End of Term and Friends in Rennes, France.

I haven't been able to post any updates lately due to the crushing end of term workload here at Oxford, but I have finally come out of the other end of the tunnel. I don't want to mock my academic experience here by inflating it or exaggerating, but that last week I spent working on that seminar paper was probably literally the most taxing week of my career at school. The interesting flip side of this is I know that I was the one who made it so, and not because I had a professor breathing down my neck, or I was really worried about a grade (I have yet to receive a single grade here, their absence is initially troubling, but then you get used to it and they start to become less of an incentive). Although my paper only ended up being 15 pages and 200 words over the suggested word count, in reality I wrote about twice that, and edited it down throughout the week. I chose my own topic, found my own books, and made my own thesis. No help was offered me, and the syllabus was more like a style guide with a big deadline at the bottom - very typical of the Oxford system. This independence was pretty terrifying at first, but as the term went on, I realized that this was my chance to study something I really wanted to study, something that I could actually use in my real life. I decided to write about the classical influence on chivlaric ties of friendship, and how the interaction of these two models might indicate why pure, unadulterated friendship is notoriously difficult to obtain between men and women. I was pleased with my findings- it gave me a lot to think about, and many more questions to stew over, but as with all of my Oxford academic endeavors, I was frustrated by the limitations of a 24 hour day, during which the libraries are only open for 12 hours or less.

This is me, welcoming death or at least a full night of dreamless sleep as I plow through my seminar paper. Note pathetic-ness.

One thing I really do appreciate here at Oxford is the way my tutors encourage learning for the sake of learning. At Olaf, I am frequently charged with defending my proposed topic and explaining why it is useful to study this particular aspect of history... at Oxford, my tutor stopped me almost as soon as I went into justification mode, and asked me what I was actually interested in studying, what is relevant to my life right now? This eventually led to a thesis that not only helped me synthesize everything I'd been reading about all term, but also made me feel like my own personal life was relevant in the grander scheme of history. That all made it worth it for me to stay up to ridiculous hours of the morning finding just the right wording, and just the right evidence to support my points. For the first time ever, I felt like my research was for myself and the friends I would share it with, and not for some higher authority with a red pen.

Even though I decided the research was all mine, the timeline was definitely not my idea, and by the time I got to Wednesday night, I could have slept standing up. I turned my paper in at 7:00pm, and then....slept? blacked out?... on my bed for a few hours, missing dinner. I'd had three consecutive nights of 4 hours of sleep or less, and hadn't gone on a run or played viola (therapeutic) in days. My brother Joe did come to visit me for the week, which had the contrasting effects of cheering me up immensly, and also adding to time constraints. I was very sad to see him leave on Wednesday night, but the sadness was eased by my almost immediate departure to France the next morning at 5:00. I'd been waiting for my France reunion for weeks, so I cheerfully shut my alarm at 4:50 am, took a bus, the underground, a train, a subway, and another train to Rennes, where I practically swooned into Erin Beaton's waiting arms on the train platform.

Later that evening I met Bjorn on the same platform when his train came in. It is so strange to wade through a thick crowd of strangers and then recognize just an elbow or a shoe through a chink in the mass. I enjoyed a second epic platform reunion, and then Bjorn and I made our way secretly to meet Carmen and Erin at a predetermined location- our Thursday arrival in Rennes was a surprise for Carmen's birthday; she thought we were coming on Friday. I was delighted to see her shocked face when we emerged out of the metro, but the happiness of being with my friends again didn't hit me until after our crazy night of birthday revelries on the town. Carmen led us back to her host mother's house late, and put me to bed almost immediately. I suddenly felt very fond of her old habit of mother goosing us, and gladly allowed her to tuck me in. I cannot even tell you how thrilling it was to be horizontal, under a nice blanket, moments away from sleep, in a house full of friends. I could hear Erin brushing her teeth an humming in the bathroom, and Bjorn was stumbling rather impressively through some Debussy on the piano downstairs. Eventually Carmen interrupted him to insist he take a bath- he smelled like hay and (more problematically) cows from his WWOOFing experience on French organic farms. 

Carmen and Bjorn at the piano.

The house was as drafty as all old French houses, and pretty cold outside the blankets, but as I lay there, listening to familiar voices, and music, and footsteps, I felt incredible warmth return to my weary, ink stained fingers, and the most distinct, specific sensation that a warm hand was brushing my forehead in a soothing way, although there was no one else in the room.
 

Our long weekend in Rennes was rejuvenating and educational in its own way. There are many things I hope I won't forget in a hurry: going on long walks through the medieval part of Old Rennes, and seeing the slanting 16th century houses and cobblestones; stopping under every flowered tree that overhung the sidewalk, and inhaling deeply; watching apparent members of a high school boy gang exchange the iconic French greeting, a "bise" I think its called, where they kiss each other on the cheeks; cooking a huge lasagna for the four of us;

Lasagna in the making.

pretending we liked wine and drinking a whole bottle just to prove to ourselves that we are grown ups; multiple trips to the boulangerie across the street; an amazing chocolate store which probably kept the dementors at bay in at least a 300 mile circumference; exchanging stories and pictures and playing chess;
walking through the beautiful and springy "jardin des plantes"; finding a dark window with bars on it, full of little yellow song birds, and wondering how they got to be there, and if they would ever be free. It was pretty idyllic to be able to live under the same roof with some of the truest friends I've got, and cook fabulous meals, and laugh a lot and have no immediate obligations.

Bjorn and Carmen, reluctant to move too much. 

Relaxation was a common motif that weekend....

I know I've alluded to this Moby Dick reference elsewhere on my blog, but the temporariness of our retreat in France made me think of when Ishmael is warm and cozy under the covers, smoking a pipe in utter contentedness with his new cannibal friend Queequeg, and he notes that it would not be nearly as comfortable if he did not have one minute zone of discomfort, such as a cold nose, or a toe that sticks out from the warmth of the blankets. My weekend in France was definitely surrounded by a kind of contrasting discomfort on either side. It is true that the upcoming integral section of my semseter is going to be less academically challenging, but there is never a dull moment while on study abroad, and I am sure as I go forward with my adventures, I will be glad to look back on my time with my friends as a fortifying reminder that there is always something or someone warm and good up ahead on the road, even if you still have a long trek in the rain to get there. Life is all about balance, I guess, and its strange that I should have to come all the way to England to figure that out.

No classes this week at Oxford, so I am off to Scotland. Stories and pictures to follow, I hope!