Portraits, Scones, and an Oxford Comma (London, Part 3)
Discoveries Beyond the Guidebook: Art, History, and Connection
What’s the best souvenir you’ve ever collected—not an object, but an experience? Share the moments that made your journey unforgettable!
I’ll go first…
If you missed them, catch up on the first parts of this epic once-in-a-lifetime trip where my mother and I overcame obstacles to meet in England and both realized one of our dreams. For the third act of our trip to London (and then I’ll stop, I promise), I want to share with you a few more of the places we visited that were new experiences for both of us.
After the Heathrow electrical issues upset our original agenda, Mom and I agreed that we probably needed to forgo the day trip we had planned to Oxford, despite the fact that we both wanted to go and had never been. I’m a huge fan of Deborah Harkness’ All Soul’s Trilogy (which is actually now five books…come on six!) and Mom has watched all of Inspector Morse on BritBox, so we were both eager to see places to which our favorite stories have transported us.
Thanks to my incessant walking we covered more ground than expected—literally, Mom made her step goal for the next few months—and, rather than spending an afternoon shopping for things we didn’t need, we decided to go up to Oxford after all. Our half-day trip flew by in a whirl of wonder; you could spend a whole four years there and barely scratch the surface of all the chapels, quadrangles, museums, and history there.
We booked a walking tour led by Oxford students so the guides have a special interest in showing off their school…and insider knowledge about how things work. Our guide’s area of study was medieval history so he opened by narrating the city’s role as a home for learning through the centuries as well as explaining the long-standing rivalry with Cambridge—did you know that if you apply to one, the other won’t even consider you? Imagine the scandal if Oxford were discovered picking up Cambridge’s rejects!
If you’re alternatively inclined, there are plenty of options that focus on locations from Harry Potter because Oxford is also a little bit Hogwarts.
Most US universities are divided into subunits, usually schools or colleges; however, they’re not necessarily independent units and generally form around a discipline. By contrast, Oxford’s colleges are self-contained and semi-autonomous with the oldest more than 700! Students express a preference when applying, but there’s a mysterious ritual that I imagine is some combination of the NCAA draft and the sorting hat in order to determine which college a student will be invited to join. More than just a division of the university, your college serves as a hub where you eat your meals (including the occasional formal dinner), offers dormitories (with a porter keeping tabs on who comes and goes), and can be petitioned for special requests (like the Persian Language classes our guide needed).
While not possible to visit all of them (both because of how long it would take and the fact that many aren’t open to visitors), our tour took us through Trinity College, the Divinity School, the Bodleian Library, and the Radcliffe Camera before Mom and I wandered off to explore New College on our own. I desperately wanted to visit All Souls, but the gate is as far as you can go unless you’ve won several Nobel prizes or become a living saint…
Even without the wizard robes, Oxford is a magical place to explore, though Mom and I did wonder what it might be like to attend classes there. First of all, there are the logistics of a campus spread across the city—our guide’s college was twenty minutes away and he said he rarely goes for meals, let alone trying to live there. Secondly, we were one of scores of tour groups moving from spot to spot to gawk at everything, a headache for anyone who might be running late.
, can you confirm?I went to a very small liberal arts college in the middle of Iowa where walking for twenty minutes would take you to outskirts of town towards the interstate or deeper into the corn fields. William and I went back last spring and though it has grown, it’s still tiny by comparison. Mine also wasn’t a campus people go out of their way to visit…and the ones who do aren’t coming to see architecture. I imagine it would be a strikingly different experience with thousands of tourists snapping photos and blocking your way when doing the walk of shame.
On the other hand, they get to say they studied at Oxford, so…
The following day, back in London, Mom and I made a visit to the museums on Trafalgar Square. I’d been inside both but not dedicated more than a few minutes to the highlights, so it was my first time to actually experience them. Delighted to spend longer with the National Gallery’s impressionist collection, what stood out to me was how many groups of schoolchildren there were, each tasked with trying to recreate a picture on their own. Remembering how frustrating I found them at the Tower in 2008, it’s some measure of comfort that I now see their presence as charming. Even though pre-teens remain obnoxious and their snickering can rattle even the most confident of adults, at least they are going to museums!
In contrast to most other museums I have visited, the National Portrait Gallery deliberately narrates the twists and turns of the nation’s history exclusively through images of people. You’ll find no landscapes, only faces…though a great many are white men. Of course there’s the crowd-drawing collection of Tudor & Elizabethan portraits (believe me, you’ll recognize at least a few of them), but I found the evolution of portraiture as an art form to be utterly fascinating when observed moving through the halls. Faces once lacking in perspective morph slowly until they’re captured through photographic and post-modern lenses, to say nothing of the evolution of fashion and style.
To account for all the walking we had done both inside and out, we took time to sit outside on one of the gorgeous spring days that graced our time there (a huge gift for the woman who traveled from Minnesota). Each full of Londoners and visitors alike eagerly soaking up the sunshine, we enjoyed watching the world go by while relaxing to the sounds of the city muted by the rushing water of the fountains.
After the National Gallery, we sat in Trafalgar Square where retired banker overheard our accents and chatted us up, asking about our feelings on the news coming from the US. He was glad to hear that the headlines get it wrong about how many people are in favor of what’s happening—and heartily encouraged us to carry on to the Portrait Gallery.
After our second museum of the day, we visited Leicester Square where statues of Mary Poppins, Paddington, and William Shakespeare surround a fountain that dances, sending up streams of water to ever-varying heights…and making for a big change from the last time William and I were there and it had been transformed into a Christmas market.
The last event on our calendar was a scone-making workshop. We had the most divine ones during our holiday in Scotland and Mom has been eager to understand the art ever since. Donning the provided aprons and gloves, we learned why Victorians began adding milk to their tea and whether you should start with clotted cream or jam while we mixed, kneaded, and shaped our dough using the pre-measured ingredients (trust me, that’s important). I didn’t know that scones are originally Scottish but it makes sense of why they were so good there…and has me wondering if
has ever made a visit to the namesake town?We drank endless cups of tea while the dynamic instructor helped us avoid the pitfalls: don’t let your butter get warm (just like buttermilk biscuits) and (for the ten year old at the table) remember that they’re hot when they come out of the oven. At the end, we were each given a certificate celebrating our excellence in the art of scone making (and a recipe on the back) which now hangs in my Den Haag kitchen. I also learned the same company has a sister workshop in Amsterdam that teaches traditional Dutch treat-making…
A large part of why I’ve been so diligent in recording every aspect of this particular “vacation” is because of what it meant to me to be able to go on it at all. As I said in the other parts, I wanted this experience much more than I wanted to have more inheritance later on and writing about it helps me commit more of it to memory. I realize these may not be giving as much to you, the reader; however, to that end, I did put together a London-inspired playlist to take you on a journey of your own.
What I didn’t talk about in these posts was the wonderful conversations my mom and I had along the way. Besides the incredible food we enjoyed at Namaste (Indian), Sophie’s (Italian), and Comptoir Libanais (Lebanese) among others, what stands out is the time we got to spend across the table from one another. At most of the family occasions that brought us together in recent years, one—if not both—of us was cooking and/or entertaining the littlest members. Absent those distractions, I am forever grateful for the chance to talk about what we’d seen each day, strengthen our bond by healing parts of our shared past, and making plans for a future trip where we can bring everyone in the family…though we agreed we should consider somewhere that comes with a chef.
All too often, vacations are a momentary respite from the onslaught of our day-to-day routine and we’re barely able to unwind enough to enjoy ourselves before it is back to our regular grind. Since my life is neither winding nor grinding me at the moment, I was able to be present in a way that I haven’t been around my mother in I don’t know how long. Knowing a great many do not, I know I am fortunate to have the good relationship with her that I do, and this trip gave me gifts well beyond riches in the form of a shared experience.
Back home in The Hague, I attempted to follow the scone recipe; however, the first time all I made was a mess, the doughy handprint on my bag of flour explaining why the workshop gives everyone gloves. Having only bought wet measuring cups (hey, I’m still new to Europe) it didn’t occur to me until later that the relative densities means 125 grams of flour takes up a lot more volume than fits in my little stainless steel 1 dL measure.
Look, I’m a writer for a reason…
A delicious way to start the weekend, I have declared Scone Saturdays so I can keep trying…and sharing photos of the results with Mom. While I have no intention of clotting my own cream—save yourself twelve hours and mix Greek yogurt with honey, sacrilegious though it may be—I did invest in a set of proper dry measuring cups. 🤞
Thank you for reading! Indie creatives like me rely on your likes, comments, and shares to reach new readers who love expat memoirs, serialized mysteries, and thought-provoking fiction. Your engagement makes all the difference!
Show your support by purchasing the Algorithm of Life novels 🧬 a gripping dystopian sci-fi series that exposes corrupt oligarchs, corporate-controlled governments, and the battle for autonomy in a future shaped by AI-driven power.
Hi Gillian! Loved this piece, I've not been to Oxford in a long time so it was great reading about your experience. As for Scone, I have indeed been and recently wrote a piece about Scone Palace and the Stone of Destiny - I'll share this with you! :)
Love Scone Saturdays!