With fellow upper sixth students filtering through international hostel reviews desperately trying to stay within budget and equally refrain from staying in a bug-infested cubicle. The question arose ….. What were the Godolphin teachers' most memorable travel experiences? Aside from the Y8 Burnham beeches and the classic overnight day trip to Köln for an authentic Christmas experience (very niche, very exclusive ). What are the travel stories that shaped and moulded Godolphin's teaching body and hopefully made them thankful for the warm, somewhat clean embrace of Iffley Road.
Rest and RECOOPERATION
Miss Cooper
Maintaining the facade as queen of the art block is no easy feat. Therefore, it came to be no surprise that as soon as the final bell tolls at the end of term Miss Cooper is more than happy to escape Iffley Road in search of sea, sun and serenity. Like Columbus, Cooper was equally in search of the very edge of the world, ending up 9,671 miles away in Queensland, New Zealand. Trading in the pink signature jumper for an even brighter neon yellow life jacket Miss Cooper embarked on a speed boat journey, or as she would call it “a near-death encounter “ across the Pacific sea.
Dragged, drenched and nearly drowned, one would assume that Miss Cooper would have finally welcomed the sanctuary of land with open arms……………………………but alas.
.” Hello Miss Cooper”..........the voice of an old dolphin echoes….
It appears that even on land the dolphin influence is far-reaching, even across the seas in uncharted land a student can be found.
Part 2……..
Seemingly juxtaposing Miss Cooper's severely saturated adventure in the southern hemisphere, Miss Cooper ventured to the land of glitz and glamour for an “Amazing summer odyssey in Los Angeles for the whole summer”. Eager to retell the tales of her “boujee boujee” cabana relaxation narrating how it was an “almost meditative experience . Transported through a dream-like description, Miss Cooper vividly recounted her daily ritual: slipping into the serene embrace of the Californian sea as the morning fog danced around her, beginning promptly at x o'clock and lasting until 9:30. Yet, as reliable as the sunrise, at the stroke of a Los Angeles light switch, the tranquil scene shattered into radiant sunshine—every single day (emphatically knocks on the table).
"Just how good does life get..." she pondered, feeling everything was in its perfect place, reaching a state of inner peace... until...
Soaked in rays, emerging from the pool as Venus bathed in a Botticelli-like calm, she felt a pair of eyes plastered on her back.
Dun dun dun
“But I'm on holiday so I ignore it and leave.”Right. As one does. Because that's definitely not how every single horror movie starts…..
But alas , coming down into the foyer, within reach of her bedroom , her accomplice was trapped and asked a series of carefully curated questions
“Is that friend of yours a teacher?”
“Maybe.”
“Does she teach in London?”
“Maybe”
Peering around a young girl appears and utters a slight “I think I might be taught with her in the Godolphin and Latymer school in London”......
The glass shatters. There is no escape.
I mean what can we say…we’re your biggest fans we’ll follow you…..paparazzi..
Mrs Moule
Amid a nonchalant stroll down the corridor, Miss Moule was abruptly halted by the realisation that her words were being immortalised.
“Oh you’re recording it! -Wow, ok.” (fully stopped her mid walk in the corridor)
The tale ensues..
As a brave soul of the lower sixth. Miss Moule embarked on a world challenge that unfolded like a Shakespearean comedy - full of twists, turns and a generous dose of unexpected drama.
In the tranquil embrace of the jungle where verdant foliage dances to nature's symphony slithering shadows unfolded beneath the canopy.
Staying in a proclaimed “weird place” with “snakes everywhere” Mrs Moule narrated the tale of her encounter with a fer-de-lance snake conveniently situated right next to the toilet describing it as nothing more than “quite traumatic”. However, it doesn’t end there…
Enjoyment of the great Nicaraguan outdoors does not come hassle-free, later on during a careless stroll enjoying the great outdoors, Miss Moule was confronted with an eight-legged monstrosity crossing her path. Although proudly stating that she was “usually unfazed by spiders” after laying eyes on the jellyfish spider, all bravado flew out the window. I mean what sane person wouldn't be intimidated by a spider seemingly appearing the size of a small dog?
Though Mrs Moule was not one to admit defeat easily but when faced with a spider capable of Olympic-level jumps, lets just say survival instincts were kicked into high gears.
Thus echoing the wise words of Shakespeare “weaving spiders come not here. Hence you long-legged spinners hence”. Clearly, Shakespeare knew a thing or two about arachnids and the importance of keeping them at bay.
Miss Ockenden
Armed with vouchers and dreams of a parisian escapade……forget meticulously planned itineraries and quaint hotels Miss Ockenden and her brother were destined for spontaneity.
Upon arriving in the city of lights, the burning question arose “Where are we going to stay?”. Only to be met with a proposal that could only be described as both bold and baffling - a night long rendezvous with a parisian club.I mean how else to truly soak up the parisian ambience but through the intoxicating beats of drum and base?
Alas, not ready to trade in the Eiffel tower for a dance floor. Miss Ockenden simply declared “I'm not sure that's going to work for me “ with the sagacity of someone who had envisioned a slightly different parisian experience. Perhaps by a relaxing wander through the Jardin de Luxembourg and a browsing of what the Louvre and Musee d’Orsay had to offer.
Yet fate seemed to have already charted their course, steering the duo into a club that could only be described as “dreadful”, with drum and bass beats that might have been more at home scaring pigeons away than entertaining patrons.
“There is no way I'm staying here”
Exit the club, and enter an unplanned Parisian nocturnal stroll. With croissants and coffee as their consolations and a wander through the moonlit street,In a poetic twist, a night that began with the thumping bass of a club concluded with the serene hum of an early morning Eurostar back home.
The lesson learned? Sometimes, the best stories are born from unexpected detours, sibling negotiations and the sheer audacity to say “no” to a “dreadful” drum and base.
I believe the only way we can characterise the world is into two distinct categories those who resemble Miss Ockenden and those who parallel her brother. (Insert moment of self-reflection)
Ms Halifax
The rhythmic clattering of wheels on the tracks, the gentle sway of a train and the promise of a transitory adventure was expected on an overnight train to Vietnam. When booking a seat in a “first-class carriage” you’d expect a touch of luxury, perhaps a sense of sophistication. Well, think again. In the world of Vietnamese overnight trains “first class” translates to plastic mattresses and not much else. With the elusive wonders of the true first class compartment remaining a mystery, Miss Halifax and co got ready to tackle the night, not knowing that the true adversaries of the journey would emerge in the form of ….. Enormous cockroaches.
Face to face with Gregor Samsa, Miss Halifax harnessed two of the dolphin principles: remarkable and courageous. Unwilling to debate with fate, she began her metamorphosis into a card shark, setting up a poker school and tournament. Successfully diverting her party’s attention from the sleazy scuttlers.
“I was thirty”......
Mr Rees
“Madre Mia let me think”
Venturing into the heart of Vietnam, freshly out of first year, Mr Rees and a friend found themselves battling the all to common limitations of a student friendly budget.In the dimly lit confines of their accommodation, their welcome was characterised by an unsettling noise emanating from the walls.
With bated breath, they confronted the source of the disturbance, only to be greeted by a sight of an alarming and repulsive— rat, boldly asserting its presence within their sanctuary. A frantic retreat to the safety of the bed ensued, their nerves frayed by the unwelcome visitor's audacity. Desperate measures were taken to fortify their defences, rearranging furniture in a futile attempt to block the rodent's ingress.
Undeterred by adversity, they sought refuge in the hotel's corridors, pleading for respite from their nocturnal ordeal. Alas, their entreaties fell on deaf ears, condemning them to endure the company of their uninvited guest for 3 more nights to come.
Traumatic.
Puts the visitor in the makeshift sixth-form common room to shame……..
Miss Graham (Geo)
After asking for more time, supposedly to sift through the countless travel stories that she may possess ,differentiating what was printable for unpublished and what was not including her vietnamese husband, Miss Graham finally settled for a story from this summer.
Having pedalled over 2000km from Vancouver to San Francisco, Miss Graham found herself in an all too common predicament, namely being way too early for a flight. Forget the typical airport dad precautionary five hour window; Miss Graham outdid them all by arriving a staggering 26 days before her flight. Therefore, the only other viable option was of course to hitchhike across California, Arizona, Utah, Colorado and Nevada. The whole of summer, 51 nights in a tent.
But hitchhiking isn't just about sticking out your thumb and hoping for the best. No, it's an art form, a dance between trust and intuition. Miss Graham learned this the hard way, discovering that the highways have their own code, a "no weirdos allowed policy" that separates the genuine Samaritans from the dubious characters lurking in the shadows.
Clearly, Miss Graham pasted the test , experiencing as she recalls such “kindness along the way with people offering for me to stay with their families in the campsites they had booked (because i didnt have any plan at all!), buying me meals and taking me to places I may had not been to otherwise”.
Alas, waking up one day, 5 missed calls from her father, it appeared that her lifestyle of vagabonding and living it up was about to come to a tragic halt.Fearing that something was wrong at home , Miss Graham prepared for the worse, but all it appeared to be was that she was camping in the middle of the path of a tropical storm, Hurricane Hillary . For your average chap, alarm bells would be sounding. But not this geographer who was ecstatic for some irl tempest. Hurricane Hilary may have tried to rain on Miss Grahams parade, but nothing can dampen the spirits of an avid godolphin geographer. She managed to weave her way out of the direct path of the storm, camping with an Italian family in Yosemite Valley.
“ It was extremely windy and wet, but I survived.”
Take these tales as warnings............
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