A Dummy’s Guide to Scotland
(as told by Sarah)
(from a tiny blip of a college campus in the middle of nowhere)

So here is the blog I promised you all. Yes, it’s probably a bit (a lot) overdue in the minds of some of my readers, but, I think, appropriately timed, more or less, for what I need to say in it. I’m feeling a bit melancholy right now, but I’m sure it will pass. Soon, I hope.
Well, the title says it all, so I will disregard the normal opening paragraph, the way I typically disregard the normal closing paragraph when I’m too lazy to write one, and jump right in.

The weather: It’s as changing and bipolar as Ohio’s weather, but, it seems, with a less radical range. Yesterday morning, for example, I was able to go out in just my hoodie, but by evening I had to wear my coat over it and I was still shivering. The day before that it was quite rainy but warm enough that I took a walk with my umbrella. The day before that it was just barely warm enough for the sprinkling rain to turn to snow.
Overall I think I shouldn’t complain about the weather, because it was cool and beautiful for my first few days here, compared to the snow storm (which led to torrential flooding) that was raping Ohio when I left. Sometimes it will be terribly windy for days at a time, but for the most part it seems quite promising. I’m hoping it gets warmer quick, because I’m sick of having to wear my hoodie everywhere.

The land: is beautiful. As I mentioned before, I was worried that the grass would still be brown so early in the year, but when I got here I discovered that these fears were unfounded. It is quite green here, with hills that remind me a bit of Amish Country, although they are substantially less… energetic than Amish Country’s hills, preferring to roll and wave rather than hop around with odd angles and such.

I really want to see the Highlands before I go – in all of the pictures I’ve seen, they have the aura of a wise and aged grandparent that can both take care of you and provide a challenge that will help you grow. I feel both comforted and intimated by what I see.
That sounds silly, yeah, but think about it the next time you see a picture of the Highlands. You may not think I’m so crazy then.

The food: I haven’t had much outside the school’s food, which is largely sub-par. There have been a few things that were delicious – the “southern fried” chicken, the beef stew, and an Aberdeen dish that was like beef stew but made with the texture of mashed potatoes – but it’s almost like everything has been dusted with the same odd tangy aroma or flavor that I can’t quite get past, like the smell of an old person's house. I definitely feel, if the canteen food is any indication, that American food is much more flavorful. Of course, it would be unfair to make that assumption based strictly on the canteen food; after all, what if someone came to the States and judged American food based on what our cafeteria serves?
I have been forced to relax my rules about how deeply incompatible foods are allowed to become involved with one another, as it often seems that the servers in the cafeteria are actively encouraging my food to fornicate right there on my plate, resulting in mutant cross-bred food particles that cause my palate to react convulsively. Occasionally, if I’m especially wary of fornicating foods, I’ll ask for a separate plate for my French fries (I mean chips) so that they don’t become ensoggened (I just made up that word… I think it’s cute) by baked bean juices or stir fry sauce. Allistair quite quickly took to teasing me about this. His first explanation was “Oh, she’s an American”, but I quickly corrected him. “Oh, heck, that has nothing to do with it. People back home make fun of me too,” I said.
I have recently discovered something terrible. Upon experiencing what the southern yokel would call a “hankerin’” for tacos, I did a search for local Taco Bells… and… there are none. In all of Scotland. Scotland has NO TACO BELLS. In the States we have at least one in EVERY REASONABLY SIZED TOWN. (We are also pretty much the most obese country in the world, so just what does that tell you?) England has 2, but they’re both down south. 340 miles away. Also no Long John Silver’s, but I can live with that since I’m in the Land of Fish and Chips. For all I know theirs are way better than LJS anyway. And no Dunkin’ Donuts, either. They do have Krispy Kremes, but they are all situated in England as well, in a little clot across the Irish Sea from Dublin.
They have something in the cafeteria that comes in a little packet, called, simply, “brown sauce”, that I’ve been using for my French fries (I mean chips). It tastes a little like barbeque sauce, with a bit more of a vinegar-y flavor. There are also these little dessert treats that consist of milk chocolate over a graham cracker crust with marshmallows on top. It is soooooooo gooooood. Don’t forget about my disappointing experience with the “barbeque chicken” at the mall. And there is a beverage called “Irn Bru” that is apparently popular with young people here. It looks like orange soda but I have yet to try it, as I was fortified with a wariness against the stuff by Niall, my Heritage Studies teacher. Also, this paragraph has apparently become a catch-all for the various foods that don’t fit in the “can’t touch on my plate” or “served in the canteen” or “restaurants they don’t have here” categories.
I have not yet tried haggis, although there have been variations on it available in the canteen.

The fashion: Seems to be somewhat similar to what it is in the States, but there is far less variety. However, since I know next to nothing about fashion I couldn’t say for sure. It seems that the H&M styles are fashionable for girls, as are those ugly fluffy boots that girls in the States wear. In a school of horse girls I see a LOT of boots, ranging from downright ugly to uniquely cute, and there are some that look both practical on the yard and fashionable off.
That’s about all I can say about fashion, except for this: they really like their necklaces long. And they have more feather jewelry here. I have a pair of feather earrings (two actually, though one pair has disappeared), and I’ve always thought there was something really cute about feather jewelry. They have a much better selection here than at home, although I probably won’t buy any because I wouldn’t be able to pack them without squishing them and messing up their prettiness. Plus I don’t need them and I have to exercise control over my purchases.

The roads: They are frightening. They’re very narrow, at least in this part of the country. There are places on the country roads where they have stone bridges that are only wide enough for one vehicle and are armed with traffic lights so that only one vehicle is on each at any given time. There are roundabouts out the wazoo, although Claire (that’s right – I have a Claire here as well as at home) told me that this specific region is rather eccentric in its number of roundabouts; apparently they’re not so prolific in other parts of Scotland. I think I mentioned that there are a lot of them here, and that they each have special names, but I also want to say that there is an extreme amount of variation between them. Some of them just look like little concrete slabs 10 or 15 feet wide, while others are 25 or 30 feet wide and boast a tiny ecosystem complete with trees and rocks and, in at least one case, a random stone monument, like a tiny landlocked Easter Island of sorts.

There are, however, lots of twisty, turny and loopity roads, and I have discovered that I get easily confused due to my ingrained, and decidedly American, understanding of how roads work. This might seem obvious, given the differences that I’ve mentioned, but I’m talking about something far more subtle. For example, when I was riding the minibus with John last Tuesday and he was preparing to make a right-hand turn into the WalMart parking lot, I instinctively thought “check the lane next to me before I turn to make sure no one’s coming up beside me on the right”. Then I remembered that there wouldn’t be anyone coming up on the right, because the right lane next to us was for oncoming traffic, not turn-only traffic, like it would be in the states. Also, depending on which direction my vehicle is turning, I would automatically scan both ways for a left turn, but focus on my left side when making a right turn because I don’t have to cross a lane to make a right-hand turn. Here, of course, it’s the other way around. And for those of you who were unsure: yes, they do drive on the “wrong” side of the road over here, and all of the cars are made with the driver positioned on the right-hand side of the car rather than the left. Speaking of…

The cars: It’s quite an odd thing, although I haven’t driven any cars or been in the passenger seat of a regular car. I will say, however, that the cars here all have a singular look about them. They are much rounder, more compact and more “efficient”-looking than American cars, and although there is, I discovered this morning, a Ford Escort in the college parking lot (really bizarre to see my dad’s car but in mirror-image), most of the models I see are unfamiliar to me. I recognize Ford, Toyota, Honda, etc., but there are makes and models here that I’ve never seen before. One of the cars at the college is this cute little blue thing, and it’s so compact that it only has one windshield wiper in the front window. It also looks WAY too tiny to be a four-door, yet it is (although it has virtually no trunk, or “boot”). I've seen a few pickup trucks, and every time they make me smile, because they seem so out of place here.

The music: Hard to say. The only music I’ve heard thusfar is that which spews forth from the radios of my flatmate and the ASDA minibus. I can tell you this, though: from what I’ve heard, young people here listen to the same crap that young people at home listen to. Flatmate’s radio was blaring for half the day last weekend, in the kitchen, with no one around to hear it but me, in my room with the door closed. When I walked into the hall it was so loud that it was like stepping into a nightclub. My point, though, is that I had to listen to it for a few hours straight, and from what I noticed, it was the same 15 or so American hip-hop songs played over and over and over and over and over again. *shudder*
As I have mentioned, I have not heard a single bagpipe since I got here, except for those of Gaelic Storm and Slainte Mhath that have come from the speakers of my own laptop. I don’t know yet what post-pubescent people generally listen to.

The buildings: All look very similar. I know that this is likely another cultural thing, like the fact that many of the cars look the same or that many Americans think that all Asians look alike. A vast (VAST) percentage of the buildings (aside from some of the barns and shopping centers) are made of stone. Take a look at any picture of Edinburgh and you can kind of get the idea. There is stone freaking everywhere. As Bud might say, “They’ve got stone comin’ outta their ying-ying!” It is difficult to tell the difference between a church, a house, a post office, a hotel and a pub if there is no sign to help you out, and sometimes the signs are just as confusing when you’re looking at them through the eyes of a foreigner – I know, for example, what to expect when I see an “FYE” sign, but what the heck is “BHS”? As a horse person, “BHS” stands for “British Horse Society”, but what does it mean in a shopping mall? These are things that the average native Scot knows instinctively, the way I know what “FYE” is. But to me it’s very confusing.
Despite never being absolutely sure whether the shop I’m about to step into is going to try to sell me a god or a candy bar, I find the buildings here to be beautiful. Even the ugly ones. They’re not ugly – they’re quaint. Old-worldly. Traditional.

When I went shopping on High Street in Linlithgow on Saturday for my birthday outing, there were gated and sometimes arched doorways open in the buildings or between them, often with short stone staircases leading up to what looked like residences. Quaint. Old-worldly. Traditional. A bit fantastic. Here’s an example of what I mean, although in this case there are no adorable stone steps and it leads to a restaurant, not a home:After taking this pic I walked into the little alley and took a close-up of the restaurant. Isn't it cute?

The people: Most of the adults I’ve met have been quite nice. Most of the young people I’ve met have been… less so.
I want to say that the older students in my Heritage Studies class are easy to get along with, and after spending so much time with the teenagers that live on campus, I swear I can feel a palpable difference in the maturity level when I enter that classroom. The kids here, on the other hand (I am hesitant to say this, but it’s my honest observation), are kind of rude, and I find it difficult to imagine that they’re going to grow up to be the helpful and mature adults that I see around me. I don’t think I’ve had a single young person open a door for me, and have heard very little gratitude, and seen very little acknowledgement, even, when I do it for others. Many of them don’t make room on the sidewalk or the staircase when I’m walking toward them. Beyond taking up their trays, they don’t clean up after themselves in the canteen unless ordered to do so, nor do they seem to acknowledge the effort of the cafeteria workers or the cleaning ladies. They’re rude to each other, too, so it’s not like I and the college staff get special treatment in that department.
And don’t get me started on my flatmate’s kitchen cleanliness (or lack thereof) or the fact that she’s not done a single thing to make me feel welcome since I got here. Last week I found a skillet in a drawer that had not been washed or even scraped before it was put away. I am not joking.
Allistair told me once that I need to cut them some slack – that they are free from their parents for the first time and it is only natural for them to be a little wild. I have decided that stretching your legs and experimenting with drugs and alcohol, if they really feel it is necessary, should not affect the manners they exhibit toward other students and the college staff.
I don’t know if this is a cultural difference or not. I suspect that it is, and I don’t know how that makes me feel.
Speaking of disconcertingly ambiguous feelings, I took a walk before dinner tonight, and I got to thinking, and I don’t know if I like the ideas I came up with. I have decided that I really feel distanced from a lot of the other students here. Furthermore, I discovered that I am uncomfortable with not knowing how many of my feelings of outcasted-ness are due to natural “American in another country” culture shock, and how much of it is due to being surrounded so often by people who are 5, 6, 7 or in some cases even 8 years younger than me. And I don’t know whether this discomfort is due simply to the seemingly alien nature of the average teenager (it seemed largely alien even when I was a teenager myself) or if it’s due to the fact that, holy shite, when I’m standing with a group of these kids… I am the adult. I am the responsible one. I’m not saying that I think they're all to suddenly look up with wide, expectant eyes and wait for me to spout out my sage wisdom or anything like that. It’s just the thought that I’m the oldest person in this group. Theoretically I am the example-setter here, though I doubt their odds of paying attention to my “example” are any better than the odds that they would actually push their chairs in when they’re done eating (seriously, they need to take a class with Nancy). I am the most experienced one, and should be expected to act like it if it is asked of me.
Except that I’m not sure if I could.
And while I’m worried about it… is this a reflection on my readiness to join the real world? Like, after graduation? I don’t feel any more adult now than I did three years ago when I graduated from LCCC. How can I expect the world to take me seriously? Will it, even if I feel like it shouldn’t? Is real life just about pretending that you know what you’re about and the world accepting you as a competent individual? Is there ANY adult out there that actually feels like he or she has earned adulthood? Or all we all just insecure young adults sporting various stages of wear?

I think that being philosophical about my place in the universe is a great way to end a blog.
What do you say?
♥
SM

My First Bus Ride

Happy Birthday, Sister Kristin!!!!! (03/08/1987)

March 7, 2011 (because this lovely excursion happened yesterday)

I know I was supposed to write this blog about my American views of certain things in Scotland, and I’ll still do that… but in another blog. Because for this one I have a new experience to relate – my first real foray into public transportation and shopping in Scotland.
I navigated a local public transportation website, traveline.com, yesterday to figure out where and when I could grab a bus. I’d seen a bus stop right outside Ecclesmachan and figured that ought to be a spot where I could get picked up. After doing a search of local T-Mobile locations I had determined to go to a shopping center called The Gyle, which is at the city limits of Edinburgh. However, when I went to breakfast this morning I saw Rose and Linda, her boss, and when I told them that I was going to try my hand at public transportation they recommended that I try the mall in Livingston instead, as it was bigger and also had a T-Mobile store in it. So When I got back to my room I found myself a new route.
Off to Livingston I shall go!
I stopped in the coffee shop and got a Twix bar, against my better judgment, before I left. Naturally I left my route information on the counter there, and didn’t realize it until I got to the bus stop. Luckily I remembered the important details (be at Stance D at 16:47 for the bus back), so it wasn’t a major deal for me. Someone arrived shortly after me at the Ecclesmachan bus stop, which boosted my confidence a skosh. I didn’t know how much the fare (it’s £1.70 to go between Ecclesmachan and Livingston, in case you’re ever out this way and need to know) would be and didn’t want to waste the bus driver’s time while I dug it out, so I dropped £2 into the change receptacle. I think he was annoyed by it but he didn’t say anything.
The ride to Livingston was relatively uneventful, but I kept myself alert to the road signs, looking out for anything relating to “The Centre” or “Almondvale Avenue”. I do want to mention, however, that the ubiquitous British “roundabout” is spawning healthily out this way. Seriously, they have roundabouts here like we have intersections back home. It’s crazy. And each and every one has a special name. They are really serious about their roundabouts.
The entrance to the mall, which is I believe the main entrance, that the bus dropped us off at was big, and inside it looked absolutely massive. The avenues (I don’t know what we call them) here were large enough for major vehicular traffic to pass through and the glass ceiling was at least 4 stories above my head. Further along it closed in significantly, until it was narrower in width and shorter in height than what I’m used to in the States.
I saw some stores that I recognized, such as H&M and the Disney Store, but most of them were completely foreign to me and some had comical names, like “Cotswold” (sounds like a British word, doesn’t it?), “Aulds”, “Peacocks”, “Schuh” (pronounced, “shoe”, I’m assuming, since that’s what they sold there) and “Jessops”. There was also the British equivalent of a Dollar Tree, affectionately called “Poundland”. Isn’t that just “tickle-your-gut” adorable? I suppose we do have some oddly-christened stores in the States, such as “Babbages” and “Torrid” (the worst name for a plus-size clothing store for women, by the way, that they could have chosen).
The first store I went into was a department store called M&S. I didn’t see much that I liked, but the store was notable because it was a department store… with a grocery store inside of it. Seriously. Imagine going into Sears and you turn a corner and suddenly you feel like you’re at Sparkle market. It was weird. There was even a little bakery in it, which was like a store-within-a-store-within-a-store-within-a-mall. I almost bought a maple pecan thing for 80p or something… it smelled so good! Luckily there wasn’t an attendant at the bakery so I was forced to turn it down. Close call, that one!
I have commented that I haven’t seen a single kilt or heard a single bagpipe since I got here. There is, however, a store at the mall called “Highlander” that specializes in kilts, but I didn’t go in. The sign mentioned “other formalwear”, which made me think it would be like walking into an “American Commodore” and telling the attendants there that you’re just browsing (“Ummm… okay. Sure…”). That balked me, plus the fact that I’d have had to go up a flight of stairs to get to it, where everyone could see me and think I was a weirdo.
On my way back through the mall I found a directory, because I hadn’t seen the T-Mobile store (which was, after all, the focus of my journey), and found that I had passed it up. The girl in the store seemed friendly, but she didn’t offer me much advice or spend a long time chatting with me about my options. Unfortunately, I’d have to say I got the impression that she wanted to get me out of the store as soon as she could. I picked the cheapest phone available that had a camera (it was only the second cheapest of the lot, at £10) and “topped it up” with another £10.
I stopped at around 3pm at a café called BB’s to grab a sandwich, charge my new phone and read the user instruction pamphlet. I ordered a barbeque chicken sandwich (which tasted like chicken but did NOT taste like barbeque) and a hot chocolate (which tasted like semi-mediocre hot chocolate), and immediately proceeded to make a mess of the hot chocolate, spilling a bit onto the table, and from there onto my hoodie.
I went into a store called “Superdrug” (I know it sounds bad, but it was like a RiteAid I swear) and looked at their hair straightener selection. They had a few to choose from, and they were all dual-voltage, as I had hoped (yes!!!!) but I thought I’d check out WalMart’s selection before buying one. Later I discovered that WalMart’s selection was… well, they didn’t have one. Not a single hair straightener. As much as I hate WalMart and their money-grubbing, privacy-invading, soul-crushing, employee-screwing, pompous tyranny, I have to admit that the ones that we have in the States at least have hair straighteners. I mean, come on, United Kingdom!
Anyhow, I figured while I was at WalMart I may as well do some grocery shopping, so I wouldn’t have to bother with the Tuesday night minivan run. I also found an adapter for UK to US plugs, and they were only £2. I had resolved to buy myself a UK straightener, so I knew that I would need one of these. I’ll be sure to get one before I leave.
Gah! I’m so not in a blogging mood right now. But I must persevere. For my readers. I love them like a second-rate supervillain pretends to love frozen yogurt to impress the girl at the laundromat. Bazinga!! (No, that’s not saying that I pretend to love them. Read it correctly! *smack* Kidding. I wouldn’t smack you. I love you, remember?)
When I got back out to the bus stop (Terminal “E” was the one I needed ) I examined the bus schedule there and fretted a bit because it said it was going to Linlithgow. Ecclesmachan is, of course, halfway between Linlithgow and Livingston, which makes my fretting pointless and silly, but I think my newness to the whole matter means that my naïve worry can be forgiven. I talked to the driver of the bus that left right before mine, and he assured me that I was at the right terminal and that the next bus would take me back properly.
I’d waited around for about 10 minutes (of course I got there early out of my anal fear of making a mistake) when an attractive guy approached and scrutinized the route schedule. He asked me if I knew whether or not the 21 (the bus that had just left) was usually on time, and I had to confess that I had only just ridden a bus in Scotland for the first time that day, so I had no clue. I also had to inform him that if he was looking for bus 21, it had just left less than a minute earlier. Despite remarking that he needed the bus he didn’t seem overly chagrined that it had left without him. Whether this reflected an extraordinarily laid-back manner or a lack of true desire to get where he was going, I don’t know. We waved to one another as my bus took off.
My return bus ride, unfortunately, was not as uneventful as my first one. On the plus side, I learned a valuable lesson: while in the States you’re supposed to hit your “stop” button, wait for the bus to stop, then get up and get off, the order of things is not so in the UK. The order here is: walk to front of bus, hit “stop” button, bus stops, get off. If you try doing it like you’re stateside, the driver will pass up your stop and you’ll end up having to ride all the way to the end of his circuit in Linlithgow and halfway back to get back to your destination. I was stunned, confused and alarmed when he didn’t stop for me. I had told him where I was going – that’s how they figure out your fare, remember? – and part of me had thought that maybe the little screen he uses to figure out your fare, I don’t know, kept a journey log for him that let him know where all his passengers were going or something. Not so, crazy little American girl! Not so at all!
On the plus side, the journey to Linlithgow was very pretty. Unfortunately I was unable to appreciate a lot of it due to 1) my impending coronary regarding my missed stop, 2) the reflections off the windows and the speed we were going, which combined to make it hard to take pictures, and 3) the slow descent into darkness. I was fortunate to be seated next to a very concerned 50-something woman, who sympathized with me and helped me out by giving me advice and making sure the driver realized what had happened. I am indebted to her for her help.
So my adventure ended at a little past 6, when I found myself once again on the sidewalk making the trek through Ecclesmachan to the Oatridge College campus. I want to mention that a student car drove by and honked derisively at me while I was walking, but didn’t bother asking me if I needed a ride.
And yes, I know that I can’t claim that the honk was derisive, since I don’t know the car personally, but in my slightly aggravated and weary state it certainly sounded like it.
I got back in time to have dinner with John and Allistair again. I was also privy to a semi-bawdy conversation they were having with a pair of sexually ambivalent boys. Whether they were genuinely exploring their sexuality or just being teased about their chummy relationship I have no idea. Scottish humor still mostly eludes me.
I have yet to plan my next excursion, but Niall tells me that in two weeks’ time my Heritage class may take a trip to Edinburgh.
*squeal!!*
♥
SM

First Week of Classes

So from here on out, in the interest of not boring my readers, I will reflect on more general terms the things that I experience rather than giving a chronology of what happens to me. I shall still have to refer to my journal. Give me a moment.
*precisely one moment passes*
I suppose the best use of this blog would be letting everyone know what my classes are like. I should start by mentioning that all of my teachers have been exceedingly friendly, cheerful and accommodating.
Tuesday mornings I have 3 hours of Equine Fitness, and on Wednesday 2 hours of Grassland Management. In both classes we began with brief PowerPoints and a discussion of basic points of horse care that form the foundation of these two topics, such as signs of health and illness in the horse, body condition scoring, types of common grazing grasses and toxic plants and good pasture management practices regarding drainage, fencing, water supply, etc.
The girls in the fitness class are HNC (Higher National Certificate) girls, which from what I gather means that they’re somewhere between 17 and 19 years old. A lot of them ignored me, which is relatively understandable, but several invited me to join them, both in the classroom and in the barn, and I am grateful to them for it. We spent some little time in the barn doing practice fitness assessments of some of the college’s chubbier horses. Our horse, Sky, was irritable at our intrusion into his full schedule of chomping on his hay, and it took us to the end of our session to get his pulse because he wouldn’t keep his head still. I’ll be going back out to the yard today (Friday) to do the official assessment that I’ll use for my semester assignment.
The HND (Higher National Degree) class was a bit smaller and seemed friendlier overall to me. They’re a smidge older, and although they’re pretty goofy there’s an air of respect about them that seems to be lacking in many of the younger kids at this college. The atmosphere in the classroom closely mimicked that of Dr. Giedt’s nutrition class and Cami’s health class, which made me feel at home almost immediately. Sharon had everyone introduce themselves to me, and through this I discovered that there is a wee, unofficial Allistair Cranston fan club on campus. I am not permitted to say more. ;-)
During the second half of class we took a long walk to a few paddocks that are to be the focus of our semester’s (or rather our “block’s”) practical work. I hadn’t realized that we’d be making such a jaunt, and I wish that I had had my camera with me. There are a few hills beyond the pastures, lots of green and a stone wall that needs a little repairing. I’m sure we will be out there again soon, possibly as early as next week. I will be sure to bring my camera to class from here on out.
My Heritage Studies class actually has boys in it. Well, not boys, really. Guys. And a few men. And some of them are attractive. I sat next to an English guy named Simon (or rather, he sat next to me) who has beautiful blue eyes and looks familiarly like several people I know from back home. Steve sat in the front near the window and had a big, ready smile, sparkling eyes and an A M A Z I N G voice (I realized last night why he looked so familiar – he looks a lot like Benji Schwimmer – major points in the hotness department, which bodes ill for me). Behind him was a (probably) 30-something guy named Alan that also had a fantastic accent, all full of brogue-ishness yet not difficult to understand.
The class boasts a smaller crowd that is noticeably older, not to mention more calm and introspective, than what I observed in my other two classes, and I felt quite comfortable around them (although there was one guy who remarked that if Scotland had no culture, “… it would be like America”). The teacher, Neil, is a likable goofball, and we spent most of our class time discussing the three types of heritage and digging up examples from around Scotland. Most of the examples ended up originating locally, from the Edinburgh area.
I am sad to say that I have not seen a single kilt nor heard a single bagpipe since I got here. The only traditional music I’ve heard has come from my own laptop (I am listening to a Slainte Mhath/Gaelic Storm bagpipe mix right now). I imagine there’s a traditional music shop in Broxburn somewhere – I’d love to explore that little town as soon as possible. It seems irresistibly charming.
I think in my next blog I will describe the area – the buildings, the land, the weather, the people, the food – with a focus on the various points that strike me due to their contrast to what I’m used to. It's been overcast for the past day and a half, but as I type this my room is brightening with sunshine!! Getting ready to talk to Mom on Skype again, then I have to head up to the yard.
Wonderful sunshine!! I'm so excited!!!!!
♥
SM

First Few Days in Scotland!

*WARNING: I HOPE YOU’VE GONE TO THE BATHROOM RECENTLY AND BROUGHT ALONG A SNACK, BECAUSE THIS BLOG IS LONG*

Since I’ve spent my first several days here without Internet access in my room, this blog will have a LOT in it. I started it when I was waiting for my connection in New Jersey, and continued it after I got to my room and settled in somewhat. That was Monday, I think, so I’ll end this post with Monday night and pick up Tuesday in a new post. I’ll have pictures shortly. Maybe even before you get to read this.
First, I want to say that the reason this is so late in being updated is that I managed to fry my hair straightened on Monday morning, and didn’t trust the outlets here to be kind to my laptop. This morning, however, I got some reassurance from Craig in the IT department that I can plug my laptop in without fear. Therefore I am now blogging from my laptop in my room, and will be able to update you regularly once I get these first few days untangled for you! I’ve been keeping everything that happens to me updated in a hard copy using a journal I bought at Borders before I left home, so I have something solid to start with.
So, here goes:

Newark, New Jersey
5:14pm

New Jersey tarmac

Sitting at the Newark airport. My ears have still not recovered from our descent, and they feel clogged up. I hate it. Chewing gum only went so far. Also, the “Free Public wifi" is not exactly that. My laptop claims that I have been connected, but won’t let me get online. As a result, I will not be posting this immediately.
Cindy, Dad and I (and the little Cindyspawns) went to Famous Dave’s this morning before heading to the airport. I need to vent about this. I will do so now. I will try to keep it brief.
As some of you know, my absolute favorite food, in the whole wide world, is the Sweet ‘n’ Sassy Grilled Salmon platter at Famous Dave’s. I have looked forward to it since I was last at Famous Dave’s (last summer) and was looking forward again to it being my last meal in the U.S. before I left for Scotland. Wouldn’t you know… that they have changed their menu. And not in a good way. I don’t know what other choices they have eliminated from us their admiring patrons, but I will tell you this: their most delicious dish, Grilled Salmon, has been axed. Why they have done this I haven’t the faintest clue. Perhaps they have too many customers, and thus are making too much money, and wished to lower their stock value by driving away us their admiring patrons.
The only Salmon left on the menu is this new Citrus Salmon, which I accepted as a stand-in. It was something of a lackluster substitute. Definitely not the same, and it doesn’t come with all the fixins (cornbread, onion strings, corn-on-the-cob, fries, etc.) that their entrees usually come with.
I will have trouble coping with this loss, as I did when Applebee’s made a similar decision regarding their menu choices and took away an amazing dessert – Apple ChimiCheesecake. Phenomenal. And no more. I thus must find a new favorite restaurant. LongHorn SteakHouse is in the lead.
Mom and Nan met us at the airport, and after a bit of mild panic on my part (I did not have my exact confirmation number and hadn’t known that I was supposed to print it off – hey! I’m new at this!) the man at baggage check-in scanned my passport and declared that everything was in order. Cindy explained the paperwork that they gave me, and gave me some advice.
Mom did not cry at any point before I walked away. Nan started tearing up, which surprised me, and Dad and Cindy were visibly reluctant to let go of me once they got me into a hug. Well, that’s exceptionally true with Mom too. She tried to drag me back out the door twice when she had me locked up in her arms.
*note: STILL NO INTERNET! HOW YOU VEX ME, NEWARK AIRPORT!! AND FAMOUS DAVE’S!!! AND APPLEBEE’S!!!! end note*
I forgot to take my belt off when I went through security, which resulted in a TSA official giving me a quick frisk around the mid-section. Nothing major. I did, however, end up using 3 of the bins they provide for your things to go through the scanner. I put my laptop on my coat and shoes in one of them, and it slid off on its way in, so it had to get it its own bin. Those two, plus one for my book bag and a little plastic dish for my passport. It seemed to take me a long time to gather my stuff back up, but I was able to stay out of people’s way, more or less.
I sat by two young women on the plane. They were not at all talkative, and both of them tried to doze, which offered me little opportunity to converse without feeling like I was being rude.
Things went fine, except for my poor ears. I have not been able to trick my body into yawning, and every so often I hum a little to myself, to check my hearing. It has not improved. This, I think, is one reason why the lady at JuanValdez and I had trouble understanding one another. (That’s the coffee place I stopped at. The coffee’s not great.)
Wandering around the airport is good fun, but not quite as much when you’ve got a 20-something pound book bag on your shoulders. I tried strapping it to the handle of my little suitcase, which worked well except that it made the suitcase WAY more cumbersome that I would like. I ended up just carrying the book bag.
I have just discovered through exploring the airport that there is a food court with a DUNKIN’ DONUTS IN IT. This exasperates me because I have coupons from DD that expire on the 28th that I didn’t bring with me because I figured I wouldn’t be needing them. Also, if I had known it was there, I wouldn’t have wasted money on that terrible JuanValdez coffee when I could have gotten a delicious latte or something for the same price. *grump* I ended up getting the turkey cheddar and bacon flatbread sandwich. It’s all right.
Also, there’s a 50’s diner here – I stopped to check the prices on the menu, and noticed the heading “Now Boarding Omelettes”. This tickled me for reasons that only Kendra knows. *hint: “Amish Paradise”*
And that brings me to where I am now. Still no wifi, so as I said this blog will be a bit delayed in getting to you. Hopefully not too much, though.
The lady next to me has an English accent.
See you on the other side of the Atlantic.

*See?! I had a great ending to it! But it would seem silly to me to post it and then post another right after it, when both are overdue. I mean, it would have been great if I’d had wifi at Newark, but that didn’t quite work out. Ah, well. I’ll try to keep this part brief, although if you know anything about my writing style, you know that’s virtually impossible, especially since this experience is so utterly new and alien to me.*

My row mate and I had good luck on the Edinburgh flight – it wasn’t booked solid, as the Newark one had been, and as a result we had an extra seat and a tray between us to use. She sat by the window and I sat by the aisle. My reasoning for choosing an aisle seat was that if I needed to get up to go the bathroom, which I knew I would in all likelihood, I wouldn't have to climb over anyone, plus if I couldn’t sleep and my RLS was acting up, I would need to get up and wander about the cabin a bit.
My companion was a bit more talkative than the sleepy ones I had on my flight from Cleveland. She asked me questions about where I was going and why, and told me that she was heading to Edinburgh on business – she is a counselor of some sort. I didn’t get much else out of her, but she was amiable enough.
I was not able to sleep on the plane. Some time after we took off I rummaged through my carry-ons to find my Dramamine. It was not there!! I’ll bet anything that if Mom were to open the cabinet in my bathroom at home it would be sitting right there. *growl* Not that I really need it for motion sickness, because planes are apparently not as bad for me as cars, but I know that Dramamine makes me sleepy, and I think that little bit of added oomph would have gone a long way to helping me sleep.
I want to mention, for Mom (and since she might not read this, make sure you tell her, Cindy) that there was a woman onboard playing a game called “Bejeweled” on her touch screen tv. This is a game that my mom found on msn.com that she loves, although recently she has become more addicted to Zuma! and Zuma’s Revenge.
I feel really stupid for this, but I didn’t realize that the video screens we had at our seats provided free on-flight entertainment. For the ride from Cleveland to Newark we also had videos, but they made a point of mentioning over and over that the things it was showing were just previews, and that if we wanted to watch something we had to pay $6. Screw that. But, as it turns out, the movies and tv shows on the overnight flight were indeed free. I realized this WAY too late. They had one episode of The Big Bang Theory available (the one where Sheldon creates an android of himself with a computer screen face), but I only got to watch a few minutes of it before we began our descent.
Speaking of our descent, it was excruciating for me. As some of you know, I have had problems with my ears for pretty much my whole life, and I hate getting water in my ears (and anything else that changes the pressure in there). The pack of gum I bought before heading to my gate in Cleveland did very little to ease the pain, and I quickly got sick of chewing it as the gum dried out my mouth and tired my jaws. As of right now it is *does math based on the time my laptop says* quarter til 5 in the evening (meaning you all are just heading to lunch), and I’m still feeling a bit of clogged-ness and hearing an occasional crinkle that means they’re still not back to normal. Grrr… I hate it! I am not looking forward to doing it again, and I think it is safe to say that while I don’t mind flying, I would rather not do it, just for this specific reason.
I also want to say, for Dad, that we had a beautiful sunrise to look at as we got to the airport, (although It was on the other side of the plane), and that I looked out the window across the aisle just in time to see the Firth of Forth bridge (the Forth Rail Bridge, I guess they call it) as we passed some four or five miles from it! I had never really seen it before Friday night, when Dad and I were watching a DVD that he’d gotten at the library. I was fascinated that I had only just discovered it, and there it was, exactly as we had seen it the day before on Dad's TV. This of course made me think of Dad, and I smiled despite the debilitating pain in my ears.
It took me a tad longer to get through customs than it probably should have, though through no fault of my own. The official asked me a bunch of questions about my purpose for being in Scotland and took a sort of professional wariness in dealing with me. He had never seen a student come into the country to go to this particular college, and wouldn’t process me until he was sure that Oatridge was on their “sponsorship list”. He had me sit aside while he dealt with the rest of the people from my flight, which made me a little anxious. Besides that I was a bit nauseous, a lot fatigued from not sleeping, and my ears were clogged up horribly. After a few minutes he came out of the office with a grin on his face, and my anxiety faded just a skosh. One more hurtle overcome.
My checked bag was one of only a few left in the baggage claim area, and I was slightly dismayed to find that it had been smudged in a few places with something dark. The few other airport personnel I encountered seemed a bit terse, but they directed me to the taxi queue nonetheless, where I got myself an extremely amicable and talkative taxi driver. He knew exactly where the college was, and answered my questions about the area. I was tickled when I recognized the roads I was on – last semester Jennie insisted on finding both of our study abroad locales via Google Maps, and I saw all the nearby roads leading to and from the college. The confusion we suffered when we tried to find the actual college is now cleared up, and I could find it without a problem if I Google Mapped it now!

____________________Oatridge College, according to Google Maps__________________

*note: I’m getting a little worried about my computer’s power cord. It was charging fine earlier, in this very room, but now it’ll charge for a few minutes, then tell me it’s plugged in but not charging. I don’t know why… it’s never done this before :-( *
My taxi driver drove me up and down the road on campus, trying valiantly to find me someone to talk to, but he ended up having to leave me in the Resident Reception area. It was only about ten minutes later that Tasho, the groundskeeper, showed up, and told me that he’d been looking for me and was charged with showing me around. He’s from Bulgaria, and his English isn’t great, and he was probably a little too friendly. At this point he’s the only person I’ve interacted with here, and the age and language barriers make me feel a lot more alienated than I should.
The idea of meeting other students is a little terrifying. Okay, a lot terrifying.
(And that was where I ended the blog on Monday, since I couldn’t plug in my laptop. Here’s day 2 (Monday), straight from my journal but with a few more details):

Binny Craig, as seen from the front door of my flat (the EQ center in in the foreground)

Monday Feb 28th
I woke up around 7am this morning. I think I went to bed around 8, and only woke once for half an hour or so – it’s the most I’ve slept at once in a long time!! It seemed to do wonders for my jetlag, though. I struggled to stay awake into the afternoon yesterday, but finally gave in and lied down for several hours just to rest myself. I may have dozed but I didn’t fall asleep, thankfully, so I got a full night’s rest last night.
I took a shower (it was easy to figure out the handle things, but the water pressure leaves much to be desired, the showerhead isn’t adjustable and the curtain clings to you), and was about to fix my hair when Tasho came around to tell me that Barbara wanted to see me in the Resident Reception office. When I got there, however, she said that she hadn’t sent for me, but got a woman named Jo to take me back to the canteen (that’s what they call their cafeteria) for breakfast. I had a sausage sandwich (nothing like sausage in the US – it was similar in texture and color to corned beef and didn’t really taste like sausage), coffee, water (yes! WATER!) and a small apple.
After that I took a walk through the campus, across a small natural bridge that crosses a stream and up a hill by a stone wall where I discovered a sand trap littered with golf balls. From there I took a picture of the main campus area and another of the hillside over Ecclesmachan, a town that is, as I have been telling everyone, literally 2,000 feet or so from one end to the other. I think you could fit 4 Ecclesmachans inside 1 Pheasant Run, and the town would easily fit within the Lake Erie College campus.

________________________Oatridge Main Campus Building____________________

___________________Hills over Ecclesmachan, from the same vantage________________

_________________________Pretty flowers by the sidewalk__________________

Before I left Ohio I was worried that it would be too early in the year to see a bunch of green and that everything would be brown, but I was wrong. There are beautiful hills in three directions from the college campus, and I took pictures of all of them between Monday and Tuesday. It's a lot warmer here than it was when I left home - about 50 degrees Fehrenheit I suppose (they do everything in Celsius here, and I haven't gotten used to it yet), and quite windy, but every morning that I've stepped outside it's been sunny, a bit chilly (warm enough for a hoodie, though) and gorgeous.

I met with Sharon Anderson at 11am, and she had me fill out some basic paperwork and showed me where my classes would be. She then commandeered a student named Susan to come by Cromarty (that’s the name of my flat) and show me around the barn (the “yard”, they call it).
When I got back to my room I set about straightening my hair. Using the 50-watt converter it worked well for about 10 minutes, then the converter overheated and refused to work. I tried the 1600-watt converter, figuring that it would handle anything above 50 and below 1600 without a problem. It made an awful buzzing sound, and the straightener won’t even turn on now. So I only got my hair half-straightened and now I have to either buy a straightener here or find a girl to borrow from.
Perhaps Susan has one – she lives in Cromarty as well – in the flat across from mine, and she came by a little before 3 to take me to the yard. She admittedly talks really fast and has a thick accent, and at times I couldn’t understand her. Jonathon was right when he said it might feel like learning a new language!
I haven’t plugged in my laptop all day – after what happened to my straightener I’m a little afraid to! I think I’ll hop online as soon as I can on a school computer and see if I can find any useful information that will buoy my confidence.
At 4 Susan brought me back to the Reception office to see Allistair Cranston. According to the note that was left on my pillow when I got here he was going to go over residential policies with me, but really he just asked me some questions about my flight and if there was anything I needed. I mentioned my need for hangers and my concerns about activating my phone and using the Internet. He said he may be able to get me a SIM card but that since it’s an Irish phone I may have to buy one. That’s fine with me, of course, as I had budgeted for one.
I should mention that this Allistair fellow is an attractive guy, and very personable. He is not difficult to understand; I’m not sure where he’s from, but he doesn’t quite have a brogue, exactly. He’s Oatridge’s “evening” Megan McKenna (Barbara is here in the daytime), I suppose, but I suspect he’s got a touch of Travis Rose in him somewhere as well. That bodes ill.
After talking to Allistair we went to the library to get my picture taken and get my student ID card made, which is supposed to be used to get me into the canteen but seems superfluous since there’s never anybody there to check IDs.
I went back to my room for a while to read some Sherlock Holmes (and start this journal entry) and a little after 5 Susan invited me to have dinner with her and her friends. That was certainly an experience, to say the least. Three of the six of them came to dinner drunk, and they were a rambunctious lot. The girl sitting next to me was more my type – she hardly said a thing while the others carried on. I think I need to find a group to hang with that’s more… square. Quieter. More pensive. Less drunken.
Susan told me that she does indeed have a hair straightener, and I think she said she’d bring it to me, though I’m not sure when. I’ll probably end up just washing my hair and moussing it. She said if I bought one it would run me somewhere between 18 and 30 pounds. Eeek.
Class tomorrow!

♥SM