Yesterday we went to Blenheim Palace and Oxford. Both very beautiful places - I have yet to see anything like it in the states. Granted, we're a much younger country than England. Blenheim Palace was where Winston Churchill was born, was where he lived, and is now the home of the Duke. We saw the room in which Madam Churchill birthed the prime minister to be and all I could think was... it must have sucked not having any labor drugs. Probably really messy too. Did you know that many women poop while giving birth? I can only imagine how hard it was to clean those fabulous bed sheets later. Did they have some kind of detergent back then? Whateva.
After the palace we went to Oxford. Very scenic, lots to do, lots of history. Authors like J.R. Tolkien and the dude that wrote The Golden Compass frequented a bar called Eagle and Child (England has the weirdest freaking bar names ever) which is one of the first things we saw upon entry.
My friend Trish studied here when she was in high school. She said it changed her life, so I'm assuming that all the huff and puff about it is pretty accurate. Oxford, according to our tour guide Linda, is extremely competitive and extremely hard to get into. They offered me a full ride when they saw how hipster I was with my black sweater and camera but I declined.
Trish also told us that Oxford is where HARRY POTTER WAS SHOT... sooooooooooo BASICALLY IN A NUTSHELL THESE LUCKY BASTARDS GO TO HOGWARTS... omg, I wanted to find a touristy thing where you could make your wand SO BAD but they didn't have that. I didn't ask because I'm pretty sure I've been pushing my luck with the obnoxious American thing.
However, that didn't stop all eight of us from barreling into a gift shop and getting the same sweatshirt, screaming LET'S TAKE A PICTURE WITH ALL OF US IN OUR SWEATSHIRTS HAAAHAHAHAHA OMG OXFORD YAAAAAAYYYYY! ... If you haven't guessed it, most of us haven't met any british people yet. I think they can smell us coming and just scatter.
Anywho, after we got our sweatshirts we got ice cream (it had been more than twenty minutes since we last ate). England has a very diverse population (I'm pretty sure, don't quote me on that but it SEEMS like there are 278402 different accents around every corner) so we don't have to rely on just fish and chips and calf liver for food (apparently they do calf liver here, that you CAN quote me on). But yeah, so I got a flavor called B52 which is described as bailey's and kalua. I was SO EXCITED (it had also been more than seven hours since we last drank so I stopped the scooper practically wrestling with the raspberry to scoop out my booze cream. It ended up tasting like a canoli so I barfed. Why do people like those things?
Then we wanted actual booze so we went to the oldest pub in Oxford called Turf Tavern. Very charming, and England-y :D. There my friends got the cheapest ale and it tasted like death and urine, so I didn't get it. Instead I got my FIRST EVER GUINNESS. It's a big deal. I had no idea however, that it would be like eating a loaf of bread without chewing, so the moral of that story is to never drink Guinness unless you either A) can handle it or B) are curious to know what being pregnant feels like.
I thought the end of our annoying American tour of Oxford had ended at the gift shop where we all lost our shit over sweatshirts but I was wrong... we found a giant empty table RIGHT NEXT to the bar that easily fit us all. Those poor Brits had no choice but to tolerate us until they got their drinks.
It wasn't bad at first, but then I told everyone how my teeth are close together so when I smile, you can see back to my molars... my friend Quincy responded loudly from across the table "You must have been an orthodontist's wet dream." ...
Everyone we were sitting with: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHHJAJFGJRAJJDFKSAHKFDSJAHAHAHAHA
The British people in the bar: ...
After one gaze from a disgruntled English woman that nearly disintegrated my soul, I raised my hands slightly so as to signal "Shut the fuck up."
We calmed, and for a whole ten minutes we didn't get one death stare. But then another friend of mine announced that she wanted a shot of tequila in honor of being at the oldest pub in Oxford (it was four in the afternoon), and I panicked a little. I told her no, bad idea, red alert, code red, black and blue but she wouldn't listen. Then Gauri tried to talk some sense in to her - I was relieved that another voice of reason joined in. However, my friend, determined to obtain hard liquor, said to Gauri, in something a little less than a shout, "I'm going to punch you in the balls."
Us: "..."
British: "..."
At this point I was sure the second revolutionary war was about to erupt. There were way too many raised eyebrows for them to not want us all dead or at least banished from Europe. Thankfully we got the hint and bolted after slamming down the rest of our drinks and high tailed it out of there. Guinness doesn't combine well with "slamming down" what with it being a meal in itself, and moving briskly out of arm's reach from the locals wasn't helping. Did I mention I already ate three times before this? I can't imagine what it feels like to almost give birth but I think I came as close as you can get without having a uterus.
Don't get me wrong, I love the guinness, I just executed my consumption poorly. The moral of this story is don't drink guinness if you're with a lot of Americans, talking about orthodontic perversions, or ball punching. I hope you all take this very important lesson to heart, and I'll be back with more wisdom soon.
Love ya.
P.S. here's a picture of the alley way you have to go down to get to the pub. I think they hid it on purpose.
I didn't get punched in the balls yay! And they didn't do a tequila shot, double yay! :)
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