The Oxford Pub Crawl for Travelers - Travel in Oxford, England

The Crown Inn

Though it was established years before, the Crown acquired its' current name in 1625. When the 2 hour jaunt from London to Oxford was slashed by the introduction of the, ahem, flying coaches' the Crown became a coaching house where travelers could park their transport.

An interesting historical quirk about this hidden little establishment is that it was reputedly frequented by William Shakespeare. Shakespeare was apparently mates with the proprietor, and even and even more so with the proprietor's wife. Take a stroll down the road to St Michael's Church (Oxford's oldest building), and you'll learn that said scribe, Mr. Shakespeare, once stood by this chapel's Font in his capacity as the god parent of a local innkeeper'. Considering the proximity, one could wonder whether the inn kept by William's friend was indeed the Crown, Thus meaning that the guy whose wife Shakespeare was playing pelvic peanuckle with saw him not just as a drinking buddy, but the god father of his children. Nice one, Bill. And I thought Lady McBeth was a bitch!

The Crown is a quaint, open tavern whose rafters are adorned with beer prices spelled out in shillings. The existence of a non-smoking section (though hardly cut off from the rest of the bar) makes for a fairly pleasant eating experience. For the record, it would appear that the fish and chips was the pick of the meals.

We worked off the flake with a post lunch stroll through the pristine University Parks, by now enveloped in the wintry afternoon mist. Eventually, we wound up on the other side of the gardens and made our way to The Royal Oak in Woodstock Road.

The Royal Oak

Significantly larger than the Crown, the Oak is a maze of rooms, seemingly slotted onto one another with no obvious master plan in place. Though relatively empty, it had a nice feel and good mix of patrons. But if this place needed a selling point, I found it in the form of an odd little game called Bar Billiards. For the uninitiated, the table looks like the morning after remnants of an awkward ménage a trios between a pool table, a pinball machine, and one of those mole-whacking games you might find at an amusement parlour called Funland', or something. Almost as if it was aware of its' own ungainly appearance, the game's instructions seemed to just give up halfway through explaining the rules. We had to call on local knowledge and soon discovered that it's quite a bit of fun. It plays like a Groundhog Day incarnation of Pool, in which you go back to the D for each new shot. You can amass a cricket score with this game but it can all be taken away with one touch of the black, mushroom like skittle that sits menacingly in the middle of the table.

The Turf Tavern

Once inside here I felt like I was in Hobbiton, no small thanks to the ridiculously low roof. The Turf is the sort of place you might expect the barkeep to have pointy ears and a puffy sleeved shirt. It's a lot larger than first impressions would have you believe, though. Like The Royal Oak, The Turf's layout is a labyrinth of cosy little bars and beer gardens all of which form part of a rich tapestry of characteristics that make it one of the most famous bars in Britain. I tested the water with a mulled wine here, which went down a treat on this cold night.

It's worth noting that this is reputedly the very bar where Bill Clinton, while studying at Oxford in the seventies, took one of the most infamous spliff-tokes in history. He did not repeat, did not inhale. Funny thing about that: if slick Willy was indoors when he faux-smoked this joint, it really wouldn't matter if he inhaled or not. So low is the roof and so enclosed the space, it would have acted like a veritable dutch-oven. Inhale or not, the future leader of the free world would have been baked off his noodle by the time he surfaced for air.

The Bear

Along with the Turf, The Bear is one of several establishments vying for the title of Oxford's oldest pub. Its status as the towns smallest pub, however, is more or less unchallenged . Walking in here felt like I was walking into a Womble's house. But, where the walls in Wombles' houses are covered in newspapers, the Bear's are adorned in ties, or rather picture frames with ties in them. The roof as well. In fact, you can't look in any direction without seeing ties. Most seemed to belong to obscure Rugby players from a bygone era who I dare say mattered little to anyone outside of Oxford; or even the walls of this pub. It did give the place a nice snug feel, though, if somewhat weird.

In some way I felt that Oxford is to England what Paris is to France. Like Paris, its' buildings were beautiful and retained so much of their original grandeur. And its' bars and shops seemed to reflect its' history so vividly. Looking back from the bus I really felt like I'd just had my first exposure to England proper. And though I did find time to pay a visit to the university and several of it's many cathedrals, I felt it was the town's bars and pubs whose walls would have the best campfire stories to tell.