May the Polls be Ever in Your Favor

The 2012 U.S. Presidential elections are the very first presidential elections in which I am eligible to vote. At first, I was a little disappointed that I wouldn’t physically be in my home nation to exercise my right and experience the simultaneous celebration and commiseration as one candidate accepts his victory. However, my absentee ballot has ben submitted, and it counts just as much as if I had walked into a church basement polling station. And there is no shortage of hype here in the U.K.! Most all media units are honed across the Atlantic as each state’s numbers travel through the airwaves at what feels like a snail’s pace (even though the results are almost instantaenous and constantly updated- hats off to you, New York Times! ). From election night parties (raging until the very last ballot is counted at 5AM UK time) to rousing debates over a pint, intrigue in the U.S. elections does not only stem from American students, for it is the world, not only America, that takes an interest. A presidential election can  dramatically impact transatlantic relations and other foreign policy dimensions ( Lecturers comment on the U.S. in nearly every politics lecture in some capacity).

The perspective I have right now is incredible, and I am fortunate to be an outside observer watching the waves of choice, rhetoric, and change wash the U.S. shores ( in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, no less!)  Facebook and twitter are alight with commentary, very divided, but also throughout-provoking. The beauty of social networking? Everybody is a pundit.  When people hear that I am a politics student, they love to talk about elections, and often ask who I vote for. Yet, politics is so much more than a check mark next to a name. It is about the amalgamation of interests in pursuit of a common goal. What that goal is must be determined by the people.

When I wake up tomorrow morning, the people of my country will have charted its course for the next for years. May the polls be ever in your favor.

Learning Initiative

When I travel, I prefer to skip the sights and bury myself in the corner of a local cafe. I like to take my time, immerse myself in someone else’s world and wait to feel like I’m really a part of it. When I first got to the UK a few weeks ago, my dad and I traveled to and from London in one day, and I can’t say it was worth the price of the train ticket. Sure, I can say that I’ve been to London, but what good does that do me? I’ve been to Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London, but I hardly said a word to anyone who lived there or felt like I was a piece of the landscape.

I think that’s the real value of this study abroad experience. It’s a chance to become a part of the scenery, if only temporarily. I was feeling under the weather on Saturday night, so instead of going out with friends, I stayed in, made myself some stir-fry, skyped with friends from home, and watched YouTube videos. I only left my room to run down to the take-away on the corner for chips & curry at midnight. And it was fine. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything by staying in.

I realized that this place was finally starting to feel like home to me. Despite my crippling introversion, I have managed to find for myself at least three solid groups of people to hang out with. I give directions to backpackers, I am used to the switches on the outlets, and I have learned to stop converting pounds to dollars. Just yesterday, I landed a waitressing job, which made me feel even more like a part of this place.

This is dangerous, though. The purpose of travel, I think, is to step outside of your comfort zone, not to fall back into one. As much as I am glad that I no longer freak out when cars come from behind me on the left side of the road, it’s also kind of sad. That’s why I’ve made a point to do at least one thing every day that I can’t do in America. Sometimes that means changing out of my pajamas to grab chips & curry from a take-away at midnight. Sometimes that means going to Holyrood Park on a whim after class, just because it’s there.

This year will be a constant struggle to find a happy medium between enjoying this newfound sense of home and taking initiative in the destruction of that comfort. Whatever I do, though, I’m just glad that I’m here.

Edinburgh: The First 48 Hours

When I first saw the sun peek through the clouds to illuminate the vibrant green hues that blanket the Scottish highlands, a huge smile spread across my face. I knew that I would like Edinburgh, very much. With rooftops straight out of Harry Potter and streets made from cobblestone, Edinburgh has an indescribable charm from generations past that seeps into your soul.

It was NOT raining upon my arrival. You’re shocked, right? I know I was, because I was prepared for forty days and forty nights of torrential down pouring. Thus, I’m interpreting the favorable climate and the two kilts I’ve seen as good portents. However, I haven’t heard any live bagpipes yet (I am anxiously awaiting the bleat of the bag!).

After a delicious meal of fish and chips, which is quickly becoming a personal favorite, I settled into my lodgings for the night (I was a bit early for move-in), and had a lively and comical conversation with a riotous stag party from Liverpool that taught me the “essential” lingo of the area- certain terms such as “bollocks.”

As a visiting student from the United States, I knew fully well some things would be different, besides the accents and colloquialisms. For instance, I’ve just realized that I purchased fabric softener instead of laundry detergent. Who would have thought that a little change in packaging and marketing would skew my reading ability? Hence, I washed my clothes with fabric softener today. And they smell like lavender. Here are a few other differences observed in the first 48 hours…

The Flat

WCs- When people use the term “wash closet,” they really mean closet. Our two WCs each fit one toilet and one sink into a compact little room that is separate from the shower.

Water Spigots- The sinks have one spigot/faucet for hot and one for cold. This is different from the single faucet fixture back home with two taps. My options were extreme- scalding hot or freezing cold. This morning, I couldn’t quite figure out how to get just plain old warm water. After a few minutes of mental gymnastics in the early AM., I resolved to fill up the basin with both taps. It might not be the perfect temp, but I am saving water, which is a perk!

The Loo- I get a work out flushing the toilet. Just here in my apartment, I wasn’t quite sure what to do when the bowl didn’t drain the first time. It appears to be a pumping mechanism of some sort, but you have to keep pumping and pumping until some other doohickey kicks in. So don’t be alarmed if you get a toilet that doesn’t flush. You didn’t break it! Just add some elbow grease.

Getting (and Staying) Warm- I wasn’t sure how to work the heaters at first. I figured I didn’t need to turn one on. But the nights in Edinburgh can get chilly (and it’s only September!). I thought I could “rough it” for a night without bedding. I ended up huddling under my bath towel for warmth because last night was probably the coldest slumber I’ve experienced. So I marched myself downstairs this morning, got instructions on how to use the heater properly from the helpful RAs, and promptly cranked up the temperature in my little room. I’m happy to inform you that it is now quite cozy, and there is a rather fluffy duvet atop my bed

Outfitting your flat is no trifling matter; it is an opportunity to express your individual taste and preferences. I was anxious to begin with a clean slate here in Edinburgh. As a self-proclaimed bargain shopper, I wanted to shop where my pound carried the most weight! Names like “Poundstretcher” and “Pound Saver” caught my eye, naturally. I’ll only be here for a brief period of time, and I am working with a tight student budget. I price compared at three different stores to get the best deal on home goods and other necessities. (Kitchen supplies- Tesco brought home the most bang for my buck, the Salvation Army stores had the most unique and cost effective dinnerware, and Poundstretcher came in handy for utensils Bedding- I was a bit selective in my bedding choices and splurged for some sheets from Marks & Spencers. Primark is GREAT, too!).

Activities are not for want here at the university! Edinburgh will fill whatever cup of tea you choose. The university has scheduled so much programming that you don’t know what to attend-it’s a bit overwhelming (in a good way), but the EUSA (that’s the student union) staff is working especially hard to make the week a success. And I think it has been thus far! We are currently here with just the freshers (college freshmen and women) and fellow international students. I’m excited to meet the rest of the student body next week at the official start of the academic year.

After three weeks of constant travel, it feels so nice to have a place to firmly plant my roots, and Warrender Park Crescent is just what I need. The building overlooks the Meadows, a large expanse of multi-purpose lawn. I love walking by and watching all the activity- rugby (lots of rugby), football (soccer), football (American football), ultimate Frisbee, children playing on the playground, golfers practicing their putting, owners with their dogs. I hope to one day try my hand at cricket!

After 48 hours, it is no mystery- I am so very grateful for the opportunity to live and study in Edinburgh.

Things I’m looking forward to this week:

• Exploring the historic parts of Edinburgh & surrounding area
• Getting to know my international and interesting roommates better

A Hill For Magnitude, a Mountain in Virtue of its Bold Design

A Hill For Magnitude, a Mountain in Virtue of its Bold Design

H.S. Alexander

It is the words of Sir Robert Louis Stevenson that give this entry its title.  Such was a part of Stevenson’s description of the city of Edinburgh found in Edinburgh Picturesque Notes.

Roughly two miles from my flat stood the mountain, and the mountain was tall and rugged, and was it a mountain at all?  I did not know and made note to find out later.  There were about two dozen of us, students from all walks of life, from small towns and sprawling cities across the Earth, and we had found ourselves all pilgrimaging to this thing in the distance on a Sunday in Scotland.  The sharp contrast of dark earth and the Gainsboro sky was a canvas, the dips and crags and grasses brushstrokes on the masterpiece that is this city named Edinburgh.  Off in the distance, anywhere I look is divine art of a rare kind.  Muses reside in the brownstone, sleep upon the many rooftops, and hind behind the ancient castle ramparts, waiting for the inquisitive passerby to happen upon them so they can exhibit all that the city has to lay forward into this eager undergraduate’s lap.  The precious gift that is this city waits like a present under an ornate pine, and, I, the giddy boy at the top of the stairs, my legs pistons in an engine moving up and down on the black steps in rapid anxious succession, yearn to feel the stone and ancient earth with trembling fingers.

The bulk of the building was headed towards Arthur’s Seat, and we are men and women who ooze out a certain magnetism: the desire for discovery. It had been a driving force of the old world that had been cheapened and commercialized in the States.  Content with their own hastily formed microcosms, the American students of this generation lack the type of faith in true discovery that guided us that morning.  The Americans in our throng displayed reverence for the sidewalks, for the sprawling Meadows that is our backyard, and for the sleeping behemoth off in the distance.  Quite easily could we have spent the morning sleeping off the previous night’s festivities (a story I will keep for my own mind’s picture show).  Nonetheless, here we were at half ten on a Sunday, geared up for discovery.  Through the streets we wandered like ants towards the sweet and salty promise of what mystery the summit held for us.  

Due to a fast pace I inherited waitering this summer, I suddenly found myself ahead of the pack of the residents of Warrender Park Crescent, and Edinburgh was now my city.  The mountain, mine to climb alone.  I shook off these thoughts because this brashness, this sense of entitled mastery is a trait that is quintessentially American; an unshakable desire to conquer and to be the conquerer has been engrained into every man, woman, and child who ever heard the two words Manifest Destiny.  My inner compass however had directed me eastward, far across a slumbering blue ocean, and it now took me further east, out of Bruntfield, down Melville Drive, and up to Holyrood Park where the ascent was to begin.

The climb was extremely pleasant for a Sunday hike.  Steep sections mixed in with grassy slopes gave the conquest a quality that I knew could only be experienced here at Arthur’s Seat.  My fellow Warrender wanderers and I rose deliberately through the air, our feet on ground that to me was so fresh and new it seemed to be rolling out in front of us like an unfurling carpet.    The path cut through wildflowers and tall wind-whipped grass.  Greenery and tough shrubs danced around us, along with this handsome, furry chap:

The climb continued to be rocky, the surface of the mountain (I checked, and technically, it is a mountain) is a mass of small rocks and boulders seemingly glued together by time, brown and russet Lego pieces joined together haphazardly.  Ahead the view was always mutating, and the path a child’s scribble, zig-zagging chaotically, unwound ever upwards.  Brown crayon on green construction paper.

After a short uptick in altitude, we descended into the bowl on top of the summit, a bright green pool of grass whose decks were coated in the rocky stuff.  Blazing through the land, I broke into a swift jog, and pranced like an ibex up the stony tip to where the view was to be seen.  It was then that she lay upon the bed of the Earth, under a blanket of friendly clouds.  Never before has such a panorama of human metropolitan  life been so excruciatingly beautiful.  Below, cars, trucks, and buses bustled by through the tiny streets between peaked rooftops and steel and glass.  The castle stood stoic in the distance, watching over all that thrived below.  Families and couples on a Sunday stroll dotted the slopes of the mountain and I could see that we were fairly high up for a mountain with a city in its lap.  This city…

 She reached out with steady fingers, stretching from the hills of the north to the Firth on the eastern side of the mountain in a manner that seemed to perfectly compliment this weather beaten patch of the Kingdom.  Edinburgh is a city grown into its surroundings like a boy into a too-big pair of jeans.   All of a sudden, a crow flew down from the grey and perched for a moment to drink in the same view I was slowly sipping on.  I hopped around the peak with a playground-like enthusiasm, never for a moment caring how odd I must have looked jumping down from ledges and scampering up again.  Joy thundered in my skull, shunning away any vicious whisperings of the self-conscious. I never wanted to leave that mountaintop, but we did.  A few of us traveled down the back of the crags, through fields of waist-high grass to a small pub, The Sheep Heid Inn, which had opened its doors all the way back to  1460.  There I had a sublime fish pie and a pint of local beer, spicy and aromatic.  As I ate, I jingled the pound coins in my pocket, rejoicing in their presence and listening to their song.

I’d tell you more, but it’s time for more adventuring, back into the city tonight, and regardless, I have been penned up too long in my flat in the basement of 22 Warrender Park Crescent.  I fervently believe that it is in this building and it is in this city where the workings of great things churn with the persistently ticking clocks of determination and discovery. Adieu.

This is an Introduction.

Hello, whoever might be reading this. My name is Taylor Brogan, and I’m a visiting student from the University of Chicago, studying  English Literature in Edinburgh for the 2012-13 academic year.

It’s a bit weird introducing yourself to people over the internet, so I’ll stick with the essentials. I live in university accomodation – at 50 Blackfriars – and honestly it’s different than what I was expecting. The location is absolutely perfect; I’m sort of wedged between the Royal Mile and Campus, and nothing has been more than a 10 minute walk away. Scottish food is delicious and hearty, though I can already feel myself getting tired of haggis. Luckily, there’s a MASSIVELY diverse assortment of restaurants. I had a really fantastic (and cheap) Indian dinner last night on Nicholson, and I can probably list about 10 restaurants within five minutes of my flat that I’m dying to visit.

The only downside perhaps is that I’m pretty introverted, so it’s been hard to find people. Still, in only two days of living on my own, I’ve found a nice group of American exchange students to hang out with, and I managed to somehow get a bartending job right on the Royal Mile? I wrote up a CV and printed out a bunch of copies before I got on the plane to Scotland, and as soon as I got here, I just went from door to door, pub to restaurant to cafe, asking to see a manager and inquiring about any open positions. Of the maybe 15 places I went, half of those places asked for a CV and said they’d get give it a look. That night, a manager from one of the taverns sent me an email asking me to come in for a trial shift that night! This is all just to say that, as long as you put in the effort, it’s not impossible to get a job here. You just have to, you know…TRY.

It’s Sunday of Freshers Week, and I’m getting hungry, so I’m going to go out to a free Comedy + Curry event for Freshers Pass holders. (Free food, am I right?) Uhhh…so bye, I guess. Here, have some pictures!

First taste of haggis at Whiski Bar on the Royal Mile. Tasted kind of like Shepherd’s Pie, but with a….unique texture? IDK it was good. Oh, and the goat cheese tart from Whiski Bar is the best thing I’ve ever eaten and I want to marry it. Can’t recommend that place enough.

IT’S SO PRETTY HELP. I live right around the corner from this place and I can’t even get over it.

This is my face just FYI. My dad flew over with me and stuck around for about a week, so he took all of these pictures. I’m scowling in about 98% of them, but that’s just because he took SO MANY PICTURES. I am grateful, though, because now I have pictures of Edinburgh for your viewing pleasure. Neat!

And finally, some casual ruins. Just chillin’.

-Taylor Brogan

She Looked and Beamed: Promise Felt Over the Atlantic

by H.S. Alexander

In and out of sleep like the oscillating tides.

I had seen her before, back in Boston, she had golden hair that screamed like the sun and small rounded features that emanated a planned beauty.  Her father, or at least I could assume that was him, wore a grey knit sweater around his shoulders and a white popped up collar.  She had a Harvard sweatshirt on and tiny horn-rimmed glasses perched upon her slender nose.

I had seen her before security, and now here she was, a mere 5 yards away.  She was a thin girl, avoiding fattening foods for most her life.  She appeared as if she could have been eating salads for lunch and toast with orange juice for breakfast for most of her life.  However, she was not Barbie thin, she had an athletic build to her, probably formed by summers of tennis and walking on the beach.  And so she stood there, glistening in the twilight hours of my last day in the States.

I had seen her before, but now she saw me.  I made several backwards glances towards the blank wall next to the toilets after I had seen her nudger her head my way.  She wasn’t looking directly forward, as all pretty girls don’t, but then there I was in her field of vision.  Suddenly she revealed an affectionate smile, bobbing above the busy sloth of the waiting area like a golden buoy.  Upon my own face was a stupid smile, stupid from the kind of love kids believe in, and I, stupefied by the gamma rays of a debutante’s smile, stood motionless amidst the travelers with my chest on fire.  “Now boarding! Flight BA0212 to London!” She inched forward, I inched forward.  I looked back again, and she smiled down in a flattered way, then looked back up at me, as if she could read my thoughts of “my, my, aren’t you beautiful?”  She raised her head parallel to the ground and met my eyes firmly this time, still smiling but now a bit more playfully, and I heard a soft, smoked voice that whispered, “and aren’t you something?”  She sleeps a row over now on the plane, the top of her golden head resting on a blue pillow in the aether.

I remember it now, and I hope that I will remember it for ever.  The illustrious glow of the first sunlight over England that morning from 40,000 feet.  Such an awe inspiring and magnificent sight I have never beheld.  If you ever travel by air, grab the window seat, I implore you.  We surfed above a glacier of ripped apart clouds, rugged and beaten in a chaotically imperfect manner.  The muddy pink glow on the horizon seemed to be ejecting out the back of the massive Rolls Royce engine.  A Scotsman fittingly slept beside me.  There was an excruciating calm under the persistent hum of the 747, matched only by the rumblings in my stomach.  The silence crept into my head and whispered promises of a fantastic journey, of debutantes and old books, wandering through the brick and the stone and the glass alone yet confident.  Waking at one point during the night, I smelt food, and opened my eyes instinctively.  Next to me the Scotsman had a full meal and he was polishing it off with a bottle of airplane champagne.  

There’s always one and only one crying baby.

I had seen her before, earlier that flight, and now she rustled in the early hours.  Her golden hair, which had gleamed before like the dome of the Hartford capital, was now wild and tossed, hairs thrown about by sleep’s fingers.  I yearned to dig my fingers through the ruins like a conquistador and find her ancient fears and secrets.  O, and her name, I guess…

Such unabridged joy and possibility at 40,000 feet in the first hours of that British morning.  O, how I wished to drink up the patchwork painting of farms below, beige and soft green, how refreshing the morning dew on a year ahead of unbridled opportunity!

Soon we will be in Edinburgh. So very soon…

Ireland

Two weeks before departing Edinburgh (which I have now done– more on that later), six of our friends went on a trip to Ireland. We flew Ryan Air into Dublin, where we spent two days before taking a bus to Belfast, and then back down to Dublin two days later. It was a really successful trip– the weather was gorgeous, we did a bunch of really neat stuff, and none of us slaughtered each other from over-proximity. Win!

Here are some highlights from the adventure:

Avoca Lemonade

I know, I know, lemonade does not seem like a noteworthy part of an international holiday. But dear goodness, this was some good lemonade. It’s from a store called Avoca, which they have in a number of Irish cities. It was recommended to us by our friend Athina, and we just happened to stumble upon it while lost– we spent a lot of time lost. However, all the good things we discovered were found accidentally while looking for something else. So I suppose it worked out. Anyway, Avoca is a multi-floored shop whcih sells all sorts of cool crafty stuff, knick-knacks, clothing, and food. Upstairs is the restaurant, where this lemonade so happily inhabits. Seeing as it was 25 degrees and sunny, it was absolutely a lemonade day. Our friends all sunburned. In Ireland. Shocking, but true. Anyway, this fresh strawberry lemonade came in a big pitcher with fruit bouncing among ice cubes at the bottom. It was pretty darn good. AAnnnnnd moving on…

Music Festival

We happened to stumble upon a free funk/jazz music festival in a Dublin park. There were tunes and sunshine and ice cream and all manner of wonderfulness. We played a good deal of cards in the grass, and did our fare share of dancing.

Sweny’s 

There is a tiny pharmacy/bookshop in Dublin called Sweny’s If one enters this establishment at the correct time of day, a bow-tied gentleman named P.J. (as seen above), will hand you a mugful of tea, sit you down in a chair, and thrust a volume of James Joyce into your hands. He will then proceed to read aloud, and then you will read the next page, and the pattern will commence for about an hour. Connor, Rebecca, and I read Finnegan’s Wake during our visit. The pharmacy itself is the same one in which Leopold Bloom stopped to purchase a bar of lemon soap for his wife Molly in Joyce’s masterpiece Ulysses, and Sweny’s still sells lemon soap, today. I picked up a bar to give to my Joyce-enthusiast friend Shannon back in the states.

Belfast & Titanic Museum

Leaving Dublin, we headed north to Belfast. The town of Belfast itself isn’t much to speak of. However, there was a really awesome pub called Filthy McNasty’s– yes, the name sounds questionable, but I promise you, it’s great. In the back, there is an open courtyard with a gazebo and long strands of fairy lights tangled around the tables, and indoors bottles dangle from the ceiling like chandeliers.

The best part of Belfast, however, was visiting the Titanic Museum, perched on the very harbor from which the mighty ship departed for its ill-fated voyage. As this is the 100th anniversary of the Titanic’s sinking, a new, very thorough, and super high-tech museum was erected. It included an imax style theatre with underwater footage of the ship, interactive touch screen exhibits, full recreations of the different class cabin rooms complete with holographic residents, and even a full mechanical ride through the building process of the ship. I must say, it was one of the cooler museums I have been to in my life– and for a historical museum, they really got creative.

Giant’s Causeway

While staying in Belfast, we took a Paddywagon Tour day trip bus up to the Giant’s Causeway. The tour guide told terrible jokes; he was basically that guy you get stuck talking to at a party, who traps you in some severely boring anecdote and refuses to let you leave. But with this guy, they gave him a microphone and let him trap you on a bus for six hours. Even so, the trip was free with the hostel we stayed in (Paddy’s Palace), and the Causeway was breathtakingly gorgeous, so it was actually pretty great.

Eventually, we headed back to Dublin for a last two days. We read comic books by the river (a series called Saga, with which Rebecca and I are currently obsessed), made an overabundance of pasta, drank Guinness at a Temple Bar folk session, watched Eurovision on the hostel TV, played cards, argued, hugged each other, took photos of Gavin falling asleep in inappropriate locations, wandered the streets, and finally, flew back home to Edinburgh.

Twas a good trip, I say.

Love,

GennaRose