I saw fireworks from the freeway...

Tonight's Glaswegian surprise (after a day of true Scottish weather: bright sun, heavy rain, heavy wind, bright sun, heavy rain, heavy wind, all day long in that order) was fireworks!

I was getting ready for bed, heard the booms, and sure enough, when I looked outside my window, there were fireworks going off over the River Clyde. Most likely coming from the Science Centre, but I don't know the event. These were not your momma's fireworks. These were awesome and almost Fourth of July-esque.

On the eve of my first day of grad school, a very auspicious event indeed!

These boots were made for walking...

Living in this city without a car definitely does a body good. Just in the process of normal Saturday stuff, I walked eight miles today. Not all in one chunk, but two miles down to Buchanan Gallery, two miles back. And then later, two miles back down to City Centre (Queen Street Station) and two miles back.





Two + two + two + two = sore feet

Also, I really love that hearing bagpipes feels normal. I really love living in Scotland.

Bullets > real paragraphs on a chilly Friday

• Today was deceptively cold for being in the 60°s, and I went to campus without a jacket. I froze. And learned my lesson.
  

• The rain moves back in this weekend. The dry weather was nice while it lasted!
  

• For a university of 20,000 students, it feels very small and intimate. Case in point, running into no less than three people I knew during an hour trip up to campus. But this is not a bad thing. I like how cozy it feels.
  

• There was a wedding today on campus and they were taking pictures in the quad of the main building. It was absolutely beautiful, and seeing men in kilts feels surprisingly normal. And I haven't even been here for two weeks.
  

• I am slowly but surely discovering that maybe I do like Irn Bru after all. That is my deep, dark, dirty little Glaswegian secret.
  

Drove my Chevy to the levy...

Bizarre Multicultural Moment of the Day: Hearing "American Pie" played live by a musician in Jinty McGuinty's, an Irish pub on Ashton Lane, in Scotland, while the group of Greeks I am out with sing along at the top of their lungs.

"Does she believe in dinosaurs?"

I printed out my request for an overseas absentee ballot last night, and so there's been a lot of Yankee politics on my brain. Here, it's so easy to believe that Obama will win in November, because the British media makes it impossible to think that any nation of people could actually elect McCain/Palin. And while here, I feel like it's totally acceptable for the media to be biased and liberal and all, "WOOOOOO, OBAMA!" because it doesn't actually affect any voter decisions (and most likely if US voters are paying attention to the British media, chances are they're voting for Obama anyway), in the States, I'm starting to think the media really should try to pretend to not lean so far to the left. I think it's doing more harm than good.

Not that I mind or don't want to run down the halls of Medialand, high-fiving CNN, MSNBC (andmyboyfriendChuckTodd), and The Washington Post. Because I do! Woooo, liberals! Go Team Us! But sometimes, just for the sake of journalism, it seems a bit excessive and too editorial. It doesn't give the American people much of a chance to make up their own mind, and alienates people who might be a bit more conservative, which then leads to these people turning off CNN and running over to FOX News for info, and creates a very decisive split of people who watch CNN and support Obama and people who watch FOX News and believe that on the third day, God created the Remington bolt-action rifle so that Man could fight the dinosaurs. And the homosexuals.

I only bring this up because of the front page picture on CNN.com this morning. Could they be any more obvious in their mockery? Sarah "Lipstick" Palin in her best baby-eating pose. You can actually see the fire and brimstone behind her!




El diablo!

This wasn't meant to turn into a rant, rather a procrastinatory exercise, since I actually have my induction today and am feeling too nervous to get dressed and get going. Grad school starts... now!

Also, yesterday I joined the Hetherington Research Club, which is a postgrad-only club on campus. It's a lovely Victorian (I think) rowhouse, that has two bars, serves food throughout the day, has WiFi, pool tables, and is just a lovely and cozy little area for stressed out postgrads to go hang during the day, without being trampled by the 18 year olds on campus. And the best part? It's a house, so you get a key! I now belong to a club that has a key as membership! Slightly elitist, but to be honest, I kind of love it.

Now if only I had envelopes to mail my ballot request. Oh, I am so excited to be voting in Ohio this election!

...nothing but blue skies

Back to back beautiful days in Glasgow, where the sun is shining and the sky is actually blue. Days like this are almost cruel, because you get in this strange frame of mind of how the city looks on a gorgeous day, and it's just a giant tease. It's just going to make going back to the gray and the rain that much more difficult. But for now, the extended forecast (all five days of it!) are calling for sun and clouds, but no rain!

I went with K (my flatmate) down into the City Centre today to do a bit of shopping (after we both did copious amounts of schoolwork all morning and early afternoon). While we didn't really end up buying anything (except for saline solution at Boots -- so expensive over here!), it was a great day to be out. I went to Buchanan Galleries (primo shopping mall) for the first time, and salivated at all the British stores I now have access to: Next, Top Shop, Miss Selfridges, etc. And then we wimped out a bit on walking back (it's roughly two miles each way, so a four mile round tripper), and took the subway home instead.

Public transportation in this city is quite dreamy in terms of convenience and price (£1.10 per subway trip, and the entire subway grid is a giant loop, so it's impossible to get lost), but it's just so very different from the subway systems I'm used to (SEPTA and Metro, and to a lesser extent, Metro in Montreal, the subway in New York, and the Tube in London). It feels very small, like a train that goes between airport terminals, and is a bit outdated and has a '70s feel to it. But it was efficient and clean (enough), and saved us walking another two miles. And lest it seems that we were total slackers, we hopped off at Hillhead, so we could swing by both Woolworths and Marks & Spencer, which is then another mile walk still back to the flat. Woolworths, for cheapy cutlery; M&S for pre-made dinner food. Their chicken and mushroom risotto is heaven in a microwaveable container.

Tomorrow, I have a busy day of cramming in all the pre-term reading I didn't really do pre-term. So perhaps I'm a slacker after all.

And I took more pictures today. Just like before, clicking yields a much larger image:



I don't know what the curved building on the corner of Sauchiehall St. and the M8 is, but it's pretty. And apparently home to some kind of Mexican restaurant with half price fajitas on Sunday nights. We already marked our calendars; we're all going through a bit of Chipotle-withdrawal.






The M8 is one of the busiest motorways in the UK (think I-95 or I-70 in the States), and also connects Glasgow to Edinburgh. When heading into the City Centre from the West End, you walk across it as you go down Sauchiehall Street. I like standing over big roads, it's a bizarre sense of invincibility!






That curvy building, up close. It's lovely. Though note the Starbucks. You can't escape it.





The Celtic shop.






A look down Sauchiehall Street in City Centre.






A look down Buchanan Street and into the subway station in City Centre.






The Main Building of the university, as seen from the bridge over the River Kelvin and Kelvingrove Park.


Googlemaps now has a feature where it calculates walking distances as well. I should really start to keep proper track of how far I go every day. Or invest in a pedometer.

Oh, Glasgow.

As seen walking down Argyle Street this morning:

Sweeping the clouds away...

I don't know how much of this extended forecast will remain true, but the fact that a forecast this wonderful exists is worth documenting:

Gers and Hoops, oh my!

Last night, while hanging out with upstairs Scottish neighbors, I learned that we can see Ibrox -- home of Rangers FC -- from the flat!!! Of course, said Scottish neighbors are three floors above me, and so they have a much better view of it, but just the fact that I can see it, even a smidgen, from my room makes me quite happy. I hadn't realized that Ibrox was so close!

Football (soccer) is a really, really big deal in this town. I'm having trouble thinking of anything else that quite compares in the States. Maybe the Leafs in Toronto (though I realize, not the States). Or OSU football in Columbus. But even then, it's still not on quite the same level of insanity. As my new Scottish friend put it last night, in Glasgow, priorities go "football, then religion, then politics."

Though in Glasgow, football and religion are very closely linked. The two big teams are Rangers and Celtic, respectively Protestant and Catholic. This is not a light distinction; there are over a hundred years of religious strife between the two teams, that actually boiled into legitimate bigotry (apparently for decades, Catholic players weren't allowed to play for Rangers). And then there's the social designations that each team seem to carry (again, as explained by my Scottish neighbor). Celtic supporters are the Catholics, largely working-class, living in the lower-income, rougher neighborhoods of the city (the East End, mainly). Rangers seem to be a bit hipper, kind of the "cool" kid in town -- supported by the posher, more well-off Protestant population.

So in addition to the actual sports side of it (imagine if Yankees/Red Sox, Eagles/Cowboys, OSU/Michigan, etc, played in the same city and caused a huge division in its population, dividing it in two), you have this component of seemingly-sanctioned religious discrimination and racism (most of the Catholics in Glasgow -- though this is probably a sweeping generalization -- came from Ireland and were working class, and a lot of the prejudices, from what I gather, stem from that). It's really, really fascinating, especially because in the UK/Ireland, Catholicism and Protestantism isn't just about religion, it then brings in this whole other component of unionism versus anti-unionism (as in Ireland/Northern Ireland, not like labor unions). So there are quite a few heavy undercurrents for something that should just be kicking a ball about.

Because it's so heated, there's been a lot of Old Firm (the nickname for Rangers and Celtic, collectively) related violence over the years, blatantly displaying allegiances is frowned upon. They say that if you go to Quebec, you don't talk separatist politics with the locals, unless you're a scholar or someone with legitimate knowledge. Well, in Glasgow, you don't talk footie unless you're sure you can back up everything you're saying. You also don't wear Rangers or Celtic shirts in certain parts of town, and not in the way that "you wouldn't wear a Giants shirt to a Eagles game, because someone will pour beer on you." It's more here that someone will stab you. They don't mess around. And almost all the bars/pubs I've seen have big signs outside of them stating "NO FOOTBALL COLOURS." Not shirts, but colors.

Logic would dictate that because I'm Catholic, I'd support Celtic. But for now, I think I'll support whoever won't get me stabbed.

(It's hard to see in the small picture, but Ibrox is that white structure, located under that big lightpost. You can see it better if you click on the picture to see in full-size.)

Why don't you just make the minimum 37 pieces of flair?

One of the most interesting things I've seen here in Glasgow is courtesy of the ladies toilets in just about every decent club/bar in the city and totally indicative of the weather here. I've been in club/bar toilets in the States, that sometimes have niceties like lotion, hairspray, mouthwash, etc. But the bars/clubs in Glasgow? Their ladies toilets feature pay-as-you-go hair straighteners. I do not lie. You put ₤1 into the machine, and it buys you 90 seconds of straightener use. It's actually a bit of a brilliant concept for a city where it rains in some form every single day.

Language difference: the vocab used here for orange juice. When I went to Iceland (the cheapy food shop, not the country) yesterday to stock up on vitamin C (I could feel the start of a cold), I noticed that they don't have with/without pulp in their Tropicana. They have with/without "juicy bits." Well, then.

Yesterday's evening out with K and J (flatmate and neighbor, respectively) ended up stretching into the wee hours of the morning, during which I realized that while it's fine for myself and my fellow Americans to not always speak favorably about our native land, it is completely not fine for random internationals to -- as they say here in Glasgow -- slag it off. Telling me that America is "nothing more than Cheesecake Factory and TGI Fridays" is not the way to make friends. A girl gets mighty patriotic at 1:30am, somewhere in Merchant City, when her homeland's honor is being questioned.

That being said, there is a TGI Fridays in Merchant City. I would be lying if I said my stomach didn't grumble momentarily at the thought of potato skins when we walked past.

Short and sweet...

Just a quick update to the list of countries I've encountered in new people at the uni:

• USA
• Scotland
• Thailand
• China
• Nigeria
  
• India
• Russia
• Mauritius
• Malaysia
• Malta
• Brazil
  
• Germany
• Canada
• Greece
  
• France
• Kenya (added 19/9/08)
• Taiwan (added 21/9/08)
• Pakistan (added 22/9/08)
• Japan (added 22/9/08)
• Holland (added 25/9/08)
• Denmark (added 25/9/08)
  

Glasgow, as seen through the lens of a Nikon Coolpix 4200

Today was another day of slowly checking things off of my To-Do list. I picked up my banking letter on campus and made an appointment at Lloyds (it takes two weeks to open a bank account). I swung by Greggs for the cheapest lunch this side of the Atlantic (56p for a sausage roll). While I realize that sausage rolls are far from an ideal thing to put in my body, I justify it two ways: A) I grew up eating them in Yorkshire and can't break the habit when they're in front of me, and B) I basically burn the calories from it in all my walking (I looked it up and did the math). So 56p to fill me up until the evening is worth it for a poor grad student!

I headed back to campus, bumped into a friend and the core group of other American grad students we seem to have going, and we hung in the cafe for a bit until I had to go register. Which means "pay my tuition" (thanks, US government!) and get my ID card. A piece of plastic that I can safely say has one of the worst pictures of me ever taken on it, save for my CA gym card and my student visa. Each with an equally horrible, terrorist mugshot-like photo. But I'm happy I have it, because now I can join the gym, the union, go to the library, and most importantly, get student discounts everywhere!

Today was picture day for the university too, and so I photo-documented my walk to campus:

(Click on the images to make them bigger)



The corner of my street (Kelvinhaugh St.) and Argyle St, one of the bigger roads in this part of town.




The first view of the university on my walk to campus.





The Kelvingrove Art Gallery. Not only the art gallery/museum in Scotland, but also one of the most important in Europe. It's part of my walk to campus, and just stunning.





Part of the park in Kelvingrove Park (the street that cuts up to campus goes through it). The houses on the hill in distance are gorgeous, but I haven't figured out what they are yet.





One of the statues on the bridge crossing the River Kelvin.





The aforementioned River Kelvin.




Kelvin Way. That goes through the park to campus. This is my daily walk. It's not too bad on the eyes.





Kelvin himself. He has many titles and is quite important, what with all the temperature scales he invented. Many things in this part of the city around the uni are named for him.





A look up University Avenue, where the main entrance to campus, as well as a good portion of the important buildings are.




I don't know what this building is, but it's directly across from the Main Gate of campus, and it's pretty, which is good enough for me. Obviously, it's a church, but I don't know if it's part of the uni or not.




Outside of the Main Gate.





This is not Hogwarts. This is in the quad of the main building (I'm still working out if they call it "quad" here). No quidditch to be seen, but I'm still holding out hope.





More in the quad.





More in the quad.




I swear Harry Potter is not around.





The cloisters, connecting one side of the quad to the other. It's so gothic and gorgeous, and today it's filled with pictures of Heath Ledger as the Joker because the poster sale is still going on.




The tower of the main building.





Campus sits on a huge hill overlooking the city, and from the main building, you get a great view of the Kelvingrove below.





A look down Byres Road. Byres is one of the big streets on the west side of the uni, and is full of shops, restaurants, pubs, banks, you name it.





Home sweet home. A look down my street, which is all student flats. Mine is at the end on the left.

And while the sun today never really came back out, the rain has stayed away, and really, that's about all you ask for in Glasgow!

Don't let the sun go down on me...

A very bizarre light is cutting across my desk and laptop screen.

At first I thought there was some kind of malfunction with the lamps in my room.

And then I realized that it is the sun.

Having not had a sunny day in Glasgow yet, I have no idea how to handle this occurrence. But I think the logical thing would be to get showered, dressed, and outside as quickly as possible, before it disappears for another two weeks.

It's raining outside and I can't go out to play...

I am worried that I will never truly assimilate to life in Scotland if I don't learn to love Irn Bru. It's all anyone here drinks (other than booze).

Imagine super sugary children's Delsym. Sickly sweet and yet somehow mediciney. Add carbonation, and you've got Irn Bru. This is not your mother's orange soda. This is disgusting. It's such a big thing in Glasgow, and both times I've had it (in regular and diet), it's made me want to vomit. I tried it again today, when sitting in the cafe in the John McIntyre Building, and still. I had to choke the stuff down. I so badly want to be like the Scottish girls, all so effortlessly swilling down their Irn Bru and keeping their hair straight in the rain and their pant hems dry in the rain and their whole lives dry in the rain, but it's one cultural barrier I don't think I can break.

Some things are better on this side of the ocean. Some things are not. Soft drinks are one of them.

An old woman in the Boots on Byres Road approached me today, and had taken a box of baby wipes off of a counter where they were being displayed on sale. And she pulled me aside and handed me the brick of baby wipes, and asked me, "Is this bread?"

I realized she had some vision issues (bread ≠ baby wipes, in any country), and quickly told her they were wipes. She didn't get it. Whites? Right? What? She couldn't understand me. I tried using other words, after repeating "wipes" for the fifth time and her having no idea what I was saying. "They're cloths to wipe the baby when you change its nappy." She still didn't get it, and repeated again, "Is this bread?" And it was then that it dawned on me that she was old and a bit senile (which was sad). But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't thankful that my language skills weren't the problem, and rather it was just her mental faculties. I feel so self conscious about how different I automatically am every time I open my mouth.

I am already excited because the extended forecast is calling for sun and a few clouds on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. However, if three days in Glasgow have taught me anything, it's that I shouldn't get my hopes up for the sun. I'll believe these three consecutive dry days when I see them.

It's a small world afterall.

This is definitely not a university for the xenophobic. So far, I have met people from the following countries:

• USA
• Scotland
• Thailand
• China
• Nigeria
  
• India
• Russia
• Mauritius
• Malaysia
• Malta
• Brazil
  
• Germany
• Canada
  

My flatmate (who's from Mauritius) told me today that she met a girl yesterday moving into our building who's Puerto Rican. I might have to go stalking and attempt to barter friendship in the currency of Yaucono.

Today is a lazy day. I don't register till tomorrow (I thought it was today and am glad I didn't mistakenly hike up to campus) and I can't get my bank ish done until tomorrow and so I'm kind of in a holding pattern today. I do have reading to get done before term starts in two weeks, so I'm going to try and get cracking on that, even though my instinct on this cold, rainy Glasgow Tuesday is to snuggle in bed with Grey's Anatomy on DVD. But I'm learning that if I use the Glasgow weather as an excuse, I'll never leave the flat. Because it is always cold. And it is always rainy.

My upstairs neighbor and I are going to drag ourselves over to campus and Byres Road later this afternoon and attempt to find a good cafe in which we both want to try and get some school reading done. The nice thing about grad school -- unlike undergrad -- is that everyone has the same academic anxiety. It's not like freshman year, when a large percentage of people were just there to party. Here, everyone seems like though while they're up for a good time, there's no mistaking the purpose of being at the university.

I cheat -- I can't seem to wrap my brains around Celsius and keep having to switch my weather system back to Fahrenheit. The sad thing is, I used to think in Celsius. I used to live in this country. But fifteen years out of it, fifteen years of dealing with triple digit temperature possibilities have warped my mind and made me completely unable to mentally adjust from C° to F° in my head.

Today will be a good day to break in my new raincoat.

Day Three: The One in Which Genevieve Takes a Shower

Today was only my second full day here in Glasgow, and it's strange because I feel like I've been here for weeks. But that's a good thing.

I went with my flatmate and upstairs neighbor to the gym this evening. Even as much as I've been walking, it was good to do a real workout and blow off some steam. The facilities are nice. And by nice, I mean new equipment and plasma TVs on the wall that play these campy, bizarre Europop videos while you work out.

To the Guy At the Gym in the Cleveland State Shirt Whose Eyes Lit Up When You Saw My 'Beat Michigan' T-shirt: I am sorry I didn't say hello to what was clearly about to be an Ohio bonding moment. Next time, I shall just go up to you and yell, "O-H" and wait for the proper response. I am simply no good at talking to strangers. And, having just worked out, I smelled bad. So that's my excuse. Hang on, Sloopy. Hang on.

The urban legend that says all British showers are shoe boxes with lukewarm water and no pressure is a myth. Because the shower in my room in fantastically hot! This excites me because it's only September and already so very damp and chilly here, the kind that sinks into your bones, and the kind that only a hot shower will cure. The only strange thing about the shower, is that it's just part of the bathroom. It's all one floor. With a big drain. Luckily, there's a lip to prevent water from getting out of the bathroom and onto the carpet, but still. It's a bit of a weird set up.

I can has mobile?

Today was my first big "errands" day, and I walked up to campus to sign my student loan checks. Today is also the first "chilly" day since I've been here, but again, once you're walking uphill, you get warm quite quickly.

Campus was swarming. Today is the first day of Freshers' Week, which is a UK thing that happens the week before classes start. Predominantly for first year students, it's kind of like orientation in the US, if orientation in the US was loaded up on school-sanctioned booze and free hoodies. I felt a bit like a grandma among all these 17 and 18 year olds.

I then headed to Byres Road, which is one of the main streets in the West End of Glasgow. It's next to the university and just chock full of shops and restaurants and cafes. I found a Carphone Warehouse there and tried not to giggle when I walked in (Carphone Warehouse always reminds me of Extras and I half expected to see Steven Merchant behind the counter; I was almost disappointed I didn't). And I bought my first UK mobile phone.

IT. IS. SO. PRETTY. All silvery and sleek. Hands down the nicest phone I've ever owned. And considered just a cheapy, basic phone. Even the crappiest phones over here are a million times better than most of the nicer U.S. ones. It's not that cheap to make calls on, but it's free when people (even from the States) call me, and it has radio, and it's pretty, and it has a camera, and it's pretty. Did I mention it's pretty? I'm such a sucker for aesthetics.

Speaking of, the pictures I was supposed to take today didn't quite happen. I was so positive I'd charged my camera battery on Thursday night before leaving Maryland, but apparently... I didn't. So I couldn't really take any photos. I shall try again tomorrow though, as I have to go back up to campus to register.

I had my first true issue understanding someone today. The guy who rang me up at Woolworths when I bought a coffee maker and hair dryer kept saying things to me and I kept smiling and nodding. At first I thought he thought I was foreign (well, non-English speaking foreign) and was speaking another language to me. And then I realized it was just Glaswegian. It took three tries for him to get across to me that they charge 3p for bags if you haven't got your own. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.

Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit

Another gray and rainy day in Glasgow.

Last night was my first proper night out with some of the girls from my hall (a flatmate and upstairs neighbor). It was a really good time and as a byproduct of our scouting for a bar to go to, I got to see the city center for the first time. We walked down part of Sauchiehall Street (which reminds me slightly of South St., catering largely it seems to the undergrad party scene) before deciding on a Bath St. bar, having heard that the bars on Bath were a bit more chill and with an older (as in, 20s, not 40s) crowd.

I also learned that no matter where you go, what country you're in, you're guaranteed to hear Journey in a bar. I can't decide if this is disappointing or strangely comforting.

Most importantly though, I think I'm going to go through jeans like toilet paper here. The jeans I wore yesterday are already completely ripped and frayed on the bottom, encrusted with mud and rain. Walking everywhere (two miles round trip to groceries, two miles round trip to bars, two miles round trip to campus) is not kind to pants that are slightly longer than they should be! This probably serves me right for being vain and not owning up to my shortness in the first place. From now on, short length jeans only!

Dear parents,

Camp is good. Please send denim.

Love,

Me

Day Two: The One In Which Genevieve Shops

Memo to self: gray ≠ cold.

I learned this lesson on my trip to the grocery store. The Tesco by my flat is only a Tesco Express, so it's quite small. It'll be fine for little things, but for a whole grocery shopping, I wanted a regular sized store. My roommate from Boston who's been here a week already gave me directions to the Morrisons (only a mile away), so I hiked down there for food. And I definitely overdressed. By the end of the walk, I was sweating.

It's strange, doing shopping in a new country, in a new grocery store. Even when I was a kid and would go with my mom to Asda or something, it's different than doing it yourself when you're used to running into the Superfresh or Acme or Giant. It's a quick lesson in shifting vocabularies. I'm back in the land of nappies, biscuits (the cookie kind, not the "...and gravy" kind), and prawns. I was mentally converting all the prices into dollars, but forgot to when the girl rang me up. I was thrilled to have spent only ₤19 on food. And then I realized that's over $30, and was less happy. Because I didn't buy that much. I can't -- no pots and pans or plates. Just a few mugs and a bowl.

I then had to lug my purchases back to the flat -- another mile back. So I was even sweatier. Layers, Schrier. Layers.

But it was good to be out in my new hood. It's an interesting mix of cool pubs and restaurants, with more down and dirty local stuff. The university itself is just stunning, and it sits on a hill lording over the West End of the city. Morrisons was in a more non-student area, so it was cool to mingle with locals. Scottish accents I'm fine with; a Glaswegian one trips me up slightly.

So I'm sitting here on a very gray Glasgow Sunday evening, with a cup of tea and a biscuit, relaxing for a bit before heading out with one of my flatmates and another girl who lives upstairs. I'm crazy jealous of my flatmate; her room has a direct view of the BBC Scotland building. Mine just looks out over the courtyard, though I do see hills in the distance.

On the walk to Morrison's, I passed a spot with a gorgeous view of the main building of the university, and stopped and reached inside my bag for my camera, because it was the perfect photo op. And much to my dismay, felt no camera. I'd left it in my room. So tomorrow will be picture day.

Please have Roll Up the Rim...

The coffee situation isn't as bad as I'd thought.

I'm headed out to the Spar just down the street. Because they have Timmy's. No lie.

For a hot second I felt like I was in Hamilton or Oshawa or some other semi-grimy (albeit, lovely) Ontario city.

I hope they have bagels!

A longwinded account of a very long day...

I am officially in Glasgow.

It was a very crazy 18 (yes, 18) hours of travel to get here, but I'm here. Sadly, despite having 18 hours of travel, none of those were very conducive to opening up the Macbook, so this is going to be one mammoth entry.

Part 1: Baltimore-Washington International Airport

Originally, my flight itinerary was BWI - Philly, Philly - Glasgow. On US Air. The only, only reason I flew US Air was because of the direct flight into Glasgow, otherwise I wouldn't have touched the airline with a ten-foot pole, even though it was cheap, cheap, cheap. I wanted to fly Virgin, but was so not looking forward to connecting in Heathrow that I sucked it up and bought the US Air ticket.

But BWI.

When I finally had face-to-face contact with a US Air counter employee to drop off my checked bags (after standing at the self-service check-in counter for twenty minutes after checking myself in, which defeats the purpose of self-service if you still have to wait twenty minutes for a human), the guy at the US Air counter told me that my flight was delayed and that I wasn't making my connection to Glasgow. He told me to drive to Philly. Or take a taxi to Philly. According to him and US Air, these were my options (neither of which US Air would reimburse me for). Seriously. I then informed him (which isn't it supposed to be his job to tell me?) that there was a later flight that connected through Heathrow, and could I get on that? Instead of driving to Philly, which at that point with heavy rain wasn't even a guarantee that I'd make the flight? So he put me on the Heathrow flight, which wasn't leaving Philly till 10:45pm and that he guaranteed me to make. Now I'm three flights to get there and also not getting in until 2:35pm, when I was supposed to be in Glasgow by 9am.

My dad and I decide to grab a drink to pass the time during the delay, except on the departures board, my flight is still listed as on-time. Which made me nervous. So we skipped the drink and I headed through security. It was at this point that I realized how mistaken I was in bringing not one, but two heavy carry-ons.

I get to the gate, and surprise! It's an on-time departure. Maybe. They don't know. The gate agent's direct words were, "We might leave on time. But we might not. So just stay at the gate." At which point I'm wondering why the hell would I stop in London if we're making it to Philly on time? So I go to the gate agent and explain to her that if we get to Philly on time, I'd still really like to get on the original flight to Glasgow. She tells me that they never should have erased my original ticket, re-books me on the Glasgow flight, leaves me open on the Heathrow flight, but tells me no matter what, my bags are going through Heathrow.

We board only 30 minutes late and I'm pretty optimistic that I'll be on that 9pm flight to Glasgow. Except we're sitting there at the gate, doors open, not getting ready to leave. 30 minutes later, the captain comes on and tells us that: there's been an emergency landing in Philly, all runways were shut down, then they made all the planes use the western-bound runway instead of the east, and are now only accepting 30 flights in an hour. He tells us our wheels-up time in Baltimore is now 9:40pm, if at all. And they de-plane us and tell us to queue up to make alternate reservations with the gate agent. Two gate agents having to re-book a plane of 200 people. I call my dad and tell him to come pick me up, because clearly, I am not getting to the UK that night. They tell us that while we're in line, to call the 800 number and try to get re-booked over the phone. After 20 minutes on hold, the US Air guy tells me that because US Air still shows our flight as being on time (even though we were supposed to be in-flight while I was talking to him), he can't do very much to help me, and that the earliest he can get me out to Scotland is Monday. Today is Friday. That's not going to work. US Air also won't put people up in hotels if it's not their fault, so the family I was speaking to who were also trying to make the Heathrow connection are going to have to sleep on the floor of the airport, because they're out of American money.

And then suddenly at 8:45pm, they tell us that we might be taking off soon. And not 9:40. So there's a chance we'll make the Heathrow flight. They re-board us, and by 9pm, we take off. It's less than an hour to Philly, so even though we have to change terminals, it's looking good that we'll make the 10pm boarding time for the Heathrow flight. Except as we're getting ready to descend into Philly (during just a horribly turbulent flight), the captain comes on and tells us that there's been another emergency landing in Philly, that we have to circle for 20 minutes. Which means we'll miss the Heathrow flight. Five minutes later, he pulls a "Just kidding" and we get ready to land. But by this point, it's after 10pm, and I know it's going to be tight for making the Heathrow flight.

Also, it's been hours since I've done any of the following: peed, eaten, filled up my water bottle.

Part 2: Philly to Heathrow

We land in Philly and a group of us (all on the Heathrow flight) start speedwalking through the terminal. We're in B and have to get to A. My bags are so heavy they're weighing me down. It's a solid 15 minute walk and it's looking doubtful that we're going to make it. Somehow we get to the gate as they're finishing boarding, with just enough time for me to use the bathroom and fill up my water (but not grab food, and tauntingly, there's a Chickie and Pete's next to the gate. CRAB FRIES). I am dripping, dripping in sweat and strip down to a t-shirt. I am one of the last people to board the flight. But I board the flight to Heathrow.

Except, no. Because as they're telling us that it's a completely full flight, I come to find that they didn't double book my seat. They triple booked it. Three of us, all bumped from other flights during the day, are all seated in 22H. The one stewardess looks at me and tells me that it's "my fault" because they had me open on two tickets and that if anyone gives up their seat, it'll be me. I realize at this point that I have a pounding, pounding headache, and for the first time in my life, have no Aleve. Just an empty bottle. But it turns out a lot of people missed this flight, they find me a seat in the middle row, where it turns out to me just me and a guy (headed to Europe for a Master's program too) in the four seats, so we get to stretch out.

By the time the bring the food around, it's midnight to my body. My head is pounding, I'm starving, and I realized that I feel nauseated from looking sideways to talk to my row-mate. The "chicken and risotto" (mystery meat and cream of wheat with peas and velveeta) smelled so badly that I couldn't eat it, and I suddenly am hit with the feeling I'm going to throw up. Orange juice for the blood sugar only does so much. I try to sleep, but don't do it very well, and eventually give up in lieu of Ugly Betty and Made of Honor on the seat-back TV. When they bring around coffee and danish in the morning, it helps, but only slightly. It's been a really smooth flight, but I'm bummed about not having a window seat on the right of the plane, which is the entire purpose of landing in Heathrow -- the view.

Part 3: London to Glasgow


We land early, but not in Terminal 3. We're in Terminal 1, unfamiliar to me. Customs is a breeze. I find a clean bathroom in which to wash up. I pop into a WHSmith for Excedrin (or the Brit version) and a Diet Coke and an apple. I sort out my connecting flight to Glasgow (on BMI). I pay for internet for a few minutes. And then it's go-time.

BMI puts US Air to shame. The cabins are clean, the seats are comfortable, the staff are pleasant and professional. I get to my seat (a window) and do what I was unable to do on the flight to Heathrow: pass out. Not slightly, not drifting, but out. Most likely snoring and drooling. Completely a deep sleep. I wake up upon take-off before falling asleep again. I wake up somewhere between Leeds and Manchester. The weather is gorgeous and clear. As we descend into Glasgow, it's thick fog and driving rain. Welcome to Scotland.

Part 4: GLASGOW!

We land and I get a little choked up, largely because I'm so tired that I'm overemotional, but also because I can't believe I'm here. In Scotland. Finally. After months of waiting and the travel day from hell. The airport is small but functional. I want to kiss the Brit who decided trolleys are a right, not a privilege. I find the Glasgow students welcome group for free minibus service to campus. And off we go.

It's strange being in an airport that only recently was the site of a terrorist action last summer. There are lots of roadblocks in place and they haven't seemed to quite finished repairs. I forgot it even happened until I was leaving the airport.

As we drive to campus, I can't get over how gray and rainy it is. Or how I came 5,000 miles to hear Pussycat Dolls and Katy Perry on the radio. We get to the city, and I instantly kind of like it. We get to campus, and I am in love. Or rather, Hogwarts. They drop us off at the main gate to get our keys, and then another minibus loads us up to take us to accommodation. The driver looks at all my bags and says, "Are you American?" I say, "Why, do all the Americans have this many bags?" He says, "Yes." I feel shame.

(The picture is stock, it's temperate and rainy here, no snow to speak of!)

I get to my flat and while it's studenty, it's clean and big enough. Way more closet space than I was expecting. And big thick curtains to keep out the light. I meet one flatmate, who's Russian, and meet an American downstairs and we head out into the city to wander around, hitting up Tesco, campus, and finally, our local pub, which features all organic/veggie food. After a veggie burger and a Strongbow, I head back to my flat to try to unpack, but eighteen hours of traveling gets the better of me and I pass out for the night.

But I have to say, after standing on the hill on campus at dusk, with the main campus building behind me, hills rising in the distance, and a chill settling in over the city, I fell in love with Glasgow. I've seen only five or six square blocks of it, but I felt like I just kind of knew.

I think I'm gonna like it here.

Part 5: The Morning After

I woke up twelve hours later -- which I desperately needed -- feeling like I beat jet lag. The tea kettle we're supposed to have (I snagged instant coffee at the Tesco) is missing, so I had to microwave water. Chatted with Russian roomie more, met Indian roomie and American roomie. I like them all. My room is still a disaster area, but I feel the urge to head out and not stay in today.

Or at least shower. Since it was two calendar days ago that I last did it. So that is the order of the morning. A shower.

More than a name or a face in the crowd...

I am a huge, huge nerd. But I feel as if that was already solid fact. So I'm not entirely uncomfortably documenting that my "last song" before shutting down my computer was David Cook's "Magic Rainbow."

Catch you on the other side of the ocean!

"It's here. The day has come."

I just zipped close my final suitcase. And on the questionable bathroom scale, it weighs in at exactly 50 lbs. Which means more than likely, US Air is going to say it's like 52 lbs. Which means I'm going to pay. Which is frustrating.

But still, more or less my life in three suitcases? I'm proud of me.

(Okay, my life minus the stuff I'm shipping, like my winter coat, two pairs of normal boots, one pair of hiking boots, my favorite oversized purse, and my Norwegian troll.)

I've got about six hours till I have to be at the airport. Six hours in which I need to shower, dry my hair, pack my carry-on, and have lunch.

I'm almost glad that I'm moving at a hundred miles an hour today, so I don't have time to sit around and be sad that I'm leaving everyone.

It was kinda pitchy...

Packing also sucks.

It's almost like American Idol, deciding what stays and what comes with me. There have been several rounds of eliminations, cuts made, things I would have liked to have kept, but just can't...

BCBG mod print sheath dress? Congratulations... YOU'RE THROUGH TO HOLLYWOOD. And my suitcase.

I miss Idol already and it's not even January.

Also, I realized today that I have enough CBJ items of clothing that I could reasonably wear a different shirt for three weeks straight before doing laundry. I'm going to Scotland clad in all Blue Jackets stuff. Carry the flag!

Memo to self: pack more, blog less.

With about 36 hours remaining in the States...

I suck at goodbyes.

Are you ready for some (American) football?

Google is my friend, and let me know that there is a sports bar in Glasgow where I can go to see events like EAGLES-COWBOYS MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL. I can't believe I leave two days before it! Not that I want to spend my time in Scotland watching American sports, but should the need arise, it's good to know there's a place that shows baseball and hockey and football, and that if I get a bout of insomnia at 1:30am on Monday, I can hop on over there and watch the game.

I really, really should start to de-Yankify myself though. I think in my last two days here in the States, it's just a bit difficult, because everyone's gearing up for all these things, and I'm skipping town. I'm sure once I get to Glasgow, I'll be very much Ameriwhut? But for now, I'm slightly (but only slightly) melancholy that I don't have the option of being in Philly and Chickie and Pete'sing it for MNF.

Ode to a Wonderful Companion

I just cleaned out my car one final time in preparation to sell it, possibly tonight, before I move to Scotland on Friday. It's an emotional process; this car has been with me my entire adult life. I've changed jobs, moved to new apartments, moved to new cities in new states, but the one constant has been my little red Hyundai. It wasn't ever a fancy car, but it got me from A to B to Canada (lots). I am going to miss her so much.

Farewell, little Hexy car. You were a dear, dear friend and I will miss you terribly.

Hit 'em low, hit 'em high...

Thought: I really, really hope I love Glasgow as much as I love Philadelphia.

Thought: I was contemplating spending the $40 for the voltage adapter that allows me to use my US dryer and straightener, but decided against it as both items would probably take up too much room in my luggage, so I'll just have to go out on Day One and purchase a coffee maker, a blowdrier, and a quality straightener. Lest I look like the Lion King when I get to Scotland. First impressions last a lifetime. Rawr.

Thought: I am worried about the withdrawal symptoms from when I quit Chipotle cold turkey. I have a feeling that I'm going to break into cold sweats. Just one hit. One little dolop of guac to shoot up into my veins. I won't even ask for chips, I promise. Mama needs her fix. This could be bad.

Thought: Goodbyes are really hard. Even if you're looking forward to where you're going.

Thought: I haven't made as much of a dent into my summer reading list as I would have liked. Some things never change.


T-four days...

To the elephant sitting on my head: PLEASE LEAVE.

This is it, this is the homestretch.

My last day of work was Tuesday. Today, my arrival date showed up on the ten-day forecast.

It's suddenly hitting me just how much I have to do before I go, and how maybe (just maybe) I shouldn't have put everything off all summer. All summer long, every time I wanted to do something Scotland-related, I'd think to myself, "But it's too soon, I'm jumping the gun, I'll wait till closer to my leave time." And now I really wish I hadn't.

And now I'm sick -- not the most pleasant development or convenient timing. It is hard to have raucous rounds of goodbyes when you can't get out of bed.

Unrelated, but it must be noted that Banana Republic is so completely on the Michelle Obama bandwagon it has me giddy. Their two feature colors right now are a deep purple (identical to The Dress, that phenomenal purple shift dress she belted the night her husband claimed the Democratic nom) and a teal that is suspiciously similar to the color she wore the night she spoke at the DNC. And they're featuring both in shapes similar to those worn by her. Considering it's been fifty years since we had a truly stylish First Lady, this copycat fall line is a most welcome development.