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.