The Best of Birthdays

Yesterday was a day that I will not soon forget. Though I experienced a fabulous evening prior to and an amazing day of surprises a week following my birthday last fall, September 24, 2007 was perhaps the best of birthdays thus far. It was all that a 21st birthday ought to be (though far from what a 21st birthday “typically” is). In order to cement this day of days into my memory I will be relating it in detail. I hope you enjoy vicariously sharing the day with me.

I woke surprisingly early (6.00) due, perhaps, to excitement or possibly to my new room arrangement. I was a bit restless so went for an early walk in the mist, which soon turned to rain. After a wet and refreshing jaunt and dance around the block I threw my sweatshirt in the dryer and proceeded to some journaling. Breakfast was fresh-baked cinnamon bread (courtesy of my floormates Megan, Carri and Laura), British strawberries, and french-press coffee (courtesy of Pearson). I got some work done and set off through the park toward class with Pearson. Following a little work in the library I enjoyed a chicken salad and waited for my companions to return home.

There’s something very rebellious about taking a trip to London in the middle of the day while all your classmates hit the libraries and work on their essays. There is a lot to be said for doing things simply because “I’m in Oxford, and I can.” So I did. At 2.30 Alicia, Bethany and I headed for the ATM and the bus station. By the time we’d hoofed our way to the other end of town (passing the bag pipe player and the sidewalk artist) I regretted my decision to wear the impractical yet stylish boots I purchased last week. As we walked on I soon realized I wasn’t going to make it, what with one of my toenails cutting into its neighboring toe. Not sure where we were (or where we were going rather), we detoured to Primark (high selection, questionable quality, but low prices) to pick up a pair of (also impractical, but more comfortable) white flats. We did happen upon the bus station in time, boarded for London and made our way to the front row of the top floor of the bus. Boots off, camera flashing (and a slight desire to grab the rail in front of me as though I were on a roller coaster), I was ready for the rest of my special day. I watched the hills pass by covered in trees, speckled with sheep and glazed by the sun as it began an early decent. The day was a beautiful one.

It was about an hour into our journey that my outlook changed. The “Oxford tube,” which is actually a bus, referred to as a coach, and neither underground nor fast as the subway system tends to be, usually takes about 1.45 hours to get to London. Due to what I assume was a rather nasty accident, coupled with rush hour traffic, our trip was 3.00 hours long, putting us in London (hungry and in desperate need of tickets for a 19.30 show) at 18.30. My poor roommates had to endure my rather intense displeasure at this turn of events. Being at a standstill in three lanes of traffic with absolutely no control over your ETA is not pleasant for someone of my temperament. I couldn’t understand why, on my one special day, things must go awry. Having only recently realized the need to alter our plans, we missed getting off at the first stop. 20 agonizing minutes later we exchanged one dilemma for another. Two maps and two navigators and still we weren’t sure how to get to the tube station (by this point walking to the theater – and dinner in general – were out of the question). After becoming a little too well acquainted with oncoming cars we stood in line for our tube tickets and grabbed the train. Aside from the half dozen stops between Notting Hill Gate and Holborn it was smooth sailing (I thought).

We reached our final stop at 19.00, just in time to run to the theater and hope for last minute tickets. But fate had another surprise in store. I had paid 3 pounds for my one-way ticket, enough to travel but apparently not to get out. One pound and I’d be free, except for the fact that no one would help me (or the kind London-hater beside me). My roommates already on the other side of the gate I spent 10 minutes realizing why London’s tube employees are not know for being accommodating. Four of them directed me to the correct window, none would actually help me or let me through. But my advocate (the London-hater) and I were freed in due time.

Back to the problem of two maps that didn’t agree on how we should get to Drury Lane. Rather grateful that I had procured my white flats I literally ran down the streets (still not knowing where I was going) until we happened upon Fortune Theater. At 19.20 I offered a plea of desperation to the relaxed man in the box office. Three top-price tickets were procured (for half price nonetheless) for the 20.00 show – a half an hour to spare. Great sighs of relief filled the air. After a drink and bathroom break a thrilling show of The Woman in Black began. Our seats were great, and we even upgraded at intermission. I highly suggest checking it out at http://www.thewomaninblack.com/, not that you’ll all be in London anytime soon, nor would you experience the blood-curdling scream I let out at the climax.

Following the show three hungry girls were ready for drinks and appetizers, maybe coffee and dessert as well. With no destination in mind we decided to walk in the direction of the bus station. Before making it a block Bethany spied a corner bedecked with foliage and twinkle lights. A menu was posted outside so we decided to check it out. The garlic mushrooms and 28 pound wine list wasn’t all that appealing. Ready to leave we caught the eye of a charming Mediterranean doorman. “Why don’t you just come in and have a look?” he offered. Finding no harm in it, we opted to step inside and make our next decision. A mistake? Not at all. It was as though we had set foot in heaven (or possibly a pit of temptation, we hadn’t decided). (Check out Sarastro at http://www.sarastro-restaurant.com/indexfr.html)

An Asian waiter came up to us. “You watch out for him,” said the doorman. “Oh he is just jealous because I am so much more attractive” remarked the waiter. Their subtle banter was well received. “Table for…?” “Three” I replied. As we turned to follow the waiter the doorman remarked, “But I thought you were only going to have a look.” “We decided to take a long look,” I responded. Our waiter took us through paradise and into a gold draped booth complete with velor tablecloths and napkins, low lighting, reclining pillows and exquisite décor. “What are we celebrating?” he asked. “Her 21st birthday” responded Alicia. “Oh!” he said leaning over to embrace me, “may I kiss you?”

The evening only got better. After some brief discussion regarding how much we would have to pay for this elaborate experience the waiter returned. “What will you have to drink? The first drink is on the house.” On his recommendation we selected white wine. Along with our wine came bread, a plate of carrots and olives, and an amazing dipping creation. Realizing that we were young women from America, or perhaps just taken with our charm and beauty, our waiter played the whole night up for us, at one point asking, “When do you return to Oxford? The clubs are open until 7.00.” We proceeded to order a cheese platter and a dish of crème de brulee, being warned by our waitress that the platter was sizable. She came back with sesame bread twists, a red pepper, tomato and enough cheese to feed at least four people. Sometime after we’d been quite satisfied another waiter came up to us carrying a large, very large, fruit platter, “compliments of your Asian friend.” We were speechless and giddy at the same time. “I don’t feel like I should touch it or they’re going to charge us for it,” Bethany kept saying, but touch it we did. The forbidden fruit was fabulous. Knowing there was no way we could finish the platter (and not wanting our new friend to think us ungrateful), we slipped it into my purse piece by piece.

Most satisfied with the night and the meal, we asked for the check. Sure enough we were charged 9.50 (5 pounds for the cheese, 4.50 for the dessert). Amazing! Wanting to slip away before we were charged more (or asked what happened to the whole pineapple on the table), we made our exit. Our Asian friend followed us, “No, no, don’t go please.” He was too slow. With 4 oranges, 6 apples, 2 bananas and a whole pineapple along for the ride, we trapsed down the streets of London. An enjoyable conversation about boyfriends and dating experiences, interrupted by the occasional “hey ladies” and other catcalls from construction workers and club-seekers, filled the long walk to the bus stop. “We totally just got hit on several times, we should go out more often.”

The same murmuring and rather foreign bus driver that had brought us to London took us back to Oxford. We arrived around 2, and began making the walk home, but not without “Can I ask you a question? Really, I’m not a bad guy,” from a local out with his friends and a “Hey sexy” from someone working on getting his car jumped. Most of the fruit platter made it home (with one banana as a casualty). After checking facebook and accepting birthday wishes from my family it was time for bed.

Pictures of the excursion can be found here:http://s231.photobucket.com/albums/ee265/akuehn/21st%20Birthday/?start=all

Enjoy