The guerrilla guide to Oxford: See it as a student does

By Andrew Sutton, Globe Correspondent, 10/20/02

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OXFORD, England — In fall, Oxford is a delightful place to be. As I sit under a tree in the secluded quad of the university's oldest college, young actors meander across the lawn, pouring forth impassioned Shakespeare. A graying don, stripped to the waist, paces to and fro among the flowers. I am watching the university come to life after the long summer lull. This most romantic of institutions is where Hugh Grant first trod the boards, where Stephen Hawking mulled the history of time, and where Bill Clinton nurtured his taste for power (but didn't inhale).

The problem is, Oxford guards its delights jealously. In here, I bathe in an oasis of calm. Out there, at the height of tourist season, the streets heave with disgorged coachloads of visitors: Japanese trippers, stubbled Australian backpackers, and shrill schoolchildren all jostling for a look at this hallowed institution.

Most tourists go home with a cameraful of handsome buildings and a souvenir mug. But why stop there? Visit during term time, and with a few tips in the subtle art of subterfuge, you can push open the heavy oak doors with ease and slip unnoticed into the intriguing world of the Oxford student.

First lesson: Dress like a student. In Edwardian times, that meant regulation black suit, starched dress shirt, white bow tie, and academic gown. By 2002, future aristocrats are no longer marked out for due deference by a golden tassel on their "mortar board" caps, although we do still enjoy getting togged up in fancy dress (or military uniform) for exams. Oxford is a pretty cosmopolitan place nowadays, so for your disguise, choose anything from tweed jacket and cravat to ripped jeans and nose rings. Oxford throngs with American visiting students, so even your old Boston Red Sox sweatshirt will serve only to add a touch of Rhodes Scholar chic. But wear anything emblazoned with "Diana, Queen of Hearts," or bearing a large Harrods logo, and you're sure to be unmasked as an impostor before you can say Jiminy Cricket.

Passing as a student

Lectures start at 9 and take place in the grandly titled Examinations Schools, a magnificent building halfway down the High Street. Here, some of the world's finest minds expound to serried ranks of sleep-deprived students, so if your Shakespeare is shaky or your Pericles needs polishing, you've come to the right place. Avoid the rush by turning up on time and bag yourself a place in the front row. You can pick something that tickles your fancy from the array of electronic signboards in the entrance hall, or simply head down the echoing corridors until you spot a class that looks inviting. The most magnificent hall, on the second floor, is hung with full-size portraits of the dukes and maharajas who bestrode the town in former times.

Unlike most British universities, Oxford is made up of 39 autonomous colleges, each with a distinctive atmosphere and its own idiosyncrasies: When Parliament standardized British time to make railway timetables possible, Christ Church, Oxford's grandest college, refused to comply and stubbornly remains 5 minutes behind the rest of the country to this day. For their part, Merton students "reclaim" the one hour lost each fall when Daylight Saving Time ends by walking backward around their quad, chanting and drinking port.

If you choose to stay true to your new calling as a student, you will need to pick a college for one simple reason: lunch. While Oxford bristles with restaurants and sandwich bars, many students choose to eat "in hall." Don't expect top-notch nosh, but that's the price you pay for authenticity. Times vary, but show up around 12:30; most colleges take cash but not — officially at least — tourists.

As for afternoon diversions, Oxford is the last word in refinement. On a sunny day, stroll through the university's Botanic Gardens, opposite aristocratic Magdalen College. At daybreak on the first day of May, students, many of them dressed in black tie or outlandish outfits, throng in the street to hear the choristers of nearby Magdalen College School sing from the 15th-century bell tower. Before the police ended the practice a few years ago, more daring students would then celebrate by jumping from Magdalen Bridge into the river Cherwell below. To enjoy the river in a more sedate style, hire a punt (10 pounds, or $15 an hour, from beneath the bridge) and wobble off into the flow.

The university's many museums are also a wonderful way to spend a few hours. The most famous is the Ashmolean, which hit the headlines when thieves removed a $6 million Cezanne through a skylight in a daring heist at midnight on the eve of the millennium. The Pitt Rivers natural history museum opposite Keble is a good old-fashioned shrunken-heads-and-mummies cornucopia of delights, and well worth a visit.

When books are closed

The university's Bodleian library has also had its share of the headlines recently. Last summer its Divinity School was occupied for five days by students greased from head to toe in gold paint, protesting the introduction of tuition fees (previously an alien concept in the English idyll). Naturally, the sit-in was a very English affair: Students were led by the foreign secretary's son, since elected president of the student union, while the protests were marshaled by bowler-hatted University Police, who checked each protester's ID and then allowed bona fide students to leave and rejoin the occupation as they pleased.

As night draws on, for most students it's time to put away the books and head for the college bar. If it's a weekend, you may be in for a treat: the college "bop," where the cream of Britain's youth congregate to prove that scholastic excellence and liver sclerosis can quite happily coexist. The disco theme is likely to be something like "Childhood Heroes" or "The Bad Taste Bop," so look out for posters in corridors, then head to The Party Shop (near Jesus College) to pick up a false mustache or a French maid's outfit, or perhaps both if the occasion demands.

Once you are in, you have three options: a) attempt an English accent (this is guaranteed not to work), leaving you with b) claim to be an American Rhodes Scholar or a wayward philosophy don, or c) confess your misdemeanors and hope to be hailed as an arch-japester, rather than ejected. This may well depend on how successful you were with the French maid's outfit earlier.

The city is now a very safe one by American (and British) standards, but animosity between "town and gown" (locals and students) has a long history. The University of Cambridge, England's other ancient seat of learning, was founded by Oxford scholars fleeing riots that erupted in 1209 following the murder of a townswoman by students. Among the most formidable figures at Oxford today are the proctors, two academics charged with keeping discipline. They no longer prowl the streets after dark on the lookout for students without their gowns, and over the centuries they have softened their stance toward the unruly game of football. Nevertheless, Oxford University retains its ancient right to keep its own police force, the smallest in Britain with only two full-time officers. So, if your cunning disguises should fail, and you find yourself politely yet firmly escorted from that bop, I have just one request: Don't mention my name.

Andrew Sutton studies philosophy, politics, and economics at Balliol College, and last term edited Oxford's student newspaper, Cherwell.