Khoa Le
Side Trip
“Drink! Drink!” she said.
Spoon in hand, I stared down at the glass and marveled at the liquid’s
emerald green perfection. You
know, they say that ”Vincent van Gogh had drunk one too many glasses of the
hallucinogenic absinthe when he cut off his ear and gave it to a prostitute.“
(Mondello).
“Looks
like anti-freeze,” I said.
She
smiled and repeated, “Drink! Drink!”
The
night had been a haze. We had been
to what seemed like every hot bar and club in Paris. Charlie, my roommate back at the University of Texas, had
wandered off with a Spanish girl a few hours earlier. I wasn’t worried.
I knew he’d stumble his way back to the hostel sooner or later. It was after he left that I met her at
Le Boom, the dance club down the street from the bar we were now sitting
in. She was a French girl, real
tall, with dark hair, a slender build, and gorgeous, full European lips. You don’t find women like that back
home in the states. She barely
knew a word of English, and I barely knew a lick of French, but somehow we just
clicked. I took my spoon and
hovered it over the glass. She
placed the sugar cube onto the spoon and dropped six parts of chilled water
over it and into the glass. That
was the customary way to drink absinthe in France.
She
took the spoon from me and smiled as I raised the glass. I gently kissed the rim, tilted my head
back and allowed the magical green liqueur to enter my body. “Tastes like licorice,” I said. I could tell she had no idea what I had
just said, but she threw her arms around me and kissed me with those full
European lips. Charlie had warned
me about this stuff. He had told
me that a few of his fraternity brothers had gone to Nice last year, and after
buying a few bottles of absinthe, they spent the night running around town in
the buff only to wake up in the drunk tank at a French prison the next
morning. I had even heard stories
of people going blind from the drink, but at this moment in time, I didn’t care.
I
picked up the spoon with my left hand, and with my right, I waved at the
bartender. I raised my eyebrows,
threw up two fingers, and pointed down at my empty glass. By the fourth glass, or maybe it was
the fifth, I don’t really remember, I was lost in a sea of laughter and
color. And then it suddenly
stopped, and everything began to fade to black. My body went numb, and judging from the sounds around me, I
could sense that I was on the floor.
As I lay there, my last thought was, “Had I really gone blind?”
I
felt a gust of wind and then a lot of little, cold stinging sensations across
my face. I took a deep breath of
the crisp air. My whole body was
wet, and as another gust of wind blew by, I realized that I was cold. It was the middle of June, and yet I
was cold! Where was I? I opened my eyes and found myself
laying on a stone slab in front of a large wooden door. In front of me was a blanket of
white. I stood up as another cold
gust of air blew by me, and I realized that the cold stinging sensations I had
felt earlier were snowflakes!
I turned around to examine the building I was in front of and was
surprised to see a castle behind me!
I glanced upwards and read the words, “Domi Mina Nus Tio Illu Mea.” “What the hell!” I said to myself. I reached into my jeans to fish out my English-French dictionary, but
couldn’t find it. I must have lost
it at one of the bars. I glanced
back up and noticed a crest featuring a happy-looking bull. “Huh, sorta looks like Bevo,” I thought
to myself and was reminded of UT.
Campus back home in Austin looked nothing like this. Sure it has little details here and
there, but the castle in front of me was in a league of its own. Judging by the changefulness of it all,
the jaggedness of the steeples, the lack of symmetry, and the ornate details, I
assumed that the building was built in a Gothic fashion. As I stood there in front of the
castle, I heard the sounds of footsteps trudging through the snow. Finally! I would be able to find some answers. I turned around and spotted a fellow
wearing the strangest thing. He
appeared to be wearing a dress-like outfit over tight pants. “Stupid French, they’re so feminine,” I
said under my breath. Regardless,
I was happy to see somebody. I
could finally get some answers about the bizarre change in weather.
“Bon
jour!” I shouted. “Bon jour!”
The
fellow responded, “I’m sorry, I do not speak French. I did however see a couple of French students down that
way.” He pointed off in the
distance with his left hand. I was
ecstatic! Not only had I found somebody,
I had found somebody who spoke English!
“You
speak English! You speak
English! Man, am I glad to see
you! Where the hell am I?” I
asked.
“Are
you feeling right? You do not know where you are?” I shook my head. “Look around you! You are in Oxford!”
I
laughed and asked him a couple more times where I really was, and when he had
finally convinced me, I let out a barrage of four-letter words. I was so distraught that when I had
found out that the date was February 10, 1355, I could not help but laugh. I needed a drink.
I
looked at the young Brit and asked him where I could find one. Coincidentally, he was heading to a
local drinking hole called Swyndlestock Tavern to celebrate a local holiday,
St. Scholastica Day. It was a bit
of a walk to get to the tavern that was located next to Carfax Tower, but I
didn’t mind it. I was used to
walking long distances back home in Austin. I explained to him how it would take me 30 minutes to walk
from one class to another at UT, and how as a freshman I felt so lost and
insignificant due to the sheer size of my campus. Judging from his reaction, I could tell he must have thought
I was a crazy storyteller of some kind, so I decided to shut my mouth and ask him
questions. I learned that he was a
student at Oxford and that he was attending the newest college there, Queen’s
college, which was founded in 1341 by the queen’s chaplain, Robert Eglesfield.
(Lambert). He also warned me to try to lay low when we arrived at the bar
because the students, or the “gown,” as he referred to them, had been in
conflict with the town for over a century, and that riots were quite frequent
in the area. I thought to myself,
“The only time we would have a riot at UT is probably if the football team won
the national championship. Fat chance!”
However, I did recall a professor in the English department once telling
me that the fountain and the trees in the west mall of campus were actually
placed there to break up the size of some of the mobs that would form
there. It was a mechanism to fight
the potential for riots. I guess
the people who were responsible for UT’s architecture knew what they were
doing.
We
arrived at the tavern and heard shouting coming from inside. We asked a couple of students standing
outside what was going on, and they informed us that a couple of the gowns were
going at it with the town again.
Apparently one of the students inside had accused the innkeeper inside
of serving them “indifferent wine.”
I found it amusing that those words would amount to “fightin’ words”
over here, but my amusement was short-lived.
As
the bells of Carfax Tower, or St. Martin’s Church as they called it rang, I saw
the looks on the students faces turn to fear. I asked the Brit what was going on, and he responded,
“They’re calling for help.
Quickly, back to the college!”
Apparently, the bells were used by
the townspeople to call for backup.
From out of nowhere, people began appearing with various weapons. I watched as an arrow flew and landed 5
feet from where I was standing. We
were definitely not welcome here.
As I ran, I could hear the angry mob chasing behind me yelling, “Havoc!
Havoc! Smyt fast, give gode knocks!”
Then, I heard the ringing of bells from the other direction.
“It’s the bells of St. Mary’s! The Chancellor is calling upon the
students to defend!” the Brit shouted back at me. I was horrified.
Defend what? All I wanted
to do was find somewhere to hide out.
We made it back to the university and were greeted by hundreds of
scholars equipped with bows and arrows.
I had lost my British companion, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to take part in
this. I ran through the campus
until I found a small ditch I could hide in. I figured dying of hypothermia would be better than dying of
a fatal flesh wound. Like a little
girl, I crawled into the ditch and watched as the townspeople engulfed the
university. I watched as they
beat, injured, and even killed some of the students in their mission to tear
apart the school.
Horrified, I closed my eyes and began
to think of home. The roars of the
mob took me back to the roars of the crowds at the football games. I remembered how quiet the rest of
campus got during those Saturdays.
I remembered the soft green lawns on campus on which I slept on before
class. And though I didn’t like
how large the campus was at first, I now had an appreciation for it because it
felt like home. I remembered the
unique architecture of campus, and how it looked like an eclectic mix of all
architectural styles, as if it didn’t fit in a single category. And again, it felt like home to
me. And as I opened my eyes to
this new foreign place, these unfamiliar Gothic buildings, and these unfamiliar
people, I suddenly began to feel sick.
I sunk back into the hole.
Closed my eyes, and I woke up.
I reached into my pocket, felt around, and there it was: my
English-French dictionary.
Word Count: 1858
WORKS CITED
A Brief History of Oxford University. 17 February 2004
<http://www.ox.ac.uk/aboutoxford/history.shtml>.
Lambert, Tim. A Short History of Oxford University. 16 February 2004
<http://www.geocities.com/localhistories/oxuni.html>.
Mondello, Larry. “Catching the Green Fairy.” Maxim. August, 2003.
Oxford General. 18 February 2004
<http://www.graduate.8m.com/uk/oxford/general.htm>.
Oxford University. 17 February 2004
<http://www.oxfordinscriptions.com/oxford_university.htm>.
Oxford Wikipedia. 16 February 2004 <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxford>.
Ross, David. Medieval Oxford History. 16 February 2004
<http://www.britainexpress.com/cities/oxford/medieval-oxford.htm>.