Thrifting in Headington

Caitlin and I spent a few hours earlier today looking through all of the thrift stores, known as charity shops in the UK, in the Headington neighborhood of Oxford. Charity shops here are different from the thrift stores I have visited in the United States. Each charity shop, which is only about the size of a small boutique, benefits a different charity. Some of the things the shops are dedicated to are cancer research, hospices, elderly people, children's diseases and the elimination of poverty. There are chain charity shops like Oxfam and Age UK, but they are smaller than the Goodwills in America.

All of the shops carry the same basic things like clothing, some housewares and knick-knacks, shoes, books and greeting cards. A few of them sell candy, CDs and DVDs.

Caitlin and I were looking for possible Halloween outfits since the holiday is later this week and we do not have costumes yet. I am not even sure if I want to dress up this year since it has gotten so cold and I do not know how many people really celebrate Halloween here. We have signed up to go on a ghost tour through Oxford on Halloween evening, so hopefully that will be fun.

The only fully formed costume idea I have is to try and dress like a female version of the 11th Doctor from the television show, Doctor Who. It would be relatively simple since all I would really need would be a black skirt, white blouse, tweed jacket, suspenders, a bow tie, and possibly a red hat. My flatmates and fellow Whovians also have thought about being Doctor Who characters. Amy might dress as Amelia Pond, the 11th Doctor's traveling companion, and Caitlin is considering being a Weeping Angel, one of the villains of the series.

Neither of us found anything to purchase in all of the shops when looked at. We might go look at Primark on Monday since our Headington trip was so unfruitful.

I did not mind walking back to the dorm from Headington when we just missed the bus. The weather seems to have rushed passed Autumn and into Winter this week, but it is beautiful out today. The sun is blue after days of clouds and it makes the 45 degree Fahrenheit temperature more bearable. My hands were cold and I could feel my nose and ears turning numbing and turning pink, from the brisk wind. The walk gave me a chance to appreciate the sunny skies and the leaves that are finally being to turn colors, though not nearly as vibrant as the colors at home in the Appalachian Mountains.

As time creeps further into Autumn I keep finding things that I feel like I missing out on, not being at home. Just little things like watching the leaves change color, carving pumpkins, and smelling wood smoke as people start using their fireplaces. I think the beauty of Western North Carolina in the Autumn beats Oxford. I'll have to wait and see, but the score might even out closer to Christmas when Oxford is bathed in fairy lights and evergreen wreaths for the winter holiday.

Natural History and Brownies

Today I woke up and things were quite different from usual, not bad, just different. I got up at 9 am, took a shower, ate breakfast and just puttered around. At 11 am I went to see if my flatmates were awake. Caitlin opened her door and said that she was just getting up. It was only then that I remembered that Amy had gone to London yesterday to meet up with her parents and Libby had left early this morning to go to Scotland with her parents. So, it is just Caitlin and me in the flat this weekend. It is strange because the four of us have been almost constant companions for the past (almost) two months.

Earlier in the week Caitlin and I had already planned to do some exploring in Oxford over the weekend since it would just be the two of us. Our choices were the Botanic Gardens and/or the Pitt Rivers Museum. We did not decide where we were going until this morning when we checked the weather and it was only supposed to be a high of 48 degrees Fahrenheit. That is almost a 10 degree drop from yesterday and it is supposed to continue to be that cold for at least the next week. The weather here is finally turning frigid, and I am very glad I bought a coat at Primark on Wednesday (it is wine colored with scalloped detail and I absolutley love it).

The Pitt Rivers Museum is in a part of Oxford north of High Street where we had not yet explored. We walked along a two lane road that had a lot of cars, since I guess that area is not considered the City Centre (only buses, bikes and taxis are allowed in the City Centre during the day). The sidewalk was incredibly crowded, mostly with university students who were probably head to or from class as most of the buildings lining the road appeared to be more colleges of Oxford University.

After a bit of confusion about the signs to Pitt Rivers (one sign pointed left but I was positive it was supposed to be on the right. The first sign ended up being for parking for the museum), we made it to the museum. You walk in through a heavy wooden door and the first things you see are giant dinosaur skeletons. I was surrounded by bones and fossils and rocks. If I could have visited this museum at around age 7-11 I would have been in absolute heaven. During that time I changed back and forth from wanted to be an Egyptologist, archeologist, paleontologist and geologist. I collected fossils and rocks and they were my prized possessions.

Even at my current age I was positively giddy. A lot of the displays were designed to be touched. There were stuffed animals like a fox, pheasant, badger, and cheetah that visitors can pet. One adorable little girl with blond curls ran up to the stuffed Shetland pony saying in her British accent, "Look, Mummy, a Shetland pony. It's a Shetland pony." Little children with British accents just make me "Awww" in my head because they are so cute.

Caitlin and I slowly made our way around the room looking at all of the displays about rocks, dinosaurs, modern animals, and insects. I also took some time to appreciate the architecture. The glass ceiling stretched overhead, two stories up. It is all held up by carved granite columns and a diamond shaped weaving of metal supports.

The Pitt Rivers Museum is actually where Lewis Carroll, who lived in Oxford and lectured at Christ Church, got a lot of ideas for Alice in Wonderland. The museum has an entire display case with all of the animals featured in the stories, birds, lizards, and even a white rabbit. The Dodo bird has its own case with a skeleton of a Dodo and a model of what it would have looked like. I learned that Dodo birds are not naturally the large, round and clumsy animals that they are normally thought of as. In reality, the Dodos that were kept in captivity were given the wrong food so they grew obese.

In a separate room there is the collection of cultural artifacts. The room is three stories tall and filled to the brim with all manner of things from cultures around the world. There is pottery, clothing, model ships, musical instruments, models of traditional homes, woven baskets, oil lamps and much more. Caitlin and I played a little game of trying to guess what country, or at least what continent, the various pieces came from. There is so much to see that it would take days, if not weeks, to see it all.

It was amazing to see how similar items were that were from cultures on the other side of the world from each other. Many cultures use horns to communicate and create music. Many ended up with the same style of oil lamp, probably because the shape was the most efficient. It was like this one room showed how interconnected all people of the world are. All human beings are the same regardless of skin color or ethnicity.  In that room I felt, not like an American or a caucasian female, but simply a member off the human race, connect to everyone else in some way, past and present.

Before even finishing the ground floor, Caitlin and I both started to get hungry so we decided to visit the museum again another day (entry is free). We ended up at the Covered Market on High Street and chose to eat baguettes at Morton. The goat cheese on Caitlin's baguette reminded me of our four hour long study abroad orientation in May. That orientation was so long ago now, and the most memorable part was the snacks. Those snacks included goat cheese, crackers, fruit and brownies. One thought led to another, and suddenly I was craving brownies.

I knew that we had all of the ingredients to make brownies except for cocoa powder so I thought this would be a good opportunity for Caitlin to show me the Tesco she had found a ways down Cornmarket Street when she explored Oxford by herself the other day. The Cornmarket Tesco is not as spread out as the one on Cowley Road, instead it has two floors. We had to look in several places before we found the cocoa powder in the section with the coffee, tea and hot cocoa. With our last ingredient in hand, we headed back to the dorm.

The walk back was uneventful. The narrow trail from Pullen's Lane to our dorm, passes by the nursery, an area of land where people can plant gardens and vegetables. Today, someone was burning wood or leaves in a bonfire and the air held its earthy, burning smell. I knew that if I stopped and closed my eyes I would be able to perfectly picture myself standing outside my home in North Carolina, surrounded by tree draped in fiery hues. The brisk wind of Autumn and the smell of wood fires are two things that go perfectly together in my memories.

Back at the dorm we started baking our brownies. It was not difficult at all, just mixing a few ingredients together then pouring it into a pan. I waited the required time, 25-30 minutes, but the bottom was still gooey while the top seemed cooked. This seems to happen every time I have tried to bake here. The oven, which is super tiny, doesn't seem to cook the bottoms of things properly. We ended up cooking the brownies for an extra 15 minutes and I think they ended up a bit over cooked. However, they were still delicious and satisfied my brownie craving. We probably will get used to how the oven just in time for us to leave, but that is just the way things go sometimes.

Dublin Alphabet

Abraham House

Book of Kells

Comedy Crunch in the basement of a pub

Dead bog mummies at the Museum of Archeology

Elephant-footed residents in the hostel keep us awake

Flag of the United States hanging outside a building

Giant's Causeway was made by a giant fleeing to Scotland

Horns honking as pedestrians step out into traffic

Ice cream for free at the comedy show

Jarring seagull cries wake us up every morning

KC Peaches for lunch with Kaitlyn

Leprechaun Museum                     

Moving flats due to mold infestation

National Gallery closes after only 45 minutes

Oscar Wilde statues leers from his place on a boulder

Painting Alphonse Mucha's art nouveau pieces in the street

Queue for airplane seats because they are not assigned

Red O'Donnell, kidnapped and imprisoned in Dublin Castle

St. Mary's Pro-Cathedral for morning Mass

Trinity College

Use an ATM for the first time in my life

Vegetable samosas at O'Shea Pub

Walking tour around Dublin

taXis line up in an alley waiting for fares

Young girls in short skirts almost get hit by a car

Zigzag on crowded sidewalks with loose cobbelstones

What's in a Title?

Here, professors and other administration staff are called by their first names. Professors with doctorates do not use the title, even in conjunction with their first name. It makes me very uncomfortable calling a professor by only their first name. In the United States, especially in the south, it would be considered very disrespectful to call someone older than you, or of higher authority, by their first name without their permission. Professors are almost always called by their last name and title unless the student has had a lot of contact with them over an extended period of time.

From what I have heard, Americans who have earned their doctorates prefer to be called by their title of Dr. because they worked so hard to earn it. When I email my professors in the United States I check to make sure I a using the appropriate title. It would be rude and embarrassing to call someone Mr. or Mrs. if he or she is actually a doctor.

So, to avoid that uncomfortable feeling, I simply refrain from using my professors names when speaking to them (which has happened very rarely). I just get their attention by saying, "Excuse me," or starting my question after catching their eye. It has worked pretty well so far.

This lack of formality and emphasis on titles found a juxtaposition in my mind on Sunday night when I applied online for an Oxfordshire library card. It asked for all of the normal information like first name, surname, address, etc., but in the spot for "Title" was an extremely long list of choices. In the United States, drop-down boxes normally hold the titles Mr., Mrs., Ms., Dr., and perhaps Miss. Most of the time though you type in your title if it is even asked for you to provide it. Just a few of the title choices for the Oxfordshire library are listed below:

Master
Admiral
Brigadier
Bishop
Brother
Canon
Commodore
Count/Countess
Dame
Duke/Duchess
Honorable
Sir
Wing Commander
Field M
Lord/Lady
Baron/Baroness

I was absolutely amazed by the sheer number of title choices. There were selections of social titles, religious titles, and military titles. Do these people all expect to be addressed with their titles in person, or is it just for formal documents? Is it a part of their signature? Perhaps, professors are the only ones who are so informal in an attempt to make students comfortable and show that they are close to being equals. I really have no idea.

One Pub, Two Pubs, Three Pubs, Fight

This week my friend Amy's parents and two of their friends came to visit. Mrs. Stamm, Mr. Stamm, John and Maureen invited us to eat dinner with them on Friday night. The evening started out on a bit of a sour note when the 6:35 bus did not show up (we were at the stop five minutes early). We ended up walking, it was less than a mile, but it wasn't entirely pleasant since it was drizzling. The rain had made the fallen leaves on the sidewalk slick and mushy underfoot. We had to step carefully to be sure we did not fall.

The Britannia 

Our fifteen minute walk go us to our meeting spot, a pub and restaurant called the Britannia. The pub had a very warm, cozy feeling with brown decor and well padded chairs arranged around round tables. After making our introductions, we perused the menu. I decided to try the Beef and Ale Pie, since I have had Chicken and Mushroom Pie since I have been here and really enjoyed it.

We all went up to the bar to order and it was incredibly crowded with other patrons trying to put in their drink orders. We waited in front of the cash register for nearly ten minutes before we found an available employee to order from. The next problem of the night occurred when the woman taking our orders informed us that someone had hit the emergency fuel stop button on the fryer so any food would take at least an hour to be prepared. After much discussion, it was decided that we would find another place to eat at. An employee at the Britannia recommended the Black Boy, another pub that was of of the main road.

Turning off of London Road onto Old High Street, we began to walk along a residential road with few street lamps. It was very dark and the rainy drizzle was still coming down. I was expecting the Black Boy to be just a little ways off the main road, but as we kept walking I wondered just how far away it was. We walked ten minutes before the pub came into view (about 0.5 miles).

Inside the Black Boy looked very fancy with black leather chairs arranged around tables with white tablecloths and crystal wine glasses. Mr. Stamm approached the hostess who told him that they were fully booked, though at the time we could only see about four people eating in the establishment. Perhaps there was supposed to be a large party there later in the night. Keep in mind, it was about 8:00 pm by now. It seem like people here in Britain eat very late when they go out, often sometime after 8:00 pm or even 9:00 pm.

The evening was turning into a real pub crawl as we headed back to London Road. My roommates and I rarely eat out so we had no where to recommend except Posh Fish but we eliminated it from the choices because it has only about four tables, not enough for the eight of us. We ended up at the Royal Standard Pub, only two doors down from the Britannia where our pub crawl began.

The Royal Standard

The Royal Standard looked like a typical English pub with its thick wooden tables, bar, and white washed walls. Hanging on the wall to my right there was a flat screen television playing some kind of an Indian soap opera with the dialogue printed on the bottom of the screen. It was hilarious to watch the bad, over the top acting and the cheesy dialogue. The soap opera was followed by a comedy show where two women were trying to prove that they were not middle-aged by staying up all night in competition with their younger friend. They both ended up completely exhausted even after taking shots of coffee and Red Bull and finally resorted to eating coffee grounds. These both just seemed like such strange television programs to watch in a pub where you would expect to watch rugby or football (soccer).  

This third pub had almost the same food offerings as the Britannia, so I did end up ordering the Beef and Ale Pie. Libby, Amy and I shared a pitcher Fruit Salad, a drink containing orange juice, Smirnoff Ice, some kind of melon flavoring and lemonade (lemon-line soda). It was a pale green and slightly thick (probably from the orange juice), not at all what we were expecting. I only drank about half a glass because it had alcohol in it and I do not really feel comfortable drinking yet, even though I am of legal age in Europe.

It was nearly 9:00 pm when we got our food (we probably should have just stayed at the Britannia and we probably would have eaten by then). My dish came with the Beef and Ale Pie, brown gravy, peas, and a mound of mashed potatoes. The amount of mashed potatoes was probably the equivalent of at least one entire baked potato, probably more. The pie had very hard crust that was hard to cut, even with the knife, and contained only chucks of beef and gravy. I really did not care for the pie because it tasted to much like beer. I think I will stick to chicken and mushroom from now on, but at least I can say I have tried a traditional English dish.

Everything was going smoothly. We had finished our meals and were putting on our coats to leave when two men standing at the bar, about fifteen feet from us began shouting. They had been arguing loudly earlier then went outside, only to return to the pub a little while later. I had ignored them because I was listening to Mr. Stamm tell a story. Just as I stood up to put on my blazer, the two men whom I will call Green Shirt Man (GM) and Orange Shirt Man (OM) began to fight.

GM pushed OM to ground, hand around his throat. OM tried to kick GM, but GM grabbed onto his shirt and completely ripped off OM's shirt, in a manner quite reminiscent of the Hulk. Now, Orange Shirt Man was technically No Shirt Man. They began rolling around on the floor, hitting each other until they were at our table, though at the other end from where I was standing.

At this point I looked up, expecting to see one of the bar employees stepping in, or at least calling the police. The young man attending to the bar was just standing there smirking, like he was enjoying the free entertainment. He just stood there until another employee, a young blond woman, hit him in the arm and seemed to be telling him to get someone from the kitchen. I was absolutely amazed that he would just stand there and not do anything. I would think that anyone working in a bar would have some training as to what he or she should do if a fight broke out.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amy walking to the door, and I automatically followed her, thinking that the safest course of action would be to leave. I missed the rest of the fight but Libby and Caitlin, who left after Amy and I, told us what happened.

Libby and Caitlin were moving to leave when GM, after banging OM's head into the floor, picked up a chair to hit OM with. That is when John, Mr. and Mrs. Stamm's friend, stepped in and told him to put down the chair. Mr. Stamm ushered Libby and Caitlin outside as a woman in the pub, presumably someone who knew the men, began yelling, "That is enough. Stop, that is enough." I could see through the window that Maureen, John's wife, was beckoning him to come with her and leave.

Once everyone was outside, all we could talk about was the fight. Caitlin, who was closer to the men than I was, said she saw blood all over OM's face after GM bashed his head into the floor. I am glad I left when I did because I really did not need to see that. Less than two minutes later an ambulance sped by in the direction of the pub, and we watched to see if that was where is would stop but I think it kept going. If it was going to the pub then their response time is amazing. Later, when we were nearly back to our dorm a police car raced passed us, blue lights flashing, and we guessed that was the response for the pub fight.

This was one of the few fights I have every seen in my life, the only one that involved grown men. During high school, there were several fights a year but I only witnessed two in my entire four years there. More than once I walked right by a fight and did not notice it because I was so focused on getting to class on time.

The evening was certainly eventful, though I am afraid it gave Amy's parents the impression that Oxford is a dangerous city when it is actually quite safe.

Assignments in a Stairwell

Turning in assignments should be easy, but at my university in England it is more of an ordeal. On Wednesday, an outline for a paper was due by 5:00 pm. Now, this was for one of my Thursday classes, and to me it makes much more sense to have it due on the day we have class, instead of a day early. This is compounded by the fact that the Business campus, where my Thursday classes are located, is a 25 minute bus ride each way for me. That is 50 minutes total of travel time needed to simply hand in an assignment.

Then, instead of turning it in to our professor, our assignment sheet only said to put the paper in the provided box in the Business Undergraduate Center. That was the only direction. It did not say which building is the Undergraduate Center (it is not labeled) and it did not specify where the box would be in that building.

So, on Wednesday, I finished up the outline and caught the 2:05 pm bus to the business campus. I entered the library to find that every computer was taken. After taking an awkward lap around the library, I found that every single computer was taken. Sitting down in a red arm chair among the bookshelves, I check my email on my iPod, waiting for someone to leave. Ten minutes later I made another lap and found a free computer.

Unfortunately, this computer was next to two boys speaking loudly in a foreign language, I am guessing German or some Eastern European language. I kept waiting for one of the people working at the main library desk to come over and tell them to be quite. It is a library after all, but no one did. I did some final editing to the outline and printed it.

Needing to find out exactly where the turn-in box was located, I asked the librarian hoping that he would know. He had absolutely no idea, and called someone who also had no idea. He was able to direct me to the building known as the Business Undergraduate Center. It actually turns out that this is a building I hang out in between classes. The first floor has a cafe and seating areas, but there are office upstairs.

Upstairs there were a lot of doors to choose from. I went left to a circular room lined with computers labeled at the "Student Help Area." Well, there was no one around to help me with my current predicament so I went back to the stairs and went right. One door had a small sign outside labeling it as the undergraduate office and I could see some people inside from the door window.

I opened the door to find about six desks arranged around the room with people behind them, all of whom were now staring at me. Nervous with all of their eyes on me, I managed to explain that I was trying to turn in a paper for a class. One woman with bob length blonde hair understood what I was asked and said, "You just go done the hall past the computer room and go down the stairs on the right. The boxes are just downstairs." I thanked her and followed her directions out of the room.

At the base of the stairs I was once again completely confused. There were several doors leading out of the stairwell but the woman had not given me any further directions. Searching around the stairwell, lit only by the sunlight drifting in through a window, I found the boxes behind the stairs. The boxes were about two feet tall, wooden with a slit cut into the front. There were six, a row of three stacked two high. Only three were labeled with a piece of paper stating the name and number of the class and the assignment due date. I slid my paper inside and my task was complete.

I understand why it might be save class time for everyone to hand in their assignments into a box and not directly to the teacher, especially in a class of over one hundred people. But why on Earth would you decided that the best place to put those boxes would be in the back corner of a building (one of the farthest from the campus entrance I might add), in a stairwell, behind the stairs. There are not even any signs to help people find it. I guess they just expect everyone to know where it is, or just have them wander around cluelessly like I did.

Injuries are a Part of Life

I have been very lucky so far in my life. I have had plenty of bumps and bruises but never have I broken a bone or cut myself bad enough to need stitches (I am going to disregard the two stitches I got when my wisdom teeth were removed since that was not the result of an accident). My cautious nature, even as a child, was probably the largest contributing factor to my good fortune. Since I began on my semester abroad, from packing to crossing the Atlantic to living here for month and a half, I have been injured four separate times, quite a high number for me. Don't worry, none were bad enough to warrant medical attention.

The most severe wound was gained while I was still in the United States but it has greatly affect me during my time in the UK. It was a Friday afternoon and I was packing my suitcase into the trunk of my car. My flight to England was not until Tuesday but my mother, sister and I were going to meet my father at the coast for the weekend. As I was shoving my sister's bag into the trunk, I pulled back my hand, rubbing it against the inside top of the truck. A mild pain shot from the middle knuckle on my left hand, and as I pulled it from the trunk to see the injury, I was shocked to find that the cut was very deep. I watched as the cut filled with blood, then, regaining my sense, I rushed into the house and grabbed a towel to staunch the blood. I specifically took a second to make sure that the towel was dark in color so that the blood would be harder to see. I applied pressure and went looking for my mother.

I found her in the kitchen an said, "Momma, I have a little problem." She turned to me, saw the towel pressed to my hand and immediately asked what happened. Throughout this time the cut barely hurt, probably since it was so deep and I felt fine. This changed quickly when she told me to sit down so that she could look at how bad it was. I could not help to think about how the gaping wound looked outside next to the car, and the more I thought about it, the more lightheaded I felt.

We applied pressure until most of the blood stopped, and while I hung my head between my knees, my mother put three bandaids over it to make sure it was completely covered. My nausea and lightheadedness continued until I knew that I was going to be sick. My mom took my arm and helped me to the bathroom, ten feet away. I made it to the bathroom doorway when my vision went black and I thought that I would faint, which I have never done in my entire life. I breathed through the blackness and my vision returned just in time to make it to the toilet to be sick.

After that terrifying experience of not being in control of my body, I felt much better. My mother brought me a pillow and blanket to lie on the bathroom floor and stay still while she went to pick up my sister from high school.  When they returned they finished packing the trunk, very carefully (I personally am still a little afraid of having put things in or take things out of my trunk). So, about two hours after all of this excitement began, we left on our drive to the coast. I spent the entire seven hour trip trying not to move or get sick every time I though about my injury.

I spent the next several days babying my hand and having my mother change the bandaids since I could not do it without feeling lightheaded. I was so afraid about having to go to another country with a rather serious, in my opinion, injury but by Tuesday it had sealed shut and partially healed.

Today I have a curved, half inch long scar on the middle knuckle of my left hand. It has actually healed very well. It is not raised with scar tissue and it is only a slightly darker pink than the rest of my hand. I think that the Vitamin E in my Unpetroleum Jelly (like petroleum jelly but without the oil and other chemicals) is what has made the scar look so nice in such a short amount of time.

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My next wound occurred several weeks into my stay abroad. My flatmates and I had gone into town to explore and then to shop at Tesco, a chain supermarket. As we were leaving, weighed down with our bags it began to rain. My black flats were soaked and began to rub against my heels. There was nothing I could go about the problem so I dealt with the pain of gradually forming blisters until we made it to the bus stop and rode back to our dorm.

After unpacking all of the groceries I put on some socks to warm up my wet feet and thought nothing more about the backs of my heels. When I woke in the night to a pain in my foot I thought that my socks were simply rubbing so I pulled them off, rolled over and went back to sleep.

In the morning, I got up and went to make myself breakfast, climbing down the four steps from our bedrooms to the kitchen hallway. This stepping motion made the backs of my heels burn so I looked down at them. Both of my heels were covered in dried blood. I am guessing that my wet shoes had rubbed the skin raw and then the blisters had popped during the night. Of course, as soon as I knew that the raw spots were there they began to hurt like crazy. I went about cleaning off the blood, applying antibacterial gel and bandaging. I had to wear thick socks and my boots for a week to allow them to heal and I remember that they were there every time I had to climb a hill and the skin stretched. I now have two new scars on the backs of my heels.

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The third injury is very minor but I am going to include it anyway. About two weeks ago I had the urge to bake, and since we had an entire zucchini to use (called a courgette in the UK) I decided to make Lemon Zucchini Muffins. However, it was more like bread than muffins since we do not have a muffin pan and I just pored the batter into the casserole dish to make it.

During one of the many checks to see if the bread was cooked through (the top was brown but the bottom didn't seem to want to cook), I managed to burn my hand on the top of the oven. Naturally it would be on the side of the same hand where my knuckle scar is. The skin turned pink and formed a small blister. I was very carful not to mess with it and eventually it formed a scab. I do think it is going to end up scarring, at least a little bit, which is disappointing because you want to have an interesting story to go with a scar, not simply "I burnt it making Lemon Zucchini Bread."

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I got my fourth injury this past weekend in Dublin, Ireland. Saturday, our first day in the city, we were walking around looking from someplace to eat dinner. It was dark and raining so we all had out our umbrellas. Amy and Libby walked in front sharing an umbrella (Amy forgot to bring hers) with Caitlin in the middle and myself at the back. I noticed a man walk by Libby and Amy, hand stretched out to hit Libby's umbrella. Libby saw him and pulled back, walking quickly by. Focusing on holding my umbrella and not slipping on the wet sidewalk, it came as a complete shock when a hand came rushing towards my face. The drunk man who tried to hit Libby's umbrella had just smacked me in the face with his entire hand, forcing my glasses into my nose. He just kept on walking, beer in his other hand. 

For several seconds, all  I could think was, "What if he broke my glasses? My spares are back in England and if they are broken I will not be able to see anything." At this time Caitlin noticed that I had fallen behind and turned to look for me. I told her in an incredulous voice that I had just been smacked full on in the face by a random man. My face was throbbing and I was trying not to cry, more from shock than actual pain. 

Caitlin and I caught up to Libby and Amy waiting at a cross walk and told them what had happened. Neither could believe that it had actually happened, and we continued to discuss the incident until we chose to eat at O'Shea's Restaurant. 

When I woke up in the hostel on Sunday morning I was afraid that I would have a bruise on my face. Running my fingers over my face, I could tell that my left cheekbone was slightly puffy. I did not want to disturb sleeping people in my room by climbing out of the top bunk and making a lot of noise so I waited. When everyone began to stir I climbed down the ladder from my blue top bunk and looked in the mirror. There were no bruises in sight, nor was the puffiness noticeable. I will admit, I was slightly disappointed. I kind of wanted a physical mark to go with the strange occurrence. 

Though this injury left the smallest mark, it is definitely the second most exciting of the four injuries I have gotten during my study abroad experience so far. Let's hope the next three months will not yield any more injuries to add to this list.

Expectations: Edinburgh and Dublin

According to the dictionary, expectation is "the act or state of looking forward or anticipating." Whenever you are planning on going somewhere, your excitement (or perhaps dread) causes you form a picture in your mind of what that place will look like, how it will sound and smell, even the emotions you plan on feeling while there. You pull on all of your past knowledge from books, movies, and personal interactions to make up these preconceptions. Depending on the accuracy of your information, these preconceptions could be very accurate or they can veer sharply into the realm of fantastical imaginings.

To add a nice contrast to my posts about what actually happens during my time in Europe, I want to document what my expectations are for each of the places I am planning to visit. Some places, like Oxford, London, Edinburgh and the Harry Potter Studio, I have already been to but I still remember some of the things I had formulated in my mind about what those places would be like.

Edinburgh, Scotland

Most of what I know about Scotland comes from reading historical novels set anywhere from the Middle Ages to the Edwardian Era. It was often portrayed as England's uncivilized northern cousin where family clans fought for land and status. Because of this I expected it to be a little rough around the edges with not that many ornate, older buildings like in London or Oxford.

I did not expect Edinburgh to be as culturally diverse as I have found Oxford to be. I thought that most of the people I encountered would be Scottish, or at least British.

I freely admit that my expectations of Edinburgh were completely inaccurate, at least regarding the areas of the city that I visited. I rarely heard a person speaking with a Scottish accent, and most people where actually from other parts of the world. This was probably because we spent most of our time in the tourist areas of the city. One of the priests who did most of the speaking at St. John's Church where we attended Matins, had a Southern British accent. I was a little disappointed that I did not get a chance to hear much of the Scottish brogue.

The city was full of amazing architecture, especially in the Old Town district. The buildings were made mainly from grey stone and many had unique features like domed roofs or spires. Flags hung from many of the buildings, showing the people's pride in their country.

Dublin, Ireland

I expected my time in Dublin to be cloudy and all around dreary. This opinion was partially formed by what I have heard, and partially from looking at the weather forecast for the weekend. Since the Irish are regard as a drinking culture, I expected the streets to be a little dirty and full of drunk people at night. I also expected to see more Irish people in Dublin than I saw Scottish people in Edinburgh, simply because Dublin is the only really major city in the country. This would mean I would have a chance to hear Irish accents in person instead of just in movies.

Architecturally, I did not expect there to be a lot of grand old buildings in Dublin. The Tudor style row houses so common around Oxford would not be present.

I was also very excited to meet up with my friend Kaitlyn who is studying at Trinity College for a semester. I thought that we would try to eat a meal together and maybe see if she could show us around the city a little bit.

My expectations for Dublin were mostly correct. It rained the entire day on Sunday and it was cold. There were a ton of pubs, a least one on every street that we walked down, and we did see some people who appeared to be drunk roaming the streets when it got dark. The streets were not as nice to walk on as in Oxford and Edinburgh. Everything did seem a little dirty even though there were small cars with spinning brushes cleaning the streets constantly. A lot of the flagstones in the sidewalks were loose and rocked dangerously underfoot.

Dublin did seem less culturally diverse than Edinburgh. I saw very few Muslim women in Dublin. They seemed to be replaced with an abundance of young men and women where track suits with matching sweats and hoodies.

Most of the buildings we saw in Dublin were fairly modern. Lots of them were made out of bricks and concrete without the detailing you would see on older buildings. There were some older buildings in the center of Dublin like City Hall, Trinity College, and the old Parliament building which is now a bank.

I did get to see Kaitlyn briefly on Monday for lunch before her 2pm class. She showed us around the main shopping street in Dublin and the entrance to St. Stephen's Green, a large park.

A Weekend in Edinburgh: Day 2

Our first full day in Scotland, Libby, Amy, Caitlin, and I rose early and went to breakfast in the main common room. There was toast, fruit cocktail, yogurt, and whole fruit to eat, and coffee, hot tea, and Squash to drink. Squash is a concentrated orange drink (closer to Tang than orange juice) that you mix with water. When Libby bought a bottle of Squash when we first arrived in the UK we did not know about the watering down part and tried to drink the orange liquid plain from the bottle. It tastes like a liquid, super sugar orange flavored syrup, and not at all pleasant to drink.

There were many toast toppings to choose from including Marmite, chocolate hazelnut spread, apricot jam, blackcurrant jam, butter, and lemon curd. I decided to be adventurous and split my toast into fourths, each with a different topping. The four squares were spread with either blackcurrant jam, apricot jam, chocolate hazelnut spread, or lemon curd. The blackcurrant and lemon curd were new toppings to me. Blackcurrant is pretty close to blackberry jam in taste and appearance. It is a deep purple with small seeds that add a hint of crunch. The lemon curd tasted like I had scrapped out the filling of a lemon bar and spread it onto my toasted bread. It was a pale yellow and slightly gelatinous in texture. Personally, the name "lemon curd" is not very appealing because it brings to mind sour, curdled milk. I do not drink milk at all because it smells nasty when fresh, so soured milk is disgusting to an extreme.

Sanctuary of St. John's Episcopal Church
Photo by Amy

After eating we crossed the street to St. John's Episcopal Church, using our umbrellas to shield our bodies from the drizzle. Since it was Sunday we wanted to attend church to see how the service differed from ones we had been to in the United States. We plan to go attend a church service during all of our overnight trips. This particular service was a 9:30 am Choral Matins. Matins is a term normally by Protestant denominations to describe a morning prayer service.

The sanctuary was decorated with colored paper fish hanging from clear string. Each had writing or drawings by children on it. This was such a contrast to the rest of the church which was ornately detailed in the traditional style of churches. Since this was a Choral Matins, there was a lot of singing, both by the choir and by the attendees. The choir members of this church wore robes similar to those worn by the singers at Salisbury Cathedral. The robes were white with red under-robes peaking out from the sleeves, hem and neckline. They also wore a small ruffled collar encircling their necks.

There was also the recitation of the Apostle's Creed and I was proud that I remembered all of the words. At my Presbyterian church in the United States, we do not say the Apostle's Creed at every service like they seem to do here where churches are more traditional.

Near the end of the service collection was taken using small bags, instead of offering plates. The entire time there I noticed how nice it smelt. It was not floral but instead it was like the mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger from making gingerbread cookie. I am not sure if it was the lingering scent of incense, if the church even used it, or if it was the perfume of the elderly woman sitting in the pew behind me.

At the service's end we were invited to refreshments and asked to return the following week, but we explained that we were just visiting for the weekend. The man was quite insistent that we stayed for the 10:30 service but we managed to politely extricate ourselves to start our day of sightseeing.

Inside the National Museum of Scotland

Climbing the Mound, past the rail station, we made our way into Old Town, the more historic district of Edinburgh. First stop, the National Museum of Scotland for some cultural education. Learning about early humans in Scotland, animals of the world, and flatware design throughout the centuries made us all hungry and ready for lunch.

All of my companions are avid Harry Potter fans, so they were super excited to eat at the Elephant House Cafe. For those who don't know, the Elephant House is where J.K. Rowling penned the first words of a book that would grow to become an international sensation. She returned to the cafe many times in the course of writing the first book.

The small cafe is always crowded. The tables in the small eating area are pressed close together. The room is filled with elephant knickknacks and artwork. Our table was in the back corner next to a bookcase containing dozens of book, all about elephants, some factual, some novels, and some children's cartoons. The inside of the bathroom has become a shrine to The Boy Who Lived, with fans from all over the world writing quotes and good wishes on the walls.

At the cafe I had a very good baguette with a combination of some of my favorite toppings, mozzarella cheese, pesto, and olives. The bread in the UK always seems to taste better than the kind you get back home. We also ordered a pot of tea to share and I felt like I was truly embracing British culture, even though we were in Scotland at the time.

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The Scotch Whisky Tour began at 1 pm in a brick building neat the entrance to Edinburgh Castle. The first part was a short ride in carts shaped like large wooden barrels. Our ghostly tour guide (a projected image), lead us through the whisky making process from barely harvest to fermentation to aging in wooden barrels. From the ride we moved on to the whisky tasting.

All of our tour group arranged ourselves around a large, U-shaped glass table. Our guide, a real person this time, explained the four main types of Scottish whisky to us and we watched a short video on each kind. Each were supposed to have different undertones depending on the area in which the barely was grown and then made into alcohol. The lowlands were supposed to have undertones of citrus, highlands of spices, Speyside of bananas, and Islay of fire smoke. Since I do not drink, I chose lowlands to try because it is supposed to be the mildest in flavor.

The alcohol was served in glasses shaped specially so that you can stick your nose into the glass to smell the drinks aroma. I swirled the golden liquid and inhaled its scent with instructed. The smell was not unpleasant like garbage, nor was in pleasant like cooking food. To me it just smelt like rubbing alcohol, and not at all appealing. I very carefully tilted the glass back determined to get only the smallest taste. When the liquid slid across my tongue I could feel my face scrunching in a grimace. I tried desperately not to gag and start coughing as it burned a path down my throat. It did not want to look like an inexperienced child (though that is pretty much what I am in the area of drinking alcohol) in front of our fellow tour mates, all of whom were in their late twenties or older. My companions and I were the only ones in the group who were asked to show IDs to prove our ages. Libby was kind enough to finish my whisky for me so I did not have to drink more than a sip.

Oldest Bottles in the Whisky Collection
Photo by Amy

We moved on to the glass walled whisky collection room were hundreds of unopened whiskey bottles are on display. Even though none have ever been opened, some of the bottles were not completely full because their golden contents have evaporated over time. Eventually every single one will be empty. The two oldest bottles in the collection date from 1897 and 1904.

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We entered Camera Obscura: The World of Illusions, after meeting up with Libby's friend Cat. We spent nearly two hours exploring the narrow building several floors. There were optical illusions, a mirror maze and a giant rotating tube that make you fell like the floor is tilting even though it is actually still. My favorite part was the top floor where you could go out onto the roof and have an amazing view of Edinburgh. We were surrounded by domes, spires and other interesting architectural features. In the distance you could even see the ocean. For some reason I never thought about the fact the Edinburgh is situated on the coast, probably since coastal towns in the UK are much different from the costal towns on the East Coast of the United States. 

We finished the night at a Scottish pub called the Amber Rose. I ordered Chicken and Mushroom Pie which came with peas, chips (french fries) and gravy. The gravy was absolutely delicious. I was a little wary of it at first because I do not like the Southern gravy that is common at home. Instead of being thick and grey, this gravy was thin and brown. It was probably made out of chicken and/or mushrooms.  I poured it onto my pie and dipped my chips in it. I ate everything on my plate at that meal.

A Thursday of Classes

6:55 am:
I am awoken by the sound of church bells, better known as my iPod alarm. It is a much more pleasant sound to wake up to, so pleasant in fact that I decide to stay in bed for a little while longer. I think about all of the things I need to do to get ready for the day and the best order to do it in, instead of actually getting out of bed and doing it.

7:15 am
My secondary alarm goes off and I drag myself out of bed, dressing and brushing my teeth in a daze. Mornings in England are just the same as in the United States, at least until you leave the room and go to class in a bus instead of walking.

8:05 am
Libby and I begin the walk from our dorm at the bottom of a hill to the bus stop at the top. I remark jokingly to Libby, "Didn't you know it is supposed to rain today? Since you are wearing your Toms and not your boots it will end up raining extra hard." It seems that she always ends up choosing those shoes, with absolutely no water resistance, on rainy days.

8:13 am
A girl with long dark hair rushes past us at that strange pace that is in between a jog and a brisk walk. Whenever I see someone walk/running I want to say, "just choose one and then commit." Then I began to think, "If I was late for the bus would I run to catch it? Probably not unless it was for class, then again, I prefer to be early for things so it would be highly unlikely that I would ever need to make this decision. Oh look, the bus is here."

8:16 am
Libby and I board the bus and find seats on the top level near the back. No good views of the drive today with all of the windows fogged up. I admit that I am a bit disappoint that I can't watch all of the children walking to school in their uniforms. They all just look so adorable.

8:38 am
The bus arrives at the Wheatley Campus and everyone piles off. It is surprisingly warm outside considering the early hour. Though I am only wearing a cotton shirt and light blazer I feel comfortable, no shivering in the near future.

We enter Dora Cohen Hall from the main entrance instead of taking a side entrance like usually to stop off at the loo. The huge lecture room with rooms of desks stretching from one wall to another is dark. The weak morning sunlight is not strong enough to illuminate all of the corners, and none of us feel comfortable enough to turn on the lights. We always leave that job to the teacher for some reason.

9:16 am
The lecturer for International Markets and Competition, an Indian man who always seems to wear a purple button-down shirt, explains market structures that fall on a sliding scale from perfect competition to pure monopoly. It still takes me a second to recognize when he says "mono-poly" (only two syllables) that he means "mo-na-po-ly" (four syllables). I am not sure but I think that is just his personal way of saying the word and, not the actual British pronunciation.

9:36 am
The two boys behind me (I think they are speaking German) have not stopped talking the entire lecture. It is incredibly rude and distracting and I almost turn around to stare at them to see if they will be quiet, but I don't.

10:25 am
I am sitting in the undergraduate building trying to get some schoolwork completed before my seminar starts at 11:00 am. I manage to complete one reading assignment for my travel writing class. It is a very interesting account of an American journalist's time in Saudi Arabia over the past decade, focusing on how she was treated differently in the Islamic country because she is a woman. I think that  traveling to the Middle East would be a major life experience because it is so culturally and religiously different from the United States.

12:14 pm
Libby joins me in the library after eating her lunch in the refectory. I try to find one of my class textbooks to read but someone else is using it. I spend most of the hour wasting time on Pinterest and trying to find a recipe to make on my assigned cooking night. I tentatively choose sweet potato pancakes, potato hash and turkey bacon.

1:17 pm
In seminar for Financial Markets and Institutions, we are told to split into groups to answer the assigned questions. I choose to be partners with the young man who won the stock market game we played in class last week, hoping he would know the answers. He ends up knowing about the same amount as me, a.k.a barely anything, but we muddle along and have a relatively good time doing so.

3:33 pm
"If you can find the graphs somewhere on the internet for me to paste in the Powerpoint, well, that would be brilliant." This is the first time I have heard a British person actually use the term "brilliant" in conversation...outside of Doctor Who that is. Perhaps it is because it is a foreign usage, but "brilliant" sounds much better to me than simply "amazing" or "wonderful."

4:07 pm
I board the bus to get back to main campus and my dorm, choosing to sit in one of the raised seats on the bottom level. Sitting higher than everyone else is fun and appeals to my inner child.

4:13 pm
I pull out my iPod and find my place in my Phantom of the Opera audiobook. An extremely attractive boy with golden hair and a bit of scruffy facial hair sits down next to me, listening to his iPod. I surreptitiously glance at him from the corner of my eye for the rest of ride.

4:25 pm
The air in the bus is stifling. People are packed together, body heat fogging up the windows so no one can tell when we have reached their stops. In my headphones, the managers of the Opera Populaire keeping nattering on about safety pinning a letter to a pocket's interior so the Opera Ghost can not steal it. I am relieved when the chapter changes to more the more engaging topic of Christine Daae's disappearance from stage during the middle of a performance.

4:34 pm
The bus reaches my destination and I have to ask the man sitting next to me to move so that I can get off (he replaced the cute guy when he got off several stops earlier). Of course, it is raining outside so I grapple with the side pocket of my backpack for my umbrella. One of the umbrella's metal rods are broken and keeps poking me in the head. I cross the main thouroughfare onto the back street that leads to the path to the dorm. Several cars speed past on the tiny road and I am determined not to be splashed when they go through the accumulated puddles.

4:41 pm
I have finally reached Flat K1, signaling the end of my academic day. All I want is a hot tea and a snack before I have to do more schoolwork.

University Accomodations

For the past two years at university in the United States I have lived in a pretty traditional dorm setup. I had a roommate that I shared my room with and we shared a bathroom with two other girls, our suitemates.

Our flat in Oxford is quite different. We live in Block K of the undergraduate student village on one of the University's main campuses. The building is made out of dark brown bricks instead of the reddish ones typical in the United States. Our flat is at the base of the block and we do not have to climb any stairs to get to it. To get inside you must walk about eight feet in an outdoors hallway that is only as wide as the door. It is very hard to maneuver there when your hands are full of grocery bags. A completely white key card is used on a black sensor pad to open the door.

Inside there are eight separate rooms in total plus the hallway. Five of these rooms are bedrooms, two are bathrooms, and one room is the kitchen/dining room/living room.

Each of the two bathrooms hold different fixtures though both have a glass shelf and hooks on the backs of the door. The room closest to the door has the toilet and a sink, and the one next to the kitchen has the shower and another sink. This is definitely more convenient when four or five people are all living together.

I find the shower quite strange. It is actually elevated about eight or ten inches off of the ground and you have to step up into it. It is quite narrow with a clear plastic door. Caitlin and Libby call it the coffin because it is almost to small for their heights. They both have to stoop a bit to get their heads under the shower head and they are often bumping their elbows against the walls. Luckily, Amy and I do not have that problem since we are both only a little of five feet tall.

There are only four of us living in the flat so one of the rooms, Room D, is locked and empty. At the start of the school year we thought that someone might move in but no one did. This was probably fortuitous since we have an ongoing joke where we blame Roommate D whenever something goes wrong. The joke just wouldn't be the same if someone actually lived there, plus it would be incredibly rude. Caitlin, Libby and I (and Room D) all have rooms in the "upstairs" portion of the flat (there are only five stairs). Amy is downstairs in Room E which is huge because it used to be the living room before the school needed more beds so it was converted into a bedroom. 

The rest of the bedrooms are small, just big enough to fit a twin bed, desk, wardrobe, and two side tables. All of the furniture is a golden beige color and the desk and one side table have spotty grey laminate tops.

Above the desk I have three shelves though I only really use one of them. Partially because they are difficult to reach and partially because I prefer to shove things in drawers so the room looks less messy. Two of the walls have pin boards so that we can hang up decorations without damaging the walls. I use the pin board above my wall for postcards I have bought on different trips, and my necklaces are hanging on the board over the desk.

The walls are that in-between off-white, beige and yellow color that many colleges seem to paint their walls. Perhaps they are trying not to use white because it is reminiscent of prisons and hospitals, though I personally would prefer to have white walls since the yellowy color always looks a little dingy. Or, the already dirty looking color helps to camoflage any new dirt. The carpet in my room is grayish blue while the carpet in the hallway is a darker navy. Libby's room has brown carpeting.

None of our rooms are exactly the same, though they probably should be since we are all paying the same amount to stay here. I know that Libby is missing a shelf and a wall mirror, and Caitlin only has one side table. Amy did not have a desk lamp but they finally brought her one after nearly three weeks of requests.

Straight down the hallway from the front door is the door to the kitchen. We used to keep the kitchen door propped open with the coffee table but a woman came and told us it had to stay closed for fire safety. When you first walk in you see a sliding glass door covered in horrendous curtains. The green, beige, rust and burgundy curtains look like they should be found at a 1980s motel in the Southwest Unites States. We liked to joke that the university had them put up specially for us Americans so we would feel more at home. All of the bedrooms also have the same curtains, but I think I have desensitized myself to them since I rarely notice how bad they look anymore.

In front of the glass door, against one of the walls there are three burgundy, armless chairs pushed together and covered with spare blue blankets to form a kind of couch. A fifth chair is across from the "couch" with the low square coffee table on its left. The chairs are well padded and surprisingly
comfortable though every single one has rips where the stuffing is poking out.

Behind the fifth chair and the coffee table is the grey dining table. They are five metal chairs with burgundy upholstery arranged around it.  Three of the chairs are hard to get in and out of because the table is pressed so close to the wall and radiator but there is no where else for us to put it. At the head of the dining table there is another wall pin board where the staff of the student village post the rules of the flat, fire safety, and the cleaning schedule.

Next to the dining table, against the wall, are the refrigerator and the freezer. Instead of being one combined unit like most people in the United States have, they are separate appliances. The are small, measuring about five feet tall and three feet wide. It would be much more convenient if the refrigerator was on the right instead of the freezer because we use it much more often and when you open the door it often hits one of the dining chairs.

The kitchen is laid out in a U shape with the sink on the left hand side and the stove on the right. The pale cabinets are actually very nice, probably the only new thing the rooms have gotten in years. The countertops are blue laminate with flat metal sheets attached on either side of the stove for cutting and placing hot pots. The electric stove is very small. It does not even reachas high as the countertop. It has four burners (known as hobs in the UK, the term completely stumping us when filling out our room inventory sheets), two small and two large. There is a microwave and we requested and received a tea kettle. Before then we had been heating up our tea water in the microwave.

To the right of the kitchen is the trash bag and recycle bins. Notice that I said bags and not bins. There are not any trash bins. Instead there are these rectangular metal devices attached to the wall that the bags hang from with the opening covered with a metal lid. They are very unsightly and stick out from the wall a ways. I will admit to running into them at least once.

One major difference here is that there are a ton of switches. Each outlet has a switch to turn itself on and off, I am guessing to save power. The stove also has its own on and off switch that we did not notice until we had turned the knobs on the stove, expecting it to heat up and then being completely puzzled when it remained cold. It is annoying at times when you plug in something like your computer and come back later expecting it to be fully charged but it isn't because you forgot to flip the outlet switch.

I have been very fortunate getting to live with four of my friends. We all do our share of the cleaning and we each have a day of the week where we cook dinner. If something is wrong, I feel comfortable sharing my feelings with them and it is nice knowing that they are nearby if I need them.

A Weekend in Edinburgh: Day 1

The four of us (Amy, Caitlin, Libby and myself), climbed the stairs out of the Edinburgh Waverley Rail Station, emerging onto bustling Princes Street. The sunlight pressed weakly through the overcast sky, the cool breeze sneaking its way passed the weave of my sweater and causing goosebumps.

My first impression of Edinburgh was that it was incredible busy. People streamed by in both directions, attempting to avoid collisions with other pedestrians though their efforts were not always effective. I even heard a girl remark to her friend that it was unusually crowded, even for a Saturday afternoon.

We turned left and began walking towards our hostel (Libby knew the way because she stayed in the same place this past summer). On our right there were large stores like Accessorize, Boots, H&M, and Marks and Spencers. Interspersed between these shops were many smaller souvenir shops with postcards out front and Scottish kilts displayed in the windows. I was so absorbed with trying to weave my way along the crowded sidewalk that I was not paying attention to any of the sights. It came has a huge surprise when I glanced to the left and saw...

Edinburgh Castle

and...

Old Town, Edinburgh

This sight of old stonework edifices proudly perched upon a hill overlooking a lush, green park was completely breathtaking to me. I wanted to stop to take photographs but I did not want to fall behind my companions and be lost in the crowd (these pictures were actually taken on our second day in Edinburgh). It is overwhelming to try to imagine how many thousands of people, over how many centuries must have enjoyed the same view that I did that day.

After about a fifteen minute walk we entered Caledonian Backpackers, our hostel for the weekend. Libby highly recommended it from her experiences staying there his summer. Though I have never stayed in a hostel before, and had no prior experiences to compare it to, I thought that the hostel was very nice. Wifi, linens and breakfast were included in the price.

Bar at Caledonian Backpackers

We entered from the ground floor (first floor in America) into the reception lobby. After paying and getting our navy blue key cards, we went up a flight of stairs and down a hallway past the common rooms. The largest common room featured a bar with a metal sheeting roof, two pool tables, and several seating areas.

But, our journey to our room was not yet complete. We still had to climb several more flights of stairs up to the third floor (fourth in the USA). Luckily, our designated room, Room O, was just at the top of the stairs. Our room was a mixed dormitory with ten bunks, sleeping twenty people. We were assigned beds 1 to 4. I had bed 1. Four men were already staying in the room when we arrived on Saturday. Three of them looked to be at least in their thirties, if not older. The fourth I only ever saw when we was buried in his sheets asleep so I have not idea what he even looked like. For some reason I had the impression that generally people who stay in hostels are in their twenties, but that is obviously not true.

Inside of Room O

The hostel provided each of use with a duvet and two pillows, each covered in a pattern of yellow rings and brown dots. The mattresses were definitely more comfortable than the ones in our flat. It was so nice not to feel the springs digging into my back all night long.

The bathroom was down the hall, a doe painted on the wall outside of the door. There were two toilets, three shower stalls and a sink. The walls inside were painted vibrant pink with a black and white floral wallpaper border.

After setting up our beds and putting our backpacks in the provided lockers we decided our itinerary for the trip. Since it was later in the day we chose to head for the Edinburgh Royal Botanic Gardens and then find somewhere to eat dinner, saving the indoor activities for Sunday when it was forecasted to rain.

Following Google Maps on Libby's iPhone, we made the thirty minute hike to the Gardens, and it really was a hike because we had to go up and down several substantial hills to get there. Along the way we did get to seem some beautiful architecture including several curved buildings forming a large crescent, similar to the Royal Crescent in Bath. A crescent, sometimes also called a circus, is a building that is built in a curve to form a circle, though broken in some places for roads to enter. There is often a circular part in the center of the buildings that is used as a park with grass and trees.

The Royal Botanic Gardens has free admission so we walked in and randomly decided to turn right. Just a short stroll in, we sat on a bench to rest from the long walk there, as well as to take some photographs. Here I learned that Caitlin is mildly afraid of squirrels. From what I understand, as a child every time her mother saw a squirrel she would tell Caitlin that they could have rabies. One squirrel slowly made its way across the footpath, coming within about ten feet of us before scampering up a tree. During our rest we also had a lively conversation about a plump pigeon that strutted by us. Caitlin, Amy and Libby thought it would be hysterically funny to get a picture of it and then somehow photoshop it to have a monocle and top hat. I later learned that they had gotten the idea from the Jack Wills (British clothing store) logo, though that logo actually features a pheasant not a pigeon.

Photo by Libby Bean

We left the bench and ambled along the footpath, passing under a hedge that must have been over twenty feet tall and entering the Fairy Wood. Thin trees with pale bark grew closely together on both sides of the main path. Green underbrush grew around the trees, marking the edges of narrow dirt paths that ran off of the footpath and into the trees. Several small children and their parents were exploring these dirt paths, looking for fairies. Our group passed through the Wood quickly and quietly, not wanting to disturb their fun.

Next up were some gardening plots tended to by local grade schools, followed by the Queen Mother's Garden. The garden is in honor of Queen Elizabeth, wife to King George VI and mother of the current Queen, Elizabeth II. Her family held an Earldom in Scotland so it is appropriate that this memorial to her is in Edinburgh.

The outer edge of the garden was lined with slabs of stone carved with the names of charities and organizations that the Queen Mother supported during her long life (she lived to be 101 years old). The center of each stone was also decorated with a gold painted crown. Further into the garden the stone slabs of the pathway were inscribed, by decade, of important events in her life like the births of her children and her ascension to the role of queen consort.

A small, doorless building was set at the back of the garden. It was made of pale stone and rust colored shingles. The simple facade made a striking contrast to the decorations on the inside. The walls were covered in a complex pattern of scallop seashells, oyster shells, and painted tiles baring the initials "ER." The ceiling was not left out as it was also covered in intricate designs, this time in many different species of pine cones. The pine cones at the very peak of the ceiling formed the Scottish national flag.  It took an incredible amount of artistry to arrange the organic materials into such eye-catching patterns.

Next, we attempted to gain entry to the large, tropical glasshouses but there was an entry fee so we continued on. Making a quick detour at a duck pond (where I kept expecting to see crocodiles) and the Chinese garden, we left the same way we entered.

By the time we had walked thirty minutes back to the hotel, we were all starving. Luckily for us, several doors down from the hostel was a restaurant called Wannaburger, and yes, you guessed it, they sell burgers. The restaurant was decorated in a color scheme of white and red with both booths and tables. I believe that it is considered an American food restaurant. It sold burgers, french fries (it actually used the term french fries, not the English term of chips), veggie burgers, onion rings, giant pickles and more. The restaurant also followed the American practice of free refills (this is very unusual in the UK). What made my day was that they had lemonade which I had been craving. The typical American lemonade is known as cloudy lemonade in England and the term lemonade is used in reference to lemon soda like Sprite. I ordered a regular hamburger and french fries, which were delicious, especially because I was so hungry.

Back at the hostel we hung out in the common room for a while talking, and playing on our phones/iPod/tablet, taking advantage of the free wifi. I downloaded Skype to my iPod and I managed to get it working well enough to talk to my mom. She and my youngest sister were visiting my other sister at her university for parent's weekend. It was really nice to get to talk to all of them at once. I often find it hard to figure out a time for us to Skype because of the five hour time difference. When they are available later in the day around dinner time I am getting ready for bed so I have not been able to talk to them as much as I would like.

I went to bed early that night, soon after I finished my Skype date. We were all exhausted from getting up at 6 am and walking several miles. Snuggling in our duvets, we went to sleep, knowing we would be up early in the morning to start our second day in Edinburgh.