Homeward Bound: Travels Back in Time

Fellow earthlings, I have returned to the time zone in which I was born and raised, after a trying and perilous journey over the high seas. It's a thrilling tale, and I wish to do it justice, but first I want to detail my last week in St. Andrews. I want to recall as much as I can, for though I was eager to get home, I found myself giving pause to appreciate and savor the final stretch. Throwing all decorum aside, I spent as much time as I could with the people I cared about, doing things I enjoyed and not getting worked up over deadlines and daily frustrations. That last week, I think I finally allowed myself to fall in love with Scotland.

Saturday (December 12), I started off the day by watching Pride and Prejudice with Brennon, something we had been planning to do all semester. I have mentioned Brennon before, but for posterity's sake, allow me to say that he is one of the most excellent people I have ever had the privilege to know. He's a bleeding heart artist, ashamed of nothing, but I have never felt embarrassed or inadequate in his company. He carries himself with a happy goofiness that's wonderfully infectious, but there's a heaviness too that grounds him. Basically he's a walking contradiction, but somehow he makes sense, even when he thinks he doesn't. Anyway, I love him dearly, and I'm so glad he goes to school in Ohio.

That afternoon, after Brennon left, I made candied sweet potatoes, then headed to Dover 12 for the DRA Christmas dinner. After everyone had made their contribution, there was an unbelievable amount of food, much more than Thanksgiving and there were fewer people eating. Fabulous. After dinner, (I think) we watched "Jingle All the Way," which is a horrible movie, by the way. Fergus and Katie came over with their instruments (drum and fiddle) and Michael went back to his flat to get his accordion, so we had a bit of an impromptu folk session. I even got to play the accordion for a bit!

Sunday night, there was a Christmas carol service at the Holy Trinity Church on South Street. John, Michael, Juliana, and her friend Elise, visiting from Smith, were along, and though we arrived 20 minutes early, the place was packed, and we were seated in the back and to the side. The St. Salvator's Choir sang, with interpolated readings of the gospel Christmas story. The British seem to have their own set of carols, and I was only familiar with maybe half of the songs (the audience was compelled to sing several pieces. I would have preferred to listen to the choir, but hey, it was fun).

That night was the Geminids meteor shower, so after the service we headed to Castle Sands, stopping by Tesco on the way to buy chocolate and mince pies. The sky was clear as can be (unusual for Scotland at this time of year), the moon out of sight, and we saw dozens of shooting stars. Andrew Dorkin joined us after awhile. It's hard to convey how contented and happy I was to sit out on this beach, castle to my back, great open sky falling overhead, passing around chocolate and mince pies with some of my favorite people. I hope I don't forget what that felt like.

We weren't ready to head in yet, so we headed to KFB (a chippy north of the Whey Pat Pub) so John and Michael could try the fabled deep-fried Mars bar (I had already tried it, after returning from the Christmas ceilidh in Edinburgh the week before). Then we went out on East Sands, played chicken with the tide, saw a few more meteors, then headed back to DRA.

Monday night was the Christmas ceilidh for the Celtic society. We finally persuaded John to go, along with Juliana, Elise, Michael, Michael Heuston, and myself. It was a great ceilidh, with a ton of people and a fabulous accordionist. The last dance, called "Arcadian Strip the Willow," I was practically airborne for 90% of the time.

On Tuesday, Juliana, Elise and I borrowed some St. Andrews gowns so that we could tour the castle for free. I'm glad I finally took the time to tour it. There's a mine and countermine that is still accessible, but the ceiling in places is very low, and it was a little awkward to clamber through with our giant wool gowns. That night, there was another ceilidh at the DRA lounge, but this time only Juliana, Elise, Michael and I went. It was smaller, and the band wasn't as lively, but I enjoyed myself. It was my last ceilidh, and I think it ended on a good note. I'll miss them.

On Wednesday, I wrote my International Relations exam, then met up with Cole, Aaron, Andrew, John, Juliana, and Michael for a self-fashioned "bakery crawl." It was something I had aspired to do all semester. We hit the three main bakeries in town, then headed to a little cafe for tea. The company was really great, and we stayed until the cafe closed, talking and laughing and sputtering tea.

Wednesday and Thursday nights were spent in Dover 12, hanging out with the people I've grown closest with over the semester. Juliana and I also went to the last poetry and cake meeting, which was a Christmas party in Calum's flat. After reading some pretty horrible Christmas-themed poetry, we played some poetry games and ate some delicious cake. Juliana and I left early, wanting to get back to DRA and our friends (it was my last night in town), but we took a detour to the cathedral and the pier, as the falling snow was making us a little giddy and energetic. The sea was so angry and the snow was falling in huge flakes. It was strange to think that it was the last time I would walk out on that pier.

On Friday, I woke up early to see Juliana off at the bus station. She is spending the winter holiday in Denmark with a friend, then she is returning to St. Andrews for the spring semester. Hopefully I'll see her again. At least, with her and John and Brennon, it's plausible we will meet again. It's strange to say good bye to someone that you can't reasonable hope to see again. At 10am, I took a walk out on West Sands with Andrew, a friend I met through Poetry and Cake Society. It was a beautiful morning, clear skies, the sand frozen beneath our feet and the tide hundreds of yards away. When we returned to his hall, we said our goodbyes, he passed some comment about visiting Ohio, and then he was gone. All day, I made my goodbyes, unable to honestly look anyone in the eye and say, "see you later." Our paths diverge here, and it was only by sheer coincidence that they ran parallel in the first place. 3 months is a perfect amount of time to grow close with people, then drop out of their lives so abruptly that it's as if it never happened. I wonder what my friends at St. Andrews will recall of this semester, when they think back on it years from now. Perhaps enough of a memory will persist that they will recall some American students, puttering around, being tourists. Maybe they'll remember my name, where I'm from. But will I just fade to an article, yet another "cool thing" about going to uni? Will any warmth of friendship endure? It seemed so important at the time. 3 months, in which St. Andrews is your life, then back to America, and all the roles and expectations therein. The space I displaced at St. Andrews will eventually be filled again with other experiences, and I'll fall through, undetected.

Goodbye, Scotland! Keep in touch, and perhaps I will return. Back to the future! as they say.

Ayr, with Claire

Last weekend, Juliana, John and I were invited out to Ayr in Ayrshire, to visit with the Youngs. Claire Young is one of Juliana's flatmates, and one of my favorite Scots here. We spent the weekend at her parents' house, being driven around the countryside to tramp through castles, and eating double helpings of homemade, Scottish dishes. This, truly, is how a homestay should be.

Ayr is the official home of the beloved Scotch poet Robert Burns, and we visited his cottage, though the complex was closed so we couldn't tour the interior or visit the adjoining museum.

Castles are rampant in Ayr, being right on the west coast of Scotland, but most are in ruins (typical of many Scottish heritage sites). We visited Greenan, Dundonald, Culzean (which is whole), and Denure Castle, and we also forced entry into the ruins of Crossraguel Abbey (we climbed a fence; no big deal). Ayr is stunning: rolling green hills, wind-twisted trees, rocky outcrops, ocean views, and the island of Arran in the distance, mountainous and snowy.

We stayed for a night, arriving Saturday afternoon and leaving Sunday evening. Saturday night, the three Americans plus Claire went out to the Wellington Pub, which was hosting a weeklong folk festival. Coincidentally, one of Claire's school friends was performing in a band that night, so we whiled away the evening listening to traditional Scottish folk music (fiddle, accordian (playing the pipe parts), and a keyboard) and heatedly debating over the modern attention span.

Claire's family was incredibly accommodating; they fed us heartily, took us on long car trips to see the sites, and made us laugh all along the way. I think they were just as excited to have us as we were to be there.

Thanksgiving

Have a happy one!

Europe: a Reading Week Extravaganza!

Last Sunday (Nov. 15), I returned from a 10 day journey through England, France, and Germany, accompanied by John and Juliana. In order to spare myself the tedium of relating each day chronologically (we took a train here, then we did this…etc.), I’ll give an itinerary below, then reflect on certain instances and comment on the trip as a whole.

Here’s what we did:

Friday, November 6

--Took a train from Leuchars station to York. Stayed in York Youth Hostel 2 nights.

Sunday, November 8

--Train from York to London Kings Cross. Stayed in Astor Hyde Park Hostel 1 night.

Monday, November 9

--Eurostar train from St. Pancras Station to Paris Garde du Nord. Stayed in St. Christopher’s Youth Hostel 2 nights.

Wednesday, November 11

--Train from Paris Garde de l’Est to Frankfurt. Stayed in 5 Elements Hostel 2 nights.

Friday, November 13

--Train from Frankfurt to Berlin. Stayed in Grand Hostel of Berlin 2 nights.

Sunday, November 15

--Flight from Berlin to Edinburgh. Boarded train to Leuchars. Return to St. Andrews.

OK, here’s what happened:

We started our journey in style, traveling first class to York. The tickets were actually a couple pounds cheaper than the regular coach seats. We were served tea and coffee, and it rocked. On the whole, our experiences on the train were great; all the trains were more or less on time, we encountered no problems with overbooking, and the compartments were clean and comfortable.

We arrived in York in the early afternoon, so we leisurely made our way to the hostel booked by IFSA Butler for the weekend. On the way we stopped by the river to eat a picnic lunch of the food I had been saving all the previous week expressly for this trip. Food became part of my accoutrements, it seems, for the entire trip; I could always be counted on to carry at least 3 pieces of fruit, biscuits, rolls, peanut butter, and anything else I could save from breakfast, if it was served in the hostel. I was introduced to the term, “opportunivorism,” by Juliana; it summarizes well how we lived for the week, shaving costs by eating out of grocery stores and hostel breakfasts.

York was a blast, really exceeding my expectations. After checking in at the hostel, John, Juliana and I headed for the National Train Museum, which was both free and located relatively close to the hostel. With childlike zeal we wandered through locomotives, giant steam engines cutting impressive profiles in the dark hangar. The following day was filled with more sightseeing (part of the York weekend included a York pass, giving us free admittance to many of the popular sites). We did York Minster in the morning. Spectacular. Larger than I expected, with a history dating back to the ancient Romans. They also had a great set of gargoyle heads on display and impossibly large and intricate stain glass windows.

We visited the Jorvik Viking Center (smelled of Viking. We took a ride in blue capsules that moved past animatronic Vikings at .5 mi/hr.) Went through the Shambles (inspiration for Diagon Alley of Harry Potter) and grabbed a sandwich at Mr. Sandwich. Took a boat ride on the river; it was freezing. Warmed up at the York Castle Museum. It was the most eclectic collection of exhibits I’ve ever seen housed under one roof. You walk from an exhibit on death motifs in Victorian England into a gallery of English fashion into a collection of children’s toys throughout the ages into a replica of a Victorian prison into the 60s. Literally. My memories of the place are a little out of joint. The lack of coherence definitely kept you on your toes, though.

We struck out from York, pleased to be blazing our own trail now. Negotiating London proved a little difficult, as we didn’t have a metropolitan map and relied largely on our intuition (and the occasional help from a metro map or random stranger) to find our hostel. We found it, only to be told that we couldn’t check in for another half an hour. While we waited in the lobby, Nathan showed up (we had agreed earlier to meet that afternoon), and he and I got sandwiches to eat in Hyde Park. Walked to the Victoria and Albert Museum (equally eclectic, but perhaps more dignified?). Walked back to the hostel. I met up with John and Juliana and we did a walking tour of the London sites: Big Ben, Parliament, London Eye, Trafalgar Square, 10 Downing St., Buckingham Palace.

I woke up in London on Monday morning feeling nauseated. I knew something was wrong, but not wanting to admit anything, either to my companions or myself, I packed up and set out with John and Juliana for St. Pancras Station, which is about a 4 mile walk from our hostel. The cold air felt good, and I thought maybe I’d get over my nausea. I took some ibuprofen and focused on getting one foot in front of the other. We got there, picked up the Eurostar, and set out for Paris. That ride was a nightmare for me. John and Juliana assured me that it was the most dignified vomiting they had ever seen.

We arrived in Paris, and I was feeling a little better, so we walked to our hostel, which was another bit of a hike. After checking in, I told the both of them that they should go see the city, and I would sleep for the rest of the day, in hopes that I would be better by tomorrow morning. I did get better, it turned out, but not before I got much worse. I can honestly say hands down that that night was the worst I’d ever felt in my life.

Sparing you, dear reader, unnecessary details, suffice it to say that I was surprised and happy to recover from this flu with such expediency, and I was able to join my companions the next day for a great walking tour of Paris. Pere LaChaise! The cemetery was one of my top highlights of the trip. We visited Chopin’s and Oscar Wilde’s graves, and besides, it is a beautiful, disquieting, grey, quirky, grandiose, marvelous place. The sepulchers sparkled with strange workmanship and amusing fad fashions. American cemeteries are positively Puritan compared to the Pere lachaise. The sky was atmospherically a pearlescent grey and the air dry and crisp. Fabulous.

Then, we walked and walked and walked, stopping occasionally to eat a bit out of our bags. We saw the Louvre (though it was closed on Tuesdays, and we couldn’t get in), the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. Notre Dame! Another highlight, and possibly my favorite of the trip. A Mass had begun when we arrived, so we were able to participate in a French Mass! In Notre Dame! Ah, I can’t get over it. Although I couldn’t understand the readings or the homily, the Mass was textbook, and I followed along well. I received communion in Notre Dame! Whoa!

After, we waited outside for Juliana’s Smith friend, who arrived and took us to the Latin Quarter for dinner. Her friend was delightful, with a subtle sense of humor, derived from her articulation and mastery of vocabulary. And she spoke French, which we were all grateful for. John and I walked back to the hostel, and Juliana joined her friend at her host family’s house for the night.

The following morning, John and I walked/ran to the Louvre, walked/ran through a wing in the Louvre, then ran back to the Garde de l’Est to catch the train that would take us to Frankfurt. We were in the Louvre! You can get in free with a student ID, which is a good thing, as we only had an hour to see a museum that can probably house 5 Smithsonians. But wow! What a mind-boggling collection! We saw part of the Mediterranean ancients, some of the Americas and Africa, and some of the early Renaissance Italians. I wanted to see the Dutch, but we couldn’t find them.

The train to Frankfurt was far more pleasant for me, having made a full recovery. The German countryside and mountains are beautiful, shrouded in mist and punctuated by tiny mountain towns of timber-frame houses and church steeples. Frankfurt is such a wild contrast to Paris, which is positively flamboyant and aesthetically radiant. German cities are far more sober and sensible, with their grid layouts and modern skyscrapers. We arrived in the evening, well after sunset, and navigated the “strasses” with a little anxiety, none of us educated in German. We found our hostel without too much trouble, however, nestled among the neon signs advertising “SEX Inn” and “Babes babes babes!” We were in the red light district of Frankfurt!

John set out to find the WWII airfield the following morning, leaving Juliana and I to explore the city (on foot, once more). In the afternoon, we visited the Frankfurt Architecture Museum, which was quite interesting, particularly the Ben Willikens exhibit. He is a German artist who depicts rooms emptied of all colors and contents. His most famous (that’s relatively speaking) work is DaVinci’s Last Supper. There was also an exhibit on TV towers and their (largely political) significance throughout the world, and a pretty basic exhibit on architecture through the ages, with models.

The hostel was probably my favorite thing about Frankfurt, and that’s mostly because of our roommates. The first night we shared a room with a quiet, male student from Berlin and a late-20-something Colombian man. The student kept to himself, but Fernand was interested in talking to us. He had spent the year working in England to improve his English, and he was taking a month-long tour of Europe before returning to Colombia. He was relieved to leave England, he told us, because he missed amiability and fresh fruit, both of which are in short supply in the UK. So we joked for awhile about the shortcomings of the British, and he told us about his childhood in Colombia and his girlfriend. He was really curious about us as well, so we all got along very nicely.

Fernand checked out the next morning, and he was replaced by this American black man, who lived in Malta with his Maltese wife that he had met on his travels while in the Navy. Tim was a riot; we spent our second evening talking about American fast food, his travels (particularly his experiences in Dubai), family, high school, Obama, and the intensifying powers of the f-word. Oh man, he was so funny. I wish we had gotten his contact info, just for the sake of a Christmas card or two.

Berlin was strange. We arrived a few days after the anniversary celebrations for the fall of the Wall. I don’t know if there was any necessary correlation, but the city was practically empty. Well, there were people meandering about, and some traffic, but the city is so sprawling and modern, with wide sidewalks and streets, that there was never a concentration of people anywhere. It was a surreal sensation; it felt a like walking around a movie set.

We saw a portion of the Wall that remains standing. It now serves as a gallery of murals, by artists all over the world, largely peace-, overcoming-, unity-, international cooperation-themed. We visited a couple of museums, wandering through exhibits largely in German, and walked the dark, misty city. When recalling Berlin, that’s what I envision: darkness and mist. Even our hostel was impermeably dark; the fluorescent lightbulbs didn’t do much to dispel the sense of unending night. I realize this is a very unforgiving review of Berlin. I think by this point, we were tiring of travel, of living out of backpacks and eating cold food and making exchanges in languages we didn’t know. I exaggerate; we did have a great time and learned a good deal, but I think our experiences in Berlin would have been far more enjoyable if we had had a guide, someone from the city who could reveal the vitality of the city. As it was, we were at a loss for what to do.

The flight back to Edinburgh was uneventful, though it was my first experience with Ryanair. It was perfectly fine, excepting perhaps the incessant voice over the intercom, offering sales of food, drinks, cosmetics, perfumes, etc. We were a captive audience for 2 hours to a steady stream of consumer goods. I suppose they have to make their money somehow; a 20 pound flight is a little hard to come by.

Now, I’m back at St. Andrews, attempting to cram 6 weeks of classes and exams into 4, so that I can get back to Ohio for Christmas and the start of spring semester at Kenyon. I will be returning to Kenyon in the spring, for all those whom I haven’t told. My reasons for leaving are numerous, but primarily I am returning because I see no further benefit to staying for a full year, and as I have a higher estimation of a Kenyon education than of St. Andrews, I am saving myself some stress and some money by coming home. For now, I’ll enjoy the Christmas season here in the UK, and spend as much quality time with the friends I’ve made here as I can. Thanksgiving is this week, and I’m crazy excited. All of my friends, including the British ones, will contribute to a feast of epic proportions.

I hope all is well, and enjoy the holiday. I’ll be home soon.

"Pithy" is Modern

Continuing the theme of short, pithy posts, I will now take a page from Phloem and Xylem*, and do a good ol' Horns Up/Horns Down.

Horns Up:

"Freedom to Roam" laws
Adventure runs
Curious Livestock
Ankle-deep mud
McVitie's "Digestive" Biscuits
Poetry and Cake Sessions
Respite from essay writing
Quiet on D Floor
Pride and Prejudice

Horns Down:

Heavy rains and bad drainage
The continuing postal strike
Ankle-deep mud
Awkwardness
Wet clothes

*For those of you who aren't familiar, Phloem and Xylem is the MVS newspaper. Horns Up/Horns Down, featuring our beloved Ram, was a regular piece acting as a kind of barometer for school affairs.

Hallowe'en

Juliana, Aaron, Claire and I prepared Halloween dinner, consisting of butternut squash and carrot soup, homemade bread (Claire), apples, roasted pumpkin seeds, and lots of chocolate and Haribo gummies. I played at Beowulf, with Juliana as Grendel. Aaron put on a last minute Monopoly Man.

Because sometimes you have to remember that these things do happen.

It's 3:32AM. I'm sitting on the sofa in Dover 12, listening to the Postal Service and keeping watch over a violently intoxicated friend. My partner-in-care is taking a nap, and I'm at 1st watch. I should be doing homework, something productive with my night vigil, but sometimes, every once in awhile, you have to leave behind a little bit of evidence, if only as a reminder that college wasn't always so great. A pillar of honesty to keep yourself grounded in yourself.

Happy All Saints Day!

Homestay + Fire

This post will concern two things:

1) Homestay in Stirling

2) Juggling Fire!

So part of the IFSA Butler program is to spend a weekend in the home of a Scottish family. I was paired with Juliana (complete coincidence; we didn't have any choice in the matter) and sent to Stirling by bus, which picked us up in St. Andrews. The ride was, by all accounts, uncomfortable, due to the bus driver's erratic driving habits and the winding roads of midland Scotland. I enjoyed a conversation with Aaron for the duration of the trip, and luckily we were seated at the front of the bus, with a view out the windshield, so neither of us were motion sick. Unfortunately I can't speak for everyone...

We arrived in Stirling and waited in a cold, dark, empty car park for about 45 minutes. We decided to call the coordinator of the program, and we found out that our families were told differently, and were waiting in a park about a 10 minute drive away. Our bus driver, already disgruntled by various events, turned downright nasty and yelled at the coordinator, a tiny elderly woman, when we arrived at the right car park. She put him in his place, however, and he drove off. We didn't have to negotiate with him anymore, which was a relief. We were met by our families, and some were driven off to the homestays. Juliana and I rode a taxi to our host mother, because she didn't drive. When we arrived, she was standing in the doorway, and told us immediately to take off our shoes. The house was immaculate, but I don't want to give the wrong impression: she was very hospitable and encouraged us to make ourselves comfortable.

Our host mother, Mary, is at least 80 years old, with a bad leg and widowed. She has 3 grandchildren, their pictures proudly displayed in her bay window. She had recently moved to Stirling from London, where she had lived all her life, to be close with her sister and nieces and nephews. The neighborhood she lives in now is a little rough, but she completely updated and redecorated the house, with upscale kitchen appliances and very comfortable, new furniture. She's very fond of air fresheners (she had those little contraptions that *puff* freshener every few minutes. It took awhile to get used to their little exhalations) and she loves trifle.

That's about all I found out about her, unfortunately. We did our best to draw her out and talk with us, but she seemed to think that we would prefer to keep to ourselves, and was surprised that we wanted to spend time with her. The TV was on constantly, and since there was a TV in the living room, dining room, and her bedroom, she was never without it. Her bad leg kept her from going out much, though she said that she occasionally walked into town with her sister. She wasn't lazy, per se. Like I said, the house was immaculately clean and organized, and she insisted on cooking for us and doing the dishes (towards the end of the weekend, she didn't insist as much; I was allowed to make lunch on Sunday and load the dishwasher). Every time we entered the house, she offered hot drinks. I really didn't know what to make of the situation, and did my best to encourage conversation. We were there, after all, to get acquainted with Scottish culture. Unfortunately, she couldn't tell us much about Stirling (having only lived there a few months), and I think the only thing I learned about UK households is that television plays a big role.

Ah, it feels cruel to tell it this way. She really was a sweet woman, and I think she really appreciated our company, for what it was. She had us give her our addresses, so she could "send Christmas cards." I thought that was incredibly sweet, an indication that she liked us, even if she wasn't expressing it in curiosity about us.

On Saturday, we were picked up by the taxi service hired by the homestay program, and were taken to the William Wallace Monument. Built in the late 19th century, the monument is a essentially a stone tower, topped with gothic-style spires. It was raining, but the setting was still beautiful: the monument is set on a hill, overlooking the town and the autumn colors, with mountains in the distance. After listening to a William Wallace reenactor, we climbed the steps to the top of the tower. It was like entering a different level of the atmosphere (though in reality, we weren't incredibly high; only high enough to be a danger to low-flying airplanes): very high winds, very fast, pelting rain. The wind really was incredible, which is kind of a theme for Scotland. Definitely rivaled the gale force winds in Anstruther.

We then got back into taxis and drove into town, to see the Stirling Castle. Unfortunately, we only had 15 minutes to see it, an no one wanted to pay the 5 pound charge to get in, so we wandered around the gift shop.

We then walked down the hill to the Old Town Jail, now a museum with a theatrical tour. Fairly self-explanatory; the Scots apparently pride themselves on their history of reformative prisons.

After the prison, we were set loose into the city; though, as we had no map and no tour book, we had no way to direct ourselves. Unfortunately, we ended up at the Stirling mall, wandering aimlessly and vaguely hungry. We hailed another taxi, which took us back to our homes. Juliana and I ate chicken curry with Mary, then watched the British equivalent of Dancing with the Stars, called Strictly Come Dancing.

On Sunday, I made Skyline chili for Mary and Juliana. It was more or less a success; Juliana liked it and Mary was happy not to cook. Around 3:15, we were picked up again, and we boarded the bus back to St. Andrews.

Now, fire juggling! The St. Andrews JuggleSoc has fire nights every month or so, on Castle Sands, and last night was the first I was able to attend. I was pretty nervous (never juggled fire before), but incredibly excited. Juliana came with me, acting as my official photographer. It was 8pm, well after sunset, and my biggest worry was the fact that I wouldn't be able to see the torches, only the flames. So I arrived, some people gave me vague advice on how to do it, I soaked the torches in paraffin, and gave it a try. At first I was failing miserably, dropping them over and over again. But then I got the hang of it, got used to the sound of flames twirling in my face (it's quite loud!), and figured out where the torch handles were in the dark. It was so fun! I singed the hair off my hands, but I'm none the worse for wear. The paraffin doesn't burn that hot, really.

I originally was going to leave it at torches, but I was feeling brazen and decided to try fire poi. I'm not a great poi spinner, but I did all right. I think it has more of a spectacular element than juggling anyway. Juliana took pictures, Aaron showed up after a while, and John took his mother down to see it. Others were doing fire poi, staff, and these fire fan things, which were pretty cool. I'm glad I got the chance to work with fire, and I'm psyched about getting a fire show going at Kenyon when I get back.

Now, I just need to write my Montaigne essay, and then I can enjoy Halloween. Juliana and I are thinking of dressing up as Grendel and Beowulf, respectively. I'll be sure to get pictures!

Signing off,

Your fearless explorer

"Pomegranates bring out the worst in me."

A guy studying here from Middlebury takes his pomegranates very seriously. He's also a very talented pianist.

This past week I've focused on getting two essays prepared for their due dates next week, so forgive my absence, dear reader. I still haven't started the second essay, but it will get done. It always gets done.

Last week was a bit of a let down after Inverness, I'm afraid. I expended a lot of time and energy trying to digest and package the Highlands weekend into pictures, journal entries, etc. I've also been a bit sleep deprived, the result of having very exuberant neighbors and paper-thin walls. Combined with a spike in workload, my demeanor has been rather gray.

BUT my life has taken a pretty interesting (and I hope meaningful) turn in the last week or so. For one, I've rediscovered my love of running. Sure, I've been running on and off for years, but I'm really enjoying my runs now, even look forward to them. I have a goal to run the half-marathon on Earth Day in the spring, and I'm drawing from a deep-well of resolve and positive energy at the moment. I've decided to make running my therapy; it calms me in a way that no other activity can.

Secondly, I know what I want to do after graduation. I've played around with the idea of the Peace Corps for years, but I've never really committed my mind to it. I always thought I'd go to somewhere in Eastern Europe, where I could use my Russian. But I don't know much about Eastern Europe, and all I have to go on is a vague interest and affection for the place, probably born out of watching Fiddler on the Roof. But it never took hold, never assumed any greater meaning than an inclination. But now, I think I know where I want to go: the Philippines. It hit me when I received an email from my mother, telling me that much of our family over there had to be evacuated after the typhoon and flooding earlier this month. They're all ok, but the situation is dire for the country, with shortages of clean water, food, sanitation, etc. I'm not in a position to help them, and I feel terrible about that. I want to make it up to them. Going there for two years, learning the language, engaging in my culture in a way that I never have before would, and helping, finally giving back after all my years living in privilege in America, would be a meaningful, worthwhile devotion of my time after college. I'm really, genuinely excited about graduation in a couple years now. I've never felt that before. Having purpose is so fortifying.

Anyway, Scotland. I haven't left St. Andrews since Inverness, so I've had a lot of opportunities to get to know people better. Last week I attended Poetry and Cake (!) with Brennon, and we met up beforehand to make puppy chow (great success with the British students, by the way). We had a blast, and stayed for over 2 hours. It's such a simple thing, but when implemented well, very enjoyable. There was this guy from Maine who recited at least 10 pages of Kipling poetry by heart. Amazing. Another read some Russian poetry. I shared my favorite John Montague poem ("Uprooting"). I plan on making Poetry and Cake a weekly thing.

I also went to my first "JuggleSoc" meeting. I...was a little surprised. I was expecting the St. Andrews crowd to have the edge on talent, but they're all pretty amateur, I guess. I was one of the best jugglers there, and I don't think that's ever happened. I tried my hand at juggling knives, but I lost confidence and didn't do more than 2 (they're really heavy). I was also a little disappointed with their equipment, which was a little shoddy (though they have a lot more than Kenyon). I guess Nathan really knows what he's talking about when he orders from Dube. But there's a fire meeting this Monday, out on Castle Sands, and I'll definitely be there.

Right now, everyone is planning their Reading Week travels in November. I spent last night talking to Aaron, the Amherst guy, about Rome, where he will be spending the week. Oh, I really want to go back! But I'm not bowing to temptation; I need to see more of Europe. So, I will be traveling with John and Juliana from York, to London, to Paris, to Frankfurt (to see an airfield that John's grandfather helped build during the War), and end in Berlin, taking a flight back to Edinburgh. It's fast-paced, but I think we can do it. Paris! So excited.

The Royal Post is on strike, so I have no idea what will happen to this next batch of postcards that I'm sending out. Wherever you are, I hope you are getting my mail.

Waxing on Inverness

The Highlands are overwhelmingly beautiful. Ineffably so.

Last weekend was the first of the two IFSA Butler excursions for this semester. We left early Friday morning from St. Andrews, traveled through Dundee and typical central lowland countryside, and stopped at an ASDA in Perth (the Scottish equivalent to Wal-Mart. Seriously) to meet the other students from Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Sterling. While sitting in the little cafe, eating a blueberry muffin, I spotted a familiar visage. Sarah Dowling! She had come from the University of Glasgow, where she is studying studio art for the semester. I almost knocked over a chair as I stumbled over to greet her (got a high five from Brennon for that), and we caught up a bit on each other's lives and abroad experiences. Talking to her was a little surprising; she had picked up a pretty strong Glasgow accent during her month her, and I couldn't help smiling a little whenever she used classic Scottish inflection and phrasing.

I won't get into detail of everything on the trip; it would be a lengthy task for me to do justice to everything and, I'd imagine, a little tedious for you, dear reader. I'll just name some highlights.

We traveled to the Hermitage in Dunkeld, which is a fir forest arboretum located on the banks of the Braan River. What I remember most distinctly is the air: cold, crisp, smelling of pine and moss and ferns. It resembled a California forest, with giant, well-established trees and gnarled roots. The pine needle floor hushed our footsteps, allowing us to hear very distinctly the rush of the waterfall, tiny particles racing through crevices and soaking the mossy stones.

But I'm waxing. We traveled by bus everywhere we went, and like I said, I couldn't get over the beauty of the place, and took to snapping pictures out the window of the bus. None of them really turned out any good. We listened to Snow Patrol and a variety of Scottish folk, when we weren't listening to the tour guide tell stories about the landmarks we were passing, or going into detail about how certain clans got their names. I remember dozing on one of these occasions, waking only to catch certain, very disparate details of a story involving an archer, a crocodile, a king (to whom the crocodile belonged. I think.), a hapless family, and a block of peat. My guess is that the king challenged the archer to kill the crocodile, who had recently been crowned king on the block of peat, creating a dual power system. Having killed the crocodile, the hapless family stole the block of peat, to memorialize their dead king, and vowed to seek their revenge on the actual king. The king, furious at the insolence of the hapless family, ordered the block of peat to be placed on their heads, and again asked the archer to "do his worst." The archer, formerly under the impression that his king was a good guy, realized that this was in fact not the case, as it was his own hapless family that stood beneath the block of peat. So, in order to kill two birds with one stone, he shot the block of peat off their heads, thus relieving them of their burden (both their metaphysical commitment to a reptile, and the physical commitment of having a block on their heads, a block head, a head, a head on a block, a block block).

Some details may have been fudged along the way.

Anyway.

We drove about 2 hours to see our childhoods chug by. The Jacobite Express, also known as the Hogwarts Express, went over a viaduct featured in the HP films, as about 80 students stood perched on a hillside and sighed collectively.

We visited a sheep farm on Saturday. The sheep, however, were really background noise to the sheep dogs, upon which all of us lavished our affections for about an hour. We literally swarmed the place, engaging our nurturing tendencies as puppies were passed around and dogs zipped skillfully around our ankles. We had the chance to shear sheep ourselves, which we were more or less successful at. We left with heavy hearts, making vows to do this again one day, perhaps setting out to find shepherds and shepherdesses to woo and marry.

The final experience I want to detail is Loch Ness and the Urquhart Castle. We took a 30 minute cruise on the loch, on boats with a top deck in open air, and a bottom deck with windows. I stayed the entire time on the top deck, as I couldn't imagine descending below and putting glass between me and the scenery. It really was that beautiful. The wind blew relentlessly as we wound ourselves up into a giddy high, watching the shoreline go by with increasing admiration and deep, abiding awe. Again, many pledged to find a way to live here, somewhere, and settle down with a Scotsman or woman. It was so invigorating.

Urquhart Castle I approached more solemnly. It's a castle in ruins on the banks of Loch Ness, destroyed in the 17th century to prevent the Jacobites from using it as a stronghold. I found myself exploring it alone, which was fine by me, as I seemed to have a lot on my mind. I stood for a while, beneath the ramparts of the castle with a view onto the loch, and kind of meditated. It was good to be alone for just a while, collecting my thoughts and marshaling my senses. I wanted to take some of this with me, make it part and parcel of me. I think I understand why so many people on the trip sighed from the depths of their being when they saw beauty like this. It's not enough just to see it, admire it. We have an innate desire to become familiar, become intimate with the objects of our admiration. Being able to call the Highlands home would be more than just living in a beautiful place. It would intertwine with your identity, become enmeshed inside the tiny cells and particles of your nature. It's the same way with people: it's not enough to admire from a distance; we attempt to coalesce with others that we see as beautiful. We may become them, and they us.

Anyway, the trip was wonderful and I think I came away from it the better. Returning to St. Andrews was a bit of a let-down, though. Oh, the woes of academic rigor! I'm trying to play catch-up in International Relations, having started late, and I'm feeling a little anxious about that. I miss Ohio, but I really am having a good time here. I've been writing a good deal, more than I anticipated, and I've found it truly to have a cathartic effect on me.

Until next time, be well.

Accordions enhance every aspect of daily life

I think I've danced every single night since I've arrived at St. Andrews. It's been fabulous.

Two nights ago, I was spending time over at Juliana's flat with John, Michael (we've decided to call him by his real name. He doesn't deserve a mean-spirited nickname), Daniel (Michael's flatmate), and Aaron, the Amherst guy. The evening took a turn for the better (best) when Michael decided to grab his accordion from his flat and play waltzes and polka for us. He said he only knew a few chords, and he could pick out Scarborough Fair, but he managed to play quite well, and Juliana and I were soon teaching Aaron and John how to waltz. We also made an attempt to choreograph a good ceilidh. The night ended out with a frightful rendition of the Doors' "House of the Rising Sun," sung by myself, John, and Aaron, accompanied by Michael. The cacophony was wonderful to behold! Aaron and I rounded out the evening by putting his new skills to the test, waltzing down the path from DRA, buffeted about by the wind that was picking up that evening.

The following day, Saturday, John, Juliana and I had planned an excursion out to Falkland Palace, the country home of the Stuarts. I would tell you all about its Renaissance architecture, teeming gardens, and charming countryside, but unfortunately, we never made it. We managed to miss the bus twice (once because we were late. Twice when we didn't think to wave down the correct bus), then we decided to abandon the whole enterprise and catch a bus out to Anstruther to find the Kellye Castle. Returning to town, we were waylaid by the farmers' market. A farmers' market! On the first Saturday of every month! I bought a bag of cheese scones and some chocolate. It was also a great opportunity to meet some locals, which is a little difficult to do in a college town. I talked for awhile with a middle-aged couple who sold preserves and cheeses, and they advised me on places to see and asked me about myself and my studies. They were so friendly! Really more pleasant and welcoming than a lot of the Scottish students I've met. So, now the proud owner of some delicious scones, we set out to find a bus that would take us to Anstruther, and beyond.

The bus ride was very enjoyable. We sat right on the prow of the upper-deck, zipping through the countryside and being tossed about well above the bus' center of gravity. The route we chose took us right down the coast, passing through tiny fishing villages and windswept villages. Right, the wind. Remember how I mentioned that it was picking up the night before? It reached gale-force by Saturday. Chicago doesn't have anything on the Central Lowlands. When we got off the bus in Anstruther, the intensity of the wind was drawing up the North Sea into whitecaps and seaspray. Walking about Anstruther, we were a bit at a loss as to how we get to the Castle, and after inquiring at a Bed and Breakfast, found out that it was at least a 5 mile walk away. Stumped, we trotted around the town looking for diversion. That came in the Anstruther Fish Bar, which advertised itself as the top-rated fish and chips establishment in the UK. This place had come highly recommended by the Butler staff, so we gave it a try. We weren't disappointed. I've never had fish and chips before, but I enjoyed it immensely. All the while a video played in the corner of the restaurant, no sound, showing clips from fishing expeditions dating back to the fifties. My mouth being stuffed with fried haddock, it was... enriching... to watch the circle of life unfold on television. No, really, it was quite nice! Just a little strange.

We walked out on the stone pier after lunch. I don't think I've ever been so close to a sea so angry. The wind was positively wild, and the waves were actually cresting level to the pier. Seagulls flapped fruitlessly against the air current, buffeted each way with every gust. Finally, when one of the waves actually crashed over the pier, we retreated, Juliana's and John's shoes and pantlegs soaked. I avoided the worst of it. We returned to the shore slightly shocked, and very windswept.

And so begins our real adventure. We had been intrigued by the little villages we had passed through on the way to Anstruther, and decided to walk along the roadway for a while, back to St. Andrews, and eventually pick up a bus at our convenience. This worked out quite well for awhile; we passed through the village of Kilrenny, which contained about 2 major intersections and sported a very classic chapel at its center. The churchyard drew us in, and we spent some time examining the centuries-old headstones and meandering through the trees and gravel paths. It was late afternoon, the sky a shameless shade of blue, and the stone walls offered some respite from the intense winds, creating a pocket of calm. The yard abutted a field of sheep grazing, and it was incredibly peaceful just to watch them munch away.

Moving on from Kilrenny, we found a dirt road that said it led to the "Fife Coastal Trail." We were in a "why not?" mood, so again we set off, against all prudence. It was nearing dusk, but I think we were all drawn to the ocean. We passed by a pig farm (not at all dirty. The pigs seemed to have very satisfactory living conditions, with plenty of room to roam) before beholding the coast, which became our constant companion for about 5 hours. The coastal path parallels the coastal road, so at any point, one could walk about .5 mile to the west and find the road, and potentially a bus stop. In any case, whether we follow the path or the road, we would make it back to St. Andrews. So off we went! Over 11 miles of beautiful Scottish countryside, fields and rocky escarpments to our right, the North Sea and the "prison island" to our right. Dusk was settling in earnest, the full moon rising to the east. It was startling how ineffably beautiful it was. And all by the seat of our pants! None of us had planned this, and it was our good luck that we had all worn good shoes and packed sufficient lunches, and that the moon was full enough to light our way in the last two hours or so of our trek. We kept spirits up by singing songs, notably "The Mariner's Revenge Song" by the Decemberists that John and I knew by heart. We climbed over stone walls, got up close and personal with a dozen head of cattle, and passed by gutted houses, unroofed and empty. All the while the omnipresent wind tangled our hair and groped beneath our jackets.

We pursued the path bravely, but when, after 5 hours of hiking, we saw a sign that read, "St. Andrews - 7 1/2 miles. Rocky and difficult terrain," we decided to head for the nearest town and pick up a bus. It was after 9, we were cold, and John's shoes were still wet from the Anstruther pier. Turning off the path was a little sad, but considering our lack of prep and time, we were happy to have made it so far. We found a bus stop in the town of Kingsbarnes, and waited for about 45 minutes for the next bus heading for St. Andrews. We ate our sandwiches, Juliana recited 18 lines from the Canterbury Tales, and then we danced polka to try to keep warm. Getting onto the bus, finally, was a relief. Even if it was full of wild clubbers, already pre-seasoned for a night on the town in Dundee. They were pretty funny, in retrospect.

Now, the start of another week. We leave for Inverness on Friday, so more traveling and hiking for me. I can't wait!

"Freedom to Roam"

My first academic week is finished! Not bad, really. 3 day weekend, with Wednesdays off too. I think I've decided to replace the intro philosophy with a course in international relations. I sat in on the lecture (with 400 of my peers, I might add. I've never been a part of a class that big), and I really enjoyed it, not least because the professor had a spectacularly dry sense of humor and wore his billowing academic robes to teach.

Outside of class, this week has been the trial period for "societies" that I'm considering joining. Thus far I've attended Celtic dancing, Doctor Who Appreciation Society (big win), Poetry and Cake (eh...the idea is great, but it's poorly organized, and they seem very unwilling to entrust the club to a coordinator), and Amnesty International (very successful. I'm taking notes). Juggling club is Saturday, but I can't go, because I'll be castle-hopping with Juliana and John. Off to explore the wild moors of Fife! I'm excited to leave campus, and Juliana and John are great company. We've formed a kind of triumvirate together, which has been pretty comfortable and fun thus far. We balance each other well.

I attended my first formal ceilidh (pronounced "kay-lee") tonight! Of course, I've been attending celtic dancing, so it wasn't my first experience, but this one had live music (drums, accordion, and fiddle), and a live caller. For those not familiar, a ceilidh is kind of like contra or line dancing in the States. You learn the dance, usually a pretty simple sequence involving partners and groups, then set it to music in 4/4 time. Really easy, really fun. The key to ceilidh is to be as enthusiastic as possible. My favorite dances were with people who weren't necessarily fantastic dancers, but who enjoyed just bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the music and generally having a blast. The ceilidh was actually being held for the residents of David Russell Apartments (where Juliana and John live), but as I've kind of been adopted into both of their flats and get on very well with all of their flatmates, I didn't feel at all out of place. Come to think of it, the 2 most memorable, enjoyable events that I've attended here were intended for residents of halls not my own: namely, the ceilidh and the bonfire I attended on Saturday. I danced 3 times with a person named Michael, nicknamed "Sam" (standing for Socially Awkward Michael), and his goofy personality and general enthusiasm made him a fantastic partner. Michael has this wonderful sense of humor, highly reminiscent of John Cleese. He has this way of saying "BUCKinghamshire!" that cracks me up every time. But yeah, one goofy kid.

Yesterday I went on a run with John that was kind of by the seat of our pants. Well, all of our runs have started out this way, mainly because we aren't sure of a good route yet. We hopped a fence, intent on running across "frothy" fields and exploring the Fife countryside. Which we did, pretty successfully, but we passed through several patches of stinging nettles (I'm still scratching) and got chased by dogs. Well, not really "chased." It's a bad idea to run from a dog. They just kind of charged us, then about 10 feet away stopped and barked. Ferociously, I might add. Perhaps we took the "freedom to roam" a little too close to heart. There are still vicious dogs to contend with. So it was an adventure! It was approaching dusk, and from our vantage point we could view the hills to the south (that I'd like to explore soon) and the town, with St. Salvator's Chapel Steeple, nestled in the folds of the terrain. It was the "golden hour," as some photographers call it, and we were essentially living in a postcard, or maybe some 18th century Romantic novel (as Liz put it). We returned to St. Andrews (yes, we actually left St. Andrews! It was a good feeling), our feet soaked and our legs covered in welts, but none the worse for wear. And I applaud John's sense of intrepid adventure; I certainly wouldn't have done it myself.

Ack, it's so late. Good night, you kings of Maine, you princes of New England.

Man Overboard!

"Swing Dance"

"Come explore Scotland! Breakaway St Andrews Hill Walking Club"

"The Doctor Who Appreciation Society 'DocSoc'"

"The University takes NO responsibility for damages or injuries caused by personal electrical equipment within the residence."

This is just a taste of what is on my bulletin board right now. Also "Петрограда не отдадим!" but that's hardly relevant.

The most exciting thing I've done in the last week is gone swimming in the North Sea. Twice. Oh yes, once in that frigid, salty, choppy, take-your-breath-away cold water wasn't enough. The first time was kind of on a whim, after a run with John. It started with, "Hey, you want to go wading?" then, "Hey, you want to go swimming?" So we waded out in our running things (leaving our shoes on the beach), declared to the world that we couldn't feel our feet (John expressed concerns about "permanent damage"), then dove in on 3. We emerged to find people on the pier staring at us. I suppose we probably looked pretty stupid. We waded for a few more minutes, then (wisely) retreated to the beach to dry off. So that was my first experience. Perfectly harmless (albeit witless. Neither of us were dressed for it).

So, naturally, since I didn't do it right the first time I had to do it again, this time properly. Frederick, my German friend, invited me to go, along with another friend (Alex; he's from the Philippines!), and this time I donned my swimsuit and wore warm clothes. Frederick and Alex wanted to jump from the pier, and seeing as it was low tide, I thought this was a little reckless. So I volunteered to go down the stairs on the stone pier, swim the length of the pier, and try to decide if the water was deep enough for jumping. Of course they didn't end up jumping (it was ridiculously high, and even though I couldn't touch or see the bottom, I didn't trust it, and I wasn't going to dive to find the bottom). But getting in was absolutely shocking. The day before, the sun had been out and the air was relatively warm. This time was cold cold cold, nothing but cold around you and beneath you and above you and everywhere. It took my breath away and my voice quaked a little (a lot) when I called up to the boys to report on the depth. Swimming was actually a relief, because the moment you stopped moving, you began to realize how cold it was and how stupid the whole enterprise was. People up on the pier were taking pictures, which ordinarily I wouldn't mind, but in my cold-induced state, I was a little angry. I must have looked ridiculous, though, so I don't blame them for taking pictures, in hindsight. Anyway, I swam the length, then the boys went down another staircase and dove in. They stayed in for about 15 seconds each, then clambered out, shrieking. It was funny, and I would have laughed, if not for the circumstances. I'm not a very good swimmer, really. I can keep myself afloat, and move places, but not very quickly. And I'm kind of afraid of the ocean (as Laura can attest to), so I'd like to think of this as some kind of small accomplishment. Anyway, we all scrambled up the steps, got into our warm clothes, and congratulated one another on our stupidity.

The rest of the evening (this was Sunday) I spent with an Amherst guy named Aaron from our Butler group, eating an indoor picnic on his dorm floor. I really enjoyed our conversation, as we picked our way through topics ranging from diversity to the Spanish Civil War to the Roman Catholic Church. Geez, I really like talking about Catholicism. It's bordering on obsessive. Anyway, it was great to connect with someone who does the whole "liberal arts" thing that we put so much store by and compare experiences within the fold.

The night before (Saturday [I know this is out of order; bear with me]), I attended a bonfire with some friends on Castle Sands. It was, well, a little magical. The light from the fires was casting these spectacular shadows on the castle ramparts, and the fact that the entire scene was barely visible, cast in a dim orange glow, made the rest of your senses sharpen keenly. All the talk and laughter intermingled with the incessant swish swish of the waves, and the stars were only barely obscured by the smoke from the fires. The stars! They behave so strangely against the backdrop of the ocean. It's almost like you'd expect them to end definitively on the horizon, with nothing but the inky black of the water, but they don't. They kind of fade, so you can't tell where the sky ends and the sea begins. It's like looking out onto the edge of the world, with endless space both above and below you. To a landlocked Ohioan, the scene is a little mesmerizing.

Anyway, back to reality. I have started classes, and I'm very pleased with 2 and disappointed by the last. Here are my modules:

MO3017: Life of the Mind: Key Texts in European Thought, 1512-1697
PY2002: Metaphysics and Science
PY1105: Ethical Controversies

That's right: no Vikings, no Russian. I'm disappointed that I didn't get Vikings; it filled up before I got the chance to sign up (the woes of having a name that starts with "S"), but I think I will be very happy in Life of the Mind. It's really more appropriate, considering I want to do my comps on something within intellectual history. Metaphysics and Science is very exciting so far. Spacetime! Let's change how we think about it, philosophically speaking! My only reservation is Ethical Controversies. It's 1000-level, and I had no idea how basic 1000-levels could be. It is truly a course for students who have had absolutely no exposure to philosophy, in any form. I'm going to see whether I can't switch out, maybe to logic, which is a 2000-level course and something I think I would find more interesting. Or maybe something completely different. Like Greek. Never done that before.

This is getting lengthy, and it's my bedtime. If you've made it this far, I hope you don't regret it. Until next time...

"Weroff to the pub craw, aight??"

I've been here at St. Andrews for a few days now, and quite a bit has happened. We're in the midst of "Freshers Week," which is essentially Orientation, plus a relentless, week-long party. There has been a pub-crawl every night, but if that's not enough for you, individual halls host vodka bars and wine parties and different societies throw raves and their own pub crawls. They say it's a good way to meet new people. The "social lubricant" aspect of alcohol has been emphasized ad absurdum.

Like I said in my last post, I'm living in a largely freshmen dorm (making these vodka bars all the more bizarre; reslife (or their equivalent) seems to enjoy nothing more than saturating the freshmen class with hard alcohol, all in the name of camaraderie). I've met quite a few Americans, both transfers from American schools and those who have enrolled for the full 4 years. I've also met students from Germany, Poland, Holland, Slovakia, the Philippines, and Taiwan. Surprisingly I've met more students in the arts than the sciences, and history in particular is a popular major.

I've enjoyed the freshers activities so far. Last night I attended a Celtic dance lesson and today was a lesson in stage-fighting with the university theatre society. There were also poetry circles, organized by the Poetry and Cake Society, out in St. Mary's Quad, which is the center for the divinity school and a considerably beautiful quadrangle. I also attended the book discussion on The Reluctant Fundamentalist, but attendance was wanting, and the discussion a little lackluster. Outside of fresher activities, I've been spending a lot of time outside (the weather has been beautiful: windy, but clear and crisp), and even attempted to fly a kite on West Sands. I found a 99p kite at a children's store, and needless to say, it was a flop. But I had gone with a friend and we salvaged the situation by going on a long walk to enjoy the beach.

But while these activities are very diverting, I'm anxious to start the academic year. A regular schedule would be a welcome change of pace (and maybe classes will sober up these crazy freshers!). I think I've decided to take 2 philosophy classes and an upper-level history (the Vikings course; yikes!), and Russian will have to take a backseat. I talked to a representative from the Russian department, and she said that I would be placed in a 1000-level course, with little to no recourse for advancement. Perhaps I will join the Russian Society instead, so I can keep up my Russian without the commitment of a class. I'm chafing a little under the limitations of the academic system here; it just isn't feasible to take more than 3 classes, it seems. But ah, perhaps I speak too soon, and I will grow to like it. We'll see.

Until next time, "be well, do good work, and [please] keep in touch."

Thistle do fine.

Hi friends!

I've successfully traveled 5 hours into the future, and I'm pretty impressed with recent developments. Four flights (Dayton-Philadelphia-Newark-London-Edinburgh) landed me in the capital city of Scotland, with a couple dozen other time-travelers who took the group flight. Luckily we encountered no difficulties, and arrived in Edinburgh bleary-eyed and impressionable: perfectly conditioned for Orientation with the IFSA-Butler staff. We checked in to the hotel (fabulous; they even had a complimentary rubber ducky in the bathroom). After dinner, a group of us set out to explore the city.

Edinburgh is a beautiful, winding, intensely interesting city. In the center of town stands the Edinburgh castle, dating back to King David I in the 12th century. The ramparts were built right up to a cliff edge, with a sheer drop of at least 50 feet. Imagine scaling that, with medieval siege technology. Around the castle are the Princes Gardens, built and cultivated after the draining of the Nor Loch in the 18th century. "Loch" is misleading, as it wasn't so much a lake as a giant cesspool, located in the valley below the castle, where human and animal waste was dumped since the Middle Ages. Apparently by the 18th century, when it was drained, a crust had developed over the surface that was so thick that a grown man could walk upon it. The valley now boasts a lovely green space, with trees, trails, and squirrels. The valley also divides the city into 2 parts: Old Town and New. The Old Town is on the same side as the castle and the royal mile. The layout of the city is typical of towns developed during the Middle Ages; topsy-turvy. There are plenty of alleyways, called "closes," which is short for enclosure. They lead to courtyards with apartment building forming the perimeter. and you have to the careful wandering through the closes, as you can sometimes run afoul of the startled pigeon. New Town is across the valley, and is called such because it was planned and constructed in the late 18th century. It it set up on a grid system, sporting Georgian architecture, so it's much easier to navigate and everything is symmetrical.

My favorite spot in Edinburgh is King Arthur's Seat, which is a handful of hills and cliffs near the Holyrood Palace. Standing on the top of any of the hills affords a great view of the city, though it's quite a trek to the top; most of the time you're just scrambling on rocks and slippery tuffets of grass. There are no safety rails, and most of the paths seemed to have grown organically as people have picked their way up the slope. This struck me as very different from the states; a similar location would have been covered with guardrails, plastered with warnings and prohibitions, and there would have been a good deal of litter. King Arthur's seat was pristine, and almost wild. There was a kind of purple heather and groves of low shrubs clinging to the cliffs. It felt almost like a younger world up there, especially in contrast to the city below.

The people in my abroad group are all in all pretty fabulous. Most come from the east coast, but there are a handful from the midwest, including someone who goes to Oberlin and another to Marietta. We'll see how well we keep up friendships during the semester. We're scattered all over campus and over many departments, but I'm sure it will be nice to be seeing familiar faces as we commence into the school year.

Now St. Andrews: I've only been here since this afternoon, so I'm not that well acquainted yet, but I can say that I love the town. It's small, but of course compared to Gambier it feels positively bustling. A few people from my group and a freshman from Edinburgh that we met got sandwiches and picnicked on a lawn beside some ruins of a cathedral. We did some shopping, then returned for dinner and our "compulsory" hall meeting. The one thing that is rubbing me the wrong way at the moment is the seemingly strict dormitory rules: we need to sign out in the evenings, report visitors, and we're not allowed to put anything on the walls. Hmm. The dorm I'm in, University Hall, seems to be primarily freshmen, which I'm not entirely pleased about either. After last year in Leonard, I don't think I can stand being coddled by a reslife staff that is largely younger than me. But we'll see how that goes. The freshmen sure are excited, though.

I think I'll be going out tonight and explore the town a bit more. The beach! I can't believe I'm living by an ocean!

By the way, the flower of Scotland is the thistle.