It is with tired eyes, sore feet, and an unprecedented sense of wonder and excitement that I write today after a long weekend in Edinburgh. I am not seated anywhere special--a dark, mysterious pub situated in a shadowy alleyway, a tiny cafe nestled in between a flower shop and a bakery. I am instead perched on a chair in my cream-colored bedroom, listening to the whistle of the wind coming in off of the North Sea, the tops of the bare trees shivering back and forth in the cold February air. It was warm this morning, reaching almost fifty degrees. It has since cooled off, and my trusty wool socks are back on my feet, a warm cup of terrible instant coffee sitting on the window ledge. Heaven help me; I suppose it's time to write a blog post.
Last week flew by, marking my second full week in Scotland. My time abroad thus far has seemed like one giant paradox. Days seem to take weeks to pass, yet they pass in only moments. It feels ordinary, easy even, to be here, yet the fact that I now live in Scotland is extraordinary and extraordinarily difficult. I am comfortable and homesick, excited and fearful--every possible emotion wrapping itself up in others, producing one nameless emotion that attaches itself to me every day. It is good, it is hard, and my overwhelming feeling is that it is all worth it.
My Mondays through Fridays are marked with steady routines involving lectures, lunches, readings, writing, tutorials, and conversations. Some days I go to a local pub with friends, others I spend on the fourth floor of the library overlooking the sea in usually failed attempts to get reading done for class. Some nights are spent out in the city centre, while others are spent quietly in my bedroom. It is a good balance, and I finally have some semblance of a schedule--something that is necessary for me.
My original plan this past week was to travel to Loch Ness with InterSoc, the International Students Society here on campus. It was 25.50 GBP to go, and that included a bus there and back, a boat ride, and castle sightseeing. It sounded like a great trip, but I decided that I'd much rather go when the weather was nicer and with a smaller group rather than a hundred or more other students. So, Erik, Matthew, Andrew, and I all planned a weekend trip to Edinburgh, which proved to be well worth it. We left at five in the morning on Saturday and walked nearly an hour to the bus station, where our bus left at six thirty. I surprised myself during those three hours by falling asleep in a number of uncomfortable positions, including straight up with my head occasionally hitting the seat in front of me and with my head against the rumbling window, my hair soaked and splattered against the condensation. It was remarkable and indeed fairly embarrassing. We arrived in Edinburgh between nine thirty and ten and began our trek around the city. Within moments, we found the first of the three free National Galleries--the portrait museum. We spent a couple of hours roaming around the giant halls, gazing at artwork completed in the twelfth century onward, cherishing our time out of the cold. Afterward, we began the walk from the "new town" to the "old town" and found the second National Gallery, which we spent about an hour or more in. This gallery was situated near the park that separates the two halves of the city, by a huge monument and statue of Sir William Wallace and surrounded by street performers of all kinds. The entire feel of the city was incredible: Imagine a good-humored group of middle-aged Scottish men joking with me in the Scots dialect (I couldn't understand a thing) as I crossed the street toward the majestic Edinburgh Castle with bagpipes in the background playing "Scotland the Brave." Yes, this is all very stereotypical, and yes, it is indeed real.
After we left the second art gallery, we headed farther into the old town to the Elephant House, where J.K. Rowling famously wrote some of her Harry Potter books. We grabbed a few cappuccinos and rested for a bit over our books. Then, we headed down the street to the National Museum of Scotland around three thirty, which we thought would be a good museum to run through before it closed at five. We were right; it was a great museum. But it certainly wasn't something that we could stroll through quickly! The museum was absolutely huge with seven stories and several wings. I made it through three floors of Scottish history in just over an hour, which isn't even a quarter of the museum. The artifacts on display there were incredible as well. There were skeletons of ancient people with their belongings that were buried with them, thousands of old coins, weapons, objects of the everyday. It is definitely a place I will have to return to when I go back.
After the museum closed at five, we headed down the Royal Mile to find our hostel. After getting lost and ending up at the castle, we finally made it to our room and checked in. It was a nice and cozy little place, with a kitchen and two tables, a fireplace and a couple of chairs, and a long hallway that housed the various travelers. The four of us were in a room with two sets of bunk beds that overlooked the Royal Mile and High Street. We unpacked some of our things and sat down for a bit to catch our breath and then headed out to the Royal Mile Tavern where we had some drinks and ate dinner. It was a nice pub that was lit (in the usual fashion, it seems) with candles stuck in old whisky bottles. Afterward, we stopped at another local bar called the Halfway House, per Erik's suggestion, and then returned back to our room to sleep.
The next morning, we checked out around nine forty-five and headed off to St. Giles' Cathedral, which was just down the road on the Royal Mile. It is a beautiful, sprawling old church with an elderly congregation. The service was traditional, and it was certainly a rich experience to attend church in such a historic place, in such an incredible city. Following church, we made the trek back to Edinburgh Castle, where we spent the next few hours. The castle is unbelievable, sitting atop an extinct volcano overlooking the entire city. From the top, you see the North Sea, the Firth of Forth, new town, old town, Arthur's Seat, public parks, craggy hills. Inside were preserved buildings and museums, ancient artifacts and bits of history, including the Crown Jewels and old wooden doors with graffiti and etchings from POWs who were imprisoned at the castle in the eighteenth century. My favorite etching was one by a "rebel" American colonist--a sailboat with an American flag flying on the front from about 1781.
After our time there, we walked across the city to Parliament, the Palace, and Holyrood and hiked our way to the top of Calton Hill, the first public park in Edinburgh. The view from the top was breathtaking, and we spent quite a bit of time there soaking in the city. As we made our way back to the city centre, we stopped in a cafe to rest, drink coffee, and read. Then, we made our way to a tiny pub down a cobblestone alleyway and found a booth near the corner to order dinner and have some drinks. The crowd present was most definitely locals, and they couldn't have been warmer or kinder. An old woman in the corner sat alone, sipping white wine, singing every song played on the jukebox, and smiling at our table every time we did or said something ridiculous. An elderly but jovial man took his place at the bar, making jokes and laughing boisterously, and refusing to let anyone else make any song selections. By this point, it had hit seven thirty, and the city was winding down. Our bus didn't leave until eleven, so we made our way toward the station, stopped and saw a movie, and then took off for Perth and then Aberdeen. The bus ride was pretty brutal once we made our connection in Perth. I was stuck next to a man who I'm certain downed two fifths and smoked a dime bag before boarding the bus, and, by the time I got into bed after our walk home, it was four in the morning. What a great weekend it was! What a tiring weekend it was.
I learned several lessons this weekend:
1) Never, EVER sacrifice comfort for fashion. I chose to wear a particular pair of shoes other than my hiking boots, which was mistake number one. I felt like I had strapped wooden paddles to my feet by the end of the trip.
2) Travel-sized gear is worth the small investment. Backpack=heavy. If I don't have the money, I'll just go without showering. (Sorry, Mom).
3) Never book the latest bus trip possible. There will, without a doubt, be drunk and dirty old men shouting obscure things at inappropriate moments, filling the bus with the scent of stale alcohol. Just book the seven o'clock trip.
4) Edinburgh is the place to be.
Now that I've rambled on a few paragraphs too long, I will depart to read for my classes and daydream about the adventures had and the adventures to come, lost in wonder at this very world before me.
No comments:
Post a Comment