen, learned and lived here.


But. I'm not letting that stop me pen my own less poetic ode to Oxford. Because having overcome denial to set the wheels of our homeward journey spinning, there is now little else to do but reminiscence and reflect. This is not because it's been perfect. If you're in the mood for some schadenfreude you can read about some less-than-perfect times here, here and here.

Like a wake is not the time to rue over a deceased's flaws, this is not the time to contemplate the hard parts. This is the time to indulge in a little nostalgia. Here are a few reasons why I am bidding this English town farewell with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat.


Weighted friendships
Just as it was coming over, my suitcase is packed to capacity. However I am also laden with so much more than the items in my luggage. I will be taking with me friendships worth their weight in gold. Friendships that brought colour and life to what would have been a gorgeous black and white picture.


My comrades
Technically these six women fit above, but having endured the closest thing I'll ever come to armed combat with them, they get their very own category. We shared a classroom for six weeks drinking tea, nibbling biscuits and nervously listening to our veteran antenatal teacher inform us about the event looming on our horizons. Many of us went on to share a labour ward and we all continued to meet weekly, sometimes even twice weekly during those early months, for the first year of our babies' lives. They were and remain my most valued parenting resource. No amount of money or therapy could have restored the sanity these kind, clever and honest girls helped me retain. Mostly.


Beauty
The streets lined with elegant Georgian homes, the glimpses of perfectly manicured quadrangles behind stately college entrances, the dreamy spires that dot the skyline, the grand centuries-old chapels, libraries and dining halls, sandstone walls covered in climbing ivy, the cobbled streets, the wide expanse of University Parks and Christchurch Meadow, the pretty as a picture canals. I've been drinking in its beauty for two years and it's yet to wear off.


Love thy neighbours
I will miss having neighbours who knock on our door at 8.30pm to deliver freshly baked chocolate tart or homemade éclairs just because they've baked. Neighbours who left a warm lasagna made from scratch on our doorstop the night we brought our baby girl home from hospital. Neighbours we immediately think of when we bake, who I love bumping into - in the hallway, in the laundry or in town. Not because we're inseparable friends but because we're neighbours. We're Australians living in Oxford and we're in this together. I remember that every time there's a knock at our door. I will miss them both and I will especially miss making a lasagna for their doorstop in September when they bring their baby home from hospital.


Mr J. Oliver's 
Jamie's Italian in Oxford has carved itself out a very special place in my stomach heart. It has played host to numerous memorable meals – our first day here, the first time we saw Miss I scanned – back when she was just a tiny secret bundle of cells, when our parents came over to meet her, when our parents left, whenever our friends and family visited, our first wedding anniversary, the end of Mr G's exams, our birthdays. It's been there for all of that. And more. No restaurant has ever featured so consistently in the background of my life. The good news is apparently Jamie is opening one in Sydney soon.


Its inimitable guestlist
Last time I tried to capture Oxford's essence I settled on something unique about the people. Another distinctive aspect is its coveted list of visitors. I love waking here to discover Oxford will be playing host to Michelle Obama, or the Queen, or Ban Ki-moon, or Quentin Bryce, or Imran Khan or Richard Schiff (aka Toby Ziegler in the West Wing) or Colin Firth, or David Hasselhoff. (Actually I didn't like waking to hear about Hasselhoff being in town.That was very strange). But there's something to be said for the buzz most visitors create.


An undergraduate recently described Oxford to me as Disneyland for students. A grand, lively, beautiful and buzzing Disneyland. I might not have been a student but I'm most certainly grateful to have lived here. Oxford, I will miss you.