Snow in the Forecast??

I would like to point out that according to the Weather Channel, our 5-day forecast predicts snow. Seriously, despite the fact that it is supposed to be 40 degrees, there are definite snowflakes on the festive little icons depicting the various predictions... it goes: rain, rain, rain, SNOW and rain (but for the sake of winter festive excitement, we'll ignore those rain drops).

The hope is that this wintry mix will yield something, anything, so that if we get up early on Saturday (I know, a very ambitious goal), we'll be able to catch some of it on the very top of Arthur's Seat.

I would like to announce that today, when I got out of bed (granted, that time was awfully close to being after noon), it was 50 degrees outside. Oh, and raining. Little wind, as far as I can tell, because usually you hear it wooshing through the fire place if there is any.

After going shopping last Friday (Black Friday rules don't usually apply here in the UK, but I totally got some good deals, relatively) for some necessities (a winter hat, a sweater) and some non-necessities (this really cute corduroy jacket that I got for 50% off... what girl could pass on that?), I have decided that returning to the States will be much like going on a shopping spree where everything is AT LEAST 50% off. Gas, food, clothing, hot chocolate. Seriously, a cup of hot chocolate in the country costs about $4 (2 pounds). In ths US it would cost about $1, unless you go to Starbucks or some equally fancy sell-out. The exchange rate really makes buying necessities (REAL necessities, like milk and cereal and, yes, even vegetables) a gruelingly painful experience (and yes, being someone who judges people by their uses of grammar, I know "gruelingly painful" is terribly redundant...).

Also, I made a wonderful new friend yesterday. I don't know her name, but she is an extremely handsome brindle great Dane whose head come up clear past my waist. The guy who was walking her (along with another equally huge black great Dane on a leash) kept calling and calling, but in vain, as the dog followed me all the way across Holyrood Park on my way to class. Must've been his girlfriend's dog, as I've seen the four of them (man, woman, two dogs) walking many times before. I do love those giants.

After a wonderful couple of days of 0 and -1 degree weather (I'm trying to get used to this whole ridiculous celecius thing, so that's 30-32 degrees for us Yanks), it has warmed up again to a balmy 7 degrees (Y-factor: 45). And by balmy, I mean horrid. It's about 70% humidity most of the time, and it is currently sunny and raining. Yes, that's right. Things work differently across the pond, backwards, if you will. This is apparently predictable December weather here, mid 40s, sunny and raining. Don't you wish you were here?

At least we got out while it was cold - how often do you hear that? Walking around a traditional Christmas market drinking mulled beer (wonderfully tasty and that much better than mulled wine), eating bratkartoffeln (the seller was so excited that someone could say "kartoffeln" correctly, but was horribly dissapointed when I informed him that my German was somewhat lacking; more or less all I've got is "Konnen Sie die Fleishe offnen, bitte?") and looking at handicrafts when its in teh mid-40s kind of destroys some of my holiday cheer. But if its cold, and you can't feel your nose or your toes (even if it isn't snowing), then suddenly, Christmas spirit comes crashing in in such a way as to bring tears to my eyes. Seriously. I love festivities. And water in puddles on the street were actually FROZEN. Nothing like ice to make me cheerful.

But alas, it wasn't to last. At least I can hope that in Tromso when we venture well-above the Arctic Circle, we will at the very least experience some cold (though I should point out that the average low temperature for Tromso during its coldest month of January is a mere 20 degrees.... seriously. Where did all the cold go?).

Happy Thanksgiving all!

For my first Thanksgiving not with my family, it still felt wonderfully holiday-like (isn't my command of the English language awe-inspiring?). Of course, it is not celebrated in the UK, so I still had about 3 hours of class to go to. But Jonmikel and I decided to celebrate anyway with a trip to Princes Street to see the city turn on all the lights as well as open the Germand and Scottish traditional Christmas markets, the skating rink, a giant ferris wheel and a whole slew of neon-lit carnival rides down in teh gardens. Class ended at 5, and yes, it is awfully dark by 5 here. in fact, its awfully dark at 4. Being this close to the Arctic Circle is fairly entertaining, and until December 21, it will only get worse. So I booked it out of class and we hurried to New Town, where (wait for it, this will come as a total surprise) the city was having technical difficulties and was unable to turn on the lights. We waited until around 6, when they finally got things kicked off, complemented by a small fireworks display (fireworks are always complimentary, and make delays that much more worth it). With both the Old Town on the hill above the gardens and the old-style New Town as quintessentially Scottish backdrops, it definitely felt like Christmas, if not quite Thanksgiving. And very European. It was fabulous.

Until we tried to leave through the markets, which was a shoulder shoulder traffic jam. The entire town turned out for the lighting and for a first look at the crafts in the markets (my favorite being the cheese shop, of course). After about 15 minutes of pushing and shoving, we managed to escape onto an almost equally crowded Princes Street. But at least we had some breathing room. We did see a ridiculously fun-looking sort of 0-gravity imitation ride, which we vowed to do no matter how much it cost. And the ferris wheel is a must, of course. I bet the view are fabulous from the top. It is also worth noting that for the first time since we've been here, I can honestly say it was COLD. It hit below freezing last night, and was about freezing as we wandered town taking in the Christmas spirit. Unfortunately, the cold brought clear skies, so no snow is in the making yet.

After enjoying Princes Street, we headed back to Old Town around the Uni and stopped to have a traditional meal of nachos and fajitas at a local sports bar that (joy of joys!) was playing the Detriot/Green Bay traditional Thanksgiving football game on TV. There were a couple of other American Football revelers there, two Scottish guys, one who understood the sport and his friend to whom he was trying to describe it. The latter guy found the game tedious until the 3rd quarter when a lot of sacking went on. It was, nevertheless, amusing to hear the Scottish take. The bartender, however, was completely confused when another game came on after the first and Jonmikel tried to explain to her that it was tradition for the Lions and the Cowboys to play on Thanksgiving (though not each other).

So festive, the day was, though Thanksgiving? Well, that's debatable. But The Edinburghans take their holiday spirit quite seriously.

I know all of you in America Land are thinking we have the worst dogs. Especially if you have been to a place like Germany, where every dog should be seen and not heard, much like their children, or Japan, where you just don't see any dogs, much like their children....

So maybe in the same manner, dogs in Scotland are friendly and cute and utterly out of control. Though usually less noisy, which makes me want to rule in favor of the dogs. Walking to and from class, I cross through Holyrood Park, which logically has become a playground for people and their canines. Nobody is on a leash, which I've seen before, except nobody is listening to anybody else. Dogs are just running around everywhere, sometimes fetching their own ball, sometimes fetching someone else's ball, and usually ignoring any commands issued by their owners. There are dog fights and stolen toys and dogs running across the busy roads and dogs trying to play with people who obviously do NOT want to play with a strange dog.

Even the dogs on the leashes aren't much better. I have yet to see any dog know the idea of heeling, and most of the dogs are in effect walking their owners, with the witless owner just being pulled roughly along for the ride. Even the little guys, the West Highland terriers and the pompallions and such. Especially the little guys, in fact.

It makes me appreciate the control dog owners in America have over their pets. If you can believe that.

Another interesting note about Scottish dogs: the mutts here are totally different. In the US, mutts tend to me some mix of retriever. Here, they are some kind of mix of either pitt bull or wolfhound. Lots of pit bulls, but as American Staffordshire bull terriers, not sure why they have become so popular. And they are all wonderfully friendly, which makes me want to scream and yell at government officials in the States who want it to be illegal to own a pitt bull because they're dangerous. I'm a fan of just getting rid of the people who would use a pit bull for a malicious purpose (Michael Vick, ahem) because they PEOPLE could be dangerous. I have yet to see a dog - any dog, not just a pit bull - who seemed agressive toward people or unwilling to have some friendly humanoid attention. They all seem to be wonderful dogs, if a bit wayward. I even saw a bouncy Dobermen pincher bounding up and down Arthur's Seat greeting everybody it saw along the way with a friendly wag of its butt. So I guess that's something to be said for the dogs here: they may not be the best behaved (like their children), but at least they're all happy and friendly and well-adjusted.

Oh, and they don't neuter pets here, which still surprises me everytime, and you see no stray dogs anywhere. A dog is always with an owner, however far away that person may be. you see street cats quite often, but they aren't strays, just semi-outdoor cats, all fat and happy and well-kept. A difference in animals management? In the US we can't seem to get away with not spaying/neutering out pets without having disasterous reproductive consequences.

There are small canals that run through much of the countryside in Scotland, connecting most (if not all) major cities and towns. They are narrow, hardly 20 feet wide, and used to be the major transportation routes between cities, especially for merchants. Like many things (for example, the horse, the carraige), they went out of fashion with the coming of the steam engine. For many decades, most of these quaint mini-rivers (by Eastern US standards anyway) had stood stagnating, officials unsure as to what to do with them. But today, a new use has come for them: recreation and yes, even residential.

So we took it upon ourselves last weekend to go on a sojourn to the country to see some of what these canals had to offer. The one that runs through Edinburgh is the Union Canal, which runs from the capital to Stirling, where is goes through the Fallkirk Wheel (the world's only rotating wheel lock of it's size, picture a sort of ferris wheel type structure that moves boats) and diverges into another canal that goes on elsewhere. We took the local bus out as far as we could go, about 8 miles from the center of town to a village called Ratho. All is very quiet in these villages, as its is the low season, but from what we could tell, in the summer the small place is hoppin with local tourism. There are narrow boats (thin canal boats, built to navigate the narrow passages and aqueducts of the canals) for sale and for holiday rent all along the "docks." Very much like the boats you can see in "Chocolat" (you know, with Johnny Depp as a gypsy? Yeah, THAT movie), they are colorful and bohemian, and I decided that I would quite like to live on one. So if we get kicked out of our flat at the end of six months, maybe we'll look into bubying one. :-)

It was a chilly early afternoon when we set out, but the sun soon came out, illuminating the last of the fall leaves outside Edinburgh. We could see Arthur's Seat and the castle from Ratho, and I groaned at how far away it all looked. How far do we have to walk back? The plan was to go all the way to Fountainbridge, where we could stop for dinner. So we hefted our light day-packs on and began. It wasn't long before we ran into an older gentleman who was staring curiously across the canal. As we passed, he stopped us and pointed, asking, "What do you suppose that is?" We followed his gaze to an earthen mound with a concrete door peeking up at us from the thick underbrush. We puzzle for a few moment, until Jonmikel comes up with the (most brilliant) idea that it looks like a bunker to keep things cold, such as ice chipped from the frozen winter canal. The gentle completely agreed, mentioning that there is an old manor house just out of view, so it would make perfect sense to have a refridgeration area near by (the manor to which he was referring is now a nice little country club, complete with golf course). He then turned to us as an after thought a mentioned that we had American accents. "I'm from America, you know." "Oh?" was our reply. Apparently the man was born in Chicago the year Prohibition was repealed (Yay for Repeal Day!), and he joked that the government was so upset they had to deport him. His family had been in the States for a long time but returned to live with family just before WWII. He left us with a laugh and a remark about ho great our accents were (the second person to do so here; I have to admit that I'm not used to people liking my accent. Even in Morocco, my host father and brother constantly had laughs at the expense of my long, drawn-out words, which now I hear in other American accents quite easily).

The rest of our trek was wonderfully uneventful, passing through countryside and suburbs (both hideously Section-8 and wonderfully wealthy and old fashioned, but very little in between), and passing past narrow boats as they made their way back to the countryside. One was a floating restaurant out for private hire for a minimum of 8 people, which if we knew 6 other people would be a ton of fun. We passed a shinty match, the first time seeing it for both of us Yanks. Shinty is the precursor of hockey, brought to Canada by the Scottish back in the day. It's... lawn hockey. And cause for much shouting and excitement from where we stood. We also managed to avoid some intense-looking swans who thought we had food (we didn't, which can be moderately deadly when it comes to swan encounters). We also passed over major roadways, and it was amazing to me to think that you could be in a boat sailing over cars driving on the road. It must be just as odd from below, seeing a boat sail over your car.

We covered about 9 miles in about 3-and-a-half meandering, relaxing hours, before we stopped for an early dinner. it would be another mile-and-a-half to get back home, split up by a stop at a local pub called Shakespeare's for a nice cheesecake and to catch the end of a football match between Liverpool and... somebody else who nobody seemed to to be rooting for, so in the long run I guess the opponent didn't really matter.

The Highlander

Friday, November 2, we headed out to the Highlands. We started off by catching a bus to the airport, and easy stop because it was, in fact, that last one on the route. Once we got there, we hopped over to Enterprise to rent a car. This might seem an odd step for a student studying in a country that uses the pound, but we decided that for what we wanted to do this weekend, we would go ahead and get one. A lot of the walks we wanted to do would be hard to get without a car/lots of time to hitchhike. Buses don’t run regularly to many parts of the Highlands. So Jonmikel was the lucky one who got to drive (me being too young to do so without high fees attached). First we get to the rental place, and they ask if we want a Saab for 5 pounds a day extra. We say no, plus we really wanted a ridiculously small European car. So they say “OK,” and move one. They ask us one more time if we don’t want a Saab, and we say no again. That seems to be fine, until we get to the car, and they bring out a Saab. We complain, saying we said we didn’t want it, and the guy is like, “Well, we’ve given you a free upgrade.” Except a smaller car would get TONS better gas mileage, which is what we were looking for. But apparently, it’s all they have (something about a kid who was underage and didn’t tell them when he rented the car online so they HAD to give him their last small car). So we take it (the left side, or passenger side here in the UK is already all kinds of beat up) and make sure the guys knows we are not happy.

So we get one the road finally, and it feels freeing, for me anyway. I’m sitting and relaxing in the passenger seat while Jonmikel is concentrating hard on driving on the wrong side of the road. He makes it my job to say, “curb” every time he is starting to run off the road on the left. In actuality, he fares swimmingly, only hitting a couple of curbs and making me suck in my breath sharply 3 times. I was quite impressed. So we make our way northwards.

First of all, the countryside in Scotland is some of the most beautiful I have seen. And I used to live in Yellowstone. Perhaps because it was fall, and I have missed out on fall the past few years. This was probably the last weekend for the beauty of fall, with all the reds and yellows and oranges and greens. Hillsides of evergreens traversed awkwardly by lines of aspen and other deciduous trees in full color. Small farm houses and imposing castles at every turn, tucked away between craigs and forests and in valleys. I haven’t even seen such colors on the drive from Cincinnati to Athens, Ohio. Granted, the sky was gloomy, as per usual in the afternoons, and the sun was already beginning to set (anymore, it’s dark here by 4:45). We finally made it to our destination: a small bed and breakfast in Kingussie, right in the middle of Cairngorm National Park. Note: unlike national parks in the States, national parks here are almost all privately owned by various individuals whose families have probably owned the land for hundreds of years. The little town was quite quaint, with a couple of small grocery stores and pubs. It shut down at about 6, when the pubs opened up to serve food, but the streets were more or less silent, as this is the off-season. A lot of the museums and such would also be closed down this time of the year, so we decided to stick to hiking. After filling up on pub grub, we walked back to our bed and breakfast, past the Ruthven Barracks, old 18th century barracks now in ruins but kept lit up all night long. It was quite a site, very romantic in all of its history. We were in a great location, outside of the noise of the town (not that there would be) but within walking distance.

Oh, and also a point of interest to many to close out today’s entry: I never want to hear anybody in America complain about gas prices ever again. Here in Britain, they’re paying about a pound a liter, which is about 4 pounds a gallon, which is well over $8 a gallon. And many of the people here aren’t driving little Smart cars or small cars; many drive the same kinds of cars as we do in the States, only all their SUVs are Mercedes and Land Rover. Everything is more expensive Across the Pond. When we filled the car up (thankfully the ONLY time we had to put any gas in it), we started at a quarter of a tank, and had to stop at $100, and didn't fill it all the way up.




Let's begin by saying that by the second day, Jonmikel was a pro at driving on the wrong side of the road. you could barely tell he wasn't British. ;-)

Today was a nice relaxed day. As all days should be while vacationing in the country. We began with a hearty breakfast of good Highland eggs and toast with REAL butter (I Know! I can hear all you American gasping at the novelty of real butter). Then we hopped into our car and began our drive into the mountains. We wanted to hit a couple of hikes and a castle ruin today, but first we stopped to gawk at the almost comical-looking Highland cattle. These cows and bulls (they all had longhorn style horn horns, except the babies, so it was hard to tell male from female) were covered in a thick layer of shaggy and sometimes dred-like hair. Long, stringy, moppy. Very cool. You could barely see their eyes from the outside of the fur, and I wondered if they could really see me from underneath it. Totally wild, and I wondered the whole time if you can breed Highland cattle with normal domestic cattle? I would think that if you can somehow breed American bison and domestic cattle, surely these could do the same... And then I wondered what that would look like.

When finally a big (bull?) with rather large intimidating horns gave a look indicating that he now found our presence annoying (I think? after all, he was wearig a mop on his head), we jumped back into the car and drove on our way. The plan was to drive out toward Aviemore via a backroad, which would take us right past the old Ruthven Barracks. So we stopped for a tourist break there, as well. We were able to walk and climb around the old structure, exploring the military quarters, the stables, and even the officer's latrines (rather not as unpleasant as it sounds, I hope). It was cool to think that at some point, this was a very imposing and very modern structure surrounded by wild countryside, fully of Bonnie Prince Charlie's band of wiley outlaws. This place represented 18th century law in all its glory.

After this stop, we took a liesurely country drive, avoiding all crazy cars in the process. We stopped at a small county park, called the Inshriach Forest, near Loch Insh. This small park included many miles of footpaths around the Uath Lochen (small lakes), beautiful bluff and craigs to be climbed and explored, and even some interesting marshlands. It's no wonder these areas inspired people to write novels like The Lord of the Rings series... I myself felt I could see the dead, blank faces of elves staring at me from under the water in the swampy area (see the scenes in the fire swamps from Return of the King). It was easy to imagine bandits and highwaymen and wizards and elves and knights all using this secluded area for their own purposes. Except for the screaming children, which showed up at the last part of our journey around the Lochen, and thankfully did not follow us up the craigs. The highest bluff we climbed was called Creag Far-leitire; it wasn't particularly tall (having lived at well over 5000 ft for a year makes everything in Scotland a "low land"), it did offer fantastic views of the very fallish countryside. Again, the colors were magnificent, and though it wasn't particularlly clear (is it ever in Scotland?), we could see a ways into the distance.

After a few hours wandering this park, we hit the road again, this time ending up at Rothiemurchus, an old estate within Cairngorms National Park, privately owned and operated but providing many ammenities. Skiing seemed popular in the area, though it is not yet skiing season. I wanted to see a castle, so Jonmikel dutifully drove to Loch an Eilein, a lake with the ruins of a small castle on an island right in the middle of it. Unfortunately, it gets dark around these parts between 4 and 4:30, so our daylight was running out and we couldn't walk all the way around the loch. We did get to see the castle and explore the surrounding forests, however, which looked old and tired. Some of the forests (especially in Inshriach Forest) were so dense that it was total darkness inside them. The top soil all around this area seems very thin, and in many places roots are exposed, and many sinkholes have been formed from impromtu rock quarries. But waking around, seeing the remains of old bridges in rivers and old buildings in the ground, you really feel the history of the place.

The light finally gave out on us, and we had to head home, but not before picking up a roast chicken for a late dinner and some mulled wine. I am a huge fan of mulled wine, and many stores around here are preparing for the holiday season (Christmas and New Years here, as opposed to Thanksgiving and Christmas back in the States). Jonmikel was not as huge a fan of it as I am, but I shall make some more anyway, closer to Christmastime. We got back to our cabin and watched some wonderfully British television while while playing various board games left in the cottage by our friendly proprietors.




Our last full day in the Scottish Highlands. It began with a lazy breakfast (for a change), then we headed out to find the Highland Wildlife Park. I had gotten a pass earlier to the Edinburgh Zoo, which is run by the same people who run the Wildlife Park, so it was easy for me. On this trip, Jonmikel decided to go ahead and spring for his own pass (almost twice as expensive as mine, seeing as I am a student and students get at least 20% off everything in this country, which is fabulous). Well worth it though; if you're going to donate money to a good cause, conservation, preservation and any other work with endangered wildlife is always at the top of my list. It's a small zoo, but they do breed tapirs, which is one thing even the Cincinnati Zoo has not done yet. That's saying something.

The Wildlife Park is one of the main reasons we wanted to get a car to rent. The first 75% of the place is an open area full of various hooved grazing animals, many of which used to live in Scotland until recently (dying out here due to either climate change, hunting, habitat destruction, or any combination of the three). But this enclosure is a drive-through only thing, so we'd need a car to go through it. It was pretty cool. They have a herd of European bison (think: wimpy American bison), and when we entered the park, the entrance attendant, after going through all the rules (don't get out of you're car, don't touch or feed the animals, the usual), said, "Watch out for those bison; they've been great road blocks today," and smiled. Jonmikel and I looked at each other, both wondering if we should mention that we're from Yellowstone and we know all about bison jams. :-)

But it was interesting to see how animals compare in Europe and North America. You have the European bison (like American bison), red deer (like American elk), roe deer (like mule or white-tailed deer), and the European elk (no kidding, it is, in fact, a moose, the exact same thing). Of course, yaks don't really have any equivalent.... still. They also had Przewalski's horses, which I'm not sure I have ever seen. So I was pretty excited, being a horse person, to get up close to some. Very curious creatures, though not as curious as those zebras that went extinct not that long ago that only had stripes on their heads (they have a stuffed one at the Royal Museum here in Edinburgh). But the horses look so tame... its crazy to think thesse things are wild, though I definitely know they are. Oh, and point of irritation: we never got to see a European Elk (moose), which we really wanted to do just for the novelty of seeing one in Scotland.

We reached the rest of the park, which you can visit by foot, just in time to watch the feeding of the wolves. Not as cool as watching it in the wild, but still interesting. Until all the children started howling incesently in a barely-recognizable coyote yelp. Scared the poor wolves off a bit. Scared me off a bit, too. We also got to see wild boars (I can totally see how they used to gore people violently in the Middle Ages), an artic fox munching on chicken eggs and something boney (all while being eyed jealously by the snowy owl couple that rested above him), Japanese snow monkeys (who loved to interact with their audience, making me wonder if we weren't the primates on display), and Scottish wildcats (pretty sure they're all just big, striped, ferrel house cats). An interesting variety of enclosures, some following the very European Old-World cagey style, some allowing more open views. The open spaces were impressive and very nice, what I would expect from a wildlife "park" as opposed to a zoo.

After a few hours putzing around, we headed out to find some hiking. We ended up back at the Rothiemurchus estate for some more hiking; this time we took a mountain view trek, lasting a few miles, but stopping short of the longer 6-mile trip, as it was nearing dusk (again, at about 4:30). Jonmikel was apprehensive about this particular trek at first, but was happy he listened to me (I am a woman, after all, aren't I always right about these things? ;-)). We DID get excellent views of the surrounding mountains, even Cairngorm Mountain itself, the largest one in the area, which is used for skiing during the winter months. It has a train that goes to the top, and they ask that if you drive to it, you donate a pound to the cause of making up for your carbon emissions. Quite eco-friendly. We got to watch as fog and rain moved in and happily skipped over us, but clung closely to the tops of the mountains all around. Along this trail we also got to see a small village, much of it abandoned, as well as some capercaillie that were making quite a racket in the brush. The landscape on some of it looked much like Alaska did, short, thick underbrus with some small trees hanging out. Kind of marshy. But quite suddenly it would morph into thick forest land. The geography in the Highlands is much more varying and amazing than I ever though it would be. I pictured... you know, flat stuff with no trees and some mountains and such. And I definitely was not expecting all the fall colors. I guess part of me didn't even think they had fall up here, or maybe that it happened back in September.

After our nice, relaxing hike, we headed back to Aviemore to find some quick eats. Aviemore struck me as the kind of town that has way more business in the winter as a ski resort area. Beds and breakfasts were everywhere, as well as larger hotels, and also skiing and outdoors outfitters littered the sidewalks, but all these seemed almost devoid of people during this shoulder season. I hope we get to come back sometime during the winter to see if it comes alive during ski season.

The next morning we had to head back home. I had school later that day, and the drive would be about 3 hours. We talked to the owners for a while. It's amazing that an older couple from the middle of nowhere Scotland knows exactly where Montana and Yellowstone National Park are, but you say those same things to kids at Edinburgh University who are getting masters degrees and they look at you like you're nuts because you don't live in either LA or New York (even DC is a little shady by Scottish standards, sadly enough). But they were awfully nice, talked to us about my degree and their son, who just sold his hotel in town, and his girlfriend, who just got a job aa a physical therapist at some good hospital somewhere and who also went to Edinburgh University. Then we began our sad journey back to the city. I must admit that being out in the Highlands, in a small town where you can walk everywhere, made me miss Gardiner an awful lot. I miss the small-town feeling, the fact that everybody knows who I am, though I don't miss the silliness of it all... or do I? I have to admit that the big city really wears me down a lot of the time, being constantly in the middle of it all. But that's another year ahead of me yet...

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

The gunpowder, treason and plot; I know of no reason that gunpodwer treason should ever be forgot.

So goes the famous poem condeming Guy Fawkes' ill-fated attempt to blow of the British Parlaiment in 1605. Today, in celebration of his capture (or perhaps for the Scottish, his attempt to start a violent revolution), people all over Great Britain build bonfires, light candles and burn effigies of Guy Fawkes (whose face, for anyone who doesn't know, is seen as a mask in "V for Vandetta"). I had forgotten all about this holiday - in light of my weekend in the Highlands - until walking home from class today. I had heard the fireworks going on all day, but assumed that it was in similar manner to the fireworks I've been hearing for days. However, it began to sound as if we were, in fact, being invaded, and I didn't remember that today was November 5 until We reached the Holyrood area, where fireworks were going off left and right. Jonmikel and I slowed our pace to watch them all, and to watch the numerous people crowding Arthur's Seat playing with sparklers. Having lived in Montana for a year, I cringed at first, thinking about forest fires; then I remembered that it rains here just about every day, so the threat from fires is, more or less, nill. It's so humid, I'm surprised the fireworks even light at all. But the whole sky was lit up with them tonight, with what looked like an official set coming from the old athletic stadium close by. As we crossed Holyrood Park, in our normal short-cut route, we realized very quickly that we had to create a detour: people were setting off fireworks from the grass, and with most lights out to accomodate for the mood of the evening, you couldn't see them until a firework went wizzing by your head. So we played it safe and went around, pausing every once in a while to appreciate the celebrations. It was quite a site, over the old buildings of the city, and quitea sound, also, as especially the booming fireworks liked to echo off of the sides of the Queen's palace.

I do, however, think England may be the only country in the world to celebrate a failed revolution.

Stay tuned for a description of Jonmikel and my trip to the Highlands this past weekend!

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Halloween in Edinburgh. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I should have figured on college towns being the same all over Western Europe and North America. In theory, children get dressed up and go "guising" around town, asking for cakes, much like our Trick-or-Treating in the States (without candy), but I saw very few costumed children. Perhaps in the more suburban areas, and not in the college parts, there would be more of this. In true Athens fashion, Jonmikel and I dressed up. I went as an original Star Trek chic, and he went as The Dude, from the Big Lebowski. His costume took a lot of thinking and planning, and he was so worried that nobody would know who he was. He neednt have, as a good number of people were cult followers of The Big Lebowski. Even in Scotland...

This was the first time Jonmikel dressed up in about 10 years, and as for me, I was eager to emmulate my good buddies back at Ohio University. So we got dressed up and headed Uptown to bar hop for the night. Thankfully, the weather seemed to warm up just for us (and, of course, all the girls out in almost nothing in honor of this very special holiday). It was pretty but almost 60 outside.

The first guy who recognized JM was a fellow American dressed as Popplebaum (don't hold me to that spelling), one of the pitchers for the Red Sox during the World Series (which they swept, by the way). It was fun to see another Yank running around Scotland for Halloween. So we hung around the Grassmarket area, which attracts a fairly young crowd. The streets were crowded with young revelers, but the bars seemed oddly empty. Parties? Underagers? I have no explanation for this, other than someone must have been offering 1 pounds beers somewhere else. But there were lots of people out and about, showing off costumes. We stopped in at the Oz Bar, our local pool hall, only to get frustrated with the mini-pool balls. Really, what's with these Across-the-Pond pool tables? Crazy.
At about 1am, when most of the bars were closing down but the night clubs were just getting started, we headed off to find a late-night snack. We ended up at this little pizza place that was CRAMMED wall-to-wall and shoulder-to-shoulder with hungry kids, all demanding cheese and crust in a round pie-shapped snack of goodness. Cheap, too: about 4 pounds for an 8-inch(? I've never been good at visually estimating diameters) pizza. Not quite enough to satiate us fully, but the city (except the nigh clubs) completely shuts down at 1, so we headed home. Not too bad of a decision, as I had class the next day.

We made a final stop at an old kirk to check out the cemetery in back. It was wonderfully eerie as we meandered among the tombs and gravestones, especially with a castle as a backdrop and the drone (sounding oddly like ghosts screams, etc) creating a fitting soundtrack for this excursion. Two homeless people slept soundly on the front steps of the Kirk, and we were careful not to wake them as we strode past. As we crossed the Park on the way back to our flat, fireworks lit up the sky, as they had been all day. Jonmikel astutely commented that Halloween is just an excuse to light fireworks, as many had been going off throughout the day for the past week, at least.