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As the boat glided along, the bustle of the real world seemed far away. Around us was a scene of timeless beauty; a line of feathery willows to one side and on the other a vast and half-wild meadow that had been grazed for thousands of years. Cows and ponies were wading in the shallows, drinking as they went; and the water was almost covered by a flock of quietly honking greylag geese. On the horizon, behind a dense line of trees, the tops of ancient spires and towers hinted at an enchanted city just beyond. No wonder Oxford and its waterways have been the inspiration for some of our best-loved classic children’s stories.

This stretch of the Isis (as the Thames is known locally) by Port Meadow has more claim to fame than most, however, for it was somewhere along here on a lazy early July afternoon in 1862 that Alice first fell down the rabbit hole into Wonderland. She sprang from the mind of a shy maths professor called Charles Dodgson, better known as Lewis Carroll, as he and a friend rowed the three Liddell girls – Lorina, Edith and, of course, Alice – to Godstow and back. Though it wasn’t the first time he’d made up tales to entertain his young friends, the other ones had ‘lived and died, like summer midges, each in its old golden afternoon’ as he later recalled. This creation was special; Alice Liddell loved it so much she begged him to write it down – and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has been charming us almost ever since.

Back in the present, the river’s magical atmosphere was working its spell on our boating party, too. Some of that was definitely down to the vessel itself, Oxford River Cruises’ replica of an elegant 1908 river launch that once belonged to an Edwardian gentleman. As we relaxed on deck with a drink, we were in nostalgic mood even before the electric motor – very fashionable 100 years ago – had purred into life with owner Giles Dobson at the controls.

The rest was down to Oxford itself – and there seemed to be literary associations everywhere you looked. By Folly Bridge, we had seen Salter’s Boatyard, where Carroll had hired that long-ago-afternoon’s boat; further on, the cluster of narrowboats at the mouth of the Oxford Canal could have been the very ones where Philip Pullman’s heroine Lyra hid with the Gyptians; and, if we had paused at the landing stage for the Perch Inn at Binsey, we could have visited the treacle well from the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party in the church there, though its wonderfully absurd name is actually an old word meaning ‘healing’.

But by now we had other pleasures in mind. For afternoon expeditions, Lewis Carroll had usually provided just a kettle and a large basket of cakes, but Giles had been rather more lavish in a Wind in the Willows sort of way (Kenneth Grahame also studied at Oxford). The spread, from the best deli in town, included proper ham, asparagus quiche, posh pork pie, olives, roasted vegetables and several salads, not to mention walnut bread and cheese and some gorgeously squishy cakes which didn’t need to be labelled ‘Eat Me’ to disappear like magic.

In between eating and soaking up the fresh river-scented air, we listened as Giles pointed out ancient historical sites along the way. First up was Osney Island – the river in Oxford being divided into several streams – where there was once a medieval abbey, whose huge bell now hangs in Christ Church, one of Oxford’s most impressive colleges. At Godstow, the turning-point on our Picnic Cruise, we saw the haunting ruins of another, once-magnificent abbey. According to legend, King Henry II’s mistress Rosamund the Fair lived here, until she was killed on the orders of the jealous queen, and now reputedly haunts the local pub.

We moored at Godstow to stretch our legs and explore the place where Alice and her sisters had tea on that long-ago outing. It’s tiny – just a handful of houses, a lock, a bridge, and the aforementioned pub and ruined abbey – but we found more curiosity-stirring sights here. Take Trout Island, for instance, at the halfway point on the lovely old stone bridge with its unusual double span. Densely wooded, with its air of mystery only enhanced by the firmly padlocked old wrought-iron gate on to the bridge, we were happy to believe Giles when he told us it might be the model, or at least one of them, for Narnia, CS Lewis being another Oxford man.

At the Trout Inn at the far end of the bridge, we stopped on the terrace for a quick drink, listening to the sound of the river and the other-worldly cry of the pub’s resident peacocks. Inside, there was a note suggesting this was Tolkein’s inspiration for the Hobbit’s inn, and with its well-worn wonky stone floors, low ceilings and lingering smell of woodsmoke even in summer, it seemed entirely plausible. With those thoughts, we returned to the boat to retrace our route downriver to the heart of the City of Dreaming Spires itself.

Of course central Oxford, too, has provided fertile food for the imagination of its resident writers. With its fantastical skyline of towers, spires and domes, the creamy stone buildings embellished with carvings of monsters and mythical beasts, it would be amazing if it didn’t. Unfortunately, though, there are no regular Alice sightseeing tours of Oxford; you have to prebook one and then you need 18 friends to join you. Luckily, that morning I had picked up several useful booklets about the town’s famous children’s authors from the tourist information office and headed off on a little tour of my own.

My first port of call was the Museum of Oxford, not far from the river, which had a small section devoted to Lewis Carroll and Alice. There I learnt a little of Carroll’s childhood and his early talent for making up tales to amuse his younger siblings, about his friendship with the Liddells and their outings to the Botanic Gardens and Magdalen Deer Park, and the real people who inspired his rhymes and characters. My favourite was the man behind the Mad Hatter: a furniture dealer with a shop in the High Street who always wore a top hat and specialised in strange inventions such as an ‘alarm bed’ that worked by catapulting the unfortunate occupant on to the floor.

From here, it was a short stroll to Carroll’s old college, Christ Church. The highlight here was the dining hall and the magnificent stairway up to it (used as a location in several of the Harry Potter films). Alice connections abounded, according to my booklet: brass firedogs with stretched-out necks like Alice had after eating cake; a portrait of Henry VIII who, like the Red Queen, was fond of saying ‘Off with his head’; and the spiral staircase behind the top table down which Alice’s father, the college dean, would disappear like a rabbit after meals. Outside, at the other side of the quad, I could just about see the tops of the trees in the Dean’s private garden where Alice’s cat Dinah – immortalised as the Cheshire Cat – used to sit.

There wasn’t time to visit the University Museum and the sad remains of the dodo – the head and one foot – that Carroll and the Liddells would have gazed upon many times. From Christ Church, I wandered down St Aldgate’s to the narrow stone-mullioned shop where young Alice Liddell used to buy sweets, and which Carroll renamed the Sheep Shop. These days it sells everything Alice – books, fridge magnets and, naturally, teapots – but I resisted temptation.

I was, after all, on my way to a glorious afternoon on the river, one of those precious moments to look back on fondly in years to come. In my mind’s eye, it was sunny and warm, though I know for a fact it was actually cloudy and windy. Funnily enough, Lewis Carrroll’s and Alice’s memories of their golden afternoon were awry in just the same way, their cold and damp weather changed to soporific heat. As Alice would have said: curiouser and curiouser.

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