My one and so far only visit to the United Kingdom was over spring break in March 1995. I was working in a one-year teaching assistantship in suburban Paris and decided to take the bus over to London and become reacquainted with my native language again for a while. I only had a week, but no matter--I couldn't have afforded to stay longer in any case.

This was before the Channel Tunnel, so our bus actually boarded a ferry at Calais and everyone got out to stretch their legs for a few hours. Then the white cliffs of Dover were before us, and British customs officials were asking to see our passports.

My entire budget for the trip was something like a couple of hundred pounds, so I spent the first night at a dilapidated little hotel near Victoria Station. In fittingly British fashion, though the place did not even provide hot water, all guests were served tea in the morning. I fared somewhat better after that by seeking out youth hostels, where due to the low volume of travel that time of year I usually had a room to myself--as well as considerably better luck with regard to hot water.

I wanted to take the train out to Oxford but had to settle for the bus. The legendary campus was steeped in the studious atmosphere one would expect, but as with my visit to Harvard a few years before, there was little that I as an outsider could get in to see. The highlight of this day trip was when I got to see one of the rowing teams heading at full clip down the Thames.

Back in London, I actually got to visit an amazing variety of places, including the British Museum, the Barbican Center, the National Portrait Gallery and even the Old Bailey, where a criminal trial was in progress. My favorite experience, though, had to be arriving at the Houses of Parliament late one evening drenched from the downpour outside, and being conducted to a session of the House of Lords by surprisingly polite attendants who affected not to notice my sodden attire.