After a few weeks in a strange place-and England is, indeed, a strange place-it’s inevitable that one will seek out something reminiscent of home. Being an American, the first place I looked for such a thing was on television. However, after learning that one of the most popular shows in the country is “Big Brother”-not surprising considering this country leads the world in terms of closed circuit TV surveillance-I decided that I had to look elsewhere. After all, I’m used to intelligent, engaging shows, such as “Deal or No Deal,” “24” and “The O’Reilly Factor.”
Oxford is surely one of the most cosmopolitan places in the world. Even in my short time here, I’ve met people from at least a dozen countries, and I’ve been to restaurants offering delicacies from every continent. Certainly, such a place would have something iconic, something quintessentially American, for me to enjoy after a hard day of 63 hours crammed into a torch-lit niche at the library. Luckily, I didn’t have to go far to find what I was looking for: McDonalds.
People here are keenly aware of the fact that the U.S. and Great Britain are basically family, though the U.S. is rambunctious, plays music until the wee hours of morning and has the bad habit of pantsing countries it dislikes. I’ve seen on many occasions a very deep and encouraging warmth from Britons toward me and my American colleagues. It was certainly in this spirit of camaraderie that the British made sure I would have easy access to the national cuisine, knowing as they do that I come from a land where beef is square, chicken is round and fish are sticks.
The British have even gone so far as to place the entire collection of American chain restaurants within 40 feet of each other-or thirteen yards, or .059 furlongs or whatever it is they say here. On Cornmarket Street, known colloquially to many members of the study abroad program as America Town, you can dine at Kentucky Fried Chicken, McDonalds and Burger King without ever being more than nominally aware that you are not in the U.S., provided you avert your eyes from some of Oxford’s oldest buildings on the other side of the street.
I know that right now, some of the more diplomatic in the audience are wondering if I’ve been clinging too hard to American institutions. I would like to assure you that when driving here, I do use the right side of the street. And yes, I have already sampled much of the local fare, such as shepherd’s pie (made from actual shepherds) and fish and chips. The ‘fish’ in fish and chips, it should be mentioned, is the entire fish, which is a welcome change from American chains such as Long John Silver’s and Captain D’s, where your square of aqua-meat has actually been derived from 17 fish, two ostriches, a small kangaroo and an insurance salesman.
For those who are wondering, as I’m sure many of you are, the British have actually managed to accomplish something in the art of fast food that Americans never have: namely, it’s edible. Never before in my life have I tasted such relatively good fast food. I suspect this is due to an apparent moratorium on grease. Britain’s conscientious mindset extends into every aspect of life: all their food products are even more carefully and clearly labeled than in the U.S. Their major appliances tell you how much noise they should be making and how much electricity they will use in a year, and many of their cigarette packets say simply, “Smoking will kill you.” They are not joking around.
The only place where the British apparently break with this orientation toward detail is in their road system. As far as I can tell, there is no such thing as jaywalking in Britain. You can cross the street at practically any conceivable point, forcing drivers to simultaneously drive as if on the Autobahn and yet develop much deeper instincts about meandering pedestrians than in other countries, slamming to a halt at an instant’s notice in response to things going on several blocks away.
We are now entering week three of eight here at Oxford, and my access to the University libraries comes to an end on March 17. My housemates and I are already planning a grand, continent-spanning adventure, during which-with any luck-I will finally get to see Sweden. Just before leaving the States, I told everyone that I planned to do the Richard Nixon ‘victory’ sign in front of various landmarks in Europe. Under the circumstances, though, I might end up doing it in front of every McDonalds.