Kristine Comes to Visit; Kelso Horse Racing; Essay Writing, and Some General Thoughts on Being in Scotland

I haven't really updated in a loooong time....There's almost in point in summarising the past couple of weeks. So long story short, Kristine, one of my best friends and roommates from back home, came to visit me for six days and we basically had a blast. That's a pretty cliche way to put it...but it's true. I had forgotten how much fun the two of us can have together. We went up to the Edinburgh Castle; I took her to the Elephant House, where JK Rowling wrote the first two HP books; the Scottish Museum, which is free, and where my friend Calum works (Kristine knocked over a child, it was hilarious); and we did some serious shopping--mostly vintage shopping. Oh, and we went to a poetry reading that was raising money for Haiti. It was three hours long! I was a little exhausted, aka ready to eat some food by the end of it--and Kristine was about ready to eat her hand off from boredom. The poet's were mostly Scottish, there was one at least that was Irish, some Welsh, and some English. After the poetry reading we went to the Library Bar on campus for dinner with my friends Calum and Andre.

Hmm...let's see...i wrote three essays for today. So i spent a little too much time in the library....oh, and I went to Kelso!

Here is a brief summary, or an email that I sent to some friends/family:

"today, i realized why usc is THE greatest university in the world. now, for all you bruins--give me a minute here to explain.

today usc paid for me and about 15 other students to go down to kelso today. kelso is a smallish-city on the boarders between england and scotland, so it felt a bit more like england, as opposed to 'scottishness.' our lunch was paid for (fish n chips and ice cream for me)...we were also supplied with wine. and then the director of our trip gave us all ten pounds and said, "may the force be with you and go bet." im sorry but i think that i need to repeat this. USC GAVE US MONEY TO GO BET ON HORSES. do you have any idea how satisfactory it felt to waste that money? dad and mom, aren't you pleased to hear what your money is going towards? they gave us the money in order to 'enhance our cultural experience.'

on a cultural note, it was a very fascinating day. first off, i realized that myself and my fellow americans stuck out like thorns. the majority of people in attendance were scottish, but im assuming there were some english people in attendance, simply because we were so close to the border (they refer to this area of the uk as the 'boarder lands'). many of the people were older, middle class to upper middle class. they wore tweed EVERYTHING. i honestly dont know if i can explain it....it felt almost as if i was in the 1940s or something. the men wore tweed jackets with matching tweed pants, with tweed hats and wellington boots. and many of them waltzed around with canes and hunting dogs and pipes. and the women wore those funny hats that look like birds. and there was a plethora of burberry.

in order to bet, you say '2 pounds on 2 (or any other number) to win/place." 2 pounds was the minimum bet, so i stuck to that. then the second number is the number of the horse, and then you either say 'to win,' meaning youre betting that your horse will win, or 'to place,' meaning that your horse will come 1-3 or 1-4, depending on how many other horses are racing. i won one race! it was very exciting. also, if you dont use this lingo, the people get very agitated and annoyed.

before the race the horses parade around a paddock, so that you can look at the horse before betting on him/her. this was quite the spectacle--everyone gathers round and expertly studies the horses. sadly, even after 6 years of riding under my belt, i really had no idea how to 'choose,' the right horse. THOUGH, apart from one race, my horse always came in at least second!

the races in and of themselves are actually quite exciting. you stand in the bleachers (unless youre a member, then you have special bleachers with better views), and as the horses close on the finish line, people actually get quite excited--they start calling out their horses name, or at least thats what i did. several times the jockie would fall off their horse, but the horse would keep running! that was a little scary, simply because there was a chance that the jockie could be seriously injured by another horse.

the people there are also very into drinking. usually at sporting events in the states, they limit how much you can drink, or there is a certain point in the game where you can no longer buy alcohol. not so here. people were boozing it up the entire day and walking around with their alcohol.

all in all, a very interesting day. people here are really very, very class conscious. the older people at the event very much into propriety, and all that. and its clear that the way one dresses defines their class. although this is true in the states, it is truer here to a much higher degree. people here literally deck themselves out in tweed, wellies, etc, in order to purport a certain image of themselves. ive started noticing it with the students at my uni as well--though not to such a heightened degree. the students here are much more artsy, and are far more concerned about how tight their pants are or if their hair falls to a certain angle, as opposed to worrying about tweed and all that nonsense.

but they do bring it up occasionally, and when they do, i just keep my lips sealed because i dont really want to say the wrong thing. half of the time it seems like they want to express how wealthy they are; the other half of the time they want to downplay their class, almost saying theyre not of the middle class (when i know full well they are)."



I'm really enjoying my time here in Scotland, and it's sad that I know it's going to end...in merely a couple of months. I've been toying with the idea of returning here for graduate school and pursuing a masters in English Literature. At times, though, it can be lonely. I mean, being an American, sometimes you can't help but stick out. Many of my friends here are American, but I have many who are Scottish or English as well. Since I've started to get to know some of the British students, and actually become their friends, I feel like the 'divide' between us is shrinking. But there are moments where I can't help but feel like the odd man out, like I'm unaware of social norms, etc. Sometimes I'm worried that I've stuck my foot in my mouth, or that I've violated some unspoken code. Sometimes I feel stupid, like the people here are far better educated than myself.

The other night I went to a pub quiz with the lit society. I was shocked at how much more knowledge they have on writers, novels, poems, etc. And I thought that I knew a lot...

At one point in the evening I was standing with my friends Calum, Andre, and a girl from Glasgow. They were talking about Scottish literature, and I had nothing to say. I stood there for a while, and the large amount of cider (coupled with it being after 2 am and me being exhausted), I suddenly felt very, very far from home. I felt foolish, stupid for having noting to contribute. I know nothing about Scottish lit, or, ok, I know a littttle bit, but not enough to sustain an actual intelligent conversation. I stared away from the group for a while, and I won't deny, I felt a bit miserable/lonely. It wasn't until Calum surreptitiously tapped my leg with his foot and smiled at me that I felt like smiling at all. I felt better, and I pulled myself together, delving into a conversation regarding the relationship of romantics to poetry to emotion, blah blah.

And that's all I have to say now. Ta ta.

The Netherlands

I feel a bit like I'm losing control again, but maybe that's due to my lack of sleep.

Friday morning I woke up at 6:30 am, threw some clothes on, grabbed my knapsack, and headed out of the door into the slowly-brightening day. After being whacked in the face with water by a man cleaning a storefront, I found myself half-asleepedly walking down fleshmarket close towards a bus that would take me to a bus. And that bus took me to the airport. And that plane took me to Amsterdam. I arrived in the airport, and had several men leer at me. I wandered through a bookstore, enjoying the fact that the books bore titles in a foreign language. I met up with my friend, Jacob, who is Dutch (we met 18 months ago on a summer study abroad program at Cambridge University). We said hello, and then boarded a train that took us into the city centre. We got lunch; I downed a few Belgian beers, and then we wandered through the city. I got my boot caught in the tram railing--and came just shy of being hit by a car. Later we wandered over to the main museum square, where Jacob convinced me to strap some ice skates onto my feet. They were orange and ugly, but nonetheless I managed to stand vertical.

In my opinion, I did a pretty good job. I think that the last time that I ever ice skated was when I was 8--maybe 7. I figured it out eventually; I liked going slowly though, so that I wouldn't fall. And yet it was very thrilling to rush along the ice. We then got dinner, and after dinner we wandered briefly through the red light district. Most of the men who inhabited that area of the city were rather brusque, grotesque, etc. and I felt squeamish by their very premise alone. I saw a man walk away from a whore towards his friend smiling and laughing and joking. I saw many large groups of men all congregated together, wandering down the alleyways and lewdly catcalling the girls.

Saturday evening we took a train to The Hague. Jacob showed me the Parliament, some other old buildings, a museum, the place where the peace talks/courts take place, an old prison, the most posh hotel in the Netherlands, and the tackiest square in all of the country. We then wandered down a boardwalk of sorts along the coast; he took me onto the pier, and we walked all the way to the edge. We climbed the stairs and at the top of the decks I could look away from the city towards Scotland. I was shocked how much I actually missed the country. I felt incredibly lonely in that moment. It was perfectly silent and still--behind me, I could hear the waves crashing against the earth; ahead of me the water lapped against itself and made little fluttering-like noises...like being in a bathtub, or something. I suddenly missed my friends and family, but I knew that they were very far away. I felt homeless, like a wanderer who didnt possess a place of origin. I felt confused; I felt lost. I felt inexplicable. Jacob said at one point that as a 'literary' student, shouldn't I be good at putting my emotions into words?

I didn't want to talk as we walked back down the pier and onto the sand. He silently led me up a path amongst the sand dunes to an old Nazi outpost--it was a small, insignificant boarded up tower with graffitti and little windows. I hated it; I didn't want to stay long in that space, so I clambered onto a wall and looked away, towards the ocean. I felt free, boundary-less. I fancied what it would be like if I never fell in love with someone; if I never got married nor had children. Would I be anchorless? Could I be a wanderer, always picking up my bags and moving on before I have the chance to let any one place really begin to feel like home?

Later we went to Utrecht, where I met Jacob's older brother, Thomas. We went to a party at the university. It was an American-themed party..and strangely, I wasn't homesick in the least. I'm slowly growing to detest the idea of moving back to the states. We left the party after 6am though, and slept in the train station until 7:30 am, when the train finally came. I slept on the train, and a bit more back at Jacob's place..and then I had to get back onto a train that would take me to the airport. And now I'm back again.

There and back again, really. I am utterly exhausted...in the past 35 hours I've slept maybe two hours. I feel exhausted, stretched out, and lost. Lost is the best word that I can think of to describe how I feel. Maybe it's because I slowly feel like I'm losing my grip, my control on my emotions.

Can love set you free, or can it just enchain you?

Random thoughts that have absolutely nothing to do about Scotland..

It has suddenly come to my attention that over the past few years I have lost a lot of myself. I have forgotten those things that one ought to possess, those passions that inspire us to keep breathing and taking one step forwards. I used to really enjoy studying karate and kung fu, and I used to horseback ride every week. Alas, after one too many scary incidents, I gave up horseback riding, and have not been back in a saddle in over two and a half years. I have allowed my anxiety to get the better of me, and because of it I have given up one of the most passionate activities that I have ever participated in wholeheartedly.

I am thankful at least that I have never given up writing (oh and reading). And so, i am going to continue writing, but I haven't really written any poetry in many weeks...so that is step number one...yes, to recommence writing poetry on a weekly (then perhaps daily) basis. I think that I've got the reading thing down pat, seeing as I read several novels and plays a week for class :) Oh! And I'd like to finally get around to writing some fiction, or something that leans towards the direction of that fearful word, The Novel. Yes, a novel. I've been wanting to be a novelist for as long as I can remember, and now that I'm 21..well, I don't see why I should keep putting it off anymore!

Another passion I have relates to movies and television...but of course I watch many movies and shows on a regular basis, so there that passion is usually fulfilled. Check.

The big one that comes to mind is horseback riding. I have allowed my anxiety to take ahold of too many aspects of my life. But I will no longer be a slave to my fears and disorders anymore! I am planning on going on a pony trail ride with a few other girls here whilst I am in Edinburgh. This will be the first step to regaining own of my favourite passions and hobbies. I don't know when I'll be able to continue riding again on a daily basis, but I know that If I trust in the gods above, things will work out like they're supposed to. I must merely take one step at a time, and my heart tells me to just simply go on a simple trail ride on a pony that is not much bigger than me, and then see what happens next...

Concerning the martial arts, I'm not sure whether or not I want to pick up where I left off. I enjoyed knowing how to defend myself, that is certain. It gives a woman a certain sense of security when she is walking alone at night to know that she might be able to perhaps ward off a potential attack(er). But I would not return to my old 'studio,' nor do I think I would continue with the same form. A fresh start? Perhaps USC has a club I could join?

Ah, I forgot another one...transcendental meditation. Last summer I learned how to meditate, and I am supposed to meditate twice a day for twenty minutes. I honestly cannot recall the last time that I meditated for even 5 minutes. I ought to start meditating at least once a day again; it will certainly help dissipate any lingering anxiety. Yes, this certainly shall be the next hobby that I pick up again. And it will be simpler to begin meditating on a daily basis than it will be to start riding again (as well as cheaper!).

The next thing on my list is..amusingly so...cooking. I would like to learn how to cook. I've started paying attention more to what my flatmates make, and maybe I'll gain some more courage to start cooking...even if it's as simple as making pasta or even assembling a salad. I don't really know why I become so fearful whenever I step into a kitchen. What...the fridge is going to attack? (Yes, if you've ever seen a certain movie).


Well, its 2am and I really ought to attempt to get some sleep. I've been fighting insomnia ever since I got here, over four weeks ago. Yikes, has it really been that long? Perhaps over the next few days I'll come up with some more goals!

Updates

It's been a while since last I posted anything...I got busy with school work, oh, and I caught a cold. I'm glad that it's just a cold because for the past week I kept waking up with headaches and felt nauseous; and I lacked any appetite. I also woke up a few mornings with vertigo, which is exactly what happened to me in the weeks preceding mono. I'm glad that I was only overreacting.

As a consequence, I've been spending a lot of time lying in bed and catching up on my homework--I need to finish reading Pamela by Samuel Richardson by monday, write a paper on James Thomson, read Hamlet, oh, and attempt to read Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy. Piece. Of. Cake.

I went to an improv comedy show last night. Long story short, the improv here is exactly like the improv back home, minus the difference of accents. Of course, all of the 'players' were British. I didn't catch several of the jokes because their accents were too thick, but I still found the night overall rather enjoyable. Afterwards I headed over with my friends to Rush, a pub that is in my flat complex. I did a lot of people watching--i find it fascinating to watch how men and women interact here. According to my deductions, most of the men here are just as masculine and puffed-up-rooster-esque as they are back in the states. A lot of the girls here wear dresses without tights; I have absolutely no idea how they don't freeze when they step outside. It has also come to my attention that many people here seem 'shy,' or at least, according to how I define the term. I mean, I suppose most people in most cultures aren't going to go up to people that they don't know, but still...most groups of people tended to stay within their respective groups, and only talked to their friends. Although this is perfectly normal, I feel like in the states people are a little more apt to meet new people...or perhaps I am merely reflecting my own interactions with people.


Hmm.

I went out with the Literary Society last Wednesday night. We saw 'The Road,' based on Cormac McCarthy's same-titled novel about a post-apocalyptic world. Afterwards we walked through the falling snow to a pub. Although I couldn't drink, I still enjoyed sitting and listening to the Brits talk. I enjoy listening to their accents; they really flow through my ears with more musicality than the American-accents I am more acquainted with. The group of people that I was with attempted to explain how the British government works, but alack! some of their accents were too thick for me to fully catch each and every word that spilled out of their mouth! (I made my friend Chris from USC explain it to me today, so no worries). I was surprised to find that the Brits knew more about American politics than me. I was almost embarrassed about this, actually, but then I realized that I don't ever really pay attention to politics...

At first the group of people seemed a little distant, but as time wore on, they warmed up to me a bit, and I felt more relaxed in tongue--the words fell out of my mouth with more fluidity than per usual; especially because I can be taken with shyness when in a group of strangers. But my degree of shyness has greatly decreased since being abroad, and this is mostly due to the fact that I am constantly out of my comfort zone, and thusly forced to interact more with strangers.

Well, this is possibly the lamest post ever. Oh well.

My First Pub Crawl, St. Andrews, and Burn's Night

So much has happened these past few days.

Last Wednesday I met up with all of the kids from USC at an Indian restaurant. It gave me the opportunity to better acquaint myself with my fellow Trojans here in Edinburgh. Dinner was incredible; I especially enjoyed learning that they dont call it dessert here, they call it 'pudding.' So 'pudding' can really refer to ice cream, cake, pie, etc. After dinner we all went to see the musical, The Sound of Music. It was..well, it was alright. I assumed going into the musical that I had never seen the movie before, but I suppose that is wrong, seeing as I recognized practically every song and knew how it was going to end. After the play we all ventured over to a pub next door. I was quite depressed to sit at a table and not be able to drink, meanwhile everyone nursed a healthy pint of cider or beer.

Last Thursday night was quite exciting as well. I went on my first pub crawl! It was the literary society's pub crawl (a society is also like a club, but here in Edinburgh it appears that every club has been created for the mere purpose of bringing together like-minded individuals in order to drink alcohol. It's really quite fantastic), so i met a lot of English majors or literature-enthusiasts. I walked over with my friends Bri and Olenka. At the door we were given name tags that were inscribed with the names of a fictional character. The whole point was to meet your 'author.' My character was a certain Mr. Knightly from Jane Austen's 'Northanger Abbey,' if my memory doesn't fail me. Bri and Olenka's characters were also from the same novel, so we set out in search of Jane Austen (whom we learned was actually a guy). Oh, this all took place at a pub called Frankensteins. I decided to just be adventurous, so with lemonade in hand (note: lemonades in the UK are not like the one's back home. They're like Sprite, really) I wandered through the congregated people and met some Scottish and English individuals. I also met Jane Austen, who like I said was a boy named Chris. I also met several of his friends.

And then we set off in a mob of people for the next pub in the pub crawl--Dropkick Murphy's I think it was called. And again, I met more people. And then we went to Bannerman's. And then, just as Olenka and Bri were about to walk home, a group of English and Scottish guys who were in the Lit Society invited me to go to a club with them. On a whim I agreed to go with them, which was quite unlike me. Minutes later I found myself sitting at a rather posh booth in a club that was akin to what I can only assume is a vampire's haunt. The room with the booths was lined with stones (like a castle); the lights were red, and the booths were black..it was all very gothic and romantic. I was surrounded at the booth by the guys, who kept throwing back more and more alcohol. I was amazed at their gusto and capability to remain in control even whilst tossing shot back with more beer.

And then, they wanted to dance. There were at least five guys on the dance floor dancing with me. I couldn't stop laughing. The music was mostly English pop...like Kinks, Beatles, T. Rex, Pulp, Blur, etc. And the guys are very indie, some of them with shag haircuts, so if I squinted my eyes it almost felt like I was dancing at a club in the 60s. Some rather interesting things occurred on the dance floor, but nothing that is suitable to relate via a web blog.

Friday I went on a bus tour of the city. It was awesome.

On Saturday I went up to St Andrews with Olenka and our other friends, Jessie, Jackie, Nic and Alayna. For those of you who don't know, St Andrews is the home of golf--that's where it was founded and that's where you can play golf on the oldest course in the world. The town/city is also home to the oldest university in Scotland (founded in the 1400s!!). I think either Prince William or Prince Harry went to university there. By bus it took about an hour to an hour and a half to achieve the city, and the ride up was quite beautiful, especially because we could see the ocean at certain points of the journey!

First, we saw the remains of the cathedral and a giant cemetery. Then we wandered down a ways and found a walkway that led directly to the ocean. We wandered along a quay for a whiles, but at a certain point my moods dropped, due to the rain, and the wind blowing the seaspray directly into my face. The view was rather spectacular, though. The winds were churning the waves into a tumultuous monster that constantly crashed upon the distant seashore. And the sands in the distance that were touched by the waves glimmered feebly--there was no sunshine. We then wandered up to see the golf course, and after a brief respite at a restaurant that reminded me too much of America, we walked through one of the college's of the university and found ourselves at the ruins of the ancient castle. Much of the walls are missing, and the main ceiling is practically gone. Olenka and I wandered off from the others for a bit and had some moments where we bemoaned how shit the weather was. Rain is one thing; wind another. But rain and wind together? Shit. Absolute shit and bollocks. It was one of the coldest days yet (or so it seemed).

Here is a picture of the cemetery:


This is the quay that I walked down:


Here is the ocean from my vantage point:






I was able to climb up some stairs and get to the second story of the once-castle. From this vantage point I could see a bit of the coast, but the fogs and mists obscured my eyes from looking out any great distance. All of a sudden I realized that I was alone up there, that though I could hear the sound of my friends voices and laughter carried upon the wind, I was for all sakes and purposes very much alone up there. The wind beat sea spray relentlessly into my face, but I suddenly did not mind. My breath caught in my chest and I suddenly felt--free. That moment was bittersweet--so beautiful, yet so poignantly sad because I knew that the chances of me ever returning to this same spot were slim to none. And I knew that the moment would end so soon--I knew that at any moment my friends would call up, wondering where I was, beseeching me to return to the gift shop. And just like that, the moment would be gone. So i stood there, hands pressed into my coat pockets and eyes half-closed against the wind, and I felt very much alive. It was one of those moments that felt almost as if I was reliving a memory that I had simply forgot I possessed. It was a waking dream.

Here is the castle remains that I stood upon:



The next day, this being last Sunday, I attempted to do some much-needed reading for my classes (I read 'Twelfth Night,' several short stories by Aphra Behn (she's one of the first female writers to ever earn a living via her writing!), and George Eliot's novel, 'Silas Marner.') I also wandered over to the National Gallery with a large gaggle of people in order to see some art and feel cultured and what-not. Although it was a rather small museum, it still housed some well-known masterpieces. There were a few Da Vincis (one of my all-time favies), a few Van Goghs, a handful of Rembrandt's, some Stubb's, and I think even a Monet and many more by Titian. They had organized the museum via nationality--one wing was dedicated to Dutch painters; another room had impressionists--mostly French and Dutch--then there were the religious-crappy ones by the Dutch and British, etc. What I really liked about the museum was that the guards all wore plaid/tartan pants.

Yesterday was Burn's Day/Night. Robert Burns is one of the best-known Scottish writers, and he is perhaps one of the most-beloved by the Scottish people. Every January 25th the Scotch celebrate the bard/poet by essentially having a dinner of haggis, neeps and tatties--oh, and wearing kilts, playing bagpipes, and getting pissed drunk. Since I had joined the Lit Society, I decided to attend their Burn's Night Dinner at the Argyle Bar. I walked over to the pub with Kim, a fellow USC student and English major. We mixed and mingled, but I did not approach any of the guys I had met the previous Thursday at the pub crawl. Dinner was quite an interesting affair. We were alerted that dinner was to begin when one of the guys who was donned in a kilt began to play his bagpipes. There was an opening speech, then a soup of potatoes, and then Chris, the guy who I met at the pub crawl, 'addressed the haggis.' Yes. The chef brought out some haggis, and I think Chris read some poetry by Robert Burns over the haggis. And then he stabbed said haggis with a knife, and cut it up. I noticed that he laid his Scottish accent on a bit thicker than normal. He spoke more gutturally than normal. Now, haggis can be prepared in multiple ways, but essentially its a sheeps heart, liver, lungs, and brain all cooked inside the intestines. Yum? Ya, fuck no. I've tasted it a couple of times and I really dislike it.

Dinner consisted of haggis (I got the vegetarian haggis), neeps, and tatties. Neeps are turnips (they look like yellow mashed potatoes) and tatties is basically mashed potatoes. And then this guy Calum, who I also met at the pub crawl, drunkenly (I cant quite determine how intoxicated he was) read another Burn's poem. Calum too made his already Scottish accent a bit thicker than normal. After dinner a guy addressed the lassies, and then a girl addressed the laddies. They were both only English (how boring), but basically their speeches are supposed to berate and mock the opposite sexes, but praise them nonetheless despite their shortcomings.

After dinner I walked back to campus and caught the end of the Ceilidh--its a sort of folk dance to bag pipes and more folksie music.

Today I went to classes; shopped a bit too much; and later went to a pub with my friend Chris (not the Scottish one) who also goes to USC. All in all, the past few days have been a whirlwind. I don't even really remember clearly what I did last Friday. I'm slowly feeling more at home in Edinburgh; I really don't want to leave and return to the states. I'm not homesick, although I do miss people (namely, my dachshund) from home. In the back of my head I keep considering graduate school here...

There are certain things I miss from the states...like actual indoor heating, toilet seat covers, free-refills on sodas, and one faucet at the sink that combines both hot and cold water. But really apart from that, I can't think of anything that I miss (ok, Mexican food. And orange juice. And fruits. And popcorn. But seriously I'm done). Otherwise, I love this place; I'm slowly growing acclimated to the fact that they drive on the opposite side of the street, and the class-work is becoming familiar and comfortable. I also know my way around the general vicinity of my flat and the university. That in and of itself is incredibly comforting. I also have friends, and I don't really feel lonely, not like I did the first couple of days. And I'm starting to get to know the kids in my classes, which is pleasant.

It's strange how something so unfamiliar can slowly become the most comforting thing ever.

Comfort Zones

This city is feeling more and more like home. I only had one tutorial today, so i was done with class at noon. I got lunch with Bri at this place called City Restaurant. My breakfast consisted of sunny side up eggs, bacon (which was essentially ham), sausage-tasted weird, toast, a potato scone (yummy), and coffee. We wandered around Old Town towards the Royal Mile. It was decided that it was necessary to stop into every single touristy-esque shop. I bought some shot glasses, a plethora of post cards (and stamps too!) and even whisky-flavored condoms. I had to.

Then we walked, arms linked together, towards Princes Street, which is one of the most crowded shopping streets in Edinburgh. I bought a purse at Topshop...and am planning on going back to that store tomorrow in order to do some serious monetary damage. We walked over to the movie theatre and saw "It's Complicated." Scottish popcorn is certainly worse than American popcorn for one reason and one reason alone: they do not put butter on their popcorn. This is truly baffling, especially because every other food in this country is either doused in butter or deep-fried. I really liked the movie, but all the scenes of the ocean and California really made me just a tad bit homesick.

Then, Bri and I met up with Jessie and we grabbed dinner at a restaurant called Aspen. I had fajitas. Incredible.

I went to a party tonight with Bri, Jessie, my flatmate Olenka, Alayna, Mirjam, Jackie, and Alison...needless to say, we were rather the spitting image of a herd of girls. We had to dress up like the country we were from, or the country we were studying abroad in. I put on a bro-tank that had 'American Gladiator' written on the back and called it a day. The party was actually quite fun and interesting, especially because it gave me the chance to meet some non-Americans.

As soon as I got there I started talking with this guy who was Polish, but also grew up in Finland. He made some comment about how he knew there were a lot of American girls here at the party, and I should go talk to them and be comfortable--and that's when it hit me. I was done meeting Americans; I didn't give a shit about being 'comfortable.' Absolutely nothing about this country is 'comfortable,' so really, what does it matter anymore? I talked for a while with some Irish bloke and a Scottish girl who was from Aberdeen--that's a fair bit north of Edinburgh. Apparently, they want to study abroad next fall in California, and they were drilling me with questions about the greatest state in all America. It's true. I met a guy who was from the Czech Republic; I talked awhile with some Canadians--and of course I met a bunch of Americans who were from all over the country. One of the guys whom I met is clearly a huge stoner and pulled a joint out right then and there in the pub. I was amazed, but somehow strangely pleased that I always somehow magnetically draw male stoners to my side. It's becoming something of a skill at this part. "Hello, my name is Kat. I like to read, write, oh, and I possess this extraordinary talent of being able to attract the hugest stoners to my side. It's true; they flock to me like a fat kid to a cake."

I met some more Scots, and then talked for a while with a guy who was from Brasil--he was definitely one of those people whom I would categorize as being incredibly handsome. Olenka made me go back and ask for his number, which I did, though I doubt I'll ever call him.

I'm getting better at walking up to total strangers and striking up a conversation with them. I'm not especially good at it, but being in a foreign city really makes you uncomfortable for most of the time. When you lack a comfort zone, everything is uncomfortable. But as a consequence, it makes doing uncomfortable things strangely less awkward--for no matter what I was doing at that given moment, it would most likely be awkward and uncomfortable. Does that make sense? Sometimes you just have to square your shoulders back and march right up to someone and say, "Hi, my name is Kat." And you see where the conversation leads you. I really do enjoy meeting new people, especially people from different countries.

This is what the Royal Mile or The High Street looks like. It's only a hop, skip and jump away from my flat.

My Favorite Short; My Favorite Joy; My Favorite Sadness

Because sometimes when you're alone in a new city, you need a little inspiration to get you through.