A hop skip and a quick 23 hour flight later I farewelled my neighbouring traveller, a short, tubby, snoring 50 (that's being kind) year old man and groggily jumped off the plane at hea throw airport, hesitantly making my way to terminal 4. Terminal four was more than just TERMINAL FOUR (not really, it legally is just terminal 4), however in my eyes it was the pre determined meeting place for all Oxford summer school students of 2013. Yeah that's right Mrs Price (year 4 teacher) I made it to the big time. So much for, 'if you can't do time tables by this age you should worry for your future'.
Maths, who needs it?
My OP actually....
Maybe mrs price was right.
Dammit she wins again and I'm the one composing this text!
Ok I'm getting lost back to the inaugural first meet...
You'd assume one would dress in their finest apparel for such a milestone meeting in order to give the (false) impression that they are 'cool'. however oblivious to this thought I donned my finest RUST coloured school 'sweater' accompanied by possibly the most unflattering track suit pant's of all time.
NOTE: the use of the word trackies and jumper can result with a very confused and quite possibly, frightened foreigner. Thus, I warm you all to steer clear when explaining your outfit of choice to a TC Colombian.
I was separated (quite literally, but that's another story) from the few Australians I had befriended on the flight over and led to bus B where I say next to an upper east sider boy who I will leave unnamed, who had "not only partied with Barrack Obamas daughter" but "been accepted into The most respectable acting school in NYC".
Time on bus: 1 hour
Sheep count due to boredom:13
Well, um I won the spelling bee in grade four AND met the man who invited vegemite, So yeah might want to rethink your claim to fame statements Mr New York, if that even is your real name.
Time on bus: 2 hours
Sheep count due to boredom: 34
BUT WAIT, if your wondering when the discussion of what actually occurred during my time in Oxford will arise, you know considering this IS a blog post dedicated to the said town and all, it surprisingly arose when the boy and I eventually found our common demominator regarding interests of which we could bond over during this 3 hour bus ride through the countryside of England.
And that interest my friends, is the one, The only: our expectations of what was to occur.
Time on bus: 2.5 hours
Sheep count due to boredom: not applicable
We spoke about Expectations regarding shopping, making new friends, learning new things, exploring new world while we were both millions of kilometres, or in NYC boys mind- Miles, away from our real homes. And that, my fellow readers, is when the wheels halted from beneath us and further bringing our attention to the most magical town I had ever seen, Oxford. Furthermore, as I attempt to unsuccessfully avoid making a cliche statement, the expectations that had been discussed between myself and Mr NYC were not only met during the month, but In fact exceeded.
To be honest with you all, downsizing four weeks of memories into one blog post has Been excruciatingly difficult. I could easily say that learning journalism and business studies abroad and exploring a new city was the most valuable aspect of the trip, but that would unfortunately be a lie (don't get me wrong though, that was pretty FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC). However, what I truly treasure from my Oxford experience is simply the big family that was made up of my brothers and sisters from every corner of the world, effortlessly making those 4 weeks the best of my life.
|Oxford Tradition Journalism Class 2013|
|My Puta Perra Zorras from Colombia|
|My weird and wonderful brothers and sisters in the Oxford Tradition Film making class of 2013|
|My Colombian and Greek Besties chilling on the quad|
|Apparently the college thought I wasn't worthy of a 25x25 pixel IMAGE|
|Romania VS Colombia&Australia in the Great Race after the 40 minute walk to get there.|
The painful process of saying goodbye soon occurred. Watching 500 teenagers come together to say goodbye and return to their own hometowns is a saddening sight. I don’t want to become too morose, so I’ll skim over the hours of crying and cuddling that went down. Let’s just say these relationships will last a while, believe me, I can prove it. I mean We even created a Google doc to compile contact information via FACEBOOK (for all you grandmas that's a certain type of social media). Now If that's not commitment I don't know what is!
I may have begun as the girl with no friends on Bus B in a rust coloured jumper with a weird accent and a lack of international popstar relations with.... Do I really have to go on? but I'd depart with friends from around the world and knowledge I had not previously possessed (commandments to my teachers in particular). I am unable to recommend the Oxford tradition experience to its full worth to anyone, as one has to experience it themselves to truly comprehend its impact.
And although this has been a rather nostalgic and depressing post, "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard". (Winnie the Pooh, 1995)
|"A picture paints a thousand words, but a memory writes a whole novel." - Yours Truly|