Lady at the Henley Royal Regatta

Last Saturday was America's birthday. Most years on the 4th of July I spend the day in a bathing suit by a lake and a grill. At night fireworks burst overhead as we recall our great war for independence. And while most Americans would have trouble telling you what year that great war started, most of them could eat a few burgers washed down with cheap American beer and sing a somewhat coherent version of the national anthem.

Being overseas, this year my 4th of July was a bit different. In fact, it was the polar opposite of most American 4th of Julys. The lake was replaced by a river, the grill by a seafood restaurant with white tablecloths. The cheap American beer gave way to Pimm's and champagne, and the fireworks were canceled due to a stabbing the year before (no joke). Bathing suits were banned, as were skirts that hit above or at the knee. As for anthems, there were plenty sung, but they were of the university variety and happened far from the confines of the upper-classier-than-thou Stewards Enclosure that I had been invited into.

Yes, this was Henley, or the Henley Royal Regatta, an annual rowing race that takes place each summer in the quaint English village of Henley-on-Thames. I originally wanted to go for—you guessed it—the people watching, but ended up getting scouted for a modeling compet— wait, no wrong event.

I did fancy some people watching, though. But then I found out that Brown was sending four boats to the regatta this year, and I suddenly became a lot more interested in the races. Well, a few of them anyway.

After a train from London to Henley, my boyfriend and I followed the masses to the river, where we serendipitously ran into the Brown freshman boat pulling away from the dock. We stood with other alums and a few parents to clap for them as they rowed away to start their race.

Moving on, we found the entrance to the Stewards Enclosure, our base for the day. The strict dress code required women to have skirts below the knee, with an emphasis on below. Having tried on three dresses that morning and asked my boyfriend to study exactly where they hit on my leg, I was confident that my knees were 80% covered. Pulling down my dress as far as I could, I edged past the entrance dragons and into the enclosure.

Once inside, I was struck by a whirlwind of color. Namely, blazers. There were orange blazers, blue blazers, yellow and purple striped blazers, blazers with trim, blazers with piping, and blazers covered in metal pins that showed the importance of the person beneath them. I later found out that these were rowing-related blazers and that the wearers had all rowed at Henley at one time or another. Each one denoted a certian school or club, and there was a hierarchy to them, as one would expect from anything English.

After a bit of blazer watching, we met our friends and cheered for the Brown freshmen, who won their race. It being 11am and this being an outdoor summer event in Britian, we were a tad embarrassed to still be sober. In an effort to remedy the situation, we walked to the nearest drinks enclosure for a pitcher of Pimm's. Unfortunately, we discovered upon trying to leave the area that alcohol is not permitted outside of designated areas. That pretty much meant that if one chose to drink, one chose to not watch the rowing. There was something very strange about that.

We finished our Pimm's and walked around some more, then met back up with the rest of our group at a tailgate. Like the rest of this 4th of July, the tailgates were as far from the American version as could be. Proper tents were propped up everywhere, chairs surrounded tables covered with tablecloths, and real silverware was used in lieu of plastic cultery. Our friend's mother had prepared an amazing spread for lunch, and dessert was strawberries and cream. It was very civilized.

After lunch we headed back to watch more races and drink more Pimm's. In the afternoon there was a tea break, which even applied to the rowers (although I'm not sure any of them really partook). We had every intention of having some tea, but the Pimm's kept getting in the way.

Sometime around five o'clock my boyfriend and one of our friends decided to take a nap in the deck chairs that lined the river. Not tired, I ventured outside of the enclosure with a friend to one of the Oxford college tents, where there was beer and the remnants of a BBQ. It felt a little bit more like American 4th of July, but there were still too many stripey blazers and funny accents about.

Heading back to the enclosure, I found my sleeping beauties and woke them up to find food. Two hours and several more Pimm's later, we finally managed to get a group together to eat. Unfortunately, thousands of other racegoers had the same idea. We ended up at a kebab place where we stood at the counter eating our shwarma and feeling very un-American.

Our energy flagging, my boyfriend and I headed back to the train station after dinner. On the way home I couldn't help but feel a bit like I had cheated on my country by spending Independence Day at a ridiculously traditional British event. But my American friend in London was throwing a 4th of July party that evening, so we decided to redeem ourselves by spending what was left of our country's Independence Day at an event specifically dedicated to the occasion. It wasn't BBQ and fireworks, but it wasn't lobster and Pimm's either. It was perfect for an expat celebration on the 4th.