Sweet Home Chicago

My homecoming was absolutely amazing. I have been home less than a week, yet each day I have been surrounded by friends and family. Thank you to all of you who have kept up with my travels through this blog. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

My trip as a whole was more than perfect. I wouldn't change any part of it. For those of you who believed in me from the beginning, I hope I made you proud. For those of you who didn't.... I hope I proved you wrong.

Here I stand in Ruby slippers...

People have said a lot of things to me when I told them I was going to live abroad again. I heard everything from 'I can't believe you have the guts to do that!' to 'Well, how are you going to pay your bills?' to 'What about the degree you just worked 4 1/2 years to complete?' to 'Can I come visit?' At first my friends and family had mixed emotions about my traveling. Some understood. Some didn't. But the way I saw it... was that it was the perfect time for me to be selfish. I had just graduated and I had the world at my fingertips. I had no boyfriend, no job, no kids (ha), no apartment... it was the perfect time for me to take time for myself. So I did.

Many people have asked 'how do you do it? how do you know how to live in another country?' The answer is this; there is no street map for the road less traveled, I have just put on a good pair of shoes and turned my face towards the sun. Of course I've made mistakes. Of course I've lost my balance. Of course I've questioned why I am here. But on the other hand... I have challenged myself further than I thought I could go, I have seen places I had previously only dreamed of, and I have loved every minute of it.

Last night I had to say my goodbyes to my family in Edinburgh. It was tearful to say the least... but as Jane pointed out- it wasn't a goodbye it was a 'see you soon.' Jane and Malcolm and the boys were truly amazing and shaped this experience into what it has become for me. I am taking away rich memories and fond friends and leaving only gratitude and affection. This morning(after 10 sleepless hours on a night bus from Edinburgh) I arrived in London to meet my friend Melanie. Spending time with her will be a great way to end my stay here.

Though it is hard to walk away from this whole experience, I am ready to see my family and friends again (and of course indulge in American pop culture, take a trip to my local Target, sit down with a glass of milk and Oreos and drive on the right side of the road).

...so on Thursday... three taps take me home :)

If only I were a sheep...

This past weekend I took Jack and Michael to visit their grandparents in northern Scotland. The boys were on their half term break from school (what?!) and so we spent Friday-Tuesday up north. Six long hours after our departure from Edinburgh train station we arrived exhausted and tired (actually I was the only one feeling these symptoms… from saying ‘no’ to the inevitable ‘are we there yet?’). The boys of course were just excited to break away from the capsule they had been locked in for the better part of the day and once we arrived at the cottage, I didn’t see them until I had to drag them in for a bath around 10:00. You may think that 10:00 is pretty late for two young boys to be playing outside…however sun stays up so much later, and it doesn’t really begin to get dark until about half past nine. Now- I am not a scientist, nor do I claim to be… thus I will not try to explain why it stays light so late here (perhaps because we were so far north, the tilt of the Earth, God likes Scotland) but I have become very intrigued by it (and it’s not even close to the middle of summer!)

The cottage was an old school house for the county of Sutherland, and when Gail’s parents bought years ago they renovated it to include bedrooms, bathrooms and a kitchen while still preserving its original structure. It overlooks the Kyle river which winds its way through the valley in which they are nestled. I slept in a room far away from the boys (I wanted the attic… but I thought that may seem a bit extreme) so that I could sleep in on Saturday morning. They were invited to help on the farm down the road, so of course were up early. The neighbor down the street (neighbor= ½ mile away) is a sheep farmer, and was absolutely delighted that there would be 2 extra little hands available to help him feed the lambs four times a day. Jack and Michael were literally city boys let loose in the country! They clocked their playtime around the hours of lamb feeding! It was so precious- and fun to watch. While the boys were preoccupied at the farm, Gail (Granny) took me on a big adventure to the closest town to get a newspaper.

Things I saw in the ‘town’:

butcher

hair dresser

post office

grocery store (the size of a small 7-11)

newsagent

In that order.

I was told that the closest ‘supermarket’ (meaning small grocery store in which you can buy produce, meat/poultry, frozen foods, is 40 minutes away). We returned back to the cottage to find the boys ankle deep into the river with their Wellington’s on building a dam out of rocks…happy as could be.

Sunday my sleeping-in time frame was cut back to about 9:00 so that we could head to the beach. There really is no way to fathom the remoteness of this part of the world unless you’re there. Everyone always says that Britain is a gravely overpopulated island… but you would never have guessed it looking out the car window on our drive. We drove for about an hour and a half straight across to the west coast, and if I counted 15 houses… that would have been a lot. Earlier that morning when Gail asked me to help her pack a picnic because there wouldn’t be a place to eat along the way I thought that that was because it was Sunday and they would be closed… or that they weren’t the type of places a 9 and 7 year old boy would be allowed…or because we were headed to the coast, they would be too posh and expensive. Little did I realize that there literally was not a single place to eat along the way (good thing for the picnic!). The journey out west was absolutely amazing. We were deep into the country of one-lane roads and breathtaking views. We were past the point of people fencing off their land, and thus found ourselves pulling into a passing place not so that a car could get by… but because a sheep was trying to get through. The terrain on the west seems to be a lot softer than the East coast, and the views from the beach we were at were absolutely stunning. The boys enjoyed dune jumping and sand digging, while I enjoyed a nice long walk on the beach and some cliff climbing (still trying to get some quiet time after the 6 hour train ride two days before!).

We returned home early evening and then headed out to a local castle for dinner after the boys fed the lambs. Not the local pub (there isn’t one) or restaurant (there isn’t one)… but the local castle. Not to worry- my cargo pants and fleece suited the dress code just fine, as the castle was turned into a youth hostel in the 50’s… so needless to say… for once… I fit in. (I don’t know how the hell it survives as a youth hostel because there was no foreseeable way a backpacker could get to this place- it is in the middle of NOWHERE!) Dinner was great- and I did a bit of research with help from Gail to find out that you can actually rent out the entire castle for weddings/parties. Now if I could only find that prince charming…

I awoke Monday morning to two little boys on my bed asking if we could go in the canoe. I pulled the blanket over my head and told them to go feed the lambs (still trying to satisfy that quiet time). Over breakfast it was decided that we would go out on the boat… however only 4 people could fit. I quickly raised my hand to volunteer to stay onshore and take photos. Thankfully it was eventually determined that Spencer would take the boys out on the boat while Gail and I headed off to the big town (the one 40 minutes away with a proper grocery store) for some gasoline. We ran our errands in town (grocery store, petrol station, fish & tackle shop)… and stopped at a few picturesque places for me to enjoy along the way. As Gail and I left the town headed for the scenic drive back to the cottage we looked over the hills and noticed huge black rain clouds over the valley of the cottage.

Me: oh my…I hope the boys are ok

Gail: they’ll be fine… as long as Spencer hasn’t chucked them out of the boat yet

Me: no I mean the rain- look

Gail: oh… well they’ll surely have their waterproof jackets.

Me: (pause…) right…

Different mentality- I was worried about them flooding the boat and capsizing in the storm. She was hoping Boppa didn’t get fed up with them and make them swim back to shore. And if he did do that… surely they’d be ok because they would have their waterproof jackets on!

Well we arrived home to find two squeaky clean boys fresh out of the bath tub… eager to tell us all about their adventures in the wind and the rain.

Tuesday we packed up the car and headed back with Gail and Spencer to Edinburgh. Brits are very funny about car rides. If for example I were to say that I was headed to Glasgow tomorrow for work- everyone around the table would groan and pour out empathy for me and my long journey. (This is where I should mention Edinburgh is approximately 55 minutes away from Glasgow by car). Of course this country is more environmentally conscious than most American cities tend to be, so perhaps the groans aren’t for the long drive… but for the hour of exhaust that your car will be contributing to the air pollution. Anyway the drive home from Sutherland was about 3½ hours (which to the boys may as well have been the end of the world). I explained to them that you can’t get anywhere by car in 3 ½ hours in America. And you should have seen the looks on their faces when I told them that for as long as I could remember my family DROVE to Georgia every summer… a trip taking no less than 12 hours. They were so intrigued by the severity that a drive that long would bring. (I’m no expert on the subject, but I imagine if you started at the northern most tip of Scotland and drove down to the southern most tip of England… it would take around 12 hours (provided there was a direct route, no one lane highways, no sheep blocking the roads, and bridges over any foreseen water)) They asked all sorts of questions like ‘were you ever bored?’ (NEVER I exclaimed) ‘who drove the car?’ ‘where did you sleep?’ ‘what kinds of things did you see out the window?’ For a while after our conversation the car was silent… with two little faces gazing out the window- pondering what a 12 hour car ride would be like… and surely thanking someone that this particular ride was over in time for dinner.

Jack and Michael feeding the lambs


The view from the cottage looking onto the Kyle river... with a beautiful rainbow

Getting ready for a walk in the woods

Pitlochry

This weekend is a bank holiday weekend, which basically means banks/post offices/shops are closed on Monday for a spring holiday (like Memorial Day, Labor Day, etc.). My friends Kristy and Kirsten both used to work in the town of Pitlochry, which is about 2 hours north of Edinburgh. They both left their job a few months back, but were returning this weekend to visit old friends and invited me to come along. We planned to meet at the train station for our 9:30 train on Sunday. Keep in mind that although I live in Edinburgh, I am quite a ways from down town. Looking at the bus schedule Saturday night, I realized my options for getting to town by 9:30 would be quite limited. You see, buses don't start their run until about 9:30 or 10:00 on Sunday mornings, thus it would be impossible to catch either of the two buses that run from here into town in time to catch the train. So...option A was to leave the house at 8:00 and walk to town (a little foolish if you ask me, because I was hoping to sleep in a bit) or option B was to coax Jane into getting dressed and driving me at least part of the way into town the next morning. Thankfully she couldn't pass up my pouty face and offered to drive me to the station. Imagine my delight when the alarm went off at 8:45 for a quick 15 minutes of packing and then a jump into the car. I met up with Kristy and Kirsten just in time and we quickly made ourselves cozy for the 2 hour ride. It was nice to catch up with Kristy, who I haven't seen in ages, and to hear about all the fun stuff they had in store for me. We arrived into Pitlochry at about noon and were picked up at the train station by one of their mates. Now this town is like the Mayberry of Scotland. A quaint small town with one main road dotted with loads of little shops/restaurants/bars. I think I counted at least 7 shops that sell primarily wool sweaters as well. I got the quick drive by tour of the main street as we headed up the mountain a bit to the golf course for some lunch. After lunch we went to a local whiskey distillery where we got free shots of whiskey and a short tour. We continued on our quest through town, stopping off at the places they thought were worth showing me, and meeting up from time to time with their old friends from the area.
The boys that we met up with were hysterical... and of course since I was the newbie at the table.. and American... they focused many of their questions on me and America. We made tracks all through town, at many bars and flats and grocery stores before finally making our way to a friend's flat for the remainder of the evening. The conversations were good and the company was great! It was such a random mix of people- from all over the world; USA, Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Scotland... it was great. At about 5am we finally made it back to the place where we were staying... one of K & K's friend's flat who was out of town (don't worry she just left her door unlocked... because it is 'mayberry' and no one would come in uninvited). We crashed for the night and then had breakfast at the old restaurant that the girls worked at before catching the train back to Edinburgh this morning. It was the best night I've had in Scotland. Tonight I am drinking water... to give my liver a break.


Kirsten, me and Kristy at the Edradour distillery

This coming weekend I am going to Sutherland with Jack and Michael to visit their grandparents' cottage. Then I come back here for a few days before heading back to London on Saturday to hang out with my friend Melanie for a bit. Then... back to the good 'ol US of A on the 24th. Unbelievable.

Ireland

My trip to Ireland started off with a bang. Being back in an airport of course reminded me of 'the incident' (please refer back to the blog entry on Valentine's Day if you have forgotten... though 'the incident' is one of those things you remember... at least I do.) Thankfully I arrived with PLENTY of time, as to not miss this flight. It was smooth sailing through the line at the check-in counter, and once I got felt up by security I was on my merry way to my gate. On the long stroll past EVERY terminal (at least it seemed) to the one that my plane was leaving at, I saw many things that caught my attention. First, I spotted lounge chairs that look like they belong on a beach. You know... the kind you sun tan on. They were there simply for the use of travelers who happened to miss their flights and had to spend the night. I considered taking photos of the chairs and sending them to Gatwick airport- perhaps they could take a clue. Also I came across vending machines that dispensed books...novel idea. When I finally found my gate and took a seat, I quickly realized (to my delight) that I didn't recognize any of the automated PA announcements, and thus tuned in for a bit to see if their automatic computer voice was nicer sounding than the one at Gatwick. She was.

I used to always dream of walking out of the airport onto the pavement and up a tin roll away stair case onto the airplane. The first time that I experienced this was in fact in Ireland in 2004. Since then, I have had a number of flights that I boarded via an outdoor staircase, including one in New Zealand that wasn't so much a flight of stairs but more of a turned over milk crate to boost you into the 7 seater plane (a story for a different time). My fascination and obsession for climbing steps into a plane diminished on this trip when boarding the plane in Edinburgh and again disembarking the plane in Ireland, I nearly toppled over the low guard rail to my demise because my pack made me top-heavy and I'm pretty sure the wind could be classified as gale force. Thus, I have had my fix for a while climbing stairs.

The flight was nice and short to Ireland. Sort of annoying when the actual time on the airplane is considerably less than the time spent getting to the airport, going through security, and waiting at the gate. Anyway, as soon as all wheels had touched down in Ireland the sound system started blaring a trumpet. I don't know the name of the song... but it was the sound that proceeds the man announcing 'Its post time!' at the Dairy Land Dog Race track. It startled me out of 'landing mode'... you know when your hand is placed on the seat in front of you and your elbow is locked... eyes bug eyed and fixated on the embroidered stitching on the back of the seat that says 'please fasten seat belt.' The captain came on to happily announce that we were the 1,000 something plan to land on time in the last 12 months with Ryanair. Now my question is this... fair enough that they are proud of their record... but Is there really a need for a 110 decibel trumpet sound? I think not. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Ryanair...let me give you a glimpse. They pride themselves on offering cheap airfare. Thus everything is a perk. For example- beverages and food are for purchase only on flights, there are no seat assignments, and if you check luggage you must pay per bag. Not exactly posh flying... but they sure give you a nice loud welcome if you land on time!

When traveling internationally... the actual flight is usually a piece of cake compared to the dreaded customs and immigration check. Once we arrived to immigration, I was in the short line because I was one of 2 people on the flight that didn't hold a passport from one of the European Union countries, and thus was shunned to a different customs official. I'm sure he was a nice guy, except that he was behind a glass window with one of those little microphones that popped in from the wall panel that then projected his voice through quarter sized speakers on my side of the glass. Only I'm 99% positive that the microphone wasn't on... therefore I was forced to read his lips (because you never point out that a customs official could have done something so silly as to have neglected to turn on his microphone). The problem with reading lips is that I have trouble enough doing it in America... let alone reading the lips of an elderly Irish man who I could only imagine had a nice thick Irish accent. Now this is a predicament for a few reasons. First... the old theory of 'smile and nod' when you don't understand someone doesn't exactly apply to an Immigration officer. You know, in the event that he was asking me 'are you planning on working here illegally and taking government funding?' or 'will you be overstaying your 3 month welcome?' or 'are you smuggling any illegal substances?' a smile and nod would not be appropriate. However you can't negate everything he says because if he were to ask 'did you pack your own bag?' 'did you have a nice flight?' or 'welcome to Dublin' I wouldn't want to piss him off by saying 'no.' Anyhow- after a few minutes of confused banter, my good looks got me in (Ha!).

I stayed the first night in Dublin, then woke up early Friday morning to catch a train to the town of Kilkenny. Unfortunately my (not so) handy guide book told me that trains depart regularly from Connolley station to Kilkenny... however when I arrived at Connolley the nice man told me that trains in fact departed from Heuston station (which I might add is on the other side of town.) So two escalators, a walk, a tram ride, and a flight of stairs later I made it to Heuston Station with 2 minutes to buy my ticket and jump on board just before the stationmaster whistled the train away. I made a mental note to email the guide book company to point out their mistake. Kilkenny, like so many other Irish villages, makes its mark on the map because of the castle that the town is built around. It was the type of place where people walking down the street say things like 'lovely day isn't it?' or 'Hiya how've you been? I've just been round to the market and there is a great sale on carrots.' Of course there were a few more tourists like myself...seeing as the castle ruins draw some attention from holidayers. Along one of my many walks through the streets of the town I came across a fortune teller running her business out of an old RV. A pink fluorescent poster taped on the front windshield claimed that she 'will find the love of your life.' Hell... I haven't been able to... let's give it a go. €3 later I found out the following startling revelations.
1. I haven't met him yet (really!?)
2. I will meet him in the near future (not clear if this means days or decades)
3. I will meet him in an unexpected place (like what?)
She was done and all I could think of was 'seriously? that's it!?' On my way past the front of the RV I realized that I had misread the pink sign and it actually said...'will you find the love of your life?' At least she didn't say 'no!'

I don't know if I mentioned that I traveled alone on this trip. Now this was great at first, but by day two I realized that I wanted someone to talk to... go to dinner with... ride the train with... you know. I mean I enjoy my own company to a certain extent- but it got old. Regardless, the time I spent in Kilkenny was great.

I headed back to Dublin on Sunday and took another train to the village of Dun Laoghaire. I didn't know much at all about the town other than it was a beautiful seaside village, so I exited the train station and picked a direction to go. I eventually stumbled upon the beach, and sat for quite a while watching the waves crash into the rocky shore. I know its cliche but I love the smell of the sea. Not because I am particularly a water person (far from it actually) or because I love collecting rare shells, or tanning, but because I never grew up by the sea... so for me the smell of salty air means that I am traveling (something I love to do if you didn't get that by now). The smell of the sea means I am in Florida with the Nusbaums, or Aberystywth studying abroad, or Australia on the Great Barrier Reef. I wandered quite a bit down the seaside and realized I was about 5% lost... but without a care in the world. I literally stumbled upon an outdoor market/fair/festival and spent the afternoon walking around visiting the different vendors. One vendor in particular had a big sign posted announcing 'American apple pie.' Obviously that was a sign that I needed to have dessert first. Now of all of the vendors and all of the desserts, I don't know why I opted for a traditional American dessert instead of an Irish one... I suppose I was longing for a taste of home. Now you have to realize that I didn't ever like apple pie until about 5 years ago, and even so I am very particular about the kind of pie I like. So from the start this promised American dessert had a lot to live up to. The slice was a square, not a triangle (strike one). In all fairness, the pastry part was really good- the gooey apple part, however, had a lot of tweaking needed before it could live up to its 'American' claim.
I headed back to home sweet Scotland on Monday- fully ready to break the silence and have full force non stop jabber from the boys. I can't believe it is May already! 24 days until I return.... Crazy!


This is for my mom... because she gets angry when I post pictures without me in them. So here. Its me. In front of a castle.