Explorations, Part Two

When I first arrived in England, all I could think about was how much time I had here. In the moment, I was mostly viewing it negatively: this outrageous amount of time I'd be away from my family and friends back home, how I couldn't imagine surviving without them for six whole months. But there were also glimmers of hope and excitement in these monologues as I anticipated all the things I could do, where I could go during this extended stay in an unfamiliar place. This energy grew fervently as I gradually adjusted throughout Hilary Term, when I could finally look outside of myself and enjoy the world around me. It was one thing to settle into Oxford and consider it my temporary home; it was another to take the initiative to step out of this newfound comfort zone. If you've been keeping up with my posts since the beginning (thanks, Mom and Dad), then you'll recall that last February I took a trip Stonehenge and Bath, a venture that alone felt like a monumental decision to make. It was the only day excursion I made that entire term. Every time I thought about stepping out again, there was that old voice in my head saying: I'll get to it before I go. I still have time.

Fast forward four months (and yes, nine countries) later, and now there are just two weeks left. Two weeks to do everything I had stored in that cluttered room in the back of my head, labelled "Things To Do Before I Leave England." Picture Monica Geller's secret messy closet in that one episode of Friends. It looks like that.

Thankfully, I wasn't the only one who seemed to be sharing this mentality. The conclusion of our time here is creeping up faster than any of us visiting students had anticipated, which has resulted in what I can best describe as a mad dash to do ~all the things~.

If you had told me six months ago that one of my day trips in England would be to a warm, sunny beach, I would laugh at the mere image. When it was first brought up as an idea, I thought of it as a passing fancy that wouldn't amount to anything. To me, England was either verdant countryside or gray-stoned cities, with rain being the common denominator for both. As you can see, my worldview of England has expanded so much since coming here.

But by the grace of the weather gods, the Saturday we spent in Bournemouth Beach was one of the nicest weekends in probably all of England. To our backs was a steep slope of lush greenery and flowers, and before us the sparkling, never-ending English Channel. The sun was out and in the company of a healthy amount of clouds, and a light breeze blew consistently across the shores. The water was refreshing, the kind of temperature your toes happily adjust to before you even realize it (and with these feet constantly hitting the cobblestoned streets of Oxford, walking into warm sand and soothing water were welcome departures). There was a mix of young families and friend groups spread out in the sand, while others walked their dogs or biked along the pier. Basically, it looked like any beach in the U.S., except...British.

Lining the pier, though, was a rainbow of little homes that I initially thought were porta-potties--imagine my surprise when I learned they were in fact little "beach huts," where people can store their gear, coolers, and perhaps even a cheeky mini bar for mixing drinks. I'm honestly a bit confused about the appeal of them, since they were rather far from the shore and seemed to house the same things everyone else could keep right next to them in the sand...? If this is a fundamental component of U.K. beach-going culture (or even just overall beach-going culture), let me know.

The weather was nice. The water was tolerable. The atmosphere was relaxing. All of my boxes were checked for the ideal beach. What I realized later, though, at the end of the fleeting day, was that the place wasn't the goal for me anymore. The place will be ideal to me regardless, because it will be somewhere I actively choose to go to. The new, modified goal was going to said places with people with whom I enjoy spending time--and even more so, people who I will only be with for the next few weeks.

I won't go too deep into it now (in fear of unlocking the floodgates), but it will definitely be a strange feeling leaving the friends I see and hear from every day. It's nice to see how far we've come from early January: from getting lost in the streets of Oxford, to hopping a three-hour bus to Bournemouth for a Saturday. And despite the tutorials, presentations, and/or essays we still have to work through, it's also nice to know that we're all at a point where we're happy to forget those tasks for a moment, where we can be content with just being in one another's company--whether it's the beach, London, or the dining room in the evening.

If there's one thing I've learned from my time here (though I'd hope there's more than one), it's that you could be anywhere in the world and still have a wonderful time if the people are good. And the people here are real, real good.

Maybe I should re-label the closet "People I Will Miss When I Leave England."

As the term is winding down and final assignments are piling up, I also can't forget that my time with some real good people is running out as well. And if that's the case, I'll take as many beach days as I can get.