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Karen Rice made up a game, once upon a time. It’s a conversation game, and we play it a lot.

I’m sure you are all familiar with the difficulty of recapping a major life experience in everyday conversation. “So how was your summer in Peru?” “Uhhh….” It’s a shame, really. There are a million ups and downs to summers and semesters and junior years abroad, but with questions like that, they tend to all get lumped into a meaningless generalization like “good.” Even if your interrogator didn’t mean for you to give a one-word answer, sometimes a paragraph summary is just too difficult to compose on the spot. Obviously, this doesn’t make for very productive conversations.

Karen’s game spares us that fate. And it’s easy to play: you just ask, “What were two highlights and one lowlight of _____?” And in return, you get a pleasant amount of detail. It works quite well.

This, I believe, is an occasion for the game. If you ask me, “How’s Oxford?” I’ll be at a loss, and the most detail you’ll get is, “Good.” But one highlight– I can do that justice.

I imagined that Oxford would be the nerd center of the universe, and a pretentious one at that. That turns out to not be the case at all. The city is full of academics, it’s true, but they are the sort of academics who go out to the pub five nights in a row. Sometimes it seems like a contest to see who can do the most extracurricular activities and still keep up with their degree. Tutors go by their first names. I’ve yet to hear a single word about the proper formatting of an essay. In the entirety of Fresher’s Week (a rather alcohol-saturated version of orientation), not once did a faculty member sit everyone down and proceed to wax eloquent about what a fine institution this is and how privileged we are to be here and then exhort everyone to carry on the tradition with excellence.

There are reasons for this nonchalance. First of all, Brits seem to have an aversion to anything that resembles bragging. And at Oxford, your grades don’t count until the very end– you might write thirty-six essays in a year, but technically speaking, none of them matter. (As a visiting student, my essay grades do count, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more laid back about my own work. I must have absorbed some of the British attitude by osmosis.) Plus, “I go to Oxford” has an impressive ring to it until you’re actually in Oxford, and there are approximately 21,000 other people who can say the same thing. The prestige of it all gets left behind somewhere on the bus ride from London. Don’t get me wrong– it’s a special place, and most of us work very hard. But the specialness speaks for itself when your library was built in, say, 1300.

As if that wasn’t enough, the University delegates a (sometimes disconcertingly) large amount of responsibility to its students. When 20-year-olds make the decisions, college life takes on a distinctively informal flavor. Consider, for example, Über Brew. It’s a Sunday afternoon tradition here at Regent’s Park, and it’s basically a college-sponsored opportunity for the undergraduates to stuff their faces with chocolate and fruit and miscellaneous junk food. I imagine that if Jewell were to attempt this, it would take place in the sterile environment of the Union, with real grown-ups doling it out in equal portions and everything kept neat and tidy. What happens at Regent’s, on the other hand, might be living proof that Hobbes was right about man in the state of nature; it’s not quite like any other experience I’ve ever had.

We start hovering like vultures at a quarter till four. People shove couches and tables together, creating a near- impenetrable fortress of bodies and furniture. And then we might talk amongst ourselves a little, but mostly we watch the clock and the door. The student who is the designated bearer of Brew is undoubtedly the most important person in college on Sundays. When she finally arrives with two bulging Tesco bags, their contents are dumped unceremoniously onto whatever surface is available (some weeks this has been the college ping-pong table) and immediately devoured. The whole lot of us becomes a tangled mass of arms and mouths. There are no rules, just a lot of grabbing. £25 worth of the cheapest junk food can disappear in less than five minutes– and if the men’s rowing crew didn’t happen to be out on the river at that time of day, who knows what would happen? I would photograph it to give you a better idea, but again, all you’d see would be arms and mouths (and besides, I wouldn’t get anything to eat).

Über Brew is an extreme example; Oxford usually isn’t quite that undignified. But it’s under the surface all the time. Yes, supposedly there’s a tutor at Christchurch who gives one-on-one tutorials in his academic gowns. Yes, there’s a building devoted to the study of ancient biomolecules, whatever those are. Yes, once a friend reported running into two drunks on the street arguing about Nietzsche. And yes, people here are brilliant. But they’re also, to my pleasant surprise, very normal– a heck of a lot more normal than your average Oxbridger (don’t freak out, I’m allowed to say it). It is at Oxford, of all places, that I’ve learned that it’s just an essay, to give it my best shot and then let it go.

Oxford highlight #1: it’s hard to take yourself too seriously.

At Oxford, no matter how much a person parties or how many committees they’re on, there’s always a very clear “I must work now” line that gets crossed at least a couple times a week. Everyone lives under the perpetual threat of deadlines, and you just get used to having that in common. But out there in the real world, there are a whole lot of people who don’t believe in the “must work now” line, and I must admit that my work ethic didn’t stand the test of faith very well. Nevertheless, I managed to stay up until 5-6am for two nights in a row as if I were actually a dedicated student, and came home feeling like I’d just finished out a double essay week when in fact the worst is yet to come.

So now, as I’m sitting here trying to piece together Michael Walzer’s understanding of sovereignty and self-determination, my brain is mush and I know I’m not going to be able to finish my first essay tonight like I was planning. That means I’ll write it tomorrow and finish the other one at who-knows-when o’clock tomorrow night, and basically I will be tired forever.

I used to be baffled when Mike would be teaching on fasting or something and make statements like, “I’m okay with living tired. It’s really okay.” Every time without fail I would think to myself, no it’s not you weirdo. I was doing 6ams, which can be a draining schedule if your bedtimes are off (which mine almost always were), so I knew what tired felt like. And I pretty much despised the feeling. But two and a half years of uni and many all-nighters later, it’s starting to make sense. It’s true: the fear of being tired is actually worse than being tired. The fear of fasting is worse than fasting, and the fear of boredom is worse than your driest prayer time. A whole lot of discomforts are more uncomfortable in your head than in real life. And some things are just worth it.

So this weekend I swapped Walzer for heart-to-hearts and games of cards and a long devo in an empty prayer room, and I just swapped him again for a blog post, and I will pay for it all dearly in sleep. And you know what? It’s okay. This swapping business turns out all right.

For two of those three days I barely made it out of my PJs, but on one of them– the only sunny one this week, in fact– Kirsty and I went into central London to explore. Mostly that meant a lot of walking around, which seems to be my default travel activity. I thoroughly enjoyed it. On Christmas Eve I made my way to Heathrow to rendezvous with the Farnhams, who were there to pick up Kezia after her flight back from Kansas City. A few hours’ drive and a grocery store stop later, we made it home to Polzeath, and I haven’t budged since. We’ve been celebrating Christmas (of course), playing games, watching movies, and eating loads of chocolate. They’ve basically adopted me as one of their own for the week, and it’s been wonderful!

Most everyone is out shopping this afternoon, so I’m attempting to catch up on life and maybe write a post or two about Israel (but not making any promises! we’ll see what happens).

The journey from England was relatively painless, with the exception of screaming children on the airplane, long waits, and dehydration. I left my flat in Oxford at ten till 4am, and by 10:15 had made my (cold, sleepy) way through London to Gatwick Airport. Nice place, but the English don’t seem to believe in public water fountains or electric outlets, so it was an unproductive and thirsty wait. The EasyJet check-in line was enormously long, which is no big deal, but it gave me ample time to eye the luggage sizing bins and watch as person after person ended up having to check their carry-on bags. It was a bit disconcerting, and by the time it was my turn I was almost positive I would be doing the same; I had forgotten to check the dimensions of my pack. Thankfully, it slid right in with plenty of room to spare.

The flight was forty-five minutes shorter than it was supposed to be, which is always a nice thing.  The guy next to me on the plane was, like me, planning on crashing in a hostel in Amman, so we decided to team up for the evening. Also, I saw the Alps for the first time; even from above, they’re gorgeous! I only spent twelve hours in Amman, and half of those were sleeping, so I don’t have much to say. Jordanians have a reputation for friendliness, and the ones I ran into were indeed quite friendly and helpful and knew at least a little English. Downtown seems to be a lively place in the evening. Got food at a street restaurant sort of thing; it was great. Finally got a hold of some drinking water around 10pm.  My sheets had definitely not been changed, but the bed was comfy and I slept like a rock (except at 5:30am when I got my first muezzin-over-loudspeakers experience).

My border crossing at the King Hussein Bridge went rather like all the other accounts of that crossing that are out on the internet already, so no use rambling about boring details. Suffice it to say that it was a really beautiful morning, everything went smoothly, and I got to the Old City at about 11:30am.

That’s all for now. Karen is in Scotland, Hannah is hitting up Paris and London,  and Travis is in Germany, so if you want more Oxbridgerish travel news, check out their blogs!

I cycled into college four minutes before the tutorial was supposed to begin, frazzled and stressed about leaving town that afternoon, and not at all caught up on sleep. I curled up on the staircase to speed-read my essay, but promptly discovered that, for various reasons, I couldn’t access it. After a whole lot of frowning and attempted thinking, I remembered the topic. But unfortunately, my tutor found me there before I had managed to remember the actual prompt. Our meetings usually begin with me giving a two-minute recap of my argument, but as I had no earthly idea at this point what my argument actually was, that obviously didn’t happen. There followed an hour of me incoherently making numerous attempts to salvage a bad argument, based on an essay whose contents I barely remembered. I could give quotes, but that might be taking the embarrassment a bit too far.

It wasn’t my finest moment, to be sure, but– I’m done.

I’m pleased to report, however, that my first break in Europe has gotten off to a great start. I hopped on a bus to London, wandered around for a while trying to find the next bus, and rode it for seven hours to Newquay, a town on the north coast of Cornwall. It sounds like an unappealing thing to do first thing after the end of term, but in reality, sitting for hours doing nothing and saying nothing was just what I needed. Esther and I stayed up until 3am, chatting by candlelight and eating chocolate, and late this morning I woke up to sunshine and ocean! Esther had described the scenery to me plenty of times, but I still kind of freaked out when I pulled back the curtains. Think rolling headlands, beautiful blue sea, rocky islands, a little village of white houses, and a beach just below. Lovely family, lovely view, lovely weekend.

So I’ve been a rather dismal failure at keeping people updated on my life, with perhaps the exception of the photo blog. Rather than promising reform, I’m settling for a series of posts recapping Michaelmas Term. Check back for more over the next week or so!

That’s all for now. I only get 64 mg of caffeine out of this guy, and I need to make it worthwhile.

There isn’t much to be said about the traveling. It was easy and uneventful, and on the flight over I found myself seated next to a fellow Oxford-bound American student. That was nice. The exhaustion hit all at once on the bus from London, and despite my best efforts I slept for two hours in the afternoon. I don’t remember the name of anyone I met that day; I received my Bod card (library card/all-things-university card) and promptly left it in the IT office in college. Embarrassing. But I made it through that day without epically failing at anything else, and had virtually no jet lag afterward, so it all worked out.

The days since then have been full of wandering all about the city, meeting up with friends and making new ones, and sorting out all the logistics of Oxford– there are many. Oxford is beautiful. You walk and walk and walk and expect the architecture to revert to normal at some point, but it doesn’t (not that I’ve seen). And the weather has been gorgeous, so I’m sure that’s helped with the general impression. Everyone is eager to tell us that this has been the nicest stretch of sunshine and warmth since March, and that it will soon become wet and cold and nasty, and that the sun will set at 4:30.

Oh well, it will be easier to write papers that way anyway.

In other news, there are pictures on the photo blog! Not anything spectacular, just bits and pieces of everyday life here. I’m expecting to update that one more frequently and this one less so. It’s so much easier for me to take a decent picture and write a paragraph photo caption than to be an entertaining blogger. Plus it’s always more fun with something visual.

Check it out here.

Spontaneity and surprises are nice, but half the fun for me is the anticipation. Packing for a trip is an excuse to anticipate all sorts of things, while figuring out how to fit x stuff into x space in a way that is convenient, efficient, etc. A delightful little puzzle, it is. And for this particular journey, I get to factor in money, too (ditch the shampoo in favor of an extra bottle of Clear Care contact lens solution, that sort of thing).

I loaded up my bigger piece of luggage just beautifully. I’m pretty sure there was zero air inside. I even sat on it a couple times. And it worked; everything fit.

The most compactly packed suitcase ever

But I forgot to factor in weight, and it turned out to be a beastly sixty-six pounds. No good. So last night I set out to pack the rest of my stuff, like toothpaste and towels and school supplies, in the smaller red suitcase (courtesy of Maggie. Thanks Mags!), and also to get the big one down to fifty pounds. The latter task involved removing all my shoes, jackets/coat, and several clothing items. The pile of stuff for the red suitcase was big enough already; now it was huge. One look at it and I was stressed out and not at all excited to be packing.

You might be wondering why I wouldn’t ditch half the stuff and buy what I need in England instead of hauling it across the ocean. Good travelers pack light, yes? And, as the saying goes, you can’t travel heavy, happy, and cheap. But this isn’t really travel; this is moving. I’m not going to just be wandering around Oxford checking out the sights. We have to actually do real life there. Real life in England is expensive, especially when your bank account is in dollars instead of pounds. And so I’m willing to spend a couple highly inconvenient days on the road if it means my student loans are smaller in the long run.

All of the above means that I wasn’t very happy about the prospect of ditching anything on my list, so I was sitting there cramming my bag with a scowl on my face and a swirl of exchange rates and overweight baggage fees going through my head. My mom finally commented, “You seem a bit testy,” to which I roared, “YES I AM!”

Turns out that it actually wasn’t that big of a deal. When it was all said and done, the big one weighed forty-eight pounds and the smaller one  forty-nine (with no repacking required!), and I emerged as the winner of the bring-as-much-as-possible-without-paying-more-money game.

That philosophy might not serve me well in the end, but so far so good.

“What are you most excited about?”

First of all, school. Just being in school again will be wonderful. It will have been five months by the time our first term begins! I’m excited about getting my tail kicked, and learning a lot, and reading lots of books that smell good. And I’ll be studying topics that are interesting and important, topics that brought me to school to begin with (if indeed I can get the tutorials I requested. let’s hope that’s the case). Potential subjects: Middle Eastern Politics, War Ethics, Christian Moral Reasoning, Theory of Politics, Philosophy of Education, C.S. Lewis, others that I can’t remember right now.

But if you catch me on a day when I’ve been daydreaming about traveling, I might say that I’m most excited about our two five-week breaks. Of course, funding it will be… interesting… but we’re drawing up tentative itineraries nonetheless. I’m planning on jumping into the world of CouchSurfing, and hoping to be able to stay in a monastery over Christmas (wouldn’t that be SO COOL?!). Potential locations: Israel, Italy, Spain, Ireland, and Scotland.

Then there’s rowing and maybe climbing. I don’t know if I’ll really have time for both of those, but the idea is lovely, and some days I get awfully excited about it. And of course, there’s the not-being-in-America factor. I’ve been down with that plan for, oh, about nine years now. Also- living with friends, having our own flat, living in OXFORD!, packing*– I get psyched about all those things too. In terms of the bigger picture, I think that this season will serve to clarify and give direction to those aspects of my life vision and calling that have taken the backseat to schoolwork over the last couple years.

So in a nutshell, I’m most excited about… everything.

*One of my quirks. Environmental, not genetic. I’ve been the family car-packer since I was about 12, and I’ve come to enjoy the challenge. A wave of packing excitement overtook me this morning, in fact. A bit premature, I’d say, but I managed to sort through my closet productively nonetheless.

Don’t feel bad, I did it am doing it too.

So how do you make it through the day after? For me, it comes down to three things: 1) stay busy, 2) stay sensitive to caffeine, and 3) get enough sleep on the other nights.

Moms have it the worst, they really do. If they stay up most of the night, they get to spend the next day in the company of a cranky two-year-old doing the same mundane things they always do. Students get some adult interaction and demands on their intellect, at least. I find that if life continues to be demanding the day after, I can rise to the occasion, and sometimes I forget about being tired.

As for caffeine– I know you don’t typically plan an all-nighter weeks in advance, but if you’re coming up on a busy month (or the beginning of the school year, for that matter), STOP drinking it every day. Don’t even have it every other day. You need to be able to make it till 4 or 5am on a Mountain Dew and save the quad shot or the RockStar for the next day. You’ll feel so much better, and also save money, if you don’t have to dose yourself with 300mg of caffeine every time you stay up.

Lastly, and this is obvious, the impact of an all-nighter is reduced when you’ve slept enough the preceding nights. I have friends who prefer a series of nights with 3-4 hours of sleep, but I find that I do a lot better when I sleep 8 hours the rest of the week and save up all the not-sleeping for one big push. Each to his own… but my way is better .

My advice, in short: plan to make your life conducive to pulling all-nighters (ironic, isn’t it?).

And if you’re a poor caffeine-addicted, chronically sleep-deprived, and not-very-busy soul who stumbled into this nocturnal business by accident, I can offer no cure. But take heart, it will be over soon enough.