Sleepless in Cambridge

I am sleepless because I went to bed at about 4pm and after six hours, my body clock just said Get Up! 


There has to be some suffering for the privilege of flying across the world to spend three weeks in Cambridge at someone else's expense.

 Years ago in Sweden I stayed in a tiny en-suite hotel room right in the middle of Stockholm for about $100 US... super cheap. It was all stainless steel and pine, white linen that crackled with cleanliness.  It had a view of a solid brick wall that eliminated all natural light. Yet there were many well-designed creature comforts crammed into that immaculate little space. There were places for everything, mostly well hidden....which is in contrast to the room I am now staying in which has no room to hide anything It just lacks all the niceties of Swedish design. 



This is a British B&B. The loo is at an odd angle to make way for the handbasin but there is no where to hang the towels.  There is four inches of access space on one side of the bed, but you can get in by flopping and crawling in a very un-old-ladylike way.  There are four coathangers and the "chest" of drawers is about 10 inches wide and 15 inches high....teeny weeny. However it is warm, clean and quiet. It is also on the ground floor, which is a gift to my arthritic limbs.  Unlike efficient but sterile Sweden, this university city is a great place for slumming.  

 This city is a sacred space for any bibliophile who loves the baroque. I walked the high street today until my feet wanted to fall off. I should say, the lanes thereabouts. Ancient buildings take out the light and lean across the narrow cobble stoned lanes. The energy is Katoomba/Leura and Newtown to the power of 100. Street music and stalls, exotic shops, uniquely gros-tesque clothes, boots, jewelry, and food. 


The sensory feast for me was along the railings of the Catholic Cathedral where hundreds of flyers advertised baroque musical events: classical ensembles, choirs, operas, and even invitations to join in the singing of Brahms Requiem.  


The bookshops are doing  boom business, buzzing with dressed-down bibliophiles. Men wore leather elbowed jackets so shabby that they rival my husband's 40 years out Harris tweed.  The Victorian houses, probably student accommodation, have uncurtained bay windows so that you can look into wide rooms that are lined with books . Dining tables are  littered with academic activity. Even the Oxfam shop had many ancient books for sale, cheap, including a beautifully bound 1856 medical text stolen from a Cambridge College, the book plate still intact. I saw lots of first editions, including a Peter Pan brightly illustrated for about 200 pounds. They would want $1700 for that in Leura. I wish real books were not so heavy. I have 50 books with me (all digital).

Now I am hungry, having gone to bed early and dinner-less  because I felt like I had eaten too many (good) meals in 24 hours, courtesy of Qantas. Breakfast is only 7 hours away. I have two peppermints, some chewing gum and a tea bag. 

And then of course I have plenty to do. I am here to research and write. 

 My laptop contains one finished book, two incomplete books, four journal articles nearing completion, one mammoth report that needs tweaking...and on and on it goes. I write therefore I am.

Cambridge is a lovely place to write, because I can guarantee that none of the students here will disturb me. My own students are getting an Out of Office reply. Yippee. This is my first non-teaching semester in four years. I taught 9 semesters straight including summers to get to this moment. I don't think these Genuine British Universities do three semesters a year. 

I am sure it is also a nice place to sing, but I am very content to listen in a city where even the pink cheeked little boy sopranos have about six years of classical training. I will however do some serious eating when the sun comes up.