First, there was the anticipation—e-mails flying across the country about how best to get from various airports to various train stations, what to wear given the weather uncertainties, and who might carpool with whom to get where. These missives revealed both a certain level of savvy about European travel and our nervousness about making sure everything went like clockwork, or at least an approximation thereof. Among the pre-briefing materials were lists of participants and their coming-along-for-the-ride others---just names on the page, later to be revealed as lively personalities.

Each of us made our way from the U.S. individually or in small clusters, descending on Cambridge by the appointed day. After I made my way to Wolfson College, checking in at the Porter’s Lodge, I rested in my spotless, modern, minimalist single room for a while, getting my bearings and quietly observing others arrive. I can still hear the sounds: crunchy footsteps on the gravel, the cheery greetings as advisors recognized one another in the courtyard, and the intermittent sound of wheeled baggage rolling along the sidewalks. Later, at dinner, we compared notes about the showers without enclosures in our ultramodern digs. (Yes, everything in the small bathroom gets wet, in case you were wondering.)

Reflecting on our three days in Cambridge, I have to say that the formal (“high table”) dinner at Wolfson College left one of the strongest impressions. Our genial host, Professor Gordon Johnson, as President of the College, opened and closed the evening with Latin exhortations and blessings. He and the other natives of Wolfson wore the traditional academic robes, while the rest of us were in civvies (“glad rags and pearls” was Prof. Johnson’s phrase) befitting our status as guests. How fascinating to see this timeless ritual of Cambridge life acted out! I did make a mental note of one update: the smoking that would have accompanied the port was absent or at least minimal.

Another Cambridge highlight was the opportunity to meet with American students attending Cambridge or other nearby universities—students who were Churchill, Gates, Marshall, Jack Kent Cooke, or Fulbright scholars. The fellowship advisors who supported these students through the application process took justifiable pride in their students’ achievements and beamed as they were reunited. I believe I saw some of the biggest smiles of the trip at this event. Although a UMBC student at Cambridge was not able to attend this event, I was able to meet him in the student lounge at Wolfson College one evening. He was so happy to have had the year at Cambridge to complete an MPhil degree and so sad to be parting from his new friends at Cambridge. He was on an emotional roller coaster during those days (and is now ensconced in a Ph.D. program at Cornell.)

No one will be surprised to hear that the visit to Rhodes House in Oxford was memorable. And no aspect of that visit was more memorable than the talk by Sir Colin Lucas, the Warden of Rhodes House. Only in England would a distinguished academic holding a position of public responsibility for administering the world’s most well-known fellowship have such an unassuming title! “Warden” of a “house”? Perhaps we can chalk that up to the British style of understatement. Also at Rhodes House, we heard very helpful presentations from representatives of the various academic divisions at Oxford, with emphasis on how American students can apply successfully for admission to graduate study.

Another memorable aspect of Rhodes House was the juxtaposition of large portraits of Nelson Mandela and Bill Clinton with busts and other representations of Cecil Rhodes. Clearly the building was rife with historical and philosophical currents striving for confluence or resolution and only partially succeeding. [Sidebar: For a fascinating exploration of those philosophical currents and many colorful details about the early years of the Scholarship, read Cowboys into Gentlemen: Rhodes Scholars, Oxford, and the Creation of an American Elite by Thomas J. and Kathleen Schaeper (Berghahn Books, 1998, 2007).]

After the Oxford breeze-through, we headed for Wales in our “coach,” where the high water mark for me was sitting on a bench about 100 yards from Conwy Castle. Said bench was near the shore and near a pub that spilled out onto the promenade with a large speaker and a modest TV screen broadcasting a World Cup match live. The fans there were vocal in their support for the England team. The broadcast commentary, done of course from the English perspective, was more partisan and visceral than any I had ever heard in the U.S. What I don’t know is how many of those cheering fans were Welsh, but I suspect quite a few. That was interesting.

After an uneventful sea crossing in a ferry-cum-casino, we landed in Dublin—the first city on this trip that was completely new to me. We stayed at a fairly swanky downtown hotel, but most of our information sessions took place out in the suburbs at University College Dublin (UCD), which was like the UMBC of Ireland. As my own institution, built largely in the 1960’s and 1970’s vision of “modern,” is free of ivy and columns, but would be useful as the set for a remake of Blade Runner, I felt right at home with the concrete and square buildings at UCD.

Arriving in Ireland, I felt a different atmosphere almost immediately. The “go go” economy, new buildings everywhere, people moving in instead of out, and a more casual style made me feel, in some ways, more relaxed than in England. England is grand and immutable, but Ireland is plucky and scrappy and is reinventing itself as the high tech Celtic Tiger. Aggressively embracing the Euro and the other benefits of membership in the European Union, Ireland has a feeling of being on the up and up that was palpable during our visit--almost as palpable as the ever-present Guinness logo.

In Dublin, my University of Maryland colleague presented us with a medical drama (emergency appendectomy) that we had not expected. This foray into Irish health care proved to be heartening. The Irish hospital building was old, with wide hallways and tall windows that actually opened (and were open), the equipment looked in some respects from the 1950’s, the lack of security was striking, but the people seemed competent and caring and the outcome favorable! And I actually enjoyed the several times I made the 8-9 block walk from our hotel to the hospital to visit Camille; it gave me a chance to see more of Dublin at ground level.

If I had not been visiting Camille, I would have attended the grand finale dinner of the NAFA trip, which took place at Trinity College Dublin—a breathtakingly picturesque ancient campus in the heart of the city. I heard later there were thanks, awards, hi-jinks and revelry and I was sorry to have missed this opportunity to wrap up the trip in style. Ask others to tell you about this part of the trip.

Finally, we said our goodbyes in the lobby of the Jury’s Inn Parnell Street and one by one, or in small clusters, went off to other destinations in Europe or back to London to fly home. It was a fantastic experience and educational in ways I am still coming to recognize a year later. Each one of us on the trip came away with a set of impressions and memories; I am pleased to have had this opportunity to share some of mine. All in all it must be called a NAFA tour de force!