It Should Not Be That Difficult To Get To This Place

A very long time ago, Simon pointed out to me that there was a conference at this mysterious Mansfield College (this college whose only purpose seems to be to host these sorts of conferences every 4-6 weeks) on punishment, which is something I published on many years ago and said that, once my sabbatical kicked in next winter I wanted to get into again because I had a bunch of things hanging around that should either be published or perished. Since Simon is on sabbatical now, and I am teaching two courses on line, it seemed like a really easy time to go--even though it would be during Frederick's first week of school. "We'll have Emily to help!" we said! So I sent something off, managed to get $2,000 worth of research funding (which is almost impossible these days) locked myself into flights, hotel reservations and ridiculously expensive conference reservations. And then, of course, came the news that Emily would NOT be able to help with the first week of school. So either I had to pay back $2,000 to the office of research or go and leave Simon to his fate--which is what I did. Meanwhile, not really even wanting to go to this conference (I HATE flying, and I really don't like "interdisciplinary" conferences), I set off yesterday with no enthusiasm at all. We didn't have any terrorist attacks or horrific weather. That was the good part of the trip. Either my legs are STILL getting longer or they are incrementally shrinking the spaces between airplane rows every time I fly--never mind the space between the passengers within the rows. I remember flying when I was a teenager and LIKING the experience, and it seems to me that my legs would have been the same size, if not longer yet I don't remember getting off the plane then in excruciating pain, kneecaps shoved half-way up my thighs from being bent backwards for 7 hours, because I had to tuck my legs underneath the person's seat in front of me. Never mind that the guy next to me was a giant of a man. His hands were the size of my head. I thought only Americans came that large. But all became clear when we landed and he started speaking Russian (or some other Eastern European language--he was trying to be very secretive--as if I would understand!) into his cell phone. So he was oozed halfway into my seat most of the trip. The only consolation was that he was probably in worse pain than I was. After that warm up, the real adventure begins, of course. Because unlike in the real world where everyone owns their own car, here people have to use public transportation and everyone in London suffers from a serious case of mumble mouth. I do have to say, though, that all the public officials I talked to in London (and I think it was most of them) were extraordinarily helpful, getting me from the bus stop (what was I doing going to a bus stop when I should have been going to the subway? What a moron!) to the subway where I should be (to a new station stop--newly created just for THE OLYMPICS--did everyone notice, we had THE OLYMPICS HERE! Can you tell? THE OLYMPICS were IN TOWN! HERE! In LONDON!!), over to Paddington, up out of the bottom, back over down into the the hole, over to Victoria (lots of Kinks songs going through my head by this time--the only thing that kept me going), THEN I could get onto the bus. By then I was sick of my luggage and was ready to ditch it and buy new things when I needed them. But I figured that, since I was on the damn bus going to Oxford, all was well. NOT! I did fall asleep on the bus and had a horrible dream that I was still on the plane. It was good to wake up and realize that that wasn't true. So when we got to Oxford, which was gray and dreary and sweaty yet locals wearing many layers (only tourists have the sense to wear short sleeved shirts--maybe locals have a deep shame of upper arms?) I had to walk to my hotel. Before leaving I had the sense to print up a google maps of Oxford (which is surprising for me, I usually don't do things like that, figuring I'll just kind of smell things out) so I thought that this part would be a piece of cake. Not one single person in this town claims to know a single street name (and the streets are very badly marked) or even general directions. It doesn't help, I think, that 95% of the people here are tourists, it seems (or claim to be) but how are THEY finding their way about? Unless they are all with guided tours. Again, I resorted to asking a policeman, who said I was so sorely off route that my best bet was to go back to where I started and head out again, this time getting it right. It took about 2 1/2 hours to walk from the bus stop to the hotel, but I did find it. Here it is, tucked into a neighborhood, strangely. It's near the Dragon School. (I walked passed that as I was stumbling along with my detested luggage. I expected to hear Latin verses being sung, but didn't hear any. Slackers.):

Although I had been up forever, it was only midday, so I couldn't check in yet and so had to sit, idle. The receptionist said (trying to be helpful, "You could walk into town!" I told her I just walked FROM town, so NO THANKS, I didn't intend to walk anywhere anytime soon. They do have a restaurant attached that serves pretty good food. (I had a fruit plate that Thomas would have loved: two little strawberries, cut in half, four raspberries, and a honeydew melon, sliced and fanned out on the plate, drizzled over with raspberry sauce--very fancy presentation.) And if I pretend those are dollars and not pounds I just paid for the food, the cost wasn't too bad! (When I paid for it with my credit card--which, to my relief, works--the receptionist asked me, "Do you want to pay in pounds or dollars?" I was so confused--20 hours with no sleep didn't help--that I couldn't figure out what he meant. I now know he meant, did I want the bill stated in pounds or converted to dollars. But why would I care? VISA will convert it, anyway. But if they are going to keep the numbers fixed, I'll pay in dollars, please.)

Here is my room, in which I now sit. And, in which I plan on spending much of my time since the other papers at the conference look pretty stupid. Though, I am delighted to discover that the bar in this hotel is showing the paraolympics 24/7--which is great, because they aren't showing ANY coverage of those games in the U.S.

Tomorrow's task will be to attempt to find the conference. If I can't, well, it wasn't meant to be. I'll console myself with room service, web surfing and watching the games.