Culinary Delights

I was in a staring contest with Microsoft Word.  There was text on the page, at least - text which I kept deleting and rewriting and trying to turn into a proper manuscript, but I was failing.  I stared out the dark, fifth-floor window at the hulking shadows of hills outside the city, at the traffic gliding past the Meadows, at the spot where my own flat sat waiting for me to come home.  I'd been in the library since noon that day, watching the scenery as it changed from a Scottish noontime to an early night, with a break for seminar at 2.  Scottish noontime meant that the sun was low in the southern sky and I had to wear sunglasses in order to face the window, the early night (which has only gotten earlier with the end of Daylight Savings) meant that five hours later the sun was inching its way toward the hills.

I glanced at my clock.  6:45.  I'd been working hard for seven hours, and hadn't eaten since I'd left the flat earlier that day.  Maybe that was why I couldn't write good prose.  I deleted my latest attempt on screen and packed up to go home.

I had just turned onto my street when I got a text message from Michelle - "Where are you?" it said.  "We're having Chinese Food Night!"  The week before, we'd had a big Chinese food night where Michelle and I had cooked for the other girls.  I made my famous DanDan (to which Michelle became immediately addicted), she made chicken wings, pork and eggplant, and rice.  Chopsticks, of course, had been a must.  I remembered the previous weekend, when Tracy, Yi Xiao, and I were at Costa Coffee in New Town that Yi Xiao wanted to cook a dinner for us as well.  She wanted to make sushi - which for me was intimidating, as I don't like fish, but I promised I'd try.  I'd gotten a note that morning from her, however, saying she was sorry but she'd have to reschedule when she'd cook for us.  No biggie, I had leftovers in the fridge anyway.

So I was confused when I got that message from Michelle.  Maybe she was trying to throw together another Chinese Food Night, even though most of us usually eat between 5:30 and 6:30.  I sent a quick message back saying I'd be home in a minute.

My room, of course, is directly across from the kitchen, and the door to the kitchen has a window in it.  It's a habit to glance in and say hi to whoever may be around before dumping my stuff off in my room.  This time, though, I saw four plates on the table, all with food already served, and three girls yelling "CHINESE FOOD NIGHT" as soon as I walked through the door.  My exhausted and hungry brain had a hard time comprehending.  I stuttered out a response asking if I could drop my stuff off in my room and use the bathroom before joining them.

When I got back, Michelle pushed one of the plates in front of me.  "Really?" I asked.  "This one's for me?"  It was like magic - I'd left the library mainly because I was hungry (and partly because I hadn't written anything substantial in an hour), only to find that food had already been prepared for me when I got home.  Almost like the scene in Hook when the Lost Boys convince Peter that the imaginary food they're eating is really filling.  It was delicious magic.

Other culinary adventures so far have included baking peanut butter cookies, the aforementioned night when Michelle and I cooked, and making pierogis from scratch with Hanna's recipe.  The pierogis were, by far, the messiest and most difficult of the three (that dough isn't so easy to make and work with), but so far Michelle has fallen in love with everything I make and wants to cook it all for her husband.  Granted, the other girls enjoy what I make as well, but there's nothing quite so funny as watching Michelle rub her full belly while wondering if she should have more noodles.

And before I know it, a week and a half has gone by.

Last weekend, four of the five girls in my flat went out for two adventures.  The first of these was the Great TV Adventure - our sitting room, though cozy, left us desiring something more to do in there.  We ventured out on Saturday morning to find a TV at a thrift shop (and found 21" TV for £25, no less!) and a cable box at Radio Shack.  Right, so the second half of that isn't so interesting or exciting, but it meant that we could carry the TV two blocks back to our flat, up one set of stairs, hook up both the TV and cable box and get an impressive - 8 channels.  4 of which are BBC channels. Around here, though, that's worth it, as the TV has really changed the way we function in our flat.  Rather than just being in the kitchen/sitting room at dinner time, we tend to stick around for a while during the afternoons, and especially on weekends.

We all thought it was a major relief to finally get TV, especially as I was the only one to ever read BBC News online.  Now, if our internet ever does cut out again (as it so often did through Fresher's Week), we still have a lifeline connecting us to the outside world.  And we have a way to watch the Olympics.

Next day, we went to Portobello Beach.  The weather was a beautiful 55 degrees, the water was significantly colder, and I'm the only one who comes from a climate even a little similar to Edinburgh.  Tracy is from Nicaragua, Michelle is from Beijing, and Yi Xiao is from Shanghai.  Yi Xiao brought a friend, Brandon, also from Shanghai.  They're used to warmer weather.   Somehow, I convinced all of these girls that taking off their shoes and rolling up their pants would be THE BEST IDEA EVER! and we all dipped our feet into the North Sea.  We spent a good couple hours running around in the sand and the water (I'm thoroughly surprised none of us got sick) before going up to the main drag.

We stopped at a pub for chips and Guinness, and by about 5:30 we tried to leave - only to find out that the beautiful day we'd left on the beach had turned into a heavy downpour.

Thanks, Edinburgh.  Loving the weather.



We waited in the pub for another twenty minutes before the rain stopped and went back to our bus stop.  It took a full 40 minutes to get there, as we'd walked the length of the beach - and when we arrived we found out we were late for the last bus back to the city.  By only three minutes.  Good timing.  The taxi back only cost ten quid, which split between five people wasn't bad at all - especially since, if we had taken the alternate bus, we would have had to transfer and it would have ended up costing each of us £2.40 instead of just £2.

Coming up this week: a Chinese Feast on Thursday and a possible 24-hour challenge with the building on Saturday/Sunday.

Okay, Ainsley, so you're studying writing. What exactly do you do?

I'm paying the current equivalent of $16,000 (woohoo, the dollar is gaining strength!) to study creative writing - and that's just the cost of tuition.  If I were to have studied in the States, this would have cost more, and I wouldn't have had nearly as awesome or impressive an experience in the meantime.  But all that aside, why am I paying $16,000 to study something that I could just as well do all by myself, as I have been for some years now?

Partly because I love it, and partly because I promised my little 13-year-old self that I would.  It's not a good idea to renege on a promise, especially to yourself.  The betrayal, in such cases, is brutal.  And I chose Scotland because I can drink a gallon of deliciously hot tea a day and nobody looks at me like I'm insane.

Not even I knew quite what I was getting into when I dashed off a response to the head of my program back in March saying that yes, I would love to study at Edinburgh Uni and yes, I would hand over all this money just so I could spend a year writing.  I knew that I would, well, write.  And my courses, so far, have promised me exactly that.

On Mondays, I take a course in postmodern literature.  We focus on literature written from the mid-1950s to the mid-1980s, and generally discuss and criticize it just as I have been doing for the past four years at Wooster.  Only difference here is, we discuss the books as writers rather than just as scholars.  Stay tuned for exactly what that means, as I'm not sure myself.  Books for the semester include Slaughterhouse-Five, Song of Solomon, and Labyrinths.  It looks like a really interesting set of books.

Tuesdays, I have workshop.  If I am presenting, I have sent a piece of work that usually doesn't exceed 3,000 words (about 12 double-spaced pages, if I've got my math working right) by the Friday previous, and I have spent the weekend biting my nails and wondering whether I'm really, actually good enough to be in this program.

No, I don't bite my nails anymore, that habit was kicked back in May.  But it's a better image of nerves than, "I spend the weekend giving myself a French manicure and drinking wine that was 3 for £10, which Ana and I like to buy together every week.  As Dad should know, £5 a week isn't bad at all for a weekly wine budget."  And it's not, but that doesn't really portray nervousness.

Come Tuesday morning, I run the mile and a quarter to the labyrinthine building mentioned in my last entry, listen to other people tell me that my work isn't complete shit even if there are some changes that should be made, and tell them the same thing.  Granted, it's more complicated than that, and we talk about inane things like point of view and tense and overuse of adverbs which readers take for granted but we, as writers, add to our lists of neuroses.

Wednesdays, I have no class.  I spent this Wednesday with writers block, and therefore washed three rounds of dishes, stuffed the cracks where the windows don't shut with newspaper to insulate them a bit, scrubbed the stove, wiped the counters four times, made my bed twice (once after I got cold and crawled in for a short read), and set up a Great TV-Purchasing Adventure for Saturday so I never have to spend a day like that again.  Finally, at 9:30 PM, inspiration struck.

Guess who needs a job.

Thursdays, I have seminar.  We sit in a circle and sing Kumbaya and talk about writerly things that are supposed to inspire us and make us try new things.  There's no real Kumbaya-singing as yet, but you get my drift.  We're a bunch of artists sitting around discussing art.  I enjoy it, but to anyone on the outside, I'm sure it seems very Kumbaya.

Fridays, I don't have class.  I'll do a final edit on the story I'm presenting on Tuesday, send it in by about 1:30 or 2:00, and then bum around the flat for a while until other people do come home from courses and I don't have to do any more dishes.

Beautiful days in Edinburgh

Tuesday morning started classes.  As I was one of the writers presenting at workshop this week, I did not want to be late for my very first course.  Coffee in hand, iPod in my ears, I left the flat with an extra ten minutes to find the building where my class would take place.

Edinburgh, by the way, is a veritable labyrinth of twisting streets and tiny little alleyways.  My sense of direction in this city is based on my constant awareness of the location of the castle, of Arthur's Seat, and of the University's main campus.  Having walked through campus, I knew I had to go north toward the castle just a little more to get to class.  Trouble was, I hit a Y in the road.  Not a normal Y, mind you, but a roundabout-type Y, with a big paved circle in the middle where pedestrians stood to gauge when they could cross the next part of the street.

I considered my options a little too long and took the wrong street.

I wasn't worried.  I had given myself an extra ten minutes so that when I got lost (it was an inevitability from the time I left my flat) I could find myself again and still get to class on time.  I turned around, went down the correct road, and promptly passed right on by the 5-foot wide alleyway in which my building hides itself.  I wasn't very observant that morning.

I turned around again at the end of the street, found the correct alley, and walked up to the building with no small sense of relief.  We needed to swipe our student cards in the door so that it would unlock and we could get in.  No problem, I had lots of practice with swipe cards back at Wooster.

Mine didn't work.

A man doing renovations on the building let me and the two other girls who had arrived in - neither of their cards worked either.  It's a good thing they're renovating the building, because they can add the swipe card device to the list of things which need to be fixed.

I wandered around a little inside the building, and could not for the life of me find the room in which we were supposed to be meeting.  I was supposed to be in 6.01.  There's no sixth floor in that building.  Maybe I got the room number wrong, I figured, and I was really in 1.06.  I couldn't find 1.06 either.  There were men painting everywhere, there was scaffolding taking up entire rooms, I'd had a full cup of coffee already and the caffeine had definitely kicked in, and I couldn't find the classroom.

I started to panic.  I could not be late for my first postgraduate course, I could not be late to a workshop in which my work is being critiqued, I could not be late.

I saw a face in the hall that I recognized.  It was one of the professors I'd met on Induction Day - I thought.  Maybe  it was one of the professors I'd met on Induction Day.  Maybe I was crazy.  I walked up to her tentatively, she asked "Are you Ainsley?" and I was relieved.  She guided me through a dark room with scaffolding and paint cans and dropcloths everywhere, the kind of dead-looking space that's often used for horror flicks, and we suddenly - amazingly - arrived in a bright room with fellow writers sitting in a circle.  My professor had been standing in the hallway to catch us and make sure we found the classroom.  I was two minutes late.

The rest of the week went smoothly.  I've only got classes on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, so I spent some time fixing the piece that had been submitted to workshop and considering what to do next.  Although I'm getting used to the weather, I still find it hard to believe it's so warm at home and so cold here.  I haven't turned on my heating yet, but there has been a lot of cuddling under my blanket and in my housecoat.  My consolation is that in December, January, and February, I'll have milder temperatures and a less severe winter than everyone left back on the other side of the ocean.

Settling In South of the Meadows

These past few days have been all about learning to live without the internet.  The day I moved in, this meant setting up my room, shopping at the Pound Stretchers, and getting my first round of groceries.  My lack of internet on this first day gave me the time and desire to make my room comfortable.  I've got a nice little vanity, a small bookshelf which will soon be full of secondhand books, and a wonderful little bed, duvet cover courtesy of Mom.  The room I'm now living in is larger than the room I lived in last year, and as a bonus, I also have a separate kitchen and living room.  Luxurious, indeed.  The open space between my desk and my vanity is wide and clear and perfect for zooming through my  room on my chair. 

I work very hard to keep my room tidy, and I don't have a single item of dirty (or clean) clothing on the floor as yet - it helps when I know I'm rolling all the way across it every day.  I've been making my bed every morning as well, something that Mom and Dad probably don't believe.  Since my room is across from the kitchen and the door is open if I'm home, though, it's good to have a tidy room. Now if only I could decide whether or not I need a floor lamp at the bottom of my bed, I would be golden.

The kitchen is rather nice as well.  Unlike last time I was here, it has loads of cooking space.  It's actually pleasant to wash dishes here, too: our kitchen is directly above the tunnel to the car park, and our sink has a window so we can see everyone who walks in.  Some of our friends and neighbours have taken to looking into the window on way home and waving if we're there. 

I also have a lovely little basil plant which lives next to all the dishes left to dry, and it seems to be thriving for the moment.  We've done our best to make our kitchen homey, so we have accessories spread here and there across the counters in addition to my plant: a set of glass jars that say "Coffee", "Tea", and "Sugar"; a toaster I picked up at Tesco for only £4.50; my little white teapot.  Even though I'm the only one in the flat so far who seems to know how to cook more than canned soup, we're starting to enjoy sitting in there together for lunch or for some water at the end of a night.

Day two, there was a Fresher's Ceilidh down at Pollock Halls.  The event was flushed with little 18-year-old boys and girls trying to impress the opposite sex, but I'd gone with a big group of international postgrads.  The dances were all about jumping and spinning and turning and switching partners.  It was great fun, and something a lot of us are excited to participate in again when the International Office or the Student's Association holds one. 

As enjoyable as it was laughing at freshers, we've since been going to events that say "Postgraduate" or "Mature Students" in the title.  This rule is easily broken, however, if the event description includes free food.

The Countdown

Halfway through summer, and I'm beginning to revitalize Pink Plaid Wellies for this fall. Every day, I consider what I can do for my return to Edinburgh. I count the days like a kid towards Christmas - though my 64 remaining days are significantly longer than Advent. Today's little job was giving my blog a new face, and it seems that an e-mail went out today with one of my old blog entries.

After two years of silence, this page is going to be used again very soon. Keep an eye out around September 10th for an entry from the airport in Amsterdam!

The End

I took my first of two exams today. My philosophy test went well, and I'm hoping my Italian test tomorrow will be just as good. I resent them, though, because they - plus a 10-page paper - have kept me busy for my final week and a half in Edinburgh. Yes, for the last week and a half, I have spent most of my time sitting in my room and doing work. While many of my friends finished all their work and exams last Friday, I have been sitting here staring at my computer for hours on end, trying to memorize Zeno's Dichotomy, writing about Richard II and Jonson's court masques, and trying to re-learn the basics of a language within the space of a week. I will always regret that I haven't had the chance to truly enjoy my last few days here.

I have done one thing this week. We went out for a goodbye dinner on Tuesday night, because two of the people from our group of friends left on Wednesday. We got 18 people together at an Italian restaurant right next to the Elephant House Cafe (where JK Rowling started writing Harry Potter), and down the road from the corner of George IV Bridge and the Royal Mile (where I believe they used to behead people).

Quick side note: I learned while trying to check that second fact that Mary, Queen of Scots was beheaded exactly 400 years before I was born, to the day. Maybe I am Mary reincarnated.

Anyway, back at the Italian restaurant, they gave us all Christmas crackers. These are paper tubes that you and a friend pull apart together, and they make a huge noise. They always have a toy inside, as well as a crown made of tissue paper and a joke. I don't know why the Brits wear tissue paper crowns on Christmas. Maybe they all want to be royalty, but don't have the money to commission the creation of a real crown.

We returned to the flat, where Christine, Eve, Anna, Kate, and I did our flat Secret Santa. I had Christine, the American, and I gave her a Scottish flag and a teddy bear dressed in full Scottish military uniform, kilt, hat and all. Eve had me, and she gave me three bottles of whiskey from the Wee Whiskey Shop on the Royal Mile (I'm not sure that they even add up to an ounce), a fridge magnet with some Scottish slang for "to be drunk" (steamin' is the main word, but there are others), a "Grow Your Own Perfect Man" which I need to put in water when I get home, some whiskey-flavoured fudge, and a tin of lip gloss. My stocking has "Ainsley Harriott" in iron-on letters.

They call me Ainsley Harriott here, or quite often just Harriott. The real Ainsley Harriott is a big black male chef with his own TV shows and food line. I'm a little white female cook with no TV shows, and no food line. I'm pretty sure I've been called either "Ainsley Harriott" or "Harriott" more times since coming here than just "Ainsley". I'm gonna miss these girls.

Tomorrow, I have my Italian final and spend my last few hours in Edinburgh, then Saturday morning I get on a plane at 9 AM GMT and hit Columbus around 7 PM EST. That is, of course, being optimistic... as long as the snow isn't too bad in Columbus I'll be back on time.

I don't want to get on that plane. At the same time, though, I'm excited to get back to Wooster. I've got a lot of people excited to see me again, making plans already about what we can do next semester to make up for lost time.



The past three months have been the experience of a lifetime. I'm gonna miss it.

A week in review

As I began to realize how little time I have left here (no, we are not allowed to talk about it), I started taking advantage of Scotland, its ease of travel, and the things Edinburgh has to offer. Now more than ever, I do not want to leave.

Last Friday, I went to visit Hanna and Steve, two friends from Wooster. They are both studying in Freiburg, Germany, about an hour train ride from the Swiss border, and right in the middle of wine country. After a few hours of travel (including running through Dublin Airport so I could catch my flight in my 1-hour layover), I arrived at the Karlsruhe Baden-Baden Airpark, a 2-hour bus/train ride from Freiburg. I got off the plane smiling, excited to see Hanna, who was supposed to pick me up... but when I got out of the gate she wasn't there. I waited a couple of minutes - maybe I just didn't see her. Still not there. Luckily, I'd had the foresight to ask her what her cell number was, so I gave her a call from a pay phone. "I'm all alone in a foreign country where I don't know the language!" I said. She told me that the trains had been striking, so she had to get on one that was a half hour later than her initial one, and arrived in another 20 minutes. I sat for a bit, bought a croissant for lunch (I didn't know how to order anything else), and finally she arrived. Lesson 1: "I would like to have" is "Ich hete gairn".

By the time we reached Freiburg (after waiting forever for a bus to the train station), it was dark. We stopped at a grocery store on the way to Hanna's flat and got a couple of cheap - but good - bottles of red wine. At 2 Euros each, I started to appreciate the perks of being in wine country. We then met up with Steve at an Indian restaurant, where I treated them to dinner (both of them thanked Pepe, who financed this wonderful trip), and then we went back to Hanna's to drink the wine together before going to visit one of Steve's friends in the dorms.

The next morning we got up early so that we could go to the farmer's market before heading to Switzerland. This market was enormous, and had everything from toys to spices to bratwursts to roses. Tons of gorgeous roses. The market takes place every day, but is especially large on Saturdays. It was a really cool experience walking through the market, eating roasted chestnuts and bratwursts, listening to people talk around me.

We then headed to the train station, where we caught a train to Basel, Switzerland. A few stops in, we realized that Steve didn't have his passport with him, but it turned out not to be a problem because nobody ever checked them anyway. We walked to the river, took a ferry across, and explored a street that reminded me very much of the Champs Elysees before going to a grocery store and stocking up on chocolate. We were basically just a few kids running around in a foreign country, acting as though we did it every day. It was pretty cool. We then stopped at a gay bar (Steve's was eager to go to one in a foreign country), then caught the train back.

We returned to Freiburg, where we drank the other bottle of wine and watched a movie before falling asleep. The next morning was another early morning, and we stopped at a cafe for coffee, muesli with milk and yoghurt, and rolls with lots of jam and butter. We then walked halfway up a big hill in the middle of Freiburg for some cool views of the city, but had to leave pretty quickly so Hanna and I could catch the train to get me back to the airport. Leaving them behind, who I've known for a couple of years instead of a couple of months, was really hard, but I was excited to get back to my mates here in Edinburgh.

When I walked into the flat, I looked around, saw Kate sitting on the floor watching TV, and saw a street barrier in our kitchen. "What did you DO this weekend?" I asked.

"That's Freddie, don't you like him?" she said.

"Well yeah, it's cool, but don't you think we might get in trouble?"

Solution to that, I guess, was hide it whenever the cleaners come. Freddie is a really good coat/scarf rack.

The next day, I made hot chocolate from scratch (99% dark chocolate, whole milk, and honey) with the chocolate I'd gotten in Switzerland for me and my flatmates. They said I should go to Switzerland more often so that I could make them hot chocolate - which pretty much means they liked it a lot.

Thursday was Thanksgiving, so on Wednesday I walked two miles uphill both ways in the rain to get turkey from M&S. It was worth it, because I got to wear my pink plaid wellies and our Thanksgiving feast was so amazing - six Americans, me, and ten Brits getting together for a huge potluck feast. People started showing up at 6 with food and drink in hands, and by about 6:30 we were sitting around in a huge mob with plates on our laps and cups of wine, beer, and cider at our sides. We all went around telling everyone what we were thankful for (I got a few "aww"s when I said "I'm thankful for the new friends I've made here and the old friends I've left behind"), then played flip cup and went to see the lights at the Winter Festival.

Yesterday morning, I got up early to go to Craigmillar Castle with a few friends. The castle is a 10-minute bus ride away. When we arrived, we found out that through the winter, the castle is closed on Thursdays and Fridays. Sitting around and contemplating whether to walk through the park to get back to our bus stop or down Death Lane (a really narrow street with no sidewalks), some men who were doing renovation work drove up in their van, ready to go on a lunch break, and told us that we could go in even though it was closed. None of the lights were on, but it was a sunny day and we were welcome to go explore.

This is the point where the four of us (Ricky, Carolyn, Lauren, and I, none of us British) decided that we love Scottish people and their super-accommodating hospitality.

We explored the castle a bit, all to ourselves, exploring even the pitch-dark staircases to see where they went, then returned to Edinburgh. Later in the day, after my lecture, Kate and I watched Grey's Anatomy, which I'd found streaming online.

Three weeks left. Totally not enough, but I'll make the best of it.

Three Days on a Bus

I told Kate at one point during our trip, "I've been cold and wet ever since we got on that bus. Under any other circumstances, I would be miserable, but I am having the time of my life." That, in essence, sums up my 3-day weekend in the Highlands.

We boarded the bus on the Royal Mile on Saturday morning at 8:15, after Kate and I had a quick stop at Starbucks to wake up and warm up. It was a slightly chilly day, but we were sure that as soon as we got on the bus we'd be alright. Not so. Kate, Ricky, and I took the seats in the very back of the bus, and if you didn't sit in one of the two middle seats, you would be absolutely freezing. The windows made you cold, and there wasn't a strong enough heater on the 16-seater to adequately warm the entire bus. We made the best of it, though, squeezing together and watching out the windows as the Scottish Highlands rolled out in front of us.

The first stop was the William Wallace memorial, where we climbed up a hill that felt like it rivaled Arthur's Seat. It has historical significance, but the monument itself is nothing really special unless you're looking at it from afar. Down below the monument, there is a more recent statue of William Wallace, based heavily on Mel Gibson. The locals hate it so much that they have to lock it up at night or it'll get majorly vandalized.

Back on the bus, and our tour guide, Marti (he only told us at the end that it's spelled with an I) does a quick head count and realizes that we, as 13, are one less than we should be. Did we leave someone behind in Edinburgh? Three of the people up front assured them that number 14 was their friend and had to cancel. Crisis averted.

A quick stop to see Hamish, the Heilan' Coo, and grab a cup of tea, and we were ready for another hour in the bus. We were off to Glencoe, a beautiful valley with bloody history: When William of Orange took over, he wanted all the clan chiefs to swear their allegiance to him. The MacDonalds were stubborn, and waited till the last minute. This is important later. One winter, a group of Campbells arrived in MacDonald territory. They were cold and sick. The MacDonalds honoured the long-standing tradition of Highland Hospitality, in which you show hospitality even to your enemies if they need it, and fed them and gave them beds for two weeks. At the end of the two weeks, the Campbells started going through the village and killing MacDonalds. 38 were dead before other people heard the screams and escaped to the valley at Glencoe. About a hundred more died in the cold winter, without shelter.

You see, William ordered the Campbells to go and kill the MacDonalds because they had gone beyond the deadline to swear allegiance. Because the Campbells took advantage of Highland Hospitality like this (nobody had ever done that before, because most respect Highland Hospitality), there are still places in the area surrounding Glencoe who will refuse to serve you if they know you are a Campbell.

Off to Fort William for lunch (it's just called The Fort in Gallic because so many hated William), and we could see the Atlantic. We stopped only long enough to grab a bite to eat. Most of us had soup, because we were cold to the bone.

We passed Ben Nevis, the highest point in Britain at 4,406 feet above sea level. It was shrouded in clouds, and we were told that it is all but about 30 days of the year. As the sun set, we made our way toward the Isle of Skye, stopping for a view of the Eilean Donan castle at night. This castle is frequently used in movies, including one of the more recent Bond movies. It was raining, so we jumped out, took a picture, and jumped right back in the bus.

On the Isle of Skye, we were told a story about Saucy Mary, a Nordic woman who has a pub named after her. She would take a toll from anyone who passed her castle by sea. She would send out a bucket on a chain for the passers to pay, and if she thought that her customers were generous when she got the money back, she would flash them from her castle window. We thought it was 8:00 and way past dinner time, because the sun had set so long before, but a look at our watches told us that it was only 6. Just a little bit crazy.

We went to Saucy Mary for dinner (I had a venison burger, which was very good) and a few drinks. Kate made friends with a few of the locals while Ricky, Julia, and a couple of Aussies from our tour, Ross and Drew, played pool. Marti made an appearance and played a bit with us. It was time to go back to the hostel, though (right next door) when Carolyn was nodding off where she sat. She and I went back, had a cup of hot chocolate, and crawled into bed, only to be woken up when Ross got back to the room, followed quickly by the rest of our group. We had the seven of us (five Edinburgh students and the two Aussies, though Graylin stayed in a B&B with her boyfriend) in a room to ourselves, and good thing too, because we were pretty noisy.

Getting up the next morning was difficult. The room was cold, and we hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, but we got out in time for Marti to pick us up with the bus. We toured around the Isle of Skye for a while, seeing some of the most breathtaking views that the Highlands has to offer. We then headed to Eilean Donan castle, which wasn't as impressive as we thought it would be. Most of it was rebuilt in the 1800s, and a woman lives there now. Our tour guide for the castle was wearing a kilt, and when I asked him if he was going true, he mooned us. He was great, though, letting us do a whole lot we wouldn't normally be able to do (like taking pictures with a sword and shield) just because we were the last tour of the day.

One quick nap against the cold window later, we were at Loch Ness. We stopped to see the ruins of Castle Urquhart from afar, then Marti dropped us off at our hostel and took the three people staying in B&Bs away with him. The owner of our hostel told us it was great to go to Castle Urquhart at night, even though it's technically closed, so we walked a mile to a take-away for dinner and a convenience store for some drinks. Kate got whiskey, thinking that since she was in the Highlands, that would be the only thing appropriate to do. The rest of us got cheap champagne, wine, or beer.

All bundled up and laden with drinks, we began our walk to the castle, soon finding out that it was a mile away in just about the darkest fields ever. We felt safe, though, traveling in a group of nine (six Edinburgh students, Graylin's boyfriend, and the Aussies) and eventually found the place. We stormed the castle, which was lit up with floodlights, and had the coolest party I'd ever been to. Parties in castles are good times, and this one overlooked Loch Ness - even though we couldn't see it. Our ceiling was an impressive expanse of stars, and our entertainment was exploring the ruins. Cool stuff.

We got back safe, but didn't take off any of our clothes to go to bed, because it was SO COLD in the hostel. I woke up the next morning wearing two pairs of pants, four shirts, and a scarf. I also woke up to the first frost I've seen in Scotland, but I'm pretty sure Edinburgh still hasn't seen a frost yet. That morning, everyone was a bit iffy about going outside to get on the bus, and especially about getting a window seat on the bus.

We drove to the main street in Inverness to take a couple of pictures, stopping at Castle Inverness for five minutes, which was built in the Victorian era. We then hopped right back on the bus to go to Loch Ness.

We spent about 20 minutes at Loch Ness, throwing stones into the water and wishing that the "Ness-esary Research" man was around so that we could talk to him or buy a Nessie figurine from him. This man gave up his entire life to live on the banks of Loch Ness and be a full-time Nessie spotter. It's a little odd, but apparently he is completely sane, despite having lived in a little trailer just off of the most famous loch in the world for 30 years.

And no, unfortunately we did not see Nessie.

Back on the bus, and we went to Culloden battle field, the site of a devastating battle between the Jacobites (the Highlanders) and the English. While the Jacobites were following Bonny Prince Charlie and restoring the Stuart clan to royalty, the English got really angry. Battles were fought for a year, mostly in the highland hills where the Jacobites were used to fighting. This final battle, however, Charlie wanted to fight on the flat field at Culloden, but I forget why. It was a total massacre. The Jacobites were trying to use the same techniques they used in the hills to win battles, but their tactics didn't work in a muddy flat land. The English absolutely slaughtered them, and for days after the battle, they went through the dead bodies and bashed their faces in, stripping them of any item that would make anyone recognize them. No, this doesn't mean that they took off their kilts, because the idea that each clan should have its own tartan actually came about in the early 19th century, over 50 years after this battle.

After Culloden, we spent about a half hour at a park that was full of stone cairns. It was noon, but my pictures look like an autumn morning in Ohio, except that the shadows all point north instead of west. The sun was low in the southern sky, but there wasn't a single cloud, so walking around this ancient burial ground was absolutely breathtaking. I wanted to sit there with a thermos of hot chocolate for a few hours, just taking in the scenery of it all. Trees and leaves everywhere, and not an item of modern culture to be seen this place looked like it belonged in ancient times, and we were just intruders into some sort of time warp. True, the cairns looked much different back when they were first built (rather than open tops, they were actually domed shelters), but even so, all of us were touched by the ancient beauty we experienced at this park.

On the way back, we had a half-hour stop at Pitlochry, where a lot of us bought little Nessie dolls that say "Drunken-Ness" on their bellies to commemorate our party at Castle Urquhart. We then headed back to Edinburgh just as the rain started pouring down. We arrived at Waverly Bridge at 6:00 and went straight back to the flat, where I had a big bowl of hot porridge and almonds to warm my cold bones.

Basically one of the best weekends of my life, this Highlands trip was well worth the money I spent on it - and the class I missed for it - because I got to see this country in a way I'm not able to sitting here in urban Edinburgh. And tomorrow morning, I hop on a plane to go to Germany and Switzerland, so keep an eye out for more pictures and another blog post.

Bonfire Night Doesn't Necessarily Mean Bonfires

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,

The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,

I know of no reason

Why Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent

To blow up King and Parliament.

Three-score barrels of powder below

To prove old England's overthrow;

By God's providence he was catch'd

With a dark lantern and burning match.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

To remember, remember this fifth of November, Ricky, Christine, Eve, Anna and I hiked up to Holyrood in order to see what is hailed as the biggest fireworks show Edinburgh has to offer. On our way, we could see fireworks from all directions between buildings, and when we finally arrived, all bundled up and sitting in long grass, we could see fireworks being set off in all directions. The real show, though, was to our right, the major event of the evening. Most people pay five pounds to sit in an arena and see the show, some drive their cars onto the field opposite Holyrood, and students just march halfway up the mountain, pop a squat, and watch. Though chilly, it was quite a fun night.

The perks of writing for a newspaper

If you don't know already, I'm on staff for Student, the University of Edinburgh's student newspaper. Technically, I work as a film reviewer (I've reviewed 2 films, one review was for the internet and the other was published in the paper) and a copy editor, but I branch into other topics from time to time. This week, I was given the restaurant review, so I went to Redfort Indian Restaurant for lunch today with Eve and Kate. I figured that I, as the reviewer, would get some sort of discount, but as it happened, the owner was our waiter (he knew I was coming), and he was so relieved to hear we'd loved the food and he'd be getting a good review that he gave us all three free meals! Love it.

The article follows. It'll be published Tuesday in Student, probably with a few changes.

A FORT-UNATE FIND

While walking up to the Redfort restaurant on a chilly October day, I was almost skipping with excitement. For a lunch deal of £5.95 each, my two friends and I received an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet, a welcome drink and either coffee, tea, or ice cream after your meal. This would be the highlight of an otherwise grey and dismal day.

Seated comfortably at a corner table, my friends and I placed our drink orders and stood to get our appetizers. Three nameless foods sat in front of me: my chickpeas in sauce, spicy chicken legs and red veg balls were all so satisfying I wanted so much more of each. A second trip to the buffet yielded my six different curries. Again, they were nameless – I’d forgotten them all. Distracted by food, I was more concerned with taste than titles.

The meal went over fantastically well with me and my two friends, both of them saying that it was well good. Personally, it was the best I’d had in a long time. Each curry had a distinctly different taste. None were so spicy that you had to stop (a definite plus at an all-you-can-eat buffet), and the chicken and lamb in the meat curries were so tender you could easily cut them with the side of your fork.

The service was also excellent. From the very beginning, when our waiter’s cute little son pulled him away for a moment and his quick apologetic return, to the very end, when he looked relieved that we had truly enjoyed the food, our attentive waiter always gave us something to smile about.

Definitely somewhere I will go again, the Redfort is a great (and relatively cheap) restaurant with notable student discounts, and a good way to break out of the bland ham sandwiches that plague my normal diet.

Au Revoir, Paris

Sunday morning, we woke up early so we could go to mass at Notre Dame. From the outside, the cathedral is absolutely breathtaking, even if it is smaller than I imagined. Notre Dame sits on the first bit of land that eventually became Paris, so the historical value there is pretty cool as well. Inside, though, the cathedral is incredibly impressive. Grey stone walls stretch high above your head, punctured by beautifully coloured stained glass windows. I must confess, I started nodding off because of the early morning, but Mom nudged me awake.

After mass, we walked around the cathedral, taking lots of pictures (which I'll get on the shutterfly site before Monday) and generally staring in awe at the cathedral. We then went to a nearby cafe for croissants, hot chocolate, and coffee, still able to see Notre Dame through the trees. It was a chilly morning, but we huddled under a heater to keep warm.

From there, we walked along the Seine to go to the Musee d'Orsay. I really liked this museum. It may not be as big and important as the Louvre, but it has more modern art, including the impressionists. We saw such famous paintings as The Gleaners, Van Gogh's self-portraits, Starry Night, Whistler's Mother... the list goes on and on. No Picasso, but it was cool. This museum also had some of my favourite sculptures from the weekend. At one point, we split up - Mom and I went upstairs while Dad and Pip stayed downstairs - and didn't find each other again for an hour and a half, but eventually we met up in the restaurant.

After the museum, we did a little bit of shopping before stopping for beers and desserts at a small brasserie. We then took the Metro back to the red-light district and took quick naps at the hotel. It wasn't long before Dad and I got back on the train to drop me off at Charles de Gaulle airport and I was on my way back to Edinburgh.

Paris was lovely, and a city I'm glad I didn't miss while it's so easy to visit. Now, four days later, I'm getting ready to say goodbye to Mom and Dad (Pip left today for Ireland). Dad doesn't want to go home, but I think Mom will be really happy to get back to her own comfortable bed.

Crepes Chocolat on the Champs Elysees

Waking up at 8:30 this morning, we went downstairs for a breakfast of croissants and buns. Mom and I had slept about 11 hours the night before, and though she said I didn’t squirm a lot (I used to when I was younger), she did note that I talked in my sleep around 1:00, something my roommates from last year were quite accustomed to.

We took the Métro to the Palace of Versailles, where we were met by gold-gilt glory and Roman gods on the ceiling. The place was packed with visitors, though I’m sure it would have been even worse in the summer when everybody usually comes to visit. We walked through the King’s Chambers, the Queen’s Chambers, the Dauphin’s Apartments, and the garden outside. In Louis XIV’s time, the palace covered 43 square kilometres, all walled in, an impressive plot of land. We all agree that it was neat, but that we wouldn’t go back. I personally like the simpler grandeur of Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace, but I think I’m biased.

From there, we got back on the Métro for our half-hour journey back to Paris. I started nodding off on the train, and had to use Dad’s shoulder as a pillow. The ladies across from us apparently laughed at me, but I had a good little nap. Back in Paris, we stopped for tea (but they were out of croissants) before going on to our next destination, the Arc de Triomphe.

When we initially arrived, Dad was engrossed in his map and the rest of us were looking around a little confused. Finally, we noticed it, standing tall above the Champs Elysées. We took a lot of pictures, then walked under the road to go under the Arc. Before finally leaving it behind, we asked a fellow tourist to take a picture of the four of us in front of the Arc, which provides complete proof that yes, we were in Paris.

After dinner at a small pub-like restaurant, we began to walk down the Champs Elysées. Expensive brand names shouted at us from every direction. Cartier, the first store we saw, was my favourite store because everything in the window was sparkly (and “très chèr,” Pépé adds). We saw €950 for a fountain pen, and a necklace for €39,500. I think the diamonds were more impressive than the gilt walls and doors in Versailles.

As the sun fell behind the 6-storey buildings, I went to grab two crèpes chocolat from a street vendor, one each for me and Mom. By the time I got back, Dad was walking toward us with two people, one wearing a hat with a maple leaf. We found out that they were tourists from Minnesota, that they had once lived near Wooster, and that, shock of all shocks, the woman is a distant cousin of Pépé’s. Her great-grandmother was a Côté from Quebec.

After a quick chat with them, we continued down the Champs Elysées. Dad and I took a chance with our lives and ran to the middle of the street between two cement blocks, where we took pictures of our starting point, the Arc de Triomphe, all lit up. Turning around, we took pictures of the Obelisk with a Ferris wheel in the background. It was pretty cool, and another “EEE!” moment for the both of us – probably because the risk gave us a huge jolt of adrenaline. Mom just shook her head.

At the end of our walk, we had arrived in front of the Jardin des Tuileries (the Tuilerie Gardens), standing in front of the Obelisk. I found the Rose Line, the original Prime Meridian and an important part of The DaVinci Code, so we took pictures of the brass plates marking that as well. The area in front of the Obelisk was marked with a brass plaque stating that Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had been guillotined at that spot, which was the first really cool bit of history that I learned about while in Paris.

We finally found our way back to our hotel, where we sat in Pépé’s room to write this entry as a family. (Enough corn for you?)

Nous sommes en France!

Friday morning, I met everyone up in Paris, and I had to wake up at 3:00 AM in order to catch a bus to the airport. The details are a bit fuzzy by now as it is 17 hours later and I’ve had the kind of day that even after a full night’s sleep would make me tired, but long story short my plane got in an hour late to Paris at 10:00 local time. Dad picked me up at the airport, and we went to our hotel in the middle of the red light district. He told me on the train ride that Pépé had been propositioned by a real live prostitute the night before, but politely declined, saying “Pas ce soir.” (Not tonight.)

After meeting up at the hotel, the four of us got on the Métro to go to the Louvre. What an awe-inspiring place. For the first hour, everywhere I looked was a jaw-dropping scene. Soon I came to expect the beauty and grandeur and was able to keep my mouth shut, but my eyes were just about popping out of their sockets nonetheless. We saw the famed Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, one of Dad’s favourite paintings including two topless women (see pinkplaidwellies.shutterfly.com for a picture), La Victoire, and so many other famous and lesser-known oeuvres that it was basically like cramming an entire lifetime of art culture into my head in those precious few hours that we spent there. Absolute beauty.

We then went to a restaurant, where we sat outside in a row facing the street. We were just down the road from the Opera House, yet another cool feature of the day. Food was very good, wine was some of the best I’ve tasted, and the passers-by gave us a slight view into Parisian culture and fashion.

When we were all fed and happy, we caught the Métro near the Opera House for our final stop of the day. It took until past dark for us to arrive where we wanted to go, but it was completely worth it when we arrived. All lit up in green and gold for the Rugby tournament, the Eiffel Tower was my major “EEE!” moment of the day. We walked right up underneath it, taking tons of pictures. Dad and I both touched the tower, something that I will be able to brag about when I go home. It was gorgeous.

After we left, we of course turned back to take yet another look of the tower from afar. When looking this time, it was all lit up with twinkling fairy lights that made it look even more beautiful than before. They lasted for a good half hour, which was about the time it took for us to get our bearings and find the entrance to our Métro station. With one last look at the Parisian icon over the River Seine on our train ride back, my adrenaline finally started to crash and it was all I could do to keep standing in the jolting car.

All in all, it’s one of the best days that I have had since my initial couple of weeks in Edinburgh. I have noticed, however, that even though Paris is a great city to visit, I would never want to live here. Edinburgh is more of a living town, even if Paris is Europe’s tourism diamond.

Venturing through Scotland

Well, it has been an interesting week indeed. Pépé arrived on Wednesday morning, and immediately we picked up a rental car to drive to St. Andrews. At first, Dad tried to get in on the wrong side of the car, and I had to remind him that everything is backwards in Britain. He also had lots of problems trying to navigate the roundabouts at first, but he finally got used to it by the time we reached St. Andrews. The Brits may have crazy driving laws, but we still love them for their tea.

St. Andrews is a gorgeous little Scottish town on the shores of the North Sea with buildings that remind me of Edinburgh, but on a much smaller scale. At one end of town, you can explore gorgeous ruins of an abbey that was built in the 12^th century. We walked through where the abbey used to be (you can still see the bases of the walls), and we went through the cemetery. Most of the tombstones we found were from the 1800s, but you could find the occasional headstone from the 1700s. Dad also found one where Mr. Jon Jamieson was buried with his wife Mrs. Jane Jamieson, née Johnston. He took a picture because he thought that was cool.

Next, we went to the little castle right on the beach. This castle isn’t nearly as impressive as the towering protector in Edinburgh: the St. Andrews castle is dilapidated and tiny, but its ruins still have a transfixing beauty that kept us occupied for a good hour or two. Mom was surprised that there were still wildflowers growing in the grass, because they have mostly gone at home.

The St. Andrews university is the oldest university in Scotland, and therefore one of the oldest universities in the world. Probably because of this, there is an old tradition that students still follow today: they wear red flannel robes to denote their status as students, and the robes are worn differently for each year of school. First years must wear them up over their shoulders, second years wear them off the shoulder, third years wear them off one shoulder (but which shoulder depends on what they are studying), and fourth years wear them down near the middle of their backs. It’s pretty cool to see them walking around like this, but I think I’d get tired of wearing red all the time.

Our final trip in St. Andrews was to the famed golf course, the Links at St. Andrews, where golf has many of its roots. Pépé and Dad were really excited when we found out we could walk on the paths that snake through the separate courses. They both had “EEE!” moments, and you could see them both taking tons of pictures. I found a golf ball in the middle of some deep grass for Pépé, and we both hope that nobody went looking for it a few minutes later. We tried to go have some afternoon tea at the old golf course club house, but to our dismay it was for members only, and we had left the newer club house behind in favour of the history. Instead of walking back, we ended up in a hotel restaurant and had tea and scones to restore ourselves after the 2-hour walk.

After our tea, we climbed back in the car to drive up to Pitlochery, up through the mountain roads of the highlands. We didn’t get a real taste of the highlands, though: we were hardly in the mountains at all. We saw lots of sheep, but to Dad’s disappointment, none of the shaggy, horned “heilan’ coo” that he would raise were he to live in the highlands. He told me that he’d rather raise cows than sheep because he knows more about cows.

We tried to stop at a beautiful bed and breakfast that looked like a castle (and probably was), but it wanted ₤70 per person for the night. As soon as we heard that, we got back in the car and drove further into town. We stopped to have tea at a restaurant called Victoria’s, behind which Mom made a wonderful discovery. The Scottish Tourism Board had given the B&B behind the restaurant three stars, so we immediately went in to see how much it cost. At a more reasonable ₤27 per person, we were very excited to take them up on the offer. Afterwards, we went to a different restaurant, where I had duck for the first time, Pépé had venison, Dad had salmon, and Mom had the somewhat less traditionally Scottish chicken shish kebab.

The next morning, we piled once more in the car (Dad elated that he remembered to drive on the left side of the road) and went to Edradour, the smallest whiskey distillery in Scotland (and therefore the smallest Scotch Whiskey distillery in the world). We started off with a quick taste of whiskey each – at 9:40 in the morning, no less; a proper Scottish breakfast. Our tour lasted only an hour, so small is the distillery, but the entire way it smelled sugary sweet and probably made us all slightly drunk on just the fumes. At the end, we tasted some more whiskeys and went to the shop to buy a few bottles. I got a cream liqueur. On the tour, we were told how this liqueur is made, but we had to promise we’d never tell anyone the secret. Let me tell you, though, if I could get cows drunk every night and drink their milk the next morning, I’d have some of the best milk those cows could offer.

On our way out of town, we stopped at a stereotypically Scottish pub, and had stereotypically Scottish meals. Pépé tried haggis in a somewhat altered form, wrapped in a steak. Dad had a meat and veggie pie, I had a steak and ale pie, and Mom had fish and chips (finally going Scottish on us). It was a good meal in a nice atmosphere, but it was so cliché compared to a lot of the other places that I have been so far. We got back in time for Mom, Dad, and Pépé to catch their plane to Paris, and for me to go take an Italian test. I had a glass of my drunken cow milk after dinner, and went to sleep around 10 – 5 hours before I normally do when there are people making noise on the street.

They made me tired again

Today started when my alarm didn't go off at 8:00, and I woke up at 8:54 instead. This was a problem because I was supposed to meet Mom and Dad at 9:30 at their bed and breakfast, and it was a full half an hour for me to walk there (as a poor college student, I don't spend the pound it takes to ride the bus). I quickly showered, changed, and walked over, only to find that I missed them by five minutes. We caught up again when I found them on Nicholson.

We began our day by going to Holyrood Palace, a really cool experience because it included a view of the Queen's Gallery, where Flemish paintings are currently on display, as well as an audio tour of the palace itself. We saw Mary, Queen of Scots' bedchamber, as well as the king's apartments, the queen's apartments, the throne room, and more superfluous rooms galore. We also went through the Queen's Garden and the remains of an abbey beside which the palace was built. Our time between the gallery and the palace was well spent having a cup of tea in the courtyard between the two.

We then went to a pub for lunch before attempting to climb Holyrood up to Arthur's Seat. I'm not sure Mom was prepared for the hike, but she waited a good way up while Dad and I took the rest of the journey to the top. Dad liked the free entertainment, as well as the impressive views of the city, even though he was sure that Jamie, Monique and I are all in cahoots to kill him for his life insurance, and this was how we planned to do it. (It didn't work.)

We climbed back up the Royal Mile, then down to Prince's Street to see the Scott Monument and to show them around a less touristy part of town. There was an Andy Warhol exhibition that ended today at the National Galleries on Prince's Street, but we got there twenty minutes before the museum closed. Oh well. We got some cool pictures of the Campbells Soup cans that currently adorn the pillars at the entrance.

Back up to the Royal Mile, and we went to a place called Chocolate Soup for some of the best hot chocolate Mom and I have ever had. Dad had coffee. We stopped off back at my flat for a bit in order to grab scarves, because we were going to go on a ghost tour to round off our night.

After dinner at Garfunkel's, we walked to the castle to see it all lit up in the darkness. It was really a cool sight, and similar to one that I quite often see walking through the Grassmarket on my way to clubs with my friends. We also decided on a couple of ways Mom and Dad could spend Tuesday without me (alas, I have class until 3), then went back to St. Giles cathedral to meet our tour guide for the ghost tour.

Our tour was actually quite entertaining, mostly due to our tour guide. We were told some (highly embellished) stories of the history of Edinburgh while walking through various closes (thin alleyways). Dad was whipped and had his ears cut off for treason, and Mom and I were accused of being witches - me because of my red hair, and Mom because the tour guide didn't want me to have to stand up in front of everybody alone. We ended up inside chambers built in the pillars that hold up bridges that cross over the lower-level roads in the city, something that I never would have been able to do if it weren't for the tour. These chambers are in the Guinness World Records as the most haunted place in the world. It was quite cool. After the tour, we each had a glass of lager as our tour guide told more stories to the group.

I left Mom and Dad at their bus stop, again hoping that they would make it home safe, but I don't see them until Tuesday because tomorrow they are daytripping to Glasgow. They will take the train there and back, and then spend Tuesday in Edinburgh before we all (well, my accompaniment is still up in the air because of class on Thursday) toodle off to St. Andrews on Wednesday for an overnight journey. Should be a fun time.

Look for Dad's pictures at pinkplaidwellies.shutterfly.com

Mom and Dad make me tired.

Today was a long day. I woke up at 8:30 - which, when living on the Cowgate is not an easy feat because you have drunkards screaming out your window until 3 AM - so I could shower, get dressed, and catch the bus to the airport. I arrived at 10:05, they had landed at 9:52, and they came out of baggage claim around 10:30. From there, we went to their Bed and Breakfast, which is small but clean and in a very residential part of town.

After showers for them, we began walking up Nicholson, the main road into town. I figured it wouldn't be a long walk (of course, I walk everywhere since I got here), but I had forgotten exactly how far the taxi took us, and it was uphill all the way. Mom was knackered. About twenty minutes after leaving, we found a pub where we had lunch. Mom and Dad both had fish and chips, and I had chicken tikki masala.

From there, we walked up Nicholson, and I showed them a couple of places on the way to my flat. Mom and Dad think my room is small, but Mom took a nap in my bed while Dad and I walked for an hour and a half on the Royal Mile, the tourist-laden road that leads up to the castle. Mom agrees that the bed is dead hard and difficult to sleep on, especially with all the noise coming up from the street.

When we woke her up, Dad and I took Mom to the Royal Mile with us. I, for one, am used to the hills by now and don't think twice anymore about walking up and down them, but Mom was still way tired from the trip and had a hard time getting up the long, steep hill which is the quickest route from the Cowgate (my road) to the Royal Mile. I guess they didn't go on enough long walks before coming here, but I'll take it easy on them from now on.

We went into St. Giles' Cathedral, which Dad tells me is the birthplace of Protestantism (probably something he learned from his guidebook). He kept asking me when we were walking up to it, "But what's so great about it?" I told him about fifty times that it is absolutely gorgeous inside, but I'm not sure he believed me until he saw it. He did take a picture, but technically you're supposed to buy a photography pass for two quid, so he only took the one.

From there, we went up to the castle. I think Mom and Dad were really impressed, especially by the Honours of Scotland - the crown jewels and the Stone of Destiny. Again, though, the hills and stairways in the castle tired Mom and Dad out. They did like, however, to see the soldiers' dogs cemetery, as well as Mons Meg - a huge cannon, a picture of which you can see from my first visit to the castle.

We then went to the Scotch Whiskey Experience, something I knew they'd enjoy both for learning about scotch whiskey and for the hour of sitting and relaxing. In the tasting, we were given a dram of Balentines each, which Dad says he used to drink in his youth because it was all he could afford. It wasn't very good, let me tell you. After the first sip, you're offered some mixers, so I put some Irn-Bru into mine - the first time I'd mixed scotch and Scotland's favourite pop. I quite enjoyed the results, and so did Mom: we both think that the sweetness in the Irn-Bru really complimented the whiskey. Dad thought it was too sweet. We then learned about the distilling process and the history of scotch whiskey.

From there, we went to a restaurant back on Nicholson called Ciao Roma. The waiters all had Italian accents, which was pretty cool. Our dinner was delicious, which was even better, especially after a long day of tourist-ness. By 7:30, Mom and Dad were at a bus stop waiting to get back to their B&B, which I hope they actually do end up finding. I guess we'll see tomorrow, because I'm supposed to meet them at 9:30.

Dad's pictures will eventually go on my Shutterfly page so that it's easier to share them with everybody. Pepe comes on Wednesday and they'll be touring around Scotland without me, but we'll probably meet up again on Thursday before they go to Paris. I join them Friday morning, and we'll see what sort of plans they have for themselves after that. Don't worry, I'll keep them safe and make sure they don't get lost!

Culinary Adventures

My first Scottish taste adventure was, of course, scotch whiskey during my Arcadia orientation. We were taught how to appreciate a good draft of whiskey, how to appreciate the colour, the body, the smell, the bouquet, the way the taste stays in your mouth after you've swallowed it. It was an interesting experience, to be sure, and I really enjoyed it. The whiskey was good; learning about the history afterwards was also fun. And there are so many places to go on the Royal Mile to find and taste more whiskey that it would take an entire day to visit them all, after which I am sure you would be slightly drunk.

Next came McEwan's beer, a locally-brewed classic whose profits built the beautiful McEwan Hall on campus. It's a light beer with a nice, refreshing taste that can be enjoyed many places here in Edinburgh, but most especially at McEwan's Pub on Nicholson Street. This is a beer to be enjoyed on tap, rather than in a bottle or can, surrounded by old men who stop and stare when six university-aged students walk in at 5:00 on a Sunday afternoon, taking a short break from the newsroom in the basement of the student societies' building, the Pleasance.

Irn-Bru (pronounced Iron Brew) follows, a bright orange soft drink that outsells Coke in the UK. It is not an orange-flavoured pop: rather, it tastes a lot like bubble gum, with only the slightest hint of citrus. A drink often mixed with vodka or whiskey by the over-18 population, it is supposedly sold in Canada, South Africa, Singapore, Russia, and Australia, as well as the entirety of the UK, Ireland, and the Middle East. They've also come out with Irn-Bru 32, an offshoot that is meant to rival Red Bull, and something which today near the student union Irn-Bru representatives are passing out free to get students addicted as soon as possible. I was given two cans, and I have yet to crack open either one.

Finally, we come to the famous HAGGIS. What can I say about haggis? A group of went to a greasy-spoon restaurant (called City Restaurant, how creative) after clubbing one night. Charlie and Eve shared an order of haggis and chips, I shared a pizza with Kate and Ally, and Joni just got a plate of chips to herself. Well, remembering that I, the foreigner, had never tasted haggis before, everyone decided it was time I had a bite. It looked like a sausage, tasted like black pepper and ground beef, and had the consistency of ground beef and thick oatmeal mixed together. That is, of course, essentially what it was. As wonderful as it tasted, it's not something I am going to actively search out in the future.

First week of classes

This week has gone by so quickly, probably because we're actually occupied during the day instead of sitting around watching bad British television.

Tuesday was the first day of class, and let me just say it was the most confusing first day of school I have ever had. I walked to my English class with ten minutes until class started. The entire way along, I was assaulted by people handing out flyers and selling snap packs that offer discounts all year long. Considering we get about thirty through our door every day anyway, I decided not to collect any more. Before we start getting more flyers, we need some tacks so we can put the ones we already have up on the wall.

I found the classroom alright, but everyone wondered if we had all showed up in the right place, because the professor didn't show up until five minutes after the hour. It looks to be a good class, though, and there are only 11 students, which will make a great class, I hope. However, our assignments every week are posted on WebCT, a program that Edinburgh uses. You must be registered for a class in order to access that class's posts. Though I am registered, it won't let me in, so I had to e-mail the professor to try to get it corrected.

Next, it was time to try to find where my philosophy class would take place. The location was not to be found online, nor was the location of the philosophy offices. I asked a receptionist in the David Hume Tower (where many of the departments have offices) if the philosophy department had an office there, but she said no. By this time, it's getting to noon, and I know that I have a meeting at 1:00 for the student newspaper (cleverly called Student, but it was founded by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, so I guess I can forgive it). I went to the Arcadia office, where we are always welcome if we need help, and asked them if they could help me find the philosophy department.

Three phone calls later, we had not only the location of the department offices, but the location of my lecture. This is when it started to rain.

I took a fifteen-minute walk to the Pleasance, the optimistically-named home of many of the clubs and societies, stopping to grab a cup of tea and a bagel at one of the police box coffee shops (approximately 5 ft by 10 ft, standing on sidewalks) on the way for my lunch - which the Brits call dinner. There were a few people already there: the film editor, as well as a couple of freshers. Five minutes later, though, the large room was absolutely full with about sixty or seventy students wanting to write for and help produce the newspaper. At Wooster, we only have about 10 regular workers.

I signed up to do copyediting and to write for the film section, which means that if they like my writing style I'll get to go watch new movies on Friday afternoons for free and then write a review. But I had to leave relatively early, because my long-lost philosophy class was a fifteen-minute walk away.

This was the only class of the day in which we learned anything at all. The most important part, though, is that my lecturer has the exact same accent as Sean Connery, a trait not altogether common in the southern parts of Scotland.

After this, it was time to come home for a little while and eat an early dinner, because I didn't think I'd be back until 9. My Italian lecture was supposed to last two hours, after which I had to cross the Meadows (a huge park with a bad rep at night) with Joni to get to swing dance.

I went to the location that the online resources said that we would have our introductory meeting. There were about thirty of us in the classroom, but the professor was late. More than five minutes. We sat in relative unease for fifteen minutes before our Italian tutor finally walked through the door and said, with a strong Italian accent, "You are all in the wrong room."

We went to the 11th floor of the David Hume Tower, where five other students were waiting for us. Both our professor and our tutor swore up and down that the online resources said that we were supposed to show up in this room that overlooked the castle. So then why did thirty of the thirty-five of us show up in the other classroom? Because, basically, WebCT is a bad program.

Next, they kicked ten people out of the class, because it was only supposed to have 25 students, and the directors of studies who had let in the last 10 students were wrong to have let them in. Mine was the first name called for those who could stay, and I sank deeper into my chair with relief, thereafter looking out the window at the castle until the role call was finished fifteen minutes later (many students had argued that they did, in fact, belong there, and what would they do now that they couldn't stay?).

Class let out after only one hour. I walked back to Kincaid's, texting Joni to tell her we could meet there instead of in George Square. Another hour later, we set out, umbrellas (brellies) in hand.

We never found it.

Cold, slightly damp, and defeated, we sat in my kitchen to watch Bridget Jones's Diary with Anna and Rachel, followed later by Johnny Depp's Crybaby as more and more people joined us. Not a bad way to spend an evening.

Regarding flats and flatmates

Well, first, let me start off by saying that I live on Drunk Row. In either direction on our road, there are bars and clubs crowding the streets, including one located in a re-vamped church building (which, I've found, is a very common cure for the hundreds of old churches that aren't necessarily used as places of worship anymore). This simply means that sometimes it's hard to get to sleep at night, and in the morning we can see some interesting characters (like the one man sitting on the sidewalk one morning for a half hour and leaning to the side at about a 45-degree angle). It also means we've always got places to escape to when our flat just gets to be too oppressive at night.

Our walls are white, our doors and carpets blue, and our furniture is a decent sort of wood. It's a nice-enough looking place, with okay furniture. We have two toilets for five girls, one in a small room with just a toilet and a sink, and the other in a larger one with a shower. Our kitchen has a sitting area, a TV (thanks to Kate), and a decent amount of space for cooking - and the fridge is the biggest I've ever seen, it's taller even than Monique.

The floors in the hall creak, no matter how softly you step. The stove's grill compartment (there's a top drawer with a grill and a bottom for the oven) doesn't have a handle to pull out the grill tray, so we have to use a spoon. The shower is scorching in the morning, but ice-cold in the afternoon, no matter how short our showers are. The knob for the shower sticks, so even if you do manage a hot shower, when you try to turn it off you are stuck in a freezing waterfall while you struggle to push the knob down that extra inch that will shut the water off entirely. The girls, though, are great.

From my program, there are Christine and I. Christine is from Florida. She's a nice girl who tends to keep to herself and likes to hang out with a few of the Americans from downstairs, but will join the rest of us for tea and Hollyoaks most nights, as well as a drink or two if we have them.

Anna is from nearby, here in Scotland. She spent a gap year in India teaching children. She is dead set on going to the Freshers' Ball tomorrow: to go, you had to pay thirty pounds at the beginning of the week for a Freshers' Pass, which got you in free to the events that had entrance fees (we never went to any that we had to pay for anyway). None of the rest of us bought Freshers' Passes, so she might end up going with girls from the next flat over.

Eve is also Scottish, but she's from the Borders, so she's got a mixture of an English and Scottish accent. She's studying psychology, and is not happy that she has to take chemistry in order to finish her degree. She has a boyfriend living in Edinburgh who is my age. He doesn't go to the uni, but goes to a smaller college in the city. They've been dating two and a half years, and he seems like a really nice guy - he's taken a true interest in getting to know her new friends.

Kate is from Manchester. She is the reason we have a TV, and she is also most of the reason I have started saying "well" and "dead" in the place of "very" or "really" (Example: "Hollyoaks is well good!"). The boys next door have taken to calling her "Bob" for no other reason than that they thought she should have a nickname. This drives Kate crazy. And oh, she's an art history major.

This all makes for a very interesting flat, and great times all around. We all have our respective interests, but it seems as though we gel really well. They are part of what will make my semester here amazing.