Once Upon a Thanksgiving in Oxford

My senior of year of college, I made the rather strange choice of spending a semester abroad in England. Two years prior, I had spent a year teaching in Bangkok, and I was itching for international travel and one last adventure before graduation and the unknown. I didn’t have a boyfriend or job to keep me fettered to small town Washington, so off I went.

In August I flew to Heathrow. By chance, I sat one row ahead of another study abroad student flying to England for the same program as me. The other passengers let us switch seats so we could chat on the flight over. It was awesome. We had so much in common: drama, writing, Shakespeare! It got even better when we landed and found fellow CMRS students waiting for the same shuttle that would take us to Oxford. We all had so much to talk about: why did we come to England? What were we studying? It was so fantastic to be with people with similar interests. And we were so, so excited as the bus drove by the green rolling hills. Could it be possible English sheep were cuter than our American sheep? The stone houses, the quaint tiny towns and the beautiful cathedrals. We were soaking it in and we had just arrived.

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