"The Only Time You Go Punting in the Rain is to Hunt Ducks..." (Sib)

Last weekend (including Friday), the weather was absolutely beautiful here in Oxford. After a relatively strange week of miscellaneous misadventures, I was ready to get back into the swing of being here in this beautiful country. On Friday, Steve (Jennifer's partner and part of my homestay family) took me out to Cotswold in his car, and I was floored by the confluence of perfect weather alongside the quaint village backdrop where a river (Bourton on the Water) ran through it. Children were playing in the water, ducks were out in great abundance, and everywhere I looked, people were out on the grassy parks around the river lounging about and taking in the sun. It was an unfamiliar sight for this Los Angeles resident. People brought their dogs that were also joining in the aquatic fun. I have to say that the dogs here are much cuter because they’re not accessories as much as they are companions and very well-behaved at that.

Afterwards, Steve took me to one of the Inspector Morse sites that became very popular after his appearances there. The pub/restaurant was called the “Trout Inn,” and we stopped in there to have a pint. The outdoor lounge area was packed, and no better weather could have been asked for and I took several pictures that day. There is something magical about the backdrop of magnificent trees intermingled with the quaint old houses, buildings, and layered brick-work, and I cannot imbibe enough of it.

While Saturday was similarly beautiful, I misused part of it by being a useless being in a pub for the better part of the day. When Sunday rolled around, I was truly looking forward to a change of scenery. Saturday evening, I received a text from a friend from the Corridor, Cotty, who asked, “Weather looking good for punting, pick you up about 2? If you’re still up for it…” Was I ever!

At 2:00 p.m. on Sunday, Cotty came rolling up in his Honda CB1000 motorcycle, and I was introduced to riding pillion (as a passenger)! I had never been on a motorcycle before; a scooter in Japan was my only experience of motorized bikes. I was instructed on the manner in which I was to get on the motorcycle and put on my helmet so as to not look like a dunce. (It turns out that Steve had heard this lesson from his window and joked about it to me later.) Properly helmeted and with the motorcycle turned on, I proceeded to ride pillion step-by-step, and off we went. Mind you, it’s exhilarating feeling the air rushing on your face as the world speeds past you. I remember thinking, “Hang on for dear life and enjoy the thrill – this is living fully!” From time to time, he accelerated or took hard turns, where we were tilted at least at a 60 degree angle, if not even more close to the ground. We stopped off at Tescos for some strawberries, grapes, food, juice, water, and a bottle of champagne and made our way to the very place where my class went punting in the rain.

“The only time you go punting in the rain is to hunt ducks…” (Sib). I had had a negative view on punting from my last experience of it – it was a pre-planned event, and if one learns anything in the U.K., it is that one cannot foresee what the weather will do from day to day (much less weeks from a day). The “event” was abysmal to say the least. It was cold, raining hard, and so windy that my umbrella broke. Further, I was in no mood to be there, in the rain, in the wind, in the cold and soaking wet. But, to be fair, it was our farewell party and probably obligatory to show up and say the proper good-bye’s and thank-you’s to the staff at AIFS (American Institute of Foreign Studies). In reality, they were probably thinking, “Good riddance, Pasadena!”

Sunday, however, was a whole different universe. It is as Ngaio Marsh writes in Clutch of the Constables wherein one gets a sense that there is an element of timelessness, and that somehow the big busy world “out there” gets swallowed up by the beauty and peacefulness of the river. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and every aspect of green was accentuated and complementary to the canvas of nature. Iridescent dragon flies danced on the leaves and water, and various birds appeared, namely different species of ducks and geese, and a few sea gull-type birds skimming the surface for fish and water bugs. Further, the ducklings and goslings were also out, and a duck actually ate from my hand.

I was the privileged recipient of the punting, and was told that the proper way to punt is with champagne and strawberries. We took boat number 80 out and went north upon the Cherwell River. In the beginning, there were a lot of punters, a few row boats, and maybe one or two single kayakers. As soon as we were underway, we popped open the champagne, said “cheers” and started this all-day party. It was magnificent.

The further we went up the river, the thinner the punting population upon the river became, and it was as if we owned the river. We started around 2:30 and didn’t return until after 6:00 p.m. There was one red pub/restaurant along the way that looked a bit like a Swiss chalet (but not) and people were lounging around up and down the grassy areas, fully occupying the picnic benches, and playing various games. We moared the boat for about a half an hour, sat at a picnic table and “smoked a fag.” (This phrase is not as Americans would translate it; it is an extremely commonplace way of saying, “have a smoke,” and I put it in quotes because despite innocuous nature of the phrase here, I still can’t say it properly without feeling like I’m betraying an entire population.)

We continued upon Cherwell River towards some beautiful and posh houses to the left of the river bank. Eventually, the river thinned out because of the trees and shrubbery, and it almost appeared impassable. However, Cotty was very capable of handling the narrow passageway, and each time, we ended up in a new pocket of pristine nature. As the sun started downward, it reflected its light upon the leaves that shimmered with the light breezes. I was in a storybook image and wished that I could put all the beauty, sun, experience, and joy into a bottle. Alas, the next best way of properly capturing the magic for me is to write about it.

When we finally made it back to the boat house from where we first started, it was after 6:00 and the air was quickly cooling down. To top off this wonderful day, I was once again on the motorcycle – this time more relaxed, and taking in the balance of the day that sped by me with each acceleration and turn. With the wind on my face, Oxford whisked past me in a most extraordinary fashion. Perfection. Thank you Cotty!