Right at the bottom of the Botanic Garden, past the walled garden, beyond the water lily pond, and the lawns, there are two benches sitting side by side. Being an introvert, my automatic reaction was to question why two benches would possibly be right next to each other in such a large garden. But now I’ve changed my mind.
As an avid library user, the week-long 30 degree heat was getting to me, so I took to studying – albeit not very productively – in a shady spot of either my college garden, or the Botanic Garden. Last Wednesday, I decided to make the most of my Bod Card privileges and head down to Magdalen Bridge. It was one in the afternoon when I arrived, the sun at its height, and, unsurprisingly, every bench that wasn’t hit by a blast of unforgiving heat had been taken. So, you can imagine how grateful I was to find not only one bench but two, nestled at the back of the garden with a view onto the Magdalen tower.
I settled down, taking out my laptop and notes to make some flashcards on Rousseau, when an elderly couple sat down next to me. I must’ve looked particularly performative, because the lady laughed and commented that I looked like I had a lot of work to do. I really did, but I was very glad to procrastinate further with a fifteen minute natter about their grandchildren’s PhDs, the fact we both come from the Midlands, how I’m finding my degree, and what they were doing in Oxford for the day.
This may be an unpopular opinion, but I love the tourists here. Obviously, they can be annoying when they block the pavements and you’re rushing to get to a lecture. I’m also not defending how invasive some can be (my college wife was once asked by a tourist to be in a photo with her). But there’s something lovely about the fact that all these people save a lot of money and spend their precious holiday leave to have a glimpse into the life we have every day.
I particularly love people-watching in the Botanic Garden, with all the families and their tottering toddlers milling about and enjoying themselves – in a way, it feels far more normal than our daily routine.
This elderly couple had come down from Coventry just for the day, but they knew Oxford well, because the woman’s brother had gone to Lincoln in the sixties. It really made me hope that I’ll also be visiting Oxford again in my eighties, and reminiscing over my time spent here. The couple then left to continue making their way around the garden, with the lady telling me that I really reminded her of her granddaughter – so it seems like I made as much of an impression on her as she did on me.
Soon enough, I had a second visitor, this time an elderly man with a cane. We didn’t speak to each other, but sat in silence, and I suppose in each other’s company. It made me wonder what his story was, where he came from, did he come here often. He seemed perfectly content, and once he’d had a chance to cool down and rest, he continued on his way.
My final visitors were two middle-aged women, good friends, who were also seeking refuge from the sun. It was as if they hadn’t noticed I was there, because they had an hour long chat there about their teenage children being teenagers, their pets suffering from the heat, and their husbands not helping out enough in the house. I must admit, I also really appreciated their gossip about how “strange” the daughter of another mum from church is.
Ordinarily, I would’ve found this unceasing conversation irritating when trying to work (yes, I get annoyed when I go to a public place that isn’t a library and, shockingly, people are talking to each other). But I really loved it today, because of just how normal it was. It’s been a good six weeks since I’ve last seen my parents, and since I’ve lived in a family setting, with the usual chatter, and nagging, and homeliness.
This time I was the one who left, because I’d somehow completed my flashcards and had a tute to get to. But in those two hours there, I truly felt like I’d touched some grass, physically and metaphorically. There’s so much more to life than just this university and this degree, no matter how engulfing it can feel.
Tourists and families in Oxford are normal people just like us, with hopes, concerns, and summer plans. As an introvert who didn’t start a conversation with any of these people, I’d be a hypocrite to say that you should start talking to the next person you see in the street. But getting out of the bounds of the university – even just for a bit – really puts everything into perspective. Our time here is such a tiny proportion of our entire lives, and even if every mediocre essay, every tutorial that goes badly, and every collection feels like the end of the world, it doesn’t have to be. Maybe in 60 years’ time, I’ll come back to this bench and remember the good bits instead.