Thy Sun Shall No More Go Down

After realizing my days in Scotland were numbered I signed myself up for an impromptu hiking trip through the highlands. I didn’t have the required hiking boots, plastic pants, or a quick-dry towel, but I knew I needed to do this before leaving. This wouldn’t be like driving on the coast of Monaco with Cary Grant, strolling through Marie Antoinette’s hamlet, or ATVing around Santorini. This was full raingear required trekking through the misty hills of Scotland with complete strangers. I was so excited…. And I really wanted to finally see a hairy coo.
I signed up with a program called “Wild In Scotland”... the mission statement was perfect. I met my fellow travelers on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. There was Sarah, a woman from Australia who had been traveling the world for the past 3 months. Autumn, a girl studying abroad in England. Joey and Gena, married high school sweethearts from Alabama living in London. And then there was Bruce, our guide. A 6 foot 5 Scottish man in some serious army pants. He was from Dundee and claimed to have invented marmalade. This was gunna be interesting. (You can see our route on the map).

The first stop was the battlefield of the real Braveheart. Now, I hate to disappoint you, but William Wallace is not the real hero of the story. The man with the brave heart was Robert The Bruce. Mel, stop giving false history lessons. Robert the Bruce’s dying wish was to have his heart go on a crusade, so when the day came, they cut out his heart and put it in a box and brought it with them on their journey to Spain. The Scots were brutally beaten, but a Spanish soldier returned the heart to Scotland after finding it on the battlefield and suspecting its sacredness.
We made our way through Dunkeld and up to Pitlochery, where we came across a beautiful waterfall in a mystical forest. We then trekked to Fort Augustus and stopped on the shore of the Loch Ness to do some Nessie spotting. Since about 1871 there have been over 100 monster sightings. She’s been described with a “neck like a horse,” “Salamander like,” “long tapering tail, like an eel,” “a great beast with an undulating back.” I think I saw a hump.

After Nessie, we drove west through awe-inspiring scenery. Rolling hills for miles and miles. Deer and Elk grazing. Rainbows with every turn. I will never forget that drive. It was the most beautiful place I have ever seen. We came across Eilan Donan castle, which is situated at the point of the isle where three major sea lochs meet. It is a magical 6th century fortified castle and a dream come true. We made our way to Stromeferry, population 7, where we were hosted by Gordon, a Scotsman whose greatest joy in life was the annual medieval festival. Stromeferry took my breath away. I swear I will live there one day. We cooked dinner and listened to Gordon’s stories of battle re-enactments and an ex-wife who he swears put a curse on him. It was an unbelievable night.

After an early start, we put on our plastic pants and wellies, an Isle of Skye requirement, and ventured into the mist. I took 100 pictures of every hill I saw. They are just gargantuan and you feel so small as the hills engulf the horizon and surround you on every side. Around 450 when the Saxons came to Scotland and began settling here after the Romans left, they believed this was the end of the world. If I were a Pict, I wouldn’t have complained. We found Dunvagan castle and were almost blown into the sea by the strong winds of Skye. Seals perched on the enormous rocks in the water and bathed themselves in the neverending mist. We then ventured to the Quiraing, the highest point of Skye. Ancient rocks stab into the skyline and when standing in front of this huge valley of rolling green and lingering vapour, you feel like you’ve been transported to a different world. I had a titanic moment and stood on the edge of the cliff and held my arms wide out. It was amazing. In our dripping wet plastic gear we trekked to Uig, a small town on Skye with a brewery. No matter how small these islands are, the Scots manage to run a full brewery or distillery. We got some tablet, a Scottish favourite of sugar and butter condensed into cubes. Apparently every ‘mum’ has her own recipe. We found another stunning waterfall on our way to Kyle of Lochalsh, where we stopped for groceries for dinner. There is no market in my beloved Stromeferry, population 7. By the way, there is no ferry in Stromeferry and the best part is that all the signs pointing to Stromeferry say, “Stromferry (No Ferry).” I made baked apples for dessert and we stayed up late listening to more of Gordon’s stories.

I woke up to a man in a full red dickie jumpsuit. Neil was a fisherman and friend of Gordon’s who offered to take us out on his boat (which could barely hold one fish, let alone 5 adults) to see the Loch. Neil had been scraping for scallops all morning and had a huge box of them. I named one Marcus and ate another after Neil shucked it for me. Quite squishy and salty. As he drove us out on the Loch the most incredible thing happened. Two dolphins began swimming at the bow of the boat and were joined by a seal later on. Neil held my hand as I climbed to the front and leaned down to watch the dolphins. It was unbelievable. I couldn’t believe this. Dolphins and seals in Scotland. After Neil finally pulled/janked/forced me off the boat, we made our way out of HOMEferry and into Fort William. A traditional Scottish wedding was taking place at the central church… kilts and all. I then got the brilliant idea that if I wanted to live in Stromeferry I would just have to marry one of the 7 Stromeferrians… I’m still investigating that option.
We made it to Glencoe and hiked up the hills to get a view of the amazing craig. Glencoe is also called Glen of Weeping because a) the multitude of waterfalls and b) the massacre of Glencoe. In 1501 disputes flared up between the MacDonalds and the Argyll Campbells due to continued raiding and cattle rustling. I’m not making this up. In the 17th century, the two families found themselves as enemies in the Scottish Wars of the Covenant. It was a tragic battle between two very different ways of life - the carefree and somewhat lawless highlanders, and the ruthless central government. One cold and misty night, Campbell received orders from King William III to kill all MacDonalds under seventy years of age at 5 am the next morning. In the early hours of a cold winter's morning the soldiers rose from their beds and set about the massacre. We sat in the hills of Glencoe listening to the haunting tale. Turns out Bruce’s mum was a Campbell. Oh man. AND she invented Marmalade. On our drive to Oban from Glencoe it finally happened. A whole herd of Coos! I jumped out of the car and had to be held back by crazy Campbell Bruce who wouldn’t let me stroke them. Apparently their dangerous. I don't believe it.
After the herd we came across St. Conan’s Kirk, a stunning and magical Kirk in Loch-Aw. Walter Campbell built the church for his mother who was too old to make it to the closest church in Dalmally. It is entirely built of stone, which he had rolled from the hillside. Walter Campbell did not design the church to adhere to any particular architectural style. Rather he took ideas and designs from different places and periods and produced something that serves as a collection of the best or most interesting features drawn from many other churches. It was remarkable. The most amazing feature was this bank that looked out on the loch and consisted for 7 boulders, each engraved with one word from the sentence, “Thy Sun Shall No More Go Down.” I took a picture of each surface.
The next morning we headed to McCaigs Tower, a coliseum-esk structure on top of a hill in Oban. There was an extraordinary view of Isle of Mull and Iona, where St. Columba was exiled and introduced Christianity to Scotland in 563. After that we stopped at the Isle of Seil, home to the only bridge in the world that crosses the Atlantic ocean. A horse pulling a cartload of hay is the only test performed to measure its strength since it was built in 1792. Nobody lives on the Isle (for fear they may be on the bridge when it collpses?), but there is one shop where you pay whatever you want for postcards and framed pictures of some blonde woman. (Nobody knows who she is.) We then hiked up to the Carnasserie castle on the ridge of Kilmartin valley. It was built in the early 16th century, in the reign of Mary Queen of Scots. Despite its dilapidated state from many attacks on the castle, there were incredible stone carvings and a magnificent fireplace still intact.

Now comes my favourite part. We made our way into Kilmartin in Argyllshire and stopped at a beautiful church that housed medieval carved stone grave-slabs. Tall celtic crosses with intricate interlace and knotworked climbed into the sky. At the base of the church were ancient standing stones, stone circles, and 5,000 year-old burial cairns. After my early Scottish medieval art history class, it doesn’t get better than this. There are three groups of standing stones and as you stand in front of these sites that date to about 2,000 BC, you wonder how they still stand perfectly erect in this sweeping valley in Scotland. It’s magnificent. Then there is a woods nearby where there are two groups of stone circles, the earliest stones dating to 3000 BC. I stood at this prehistoric site and stared, mesmerized, at these enigmatic and complex rock formations, which are exactly as they were thousands of years before. There are still no answers to the questions of what purpose these stone circles served. They are simply unbelievable.

The rest of the trip was filled with more magical mist, awesome rocks, sweeping valleys, and riveting histories.

I fell in love with Scotland.

A.

A Dream on the French Riviera: Nice, Cap d'Antibes, Vence, St. Paul, Ventimiglia, & Monaco

Next...
On our flight back to Edinburgh from Athens (to make our flight 6 hours later to Nice) we had a most interesting encounter… with a man from a distant land. A land unknown to any of us. From the time of the Neanderthals. Sitting across from us was a man/boy/thing who spoke no recognizable language, except ‘Beer,’ which he kept ordering from the oblivious stewardess. The Neanderthal was screaming odd sounds throughout the flight and passing out on the poor old lady next to him. We held our breaths as he magically went through passport control…. with his mysterious nationality. As he walked out of the baggage claim area, the security guards descended. They couldn’t figure out which language to try on him. When we got back to the airport to fly to Nice, he was nowhere to be found. The Neanderthal is roaming the streets of Edinburgh.

Anyway….
We arrived in Nice the following afternoon and were picked up by my godparents. They dropped us off at a beautiful studio apartment on the quai de dockes, the street that circulates the port of Nice. The first thing we did was make fresh nicoise salad. I even ate the anchovies. The week before I had just finished a book called Strapless about John Singer Sargent’s Madame X and the scandal that followed the exhibition of her portrait. (Its like a trashy romance novel for art historians). As we sat on the balcony overlooking the port, I was suddenly transported to the riveting art scene of the 1880s. The rows of pink and yellow apartments with turqoise shutters, the yachts all perfectly lined up, the beautiful men and women dressed in linens and sunhats... it was a living painting.

The next day we strolled along the Promenade d’Anglais, as the artists and muses of my 19th century fantasies did. Looking out over the blue water was mesmerizing. People were roller-skating and bicycling all around. We climbed the chateau (only the French would name a mountain a chateau) and waked to the Matisse Museum up the cimiez. It was en extraordinary collection. I was in heaven. Matisse paintings, sketches, sculptures, lithographs everywhere. We walked through the cours seleya for the remainder of the day while eating Gelato and searching for the fresh fruit and vegetables market.

Before I go any further I must introduce Claudine. My godparents swear by her and do nothing without her. She is a French woman to the highest degree of French women. Knows everything about everything and will tell you so. Best bargains. Best fish. Best men. Best vegetables. Best vintage stores. Best chocolate. Best perfume. Very strange/impressive/hilarious. She would say things like, “Don’t go to Morocco. If you want to see Arabs, go to the train station.” Gasp. We had enough Claudine for that day. We went to the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art and I escaped her cynicism as Yves Klein, Niki de Saint Phalle, Antony Gormley, and Anish Kapoor surrounded me everywhere I went. Not having done nearly enough art for the day, we drove to Antibes to see the Picasso Museum, which is located in an old castle. As you look out over the balcony, Picasso sculptures dance along the cliffside...

We met Claudine for breakfast and she advised us on a trip to Italy for the day. We drove along the Riviera coastline and I dreamily stared out the window, imagining I was driving in the backseat of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant’s convertible in To Catch a Thief. We crossed the border into Italy and spent the day in Ventimiglia, the home of the most famous flea market. We walked the rows of vendors for hours, surrounded by the smells of leather, prosciutto, parmigiano, and fake Louis Vuitton. The best part of the day was the fresh fruit and vegetable section, which was a haven of mesmerizing colours… apples, oranges, lemons, cauliflower, artichokes, aubergines. We cooked a beautiful dinner with all teh fresh produce of the day.

The next day we, as usual, met Claudine for our morning coffee and croissant and got the advice we needed for a trip to Vence, the famous town where Matisse, Picasso, Renoir, Chagall and everyone else who is wonderful went to paint. We explored the intimate and charming collections of art and stopped in every provencal shop to see the rows of tablecloths, napkins, stationary, candles, and herbs. We drove to St. Paul on the way back to Nice, a historic city enclosed by a beautiful dilapidated wall and famous for its cobbled streets and winding roads lined with wisteria. I bought a bottle of perfume.

We decided to skip Claudine the next morning and go on our own adventures. We spent the day on the beach on the Bay of Angels. Tace worked on her watercolours and I started reading Life with Picasso by Francoise Gilot, the woman closest to the enigmatic artist. The whole book takes place in Antibes, Vence, and Nice. I read about their lives while living it. Another art historians romance novel. The day was made interesting when a man stripped to nothing in front of us after swimming in the water. Gotta love Nice. It started to drizzle, so we strolled into the cours seleya and sat for a few hours while sipping wine and eating olives. Not having had enough adventure that day, we decided to try to break onto a 60-foot yacht in the port, but were stopped by a Bulgarian crewmember, who came out after seeing us on his camera. Yachts have surveillance cameras? Guess we won’t try that one again…

The next morning we drove along my favourite coastline to Monaco… the strangest place I have ever been to. There are no Atm machines. Men in suits strutt on the streets and old ladies twirl their pearls with their long fingers in their Chanel suits. Its like a movie set. We walked to the Palais in hopes of finding Prince Albert and proposing marriage. No luck. But we did get into the Palais and walked through all the extravagant rooms. The walls are upholstered in silk brocade with matching furniture and bedspreads. Its magical. We went to the Oceanography Museum, founded by Albert I, where I forgot I was a 21 year old woman and took pictures of every single fish, octopus, starfish, and seahorse. My old friend Alex, a photographer, and his friend Joe, an art dealer, met us at a café outside the Palais. Joe drove in his convertible along the winding roads of cap d’ail to see an exhibition he curated at his Hotel. We then went to Monte Carlo to have drinks at the Hotel Paris and gamble at the casino. … I’m telling you… it was the early 1900s... all you need is a lace umbrella and a few strands of pearls....

Amanda

Greece: 5 Islands, 100 Disasters, 1000 Laughs

Of course it’s every girl’s dream to go to Greece… and not just because of Sisterhood of the Traveling pants… maybe a little bit. The author IS a Barnard grad, so I maybe felt a bit of a calling. Tace and I had the most unbelievable time. I say unbelievable because the outrageous disasters couldn’t even have happened to Tibby, Lena, Bridget, or Carmen. Nothing went according to plan, but all of the mishaps made an incredible trip that kept us laughing throughout.

Disaster Day 1:
The morning of our flight to Athens I woke up with a deadly cold. We had a 4-hour layover in Frankfurt, between Edinburgh and Athens, arriving in Athens airport at 3am. My mom’s friend thought we were arriving the next day, so when I called at 3am saying ‘We’re Here!,’ I gave her an almost heart attack. Despite all the wonderful things that happened on our way to Athens, we hadn't yet lost hope. We got to Kelly’s beautiful home in Kifissia, a suburb of Athens, and slept for a few hours before waking up to start our adventures. Kelly, one of the most extraordinary women I have ever met, took us out for a lady’s lunch, prosecco, grand salads, and great conversation included. We walked around the town of Kifissia for a few hours and basked in the warm air, an anomaly to us Scotsmen.

Debacle Day 2:
After delicious Greek yogurt for breakfast, we took the train into Athens and walked around Monasteriki, the area at the base of the Acropolis, and admired the endless rows of beautiful jewelery, sandals, fresh fruit, and leather goods. We hiked to the top of the Acropolis to see the Parthenon, but with our luck, it closed 5 minutes before we arrived. Great. I then ran into a camp friend, Lauren, from 1000 years ago. Crazy. Tace brilliantly managed to trade her sunglasses for another pair from a street vendor. Stick with this one… she’s handy. We stopped to have fresh strawberries and coconut slices while walking to Koloniki, where we had coffee with a friend of Tace’s. Kelly’s daughter Christina took us out in Kifissia that night. Christina is in High School, so there we are, 21 year old girls, sitting have drinks with 16 year old boys. It was nostalgic. They were rapping at one point.

Fiasco Day 3:
Off to Santorini!!! The next few days are a little more Vicki, Christina, Barcelona-esk than Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants-y. We arrived at the Santorini airport and were of course picked up by a handsome Greek local, George (side note: every single man in Greece is either named George or Kostas, so this guy might as well have been a Kostas… YES!). Beautiful George was also our hotel manager, so after getting settled he said to just walk straight into town, a supposedly 300m walk… but straight on a Greek island is impossible, considering there are only narrow alleyways between the tiny houses, which all look exactly alike. It took us about 30 minutes to walk 300m. Thanks George. We decided to walk down the winding, back-and forth, cliffside road to the old port at the base of the Caldera. Most people take donkeys, the preferred mode of island transportation, so the whole road is basically marked by donkey shit… and we were in sandals. So after the donkey-shit-caked trek down, we dipped our feet in water and sunbathed for a bit. We didn’t have the energy or proper footwear to walk back up the donkey-shit-road, so we decided to do as the locals do and actually take the donkeys up. The donkey-managers fought over who should take us and eventually decided we didn’t need anyone and smacked the donkeys to go. Now most people would think donkeys aren’t the brightest of creatures, but as soon as these guys were out of their manager’s sight, they just stopped. So there we are, stuck on the road with donkeys that just want to eat and stand and sunbathe and nibble at each other. We yelled everything we could think of that might have meant ‘Go’ but they preferred grazing to climbing. We even sang to them. After sitting in the same spot for 30 minutes, a manager slowly appeared, and guess what… the donkeys started moving. We then went to Ía to see the famous sunset, where Albanian boys who pretended to be Greeks followed us around. Once we escaped, we sat in a Taverna to have a glass of wine. We eventually headed back to Fira to have dinner at a restaurant wonderful George recommended. Our waiter, Kostas (naturally), ended up sitting down with us, not charging for our meal and bringing endless carafes of wine. We went out with the chefs, but Tace and I brilliantly lost each other. I panicked and asked some random guy to drive me back, figuring Tace would do the same. I get into the hotel and who is standing there…. My friend Susan from 1000 years ago. Another crazy run-in. Tace is yet to be found. She ends up being accompanied home by the police at 4am. And that was just our first night in Santorini.

Calamity Day 4:
Tace mysteriously woke up with a swollen eye. It subsided, but was nevertheless hysterical/frightening. George came into our room with coffee and croissants to apologize for the lack of hot water. Tace spoke to him with one hand over her eye. We forgave and shivered. We wanted to rent motorcycles to explore more of the island, but after asking the renter too many questions about how to ride, he refused to rent us the two-wheelers and demanded we take the four-wheelers. Fine. We took the ATVs in the pouring rain all over Santorini and ended up back at the northern tip of the Island, Ía, where we had watched the sunset the previous night. We walked into a restaurant to have breakfast and our waiter pointed at me and said, ‘You! I drove you home last night!’ I just stood there in awe/shock/embarrassment. How is it possible that the guy who drove me home after I was lost last night, was my waiter this morning? WHAT! He did give us free dessert though. We took the ATVs back to Fira in the rain and went to have dinner with wonderful George and his friend, Elias. We went to beach-side bars and danced all night. I ran into the waiter again… the one who drove me home the night before… the one who gave me free dessert that morning… Santorini is very straaaange.

Catastrophe Day 5:
After our ice-cold showers (again), we headed down the donkey-shit-road to the port to take a boat to an extinct Volcanic island and swim in hot springs. It was pouring rain, but we managed to climb to the top despite the hurricane conditions. We were covered in dirt and soaking wet by the time we got back down. At this point, everything was funny. We ran into Susan again on the boat AND girls who were studying abroad in Madrid who were friends with our friends in Edinburgh. Such a small world. After getting the volcanic rock out of our hair, bodies, and clothes, it was time to head back to civilization. We had a 7pm flight back to Athens that night and guess who was on our flight? George! So he offered to drive us to the airport. At 6:15 we started panicking because George’s mysterious cousin had yet to show up to drive us all. After frustrating George enough, he grabbed his father, Kostas, who didn’t speak a word of English and managed the infamous/efficient donkey stables, and stuck him in the back with me. So there we are. Me, Tace, George, and George’s dad… racing to the airport. Yes, there is camera footage of this. George demanded we delete it, but Tace managed otherwise.

We spent the next couple of days Island hopping around. To summarize... Tace fell down a cliff. Tace fell of her bike. Tace fell into a thorn bush. We never had running water. I was still sick and was medicated with mysterious cold medicine by waiters. We ATVd around the circumference of Spetzes and found a lost herd of cows by a beach playing volleyball.



We never stopped laughing.

French Riviera stories soon to come.

Mum's The Word

There’s much to write about, but before I venture into the details of my three weeks away on the Greek Islands and the French Riviera, Mum comes first.
She came for a long weekend and we had the complete Scottish experience, highlands, coos, and haggis included. Her first day here was packed with all the major Edinburgh sites… and when I say all, I mean every single attraction in this small city was covered. First Elephant house for some tea and scones, then the Graveyard for some Harry Potter indulgence, then the National Museum to brush up on our Scottish history, then the National Gallery for the opening of the Turner exhibition, then the Castle for some royal delight, then the Witchery to eat in the gallows where the witches were hanged, then Brass Monkey for some Scottish ale, and to top the evening off we went to see a hip-hop street dance version of the Pied Piper at the Festival Theatre House. Exhausted.

We woke up early to catch a train to Stirling, a city clustered around a large fortress and medieval old-town along the River Forth. Historically it was strategically important as the ‘Gateway to the Highlands’, located near the boundary between the Scottish Lowlands and Highlands, and its crossing of the Forth, the nearest to the river mouth. We stayed at a fantastic Bed and Breakfast in Bridge of Allan, right outside the old-town. We walked across the town and climbed up some of the central hills, where we found a medieval beheading stone. From that site was a tiny path that led to the castle, where the famous (copies) of the Unicorn tapestries are hung. It was spectacular. We found a small pub and listened to some live music, which was mostly Scotsmen performing their renditions of classic American songs. We ended the night in a restaurant located inside the city walls and watched the Holland vs. Scotland soccer match over Haggis.

Next it was Inverness, considered the capital of the Scottish Highlands, located in the very northern part of the country. The city lies where the Loch Ness meets the Moray Firth… the home of the Nessie the Loch Ness monster. Inverness is the bagpiper centre of Scotland, all the signs are in Scottish Gaelic, and the entire town is devoted to finding Nessie. We stayed in Drumnadrochit, a tiny town located on the shore of the Loch Ness. There are only three hotels there, but over two dozen Nessie exhibitions, museums, and monster-hunting offices. It is also the town in which Urquhart Castle is located. The castle is terribly destroyed and all that’s left is a skeleton of the once largest stronghold of medieval Scotland. It is located directly on the Loch Ness and is supposedly the sit where most of the monster sittings have occurred. We looked for hours… I think I might have seen a tail. We headed back to our Bed and Breakfast and had Bangers and Mash (Sausages and Potatoes) over some Drumnadrochit brewed beers.
The next day we headed back to the train station and took the beautiful scenic trip across the country back to Edinburgh. We had a fantastic last night dinner in Leith overlooking the waterfront.


Gotta love my mom.

A

A Veggie Delight... also known as my sister, Laura

My older sister Laura came to visit last week! She arrived Saturday morning in skinny jeans and a black turtleneck sweater... I immediately missed NY. We swapped stories and updates, and although there was lots to catch up on, the biggest surprise of all was her new found vegetarianism/pescatarianism. Quite the surprise. I would have to adapt accordingly...

Veggie Delight Day 1:
Our first stop was my favorite coffee shop, The Bean Scene, where we had cucumbers and hummus. I adjusted comfortably. But the next stop was Three Sisters, a huge outdoor bar with a giant screen to watch the three upcoming Rugby matches. Of course greasy burgers go hand in hand with such an event, but she refused the delectable meat... and it was suddenly all very serious... she was refusing a burger at a sports match. We stayed for the first two matches, but since we couldn't share the delicious mouth-watering patty, we set off to find something she could eat. We ended up at the classic Edinburgh tavern, The Last Drop, to watch the final game over... a salad. It's in the grassmarket area, which was used for public hangings. I wonder if anyone was ever hanged for refusing a greasy burger? We sat down with a table of 15 married Frenchmen in kilts, very odd... very entertaining. .

Veggie Delight Day 2:
We woke up and headed for the hills! Arthur's seat. We barely made it to the top without being blown away. After the wind-blown journey, we had a fantastic view of the city. We ventured down quickly and carefully and headed to another classic Edinburgh Tavern, The Sheep Heid Inn, said to be the oldest pub in all of Scotland, dating as far back as 1360. Laura had vegetarian haggis. Whatever. The Inn was beautiful. Old books and posters lining the walls. Huge beaten up leather chairs and mismatched wooden tables. The best part by far was the Skittles alley, a bowling alley... but this was no ordinary bowling alley... this was one reminiscent of 1360... Two guys crouched in the back and replaced the pins with every turn. AMAZING!
We ventured down to Princes Street, the man shopping area, and walked around. The rain deterred us from our meandering, so we got on a 'The Majestic Bustour' to the botanical gardens and the Royal Yacht Britannia. We ended up sitting in massage chairs in Ocean Terminal for 20 minutes instead. Oh, I love Laura. The night ended with Nachos (vegetarian chili, obviously) at Elephant House. Another great day.

Veggie Delight Day 3:
I had class in the morning, but met up with the vegetarian after. We walked around and headed to Rose Street, a famous street lined with ancient taverns and pubs with names like, Auld Hundred, Dirty Dicks Bar, Filthy McNasty's, Hogshead... feeling a bit intimidated, we settled on The Kenilworth, a charming (safely named) pub built in 1900. We drank dark Edinburgh Ales until finner time. We met Lizzie at Mussel Inn, our favorite seafood restaurant. We ordered Kilos of Mussels and a delicious seafood platter. Thank goodness she hasn't sworn off fish yet. We topped the night off with homemade lemon crepe at Lizzie's... while watching Step up 2. We replayed the heart-pump at least five times. So very good.

Veggie Delight Day 4:
After class, Vegetarian and I met up at another one of my favorite coffee shops, Black Medicine. We strolled around and decided to head to Leith for a seafood dinner. I still haven't mastered the bus system properly, so of course after 3o minutes in the wrong direction, we turned around and headed to the waterfront. oops. We went to Fisher's Bistro, the most famous seafood restaurant in Edinburgh, and got the last available Lobster. So good. Laura ravaged the thing. After dinner we went to Jazz Bar to listen to some Scottish Jazz Musicians over tea... yes, we drank tea at a bar... yes, the bartender thought we were joking.

It was a fantastic trip and seeing Laura was the best belated birthday present I could ask for. And yes... I can't eat seafood for a week. Yes, I had a burger after she left.

More to come,
A

On a scale from 1-10, how old am I?

My sincerest apologies for leaving you all without adventures for so long. Unfortunately, I haven't done any traveling since Dublin, but on the upside, Edinburgh and I are doing very well and have gotten quite close over these absent weeks of mine. I have three papers due next week, so to avoid my usual crunch-time last-minute all-nighter tendencies, I've been working on them for the past three weeks now and to my surprise (trust me i'm really surprised), its working out pretty well. In New York I am so concerned with all my other commitments that my academic obligations sometimes get the backseat, meaning staying up all night before a paper is due is always my solution to not enough days in a week. It always worked for me because its all I knew. But now that I have spent a day just hanging out in an Edinburgh cafe with a pile of books and too many jstor print outs, my work ethic has changed for the better... again to my surprise.

The first essay I wrote is for my British Art History class, which spans from the middle of the 18th century to the end of the 19th century, so the hallmark of that time period is the founding of the Royal Academy and the infamous exhibitions it held. I decided to focus on two exhibitions which mark the introduction of genre painting to the art scene. Genre painting is the depiction of everyday life, which was considered vulgar and lowly in comparison to the grand portraits and history paintings which inundated the walls of the Academy. The exhibition of 1806 is when David Wilkie, a Scotsman, made his debut with a work entitled Village Politicians. It was surprisingly the blockbuster of the summer and elevated genre to an entirely new level. I then progressed into the exhibition of 1826, when Wilkie exhibited another genre scene entitled Chelsea Pensioners, which received such praise that the Academy had to place a divider between the work and the spectators, a first for the Academy. I used Genre painting as the means through which the state of British painting can be seen and defined; it demanded spectators to look long and hard at work as opposed to being able to glance at a piece and move onto the next. Additionally, because of the subject matter, it challenged spectators to feel something... feel sentimental towards the people in the image who went about their daily tasks completely unaware of the larger world around them... something forgotten to the hordes of Academy goers who cued for hours to visit the vogue exhibitions of the time.

My next essay is for my Velazquez in Context class, a class devote entirely to Velazquez and the court in which he painted. I've decided to write my final paper on the influence he had on 19Th century artists, like Manet and Whistler. I introduced my paper with the appreciation the French and Americans had for Velazquez's individuality and independence, something enviable to a rapidly changing and modernizing country. He painted with such liberty and with such bold strokes, that artists would go and stand before his work for hours trying to copy his style. Both 19th century artists, Manet and Whistler, made almost hundreds of copies combined, some just fractures of larger works and some entire reproductions of even Las Meninas, Velazquez's greatest masterpiece. Apparently Manet and Degas met for the first time while standing in front of the Infanta Margharita... I kinda like that visual.

And my last paper is for my Sinners, Saints, and Seers class, a survey of Scottish, Irish and English art from 600 to 900. I am focusing on the few depictions of women in art of this region and time, all of which are either depiction of the Virgin with child or Adam and Eve. The essay is largely centered around the idea that woman was never to be represented alone and was always accompanied by a domineering male figure, either the Christ child or Adam. If she does appear alone it is either as temptress or damned soul i.e. a prostitute, unmarried woman, or barren. I am using Irish High crosses, illuminated manuscripts, and small metal and stonework sculptures as evidence.

The preparation for these essays and the process of writing them has really brought me closer to this city and made me a real Edinburgher... (not a word). I have my coffee spots that I go to and the waiter who refills my coffee without charging. I've taken books out from three different libraries, the Art and Architecture library, the Main University Library, and the National Library. I've even sent emails to scholars... no reply yet, but the beauty of this whole working ahead thing is that I have a whole other week to wait and see.
On my 21st birthday/St. Patrick's day, I sneaked (did you know snuck isn't a real word?) into the Bean Scene, free wireless with every purchase, to finish up my conclusion to my Velazquez paper before my celebration with friends.

God I felt old. Apparently the whole evening I kept asking people, "On a scale from 1-10, how old am I?"... must have been prompted by this whole new work thing. Gotta be careful.

More to come.
A

Loose Petticoats, Loose Morals: A Weekend in Dublin

Green isn't even the national color... It's Dublin Blue! Just one of the many things I learned while visiting the city this past weekend. The other fun fact was the placement of mirrors under tables at the Dublin castle. It first seemed a bit naughty, but its purpose was so women could always see the trim of their dresses and readjust any layers to prevent petticoats from peaking through. "Loose Petticoats, Loose Morals." A lesson never to be forgotten. I've adopted it as a way of life.
I expected Dublin to be similar to Edinburgh, but other than the omnipotence of drinking and the presence of potatoes in every dish, the cities are surprisingly different. The largest difference grounded in the architecture and city layout: Edinburgh has a kind of center and all roads lead to or depart from that point. Dublin seems more lateral and divided by one main river that runs through the entire city. Apparently one side is grimy, the other charming. I found both sides pretty wonderful.

First stop was Guinness Storehouse. The best part was the free pint served at the Sky Bar at the very top of the building with a 360 degree view of Dublin. It's definitely an acquired taste, but in the spirit of "the now" I swallowed the murky brown liquid with no complaint.
After Guinness, it was off to the Jameson Distillery. My sanity muddled by the effects of the murky brown liquid, I volunteered to be a taster at the end of the tour, which required me to consume three shots of whiskey: American, Scottish, and Irish. I was surrounded by propaganda insisting that American was the worst, Scottish the second worst, and Irish obviously the cleanest, purest, easiest, and tastiest. We were then asked to vote for our favorite and realizing I was surrounded by Irishmen and old muskets above the bar, I succumbed and agreed with the propaganda. I was well awarded for my choice: an official whiskey taster certificate and of course another shot of Whiskey. I wobbled out of Jameson.

We stopped at an unsuspecting bar called O'Neils (there are about 700) to have some baked ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, turnips, and cabbage all covered in gravy (Jameson makes you hungry). Clue #1: The bar was filling up with men in jerseys. Clue #2: A giant screen was lowered. Clue #3: We were the only two girls in the bar. Only once clue #3 struck did we realize an imperative rugby match was about to commence. France Vs. Wales. Anyone who tells you to go to Ireland for St. Patrick's Day has never been there for a Rugby match. Ireland wasn't even playing, but based on the enthusiasm and endless empty pints, they might have well been. I'm just going to risk a reputation as an Expat and say it's better than the Superbowl. Ireland was due to play England the next day. You can imagine our excitement.

The Ireland Vs. England match was to start at 5:30pm, meaning we had to be dressed in full garb and claim a spot in a pub around noon. I had a conflict though. I was on a mission to see the Book of Kells, an old illuminated manuscript dated to about 800, so on our way to our choice of pub, we stopped at Trinity college to get a peak at the manuscript before our 12:00pm appointment at PorterHouse Pub. I stood in front of this sacred text in full Irish Rugby gear.

Ireland won. Just imagine it. Okay... now multiply that by 100. Then by 1000. That's about how exciting it was.