War and Peace OR: Richard Writes a Blog

A Tale of Two Irish Rovers OR: A Trip to the Third Best Place to Spend St. Patricks Day!

As the title of this week’s blog implies, there is indeed a tale of a trip to the Emerald Isle. However, in the spirit of the mischief of the Leprechaun we will be pulling the old switcheroo and rather than your trusted normal scribe Kate (Suffering from slight separation anxiety will be adding annotations in red), I Richard the oft mentioned travelling companion, will fill you in with the details of the journey. In reality I have been living the life of Reilly (yes, second Irish reference already and it is only the introduction!) having handed in all my assignments last week whilst young Kate has been a bit busier, so I agreed to step into the breach. Don’t worry normal service will resume in two weeks’ time, there is a brief European sojourn this coming week which will interrupt the normal publication schedule, and you will be returned into the warm embrace of words without u’s, double negatives (a South African conversational staple) and blogs that are not as long as War & Peace. Okay let’s begin; readers I wish you (Irish?) luck…

The tale of this Irish excursion begins long before the scheduled departure, to the only place more Irish than Ireland. Yes that is right casa del Garrett (The Spanish really adds to the Irish-ness of this statement), Kansas City, KS (I believe Richard understands that it is actually Lenexa, KS and was just attempting to give my parents a slight heart attack.. well done). Whilst I was obliviously gnawing on a turkey bone in 35 degree (Celsius that is), (95 Fahrenheit) summer heat in South Africa an idea was forming in young Kathryn’s head. A way to kill the assorted birds of my impending birthday, both of our love of travelling and a pilgrimage to the ‘spiritual homeland’ with the single stone of a trip to Dublin for St. Patricks Day! Secretly, hotels were booked and flights arranged whilst the reality slowly dawned on Kate that she would now have to keep this news confidential for an entire month! (A very, very long time!)On her return Kate matter-of-factly mentioned that she had planned something for the weekend of the 17^th of March.(This was only matter of factly mentioned because someone alluded to the fact that plans were already made for that weekend) I glanced at the calendar and noticed that the 17^th was in fact St. Patricks Day, to which I uttered the now much mocked words “Well whatever it is you have organised I better be able to get a Guinness or else.” In hindsight the smirk on her face should have provided some clue, but being perceptive has never been one of my great assets. As it was I had to wait until my birthday in early February to hear the news. After a morning of being given numerous Irish themed stocking-fillers (sorry stocking-stuffers for my American readership!) it finally dawned on me (embarrassingly only after my third gift!) that we were going to Ireland! More specifically Dublin and even more specifically on St. Patricks Day! If I was an American I would have whooped! (I’m pretty sure you whooped).

I’m sure it is has been previously mentioned or at least alluded to on this blog that the primary reason for us being able to take these various European jaunts is the joy of cheap plane travel in particular Ryanair. However, as with all things in life you have to take the good with the bad. No I am not referring to cramped seating, the selling of every conceivable item on board or even the hidden charges. I am referring to the fact that the airports that they use are nowhere near where they claim to be and tend to involve at least an hour journey just to get to them! Unfortunately Glasgow is no exception to this rule and we in fact fly out of the town of Prestwick on the east Coast, due south of Glasgow. This combined with the fact that we had a scheduled flight at the horrific hour of 07:00am meant that we had to spend the night in Prestwick in order to make our flight the next morning. If for some reason the name Prestwick rings a bell it is because either: 1) You are an Elvis aficionado and know that this is the one spot in the UK that the ‘King’ visited (whilst he was a solider – useless fact #5789) or more likely 2) because of golf. Yes, Prestwick is the home of the first ever ‘Open’ golf championship (or British Open as it is called in America) which is golf’s equivalent of Wimbledon and Prestwick town is also just down the road from Troon a town whose golf course still hosts Open championships. Having grown up in a house with a golf mad father and having had numerous golfing friends, I was really excited at the prospect of spending a day in this golfing heartland. I had thoughts of wandering around the bunkers and sinking imaginary 50 foot putts with my invisible putter. Unfortunately fate (or more correctly university) intervened and I found out that I had to give a presentation until 5pm and that we would only be able to get into Prestwick at night. My disappointment was slightly lifted however as Kate showed the upmost sympathy and disappointment as well. At least I think it was sympathy and disappointment; in South Africa fist-pumping (I have never fist-pumped in my life), a beaming smile and the continued repeating of the statement ‘Yes, thank goodness!’ would generally be construed as her not wanting to spend 4 hours wandering around a windswept grassland dodging flying white balls – however I realise our cultures do differ in certain aspects and I’m sure that is just a unique American way of expressing sorrow… (I was truly heartbroken).

 In any event we had a wonderful evening in Prestwick and the excitement was certainly building for the trip. So much so that even the 5 am start the next day was taken in our stride and we arrived at Glasgow-Prestwick International airport slightly bleary eyed but excited none-the-less. As we waited at security (an interminable wait due to a bachelorette-party group in front of us having to empty and sift through the contents of their hand luggage in order to remove countless trays of make-up, bottles of fake tan etc.) three ladies joined the queue behind us. They were decked out in green clothes, St Patricks Days novelty sunglasses - the works. Cleary, we thought, fellow travellers to Dublin. One of the many things I have developed since meeting Kate is my people watching skills. Previously I have wandered through life without giving much thought to my fellow inhabitants – blissfully ignorant of their conversations and actions (Oh how much you were missing!). However, having now travelled with a people watcher of note I have slowly started to develop the requisite people watching skills. These new found skills meant that I was taking a great interest in our green-decked co-travellers (eavesdropping (Excuse me: “Active Listening”) is such a nasty word) and picked up on the following conversation:

Novelty glasses wearer 1: ‘Nothing like St. Paddy’s Day hey girls!’ (I really don’t think they said “Hey Girls!” at the end of their sentences)

Leprechaun hat wearer: ‘I know, each year we need to go one bigger than the last’

Novelty glasses wearer 2: ‘Last year, Dublin! Next year… New York!’

Countless thoughts raced through my mind. Where exactly was the ‘second best place’ that they were going to? Is Dublin really less Irish than New York? Can you really trust the statements of a couple of Glaswegian 40 year olds babbling on about St. Patricks Day hot spots at 5 in the morning? When you consider that they were in fact on a flight to Alicante, Spain to celebrate St. Patricks Day you quickly realise that the answer to all those questions is simply  - No. In any event the bachelorette backlog had lifted and we safely made it through security (well I mean Kate made it safely through and I, being the shifty character that I am, go patted down—(In all seriousness it’s about time I wasn’t the one patted down.)) and boarded our flight to the third best St. Patricks Day venue in the world!

We touched down in Dublin, caught a taxi to our hotel and luckily were able to check in allowing us to wander off to soak up the excitement. Having both travelled to Dublin before, we had realised beforehand that the area we were staying in (Ballsbridge) was the same area we had previously stayed and on arriving at the hotel it was in fact the exact same hotel where Kate had stayed previously. Thus it was a little disconcerting that we still managed to get lost walking to the city centre! (I’m not quite sure five seconds of confusion over which way to turn constitutes as lost…) In any case we were eventually on the right track and decided to wander into the national gallery for a quick look (there is some extensive refurbishment underway so the artworks on display were slightly limited) before heading up to Grafton Street. It was here that the magnitude of the festivities hit us for the first time. Everywhere you looked there were Irish souvenirs for sale, multitudes of people wore green, Irish pub songs blared from shops, giant Leprechauns posed for photos. We both looked at each other and smiled. There are certain times when you just give into the commercialisation of a holiday and whilst I’m sure the locals despise it, being tourists we were ready to embrace it!  

We had a walking tour scheduled for 2:30pm so in the interim we decided to wander around the area taking in the sites and atmosphere.

And of course, sampled the previously mentioned brew

We arrived for our walking tour slightly ahead of time and were met by just two other men already waiting. We were a bit nervous that there were so few of us, but as it would turn out we had feared the wrong thing. As 2:30 approached the hordes began to descend and we realised that this was going to be one popular walking tour! Fortunately a combination of forward planning by the tour company (there was more than one guide) and ourselves (we had pre-booked tickets) meant that we were able to depart with the earlier group leaving the unfortunates to scrap it out for the remaining tickets. Our tour guide then proceeded to kill all our dreams by stating that 1) St. Patricks colour was not green but blue (useless fact #6479) and 2). That St. Patrick had in fact never come down as far as Dublin, but had stayed mainly up in modern day Northern Ireland (maybe Belfast was then the second best St. Patrick’s destination!?) In any event despite these revelations the tour was really enjoyable, the guide was knowledgeable and humorous (he started up a rendition of the song ‘Kansas City’ every time he saw Kate) and we saw a number of interesting sites along the route. It was not however without incident although in order to maintain some sense of dignity and prevent this blog from descending into a rant I will merely say that if you are inclined to wear novelty St. Patricks day hats perhaps a cathedral is not the best play to exhibit them. (While the tour was wonderful, I will admit that immediately upon our release from the tour we launched into rants regarding the other participants, in addition to the comment regarding hat attire I will say this: It is Dublin, rain is to be expected, it is not the tour guide’s fault.)

Having done our cultural duty for the day we rushed back to the hotel before heading out to sample some of the Dublin nightlife and the legendary Irish craic. After a rather subdued start close to the hotel we decided to head to the famous (infamous?) Temple Bar area. After having been in the establishment for a short-time we realised that we were unlikely to hear Irish craic and more likely to hear American chat, Australian banter or German plaudern! To our left were groups of College students drinking Coors Light and chanting U-S-A,  U-S-A! To our right Uni students drinking Fosters and talking about cricket (no – not the insect, the sport!). However, that great statement of everyone being Irish on St. Patricks Day does indeed hold true. As the band started up with ballads like ‘Galway Girl‘ and ‘Whiskey in the Jar‘ so the bar began to embrace their common (or in many cases imagined) Irish heritage and sang, as one, long into the night...(Apparently you didn’t notice, it was generally just us singing..)

 Those warm fuzzy feelings had dampended slightly in the morning and as the a result your author awoke slightly later than planned. However, there was the pressing matter of the St. Patricks day parade to attend and so I gingerly began dressing in green for the big day.

We arrived on the main route of the parade to see that the crowds had already gathered. (Richard forgot to mention that before this he had never attended a parade! I must say quite the step up from my first parade. I’m sorry Old Shawnee Days Parade with your collection of Shriners riding around in small cars, you do not compare to Dublin’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade!)Fortunately we managed to find a prime-spot behind two mothers and their young (and most importantly short – for me at least, not sure if they were for Kate…) children (Rude). One (All) of these kids was the stereotypical Irish child; pale skin, big blue eyes. He was so Irish that even though he had blond hair he had sprayed painted it red/ginger (okay, so it might have had something to do with him being the orange part of a trio making up the Irish flag: Green, white and orange but you get the picture). It was this child who started our parade with a scream of “THEY’RE COMING!!!” The parade had a roughly even mix of marching bands and themed floats and performances. The marching bands came both from Ireland as well as America, with both schools and colleges performing (including the University of Missouri!—(Thank you for including this for my grandmother)). I use the term ‘themed’ to describe the floats and performances in the broadest possible sense. A person would emerge holding a banner such as ‘Where does electricity come from’ and what would follow was an extremely surreal interpretation of this. For example people with clamps for heads and people dressed as magnets! It sounds utterly bizarre, it was utterly bizarre but yet somehow it just worked and was really entertaining. (I am in love with this description of the parade…. Words truly can not describe how bizarre, yet entertaining, it all was)

Despite the entertainment the showstopper happened early on and, predominately, did not involve anyone who was actually part of the parade. At some stage a man dressed as Dracula emerged (probably in this surrealist parade as an accompaniment to the display ‘How is cheese made’ (This is still making me laugh). As Dracula made his way down the road, his coat billowing behind him, we heard a yelp in front of us and a terrified scream of ‘VAMPIRES!!!’ The previously mentioned child leapt off the railings and straight into his mother’s arms trying to use her as human shield from the blood thirsty fiend. He was eventually calmed down, told it was all an act and sent back to the front and the mocking looks of his siblings. As the parade continued and as terrors such as knife wielding fish and giant smoke billowing rhinoceroses (don’t ask…) paraded in front of him you could see the young boy looking forlornly at the safety of his mother’s embrace and weighing it up against the further potential abuse from his brothers that it would bring… The burden of being a youngest child is a heavy one…(Try the burden that is being the oldest child, it’s a much tougher cross to bear)

Following on from the parade we decided to escape the chaos which was the city centre and went back towards our hotel, stopping off at the Lansdowne Hotel in order to watch the Ireland vs. England rugby match which was being played in London. This pub, being away from the main area, had a significantly higher quantity of true Irishmen (and women) present. Inevitably as the rugby match slowly went against the Irish (they unfortunately ended up losing quite heavily) we began chatting with our fellow patrons and as a true testament of the friendliness of the Irish were invited to a man’s, who we had just met, 70^th birthday party! (He was also named Paddy!)While I would love to say we attended, were the life and soul of the party and ‘River Danced’ (Well you are basically the next Michael Flatly) the night away we politely declined. However on leaving there is no doubt that both Kate and I were thinking; ‘New York, Spain – bah I’ll take Dublin any day!’

A slightly earlier night was called, due to another early flight home the next morning. And so the next day after boarding our plane we arrived back in Prestwick once again – only to be told that the rail line had been closed for engineering works and we had to catch a bus back to Glasgow! Once on the bus, just after I had stopped cursing Ryanair for flying out of the middle of nowhere and just before I drifted off to sleep I thought back to a conversation with a taxi driver the night before. Emboldened by a few Guinness and feeling slightly philosophical (yes, probably also due to those Guinnesses!) I asked how the mood was in Ireland, in light of all the economic problems and austerity measures currently in place, to which he replied: ‘Every day is a good day in Ireland’. After this weekend – I can definitely agree.

Richard, I have to hand it to you. After this impressive blog my readership will never want to return to my embrace of words lacking “u’s” again. I am now thinking that our book scheme might just have to become a reality. Just in case it hasn’t been stated enough our trip to Dublin was wonderful and everything we could hope for in a St. Patrick’s Day weekend.  The Irish proved to be charming, kind, funny, entertaining and the marvellous hosts they are proclaimed to be. It is no wonder that the two of us have already begun talks of travelling back as soon as possible.

"Aye Write!"

Once again I have to begin this blog post by apologizing for not posting last week. However, I must admit that last week's post would have been terribly unexciting. Recently, Glasgow life has been consumed by essays, presentations and the nursing of colds. In fact, there was an extended period of time in which it seemed as though I only left the flat to restock our supply of vitamin C or caffeine.

Fortunately, I was able to escape the confines of this flat for a few hours last week to see the play Betrayal. Citizens Theatre (which I will argue is the best theatre in Glasgow) is currently hosting a season of classic plays. The first in this spring line-up was Pinter's Betrayal. The play was very well done. Fortunately by inhaling around 30 cough drops throughout the production I was able to avoid public shame and humilation sure to be brought on by my unpleasant cough. Richard and I have become quite play aficionados this year. In fact, we were told by a particular gentleman that we inspired him to attend opera. I was thrilled by this, Richard not so much. With our play aficionado status we are able to have wonderful discussions regarding the dramatic arts. More simply, we get in massive arguments over the plays we have seen. After seeing a play it can be assumed that we will take vastly different views of that play. To be fair, our views on the play are generally somewhat similiar but that doesn't lead to massive arguments, different sides have to be taken. We really have quite a system of play discussion. After the curtain falls, we collect our coats and bags and start down the stairs to exit the theatre. One of us will say "So, what did you think?" Then it begins, it usually starts out fairly calm but heats up by the time we ride the subway, intensifies on the walk to the flat and by the time we have reached our destination one of us will have converted to the dark side. Or, Richard will finally admit I agreed with you the entire time it's just really funny to see you get so worked up..... I am ashamed to say I still fall for this trick. But, the discussion of Betrayal was to be different. The 30 or so cough drops certainly helped surpress my cough but did not magically restore my voice. Never one to easily surrender I still pushed my side of the argument. After a long, painful, raspy and broken monologue which was certain to convince anyone of my argument I received this response "I really can't understand a word you are saying." So much for perseverance.

After my voice was finally restored and essay finished (I will be perfectly happy to never hear the words Whistler, Aesthetic, Manifesto, Grosvenor Gallery, or Nocturne in Black and Gold again) I was able to escape back into Glasgow. The weather here is beginning to change and each day seems a bit more pleasant and longer than the last. As per usual March is excessively busy. Glasgow is currently hosting a literary festival "Aye Write." Of course this event needed to be attended.  The schedule for the festival was a bit daunting. The Mitchell Library and the various literature organizations of Glasgow have done an impressive job in putting together a full schedule of author interviews, discussions, literary quizzes, poetry competitions, etc. Because of this it was slightly difficult to pick which events to attend. After comparing schedules and interests it was finally decided that we would attend discussions with Tim Jeal and Alexander McCall Smith.

Tim Jeal discussed his book Explorers of the Nile: The Triumph and Tragedy of a Great Victorian Adventure. Shockingly, Richard and I were the youngest people at the talk by at least 15 years. Despite this, we found Jeal to be very entertaining, interesting and were both excited to have the opportunity to meet with him after his lecture. The author was thrilled Richard was from South Africa and spent a great deal of time discussing the country with him. Having really enjoyed this first event in our "Aye Write" line-up we eagerly awaited the Alexander McCall Smith event. This particular event was held in a large theatre and we waited in quite a long line to take our seats. We somehow have a talent for attracting conversations with strangers and had quite a long chat with the women behind us in queue. The event ended up being quite a success. Smith was interviewed before reading a selection of his latest "Scotland Street" novel. Following this reading there was time for questions from the audience. I found the author to be very funny, insightful and optimistic. All of these traits made the discussion very entertaining and I will admit I fell hard under the marketing trap and bought a significant number of his novels. And, despite what some people argue.. I will read them all. Edinburgh has a similiar festival in August (it's even larger than Glasgow's!) and I am certainly looking forward to attending. As a side note, it appears that if you hope to be a successful author you should name your daughters Lucy and Emily, both Smith and Jeal named their daughters this.

I have really enjoyed the vast cultural opportunities this year has provided. It has been a wonderful experience to create such a diverse group of friends from places all over the World. As mid-March approaches a number of scheduled trips are finally to be taken. This weekend will be spent celebrating St. Patrick's Day in Dublin and will be followed by an entire week in the Benelux countries. This group of international friends has been invaluable in preparation for these trips. Over the course of this week we are scheduled to have dinner and drinks with a friend from The Netherlands and another from Beligium. These wonderful friends have kindly offered to grant us all the insider's information and secrets for our travels. I have been asked frequently for my greatest travel tip. But, I don't have one.. instead I have two tips that I believe make any trip the perfect trip. First, find someone that you love to travel with. Secondly, find someone who knows the place you are travelling, their advice will prove wildly helpful.

The Greatest Sport on Earth and That Little Rugby Thing

Knowing what to say to people can be difficult. There are numerous situations in life that call for one to provide comfort, support, encouragement, humor and meet a plethora of other needs through spoken word. While I do believe people put much effort into saying the "right thing", they at times fail miserably. In fact, I know there has been many a time when I have wanted so badly to say the "right thing" and instead have produced the exact opposite. Bearing this in mind, it can provide great humor to observe others scrambling to say the "right thing" to you. When I was preparing to leave for Scotland I was asked a great number of questions. I was overwhelmed and amazed at the great outpouring of love, support and pure excitement on the part of friends, family and a time or two even strangers over my upcoming adventure. However, I was also the recipient of what I am sure were questions meant with only the kindest of intentions that went slightly astray.

Kind Hearted Individual: "Are you super terrified of going all the way across the ocean for a year?!"

Me: "Of course I am a little nervous but more excited than anything"

Kind Hearted Individual: "But what if you get over there and can't understand anyone and aren't able to communicate with another human-being for a year? What if you find the University to be 1,000 times harder than the University here and you find out that you really have no business getting your Masters? What if the food is so different you develop an intense allergy to all things British and can't eat? What if you can't breathe Scotland's air and you die on arrival..... I mean, really, you  must be terrified!!

Me: "Well, I certainly wasn't before..."

The other conversation that frequently occurred dealt with the possibility of overwhelming homesickness.

Kind Hearted Individual: There are going to be so many things that I am absolutely positive you will miss from the US!

Me: I am sure there will be a few things but a year really isn't that long.

Kind Hearted Individual: Really though won't you miss your friends, family, driving, the sales tax not being included before purchase, American TV... (This list would continue for quite awhile until I finally broke in with a response).

Me: Being away from my family and friends will be difficult but fortunately there is skype for that... Outside of that.. well... I will miss my dog. Oh and I will absolutely miss March Madness.

March Madness, a true American gem. I am by no means a sports fanatic. Sure, I understand what a first down is, can tell you how to figure a batting average and know the difference between a goal-keeper and a defender (the different outfits help). Growing up with my father and two brothers these were not skills instead they were survival tactics. Football, baseball, soccer, rugby, swimming, and all those other sports, well they are entertaining enough. But, there is one sport I love and that sport is college basketball. I know a great many people will disagree with the following statement but College Basketball is by far and away the absolute best type of basketball. Basketball is wildly misunderstood by the rest of the World.(Before I get letters of complaint, there is a developing of love for Basketball outside of the USA, Glasgow even has their own professional team!) Outside of America many consider basketball to be too high scoring, a game with little to no defense, completely uninteresting and unexciting. I believe this skewed perception is due to the overexposure of the NBA. Sure, the NBA is basketball but it's not College Basketball. There isn't the excitement, the championing of the underdog, the tradition, the intense passion of the student body and there isn't much defense. There is no basketball like College Basketball and there is no College Basketball team like the KU Jayhawks. As we draw closer and closer to March and the college basketball games become more and more intense I do miss being surrounding by a state full of college basketball fans. However, much like the missing of my family and friends there is a cure and that cure is skype. Saturday evening was a huge evening for my team of choice, it was the final border war, the war that has been raging since the Civil War between Kansas and Missouri is now waged a few times each year on the basketball court.

After a few failed attempts at streaming the game it was time to call upon the family for assistance. My loving parents positioned their webcam directly in front of their TV so that Richard and I were able to watch the entire game via skype. After an abysmal first half it appeared as though KU had absolutely no hope of pulling out a victory. But, in true KU fashion they came rallying back and the game was launched into overtime. While I may not claim to be much of a sports fan, Richard certainly is. And my love of College Basketball has been the source of much mockery and disgusted looks throughout the year. Despite this, I knew that a little bit of patience and of course the overwhelming greatness/magic of the Jayhawks would win this epic fight. It is safe to say that Richard no longer considers College Basketball the "worst sport ever." By the end of the game the self-proclaimed hater of all things dealing with "the so called sport of basketball" was cheering, pacing, biting nails, crossing fingers and had an impressive grasp on the rules of the game. With one convert to the game under my belt I am looking forward to March and the creation of brackets. I am positive that bracketology will sweep Glasgow by storm.

For a fantastic article on Saturday's game and a little more history of the "Border Wars" here is an article from the Kansas City Star: http://www.kansascity.com/2012/02/25/3452571/the-border-war-we-wont-see-a-rivalry.html

To continue the sport themed weekend, Sunday required a trip to Edinburgh to attend a particular "Rugby Thing." In all actuality, I knew this rugby match was important and part of the Six Nations Tournament but insisted upon calling it "that little rugby thing" for a month for one particular reason. The exact same reason is behind why each and every year when the men in my family gather around the television to watch the "World Series" I insist upon arguing that it shouldn't be called the World Series because the World does not participate. And this "reason" would be the great reaction of men who care desperately about these "little sporting things." The Six Nations Tournament, shockingly enough, consists of six nations. These nations include Scotland, Wales, England, Ireland, France and Italy. The tournament takes place over a period where each of the six national teams plays all other teams participating in the tournament with home field advantage occurring on alternating years. Scotland's year for home field advantage meant that they would be playing at Murrayfield against the French team. To properly prepare for this spectacle I received my first ever rugby shirt. The journey to Edinburgh was a bit of a mission. The Glasgow train station was absolutely packed with fans eager to make their way to the rugby match.

One of the aspects of sport that I truly love is the fans. Being deposited at Haymarket train station meant about a mile walk to the stadium. This walk meant we were accompanied by a great number of Scottish and French fans. If ever there is a place to see national stereotypes played upon rugby matches may most certainly be that place. There were kilts of all color and fashion, men dressed as braveheart, Nessie hats, tartan scarves, bagpipes, saltires flying in all directions and the singing of Loch Lommond repeatedly throughout the day. Have no fear, the French stereotypes were also in full force. French men and women sported red, white and blue, berets, chicken costumes (their mascot.. cockerels to be exact), while drinking wine and smoking cigarettes. While waiting in line for a drink I was bumped into by a French man who quickly exclaimed "Pardon! Excuse-Moi Mademoiselle!" To which Richard shook his head stating "Is it just me or do you feel like we are back and Paris." And, in fact the French were so well represented that it did feel like we were back in Paris or at least a bizarre French/Scottish hybrid Paris.

As per usual, the sporting master had arranged us impressive seats and the match was impressive for a number of reasons. One, I actually understood enough to follow the position of the ball and understood the scoring of the game, vast improvements from the last rugby match. Two, the fans provided a never-ending parade of excitement. Three, overall the match was really exciting and Scotland and France changed the lead numerous times (Scotland ended up losing, unfortunately!). Four, there was a band, fireworks and the singing of national anthems. Finally, there was a French Streaker.

 These pictures are before the match started. By the time the match began the stands were completely full!

 Behind the rugby players are the "Red Hot Chili Pipers." They were the opening band... and yes they really were called The Red Hot Chili Pipers, I can't make this stuff up.

 This was one of the many French chickens. This particular chicken was sitting in front of us, I was a really big fan.

 The chicken and the Scottish Bagpipers.

"The Little Rugby Thing" ended up being a really nice time. Upon leaving the stadium I thanked Richard for dragging me along but had to admit to being slightly disappointed that I still didn't see any blood. (Come on! There is enough American in me to believe that Rugby is the most violent sport ever and basically consists entirely of fist brawls and blood). To this little comment I received an in-depth description of the first play of the match in which blood was apparently spewing from one of the player's heads... how did I manage to miss that? After this description I received a slightly worried questioning as to why I was so intrigued at the prospect of seeing blood. I just wanted all my stereotypical viewpoints to come true!



Feeding my Zebra basil and my Jaguar oregano.

As one can imagine I spend an inordinate amount of time discussing my accent. Well, defending it more than discussing it. First, people are shocked that I don't have a Southern accent. Once again, Kansas is not in the South... rather, the Midwest. Yes, "mid-west" makes absolutely no sense considering Kansas is right, smack in the middle of the states... but, still it's the mid-west. When first landing on this small island I was appalled when people would mention my "accent."  Midwesterners have the flattest of all United States' accents. News anchors, celebrities and politicians are taught to speak like my people! In fact, soldiers from the Mid-West were used as code talkers during the wars because they were deemed most understandable. In my mind, I didn't have an accent. Of course, I sounded much different than the Scots but I figured my accent was truly nothing to be excited about. How wildly incorrect this innocent thought has panned out to be.

My accent, more specifically my pronunciation of words, has been at the center of many a party discussion, has been the butt of quite a few jokes and believe it or not has even received a few compliments. A flat warming party Friday meant that after a few drinks complete strangers felt comfortable enough to question American pronunciation. Generally, parties at one point or another force me to become the voice of America. Being the only American in the room I find myself defending particular customs or practices from the United States that I A.) know nothing about or B.) find the custom/practice just as ridiculous and bizarre as the non-Americans (Valet Parking is the most recent example I can think of). This party mockery led me to examine the words that Americans say differently than other English speakers. There are quite a few so I have narrowed the list to the most interesting. I will try to phonetically translate these differences but both myself and my History of the English Language professor can attest to the fact that phonetic translations are not exactly my strong point.

1. Oregano--- American Pronunciation: Oh-Ray-Ga-No Worldly Pronunciation: Or-A-Gaa-No
2. Basil-- American Pronunciation: Bay-Sil  Worldly Pronunciation: BAA-Sil (The pronunciation of "A" is one of the greatest differences in American and British accents.. Americans generally pronounce the letter "A" as "Eh" whereas the Brits pronounce "A" as "Ahh." Although, the Scots accent is a bit different and their pronunciation of "A" leans more towards the American pronunciation than the English).
3. Leisure-- American Pronunciation: Lee-Sure Worldly Pronunciation: Lait (think of the French word for milk)-Shur
4. Zebra- American Pronunciation: Zee-Bra Worldly Pronunciation: Zeb-Bra.. Like the "A" sound the "Z" sound is completely different. In fact, it's not even called "Z" it's a "Zed"
5. Schedule-- American Pronunciation: Sked-Well Worldly Pronunciation: Sched-Ell
6, Arkansas v. Kansas--- I have heard that American pronunciation and it's inaccuracies can be summed up in the differences of pronouncing Arkansas and Kansas. Kansas is pronounced "Can-Ziss" whereas Arkansas is pronounced "Ark-Can-Saw"... it makes no sense, just go with it.


And finally the latest edition to this list, the word that caused me much mockery at a party and certain individuals have carried the mocking throughout the week........
7. Jaguar--- American Pronunciation: Jag-Wire Worldly Pronunciation: Jag-uAR


After a serendipitous occurrence my classmate Joe, his girlfriend Jacqueline, Richard and I all had tickets to the same play on the same evening. Therefore, it was decided by Joe and I that we should go on a double date of sorts to dinner and the play. However, half of my half of the date worried about the validity of this social gathering and the term "double date." To which I renamed it a social gathering in which we converse with another committed couple, which was deemed more appropriate. Shockingly enough, the dictionary uses almost this exact definition to define double date... Double Date: "A social engagement in which two couples go together, as in They went on a double date with her brother and his girlfriend" To save my fingers extra grief I will use "double date" only because the dictionary itself validates this term. The writing of this paragraph was interrupted by yet another debate about the word "date" apparently it's an American term.

After a nice dinner we made our way to the play "All New People." The play was written, directed and starred Zach Braff (That guy from Scrubs). Joe, a Zach Braff aficionado, filled us less knowledgeable play-goers in about the play over dinner. Zach Braff has always wanted to write and perform a play in London. He wrote "All New People" which was first performed a few times in the US. He did not star in the US productions as he wanted to be an audience member and tweak particular parts of the play. The play is showing in three cities in the UK, including London, and the writer will be performing in all UK performances. While, I really had no previous opinion of Zach Braff I will admit that it was pretty exciting to see a "famous person" perform. While I will admit to being excited I certainly was not as excited as many of the Braffinities seated around me. The play opened, as do most, with the curtain slowly pulling apart to reveal the stag. Standing on a chair was Zach Braff and the audience burst into applause and shouts of excitement. I enjoyed the play and while slightly over the top, found it funny.. but, I am fairly certain that many of the audience members would have been perfectly happy if Braff just stood on the stage for an hour and a half.

This week I made another trip to Edinburgh and another trip to the National Gallery for my class in art history. I am always amazed that two cities so close together can be so different. I love Glasgow for many reasons (many of these reasons are actually people) but can never dispute the fact that Edinburgh is gorgeous. The first time I came to Scotland I only travelled to Edinburgh. After, having travelled to Edinburgh a few times since that initial visit and having lived in Glasgow, I believe every traveller to Scotland needs to visit both cities. Edinburgh for it's beauty and history and Glasgow for it's people and a more authentic Scottish feel.

Ten Things You Will Find in Edinburgh but Not in Glasgow:

1. The Union Jack- Yes, I am sure if you look hard enough you will find plenty in Glasgow. However, it is much more common to see the Saltire (Scotland's flag). Glasgow's buildings usually fly the Saltire where Edinburgh's buildings generally fly both.
2. A Castle
3. Ten Thousand Tourist Shops
4. The One O'clock Gun Shot
5. Hundreds of Tour Buses
6. More foreign accents than Scottish accents
7. Small, cobble stoned, winding roads leading to a castle
8. A Nessie Hat, a High-Land Cow Hat, thousands of kilts (again, things that are probably in Glasgow just hidden).
9. Exercisers consistently walking up and down the staircase leading to the castle
10. Bagpipers on every corner.


And, now I must go about my scheduled daily activities which include leisurely feeding my zebra, from Kansas, basil and my jaguar, from Arkansas, oregano.--Aren't language differences fun?

Thoroughly Modern Kate, Act I

One of the main purposes of this blog was to force myself to take pictures while in Scotland. As many of you may well be aware I am pretty terrible at taking pictures. I think this unwillingness to constantly be snapping away comes from my first trip abroad. While in London, I was fortunate enough to see the Changing of the Guard. While the event was impressive, entertaining and quintessentially English I was shocked and appalled by the amount of pictures being taken. People were taking so many pictures that they themselves were completely missing out on the spectacle. It was in that moment that I became a slightly selfish tourist. I decided that while taking a picture or two was of course necessary and beneficial, it was much better to simply enjoy the travel moment for it's worth, to actually remember without having documented evidence. While this idea was all great and good, my memory was slightly less effective than originally thought and I realized that pictures are important. Perhaps not important enough to take so many pictures of the Changing of the Guard that you could make a stop-action film, but important. It was for this reason (and many others) that the blog was devised. This plan, like many plans, has had a bit of adverse effect. Now, I rely a little too much on photos. This week I took absolutely no photos and was terrified about doing the blog. But, I finally realized that while no pictures were taken a lot happened this week that can be shared.

Monday was Richard's birthday. The day that I could finally reveal some super secret surprises that I had been planning. While I absolutely love surprises, I am not always skilled at keeping them a secret. For this reason, Richard had somewhat of a clue as to what his birthday gift would be. However, he wasn't entirely sure and it was for this reason that for an entire month I was pestered with someone trying to ruin his own birthday by figuring out the gift. I heard such lines as "I never keep secrets from you, I tell you EVERYTHING!" "If you are going to make me go somewhere on St. Patrick's Day can you at least make sure I get a Guinness" "So, I hate to tell you this but I can't do anything on St. Patrick's Day because the guys from class have decided we should go on a fishing trip together"  and my personal favorite "Our relationship has become a bed of lies." On Monday, Richard finally was told that we are in fact going to Dublin for St. Patrick's Day. He will get a Guinness and we will not be getting facials as he was told we would be for the last month. But, because he handled that surprise so well I decided to have another little surprise, a birthday dinner. The dinner ended up being a total surprise and it was a lot of fun to celebrate with friends.


Tuesday, I took my first Scottish field trip! My 1920's and 1930's class was going together to see a play, a musical to be exact. Because my program is so small and we are very close knit the play became an entire evening of festivities. First, we had our actual class seminar. Following the seminar we decided to kill time before having dinner by having drinks. After having a drink or two we made our way to a pub, around the corner from the theatre, for dinner. While discussing the evening's upcoming performance over supper a particular member of my class stated that this would be his first ever musical. While I would love to say that my response was nothing but polite, I am afraid that it consisted of a slight gasp, gaping of the mouth and a shocked "You've never been to a musical?!" Reactions like this are my greatest fear, being an arts major you unfortunately stumble upon conversations like the following all the time.
"Oh well I am positive you have read Charles Dovseknti"
"Ummm.. hmmmm. Well actually I have never heard of him"
"WHAT?! You have never read Dovesknti, where did you get your English literature degree?!"
This third degree burning continues on while you begin to doubt every part of your English liteature background. (And, for those of you that believe you've heard of Charles Dovesknti, you haven't, I made him up).
The moral of this story is that I don't want to be one of those over-educated arts students who makes the rest of the World feel like uneducated swine. Besides I have quite a long way to go before I can be considered even close to "over-educated." Back to the story. I believe that this statement took me by such great surprise because of my secret love of musicals. It's embarrassing but I know a lot about musicals. To be totally honest, I am not even sure where this knowledge came from. Yes, I did watch lots as a kid.. I was rewarded with Calamity Jane for finally kicking the sucking thumb habit, but I can't remember the last time I watched a musical. Yet, I know a bizarre amount about these singing, dancing, sappy story features. While I may have given him a hard time at the beginning, it was really fun to go to a musical with a first timer. Especially, a musical that is as ridiculous as "Thouroughly Modern Millie." It was during "half-time" that the class began to discuss the play.

Like in so many American written plays a young girl decides to travel to New York and make it big. This poor girl comes from some terrible, stuck-in-the-past-place in the Midwest. A place that has lent her little and made her very backwards, prude, uninteresting and in complete and total desperation to escape that life. That girl without fail always comes from Kansas. While my classmates were all excited and surprised that she was from Kansas, I had seen it coming. As previously mentioned anytime you have a young woman desperate to escape the middle US, that girl comes from Kansas. It was for this reason that my classmates were convinced I should produce the musical "Thouroughly Modern Kate" regarding my time in Glasgow. If that happens, I am making them all background dancers in an act of revenge. It was entertaining, however, to hear the actors struggle a bit with Kansas pronounciation. Millie was from "Sa-Leena" Kansas rather than "Salina."

I am always reminded of my American-ness at the most unexpected times. Generally, this time happens when I loudly say leisure with a thick American accent. Not that my accent isn't obvious.. but that is the word that always gives me away! I was once again reminded of my American-ness Saturday evening. Wanting to check another place off the Glasgow list, I went to see a movie at the Grosvenor Cinema. Having never been inside this particular theatre, I was pleasantly surprised by the small size of the screen and theatre. The cinema had a very relaxed and homey feel. This provoked me into stating "This is so nice, it's like being in someone's home theatre." This statement received a slight rolling of the eyes and a "Wow. Sometimes you are so American" return. Well, yes I am American and apparently home theatres aren't as common in the rest of the World as they are in American. I spent the rest of the night trying to argue that just because I have been in someone's home theatre doesn't mean my family personally owns one (although that would make my dad's wildest dreams come true). Home theatres can now safely secure a place under garbage disposals on the list of things not so common outside of the US.

Glasgow has a great number of fun places to explore on the weekends. This weekend it was finally time to explore a small bookstore that I had heard a great deal about, Voltaire & Rousseau. The bookstore is located in a little back allyway and is known for having piles upon piles of inexpensive books. That description is certainly accurate, there are massive piles of books everywhere in the store. In fact, pulling any book off the shelf, or from a pile on the floor, is a bit like playing a game of Jenga.. it's best to have a spotter. The narrow walkways are completely surrounded by books of all description. Walking through the store you can hear sporadic crashings and the tumbling of books to the floor. The store is very inexpensive and has a lot to offer but is wildly overwhelming. I loved rummaging through all the books and got a few great baragins but have to admit that I am more deeply in love with the organized beauty that is Waterstone's (though you  may not expect this from looking at my room.). I am always impressed at all the different places to explore within Glasgow, I am certain I will not run out of new places to uncover any time soon.

If you were able to make it through my ramblings and thousands of tangents, I applaud you. I promise to have pictures to share next week!