Farewell, My Vikings (Saturday, June 27, 2009 - Edinburgh, Scotland)

Last night, as I was kept up until 3 a.m. amidst what must have been a Roman orgy upstairs, I had a lot of time to think about how to 'end' this blog. For it is truly, the end of an era.
Today you will find no pictures... no silly quips about natives...Instead, I decided to give Edinburgh a proper send-off by wandering around like a 'local' sans camera (at least as much as I could, given the general Giant to Hobbit height ratio and fannypackpursewallet situation).
This is not the end...now that I have managed to tame a tiny piece of the Wild Wild World (or at least not die trying), I am hooked like a fish on...well on a hook. I will not be bringing back an accent/bus driver/haggis/sheepalthoughItried, but I will be coming back a different person. This I know.
Thank you all for sticking around so dilligently and helping me sift through the great rubbish pile that is my brain. Until next time...

Stay Sexy Scotland,
Ashley

P.S. If you ever find the opportunity train heading full speed your direction, be like Nike...Just Do It.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles-ish (Friday, June 26, 2009 - Edinburgh, Scotland)

It is now official: I have utilized every mode of public transportation available, save the trolley/monorail/piggy-back over the course of 2 weeks, 2 days. My personal favorite? the *us. (HAH! in the words of the great 'Cher' from my yester-years.."AS IF!"...I cannot even bring myself to type the full word, much less 'appreciate' it yet...though I do miss Brian the *us Driver).

Did 'run run rudolph' through Waverly Station to catch our train this morning...(were sidetracked momentarily by the sight of the royal Rolls Royce and a line of police cars...bonus stalking of H.M. the Queen left us with exactly 1 minute to board...made it just by the hairs of our chinny-chin-chins. Which is a disgusting analogy. But what will you do.)

Whilst riding to Glasgow, I could not help but laugh a bit insanely at the fact that we got to the station at Linlithgow in 20 minutes...Yes, THAT Linlithgow. The Linlithgow that took us 1.5 hours to get back from on the bus. I realize, traffic has a mind of its own at times...however...this is no cure for the bitterness I feel when thinking that we could have gotten to ALL of our destinations in a quiet, climate-controlled, and largely-segregated-group-wise environment within minutes. It seems Dr. Petruso has the last laugh. And laugh he has. Especially hard at my tattoo+clever pre-history 'When in Pictland...' adage. It is so nice to be of entertainment value to the senile. Will no doubt earn me 'sainthood' points.

But a quick and painless train ride was merely the glaze on the Donut of the Day...because today was the day I have been waiting for this whole trip...GLASGOW NECROPOLIS DAY. (also, 'Day'...just in case you didn't get enough of the word in the above sentence(s) ). And boy did it deliver! Not only got to see St. Mungo's Cathedral (Fully intact, mind you! Survived the Protestant Reformation...which was not an easy thing to do, Catholic-ally speaking), but also got to give a 10 minute presentation on the hill of the Necropolis, about the Necropolis, and evidently sold it because everyone proceeded to follow me around it in 'mommy-duck/baby-duck' fashion despite going in being optional. So... i'd give today a 12 on the 10-point scale of excellence. I have also officially decided that Public History will be my game in grad. school...with focus on cemeteries...(I know what you are thinking. What a sick/sad/boring waste!...but I will tell you this for free... I have NEVER been more at home, and my Extreme Excitement flag has never flown so high as it did in that Necropolis. <--And I think that very well might have been one of the only truly sincerely serious things I have written about in this dear little blog. So... mark your calendars).

Please do see the pictures and enjoy, for today is a momentous occasion: I have painstakingly made sure that all pictures of the Necropolis are turned right side up! Neck strain be gone! (Feel free to send thank you letters as appropriate).

More, You Ask?...Well, If You Insist:

1. Though I am plus one beyond excellent day, I am minus one voice due to the sinus infection+oral presentation factors. I truly sound like a 50 year old woman who has smoked 2 packs a day since preschool. Fortunately, tomorrow is a free day...so I plan to stay up late learning sign language in preparation.

2. Glasgow (aside from the Necropolis/Cathedral district) is like walking into America. I saw a TGI Friday's...3 Starbucks'...The Gap...The only thing to set it apart was the Accordion-Playing-Gypsy-Grandma-Lady. She was amazing. Had a flash of brilliance and decided she could be my "Michigan J. Frog," and that I could put her in a little box (with air holes...i've thought this one through), and then charge others to hear her play her sweet little music...She was not too keen on the idea. Or she just didn't understand the proposition...but that is neither here, nor there, as my suitcase is currently minus one gypsy. (Side note: Why can't the gypsies at Trader's Village have some sort of irresistable talents? All they do is sell used toasters. Waste of potential if you ask me).

3. I have started a separate list of things I will miss most when back to the hotter side of the pond: heavenly Scottish Pollock Halls shower, rice krispies and bananas served free of charge and with a smile each morning, the CHOCOLATE, being forced to work out by walking everywhere in Edinburgh, toasties, the Necropolis, Mary Queen of Scots, Castle Ruins, glorious weather (when present), loony people roaming the streets, cathedrals, the gratuitous usage of inappropriate terms in street signage, paying for things in pounds and pence in a variety of fun colors and shapes, the accents, the fact that there always seems to be either a cricket game/a concert/or a pg-13 porn on the telly, the pub (food-wise), Gunther the wombat and his caretaker Emmelyn, getting away with wearing the same t-shirt in a different color every day, and perhaps most of all...unloading all of the rubbish that collects in my head each day onto you fine people. (The last one I do not want to think about just yet, though...as tomorrow is another day...and there is no sense doing 'misty watercolored memories' action yet).

4. Things I will NOT miss: seeing haggis at every meal, the strictly carb/fried/potato/bread/chocolate diet I have been hanging on by, the cold+rain+wind deadly combo, the BUS/3rd ring of hell, being with the same group of people for MUCH too long, getting lost looking for sites that we never actually find, toilets that don't flush and/or toilets that I have to pay for, Petruso Standard Time (watch synchronization 10 minutes ahead always), being looked at like a rude American by default, the Lovat Arms, shower-tubs, poultry as a rare delicacy, Everything closing @ 5 p.m. sharp, speed-of-molasses foodservice, sheep, and feeling like a useless thing due to the absence of work (sick...weird...I know...). But there is still plenty of opportunity to be whisked away by the shennanigans of Edinburgh! Tomorrow is mad-dash-souvenier/dress shopping day...the possibilities are endless!

Day 16 Picturas: http://s672.photobucket.com/albums/vv82/amj7348/Scotland%20Day%2016/

Not Drowning In My Tears...Yet,

Ashley

P.S. My tattoo is still there...in the same place. Was not a lick-n-stick after all! Have to put diaper ointment on it constantly...When I pop off to do so, I just say it's time to go "water my flower"! It is a wonder I have not been committed.

The Bunker of Secrets (Thursday, June 25, 2009 - Edinburgh, Scotland)

Today was the final farewell to the hell-bus and its mighty demon-tamer, Brian the Bus Driver. After a 6 hour long round-trip bus ride to St. Andrews, for what was...well...a whole lot of nothing, we gave him a bottle of whiskey, an envelope of money, and sent him on his merry way. But not before he tried to shake my hand, and I said...with tears in my eyes..."Bring it on in here, big fella'"...and gave him my best bear hug send-off. The Dr.'s P laughed...a little...then looked at me as if I was already wearing a big white straight jacket, and had missed my 6 o'clock electro-shock therapy session. I am...as the great poet "Lil' Wayne" so eloquently put it...Misunderstood.

But my brain is running away with itself...(much like the dish with the spoon, you know?)...let's back track a bit...

A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy Far, Far Away... (that was for you, Mom!)

Ok, restart... A Long time ago (at 9 a.m.), in a country far, far away from you fine people (Scotland), I was once again being herded onto the hell-bus for what was SUPPOSED to be a 3-hour tour. Just as Gilligan and his comrades were, I was in for a terrible surprise...After driving for a very long time in the very small hell-bus, we arrived in St. Andrews, expecting to be whisked away immediately to golfer's paradise, but instead were dropped off at St. Andrew's Cathedral and very very ruined castle. Did about an hour of graveyard wandering (which was actually the highlight of my day, bus trip-wise), ate lunch, then set off for...The Secret Bunker.

What is so secret about it, you ask? Well I will tell you. It was a top-secret bunker the cheeky little British militarians decided to hide in the middle of a cow field during the Cold War and continued to use into the 1990's. Just like Victoria's, though, the 'secret' is very much out, and it is now Scotlands "Biggest Tourist Attraction" (Holyrood Palace pales in comparison). Yes.

The Secret Bunker was...cold...in the B.F.E. deserts of nowhere...filled with leftover department store mannequins straight out of the 80's (I did not know the British military wore red lipstick whilst preparing for a nuclear holocaust...but as Yoda would say...'there is much to learn')...and harkens back to the "COME SEE THE WORLD'S GREATEST WORKING BUG RANCH," and "WORLD'S LARGEST ICE CREAM CONE" attractions of days gone by. It was... Magical. I really should not have been surprised. Dr. Petruso literally eats things like this for breakfast. He cannot get near a bus without visiting 'one of those' tourist sites. I simply cannot do this the justice it deserves. For Dr. P's 'last hurrah' hell-bus-trip-wise, please see the pictures.

Other Snippets:

1. I said I ate lunch, but I did not mention where. This is because I feel information of this caliber deserves its own special paragraph. I ate a baked potato and 'salad' (AND chocolate caramel shortbread bar...shhh....) at a charming little cafe on "BUTT WYND" street. I am not making this up. I wish I was that good.

2. Got lost while trying to find the vending machine in my PJ's (needed immediate salty chips to combat the Belgian-Fudge-Sugar-Coma I was slipping very quickly in to), and wandered into a corridor full of volleyball players. And I will tell you this for free...I have never felt more like I was 'among my own kind.' Like E.T. when his family came back for him. Minus the Reese's peanut butter candies, which would have been a nice touch.

3. With the prospect of 2 free days lurking around the corner, it seems the detainees have decided to loosen the reigns and let their hormones fly free! And my, have they ever. No less than 4 people of the 14 on this trip have...for lack of a better phrase..."Gotten Some" within the last 24 hours. Giggidy-giggidy...aaaalright.

4. My tattoo is still there. Very interesting scenario on the bus. The seat was doing 'rub-rub, scratch-scratch' on it, so I had to pull down my pants, roll up my shirt, and make a little "jacket tent" to sit in, so as to let it breathe freely. Definition of stealth. MacGyver would be proud of my skills in the improvisation department.

5. T-Minus 11 hours until GLASGOW NECROPOLIS TIME. I am overcome with sheer excitement. They will have to tear me away, after. The hand of God has come out of the clouds and touched Dr. P on the head, no doubt, so he has decided to make Saturday a FREE DAY. Bonus Points!

Day 15 Evidence: http://s672.photobucket.com/albums/vv82/amj7348/Scotland%20Day%2015/

Sleeping With a Copy of "Death by Design" Under the Pillows of my Little Hobbit Bed,

Ashley

When In Pictland... (Wednesday, June 24, 2009 - Edinburgh, Scotland)

Before I begin, I feel it is necessary to give you all a bit of prehistoric background information...Before Scotland was 'Scotland,' it was inhabited in the North and East by a group of people called the Picts. The Picts come from the root word "Picti" meaning, "Painted People." Roman records describe them as a "savage" people, who "painted," or, covered their entire bodies with tattoos in order that the gods would recognize them from the 'heavens'... now don't you feel educated?...Why the need for this lesson, you ask? WELL.... as I am in Pictland, I felt it necessary to do as the Picts would... that's right... l got a tattoo. I did not cry. I did not pass out. I did not scream. I DID get to listen to Johnny Cash and bite Emmelyn's stuffed wombat Gunther, for support. So...giggidy.

Woke up AT 'HOME' (yes!) to the breakfast of champions... you guessed it... Rice Krispies & Banana! My clothes officially fit again, thank you university hot water wash and dry! Had the sandwich of the century (the "Chicken Legend") at McDonalds (which is quite posh, I must say)...so, good news overall today! Back in the Saddle, it would seem. The Pollock Halls Heaven Shower has washed away all 3rd ring of hell, sheep, and bus related angst. All rejoice!

Other Non-Painful, Non-Pictish Sordid Activities and Happenings:

1. Operation Stalk the Queen commenced at 00:12:00 hours. Location: Holyrood Palace. Goal: To look so adorably tourist-y and charming that HM the Queen would invite Isabelle and I to her Garden Party souiree. Result: A few good shots of the army doing "marchy-march and guard the front of the palace," a pretty good face-tan...and ultimately, failure.

2. After queeny-stalking failure, bought 1 very pricey slice of Belgian Chocolate and Vanilla Fudge... I don't feel this needs any further explanation. (Other than that it was HEAVEN IN A BAR....but again, I will spare you the details).

3. Bananaflowers. The good groundskeepers at the U. of Edinburgh have planted whole rows of them whilst we were out cavorting in the hell-bus (see mini banana flower picture). They are... well... banana shaped flowers. And also, a terrible tease. Every time I walk by, I can hear them say "Just try to eat me...go ahead... make my day." And I very well might, soon. I have been severely deprived in the fruit and veggie department. A loose cannon, some would say.

4. Made a new friend-ish. While walking to lunch, noticed a wee little fella' on one of the shop windows. His name? Testicle Tim. ('Timmy' to his friends, I imagine). His mission? To warn the world of the perils of testicular cancer... pretty heavy job. (...that's what she said...). Decided to take a picture holding Testicle Tim up for the world to see, only to realize that there were ACTUAL PEOPLE working just on the other side of the window looking at me like I was an escapee from the Loon's Reserve (sound logic, really). Jolly good time for all involved.

5. Ever come back to a place after being away for some time and discover that it is far more insane-ridden than you'd noticed the first time around? That is Edinburgh, for you. Today I saw a Native American Indian playing the flute and dancing around all feathery (I was actually surprised. I half expected him to be crying, as the streets are quite littered with fast food wrappings. For those of you not born in the 70's, please click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4ozVMxzNAA).

Also, "Cockburn Street." Also, an outdoor toilet monopoly...you must PAY 20p to...well...to pee! Highway robbery. Also, nearly hit by a bus...even the sidewalk isn't sacred to these hooligans, it seems. I will be forced to buy suction cups and crawl along the building facades to avoid death and dismemberment soon, I fear.

In short, I Heart Edinburgh. Though I refuse to pay 20pounds for a T-Shirt that says so.

My last day with Brian the Bus Driver tomorrow... a tragedy of epic proportions...we're taking a morning drive to the cliffs of St. Andrews...(No, I don't know if they have cliffs, really. Just adding a few sprinkles for dramatic effect). We are like two ships in the night, you see... or something like that. Les Miserables. Ish.

Counting Down the Hours to Glasgow (T-minus 32 and counting). Also listening to 2 classmates talk about swords...(no, Sarah, not THAT kind... you are truly my soul mate, mind-wise). Also got a trio of veloceraptors in my Kinder Surprise.

Pictish Evidence Day 14: http://s672.photobucket.com/albums/vv82/amj7348/Scotland%20Day%2014/

Hooray for Wednesday,

Ashley

Man, I Feel Like A Roman (Tuesday, June 23, 2009 - Edinburgh, Scotland)

Finally back "home" in Edinburgh, and thinking a little more clearly after having a chicken caesar salad, which marks my first vegetable intake since last Monday. I could literally write a whole blog about how great it is to have options that don't include the words "fried," "cheese," and "bread." But alas, I have bigger fish to fry...(last time I intend to say the word "fry" for the next decade).What could possibly be more important than food, you ask? (and rightly so) Well I will tell you...the discovery of my own beyond brilliant moneymaking scheme for the Scottish Heritage Tourism Board, that's what. But let's start from the beginning...

Woke up in grannyland this morning (the King Robert Hotel) only to discover that the "ouch my throat kind of hurts" from the night before had snowballed into an "I think someone left a few bags of very sharp rocks in my glands" situation. After sucking down some Airborne, I went down to breakfast to look for a knife with which to shank the person on the bus who had been coughing for 8 days without mouth coverage (I mean, really. My preschoolers had better manners). I resisted, as I remembered that I would very soon be leaving the Bus Trip from Hell and would hate to be thrown in Stirling Prison. Walked outside, at which point little old lady #3 on the bench remarked, "ooh, look a little viking," and then winked at me...(did I just get "OWNED" by a member of SAS (Scottish Association for the Senile)? I MUST find a way to stowe my viking headpiece in my suitcase...and soon). Utterly humiliated, I was soon informed that June 23rd was to be christened "Roman Day" (snooze), but that we would also be visiting Linlithgow Palace, birthplace of MQOS (giggidy!). However, it seemed the Dr.'s P could not help but throw us into one last tourist trap, which they did successfully with the Falkirk Wheel (not worth describing here, but please feel free to browse the pictures of what looks like the World's Biggest Can Opener).

After satisfying the tourist beast within, we proceeded to the Antonine Wall (which is really a massive ditch and burn...covered in grass...but EXCELLENT getting-a-tan-wise)...As I was half-listening to presentations, half sunning myself, I happened upon the Scottish equivalent of the "American firefighters are all good looking regardless of age" theory: which is, the "Mowers of Historical Scottish Monuments are all shirtless and only sometimes good looking regardless of age" theory. I will not lie to you...I had to hide behind the mowers' trailer door whilst they were taking a break to snap the "reclining shirtless mower pose" picture... I have decided to call him "Mr. June," and I will be using his pasty bod for my Brilliant Moneymaking Scheme, which is a calendar to be entitled "Sweaty Shirtless Scots: Out and Aboot 2010"... seems the sun=shirtless scots tendency is an epidemic, actually, as I snapped pictures of at least 4 at lunch alone...

Other Tidbits Because I Enjoy Using the Word "Tidbits':

1. The good people at the Scottish Department of Public Safety, I have concluded, are government employees by day, and comedians by night. The road signage here is at about an 8.5 on the hilarity scale. "20: Twenty is Plenty" (speed limit-wise), "Change of Priority Ahead," "Thank you for driving carefully" (to make you feel guilty when you decide that 20 kph is not "plenty" fast enough)...the list is truly endless. At many of the school crossings, there are signs that look like a granny with a big purse dragging a child behind her much like a Border Collie. Priceless.

2. Speaking of Border Collies, I was almost overcome with internal laughter at the big grass mound they like to call "Antonine's Wall" when this Border Collie comes out of nowhere carrying a stick in its mouth and crouches down about 100 meters from our group (which is trying to pay very close attention to Dr. Petruso's talk)...about every 10 seconds he did this little "stand up, grab stick, crouch down with stick, shuffle shuffle shuffle forward on my tummy like i'm the cutest thing you've ever seen" and repeat until he was mere inches away from my back. It took all I had to fight off the "AWWWW" urge and not indulge the poor critter. But I did...which didn't really matter anyway, as I had spent 5 min. watching the dog and approx. 0 min. learning about the Romans. So, there you go.

3. If my career ever takes a dive down the tubes, and then my "Plan B" fails (moving to New Mexico to give white water raft tours professionally), I have figured out a "Plan C." Which is becoming a Professional Historical Site Lawnmower. I would include an 'umbrella hat' in my uniform.

4. Discovered a new dessert which I like to call the "Brookie"...it's as if the most delicious chocolate chip cookie i've ever tasted decided it had had enough of being round and morphed into a brownie shape. A wise decision, in my opinion.

5. Read the words "black bitch" on a plaque today...which would be nothing out of the ordinary...if it hadn't been on a plaque IN ST. MICHAEL'S CATHEDRAL. Yeah, that's right...a church. First 'twatt,' now 'black bitch'... It is like the ghost of Monty Python is following me around Scotland. Linlithgow Palace and St. Michael's Cathedral are my new favorites to date, mostly because of the MQOS factor, and the "hooray, this doesn't feel like a cheap Six Flags attraction" factor.

Cairnpapple Hill was a big round thing covered in grass with 3 tombs inside. Kind of like nature's version of the 'Kinder Surprise.' Except there were no 'toys' (bodies) left inside...I feel cheated.

The HIGHLIGHT of the day, I must say, was the beginning of Andras' presentation at the Antonine Wall... (Please Note: Andras is a theatre major. And notoriously unpredictable). As we all gathered in a circle to listen, he just started walking off in the opposite direction...I thought he was getting stage fright...but after getting about 1/4 a mile away, he turned suddenly and started running a full out sprint toward Dr. Petruso with this crazy look in his eye, shouting "The British are coming! The British are coming!"...eventually stopping within inches of Dr. P, cool as a cucumber. The moral of this story? Cabin Fever + Love of the Theatre = a recipe for lunacy.

Day 13 Evidence Including Copyrighted 'Shirtless Scots' Pictures (easy ladies): http://s672.photobucket.com/albums/vv82/amj7348/Scotland%20Day%2013/

There's No Place Like Home-ish,

Ashley

P.S. Tomorrow = FREE DAY! Also, my clothes do not fit anymore. Which means I will be doing "hot wash/hot dry" laundry breakfasting tomorrow. A winning combination.

The Honeymoon is Over (Monday, June 22, 2009 - Stirling, Scotland)

For those of you betting on the amount of time it would take me to be "over" the Scotland Trip, please feel free to cash in now. I've been “off” for two days now (not by choice, mind you), but I will do my best to recall the events that finally killed my travel buzz.

Saturday, June 20

Our brilliant travel agent shacked us up in the boonies…again… Instead of just throwing us in Ft. William itself (which has a McDonald’s…which means things are open past 5), we were shoved into the “town” (and by town, I mean 3 buildings…1 place to get food under 10p, open until 4:30 daily) of Ballachulish, 15 miles away from civilization. Our hotel was pretty swanky ($180p a night, not cheap), was able to make warm water with the ninja faucet (Ref: pics), and postcard companies everywhere would die to have had our view…why is this on the “killers” list, you ask? WELL…in my infinite life wisdom (HAH), I have come to find that usually the things in the prettiest packages are that way for a reason…there is nothing of practical use under the surface, and looking good on the outside is merely nature’s way of countering this fact. As much as I hate to stand on “Darwin’s Soapbox,” Ballachulish was a huge-mongous ™ waste of what could have been a perfectly good free day. The cheeseburger from the tourist information center was delicious, I went on a “geology walk” on the beach, invented “Extreme Jenga” (also see pics… was a good 10 min. of slate stacking fun for the whole family!), but other than that…nothing. And to add insult, Ballachulish is a pretty big extreme outdoor sporting hub (mountain biking, kayaking, etc.), which no one bothered to mention beforehand. So I was stuck meandering around a couple little nature trails whilst all of the informed travelers and their mothers were off hitting the whitewater…so…bummer. Also, no internet. Double bummer.

Sunday, June 21

Cabin Fever has escalated to more of a Lord of the Flies situation very quickly…mostly because we are stuck on a bus for 9-12 hours daily…one of the guys likes showtunes…the two that sit next to me, everyday like clockwork choose two comic book/star wars/superheroes and debate for HOURS on who would beat whom in a matchup and why… the lady who sits a couple seats up doesn’t hold onto her belongings, so bananas, pens, notes, etc. fall back into the isle constantly, which tact tells me I have to get out of my seat, pick them up, and walk them back…I’ve ran out of songs on the IPOD…If I see one more piece of bread with cheese I might use it to choke someone…I am turning into a sailor, language-wise…My pants are falling off constantly... the King Robert hotel isn’t (it’s really a Motel 6 in disguise…with bad internet, half a shower door, and a 'restaurant’ with 1 chef…)…we were told Sunday was to be our ‘short day,’ but we got stuck in a traffic jam (really Scotland?...really??) and didn’t get to the hotel until 6:30, by which time everything was of course closed…and the restaurant doesn’t believe in the words “fast” or “multitask,” so it took 3 hours total to get dinner and eat it…last time I checked, cheesecake was not an actual slice of cheese cut into a triangle shape with strawberry sauce camouflage…the internet didn’t work (mind you, I am not an I.T. genius, but all that needed to be done was to unplug the router and plug it back in…the old lady receptionist just pretended not to hear me…)…Everyone is truly getting sick of one another, and we’re all just ready to go home (and by home, I mean Edinburgh)… I am seriously considering eating a classmate just to get some real food in. Also, did you know grocery stores in Scotland do not have plastic bags? Or plastic forks? Well they don’t… and let me tell you, eating cold pasta with a potato chip after carrying a load of snacks out looking like I stole them was definitely not the highlight of my day.

And now we come to today…Monday… After getting 5 hours of sleep because no one would get out of my room last night (even tried the…’yawn, yawn…think I’ll take a shower’…then actual taking of the shower…and they were STILL THERE), and waking up to the sound of bagpipes (unfortunate side effect of staying within walking distance of the most important battlefield in Scots history), I had a cracking breakfast of toast and jam because the eggs were sitting in water and the bacon was, I am convinced, still alive. Would have been OK, had it not been the only thing to eat until 2 p.m. I was literally half-laying across the counter at KFC trying to get my order out. Visited Stirling Castle, which would have been a fabulous stop Mary Queen of Scots-wise, had the actual palace not been closed for renovation, and had the remaining things to see not been presented Six-Flags style. I would much rather use my imagination (some people still have those, you see) with a castle in ruins, than be force-fed life sized talking plasticine figures in their plasticine environs. If I wanted Disney World, I would have gone to Disney World. Mary Queen of Scots (or, everything but her head, rather) is no doubt turning in her grave. Good news is, it seems the professors are tired too, and they called it a day at 4:30. A big thank you to Baby Jeebus and his Daddy-o. (Speaking of Daddy-O’s, which could also double as a cereal, many a Happy Father’s Day shout out to my Daddy-O and my Step-Daddy-O!)

Silver Candy-Coated Linings:

1. The toilet at the King Robert flushes. And well.

2. KFC today…REAL CHICKEN! And it was delicious.

3. Discovered my own personal super hero… the Midgie Man. Midgies are tiny mosquito-like little insects that apparently prefer to live in and around tourist attractions. Midgie Man is their arch nemesis. Yesterday, I fell backward into a ditch at the Bonnie Prince Charlie Monument whilst being forced into the ‘tall people’ (back) section of a group picture, and angered a whole colony of these critters. While trying to get away, I noticed what I thought was a really hideous looking statue below the monument, which turned out to be a strange little man looking at me and shaking his strange little head. He looked like a statue, because his super-hero anti-midgie garb and face shield (see pics) blended in perfectly with the darker shades in the stone, and also because he was TOTALLY standing in a full-on “thinker” pose. “That is hardly enough to be considered a superhero”, you say? Not so. As Isabelle was giving her report on B.P.Charlie, Midgie Man began mumbling very audibly “No,” and “No tha’s not right” in the background after each of her sentences, much like a homeless person talking to his invisible friends. It was, needless to say, stellar, and Midgie Man deserves his own little place (probably an overpass or cardboard box) in history for his unpaid guard-dogging of the BPC statue and balls-to-the-wall heckling style.

4. Had a wee little peeksie under Bonnie Prince Charlie the statue’s kilt whilst at the top of the monument for research purposes. It’s really no wonder the Jacobite Uprising was not victorious. It’s leader was less one very important sword!

5. Made 2 important film pilgrimages yesterday: 1. To see the bridge that the Hogwarts Express crosses in the Harry Potter movies. It….was….less than magical. 2. To Doune Castle, where the infamous scene of the arrogant French knight taunting King Arthur was filmed for Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Had a jolly good time shouting “your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberry!” over the ramparts. At no one in particular. (If this does not make sense to you, please watch the following and note that I am thoroughly disappointed in your lack of movie taste: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9V7zbWNznbs)

6. Had a good chuckle yesterday evening…said I would be dining alone as I had been personally invited to a “Twatt-luck Dinner” at Twatt Cathedral. Almost instantly, one of my classmates replied, “that’s perfect, I need to bring in my donation for the ‘Toys for Twatts’ drive.” I very nearly had to be taken in for sheer hysteria, laughing-wise.

7. Will begin work on my “Hamish the Highland Coo” cross-stitch keychain kit this evening, which I picked up while browsing the “grannies-only” section of the tourist shop yesterday. Also acquired: a wooden ruler with all of the Scottish “rulers” listed on back…to hit people with…the Scots were, after all, an aggressive people, historically speaking.

8. Despite malnourishment being at threat level: Ethiopian, managed to make it up the approx. 250 step spiral staircase this morning to the top of the William Wallace Monument. Small step for man, giant step for conquering fears of height, vertigo, and starvation.

9. Because I don’t like even numbers, I will mention that tomorrow we leave the 3rd Ring of Hell to return to the safety and impeccable showers of Pollock Halls in Edinburgh…we’re going home, Dorothy! (Pictures uploading as we speak...will post them separate)

Making Leo Tolstoy Jealous, One Blog at a Time,

Ashley

P.S. What in the Sam Hell is up with British television?! I am forced either to watch cricket (which actually looks like a riot to play), PG-13 pornography (all adult shows, I've found, fall into this category), or VCCS's... (Very Creepy Children's Shows...like this one called "Trapped"...with bizarro adults sprinkled in).

P.P.S. Nevermind the P.S...just found Wimbledon.

A Place No Sheep Would Go (Saturday, June 20, 2009 - Ballachulish, Scotland)

Today was... bleakety-bleak with a bad case of fog...The highlands are so gloomy, in fact, that for a good 3-4 hours I did not see a single sheep. Shocking, all things considered.

2 hours ferry + 10 hours bus = A whole lot of time to think thoughtful thoughts whilst listening to 'kill yourself' music (...there's a good chance I will never listen to Radiohead or Simon & Garfunkel ever again. I have quite reached my limit). So, as my pictures are basically all of fog from a bus window (with the very tiny exception of our visit to Loch Ness!...the sun came out, no classmate sacrificing necessary! My Nessie Net was too small, however, to catch anything of value...sad day), I will proceed with an outline of the things that floated through my brain...

I. Things I am 'Jones-ing' Pretty Badly For

A. A belt and a sweatshirt

i. I really need a belt due to the multi-wear jeans cycle combined with the long hiking excursion weight loss factor.

ii. I really need a sweatshirt due to the fact that it's freezing bollocks everywhere I go, it seems. And also i've hiked off all of my 'extra insulation.' Bummer.

B. Chicken Fajitas

i. Or any kind of American bird, for that matter. Apparently they don't exist on the isle. I have tried telling several people that sheep do not have wings, and are not an allowable substitute. No one's listening.

C. Sonic.

D. Something to eat besides cheese and bread.

E. A real shower, a.k.a. non-shower-tub scenario.

F. Tennis. All of these amazing-looking courts around, but no chance to play. What a tease.

G. World Peace...?

II. Mom, you will be terribly proud of me

A. As I was shuffling through my suitcase this morning, I found a little something I forgot i'd packed... my "Rape Whistle"! Which thankfully, I have not had to use, as it has been swimming through my suitcase for 9 days. I felt like blowing it really loud at the docks, as it sounds so nautical, but I resisted (I am nobody's Peter & the Wolf).

III. The Toast Caddy

A. I was greeted at the breakfast table this morning by an unfamiliar contraption. It was a little metal gadget with all of these slots in... I tried asking it what it was, but I didn't get a response...fortunately, the waitress popped by seconds later shoving all of this fresh toast into it! Not only fresh toast, but fresh toast CUT INTO TRIANGLES. Like moms do the world over. Geniuses, these Brits... Had to suppress the urge to say "Cracking toast, Gromit!" (<-if this is confusing to you, please refer to the Wallace & Gromit shorts, in particular "The Wrong Trousers." You can thank me later.)

IV. Why the Scots are historically a rebellious people.

A. I have decoded the myth of the Scots firsthand, without any solid academic research needed. If I was stuck in the highlands with a stone closet for a home, trying to fish in the North Sea in the freezing cold and rain, with only a loin-y cloth contraption to cover my addendas, I would very likely go mad, too.

V. Definition of Tourist Trap

A. I finally found the holy grail of tourist traps. I wish I could remember where we were (Post Scotland Update: We were at Bettyhill...also known as Lucifer's Lair...), but suffice it to say we were in a little town in backwoods Scotland (seriously...it's no wonder the sheep got the hell out...I could almost hear banjos playing in the distance). We went to some awful little museum (Awful) where this WAY overenthusiastic docent (probably named Hamish, the U.S. equivalent of "Bubba") released all of the pent up tour giving urges he's had to suppress for 30+ years because no one dares wander close to his little museum of horrors. Dr. Palmer tried to politely excuse us, but the guide would have none of it. Eventually all of us just starting walking away...like little blind salamanders trying to feel their way out of the cave... very amusing, actually.

B. After getting ourselves 'un-trapped' (or so we thought), we wandered over to the building next door marked "Tourist Information," which in any normal part of the world also means "public restroom"....but not in the Highlands! Turns out it was someone's home, and they were running a "cafe" out of it. They also happened to have the only toilet within a good 15 mile radius which they were well aware of, and exploited (pretty intelligent despite possible inbreeding)...as I was trying to walk into the restroom, 'Angus' walks over and says "yew hav' to buy somethin' firs' before you kin' use the toilet"...So I looked him dead in the eyes, and said, "Well it looks like i'll be popping a squat in your garden, then." Or I would have, had my brain not been so focused on the prize. I bought a water.

Tomorrow is a Free Day... thank you baby Jeebus for that! One more second on that bus, and I would willingly check myself in to the "Loon's Reserve." Right across from Twatt Cathedral...(which will never get old).

I am told we are in Braveheart as well as Harry Potter country, so it is quite possible my nerd flag will be flying high tomorrow! Skipping the pictures until I have something entertaining to upload... use your imagination and picture fog, fog, foggity fog, cold, rain, and a sliver of sun on Nessie's lair, and you will get the idea.

Sleeping Well Because My Heater Works, and Not Setting My Alarm Clock,

Ashley