Ahh, the Thames. In the midwest it would hardly be called a river. At its widest spot near Oxford it is half the Iowa river at its narrowest. It is a stream compared to the Mississippi. But here it is so tied to the culture that you can't get a feel for Oxford without spending time near it. Famous for punting upon during summer, rowing all year long, host to an independent houseboat culture, inspiration for Lewis Carroll's Alice. Fondly called the Isis. Slow and picturesque and historic and accessible.
We rode today from The center of Oxford along the Thames towpath to the Isis Tavern for beans on toast, cider, scones and tea. Just past the Isis boat house and the stretch with all the rowers practicing, and today racing. Watch out for the coaches riding bikes down the path blindly calling to their boats. If you don't get out of the way one of you will end up in the river as the path is directly on the water. There is a boat hanging from the ceiling with blue christmas tree lights. The ceiling and walls are patchy and water damaged. There is a wood burning stove in one corner an
d a fireplace in the other. The bar is in the middle and wooden tables and couches line the walls. The rug is red and patterned. It is cold inside, unless you are by the fire, which we were lucky enough to be.
The scones are huge and delicious. Buttery and full of currents and served with the fruitiest jam and thick cream.
The toast is an inch thick and baked in house. The beans are bland compared to american baked beans, but are topped with grated cheddar cheese--real cheddar cheese, which is not orange like the american version. The woman sitting next to us was reading the last Harry Potter book. I whispered this to Pav and we started talking. She'd seen the movie last night and got Scott and I all excited to see it. She is from South Carolina and quickly became our friend. It helped that Pav introduced herself as Delilah. By the time we were ready to leave she had climbed into her lap.
It is unfortunate that the Isis Tavern was so comfortable. The day seemed very cold and grey once we set out south once again. The path soon left the river for a meadow along train tracks complete with cows.
Then onto roads in countryside that made you wonder how we could be so close to bustely Oxford. Through a couple neighborhoods the English would call villages (one even had a post office in a house--very metropolitan) and then back onto muddy, leaf covered bike path through woods which led us straight to a wonderful playground on the edge of Abingdon. We would have liked to explore this historic market town--it looked picturesque and non-touristy--but it was already starting to get dark. We turned back and were soon riding in the dark. Wet leaves and mud made this tricky, as did the frequent cow guards on the meadow section and the tricky gates they are fond using to keep motorized vehicles off the bike paths. I dumped my bike twice, with Pav strapped in her seat on the back. Once in the mud (managed to keep her out of it, but not my purse), and once sliding dramatically downhill on wet leaves into a bush. Eeek! Poor kid. She was a trooper, but the second crash wore her out and she was soon a sleeping, floppy dead weight making it even harder to balance. Once she woke up she was thoroughly chilled and shivery. I worried that her first long bike ride here in England would turn her off the experience for good, but a warm bath and hot chocolate soon made her forget her discomfort. Also, a bunch of young folk on their way to the Isis left a trail of glow sticks along the towpath (a trail to follow home, Hansel and Gretel style?). Pav was tickled. We collected a couple for her to take home as souvenirs (hopefully no one lost their way because of this). Next time: north on the tow path to Blenheim Palace. Maybe on a warmer, drier day--if there ever is one!
