by Megan Buff

Created on: January 19, 2009

The City of Dreaming Spires
has always been the city of my dreams. After years of imagining it, of seeing it in my sleep and reading its masters, I finally arrived at Oxford. For a visit, all too short, but I'll
take what I can get.

I flew into Gatwick airport and caught the National Express bus straight to Oxford's Glouchester
Green bus station. The journey lasted just over two hours through English countryside, sheep and horse farms, a small brick town, and low rolling hills studded with proud oaks. My first impression of Oxford was not great. The bus route into town bypasses the historic city centre, and with exception of the plain brick exterior of Christchurch, misses every college hall. High Street Oxford

looks like many other High Streets as long as the bus circulation system filters out the air steeped in history.

From
Glouchester Green, I wandered around a moment, trying to get my bearings, and at last headed off in the right direction, toward my hostel. I stayed at Oxford
Backpackers' Hostel, recommended by a friend of a friend. (It's also, by far, the cheapest.) The hostel is located only a few blocks from Glouchester Green and not far from the city centre. As any good hostel should be, it's decorated with brightly colored, quirky murals and staffed by smiling students. The squeaky, sagging beds leave something to be desired, but it's clean and warm, and the people are friendly.

By this time, it was mid-afternoon. I left my bags at the hostel and set out to explore the city while waiting for my friends, who were reading at Wesley College, to get out of lectures. It took me only a few minutes to fall madly in love with Oxford. Every building seemed to have a story and when I got tired of looking at architecture, the people-watching was superb. University students scrambled past. Musicians played unusual and elaborate combinations of instruments on Cornmarket Street: a four-voice choir sang a few hundred yards away from a brass quartet, across the street from a didgeridoo player. I settled in with a cup of coffee and a scone to watch the amusements from a shop patio.

That evening, I went to Evensong at Christchurch Cathedral. I've always been a bit of a sucker for Anglican liturgy and impressive cathedrals. The service would have been difficult to keep up with if I didn't already have a working knowledge of its format. Even so, the history and beauty of the cathedral is remarkable, and hearing a service allows you to get in free. There are a few ushers on hand

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>