After she partied all night and slept for about four hours, we made Corinne (aka Biceps McGee, the Jetlagged Wonder) row our sorry behinds on the Cherwell. Punting had long been one of our goals, but recent floods have made that difficult (read: impossible). So when we headed over to the dock, the lad attending us said that punting was not recommended. The next easiest option? A rowboat, of course. Between the current, the entire South Korean delegation to Oxford summer camp, and other assorted teenage yutzes (including the Spaniard paddling alone--I guess he thought it was a canoe--who did a very convincing Johnny-Depp-as-Captain-Jack-Sparrow), we had a tricky time staying out of the shoreline or the brambles. It was like they had set up an obstacle course called "try to avoid the thorn bushes."
Afterwards, we headed over to The Oxford Story to try to cheer up Chrissy with a ride. It is, apparently, the longest (slowest? most boring?) dark ride in Europe, and features plaster figurines (like "It's a Small World" without the animatronics, boats, music, or childlike delight). It was a twenty minute history of Oxford that we toured from moving "desks," the creak of which, as they chugged painfully up the coaster track, occasionally overwhelmed the tape recorded narration pumping into our headphones.
What a lark! What a plunge!
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