Just like I promised

So I promised ferry blog, I deliver ferry blog.  I am aboard the SS Stena crossing the Irish Sea as we speak, and I know my battery wont last long, (2 plugs for every 400 seats? come on, what is this, the stone age?), so I will make this short and sweet. However, I promised a shanty, and a shanty I will deliver!

The wind, they say, it is a song* that winds* through the winter

The wind, they say, it is a song that bids the soul to enter

Let us sail the seas my friend, let us sail together

The singer lasts the season long, but the song, it lasts forever

Ya know the wind...

 *to be sung in a round, starting at the markings

I figure I am about an hour out from Belfast, and I will take a turn about the deck. Check in later for more updates!

Trains!

So, this blog post comes to you courtesy of East Coast Train Lines. Yes. That is right. I am writing, and posting this on a train en route to London from Edinburgh. Hooray internet! What really blows my mind is the fact that if I wanted to I could have posted this from the bathroom of a train. Hooray Internet! Right now, according to the handy dandy in train wifi trip tracker, right outside of Darlington. Although right now, all of the English country side looks dark and gray, I am sure Darlington is a wonderful place. So I am officially done with everything in Edinburgh, so my last week here is going to be me traveling. I'll be in London for a couple of days, and then I am going to make a sojourn to Belfast. That will be an adventure, because it involves trains and ferries. Crossing the Irish sea, I will try to sing a shanty to mark the occasion. And with the rate of wifi coverage on transportation I have encountered so far, I might be able to post the sea shanty! Hooray internet!

Right now I am very jealous of the fine folks who get to sit in the first class cabin. They get a meal service, and the steward just came over the intercom saying that he will be around shortly to take their order, and that the onboard chef today recommends the Steak Salad. Pish Posh! Cheerio, I do say old chap! Sorry, had a spontaneous British outbreak. It happens. I am in a very silly mood I suppose, but I am in a very silly country. To support my silly theory I was going to post an image of the Ministry of Silly Walks, but the train-wifi is sorta slow, and for some reason it has tricked my computer into thinking we are in Sweden, so I only get Swedish Google. I originally got swedish blogger first, but I changed back to English blogger.

Anyway, that is all I am going to post for now, but keep an eye out for a couple more logs as I travel this week.

Almost done

So I am about 3 hours away from being totally done with classes in Scotland. I figured blogging about it in Black Medicine would only be fitting. I suppose this is the part of the trip when I am supposed to come up with some concluding comments. Some broad reaching summary of my time at the University of Edinburgh, or something like. Unfortunately I do not have anything like that in my head. Maybe after my exams, when I am "truly" done. I'll be able to better get a hold on my time here. In the mean time, interesting story.

This morning I visited St. Giles Cathedral. It is the "Mother Church" of the church of Scotland. I don't have any pictures of the inside, because your not supposed to take pictures unless you have a permit. And I still don't know how I feel about coming in and snapping shots all over a functioning church. Just seems out of place to me. I thoroughly enjoyed my time inside though. It is a little bit more modern, as it was heavily reconstructed during the late 1800s, but it still had that ancient feeling about it. Spent a little bit of time in the the little chapel they have set aside for John Knox. He preached there for a while, and I can see how it is the type of church he would have liked. If you don't know who John Knox is, find a book about him somewhere and read it. For better or for worse, how you think about God and governments were probably in some way shaped by his ideas. You just don't know it.

This is St. Giles. Pretty cool. If anyone ever gets a chance to visit a cathedral or an old church, do it. I don't believe that Church has anything to do with churches, but I think everyone needs a change of perspective now and then. Big churches do that.

In my head right now I have the topics from my last lecture this morning still rambling around. It was my Napoleonic History class, and the topic was "Britons?". Cultural identity has always fascinated me, especially how those play out on an international stage. I don't totally know exactly what to say about it know, but its something to mull over, and something that will probably end up on this blog sometime soon. So homework readers: can you name your cultural identity in 5 seconds? Can you explain what it means? I think most of us can't. And I think that means something. What it is I don't know. Like I said, something to think about.

The Great White North, Eh?

So, this morning, I accomplished one of my life-long goals. I was mistaken for a Canadian. Now, one might ask "why is that a big deal?", "how could one tell?", "whats the difference?" or "Canada..hmmm. oh! you mean America's hat?" And all of those questions would be valid points. The reason that being mistaken for a Canadian is important to me is that everywhere I go here, I am immediately known as a American. People ask me where I am from, and when I say the U.S.A they look at me like I had replied, "planet earth". Of course your from America, but where in America? Apparently, there is a large neon sign that is constantly behind me that flashes "U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A! I AM FROM THE U.S.A!" I of course try to fight the stereotypes of America abroad as much as I can, but I still can't seem to escape the stigma.

"Stereotypical American, Or, How the rest of the World Sees the U.S.A" (Sorry Nuge, I love you, but sometimes...)

Except today. Today, (my last day of class with this professor), he asked me what university in Canada I attend and where I was from (in Canada). He thought I was Canadian! My cultural camouflage is finally starting to take effect! Now granted, in retrospect, I was sorta cheating today. I was wearing my wool lined bushwhacker jacket, which definitely looks like something a lumberjack (Canadian) would wear. My current state of beard and hair makes me look like Wolverine (my personal favorite Canadian), and my professor, no matter how many times I correct him, still thinks my name is Wayne (true fact: half of all Canadians are named Wayne). But still, it wasn't like I was listening to Celine Dion while wearing my Gretzky hockey jersey, Molson in one hand, bottle of Maple Syrup in the other, riding a Moose. He had a chance to look at me, take a full cultural appraisal, and he choose something outside of the U.S.A! 

Now, I have joked alot about stereotypes in my blog. But the reason I think I keep coming back to them is because I think cultural is core to understanding people. And so many people I think take it for granted. As a traveler (can I say that without sounding pretentious?), I've seen that there are two ways that you can approach culture. It can be your backdrop (literally look how many people take picture with the Eiffel Tower in the background), or it can be your travel partner. At the end of the day, both approaches will get you the stamps in your passport, the miles on your boots, and the sweet photo-album. But one of them is passive. It takes what you know about somewhere, and it lets it be your crutch. And, ironically enough, it makes you end up being the stereotype yourself. Specifically, I am thinking about a guy here named Mike. He's another exchange student from the U.S.A, but hes from San Diego. He is the walking American stereotype. He's overweight, drinks to much, is constantly late, and he seriously contributes to our Scottish history tutorials by talking about McDonalds (THE GOLDEN ARCHES NOT THE CLAN!). The other way though, is take what you know, and push it up against what you experience. Sometimes it holds, and sometimes stereotypes stand (the Irish!) and sometimes you find yourself totally rethinking what you thought you knew. I've eaten almost nothing but Indian food this week (all of it has been excellent), bought from guys in turbans speaking in a brogue, and had curry served to me by members of the Tartan Army (Scots rugby fans). And its been really cool. And I think it doesn't happen enough.

Anyway, that's whats been rattling around in my head this morning. I'll leave you with some pictures I've taken this week. Sorry about how some of them are blurry. I'd like to blame it on my camera, but I think its more that I have the steady hands of an epileptic on red bull. Seriously, good thing I am not a surgeon, or I'd kill someone.

 

The Meadow is a park near campus. Great place to go for a walk or take "one's daily constitutional"

The Meadows part of the Meadows. Brilliant!

More of the Meadows. It was a (surprisingly) nice day out, and I bet the Meadows are a great place to go relax when its warm out.

 

 There is a word for a tree lined way like this. I don't know what it is, but I think these are really cool.

The Old and the New.

 Just what I was talking about. This place is right next to campus. And they sell excellent food.

What I really have been doing...

So, some people had inquired about what I have been doing, and I have come under accusations of "wasting my time"," having to much free time", "being boring", and "not going out and making anything of your life, you lazy bum!", all of which are entirely untrue and unfounded. I however, have not be entirely forthright with my explanations of what does occupy my time, and I feel the need to finally come clean about my activities in Edinburgh. This is what I have been doing:



That's right. This video, shot in Edinburgh, is of me. I have taken up the moniker of Danny Macaskill, and spend all my days doing awesome bike tricks. You may accuse me of not looking anything like the man in this video, but I can assure you we are the same person. I wanted to keep my totally rad alter ego a secret, as not to cause worry to anyone who may have concerns about me doing back flips off of trees on a bicycle, and as not to inspire jealously in my friends who wish they could be as awesome as me. Also, there is a still a bit of discrimination about guys who bike without seats that abounds in our modern society, despite the fact that we have a black president now. But I felt the need to free my conscious. Some secrets are just too hard to bear.

Seriously though, isn't this guy awesome? A good chunk of the video was shot on my campus, by buildings where I have class. My history lectures have yet to be interrupted by a gang of trick bikers however, but I figure it is only a matter of time before one of them does a 360 through a window into our class room or lecture hall (despite the fact that my classes are all on either the 4th or 8th floors).

Thanks to Jayson for originally showing this to me.

History Made Real!

This evening, as I was enjoying my dinner, busily tucking into what has now become the dining hall's staple supper meal of potatoes and shoe-leather, and particularly enjoying tonight's particular variation of shoe-leather, whose luscious texture, wonderfully anonymous brown gravy, and delectably pink undercooked and E.Coli-ridden center made me savor every bite in my mouth, before spitting the wretched stuff back on my plate, I began to contemplate the historical significance of my meal. Every bite of potato I took (in substitution for the "meat" I wasn't eating) made me appreciate more how the potato famines of the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries that decimated Ireland and parts of Scotland. I could totally understand, how, if this one crop failed, people literally had nothing else to eat.  It'd be like the Eskimos running out of seal, but at least they would have snow cones. Here I was, living this history! And this made me remember that I had not shared all my photos from Ireland. So, enjoy these picture from the Dublin, while I go find something else to eat...

This may be my favorite picture. I know it's kinda underwhelming, but its a great picture of the mix of Dublin, old and new, sacred and profane, high culture and blue collar, breweries and not breweries...

 Cool picture of a church. I don't want to be stereotypical, but I seriously think this is St. Patricks...

Or maybe this was St. Patricks...

Or maybe this dark spooky one was St. Patricks... Funny, I don't remember my trip being so Catholic-themed... Oh, well at least I stayed in...

OH THAT'S RIGHT A MONASTERY! (That's my friend Erin in ecclesiastical awe of our hostel.)

On an unrelated note, a storm has rolled, bringing howling wind and a bit of thunder, in that is making tonight feel a lot like the setting for the beginning of a scooby doo episode. I love Scotland!

Back, from outerspace....

Well I am back. Haven't blogged in a while, which is partly my fault, partly the fault of the recent trials and tribulations I have had to endure. Fear not though, for while being faced with a grueling gauntlet of paper writing, sickness, disease, coursework, presentations and parents, I bravely fought them all off so I could return my life to some source of normalcy. Normal enough anyway. Normal as it gets for me. I was going to see if I could drudge up from my memory some funny story of anecdote from the last couple of weeks, but instead I figure I'd just show off some pictures. Because, as the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand lazy writers.

When I first starting writing this post, I was here. It's a small park on campus called George's Square. Nice little spot.

Now I am in here, one of the student union type places. Yes that is an indoor palm tree. Yes, the Scots will do anything sometimes to convince themselves they are not in Scotland. But despite what the indoor palm tree would lead you to believe, Scotland is not a tropical paradise and thus being outside typing in the wind was absolutely miserable, thus my going indoors to the sky dome type thing. Although really most of the time its a cloud dome.

This is Edinburgh Castle, flying to the dismay of many, the Union Jack. I recently went to Edinburgh Castle (twice), and got some of these pictures.

A shot over Edinburgh's New Town (I think).

Another shot over New Town I think, with what I believe is the Port of Leith on the Firth of Forth (confusing Scottish for "place were boats go into the North Sea") in the back.

Highland Regiment war memorial. Inside Edinburgh Castle is a large monument to Scottish troops who served during the Great War, as well as a regimental headquarters, and a military museum.

I have to go to class now, but check in tomorrow for some more pictures I've found.

T.M. Devine

Today, something a little interesting happened, and I thought I would share some of my thoughts. I know that I am writing about school, which is supposedly antithetical to everything that is fun and even the entire point of studying abroad, but I think this worth sharing.

My Thursday lecture schedule is very light: I have a single lecture from 3 until 4. The class is Modern Scottish History, and it is team taught by members from all over the Scottish History department. The first chunk of the course has been taught by Dr. Thomas Devine. He has been my favorite professor so far here in Edinburgh. He is an older guy, who speaks with this quiet and quintessential Scottish accent, and has a very funny dry wit. During the first day of class, the course organizer gave us a brief introduction of him, hes done this and that yadda yadda, hes a big deal so give him respect.  I've really enjoyed his lectures, and today he gave his last one for this class, wrapping up our first section on 1760-1830. At the end of it, he took a very small pause and then said that today was a historic occasion, as this was actually his last lecture. He was about to take a year long study break to finish his last book and then he was going to retire. Choking up for a moment, he then continued jokingly, saying we could all tell our grandkids that we heard the last lecture of Tom Devine. Then he walked out of the classroom. We of course applauded him as he left the lecture theater, but we were soon all quickly back out in the Edinburgh gloom and rain, not 2 minutes later, all going our separate ways.

Now, seeing that all of our reading lists seem to list a couple of articles or books by Professor Devine, I was curious and looked into his background. Turns out, the guy is a legend in terms of British Academia. He has written like 30 books, over 100 articles, and been teaching for like 40 years. He has 3 honorary doctorates outside of all of his real degrees, is the first historian to be a member of all 3 British National Academies, and has been given an award for Academic Excellence by the Queen. And his last lecture, was on a rainy Edinburgh Thursday, to a class half-empty because people skipped because they were too worn out from Pre-Halloween Clubbing. Now, I know life isn't fair, karma really doesn't even everything out in the end, and not everyone gets to end their career with a gold company watch or like Mr. Hollands Opus. But it seemed a little sad to me to watch this old Scottish man trudge out into the drizzling grey streets alone having just ended basically his entire life's accomplishments in front of us.

Not a likely end to one's career

But the thing that sorta made me feel better, and got me thinking, is that earlier in the lecture, he described something peculiar. While referring to a study of Highlandism, he referenced this little island on the west coast (his accent was to thick for me to make out the name of it), where he said he has a very small estate. A house, two beaches, some woods, and eagle eyries that house two families of greater eagles. "Except for the rain, Paradise" he said. He said that was where he really wanted to be. It was the most passionate and heartfelt thing I had ever heard he speak about (which says alot coming from a subject that Scots tend to be passionate about, their own history and culture). And I was thinking about that sentiment, that particularly strong attachment to place, and I think that maybe its going away. Thinking about people my age, my generation, and how mobile we are. Fluid. Studies show that my generation will travel, for our jobs and for vacation, more than any previous. And that we will relocate for our careers more than any other generation prior as well. And a lot of us have trouble even identifying what our "hometown" is. And everyone roots for the Yankees (boo!) and we can't even understand why Milwaukee has a baseball team. We don't seem to have that anchor to land that I am encountering alot more the more I travel overseas. People talk about young americans, and how we are all having a post-modern, or post post-modern (a long time after modern? lets come up with some new words people!) existential crisis. Maybe it's because we don't ever enjoy putting anchors in places? Or maybe we just don't understand why it is important for other people to grow roots somewhere? I don't know, but it is something to think about.

Dave Evan's Hometown

Three guesses where I went this weekend. I'll give you a hint. It's a place renown for leprechauns, being the reason people in Boston like to get into fights, black beer, homemade explosives, shamrocks, explaining half the tattoos on all police officers and fire fighters, and guy named Paul Hewson who has a messiah complex.

The answer is of course Ireland. Specifically, Dublin. And I had a lot of fun. Thanks to Erin for convincing me to go.

Now you may be saying, "Hold on Wade. Your barely two sentences in and your already rattling off cultural stereotypes like some sort of racist machine gun. Isn't the point of study abroad to help break down cultural preconceptions and to help Americans broaden their views on the rest of the world? Aren't Americans ready to move past such petty views of foreign societies? I mean, we have a black president now..." And I say to that: Codswollop! Nah! I have come to view traveling not as a chance to change my perceptions, but to verify my stereotypes. Ireland was most refreshing in this manner. Recently in my travels, I have found myself woefully (waefully, if I am speaking Scots) disappointed in this regard. India, despite what my diligent watching of Johnny Quest would have me believe, was not a land of turbans, temples and elephants. In Italy, there was nary a mobster, mustachioed pizza maker or or vespa-riding-wine-swigging fashion starlet to be seen. Scotland has be tragically devoid of blue-face painted, claymore wielding, bagpipe playing freedom fighters. I was beginning to worry that everything Americans had been taught since birth about the rest of the world was a lie.

Fortunately Ireland restored my faith. Me and Erin went on a walking tour provided by Sandemans New Europe. (Great Guys. If your ever doing some traveling, check them out and see if they do a tour where you are. The tour is free, and the guides are college students working for tips. Some may see this as a way for some enterprising hucksters to play tourists for saps, but these guys have an organization at their backs that vets them.) Our guide gave us an awesome tour of the city, filled with history and culture, both ancient and modern. And he did it all while confirming every stereotype there is about the Emerald Isle. I was pleased to learn that the Irish have a long (and well documented) history of brazenly defying all rules of convention, logic, sanity and sobriety, proudly boasting several botched revolutions, pointless civil wars, important milestones in their history revolving around booze, and a general attitude towards history of "we'll figure something out as we go", "This would go much better with some alcohol" and "Eh, why bother thinking this one through? I am sure it will go fine. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

This is the Worst That Could Happen

And they are very proud of it, which makes the country all the more fun. What however, did I actually do? Well the short answer is visit 2 churches, 3 parks, 1 brewery, a whole slew of monuments, (republican and otherwise), walk through the temple bar area, saw where the Bono and U2 got their start in Dublin, crossed the Liffey on the Ha'penny bridge, checked out Dublin Castle, City Hall, Trinity College and Viking ruins.

Hopefully in the next couple days I will get my photo's together and be able to tell some more stories about my time in Dublin. To be continued.

P.S. The plight of Irish republicanism is no joking matter. Please don't let anyone at Sinn Fein known I am writing this.

What I am actually doing...

So I decided to post today on what I am actually doing, since I looked back at my last couple of posts and they have pretty much all been jokes.

Important things I have done in the last week:
1. Did Laundry (2 Loads)
2. Read excerpts of St. Augustine's City of God against the Pagans (Intellectual History Class)
3. Discussed the possible reasoning for William Pitt the Younger's first retirement from the post of Prime Minister (Napoleonic War History)
4. Learned about why Scotland was so important during the 18th century to Britain, despite being only 10% of the population of the British Isles.
5. Wrote a paper analyzing primary source documents regarding the process of urbanization and the rise of middle class consciousness in Scotland during the first half of the 19th century.
6. Made several cups of tea.

Hmm.... Maybe I should stick to jokes....For the record, I had really witty commentary to go along with this list, referencing everything from Godwin's Law to how the Twilight novels have ruined modern publishing. But I decided instead to stick to my list, because I am tired. I'll just let you imagine in your head all the incredibly awesome things that I am doing.Things so awesome that they would make me so tired that all I can do tonight is write a mundane list of my schoolwork and domestic habits.

Things Like This

And this. "By the way, the picture is called flying kilt warrior". Greatest picture title ever.

In other news. I'm heading to Ireland this weekend. I need a Dublin playlist. Suggestions?

Another post on what I consume...

I would apologize to my loyal readers and followers for the lack of updates, but I don't honestly think I can say that I have any of those. I will apologize to the stragglers, those tricked into coming here by a wayward link, or a guilted into checking this out by my shameless promotion of my blog/relation to you. I mean to update this more often. And I will. I promise. Consider this my digital pinky-swear.

While I am on the subject of things done in grade-school, what I am writing about tonight is an activity as old as the ages, a practice handed down by each nose-picking, throwing dirt at girls on the playground and daring each other to eat worms generation of children to the next: complaining about cafeterias.

Although to be fair, its really not just elementary school kids who do it. Adults are perfectly capable of doing it too. We may not grumble in line anymore while looking dismally down at our trays wondering whose idea was to require us to have 3 servings of vegetables on our plate (and why the draconian lunch overlords would choose broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower as those three vegetables). And we don't stare longingly anymore down at Terry at the end of the table, whose greedily clutching his chocolate pudding cup, determining that his mother must really love him unlike our mothers who sold us out to our mid-day-meal fate the evil food service masters who only give out flavors of pudding like banana or butterscotch (why would you even make pudding in flavors other than chocolate?) and who determined that ketchup is a vegetable. But think about it. We still complain about hospital food. And if your eating out, in a place with adults, a "grown-up" restaurant, and you get your food on a tray that has dividers for each part of your meal, you get nervous. Even the mustached lunch-lady who only seems to hand out ladles of slop has become a cultural icon, some sort of running joke on the misery that was our childhood lunches. Anyway, all of this is a long-winded justification for why I am going to complain about the cafeteria where I eat.

Now, another preface, shorter I promise: I like the cafeteria. I'm glad it cooks and cleans dishes for me. There is not a single mustached woman in the whole place. Only Eastern-European immigrants, (side note: there is an unexpectedly large Polish community in Edinburgh. The meat combinations made between the scottish and polish culinary cultures could be awesome. Frightening, dark, horrible, requiring UN-sanctions awesome) and the occasional Irishmen. No, I have only one complaint. And it is one word: potatoes. Every meal, it is possible to get at least 3 or 4 varieties of spud. Now I understand Scottish, English, Welsh and Irish (of both the Northern and Republican varieties) have a long standing culinary relationship with the humble potato. It is definitely a "staple". I also hypothesize it is the reason that we seem to have the same dishes over and over again. Because, a varied menu requires varied ingredients and a well stocked pantry, something impossible to achieve if half of the food budget of the cafeteria is spent bringing in potatoes by the shipping container-load. Now, I like french fries, and baked potatoes, and mashed potatoes. Unlike some of my Scottish and English peers, I do not put all three on my plate and call that dinner. Hopefully, the growing Indian culinary influence in Europe will help break this horrible habit. Maybe one day students will sit down in the Edinburgh cafeteria and have some good Dal. But until then, I am living in Dr. Atkins nightmare.

The Horror!

History

Today I heard an interesting story about some of the history of Edinburgh that was funny enough that I thought I would share.

Back in the 17th century, Scotland was really into its Presbyterianism and understandably so, considering Edinburgh was the heart of the Scottish reformation. The power of the Kirk (what the Church of Scotland calls its churches, I think its an old Gallic word) was pretty far reaching, even into the University. In one particular incident, it was reported that a couple of students from the University of Edinburgh were perhaps holding theological views contrary to what Scottish Presbyterianism would dictate, and were talking about them in their theology courses. Of course the University responded in the appropriate manner to intellectual debate inside of its classrooms: it had the students publicly hanged in the square the next week. Because nothing says dedication to academic integrity than killing your own students. Add the fact that at the time most University Students were between the ages of 13 and 16, and this story gets even more ridiculous. I mean, first of all, I think it is pretty impressive that 13-year-olds were discussing the finer points of Calvinism at all. Now add to the fact that they were probably simultaneously doing most of their studies in Greek and Latin. And that the typical day at University started probably around 5 in the morning. Oh, yeah, did I mention they were 13! Talk about pressure.

Incentive to agree with your Professors

Things going through the head of the typical 17th century University student:
"I hope this acne goes away before the fall dance...I wonder if anyone would like to play football this weekend...that MacLeod girl is kinda cute...better remember to study my greek for my Biblical Exegesis class...Oh, great, now I have to watch what I say around Professor Connelly or he'll have me murdered..."

Guess which of those things I wasn't worrying about when I was 13? So, its a morbidly funny story, but it made me chuckle. Just imagine if this practice of discipline was kept in the modern University setting:

Professor: "Now, who wants to comment on the Douglass article?"
 (Hushed Silence)
Professor: "Anybody?"
(More Hushed Silence)
Student: (stammering) "Per, perhaps he was taking a Marxist interpretation of 21st century politics?"
(class gasps in fear)
Professor: "Marxism? Really? I am sorry Jim, but thats not where I think Douglass was going with this."
Jim: "What? No, I mean, its's... ah No! Don't take me away!"
(Jim is dragged screaming out of the class by TAs)
Professor: "Anybody else?"
(Hushed Silence)

Back in Black Medicine

My apologies to readers who expect more frequent updates. I wish I could say that I had a really good reason for why my posts have not been as frequent, like I have been practicing with my Ancient Scottish Military Reenactment Society friends, preparing for our defense of Stirling Bridge, or wrestling monsters in Lochs, or I have been to worn out from all my caber chucking, but no of that is actually true. I have been trying to ward off a little bit of a cold, but that is about it, as far as pressing things that I have done. However, now I am back in Black Medicine, which I foresee as becoming my primary haunt in the city. Fridays at least it seems I will be able to spend a couple of hours here every week, so I will be able to blog at least once a week.

This week has not be honestly very eventful, however, as I have always heard one should write about what one knows, something that I have been doing, and something that I do know, is breakfast. So, here is a fun little quiz to see how well you know your breakfast.

Question #1
Baked Beans are:

A. Best had with a BBQ sandwich, a delicious side when paired with pork.
B. Probably not the wisest gastronomic choice, due to their ability to disrupt normal intestinal function.
C. A delicious breakfast treat! Good on everything from eggs to toast to sausage. Can be a topping or just eaten plain.

Quetsion #2
Haggis is:

A. A interesting Scottish delicacy. Not bad when eaten during certain culturally appropriate occasions.
B. Best left well enough alone.
C. A delicious breakfast treat! What better way to start your day than a nice hot plate of sheep-innards?

Question #3
Mushrooms are:

A. A tasty ingredient used to enhance fine cooking.
B. Not to bad, for a fungus. A decent pizza topping choice, as long as other things on it to mask the taste.
C. A delicious breakfast treat! A steaming portion for breakfast goes great with your morning coffee and newspaper!

Question #4
Tomatoes are:

A. The bedrock for Italian cuisine.
B. Best in sauce form. And in Ketchup.
C. A delicious breakfast treat. Grill up a couple whole for an energizing start. Nothing says breakfast of champions more than a fleshy luke-warm soggy tomato!

Now, lets see how you did. Hopefully, A and B were the most attractive answers to you.  Unfortunately, the British would answer every question here with C. And obviously, people in the UK could learn a thing or two about food to be eaten before noon. To review, here is a visual reminder.

=   WRONG

Things going on...

...that you don't know. Bonus poitns if you have any idea what im talking about there.

In about half an hour I will go to my last class of my week, officially ending my first full, actual week of classes here. I would have logged a total of 6 hours worth of class time. That is a beautiful thing. Now, granted I spent some more time outside of class doing the prep readings, but it is still beautiful knowing that I am pretty much just expected to know things. No hand holding, no babying. Just read and learn, and be able to talk about it. Liberal Arts rules. So, what have I been doing with the remainder of my time? Discovering the following:

1. Irn Bru

Irn-Bru  is the "other national drink of Scotland", according to themselves. What it is is soda. Very mysterious soda. Very delicious mysterious soda. To be honest, I could not tell you at all what it tastes like. It is sorta like bubble gum. Sorta. The formula is supposed to be a secret, known only by two Scottish guys. Supposedly, these guys can't even travel on the same airplane together, in case the monsters over at Pepsi try to shoot down their plane in hopes of annililating their Scottish soft drink rivals. If there is still a Cola-War going on, Irn-Bru is sorta like the IRA. Except Scottish. Anyway, every Scot over here is absolute bonkers about this stuff, and I have grown to like the elixir myself, its having all sorts of promised properties and effects, of the alchemical ("made with girders!") and mystical (will turn you Iron!") nature. To be honest, I just want to be like this guy:

2. Manure

Now, to be honest, I knew about this particular natural plant-life accelerator prior to coming to Edinburgh, its just my knowledge of it has been fortified. "Why, Wade, have you decided to abandon a life of scholarship at the University in favor for a more pastoral agrestic profession?" you might ask. The answer is a resounding "Nae", which is Scottish for "No, get away from from me before I beat you into haggis stuffing." The reason for my newfound appreciation for manure is that the groundskeepers at the residence halls where I am living decided that it would be a brilliant idea to tear up all the grass pretty much everywhere in the whole complex, and then cover the exposed earth with about a foot of manure. Maybe they are trying to recreate the ancient accademic experience of Highland youth coming down into the lowlands to study at the university, all of them smell like they spend all their time running around heather fields in skirts stepping in cow and sheep droppings all the time (they did). Or maybe they just really don't like us. Either way, our entire building now smells, pretty much everytime you go outside, like Old MacDonalds farm. Ironic Scottish name there...

3. Rain

Not much to say here, other than in Edinburgh it doesn't rain really. Clouds just descend to about waist level. Everyother molecule in the air transforms into H2O, and no matter what your wearing, or if you have a jacket or umbrella or anything else, you just get soaked. Its really fun. Makes me appreciate soup.

Library

Today I got to do more adventuring. This morning, for my class "Intellectual History from Antiquity to the Renaissance" (pompous points +10!), I had to visit the library to get the necessary books for my next lecture, which is on Aristotle (pompous points +3!). Now, I have visited the University of Edinburgh Main Library once so far this year, but it was mostly to confirm that it did indeed have a coffee shop inside of it. Today I had a chance really check it out, and oh, the joy of it all! The building has most of its books primarily on one floor. That's right, a full size college library, on one floor. Oh the Stacks! It was a thing of beauty. One could, if one wanted to, walk from Library of Congress subclass AC - collected works, to ZA50 - Government Information. And that's awesome.

So, I have a confession to make. I am a nerd. And not like a "lets bust out our Star Fleet uniforms, Vulcan Ears and Klingon-to-English dictionary and go see Leornard Nimoy at a Trekkie Con". I am, at least what I would consider, a nerd in the more classical sense. Now don't get me wrong, I know my Yuuzhan-Vong from my Troydarians, I know which chapters betrayed the Imperium during the Horus Heresy, I grasp the depth of the sadness from the Kinslaying, I know who planned the Kwisatz Haderach, and I am practically a card-carrying member of the Browncoats. But where my real nerdiness (spellcheck tells me this is not a word, nerdiocity then perhaps?) comes out, and splays its cephalapod tentacles, is in libraries and books. I am probably not this guy:

 But, give me the chance like today, to grab some books, and I nerd out totally. Rare book collections? Sign me up? Ancient Manuscript section? Show me the way? Microfilm? Yes, please! Of course, the irony is that I am not really all that well read. I've never read War and Peace, I can't really stand Dickens, Shakespeare is kinda a bother to me, the Iliad I find really kinda boring, don't even get me started on the Bronte Sisters, and there are entire sections, genres even, that I avoid like the plague. Like for example, almost everything written by Germans. Nothing against them, its just some things get lost in translation (like the ability to have any idea what they are talking about).

But, I like books. Alot. So today, exploring the library was such a treat. The University of Edinburgh library has like 8 floors, several devoted purely to reading. And while they do have the obligatory wooden 1930's era desk and chairs designed by a guy who hated Chiropractors, they also have a whole room filled with this comfy chairs that have a built in mini-desk and laptop charger build into them, swiveling around and all lined facing the southwest wall, which is all windowed and gives one an awesome view of the city. When I finally found the books I was looking for, I ended walking out with two classic tomes by Aristotle, his Politics and Nicomachean Ethics. Both of the books are over 100 years old. Not just the copyright. Like, these books were printed during the days of monocles and when men could get away with names like Allistor Willingham III, and the library has kept the books ever since, rebinding them every couple of decades. That gives me goosebumps of awesomeness just thinking about it.

Even the librarians were cool. While they are not the dream librarians of every nerds dreams (not one bookish girl with horned-rim-glasses in sight), they were the next best thing, which is ancient Scottish men who could tell you all about where to find books about David Hume (personal friend of the family you know laddie) or the Second World War, because you know, THEY LIVED THROUGH IT!

Anyway, I will wrap up this long post with one last thing. While today I visited the Main Library of the University, one can visit the old library, known as the Playfair library, which now just holds mostly the spill-over from the School of Divinity Library. It looks like this:

Thats right. It is lined with busts! Busts! Like something out of Laura Croft's house. I must visit this place.

Perfect Day

So, today had all the possibility to be a really horrible day. The morons (the most polite word I can think of, although brainless, immature, selfish, ignorant gits would probably be a more accurate and culturally appropriate title) next door decided that they were going to party it up, because the weekend totally starts on Thursday. Now, I understand the idea of the weekend being a much more flexible state of mind period of time in college. I go to GWU, a place where among much of the student body the "work week", "classes", "academic progress" and "any semblence of anything anywhere close to responsibility" is at best a highly debatable phantasm that hasn't not been seen since Roosevelt (the first one!) took office, and whose existence is the debated in our hallowed halls of scholarship (that is, if they actually did go to any of our hallowed halls of scholarship), and at worse a horrible terror only to be spoke of in hushed tones, similar to how one speaks about Voldemort, or Dick Cheney.

The last president to inspire The Fear of Work in GWU students

Actually, that's not true. At GW we love to yell about how much we hate Dick Cheney. Anyway, the point is, GW has exposed me to how much of the ignorant college masses my esteemed peers behave, which is partying as much as physically possible at anytime or place, day of the week notwithstanding, until you either collapse from exhaustion or die. (To soon ?)

That said, I have never been subjected to next door neighbors who have literally become nocturnal. Their parties start at midnight, and continue until early in the morning. And I don't mean like "oh man its almost 4, we're super rad for partying this late". I mean early like, at 6:30 this morning, when the sun was rising, the morning song birds were chirping, and Edinburgh was beginning to wake up, these buffoons were still playing their music and yelling their heads off. I got absolutely zero sleep last night, as even my most pacifying Chopin preludes and Debussy concertos could not ward off their incessant noise.

To really top it off, I had a 9 o'clock lecture this morning, which was across town. And, the promised Edinburgh weather finally kicked in. Which means 50 degrees, windy, grey as slate and drizzling enough just to make you damp and miserable.  But the glorious thing is this: I am now sitting in my new favorite coffee shop (one of the 1, 748,597 within 4 feet of the University), the aptly titled "Black Medecine Coffee Company". They have a definte British Columbia vibe going on (complete with pacific northwest totem pole decor), but play only motown music inside, and the baristas all sound like the wife of William Wallace. And their coffee is amazing. The day is now amazing! I love a country where this perfect balm could be allowed to exist.

The Scenic North Sea

Today I had a really interesting experience. I got to do something that I really did not think I would get to do until I got back to the USA: I went on a beach picnic. Now, I am aware that Great Britain is infact an island country (well, really an island and a half), and that the water has played an important historical role in the development of the culture and history of Great Britain. Everything from seafood to the Royal Navy bears the mark of the large bodies of water around the UK. But all that said, being from Florida, I guess I have a specific mental idea of what a picnic on the beach is.

It looks sorta like this:
Not this:


But that's what I got. But it was a blast anyway. I got to meet some really cool people, hang with cool people I already knew, and eat another free meal. Perhaps growing up in Florida makes on a little spoiled to what the beach is like.

Supposedly people all over the world pretty much have only the above as their experiences with the ocean. I think that is really sad, but it does make me appreciate why the British were so keen on settling (ruthlessly conquering) the Caribbean. I bet Port Royal Jamaica must have looked like paradise compared to this.

The really cool thing though is how still this definitely home to all the Scottish students I meet. They will defend this beach as their spot to go hang out until the day they die. It gets a mind thinking, specifically about what it means to be home, to have a home, and the concept of "my space". Maybe in a couple days I will blog some more about this idea.

Auld Lang Syne...

Things I did this weekend:

1. Attended a full-blown bonna-fide ceilidh (pronounced kayleh). Think of it as a Scottish hootenanny.

2. Discovered that my beard trimmer had died on me. Which is a big deal for me. So I went on a cross-city-beard-trimmer-acquisition-quest. This lead me to discover an interesting cultural phenomena; the bargain store.

3. Searched for a Church. Kinda fun, kinda funny.

But I promise this will not be "dear diary", so here is so color commentary on my first ceilidh (a baptism by haggis if you will).

A ceilidh is, in a word, a phenomena. Folk dancing, kilts, bands consisting of fiddles and pipers, the whole shebang. It was a truly bizarre, very non-American experience. It was also alot of fun. Dancing, when not about "getting low", or about how ironic you can be, is actually a really fun thing to do. A ceilidh is also designed, and I am sure cultural anthropologists and other cultural hoighty-toighty types would disagree, to make absolute fools of everyone involved. Think about it: guys in skirts dancing with girls in skirts, dancing to what is essentially Scottish polka music played primarily on the fiddle and flute, two beautiful but squeaky instruments. The music is is too fast to really keep up with adequately and thus designed to make you tired, red-faced and sweaty, and is combined with dance steps that always seem to end up in spinning your partner fast enough to lift her off the ground and send her careening into a collision course with Jupiter, (which actually saves you some embarrassment, because you can barf your dizzy guts up while she is reentering the atmosphere on the completion of her orbital flight). Oh, did I mention that you end the evening with the yelling of a traditional folk song at the top of your lungs while holding hands in a giant circle, charging headfirst at eachother at every chorus to create a giant scrum of sweaty screaming tartan clad revelers? Combine that with the raging youthful hormones of the lusty sons of Scotland attempting to woo yon fair lasses, overwatched by the stodgy presbyters of their local kirk, and you have the fun-yet-freaky bizarro-world sheeps-gut eating cousin of a high-school prom.

People Watching

Something I enjoy doing is people watching. As someone who is quite content to sit alone and stare at people, giving the activity an official and more socially acceptable name is great for me. As it turns out, Edinburgh is an absolute gem for this sort of thing. Any city that prides itself in its giant inflatable purple cow it produces once a year to use as a stage for drama productions is bound to have some interesting people in it. An added bonus is that being an American, everyone here is all the more interesting just for their British-ness or at the very least European-ness. Originally, this was going to be the topic of this post, I had it written out and everything, but upon reading it, I found alot of my observations, while actual occurances, sounded more like racial stereotypes. I suppose the stereotypes have to come from somewhere, but to avoid offending people though, I will refain from giving any examples.

I will however, say that I do indeed love British people. The Scots and the English and the Northern Irish (and I would assume the Welsh, but I have never met someone from Wales) are all walking illustrations on how the coolness scale works. Most of them fall on dorky end of the spectrum. Alot of them are just plain funny looking people. The American approach to the spectrum is to push people towards the cool end, with people getting progressively less dorky as they get cooler. The British approach is to do the opposite. If they want to get cooler, they get dorkier, going around backwards on the spectrum, finally arriving at a place where they are so dorky, they are cool and hip. However, this momentum doesn't seem to stop, as alot of my peers here at University seem to push the limits past cool and into tragically hip, and thus back to dorky. The best example of this is the Beatles. How did they go from the guys whering the funny suits in Hamburg to the epitome of rock coolness (especially Paul and John)? By going backwards. Its great fun watching and hanging out with my new British friends, and makes me thoroughly enjoy the differences in culturs. (Cool thing about my metaphor with the Beatles, it holds true! Look at John in his late yoko-worshiping phase, he went back out of cool into painfully hip and dorky territory).

Hoping this isn't just my mom reading this...

So, I decided to join the 21st century today, and create a weblog. Not because I have anything terribly important to say, or that I have some great insight into the world, or even that I think my personal opinion is worth more of your time than anything else that is competing for your attention. I have just, in recent months especially, been faced with the fact that I have an increasing number of people whom I have snagged into becoming interested in my life, and these people (you!) are becoming increasingly geographically spread apart.

Since personal visits are a cost prohibitive (yet the decidedly more fun way) for keeping people in the loop, and personal handwritten letters can also be a real bother (having to get personal addresses, having to buy stamps, having to figure out how to mail things to other continents, forcing people to read my handwriting...), my only option seems to be to use the inter-web-net-thing and write a blog.

So, here it goes. Maybe no one will read this or maybe it'll just be my grandparents (yes they are that cool), but I figure I will post anyway. Atleast, I'll be able to, with a clear conscious, every night know be able to fall asleep confident in the fact that people can check up on me every couple of days and make sure I am still alive.