Michel ma Belle

I checked out of my hotel, leaving my big bag with them for an overnight excursion to Mont Saint-Michel. This is not the easiest place to get to, requiring a taxi, then a train, then a car,  then a shuttle bus. The train was clean, fast and well equipped with a dining car, wifi and reclining seats. I didn’t need the dining car- any one that knows me will know I was at the station a good hour before boarding, and if you know me VERY well, you’ll know I had pre-scoped out the food offerings to find the best breakfast option. 

All the transport went smoothly and in no time at all I was stepping off the shuttle on to the causeway to the most breathtaking sight. 

Unlike most of the over edited, over instagrammed tourist destinations, this is the real deal. It rises out of the flat expanse of the bay, medieval buildings piled improbably on top of one another with the abbey at the summit, a vast sweep of sand and sea stretching out on either side.

Once inside the walls there are a maze of narrow cobbled streets and stone buildings, all winding their way around and upwards towards the abbey. 

The route is steep, but there are plenty of distractions along the way, a hodge-podge of craft shops, tourist offerings and restaurants. I managed to acquire two berets and a pair of gloves as well as eat lunch and down a glass of champagne for energy on the way up. I needed it as the climb to the abbey is something of an undertaking. Google tells me there are around 350 steps from the entrance to the Mount to the top, but it felt like far more. Sometimes you go down, just to go up again. There is a reasonable stream of tourists coming along behind, so there was some Dory-like “just keep climbing “ going on in my head. 

The abbey itself is spectacular, full of gothic halls, little chapels, and courtyards, with the occasional glimpse of the bay showing just how high you have climbed. The cloister is particularly beautiful and feels incredibly peaceful and quiet. The light, the sound of the wind, the salty air and the architecture combine to make something magical. It seems like everyone there feels it - the chatter of the tourists dies away in this space. 

I sat inside the church at the top, taking on the soaring ceilings and the light pouring in, and lit a candle for Jason before moving on to the scriptorium and the crypts. The building is a rabbit warren of small narrow stair cases which open out into large halls. It’s hard not to consider the sheer determination involved in building such a place here. There is a large 3D model that you can walk around, and the practical planner in me is wondering about managing food and waste, and all the tricky logistics involved both then and now. Later on in the tour there is a giant wooden wheel with a sled attached, used, I understand, to haul food up to the building. I’ve included a picture of the fibre arts display, a project to produce textile maps of the bay made with local wool, dyed with local flora. 

A basic but hearty dinner next to the fire was all I could manage before falling into bed in an equally basic room. There are no fancy accommodations here, and I’ve picked the best of two options. Three long flights of steep stairs, a bathroom with questionable plumbing and a thankfully comfortable bed. 

Paris Privé

Breakfast in Paris will be my undoing. The croissants are fantastic. I understand it’s something to do with the way the wheat is milled, but whatever the reason, the buttery flaky goodness is hard to resist. After this treat, plus a hot chocolate and an “anti aging” strawberry juice, I rolled out of the breakfast room to meet my driver, Ben.

Ben and I spent three hours together in his gorgeous vintage Citroen DS, driving around Paris The car garners huge attention and I’m likely in many hundreds of strangers’ photographs. Every time we stop, by the time I wander back to the car there is a small crowd of admirers asking Ben questions, taking photos and oohing and ahhing. We drove through both the main thoroughfares and the little winding backstreets, with a running commentary of historical and contemporary tidbits of information. I didn’t know that Pariscwas called the city of light because of the electrification of the streets, or that the Latin quarter was from speaking Latin at the Universities, not to the ethnicity of the area’s residents. 

 Ben finally dropped me off at the unmarked entrance to a private club, Cercle de l’union Interalliee, where I was meeting a friend for lunch. Neither of us had been there before, but I have reciprocal rights from home and it looked interesting. Wikapedia tells me that the clubhouse is widely regarded as one of the most beautiful if not the most prestigious in France. Perhaps this results in a certain, ah, attitude from the reception team. My friend was wearing what was technically a sneaker, but made of tan suede and without a sport shoe sole. Unacceptable apparently- said with a French sneer that belonged in a fifties black and white movie. If he had a moustache, he would have twirled it. Luckily, they had “loan” boots in an appropriate size. Chagrined, we effected the shoe change and slunk into the bar, which was a beautiful room with friendly staff. I note that I was ALSO wearing sneakers but I had rather long pants on that made it less apparent. I pulled the pants right down on my waist so they covered the shoes, hanging on carefully to make sure they didn’t take a further trip south. The food was excellent and they had my favourite champagne as the house drop. Full of Pepper beef rump and cauliflower puree, we swapped the shoes back and giggled our way out the door. I had a snoozy evening, hopefully putting an end to the time zone confusion. 

Non, je ne regrette rien.

Although my original plans were disrupted by the Paris riots, I’ve reorganised, rebooked and ensconced myself in a comfy seat on a plane, to wing my way to Paris. It’s a long way, but I enjoy the quiet time of travel. I like the enforced stillness, the absence of internet, the anonymity of travelling amongst strangers and the small portions of surprisingly good food that appear at regular intervals. All of the Oxford travel pushed me into Platinum One status with Qantas. This brings some small privileges when travelling - little luxuries to ease the journey, such as a day spa appointment in Sydney, priority for showers in the Singapore First lounge, roped off dining areas and the good champagne. I also take the opportunity to watch all the movies that you never bother to see at the cinemas. Super girl, The Devil Wears Prada 2 and the gorgeously feel-good Sheep Detectives. Consequently, after a very long journey I’ve landed at Charles de Gaulle at 6am in good shape. The air is crisp and there is a drizzle of rain. Looking out the window of my hotel room, it is a quintessentially Parisian view. 

I spent the morning wandering the streets and the covered passageways. 

Paris is looking a little grim, with boarded up windows and a lot of graffiti. Walking through the city, there is not a working ATM to be found and many businesses are closed in anticipation of trouble following the scheduled protest today. The boarding up has three levels- fancy metal mesh for the spendthrifts, particle board for the cheapskates, and particle board painted back for the middle of the range. It’s a weird socioeconomic class system with unknown origins, although the paintwork suggests that Parisian aesthetics remain important even in a crisis.

I’m feeling a little anxious that I may have placed myself in the middle of some trouble, but the hotel is next to the American Embassy and accordingly there is a high police presence at either end of the street. 

I was completely prepared to stay in at the hotel for the evening, but the concierge said it was quiet outside so I headed off to my evening event. I’d booked a ticket to a musical performance at Musée Jacquemart-André. It started with a private viewing of a Tintoretto exhibit before continuing the evening with a condensed version of La Traviata. Performed by three singers and three musicians, it was an intimate performance that went from room to room in the gorgeous 19th century mansion. The audience were treated as the guests at the various parties in the story (complete with a glass  of champagne) and the music was performed right in amongst us. It was a beautiful setting, wonderful music and very fun to be part of the performance. A long day but a good one, and I’m feeling exhausted but very glad I decided to continue with the trip, despite the disruption.

Great Expectations

 The big day….

Getting dressed in my academic finery took longer than I expected. The outfit under the gown is prescriptive. It’s called “sub fusc” and involves covering up every inch of skin in a long sleeved white shirt, long skirt and black stockings. Over that goes the gown, the hat and a ridiculous black velvet bow around my neck . The boys get a bow tie.  Clearly the ribbon is some effort to dress up the females but I look somewhat like a six year old from the seventies.  My poor family is  also dressed up in full formal glory. I appreciate the tradition, but black academic robes or blazers and ties in the middle of a heatwave require more commitment  than even signing up for the course in the first place. 

As we made our way from the hotel to the venue, I felt a little conspicuous in my gear, lots of tourists looking and smiling. Random people kept saying “congratulations”. 

The Sheldonian Theatre itself (designed by the ever present Christopher Wren), is a breathtaking building. A very fancy, special place for a graduation ceremony. The ceremony was really nice - shortish speeches, a vocal quartet , some handshaking and we were out in the sunshine for the obligatory photos and hat throwing.

While we were sitting in the ceremony, I had some reflection time. Forty nine people put in time and money and effort to learn something new. Why? What were we hoping to achieve and now we are at the end of this chapter, did we achieve it? 

I had applied for the “view from the room” speech to be given at the ceremony. I didn’t get the gig, but my draft speech had been largely about these questions, via a metaphor.

Hic Sunt Dracones. Here be dragons. 

This phrase appeared on old maps, warnings inked on to the edges of the known world. Beyond this point - uncertainty, danger, mystery, things not yet understood. For me this is an appropriate metaphor for my Organisational Leadership course in so many ways. 

The first dragon for me was the fear of not knowing. Adult learning asks established, competent people to become beginners again. I’m used to being the person with the answers,  and all of a sudden I have none. I don’t know what good looks like. There is something uniquely humbling about getting a mark on a paper I’ve spent weeks crafting. 

The next dragons were the ideas themselves. How to tackle ambiguity, paradox and change. And while we wrestled with new complex ideas inside Oxford, outside the walls the world continued shifting beneath our feet. We studied change while living through it. Technology reshaped industries faster than organisations could adapt. AI challenged how we work and how we made decisions. Political systems fractured. Social expectations evolved. The pace of change accelerated while our certainty diminished. 

Which brings me back to the metaphor. Old maps no longer work. In order to lead in today’s world we need to be able to navigate when the existing map fails . Navigate into the unknown places marked by dragons. 

But… dragons are also symbols of power, wisdom and guardianship over treasure. 

So did I achieve what I wanted from this chapter of my life? I think so. I learned to fly over terrain I once found intimidating. To tolerate ambiguity. To ask better questions. To challenge assumptions (including my own). 

Finally, I’ve also gained some self belief. I looked at the edge of map, at the place marked “here be dragons”. I read those words and was willing to walk there. 

And I didn’t walk alone - there is a cohort of others, now friends who walked with me. We all arrived at Oxford with different expectations, but we all leave with something shared, an experience that built a support network that will last well beyond the course. 

Hot in the City

We breakfasted late on Thursday, at an Indian restaurant. Bottomless chai and a range of tasty breakfast items with an Indian slant - I had a cooked-to-order naan wrapped around a sausage with cream cheese and chilli jam. Spicy, messy and delicious. 

Fortified by breakfast, we wandered towards the  Weston Library for a bird exhibit and then the Natural History Museum. Our progress was slowed by a detour through the Bodleian Library gift shop. I am incapable of passing a bookshop or museum gift shop without at least having a look, and the Bodleian gift shop is particularly dangerous. My suitcase is getting heavier! The Natural history museum is home to the only surviving Dodo- it’s only the head part and completely desiccated, and not on display, but they make quite a big deal about it. Possibly to increase sales of Dodo gift shop items, of which there are many. 

It reached 33 degrees in the afternoon . The pavement and walls in the largely treeless city centre radiate every last degree of heat back at you. Self-preservation trumped exploration so we stopped sightseeing altogether and retreated to the rooftop bar for a cold drink and a rousing game of cards. This was followed by snacks and drinks on my terrace as the evening slowly cooled. There are certainly more productive ways to spend a day in Oxford, but at this temperature they are difficult to imagine. I am hoping this is the peak of the heatwave. When shopping for snacks we found some “interesting” food and drink items. KFC serves baked beans with one of their meals, and Pepsi has a wide range of flavour options- banana chocolate anone?  

Friday was largely the same, with a trip to the Asmolean Museum around the corner from our hotel. I have a bit of museum fatigue, but there are fantastic Egyptian, Greek and Roman  exhibits here. One of my favourites was a statue painted with historically accurate colours. It looks garish and weird as we are so used to seeing white marble statues. I forgot to take a photo! King Charles is in town today for the opening of something or other and we had to wait to cross the road while his limo went by. 

We had been walking past a Sicilian sourdough pizza restaurant all week, and opening day was today, so we dropped in for lunch. The focaccia sandwiches were delicious but the shop has some kinks to iron out with service - the English staff couldn’t figure out the Italian names on the digital till, and my white wine was served at room temperature. Very full after lunch, we repeated the terrace snacks and drinks plan for dinner, this time with a new card game. It’s a relaxing way to spend the evening. The terrace is on the top floor, and sounds drift up from Oxford - pealing church bells after a wedding at Magdalen chapel, chatter and laughter from schoolchildren on an excursion, and the cool tunes from a trumpet player, busking in the street. I’ve included photos of my mother and I waving to each other between my terrace and the St Michael’s tower down the road . It’s the oldest structure in Oxford. 

I know big graduation ceremony is tomorrow, but I’m over the heat and actually looking forward to going home more. No doubt once I’m home, I’ll be complaining about the cold….. 

I’m Still Standing

I’ve been on four different Oxford walking tours now, as they tend to include a tour as part of the education experience. You would think I would have exhausted both the city and my enthusiasm by now, but Oxford always seems to have another story or a different viewpoint to disclose. I wanted my family to get as much storytelling and history as possible, so booked a three hour walking tour. It sounded like a good idea when I booked, but at that time the heat wave was not a factor. 

Today’s guide was an English/history masters student who was clever and entertaining. A very solid base of knowledge was delivered with humour and storytelling. By the end of the morning, we knew not only who built half of Oxford, but also who argued with whom, who rebelled against whom, and which bits had been set on fire. 

The tour took us inside both Trinity and Christchurch Colleges, each with its own personality. Trinity felt like a secret garden, with well kept lawns (keep off the grass!!) and small quadrangles of honey-coloured stone. Christ Church is far grander with a signposted audio tour and doormen in bowler hats. We did exit the Christchurch self guided tour very quickly, due to exhaustion and hunger. 

Oxford architecture is pretty spectacular - every building seems to have a tower or an elaborately carved doorway, usually accompanied by a story involving a bishop, a king or an exceptionally wealthy benefactor. Speaking of doorways, we stopped at the doorway to the pub where Tolkien and CS Lewis used to drink, and coincidentally it was the “cool doorway” my mother and I had photographed on our morning walk. Note the Aslan like door knocker and the Mr Tumnus sides. There is also a black lamppost right outside. 

We spent a surprising amount of time discussing Christopher Wren, who appears to have had a hand in just about everything in England. Just when I think I have escaped him, another guide points to a building and says, “this is by Christopher Wren.”

Our guide had a few tales of the long-running tensions between the university and the townspeople from the town’s inception through the development of the University. Interestingly, in chats to a few Oxford residents on this trip, there is still a clear distinction between the academic community and the non academic community, with a divide that clearly has existed for centuries. 

After some downtime in the aircon, we returned to the Bodleian Library for an evening tour. Our guide led us through the reading rooms, sharing stories of the benefactors and the extraordinary lengths the library goes to in preserving its collection. The oldest part of the library is from the 15th century. There is also a cool underground tunnel connecting two of the library buildings. I love libraries and this library is very special. Now that my course is finished, I no longer have access to the library unless I pay for a tour, a fact that makes me deeply unhappy. That being said, the crowds were gone, the spaces were quiet, and it was lovely to be back in the library. 

A much less stressful day than yesterday. Other than the ridiculous number of Campbell selfies which  I need to keep deleting from my phone, the only real challenges today were the heat and the sheer amount of walking. Oxford’s dreaming spires lose a their romance when viewed through a sheen of perspiration and aches and pains from standing and walking and climbing for several hours. To be fair, being tired from a long day of walking around Oxford is a rather fortunate problem to have. Good health and the ability to wander for hours are things I have largely taken for granted, yet they are gifts that can disappear far more quickly than one expects. Tired feet are a very small price to pay for the health and freedom to keep exploring.