Snow!! Beautiful, scenic, lovely, wet, cold, accident-causing snow. We had quite a lot of it.
Tuesday, November 23rd, I told my grandmother, "I can't believe Uncle Rusty [her brother] said you were crazy to come to Scotland in November." I continued, "The weather has actually been quite nice. I mean, it's a bit chilly, but for what you would expect, it's not bad at all."
November 24th. Snow. Needless to say, my parents' visit might have been picturesque, but it was far from ideal (at least when driving on the "wrong" side of the road and trying to sight see).
My parents miraculously got out of Aberdeen and even more miraculously they drove the uncleared roads from Edinburgh to Aberdeen (what turned out to be a four hour trip when it's normally two and a half). But everyone was alive, though possibly worse for the wear.
A week later, as I tried to go to Stirling with friends all the trains had been stopped. They were stopped for about a week. And we were actually "trapped" in Aberdeen.
And the most amazing thing of the snow was the Aberdonians seemed quite surprised by it. One would think this kind of thing happends every year and a batallion of snow plows would be dispatched as soon as it started snowing, but that was far from the case. The Aberdonians seemed just as surprised by the snow as the American exchange students. On the rare chance you would see a snow plow, but for the most part the city close to shut down.
In response to this mass "freak out" due to the snow, an exchange student from Idaho said, "Don't they know how to deal with snow?!" Earlier that day the sports gym had closed due to the weather because the snow had knocked down one of their walls-- or something like that. The student continued, "Why would you make a building here that can't withstand snow?"
It was actually pretty amusing to see the reaction to snow. You would think they would be prepared, considering they're on the same latitude line as upper Canada (the inhabited part), but not so much.
But, all that said, in complete selfishness, after about sixteen years of un-white Christmases, I finally got a white Christmas season. Despite the hazards and complications caused by the cold white rain, it made for a beautiful December.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
I've got some catching up to do.
As usual, I'm backtracking a bit, but here goes.
In early October, Mariah and Josie and I decided "what good are tier 4 Visas [our visas] if you're not going to put them to use?" Now, the ways to put a tier 4 visa to use are 1) to get a job or 2) to travel outside of the country. (This is all as opposed to the visitor pass, which supposedly just allows you to be in Scotland.)
So, we spent a day filling out job applications... Just kidding. Being the responsible "adults" that we are we decided to find the cheapest flight out of the country.
That flight ended up being on Ryanair for Memmingen, Germany. Outside of Munich.
And there we went.
We set out for the Edinburgh airport on a Thursday night (having a 6 am flight), we stayed in a 7 ilbs hostel for four hours-- that was long enough-- and then we caught the early bus to the airport.
Now, I do not speak German. Nor does Josie. And Mariah had five years in high school. Prepared?
We land at the Memmingen airport and I'm frantically asking Mariah how to say "I want a coffee" (this is vital information).
Once we get into the city we decide to take a "Free Tour." The first twenty minutes was quite informative. The tour was three hours long. But, that said, we met a very nice tour guide from China, his name was Kai, and we learned a good bit about concentration camps in China.
The second day we went to the Alps to see the Neuschwenstein Castle. And it was crazy. But honestly, it was crazy. I can't even put the experience into written words. If you ever have the chance to go see it for yourself, you should. It's like the original tourist trap. I don't know if fluorescent colors and Jesus surrounded by rainbows gives a good image to anyone. There was also a mural that resembled Snow White/ Sleeping Beauty/ Enchanted. And the paint was so... so.. so well-preserved. Needless to say, Josie and I have conspiracy theories going about the castle.
That night we tried our hardest to find German sausage. At about 8:00 we finally succeeded. We also looked for a European bar/club to have the full European experience. We finally found one, they said any drink was 11 euros. We found our way back out.
The next morning, I so wisely decided to go before Mariah and Josie and try to grab some breakfast before our bus to the airport. The bus was at 7:20. At 7:19 I was running toward the bus. The driver was glaring at me (deja vu?) and Mariah and Josie were looking at me pleadingly. Breakfast in hand, bags falling to elbows, I broke into a sprint. The whole bus stared at me as I walked on. "Yep, that just happened," I thought to myself.
Crisis averted though. We got to the airport, got on the plane, it didn't crash. And we landed safely back in Scotland, raining, cold, beautiful Scotland.
In early October, Mariah and Josie and I decided "what good are tier 4 Visas [our visas] if you're not going to put them to use?" Now, the ways to put a tier 4 visa to use are 1) to get a job or 2) to travel outside of the country. (This is all as opposed to the visitor pass, which supposedly just allows you to be in Scotland.)
So, we spent a day filling out job applications... Just kidding. Being the responsible "adults" that we are we decided to find the cheapest flight out of the country.
That flight ended up being on Ryanair for Memmingen, Germany. Outside of Munich.
And there we went.
We set out for the Edinburgh airport on a Thursday night (having a 6 am flight), we stayed in a 7 ilbs hostel for four hours-- that was long enough-- and then we caught the early bus to the airport.
Now, I do not speak German. Nor does Josie. And Mariah had five years in high school. Prepared?
We land at the Memmingen airport and I'm frantically asking Mariah how to say "I want a coffee" (this is vital information).
Once we get into the city we decide to take a "Free Tour." The first twenty minutes was quite informative. The tour was three hours long. But, that said, we met a very nice tour guide from China, his name was Kai, and we learned a good bit about concentration camps in China.
The second day we went to the Alps to see the Neuschwenstein Castle. And it was crazy. But honestly, it was crazy. I can't even put the experience into written words. If you ever have the chance to go see it for yourself, you should. It's like the original tourist trap. I don't know if fluorescent colors and Jesus surrounded by rainbows gives a good image to anyone. There was also a mural that resembled Snow White/ Sleeping Beauty/ Enchanted. And the paint was so... so.. so well-preserved. Needless to say, Josie and I have conspiracy theories going about the castle.
That night we tried our hardest to find German sausage. At about 8:00 we finally succeeded. We also looked for a European bar/club to have the full European experience. We finally found one, they said any drink was 11 euros. We found our way back out.
The next morning, I so wisely decided to go before Mariah and Josie and try to grab some breakfast before our bus to the airport. The bus was at 7:20. At 7:19 I was running toward the bus. The driver was glaring at me (deja vu?) and Mariah and Josie were looking at me pleadingly. Breakfast in hand, bags falling to elbows, I broke into a sprint. The whole bus stared at me as I walked on. "Yep, that just happened," I thought to myself.
Crisis averted though. We got to the airport, got on the plane, it didn't crash. And we landed safely back in Scotland, raining, cold, beautiful Scotland.
 |
| Not Neuschwanstein. Nice though! |
 |
| Neuschwanstein |
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
"The Lowlands... As opposed to the Highlands. The Lowlands. Cause they're not high..." (Oh, and #56: Observe Highland Cattle)
The Isle of Skye.
We took a 5:50 (a.m.) train from Aberdeen to Edinburgh, to arrive at Edinburgh at 8:30. The four of us walked onto the tour bus. We were followed by a father and daughter from Finland (the daughter was living in Edinburgh though); an Indian/Pakistani couple; and Indian family of a father, two sons, and one of the son's wife; and a couple (not seeming like a romantic couple) from Germany. Germany was the only pair we couldn't figure out. Though we tried.
Our tour guide was Liam.. (say it in your head in a nice, thick scottish accent).
Liam was a great tour guide. But Liam, for some reason, felt the need to say everything three times. I don't know if it was the language barrier, or if he was taught to give tours this way, but most comments went something like this:
"Here on your left is Loch lochy. That to the left is good ole Loch Lochy. That's what they call it- Loch Lochy." (I don't exaggerate).
One of the best facts was, "We're now in the lowlands, but we're getting ready to enter the highlands. The scottish highlands. Named such because of their rolling hills and mountains. The high lands. But now we're in the lowlands. They're named the lowlands because they're not high, like the high land. So here we go, into the highlands. Out of the lowlands." (Repeat in thick scottish accent if you did not read so the first time.) It proved a long trip at points, but it was also nice cause you knew you didn't miss too much if you tuned in and out.
So, hearing everything three times, we finally got to The Isle of Skye. We listened to a song titled, "Over the Sea to Skye" as we drove across the bridge. It was all quite magical.
We stayed at the Bayfield Backpackers' Hostel in a town called Portree.. (Portree..Portree..).
The first night, after returning from dinner, we ran into a group of about eight older men. They were from Kirkintilloch, outside Glasgow. One of the men made each of us attempt to say kirkintilloch and he corrected each of us on our "och" as we went down.
On saturday, we went around Skye, seeing landscape and a castle. It was all quite beautiful. We learned that the main clans that fought for control of the islands-- and for the title "lord of the Isles"-- were the clans McDuff and McDonald. We saw highland cattle (who held up our bus) and we got to chase sheep! (Successful day).
The night after our long saturday tour, we went out to a pub. We met a man (who had had a few drinks) and his name was Dougie (pronounced, "doogie"). He proudly told us he was of the clan McDonald. He then went around and asked each of us our names. He then tried to link our surnames to scottish people he knew. It was a bit like being in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," with the father saying, "Give me a word, any word, and I will tell you how that word, is Greek."
This man went around finding six degrees of separation between each of our names and strong scottish roots. Mariah he particularly liked. He would stare at her and then say, "You're Scottish, I can see it in your eyes." He would then continue, "What's your last name."
Mariah responded, "Kasshun..." (rhyming with Sassoon, for any wondering).
He would look at her in bewilderment. He would attempt to say it. She would say she believed it was a German name. He would then say, "You're Scottish, I can see it."
This went on quite a few times. He was also convinced that my father lived in town. "Mason," he would say. "Mason, I know a Mason. You're father lives right outside of town?" I tried denying this the first few times, but just began to go with it.
"Oh, yep. My long lost father. I'll have to meet him."
On the bus, we were the epitome of tourists. We were those people you're completely embarressed for if you're a local anywhere. We stopped every twenty minutes to take pictures-- with whisky, with lakes, with mountains, with monuments, anything that would stay still long enough, really.
But the pictures and the sights were absolutely amazing, so I could definitely bear the shame.
We took a 5:50 (a.m.) train from Aberdeen to Edinburgh, to arrive at Edinburgh at 8:30. The four of us walked onto the tour bus. We were followed by a father and daughter from Finland (the daughter was living in Edinburgh though); an Indian/Pakistani couple; and Indian family of a father, two sons, and one of the son's wife; and a couple (not seeming like a romantic couple) from Germany. Germany was the only pair we couldn't figure out. Though we tried.
Our tour guide was Liam.. (say it in your head in a nice, thick scottish accent).
Liam was a great tour guide. But Liam, for some reason, felt the need to say everything three times. I don't know if it was the language barrier, or if he was taught to give tours this way, but most comments went something like this:
"Here on your left is Loch lochy. That to the left is good ole Loch Lochy. That's what they call it- Loch Lochy." (I don't exaggerate).
One of the best facts was, "We're now in the lowlands, but we're getting ready to enter the highlands. The scottish highlands. Named such because of their rolling hills and mountains. The high lands. But now we're in the lowlands. They're named the lowlands because they're not high, like the high land. So here we go, into the highlands. Out of the lowlands." (Repeat in thick scottish accent if you did not read so the first time.) It proved a long trip at points, but it was also nice cause you knew you didn't miss too much if you tuned in and out.
So, hearing everything three times, we finally got to The Isle of Skye. We listened to a song titled, "Over the Sea to Skye" as we drove across the bridge. It was all quite magical.
We stayed at the Bayfield Backpackers' Hostel in a town called Portree.. (Portree..Portree..).
The first night, after returning from dinner, we ran into a group of about eight older men. They were from Kirkintilloch, outside Glasgow. One of the men made each of us attempt to say kirkintilloch and he corrected each of us on our "och" as we went down.
On saturday, we went around Skye, seeing landscape and a castle. It was all quite beautiful. We learned that the main clans that fought for control of the islands-- and for the title "lord of the Isles"-- were the clans McDuff and McDonald. We saw highland cattle (who held up our bus) and we got to chase sheep! (Successful day).
The night after our long saturday tour, we went out to a pub. We met a man (who had had a few drinks) and his name was Dougie (pronounced, "doogie"). He proudly told us he was of the clan McDonald. He then went around and asked each of us our names. He then tried to link our surnames to scottish people he knew. It was a bit like being in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," with the father saying, "Give me a word, any word, and I will tell you how that word, is Greek."
This man went around finding six degrees of separation between each of our names and strong scottish roots. Mariah he particularly liked. He would stare at her and then say, "You're Scottish, I can see it in your eyes." He would then continue, "What's your last name."
Mariah responded, "Kasshun..." (rhyming with Sassoon, for any wondering).
He would look at her in bewilderment. He would attempt to say it. She would say she believed it was a German name. He would then say, "You're Scottish, I can see it."
This went on quite a few times. He was also convinced that my father lived in town. "Mason," he would say. "Mason, I know a Mason. You're father lives right outside of town?" I tried denying this the first few times, but just began to go with it.
"Oh, yep. My long lost father. I'll have to meet him."
On the bus, we were the epitome of tourists. We were those people you're completely embarressed for if you're a local anywhere. We stopped every twenty minutes to take pictures-- with whisky, with lakes, with mountains, with monuments, anything that would stay still long enough, really.
But the pictures and the sights were absolutely amazing, so I could definitely bear the shame.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Finding Narnia
This should get updated quite often, so check back periodically. Minus the snow (as of now) so much of this country is Narnia.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Off to Crivie
Sorry. It's been a little while. For some reason they insist that I have work to do here. I don't know what that's about. I almost left in protest, but decided against it.
But once again, I face the problem of so many stories. I have to prioritize and focus. This may still be a bit random though.
So today, after church, I went to brunch. This is the second time I've made it to brunch (catered brunch-- school food). And brunch is actually the meal they do best. They have eggs on sundays! And other forms of protein-- It's amazing. Last week I went to brunch alone. I got a black bean patty (vegetarian alternative sausage, I thought), an egg, and hash browns. It all tasted pretty good. It was pretty warm. As I mentioned, it was protein, so that was great. The black bean patty was a little off, but a good attempt.
This week I went to brunch with friends. Along with the black bean patties they had two types of veggie sausage. I was so excited. So this time I just went with the veggie sausage, skipped the black bean and got eggs and some other stuff. We sat down to breakfast.
A little while into the meal, one of the girls I was sitting with points to her black bean patty, "have you tried black pudding yet." Initially I nodded enthusiastically, just recognizing the pointing. I then stopped nodding, and chewing.
"Wait, what?" I said.
She pointed again, "Black pudding."
I started to shake my head. We had had previous conversations as to what exactly black pudding is. In case anyone does not know, I will give you the formal and credible wikipedia definition:
Black pudding or blood pudding is a type of sausage made by cooking blood or dried blood with a filler until it is thick enough to congeal when cooled. Pig or cattle blood is most often used; sheep and goat blood are used to a lesser extent. Blood from poultry, horses and other animals are used more rarely. Typical fillers include meat, fat,suet, bread, sweet potato, onion, chestnuts, barley, and oatmeal.
(Yum, right?)... Llll
My stomach turned. "I thought that was a black bean patty," I responded.
My friend looked completely puzzled. "A what?"
That idea of a black bean patty was as foreign to her as sausage made of blood had once been to me. I explained that a black bean patty was a vegetarian alternative.
Another girl sitting at the table said, "Wouldn't that be awful if a vegetarian ate blood sausage thinking it was black beans!"
I'm not technically a vegetarian so I just nodded and laughed lightly. "That would be awful."
So that was my food adventure for the week. What else? We did not go adventuring this weekend, but we did go last weekend. We were attempting to go to a small fishing town called Crovie. (From the pictures) It's just a strip of road and stone house-like structures right on the beach. No cars are allowed in the town and it's preserved by the Scottish tourist industry or something like that. So Crovie was the plan, and this was the reality:
We left walking from the college. We had to catch a 1020 bus. So, at about 1018, we realized we were still about five minutes away from the bus station. We looked at each other, wondering what to do and we decided, someone had to run for it. I somehow became that, "someone." So, I pass my bag off to one of the fellow travelers and literally start running down the street toward the bus station. I'm dodging strollers and elderly people. I get to the bus station and I see our bus waiting at the red light, getting ready to turn out of the station. (The next bus won't come for another hour). So I flag down the driver--who really didn't want to notice me. He finally opens the door and I say, a little out of breath, "My friends and I need to get on your bus!" He was not smiling.
"Nope," He responds and closes the door.
I stood staring at the doors that just shut in my face. Josie and Mariah then show up on the opposite side of the cross walk. They had broken into a jog. They look at the bus and then at me with questioning faces. I raised my hands up. "I don't think he'll let us on," I say.
"What?" one of them yells across the cross walk.
"I don't think he's going to let us on!" I say loudly. I shoot a pleading glance up at the driver as I say this.
"No?" they yell back. I look to him and then to them. He's looking at us crossly. They run across the crosswalk. Josie tries talking to him through the door. He finally opens it.
"Can we get on?" Josie asks, stepping onto the bus at the same time. Mariah and I follow standing right behind her, lining the stairs.
"Where are you going?" he says shortly.
We respond we're trying to get to Crovie.
"Just sit down. We'll deal with money at the next stop," He says. He shuts the door and begins to drive.
So, we miraculously begin our trip on time. The bus was headed to Banff. From Banff we needed to get a bus to Gardenstown. From Gardenstown we were supposed to walk to Crovie.
We were on the bus for about two and a half hours and then we started to see the ocean again. But none of us are quite sure were we were. So I turn to a woman who just got on the bus. I ask, "Excuse me, but where are we?"
She looks over at me, "We're in MacDuff."
"Oh, ok," I said, not really knowing what that meant.
There was a pause, she then continued, "Not from around here, are you."
I responded, "Obvious, isn't it?"
She nodded. "Where are you headed?"
I say, pointing to Josie and Mariah, "We're trying to get to Crovie."
"To Crivie?" She asks.
I nod. "Should we get off here?" I ask. "We were planning to go to Banff, and then take a bus to Gardenstown, but I don't know if we're close..."
She nods. "Yes, if you go to Banff you'll just come back through here. Might as well catch the bus from here she says." She gives us some more advice on where to check bus times and such.
So Josie, Mariah, and I start to move quickly. We get our new plan, thank the woman for her help and get off at MacDuff at the "bus station," which consisted of a locked building and a sign with timetables.
We check the time table. There was a bus to Gardenstown at one and another at three. The three o'clock would be way to late for us to get back so we decide on the one o'clock. We had about forty minutes before one so we decided to go look for lunch. We got back to the bus station at about 12:50.
At about 1:10, we see the bus coming towards us. Number 273. We rose from our seats slowly, looking down, grabbing bags. We looked back up-- at least I looked back up-- and we see the back of the bus. As in the rear end. As in we are watching it drive away from us. It didn't slow down, didn't pause, didn't even change gears. Just whoosh, right past us. We all stood dumbfounded.
Someone finally says, "Did that just happen?"
There was a combination of tears and laughter. Then we just stare at each other again. That was our only bus.
Spontaneous plan B: we go across the bridge to a local town called Banff. We explore Banff, see a beautiful estate home called Duff House, and get to watch the beginning of a Scottish wedding. All in all, not the end of the world.
We finally get on the bus headed back to Aberdeen. I was sitting on the right side of the bus, looking out at the ocean then we pass a sign. It has a bus on it and below the picture of the bus there are blocks with numbers. "273" sat prominently in the first box. My jaw drops and I point. Mariah and Josie gave me puzzled looks. I managed to get out, "273." Their faces then mirrored what I think mine looked at. We were at the wrong bus stop. We sat for a moment and then began to laugh.
In conclusion, I must give many thanks and acknowledgement to 10:20 bus-driver, who will never read this.
Alright, that's it for a while. Thanks to anyone who's reading. And word of something for the day: don't forget to enjoy the little things, they make life worthwhile!
But once again, I face the problem of so many stories. I have to prioritize and focus. This may still be a bit random though.
So today, after church, I went to brunch. This is the second time I've made it to brunch (catered brunch-- school food). And brunch is actually the meal they do best. They have eggs on sundays! And other forms of protein-- It's amazing. Last week I went to brunch alone. I got a black bean patty (vegetarian alternative sausage, I thought), an egg, and hash browns. It all tasted pretty good. It was pretty warm. As I mentioned, it was protein, so that was great. The black bean patty was a little off, but a good attempt.
This week I went to brunch with friends. Along with the black bean patties they had two types of veggie sausage. I was so excited. So this time I just went with the veggie sausage, skipped the black bean and got eggs and some other stuff. We sat down to breakfast.
A little while into the meal, one of the girls I was sitting with points to her black bean patty, "have you tried black pudding yet." Initially I nodded enthusiastically, just recognizing the pointing. I then stopped nodding, and chewing.
"Wait, what?" I said.
She pointed again, "Black pudding."
I started to shake my head. We had had previous conversations as to what exactly black pudding is. In case anyone does not know, I will give you the formal and credible wikipedia definition:
Black pudding or blood pudding is a type of sausage made by cooking blood or dried blood with a filler until it is thick enough to congeal when cooled. Pig or cattle blood is most often used; sheep and goat blood are used to a lesser extent. Blood from poultry, horses and other animals are used more rarely. Typical fillers include meat, fat,suet, bread, sweet potato, onion, chestnuts, barley, and oatmeal.
(Yum, right?)... Llll
My stomach turned. "I thought that was a black bean patty," I responded.
My friend looked completely puzzled. "A what?"
That idea of a black bean patty was as foreign to her as sausage made of blood had once been to me. I explained that a black bean patty was a vegetarian alternative.
Another girl sitting at the table said, "Wouldn't that be awful if a vegetarian ate blood sausage thinking it was black beans!"
I'm not technically a vegetarian so I just nodded and laughed lightly. "That would be awful."
So that was my food adventure for the week. What else? We did not go adventuring this weekend, but we did go last weekend. We were attempting to go to a small fishing town called Crovie. (From the pictures) It's just a strip of road and stone house-like structures right on the beach. No cars are allowed in the town and it's preserved by the Scottish tourist industry or something like that. So Crovie was the plan, and this was the reality:
We left walking from the college. We had to catch a 1020 bus. So, at about 1018, we realized we were still about five minutes away from the bus station. We looked at each other, wondering what to do and we decided, someone had to run for it. I somehow became that, "someone." So, I pass my bag off to one of the fellow travelers and literally start running down the street toward the bus station. I'm dodging strollers and elderly people. I get to the bus station and I see our bus waiting at the red light, getting ready to turn out of the station. (The next bus won't come for another hour). So I flag down the driver--who really didn't want to notice me. He finally opens the door and I say, a little out of breath, "My friends and I need to get on your bus!" He was not smiling.
"Nope," He responds and closes the door.
I stood staring at the doors that just shut in my face. Josie and Mariah then show up on the opposite side of the cross walk. They had broken into a jog. They look at the bus and then at me with questioning faces. I raised my hands up. "I don't think he'll let us on," I say.
"What?" one of them yells across the cross walk.
"I don't think he's going to let us on!" I say loudly. I shoot a pleading glance up at the driver as I say this.
"No?" they yell back. I look to him and then to them. He's looking at us crossly. They run across the crosswalk. Josie tries talking to him through the door. He finally opens it.
"Can we get on?" Josie asks, stepping onto the bus at the same time. Mariah and I follow standing right behind her, lining the stairs.
"Where are you going?" he says shortly.
We respond we're trying to get to Crovie.
"Just sit down. We'll deal with money at the next stop," He says. He shuts the door and begins to drive.
So, we miraculously begin our trip on time. The bus was headed to Banff. From Banff we needed to get a bus to Gardenstown. From Gardenstown we were supposed to walk to Crovie.
We were on the bus for about two and a half hours and then we started to see the ocean again. But none of us are quite sure were we were. So I turn to a woman who just got on the bus. I ask, "Excuse me, but where are we?"
She looks over at me, "We're in MacDuff."
"Oh, ok," I said, not really knowing what that meant.
There was a pause, she then continued, "Not from around here, are you."
I responded, "Obvious, isn't it?"
She nodded. "Where are you headed?"
I say, pointing to Josie and Mariah, "We're trying to get to Crovie."
"To Crivie?" She asks.
I nod. "Should we get off here?" I ask. "We were planning to go to Banff, and then take a bus to Gardenstown, but I don't know if we're close..."
She nods. "Yes, if you go to Banff you'll just come back through here. Might as well catch the bus from here she says." She gives us some more advice on where to check bus times and such.
So Josie, Mariah, and I start to move quickly. We get our new plan, thank the woman for her help and get off at MacDuff at the "bus station," which consisted of a locked building and a sign with timetables.
We check the time table. There was a bus to Gardenstown at one and another at three. The three o'clock would be way to late for us to get back so we decide on the one o'clock. We had about forty minutes before one so we decided to go look for lunch. We got back to the bus station at about 12:50.
At about 1:10, we see the bus coming towards us. Number 273. We rose from our seats slowly, looking down, grabbing bags. We looked back up-- at least I looked back up-- and we see the back of the bus. As in the rear end. As in we are watching it drive away from us. It didn't slow down, didn't pause, didn't even change gears. Just whoosh, right past us. We all stood dumbfounded.
Someone finally says, "Did that just happen?"
There was a combination of tears and laughter. Then we just stare at each other again. That was our only bus.
Spontaneous plan B: we go across the bridge to a local town called Banff. We explore Banff, see a beautiful estate home called Duff House, and get to watch the beginning of a Scottish wedding. All in all, not the end of the world.
We finally get on the bus headed back to Aberdeen. I was sitting on the right side of the bus, looking out at the ocean then we pass a sign. It has a bus on it and below the picture of the bus there are blocks with numbers. "273" sat prominently in the first box. My jaw drops and I point. Mariah and Josie gave me puzzled looks. I managed to get out, "273." Their faces then mirrored what I think mine looked at. We were at the wrong bus stop. We sat for a moment and then began to laugh.
In conclusion, I must give many thanks and acknowledgement to 10:20 bus-driver, who will never read this.
Alright, that's it for a while. Thanks to anyone who's reading. And word of something for the day: don't forget to enjoy the little things, they make life worthwhile!
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
This country needs a hug
So I know this is an odd note to start out on, but if I meet one more angry person, I'm going to implode. I know, turn the other cheek, kill them with kindness, all that jazz, but SERIOUSLY- put down the coffee and get a happy pill. I've never been so upset at other people being upset! (Five consecutive days of gray may be getting to me). Almost everyone here acts like other human beings on the planet earth are the biggest inconvenience they could ever conceive!
Just today: (and I've only been interacting with people for about two hours) FIRST, I walk into breakfast at 8:45 am. I'm just going to get a nice start to the day (as breakfast does) and then the porter tells me (for the second time since I've been here) "You're going to need to start waking up a little earlier." He says this with a completely straight face, no joke involved.
I'm thinking "WHAT? It's 8:45!" I say, "Oh, I thought breakfast ended at 9:00." But so intimadated by being reprimanded I continue, "I promise I will, sir. I'm sorry." So then I walk into breakfast with my head down, not nearly as excited about the cold toast and oats as I had been before.
I get into the main breakfast area and this same porter says to one of the women serving breakfast, "Am I right, [cannot remember the woman's name], in saying breakfast ends at 8:45?"
She responds to him, "No, [porter's name], it ends at 9:15."
He says, "Oh." Then he looks over at another student and says, "Well, that's that then. You were right."
I squeeze behind the man to get on in line. "HA," was going through my head, as well as, "At least I'm not the only one." But I'm still a bit upset, "Calm down breakfast police!"
As I'm leaving breakfast the porter is standing in the doorway to the dining hall staring down everyone who is still sitting down eating breakfast.
So, I think to myself on the walk back to my room, "Maybe he has a family member or a close friend who works in the dining room and always complains about students coming in at the last minute." This is a very plausible situation and he could just be defending someone he knows. It could all be out of care, so I take a deep breath and consider "I don't know what's going on. Don't take it personally."
Most unfortunately, my day keeps going after breakfast. So I go to my lecture. We're talking about Shakespeare. The lecture is on The Taming of the Shrew which we have just read. I, personally wasn't super offended by the play, but we got to hear about a good number of people who were (and conversely, who were not).
Anyway, after the lecture, I make my way to the English office because we have an assignment due next week and I needed to pick up something called the "Guide to Good Writing." So, I get to the office and no one is at the desk, so I kind of look around the office a bit. Then, about five minutes later, someone in the back realizes I'm standing there so she walks up and says in a disgruntled manner, "Can I help you." I tell her as kindly as I know how that I have a few questions. I think there was an eye roll somewhere after this. I'm a bit confused, but I go ahead. First I say I need this "Guide to Good Writing."
She says, "We're sold out." She then says, as though she can't believe I don't know this, "You should be able to get it online."
I say, "Oh, ok!" I then inquire about a cover sheet for essays.
She points to the desk and says, "They're right there."
"Oh, I respond. Great, thanks." I grab the sheet and hurry out. I then realize that I forgot to ask my last question so I turn around and enter the office again. She's already gone from the front desk. A man walks up with a stack of papers, but evidently inquiry was written all over my face and he says, "I can't help you."
I smile and say, "Oh, ok. I'll just wait..." I look over the desk a bit and Cheerful Personified is sitting a ways back. My stomach drops as I realize she's probably the only one who will be able to help me.
She begins to walk up and looks disgusted that I have returned. I look down to notice her sweater that has a pink cupcake with sprinkles on it-- if only clothes were telling of personality. I swallow in a bit of fear and say, "Hi, I forgot I had one more question. I'm supposed to get a form for my essay at the end of the semester [which I'm doing instead of the final exam]. I don't know exactly where I'm supposed to go to get that, but everyone I've asked told me to come here."
She responds, "I don't know about that. You should ask your course coordinator. What class are you taking?"
I respond, "Shakespeare. Reading Shakespeare... I think the coordinator is Dr. Gordon."
About half way in to my sentence she had turned around and started looking into this herself. She looks this up on the course catalogue and says, "Yes, Dr. Andrew Gordon. You'll need to email him and ask."
(This is about the fourth time I've been referred somewhere else on this matter.)
I nod my head. Her face is dead pan. "Ok, thanks," I respond. "Sorry to be..."
She turns around and says, in a not-very-convincing tone, "No bother." I watch her walk away.
I let out a sigh of relief and then turn to the door dejectedly. Whew. I never thought I would miss southern "hospitality" so much.
And these two are just a brief sample. I haven't even mentioned the bus driver, the other bus driver, the ticket clerk, the gym instructor, the women behind the desk at the gym, the other porter who insists I say "please," the scottish terrier...
BUT, that's not to say I haven't met nice people! I've found very pleasant people. The lack of vitamin D just leaves a bit of a frustrated gloom in the air.
In more optimistic news, I went indoor climbing last night and it was AWESOME. Super great. The sun came out for about ten minutes today and I just happened to be outside for those ten minutes!
Now I think I should get off to my paper and reading.
P.S.
Stephanie Milazzo- they could really use your life rule and your presence in general around here :)
Just today: (and I've only been interacting with people for about two hours) FIRST, I walk into breakfast at 8:45 am. I'm just going to get a nice start to the day (as breakfast does) and then the porter tells me (for the second time since I've been here) "You're going to need to start waking up a little earlier." He says this with a completely straight face, no joke involved.
I'm thinking "WHAT? It's 8:45!" I say, "Oh, I thought breakfast ended at 9:00." But so intimadated by being reprimanded I continue, "I promise I will, sir. I'm sorry." So then I walk into breakfast with my head down, not nearly as excited about the cold toast and oats as I had been before.
I get into the main breakfast area and this same porter says to one of the women serving breakfast, "Am I right, [cannot remember the woman's name], in saying breakfast ends at 8:45?"
She responds to him, "No, [porter's name], it ends at 9:15."
He says, "Oh." Then he looks over at another student and says, "Well, that's that then. You were right."
I squeeze behind the man to get on in line. "HA," was going through my head, as well as, "At least I'm not the only one." But I'm still a bit upset, "Calm down breakfast police!"
As I'm leaving breakfast the porter is standing in the doorway to the dining hall staring down everyone who is still sitting down eating breakfast.
So, I think to myself on the walk back to my room, "Maybe he has a family member or a close friend who works in the dining room and always complains about students coming in at the last minute." This is a very plausible situation and he could just be defending someone he knows. It could all be out of care, so I take a deep breath and consider "I don't know what's going on. Don't take it personally."
Most unfortunately, my day keeps going after breakfast. So I go to my lecture. We're talking about Shakespeare. The lecture is on The Taming of the Shrew which we have just read. I, personally wasn't super offended by the play, but we got to hear about a good number of people who were (and conversely, who were not).
Anyway, after the lecture, I make my way to the English office because we have an assignment due next week and I needed to pick up something called the "Guide to Good Writing." So, I get to the office and no one is at the desk, so I kind of look around the office a bit. Then, about five minutes later, someone in the back realizes I'm standing there so she walks up and says in a disgruntled manner, "Can I help you." I tell her as kindly as I know how that I have a few questions. I think there was an eye roll somewhere after this. I'm a bit confused, but I go ahead. First I say I need this "Guide to Good Writing."
She says, "We're sold out." She then says, as though she can't believe I don't know this, "You should be able to get it online."
I say, "Oh, ok!" I then inquire about a cover sheet for essays.
She points to the desk and says, "They're right there."
"Oh, I respond. Great, thanks." I grab the sheet and hurry out. I then realize that I forgot to ask my last question so I turn around and enter the office again. She's already gone from the front desk. A man walks up with a stack of papers, but evidently inquiry was written all over my face and he says, "I can't help you."
I smile and say, "Oh, ok. I'll just wait..." I look over the desk a bit and Cheerful Personified is sitting a ways back. My stomach drops as I realize she's probably the only one who will be able to help me.
She begins to walk up and looks disgusted that I have returned. I look down to notice her sweater that has a pink cupcake with sprinkles on it-- if only clothes were telling of personality. I swallow in a bit of fear and say, "Hi, I forgot I had one more question. I'm supposed to get a form for my essay at the end of the semester [which I'm doing instead of the final exam]. I don't know exactly where I'm supposed to go to get that, but everyone I've asked told me to come here."
She responds, "I don't know about that. You should ask your course coordinator. What class are you taking?"
I respond, "Shakespeare. Reading Shakespeare... I think the coordinator is Dr. Gordon."
About half way in to my sentence she had turned around and started looking into this herself. She looks this up on the course catalogue and says, "Yes, Dr. Andrew Gordon. You'll need to email him and ask."
(This is about the fourth time I've been referred somewhere else on this matter.)
I nod my head. Her face is dead pan. "Ok, thanks," I respond. "Sorry to be..."
She turns around and says, in a not-very-convincing tone, "No bother." I watch her walk away.
I let out a sigh of relief and then turn to the door dejectedly. Whew. I never thought I would miss southern "hospitality" so much.
And these two are just a brief sample. I haven't even mentioned the bus driver, the other bus driver, the ticket clerk, the gym instructor, the women behind the desk at the gym, the other porter who insists I say "please," the scottish terrier...
BUT, that's not to say I haven't met nice people! I've found very pleasant people. The lack of vitamin D just leaves a bit of a frustrated gloom in the air.
In more optimistic news, I went indoor climbing last night and it was AWESOME. Super great. The sun came out for about ten minutes today and I just happened to be outside for those ten minutes!
Now I think I should get off to my paper and reading.
P.S.
Stephanie Milazzo- they could really use your life rule and your presence in general around here :)
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
McDonald's
So I fully expected this to be college. I fully expected lots of drinking, weekend parties, etc. I didn't, however, expect the constant drinking. And I have now learned, from many Scots, that I was supposed to have a stereotype in my head that the whole country is "drunken louts." (Woops, missed the memo). They're a fun group though!
The pinnacle of drinking stories I have yet experienced: after the first day here at Aberdeen I met four other Americans at an International student orientation. The five of us walked around Aberdeen one night. And what are five Americans going to do when they're in a group in a foreign country? Go to McDonald's, of course. So we walked in, trying to spot the differences in the menus. What we didn't yet realize was the key difference was in the atmosphere, not the processed food.
We ordered our Mars bar milkshakes, potato wedges, and Smartie McFlurrys and we sat down at a table. The interior is quite more "posh" looking than American McDonalds. There were white leather benches and leather circular stools. As we ate, we people watched as everyone went toward a foam party at a local club. I then saw a mime walk by. Then the mime turned around and walked into the McDonald's. All five of us turned our head in wonder. Then, said mime began to zig-zag toward the front of the restaurant. He made it about half way there and then he started to ever so slowly leaannn to the right.. Our heads followed the motion. Then he sat down. The Indian man at the cash register was staring, not amused. The three of us, with our backs to the mime, slowly scooted around in our seats, trying not to be too conspicous. Then one of the girls pulled out her camera.
The mime by this point had put his head on the table and was moaning a bit. He then sat up quickly and then he began to slide down the leather booth toward the metal table leg. Then he sat up, hitting the table, and grumbled a bit. He began to slide to the right and then extended his arm to cushion his head and closed his eyes.
A group of "fresher" boys was sitting in front of me and the other Americans. They had front row seats as the mime was performing right in front of them. They were watching this whole site unfold, half-concerned, half-amused, just as we were.
Then the weight of the mime's legs began to drag him back toward the floor, and it was a losing battle. He crashed down into the metal table stems. And he laid there for a minute but then seemed to realize he wasn't supposed to be there so he sat up, hitting his head on the table and he then began to crawl out from under the tables. At this point the managers were beginning to come out.
The teenage boys helped him back to the booth, but he fell down again, so they finally just got a chair out for him and sat him on it. The managers were asking his name and other questions, but he didn't seem to be able to answer any of them. He then started to get angry at the managers and they had to step back.
The fresher boys turned slightly toward us so we asked, "Do you have a law against public drunkeness?" The boys looked a bit confused. Then one snapped his fingers and said, "Oh yeah, we have a law against drunk and disorderly conduct. But you have to be disorderly. Drunk and disorderly."
The five of us looked up at the mime, now belligerently mumbling at the managers. "Oh, ok," we replied. One of us then asked, "Is this normal here, at McDonald's?" And one of the boys said, "Not really, usually people are just having sex." A few of us responded in shocked unison, "In the McDonald's?" We all started looking around questioning where that would even happen. There was a sketchy staircase in the corner. The boys nodded in response to our shock.
The paramedics had arrived by this point. They were also unsuccessfully asking the mime his name. Other customers were also flowing in and out of the McDonald's trying not to look as interested as they were. They stole side glances from the menu to the mime. Then it happened, what we all knew was coming. The vomit. And that was our cue. The five of us grabbed our trash and headed for the door.
Needless to say, I haven't been back to McDonald's.
The pinnacle of drinking stories I have yet experienced: after the first day here at Aberdeen I met four other Americans at an International student orientation. The five of us walked around Aberdeen one night. And what are five Americans going to do when they're in a group in a foreign country? Go to McDonald's, of course. So we walked in, trying to spot the differences in the menus. What we didn't yet realize was the key difference was in the atmosphere, not the processed food.
We ordered our Mars bar milkshakes, potato wedges, and Smartie McFlurrys and we sat down at a table. The interior is quite more "posh" looking than American McDonalds. There were white leather benches and leather circular stools. As we ate, we people watched as everyone went toward a foam party at a local club. I then saw a mime walk by. Then the mime turned around and walked into the McDonald's. All five of us turned our head in wonder. Then, said mime began to zig-zag toward the front of the restaurant. He made it about half way there and then he started to ever so slowly leaannn to the right.. Our heads followed the motion. Then he sat down. The Indian man at the cash register was staring, not amused. The three of us, with our backs to the mime, slowly scooted around in our seats, trying not to be too conspicous. Then one of the girls pulled out her camera.
The mime by this point had put his head on the table and was moaning a bit. He then sat up quickly and then he began to slide down the leather booth toward the metal table leg. Then he sat up, hitting the table, and grumbled a bit. He began to slide to the right and then extended his arm to cushion his head and closed his eyes.
A group of "fresher" boys was sitting in front of me and the other Americans. They had front row seats as the mime was performing right in front of them. They were watching this whole site unfold, half-concerned, half-amused, just as we were.
Then the weight of the mime's legs began to drag him back toward the floor, and it was a losing battle. He crashed down into the metal table stems. And he laid there for a minute but then seemed to realize he wasn't supposed to be there so he sat up, hitting his head on the table and he then began to crawl out from under the tables. At this point the managers were beginning to come out.
The teenage boys helped him back to the booth, but he fell down again, so they finally just got a chair out for him and sat him on it. The managers were asking his name and other questions, but he didn't seem to be able to answer any of them. He then started to get angry at the managers and they had to step back.
The fresher boys turned slightly toward us so we asked, "Do you have a law against public drunkeness?" The boys looked a bit confused. Then one snapped his fingers and said, "Oh yeah, we have a law against drunk and disorderly conduct. But you have to be disorderly. Drunk and disorderly."
The five of us looked up at the mime, now belligerently mumbling at the managers. "Oh, ok," we replied. One of us then asked, "Is this normal here, at McDonald's?" And one of the boys said, "Not really, usually people are just having sex." A few of us responded in shocked unison, "In the McDonald's?" We all started looking around questioning where that would even happen. There was a sketchy staircase in the corner. The boys nodded in response to our shock.
The paramedics had arrived by this point. They were also unsuccessfully asking the mime his name. Other customers were also flowing in and out of the McDonald's trying not to look as interested as they were. They stole side glances from the menu to the mime. Then it happened, what we all knew was coming. The vomit. And that was our cue. The five of us grabbed our trash and headed for the door.
Needless to say, I haven't been back to McDonald's.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Laundry
Yes, let's talk about laundry. SO. I am quickly realizing that I got quite spoiled at Rhodes with their free laundry machines. Not laundry service or anything, just machines. I am further realizing I was quite spoiled by the American thought that you just need a couple of quarters to throw a load in the wash at a good ole laundromat.
Neither of these American extravagancies are in existence here in Aberdeen. Here it costs TWO pounds to wash and ONE pound to dry. So, for a normal load of washing, one is looking at four dollars and fifty cents. That alone makes one reconsider the defenition of "dirty." But further, as could be expected, I can't just do a normal load of laundry.
So my first solution to this ridiculous highway robbery was, "I'll handwash!" Yeah. That went well.
I hand washed my first set of clothes but I soon realized that this actually wasn't the best solution. With the sun coming out an average of an hour a day, a space heater under the window, and personal space of about 20 cubic feet (hardly room for a clothesline) I found myself with a pile of wet clothes, smelling faintly of detergent, that dried to be crinkly and somewhat moldy-smelling. (I evidently missed the handwashing lesson in home ec).
So, it came about that I had a second load (I know, I know, "I've only been here two weeks"). Anway, so I deteremined, "This time, I'm just going to use the machine." I resigned myself to one less latte or grocery run and decided to just spend the money.
I got down to the laundry room and both washers were empty. Counterintuitively, I chose the second washer. Someone then walked in and began filling the first machine. I put all my clothes in, then my detergent, closed the door, and put my coin in. Well, I attempted to put my coin in. I pushed, and shoved, then realized I should actually be trying to retract my coin-- the machine was broken. I fiddled about five minutes trying to get my 10p coin out till I finally gave up as I had just shoved it in further. At this point the individual beside me was simultaneously tossing their clothes in and shooting glances at me. They began to fill the machine more quickly and had the detergent and change in before I could fully turn my head. They then looked sadly over at my washing machine, "Is it broken?"
"Yeah," I nodded. They kindly tried to help me with the 10p, but they too succeeded in further feeding my tip to the fallen washer.
The individual said sorry and walked away. I looked around the room and found sitting in the corner a large, metal sink. "Handwashing."
So, since the first go-round of this hadn't taught me well enough that I have NO IDEA how to hand wash, I went for it again. I couldn't make up my mind whether to fill the sink with hot water or cold water, so I filled it with both. It was quite warm, so out of my infinite domestic knowledge, I threw the lighter clothes in first. I then threw my jeans through (including my new jeans). Then I ran my bath towel through, my white bath towel. And I set them all aside together in the washing machine before rinsing them. I rinsed everything through, just wanting to be done (as an hour of my life had now gone by), and I threw everything in the drier. I put in my one pound to dry and walked away.
I came back the next morning to find I owned a new blue tank top, a new blue bath towel, and three new pairs of socks (all blue). On top of this, nothing was dry! SO, I took my jeans out, deciding to let them "air dry" and ran the drier again with the rest of the clothes (another pound). I came back and thought, "Maybe a run through the wash will get the blue out of my whites." So I put everything that used to be white into the washing machine, put the water on hot, and put my two pounds into the machine. After the wash I threw the garments into the drier.
Five pounds (now a week's worth of groceries) and a day and a half of my life later, I now own three pairs of faintly blue socks, a faint blue towel, a tie-dyed tank top, and four pairs of jeans that still aren't dry.
I miss free laundry.
Neither of these American extravagancies are in existence here in Aberdeen. Here it costs TWO pounds to wash and ONE pound to dry. So, for a normal load of washing, one is looking at four dollars and fifty cents. That alone makes one reconsider the defenition of "dirty." But further, as could be expected, I can't just do a normal load of laundry.
So my first solution to this ridiculous highway robbery was, "I'll handwash!" Yeah. That went well.
I hand washed my first set of clothes but I soon realized that this actually wasn't the best solution. With the sun coming out an average of an hour a day, a space heater under the window, and personal space of about 20 cubic feet (hardly room for a clothesline) I found myself with a pile of wet clothes, smelling faintly of detergent, that dried to be crinkly and somewhat moldy-smelling. (I evidently missed the handwashing lesson in home ec).
So, it came about that I had a second load (I know, I know, "I've only been here two weeks"). Anway, so I deteremined, "This time, I'm just going to use the machine." I resigned myself to one less latte or grocery run and decided to just spend the money.
I got down to the laundry room and both washers were empty. Counterintuitively, I chose the second washer. Someone then walked in and began filling the first machine. I put all my clothes in, then my detergent, closed the door, and put my coin in. Well, I attempted to put my coin in. I pushed, and shoved, then realized I should actually be trying to retract my coin-- the machine was broken. I fiddled about five minutes trying to get my 10p coin out till I finally gave up as I had just shoved it in further. At this point the individual beside me was simultaneously tossing their clothes in and shooting glances at me. They began to fill the machine more quickly and had the detergent and change in before I could fully turn my head. They then looked sadly over at my washing machine, "Is it broken?"
"Yeah," I nodded. They kindly tried to help me with the 10p, but they too succeeded in further feeding my tip to the fallen washer.
The individual said sorry and walked away. I looked around the room and found sitting in the corner a large, metal sink. "Handwashing."
So, since the first go-round of this hadn't taught me well enough that I have NO IDEA how to hand wash, I went for it again. I couldn't make up my mind whether to fill the sink with hot water or cold water, so I filled it with both. It was quite warm, so out of my infinite domestic knowledge, I threw the lighter clothes in first. I then threw my jeans through (including my new jeans). Then I ran my bath towel through, my white bath towel. And I set them all aside together in the washing machine before rinsing them. I rinsed everything through, just wanting to be done (as an hour of my life had now gone by), and I threw everything in the drier. I put in my one pound to dry and walked away.
I came back the next morning to find I owned a new blue tank top, a new blue bath towel, and three new pairs of socks (all blue). On top of this, nothing was dry! SO, I took my jeans out, deciding to let them "air dry" and ran the drier again with the rest of the clothes (another pound). I came back and thought, "Maybe a run through the wash will get the blue out of my whites." So I put everything that used to be white into the washing machine, put the water on hot, and put my two pounds into the machine. After the wash I threw the garments into the drier.
Five pounds (now a week's worth of groceries) and a day and a half of my life later, I now own three pairs of faintly blue socks, a faint blue towel, a tie-dyed tank top, and four pairs of jeans that still aren't dry.
I miss free laundry.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
#5: Eat haggis. I don't want to talk about it (Marmite venture #2)
This may give a sneak peek of my blog discussing dinner.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)