One thing on my bucket list is to take salsa dance lessons. And the reason has to do with my inability to let loose and let go and well…not be me. This image of myself as being more English than the English was pretty much reinforced when I took the opportunity to take my first lesson. It’s like when I learned to tap. I tried so hard to express myself on stage. I exaggerated every arm movement. I forced myself to emote. And when I looked at the video of those performances, I realized I am just a stiff-armed, stiff-legged, smiling stick figure! The important things, though, are that I tried salsa and that I learned something about promoting art in the community and tackling homelessness in the process.

Oxford is a fantastic place for experiencing any of the arts. Any day of the week it is easy to find some exhibit, performance, reading, or movie to attend. Last week Brasenose College hosted its annual art week. Plays at the Oxford Playhouse range from propaganda aimed at saving the NHS to the 17^th century ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore. There are readings at Blackwell’s Bookshop. Any type of music performance is available daily. Visual art is widely represented. So, it makes sense that community arts have a place to flourish and that creativity isn’t just available to those with homes and stable mental health.

The city has quite a vibrant street performance culture. I have yet to see a human statue, although there is a bunny who spins on a bike filling Cornmarket with bubbles. The regulars include a fire juggler, a contortionist, and several musicians. One morning I watched a fiddler on a tightrope. On another afternoon a tyrannosaurus terrorized the crowd. The rules for buskers are strict and numerous. They must have a license to perform. They cannot stay in one place for more than an hour and there are designated places where street performers are allowed to set up. There are noise restrictions (no bagpipes, for instance) and they cannot ask for donations.

But it is impossible to navigate many of the main streets without being approached by someone asking for money. It doesn’t appear that there is much done to move these people along, because I pass the same people in the same places every day. There is a man who claims the sidewalk in front of Marks & Spencer. He is a fixture on a blanket accompanied by his dog. He might be selling the Big Issue, but most times he seems to just hang out. It is easy to give money to a performer, yet difficult when someone claims to be hungry or homeless. Is it a scam or are they truly in need? The city launched the Your Kindness Could Kill campaign, encouraging locals to give money to organizations rather than beggars, noting that it contributes to the problem of homelessness and it discourages those with addiction and mental health problems to get the help they need. It is hard to keep tourists and visitors or even students from giving money. Oxford participates in another initiative, No Second Night Out, which aims to find accommodations for rough sleepers.

Oxford, like other cities, does have a very visible homeless population. The statistics for homelessness are a bit complicated with classifications of rough sleepers, non-statutory homeless, and statutory (those people the authorities are required to help find housing for). Sometimes it is hard to tell who is actually homeless when you are in a very popular tourist destination, but they gather near St. Giles churchyard or around the monument to the martyrs as darkness falls. There’s a group of men with their dogs that hang out regularly near the Thames in Christ Church Meadow. There is a larger concern for sixteen and seventeen year old teens who have been kicked out of their family homes. This is the population the charities and city hope to get off the streets and into a stable environment.

Arts at the Old Fire Station, is an organization that promotes new works by budding performers, writers, and artists and provides space for community dance classes, as well as a gallery and a shop to sell original artwork. There’s a theater for regular performances. That’s where the salsa class is held.

The building is also occupied by Crisis, a charity that aims to help the homeless interact with the community and provides resources and job-training. It runs the Skylight Café which gives on-the-job training for people and provides another place for the homeless to participate in the community. The café also acts as a gallery to showcase artist’s work. Besides sharing the building with Crisis Skylight, the arts enterprise partners with the homeless organization by providing opportunities for ushers and backstage help. In 2013, writers and performers, including those from the homeless community, collaborated on a piece called “Hidden Spires”. I suppose the Old Fire Station is much like a YMCA, but instead of a swimming pool and karate classes, it focuses on art-based community projects. Arts at the Old Fire Station and Crisis Skylight are dedicated to:

• Great art for the public
• Professional development of artists
• Building the confidence and skills of homeless people

This enterprise is in its infant stages, but it seems to be gaining a solid hold in the area near Gloucester Green. If the attendance for the Zumba class and the Salsa class are any indication of support from the community, then Arts at the Old Fire Station will meet its mission statement.

How does this relate to the Oxford community? It was a varied group of people attending the salsa class. When asked about themselves, they seemed a bit surprised at my questions. One young man, ‘H’, stated, “I’m from Oxford.” Each time I asked, he gave me the same answer. His friend, ‘M’, said he had just joined the working professional class of Oxford. A woman came from a suburb of Oxford, because she liked the drop-in aspect of the class. The ages of the participants ranged from 20 to 65. But the language of dance united everyone. I suppose that is what brings students, immigrants, locals and even tourists together – the urge to learn something new or see what it’s about. And for people who might feel a bit isolated in their regular lives, salsa provides that human contact in an arm around the waist, holding hands, a chance to look into someone’s eyes. You learn someone’s name. The morning after my first lesson, I rode my bike up to Wolvercote Cemetery. In the middle of a busy road, on the pedestrian island, I bumped into a woman I had met the night before in the salsa class. Arts in the community makes a difference.

I plan on dropping in on another class. Even though I may never learn to swing my hips, locking eyes with my partner after a twirl…well, let’s say, it’s worth another lesson.

The great thing about the rain here is that when it stops, the sun SHINES! Nothing says Spring like a stroll along the Thames on a bright morning in May. Two of my favorite places near the river, Port Meadow and the Christ Church Meadow, are areas open to the public. They both provide those tell-tale signs of the end of winter – baby ducks, yellow and blue flowers, punters on the river, and the promise of a warm touch of the sun when the crisp breeze stills for a moment. But the one thing that can make or break the experience is an animal associated with the peaceful English landscape. I’m talking about those daft, lumbering cows we see when we are nostalgic and dreaming about the “simple” life. It turns out that I am a bit afraid of cows.

Christ Church Meadow is bounded by the River Thames (also known here as the Isis) and the River Cherwell. From the entrance off St. Aldates, a wide path takes a visitor past the Meadow Building and Merton College to the north and the meadow to the south. It is difficult to appreciate the meadow without following the wider path for a ways until it forks with one branch leading to Rose Lane via the Botanic Gardens and the other following the Cherwell until it meets the Thames. The narrow, serpentine flow of the Cherwell accommodates those wishing to meander along its waters in paddleboats and punts.

 

 

 

The rowers take to the Thames where they glide around tour boats, punts, houseboats, and the odd kayaker.

 

There is a tree-lined path where glimpses of the meadow appear between trees. It is through these windows that the full expanse of the meadow can be seen. The easy walk along the river hides the distance covered over the shady path, so when the path begins to turn to meet up with the Thames, the expanse of the meadow, at least for me, is a surprise when Christ Church Cathedral and Merton College are viewed from that point.

 

The meadow is fenced, and within the barrier, long horned cattle graze near the New Walk, the wooded path leading from the Meadows Building to the Thames near Folly Bridge and the place in the river where the rowers turn their boats around. The best feature of Christ Church Meadow is that fence. The herd is contained. They munch the green grasses near the walkway, doing what cows are supposed to do. A cow’s purpose is to add to the ambiance of the pastoral scene. The passersby may stop and view the scene, but there is no requirement or expectation to interact with the beasts.

This is not the case in Port Meadow, because sometime in the 10^th century, Alfred the Great rewarded the Freemen of Oxford with free grazing rights on this land and then someone wrote it down in 1086 in the Domesday Book. The Domesday Book holds the results of the land survey undertaken by William the Conqueror. To be fair, this arrangement is responsible for the preservation of Port Meadow. There are artifacts and medieval peoples buried in the soggy earth of Port Meadow where no excavation or development has disturbed them, because it has not been plowed since Alfred bequeathed the land to the Freemen.

Much of Port Meadow is a flood plain. In a cold winter, the water freezes solid enough for ice skating. Someone told me that he didn’t worry too much about breaking through the ice, because drowning is unlikely with the amount of water on the meadow. I’ve seen photos of people skating on Port Meadow and it looks awesome! But I am here in the spring, a time of intermittent flooding and rain. However, to experience a dry, sunny day on Port Meadow in early May is to experience spring at its finest. I was lucky to find such a day.

My mid-morning walk began at the entrance near The Trout, a pub on Godstow Rd. On the opposite side of the river, there is a path that winds past the ruins of the Godstow Abbey. Legend and modern accounts tell of May Day mornings when, as the sun rises, spectral singing can be heard from the abbey. Unfortunately, I had to choose between the Hymnus Eucharisticus sung from Magdalen College tower or the abbey on May Day. Since I went to Magdalen Bridge, I cannot attest to the ghostly chorus in Godstow.

After the abbey, the path leads past the lock into the fields where cows and horses graze. It is most important to remember to shut the gates along the way. This keeps the cows in their rightful place. The walk is pleasant and quite tranquil at times. About half-way from the Trout, there is a path that leads to The Perch, another oldish pub and a welcome place for lunch or a drink. This junction is where I had my encounter with the mad cows.

My walk began, as most do on a life-is-worth-living day like that, with a thoughtful gaze at the abbey. I then admired the goslings and ducklings as they ventured out onto the banks of the Thames. Rowers practiced alongside the tour boats and kayaks.                                                                                        Rabbit families hopped beside me as I walked. When I stopped they stood frozen on the meadow or scurried their young into the bushes. The grass glowed with white and purple spring flowers. Bees buzzed. Birds sang. You get the picture. On a normal day I would add the picture of cows lolling about in the field, content with their life on the meadow. Those cows have lost their status in this picture of an English countryside.

If you do an internet search with the questions “Are cows dangerous?” or “Do cows kill people?,” the answer likely will include a statistic that tells you that a cow is more dangerous than a shark. The number most often given for cow attack victims is around 100 in the U.S. every year compared to the latest, global number of fatalities from shark attacks. This claim is a bit suspect because it does not take into account the number of human to animal encounters. I imagine if the same number of people that encounter cows encountered sharks, then sharks would beat out cows in the statistics. I must say, though, that I have been in the water somewhere near-ish a Tiger shark and it did not attack me. (See this link for a scary shark photo  http://www.thomaspeschak.com/kayak-great-white-sharks-/  ) I cannot say the same for a certain cow.

The plan was to drop by The Perch for lunch. Just a few yards from the gate, a mother cow, who had been grazing near the river, charged at me as I walked past her and her calf. I retreated, waited a while and tried the long way around her, but she charged again. Other than running, I have no idea how to handle an aggressive cow. Another walker joined me (he knows about cows). While we waited to see if she might leave, the rest of the herd decided to try and escape through the closed gate. They reminded me of a Gary Larson cartoon as they bunched up against the gate to nowhere. While the others jostled for position, the mother cow took sentry duty and bleated her non-stop warning. My new friend knew enough not to challenge a mother who was much bigger and faster than us. We went back the way we came.

Port Meadow is ruined for me now. What if she is just waiting to jump out at me the next time I enter her turf? What if I now have a cow stalker? One morning I will wake to find her leaning against the lamppost with cigarette butts scattered around her hooves.