After the moot was over, I made my way back to London for a few days. The new “Oxford Tube” bus was very convenient and it was easy to find my way to the “Arthur Tattersall House” where I’d be spending the next two nights. These are University Rooms….the best bargain in the city and usually quite adequate and comfortable. Usually.

I was given a key to my room by a young man in the office. Just a key, no fob or holder, with my room number taped onto it. 3rd floor. No elevator. And in England, the 3rd floor is three flights up, as the bottom is the “ground floor.” One flight, two flight…and then the third flight were these ridiculously narrow, steep stairs, like the kind you’d have for an attic. It WAS the attic, compete with sloping floors, a tiny window and a musty air. No matter. I stripped out of my clothes and lay on the bed in just my t-shirt.

(I didn’t take any actual pictures of my room because it was just too depressing! The floor did have a kitchen and the shower worked…except you had to keep pushing the button every 20 seconds or so to keep the water flowing.)

A few minutes later, there was a knock at my door. A voice outside told me that I “had the wrong key.” Kind of annoyed, I responded that my key worked fine. Then I got concerned and called the front desk. They had given me the wrong room, the young man said, but it was fine. Ten minutes later, another knock on my door. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist and opened the door. There as the same young man, holding a clipboard and looking very apologetic. He told me that I had signed in the wrong place and held out the paper. No, I responded. That’s my signature, right there, next to my typewritten name, right there. He looked confused and even more apologetic. Fine, fine, he mumbled and left.

My room was right near Regent Park and it turned out there was “Opera in the Park” that night…”The Barber of Seville.” I walked the mile or so through the park to where the stage was. Like most of Landon’s parks, it was full of flowers and very pretty.

It was basically an amateur production, but full of great enthusiasm and energy. People had brought picnics and chairs…sort of like a mini-Tanglewood.

They had some chairs available but I hadn’t brought any food and at the intermission I was cold and hungry. I meandered out to the other side of the park and found a decent looking pizza place, where I inhaled a very delicious margarita pizza and a glass of Chianti.

I took the tube back to my garret, schlepped up the stairs and fell into bed.

The next day I did something I had never done in all the time I lived in London – I took the open-top bus tour around the city. The weather was decent for once and it was nice to simply sit and listen to the commentary as the city went by.

That afternoon, I had arranged to “hold court” at Browns in Covent Garden. I’d posted my times on Facebook and was hoping some friends from my London days might be able to join me. I was thrilled to reconnect with Mark and Fay from my time at ACS and Wendy, another message board friend! I hadn’t seen Fay in more than 10 years! Philippa came, too -she was one of the Oxford Mooters. I bought a round of drinks for everyone and we had some food and some great conversation.

Philippa and I had tickets to see “Crazy for You,” the Gershwin show playing just a few blocks down on Drury Lane. (Yes, of “muffin man” fame.) It was such a fun show – fantastic songs and dancing and a cute little lot. A perfect ending to my time in the UK.

I’m planning another trip next summer!

More than 20 years ago, a group of total strangers decided to meet in Oxford in the UK to celebrate their common interest in Tolkien and The Lord of the Rings. I say “total strangers” but in fact, these people had been conversing for a while through an on-line message-board called TORC.

Everyone had an alias and everyone had opinions about…well, everything. The gathering was called a “moot” from an old English word meaning “meet” and one used by Tolkien to describe the great meeting of the Ents.

I wasn’t at that very first Oxford Moot, but two years later, after I had joined TORC as “JewelSong” and begun sharing my own opinions and ideas, I ventured to Oxford for the first time.

That was a HUGE moot, if I recall. Almost 50 people…none whom I had ever met before, all whom I already knew by their posts and screen-names. I was definitely one of the older group members at the time. However, I have never felt more welcomed and included in my life. It felt like I had “found my people” and that feeling has remained.

For a while, we had a yearly Oxford Moot as well as smaller moots both in the UK and the USA. There were relationships, engagements, marriages, children and divorces. Friendships were forged and flourished. There were feuds and fractures. The original message-board underwent several iterations and there were even spin-off message-boards. Somehow, people stayed in touch.

Our original accommodation in Oxford also changed. We used to stay at this rather…odd…hostel/dorm called “The Mitre” which had its own peculiar charm. And it was cheap! But it closed, so we switched to the more upscale Keble College dorms, which were a bit better organized. They also served a complete breakfast in the incredible dining hall, which looks like it came straight out of Harry Potter.

The yearly moots stopped for a while and with COVID, nobody was doing any traveling anyway. Life was happening, everyone was busy, the movies were 20+ years in the past and Facebook had replaced the message-boards of old. And yet…there was still a longing for those simpler moots where a bunch of us sat in a pub for hours, enjoying a pint or three and the company of other Tolkien geeks.

This year, a member of the original Moot (known on the boards as Hobbituk) decided it was time. He was 17 years old at that first moot and this year (during the moot!) he turned a respectable 39. (And we got him a cake too!) He and another original member (known as Niniel*) organized our “reunion” and we had a marvelous time. More than 25 “Mooters” showed up. We talked, we drank, we made jokes, we toasted absent friends. And yes, we often still refer to each other by our “message-board names.”

My own children often kid me about my Tolkien fandom. But I am absolutely serious when I say, “Thank God for Tolkien!” Here’s to many more moots!

I had a decent breakfast at the Ferryman and headed off onto the path. I’d planned a shorter day walking to Eynsham. Again, there was supposed to be rain around noon, so I had an alternative plan involving a bus. I walked down the road until I saw the sign for the Thames Path. At this point, the path veered away from the Thames. It looked like more walking in fields was in store.

There were sheep. Many sheep. Most looked freshly sheared. They didn’t much like me walking through their field and they baa-ed at me and sullenly let me pass. The “path” was basically a semi-mowed line in the field. The grass was wet and squishy. And there was plenty of sheep shit which I was not able to avoid completely.

When I wasn’t dodging sheep-shit, I admired the wild flowers and the river. The sun glinted on the water and it really was beautiful.

Finally the Thames appeared once again and the path became more of…well…a PATH. I was approaching Pinkham Lock. Like the other locks, it was beautifully kept. I sat on a bench and watched several boats go through, including a bunch of canoes! The sun was out and it felt good to put my feet up.

I continued on to the road crossing and, as predicted, the sky was darkening. Plus, I was tired of walking. I walked down the road to the bus stop and took the bus into Eynsham.

My inn, the White Hart, was just down the road. I love the little alleyways and lanes in England. Unlike what might be the case in the states, the lanes have character. And everyone’s backyard (or back garden) was full of flowers.

I found The White Hart, but it wasn’t open yet. The back gate was open and I met Tracey, the owner. She couldn’t have been nicer, despite my extreme early arrival. She brought me tea on a tray and said my room was almost ready. And when I asked her where I could find a laundry, she offered to wash my clothes for me! She even gave me a rack to dry them on!

I had a little rest and then took a walk around the village. Had a couple of pints at a local pub, sat outside and did a bit of knitting. Grabbed some excellent Indian food for dinner. Finished a pretty terrible romance novel. 🙄

Tomorrow I’ll take the bus to Oxford. I’m kinda done with walking for now.

Today I would do most of my walking through “Chimney Meadows” a beautiful nature reserve full of birds and flowers. Jo dropped me off right at the Path and I stepped off into the field. The weather was predicted to be partly cloudy until noon, when the rain would start in earnest. I had 6 miles to walk until I got to the pub in Newbridge – at my normal 2mph pace, I should just make it!

The path went right by the river and soon I came to the sign announcing the meadows. The walking was a bit easier than the previous day, with the path being more packed dirt and less grass. It was quite peaceful.

I saw quite a few of these short, squat stone buildings, some having slits for windows. I found out later that they were “pillboxes” constructed during WWII and used for fortifications. There are more than 1200 still in existence, scattered around England.

Now the path had turned back to grass. I was looking for a resting spot…and suddenly saw this cute little building up ahead. It was a mini-bird-blind, with benches and windows inside! I sat for a much needed break and had my snack and a drink.

I was making good time (for me) but the weather was getting damper and my shoes were already sopped. Up ahead, where the path continue along the winding river, the map showed a short cut across the field. Not heeding Frodo’s words (“Short cuts make long delays,”) I determined to avail myself of it.

I slogged across the field only to find….a barbed wire fence! Wait, there was a gate at the end. Nope, it was private property. But there was a climbing stile (not the one in the picture…similar but mine had a barbed wire fence over it!) I hoisted myself over but there was no path on the other side. I could SEE the blasted river up ahead. I bush-whacked my way through reeds and tall grass until I pushed my way out into another field and the actual path.

Now it had started to rain steadily… but I only had about half mile to go. Slog, slog, slog…I could hear a road up ahead! Squish, squish, squish…I could see a bridge and the pub! Stomp, stomp, stomp…I was at the Waybush – a warm and modern pub with ales and food!

I had a spectacular venison pie with mashed potatoes and fresh veggies on the side. I took off my wet shoes and socks, put on my sandals and called a taxi to take me to “The Ferryman.” I got charged an exorbitant rate because he was “coming from Oxford.” 🙄

The Ferryman is an old inn, which used to have an actual chain ferry across the Thames. The rooms have all been modernized. Mine was large and had a view over the river. The sun came out later in the afternoon and I sat outside and had a glass of Merlot and did some knitting. They served a decent dinner and there’s breakfast in the morning.

With the prospect of steady rain all day and the knowledge that the one possible stopping point on the way to Lechlade was closed, I decided to seek alternative transportation. I thought a taxi would be quickest, and I got a couple of recommendations from the coffee shop where I had breakfast (and a giant latte. 😁)

The “most reliable” taxi service didn’t pick up the phone or answer their text. The other two had “no taxis available.” Uber was a bust. So I determined to take the bus…which was cheap, but involved a rather circuitous route.

However, it was comfortable, on time and I got to see some of the countryside. When I got to Lechlade, my hotel “The Swan” was right around the corner from the bus stop.

The rooms were up a flight of ancient stairs. All the rooms had names. Mine was called “The Fox” and had the tiniest shower stall I’d ever seen…but the water was hot and the spray was sufficient. The beds were comfortable with plenty of pillows and there were extra outlets for charging devices.

I had dinner at a local Indian place and then walked around for a bit. The rain had let up and the sun was peeking through, which boded well for my walk tomorrow.

I ended up at a local pub called “The Crown” and got myself a wee dram of excellent Scotch, a peaty single-malt called “Laphroaig.” Some locals at the bar were in a deep philosophical discussion, but they greeted me, welcomed me to England and one of them bought me another drink!

The next morning was cool and sunny and who should I bump into at breakfast but Ester, from a couple of days ago!

Once more the “path” was mostly grass, which made walking difficult. You couldn’t really stride along like you could on packed dirt. I could feel my legs starting to ache.

There were a couple of locks along the way and many boats and moorings. The locks were beautifully kept with flowers and plantings. I didn’t get to see any boats go through, though!

At one point, the path ran alongside an electric fence for quite a ways. I could see the gate at the end with the Thames Path logo on it…but when I got there, I discovered I was on the WRONG side of the electric fence! This was not good. I didn’t relish walking all the way back to the beginning. I touched the fence gingerly – there was a small buzz going through. Maybe there was a low enough spot where I could sort of…jump over? Maybe I could squeeze through where the gate joined?

I had a close look at the pole by the gate and there it was…an “off” switch. I turned it and there was no more buzz. I found a low spot and rather ignominiously hurled myself over to the “right” side. Then I turned the fence back on. Go, me.

By now, my legs were really hurting. I needed a bench or a stump or something to plunk my tired self on. Again, unlike the Camino, there are very few built-in resting spots along the way. Finally I came to someone’s (probably private) mooring spot. There was no one around, but there was a table and chairs and I gratefully took advantage. I took off my shoes and put my feet up. The path had widened out into something more like a dirt road.

My planned stop, the Olde Swan Hotel, was only about a mile ahead. (Lots of hotels named for Swans, apparently.) I was feeling pretty pooped by then. I thought I’d see if it was possible to get a ride to my BnB after I ate. Seems like my limit with a pack is about 7 – 8 miles. Good to know!

I ordered myself a pint of cask ale and a “Ploughman’s” lunch. (Which was amazing!) It was a very pleasant pub and I was able to book a taxi to arrive in a couple of hours…time up enjoy my lunch and relax.

But, when I told Jo, the owner of my BnB, about my plans, she offered to come get me! She showed up about an hour later along with her daughter. We drove through the little village of Brampton, which is where they shot many scenes from “Downton Abbey.” And now I’m ensconced in an idyllic farmhouse with doves and other birds singing, chickens being all chicken-y and a cuppa tea.

Tomorrow, Jo said she’d bring me down to the Tadpole Bridge where the Thames Path meets Buckland Road. I’ll walk as far as Newbridge, where there are several pubs. That’ll be a little more than 6 miles. If I feel up to it, I’ll continue to Bablock Hythe, where I’ve got a room booked at The Ferryman. If I’m totally wiped, I’ll finagle a ride…or take a bus. And after that, my last two days are about 6 miles each. Slow and steady.