I think of you and see the sky
The sun at which I'll always fly
I look at you and see my skin
You're where I end and then begin
I hear your voice and move my tongue
When I breathe in I fill your lungs
And if you were to start anew
I'd wake one day and I'd be you
All there is and all I'll be
Is standing right in front of me
I cry tonight under the stars
The crescent moon is what we are.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Gift?
I kissed the Blarney Stone. It's not a very attentive lover. Two seconds after it had me it was on to the next girl. But that's okay. I always knew I'd get my heart broken in Ireland.
On Tuesday the 18th I got the ferry to Ireland. That was literally my day; getting to and onto and from the ferry. Gawd, it was painful. And expensive. But worth it. So worth it. I arrived in Dublin in the evening and was so sick with a cold that I went to bed without walking around the city (except the walking one inevitably does when getting lost on the way to the hostel). It seemed like a nice enough place but I was dying.
In the morning I got up and wandered around the city a bit but wasn't really feeling it. I went back to the hostel for some pathetic reason but lo and behold I wasn't alone in le dorm room. A girl from Finland who'd been out until eight in the morning was just waking up at around midday and was sweet enough to invite me along on the tour she was going to do of Trinity College and the Book of Kells. It turned out she was back in Dublin visiting her boyfriend and friends after having au paired in Ireland for seven months a while ago. She hadn't done any of the touristy things while she was there though- hence the tour- and was more like a local. This was very much in my favour as after the tour- sexy, sexy tour guide. It was mostly the accent and the Irish wit, I think, but seriously. Swoonage occurred.- she decided we would get some food and go and sit in Phoenix Park and on the way back we would walk through Temple Bar. I had so much fun with that girl. Really, she was my angel.
After another early night (colds kill my normally exuberant and adventurous nature) I spent a little longer pottering around Dublin and then had lunch with my Cheesecake Friend from Bath and her boy plus their friend. They were loverly and we resolved to meet up in Galway, where I was bussing that afternoon. I must say, I'm a big fan of bus rides in the Irish countryside. It's a beautiful, beautiful place. That night in Galway I sat with some really friendly people in the common area at the hostel for a while and a few of us went out for a drink. Nighttime antics in Galway are a thing to behold. Mostly I think the Irish are swell, their pubs are hilarious and they are uber friendly, wonderful people.
My first day in Galway I bought a cheap ticket on a cheesy tour to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. Not much to say, really, except that the sights took my breath away and the sounds (mostly of the tour guide's voice) most definitely did not. People irritate me. It was worth it though, to see all of those stunning things. Both that night and the next I got a drink (or perhaps more...) with Cheesecake friend, her boyfriend and various other new and established friends. T'was nice, I don't do that a lot. Other people's friendliness aids me in mine, sometimes.
The second day was a beach day. I picked up some fresh food from the market and then went to enjoy the sun and I Capture the Castle by the sea for quite a few hours. It's stupid but whenever the sun comes out here it feels odd, like I've gone home.
On the third day, I left Galway early after a walk along the river. I ended up in Limerick by midday where I just walked for a long time. By nighttime I was in Cork in the loft room of a hostel talking to the least obnoxious Americans I'd met since I came to Ireland. Really, they were awesome. Which was such a nice change. The Americans love Ireland, though it seems like they don't know or understand it whatsoever. Case in point: "What happens if I kiss this thing? Does it give me good luck or something?" Guess what he was talking about. I'm being nasty and judgemental, I know. No excuse to follow, just telling you I'm aware of it.
Blarney was amazing though, which is the day trip I took after I arrived in Cork the night before. I stayed in the grounds for a very long time and they were absolutely magical. And the Castle, though people said it was a let down (mostly American people...) was great also. Kissing the stone was embarrassing but necessary.
I went to Kinsale on my last full day in Ireland and just sat and walked through a postcard all day. And got boots full of seawater but that's a story for another time.
There's little to say about Ireland because all there was was a really happy week. I can't describe that, not really, it's just this strangely romantic and wonderful place. I was sad to leave the next day after arriving to a literally glowing Dublin the night before but after hitting the Writers' Museum I sort of had to get on a ferry back to England. I was okay with it; Ireland is so pretty but I am really excited for what's coming up next.
I spent another two nights in Manchester and am now in London. Manchester and my hostesses were perfection and Camden Market yesterday was absolutely fantastic. I got to see Claudia again, whom I met in Edinburgh, and meet another one of her friends. We had so much fun looking at all sorts of needless items for hours. I've been staying with the daughter of my Norwich hostess, as well as her boyfriend, and they've given me some wonderful London experiences. Breakfast in a "caf" with grease lined ceilings and mismatched cutlery (fried slice is heaven, FYI) and dinner at an Indian restaurant plucked straight out of the early nineties. Today I move onto a hostel for the next two nights.
So, anyway. As you can see by my previous post, I'm writing again. It's more of a regression since everything comes out sounding like what I wrote when I was fifteen but basically that's a good sign because that was before life turned me into what I am now, or was. There are a lot of things I'm doing on this trip that I had stopped doing. I am reading books relatively quickly and actually finishing them which had ceased occurring for me for a while. And I'm trying things just because I can and I'm here which- I think mostly people know- would never have happened in Melbourne. In many ways I think I like myself better out here. So yay for that, I suppose.
It is the eve before the eve of my departure from the UK. And what have I done? Quite a few things I suppose. Fun and not-so-fun, big and not-so-big... I've learnt more than I knew it was possible to learn in two months (take that, University!) and probably changed more than I can say or comprehend considering it was only 65 days ago, or something, when I couldn't even pack my bag properly or adequately say goodbye to people. And now there is more learning to be done. Here is my decision about the rest of my time away: shortly after I arrive in Canada, I'ma begin WWOOFing and hopefully continue doing so for a couple of months, at least. We'll see how I like it, some of you have witnessed me on a farm before so it's possibly going to be a disaster. But hey, that's the same with most of my decisions these days. Not something worth getting upset over since it seems to be my life; disorganisation and questionable judgement. Wish me luck!
On Tuesday the 18th I got the ferry to Ireland. That was literally my day; getting to and onto and from the ferry. Gawd, it was painful. And expensive. But worth it. So worth it. I arrived in Dublin in the evening and was so sick with a cold that I went to bed without walking around the city (except the walking one inevitably does when getting lost on the way to the hostel). It seemed like a nice enough place but I was dying.
In the morning I got up and wandered around the city a bit but wasn't really feeling it. I went back to the hostel for some pathetic reason but lo and behold I wasn't alone in le dorm room. A girl from Finland who'd been out until eight in the morning was just waking up at around midday and was sweet enough to invite me along on the tour she was going to do of Trinity College and the Book of Kells. It turned out she was back in Dublin visiting her boyfriend and friends after having au paired in Ireland for seven months a while ago. She hadn't done any of the touristy things while she was there though- hence the tour- and was more like a local. This was very much in my favour as after the tour- sexy, sexy tour guide. It was mostly the accent and the Irish wit, I think, but seriously. Swoonage occurred.- she decided we would get some food and go and sit in Phoenix Park and on the way back we would walk through Temple Bar. I had so much fun with that girl. Really, she was my angel.
After another early night (colds kill my normally exuberant and adventurous nature) I spent a little longer pottering around Dublin and then had lunch with my Cheesecake Friend from Bath and her boy plus their friend. They were loverly and we resolved to meet up in Galway, where I was bussing that afternoon. I must say, I'm a big fan of bus rides in the Irish countryside. It's a beautiful, beautiful place. That night in Galway I sat with some really friendly people in the common area at the hostel for a while and a few of us went out for a drink. Nighttime antics in Galway are a thing to behold. Mostly I think the Irish are swell, their pubs are hilarious and they are uber friendly, wonderful people.
My first day in Galway I bought a cheap ticket on a cheesy tour to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. Not much to say, really, except that the sights took my breath away and the sounds (mostly of the tour guide's voice) most definitely did not. People irritate me. It was worth it though, to see all of those stunning things. Both that night and the next I got a drink (or perhaps more...) with Cheesecake friend, her boyfriend and various other new and established friends. T'was nice, I don't do that a lot. Other people's friendliness aids me in mine, sometimes.
The second day was a beach day. I picked up some fresh food from the market and then went to enjoy the sun and I Capture the Castle by the sea for quite a few hours. It's stupid but whenever the sun comes out here it feels odd, like I've gone home.
On the third day, I left Galway early after a walk along the river. I ended up in Limerick by midday where I just walked for a long time. By nighttime I was in Cork in the loft room of a hostel talking to the least obnoxious Americans I'd met since I came to Ireland. Really, they were awesome. Which was such a nice change. The Americans love Ireland, though it seems like they don't know or understand it whatsoever. Case in point: "What happens if I kiss this thing? Does it give me good luck or something?" Guess what he was talking about. I'm being nasty and judgemental, I know. No excuse to follow, just telling you I'm aware of it.
Blarney was amazing though, which is the day trip I took after I arrived in Cork the night before. I stayed in the grounds for a very long time and they were absolutely magical. And the Castle, though people said it was a let down (mostly American people...) was great also. Kissing the stone was embarrassing but necessary.
I went to Kinsale on my last full day in Ireland and just sat and walked through a postcard all day. And got boots full of seawater but that's a story for another time.
There's little to say about Ireland because all there was was a really happy week. I can't describe that, not really, it's just this strangely romantic and wonderful place. I was sad to leave the next day after arriving to a literally glowing Dublin the night before but after hitting the Writers' Museum I sort of had to get on a ferry back to England. I was okay with it; Ireland is so pretty but I am really excited for what's coming up next.
I spent another two nights in Manchester and am now in London. Manchester and my hostesses were perfection and Camden Market yesterday was absolutely fantastic. I got to see Claudia again, whom I met in Edinburgh, and meet another one of her friends. We had so much fun looking at all sorts of needless items for hours. I've been staying with the daughter of my Norwich hostess, as well as her boyfriend, and they've given me some wonderful London experiences. Breakfast in a "caf" with grease lined ceilings and mismatched cutlery (fried slice is heaven, FYI) and dinner at an Indian restaurant plucked straight out of the early nineties. Today I move onto a hostel for the next two nights.
So, anyway. As you can see by my previous post, I'm writing again. It's more of a regression since everything comes out sounding like what I wrote when I was fifteen but basically that's a good sign because that was before life turned me into what I am now, or was. There are a lot of things I'm doing on this trip that I had stopped doing. I am reading books relatively quickly and actually finishing them which had ceased occurring for me for a while. And I'm trying things just because I can and I'm here which- I think mostly people know- would never have happened in Melbourne. In many ways I think I like myself better out here. So yay for that, I suppose.
It is the eve before the eve of my departure from the UK. And what have I done? Quite a few things I suppose. Fun and not-so-fun, big and not-so-big... I've learnt more than I knew it was possible to learn in two months (take that, University!) and probably changed more than I can say or comprehend considering it was only 65 days ago, or something, when I couldn't even pack my bag properly or adequately say goodbye to people. And now there is more learning to be done. Here is my decision about the rest of my time away: shortly after I arrive in Canada, I'ma begin WWOOFing and hopefully continue doing so for a couple of months, at least. We'll see how I like it, some of you have witnessed me on a farm before so it's possibly going to be a disaster. But hey, that's the same with most of my decisions these days. Not something worth getting upset over since it seems to be my life; disorganisation and questionable judgement. Wish me luck!
Monday, May 17, 2010
All right, what are we having?
That blog title is mostly for Ash. She should know why.
I had a cheesecake day on Saturday. There was a lot of cheesecake. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
As sorry as I was to leave Brighton I was very fortunate in Bath. It took me hours and hours and several train changes to get there which is always fun with a backpack the size of me, walking up and down stairs to change platforms. And then, upon arriving at the hostel, I discovered that my room was the top floor of a- four storey?- old house. Oh, and bathrooms are in the basement. So that made for a fun three days. However, shortly after arriving I met some cool people who let me hang out with them in their room (across from mine) which led to a comfortable first night.
The next day I did my wandering thing since it had been too late the night before to get lost without it becoming a *gulp* "help?!" sort of lost which was nice because no matter which direction you walk in Bath it is stunning. The weather was gawd awful so I started with an indoor attraction- the Jane Austen Centre- and stayed there for hours in the Regency Tearooms with a slice of cake and an Anne Bronte novel that strangely was like a little security blanket for me for a few days there. It was my company when there was no company and acted as a sort of love substitute when I had no real contact from anyone from home for a while. I really liked the Jane Austen Centre, well worth the price of admission, and had to practically force myself to move on.
Next up I did the Baths; overrated in terms of exhibitions and audio guides but great when you just sit down, shut up and look around you. Ignore the signs and everything and just accept the history when you observe the place and suddenly it's worth it to be there. At least, that's what I thought. The Bath Abbey felt strangely cluttered so I didnt stay long; I was underwhelmed. Maybe I've done too many Cathedrals etc. lately? Am I all Cathedralled out? We'll see. Anyway, the rest of my afternoon/day was just more drifting and eventually internet cafeing it which lead to tears by the river. But I am getting ahead of myself.
I sent something to someone and I didn't know how it would be received. And here I am in this overpriced little hole of an internet cafe in Bath and I get this message that just made me start crying. I didn't even cry when I left Melbourne, when my mother was crying, when I was walking away. What was this emotional thing that took me over there? I dunno, but I got out of there quick smart, crossed the road and ended up sobbing on a bench somewhere along that picturesque little waterway. Great story, huh? I just figured I should talk about the first really, really sad moment I had, that properly hit me, and all I can offer in terms of explanation is that I was so upset because, in many ways, that message had been so happy. Gawd, I'm crazy.
So I medicated with food ("Cheater, cheater, compulsive eater!") at McDonalds of all places- judge me all you want, they do good ice-cream- and later on went for a drink with the people from the night before. A truly fun group. They're opinionated and strange, well, the three boys were. The girl was just nice which was a good contrast to all the outrageous in-jokes with the others. Three of them were from Melbourne, while the fourth was from Canada. Funny how everyone I meet out here excepting one or two people is either Canadian or Australian. It's like nobody else owns a backpack.
It was an odd night that ended late in the basement with poles and vodka and me being sleepy- as always. The next day I was feeling significantly worse for wear when I did the Jane Austen tour- sorry, people, but she's like crack to me- of Bath and met a girl who was actually staying at the same hostel. She's French-Canadian, super friendly and super smart and a seasoned traveller who gave me all kinds of advice. The tour was nice and it was a beautiful sunny morning in Bath that really showed off the city in all its splendour.
I met the two remaining boys from the hostel group for lunch (the other two had gone onto their own adventures; excepting the two guys I was lunching with who were already travelling together the quartet had met the night before they met me but were amazingly close by the time they split up to continue their individual journeys. It was great to see four people who got along so well who'd had around 72 hours to get to know each other.) and, post-amazing-cookie-dough-cheesecake-dessert, had a lot of fun with them that arvo walking around the city, sitting by the river again and listening to a young female singer-songwriter singing in a marquee at the Bath Coffee Festival that was held in the recreation grounds and blighted by worsening weather. I love the irrelevant details I forced you guys to read through there, this blog is so much fun.
I actually ended up having dinner with the girl I met on the tour; we met up in the hostel and agreed that since we were both leaving the next morning we should get a last look at the city. So we did, we walked around for hours, had dinner at a Thai restaraunt and sat on the grass in front of the Royal Crescent eating an entire baked cheesecake at 10:30 at night while discussing travelling and Jane Austen and each other's lives. I want to point out that this time the cheesecake was her idea and I'm not turning into one of those troublesome children who will only eat one thing like foods that are red or grissini.
She's actually going to Ireland around the same time I am- hopefully. My flight was cancelled so I'm going to try and get a ferry from Wales tomorrow and see where I end up. But anyway, she and I have resolved to meet up over there so that looks like it will be fun. Ash cloud permitting I will be in Canada eventually, as will she, so hopefully we'll see each other then as well.
So Bath was a success and the six hours it took me to get from there to Manchester (long story; longer train trip) gave me time to reflect on exactly how much fun one can have in the south of England in a week or two. So I'm bumming around Manchester for a day, flightless, and figuring out my next move.
If I'm honest, I'm really happy out here and I've been meeting some great people . I'm not at all sorry about any of it. But I feel forgotten by those at home and at times when I'm on my own for hours and hours there is a feeling of contentment in just being here but also of curiosity. Am I gone from their minds already? It's been six weeks and I feel like I've failed in some way to keep people's interest. Notes and messages sent are only sometimes answered, calls are received with shock almost akin to a feeling of nuisance. Could it be that only a couple of weeks ago I was planning to come home early? Home to what, I ask now. I'm being melodramatic, I know, but it's frustrating that from day to day, fresh city to fresh city, new friend to new friend, I think so much of them back there and it's not the other way around. And now I'll discover that I send this out into cyberspace and it just floats around there, doing nothing except confuse me all the more about what I'm doing, where I'm going, and who will be there for me when I arrive.
I had a cheesecake day on Saturday. There was a lot of cheesecake. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
As sorry as I was to leave Brighton I was very fortunate in Bath. It took me hours and hours and several train changes to get there which is always fun with a backpack the size of me, walking up and down stairs to change platforms. And then, upon arriving at the hostel, I discovered that my room was the top floor of a- four storey?- old house. Oh, and bathrooms are in the basement. So that made for a fun three days. However, shortly after arriving I met some cool people who let me hang out with them in their room (across from mine) which led to a comfortable first night.
The next day I did my wandering thing since it had been too late the night before to get lost without it becoming a *gulp* "help?!" sort of lost which was nice because no matter which direction you walk in Bath it is stunning. The weather was gawd awful so I started with an indoor attraction- the Jane Austen Centre- and stayed there for hours in the Regency Tearooms with a slice of cake and an Anne Bronte novel that strangely was like a little security blanket for me for a few days there. It was my company when there was no company and acted as a sort of love substitute when I had no real contact from anyone from home for a while. I really liked the Jane Austen Centre, well worth the price of admission, and had to practically force myself to move on.
Next up I did the Baths; overrated in terms of exhibitions and audio guides but great when you just sit down, shut up and look around you. Ignore the signs and everything and just accept the history when you observe the place and suddenly it's worth it to be there. At least, that's what I thought. The Bath Abbey felt strangely cluttered so I didnt stay long; I was underwhelmed. Maybe I've done too many Cathedrals etc. lately? Am I all Cathedralled out? We'll see. Anyway, the rest of my afternoon/day was just more drifting and eventually internet cafeing it which lead to tears by the river. But I am getting ahead of myself.
I sent something to someone and I didn't know how it would be received. And here I am in this overpriced little hole of an internet cafe in Bath and I get this message that just made me start crying. I didn't even cry when I left Melbourne, when my mother was crying, when I was walking away. What was this emotional thing that took me over there? I dunno, but I got out of there quick smart, crossed the road and ended up sobbing on a bench somewhere along that picturesque little waterway. Great story, huh? I just figured I should talk about the first really, really sad moment I had, that properly hit me, and all I can offer in terms of explanation is that I was so upset because, in many ways, that message had been so happy. Gawd, I'm crazy.
So I medicated with food ("Cheater, cheater, compulsive eater!") at McDonalds of all places- judge me all you want, they do good ice-cream- and later on went for a drink with the people from the night before. A truly fun group. They're opinionated and strange, well, the three boys were. The girl was just nice which was a good contrast to all the outrageous in-jokes with the others. Three of them were from Melbourne, while the fourth was from Canada. Funny how everyone I meet out here excepting one or two people is either Canadian or Australian. It's like nobody else owns a backpack.
It was an odd night that ended late in the basement with poles and vodka and me being sleepy- as always. The next day I was feeling significantly worse for wear when I did the Jane Austen tour- sorry, people, but she's like crack to me- of Bath and met a girl who was actually staying at the same hostel. She's French-Canadian, super friendly and super smart and a seasoned traveller who gave me all kinds of advice. The tour was nice and it was a beautiful sunny morning in Bath that really showed off the city in all its splendour.
I met the two remaining boys from the hostel group for lunch (the other two had gone onto their own adventures; excepting the two guys I was lunching with who were already travelling together the quartet had met the night before they met me but were amazingly close by the time they split up to continue their individual journeys. It was great to see four people who got along so well who'd had around 72 hours to get to know each other.) and, post-amazing-cookie-dough-cheesecake-dessert, had a lot of fun with them that arvo walking around the city, sitting by the river again and listening to a young female singer-songwriter singing in a marquee at the Bath Coffee Festival that was held in the recreation grounds and blighted by worsening weather. I love the irrelevant details I forced you guys to read through there, this blog is so much fun.
I actually ended up having dinner with the girl I met on the tour; we met up in the hostel and agreed that since we were both leaving the next morning we should get a last look at the city. So we did, we walked around for hours, had dinner at a Thai restaraunt and sat on the grass in front of the Royal Crescent eating an entire baked cheesecake at 10:30 at night while discussing travelling and Jane Austen and each other's lives. I want to point out that this time the cheesecake was her idea and I'm not turning into one of those troublesome children who will only eat one thing like foods that are red or grissini.
She's actually going to Ireland around the same time I am- hopefully. My flight was cancelled so I'm going to try and get a ferry from Wales tomorrow and see where I end up. But anyway, she and I have resolved to meet up over there so that looks like it will be fun. Ash cloud permitting I will be in Canada eventually, as will she, so hopefully we'll see each other then as well.
So Bath was a success and the six hours it took me to get from there to Manchester (long story; longer train trip) gave me time to reflect on exactly how much fun one can have in the south of England in a week or two. So I'm bumming around Manchester for a day, flightless, and figuring out my next move.
If I'm honest, I'm really happy out here and I've been meeting some great people . I'm not at all sorry about any of it. But I feel forgotten by those at home and at times when I'm on my own for hours and hours there is a feeling of contentment in just being here but also of curiosity. Am I gone from their minds already? It's been six weeks and I feel like I've failed in some way to keep people's interest. Notes and messages sent are only sometimes answered, calls are received with shock almost akin to a feeling of nuisance. Could it be that only a couple of weeks ago I was planning to come home early? Home to what, I ask now. I'm being melodramatic, I know, but it's frustrating that from day to day, fresh city to fresh city, new friend to new friend, I think so much of them back there and it's not the other way around. And now I'll discover that I send this out into cyberspace and it just floats around there, doing nothing except confuse me all the more about what I'm doing, where I'm going, and who will be there for me when I arrive.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I wish you were her.
I'm a terrible blogger. Gawd awful. Have neglected you guys so much. I'm never going to catch up now, I know that. I take solace in the fact that my creepy little Eternal Sunshine-esque notebook is full of all my inner turmoil and peace and stuff so one day I- or someone else- will still have that as a means to remember my trip. For now I am just going to write a really short entry on each place because otherwise I will never get this finished.
Manchester, again, was delightful. I love the Northern Quarter and I adored the City Gallery. I did a lot of floating around aimlessly there, it was another example of me learning how to be on my own. Except for two of the three nights I was there, Hostess the Elder from my previous sojourn there took me out to dinner to these great places. I really like the restaurants in England, be they Indian or weird or Italian... maybe I'm just happy here, and with the people here, so I think I like them better when really I like me better. Self analysis comes free with any hot drink, folks.
I left Manchester for Lancaster where I picked up Signor Backpack (he lived at the Abominable Family's house while I went to Manchester) and said a long hello before being shuttled off to Caton that night. My hosts there were very lively, opinionated people and it was fun watching things like the Prime Ministerial Debate with them (P.S. I love the election stuff happening/ed here. Fascinating.) Hostess is this amazing self-made hero lady who brought up a son (now my age) and built a career while having absolutely no advantages or shortcuts. The son, by the way, is the nicest guy who let me sit and watch rubbish telly with him for hours which is, to be honest, part of the fun of being in Britain. Seriously, their media is hilarious. I am geniunely loving all of the soaps and ridiculous reality TV shows and the sorts of things that do and don't pass for news. Australian news is pretty much just another breed of this, I know, but I worship the differences.
Anyway, while I was in Caton (tiny village) I; got stung by a wasp, witnessed a scarecrow festival, was taken for a drink at an art deco hotel by the seaside (northern England in the Spring. Beach weather if I ever saw it), did a day trip to the Lake District (I don't think I can properly express how gorgeous that place is), walked around Wordsworth's home and gardens, saw the cutest little kittens and was fed quinoa (that last thing is just for us geeky vegos. Protein pride!). There's other stuff I'm failing to remember, I know, but you knew I was a bad person already.
From Caton I went to Oxford which, while picturesque in places, was disappointing. People on bikes and not much else to distinguish it. I suppose it has a sense of history to it which is nice because I hadn't really seen that anywhere at all in England yet. In all seriousness, though, totally made me wonder what Jenny in An Education was going on about. I'd rather go to University somewhere interesting, though I suppose the college culture might be slightly more engaging. I did meet a 28-year-old Aussie girl in the hostel who said meeting me was like meeting herself ten years ago. She could tell I wasn't really feeling it, at least not in Oxford, and advised me that she made all the same choices and mistakes that I did when she was my age. She told me to make decisions based on what I'm feeling, not on what people tell me or on what I think I should be doing or feeling. It was probably the single biggest influence on my decision, for now, to travel for the full time I had originally planned rather than changing my flight.
I was still thinking about it though, by the time I got back to Peterborough to see Deb. On the way I'd finally gotten that picture of Platform 9 and 3/4 in London that I forgot to get six weeks ago. It was great to see Deb and bum around a bit. On the only full day I was there I just wandered around Peterborough, which I hadn't done yet, and discovered the amazing Cathedral there. I also got a really different perception of the South; previously I had seen it as the place with the money (while North has the culture) but that certainly cannot be said of Peterborough. It seems like a complicated place. I did meet a lovely girl there though, surprisingly in Muffin Break (oh, what a magical place!) and we walked around together and chatted for hours. Unexpected but nice. I also met a lovely man who asked me if I was lost and whether I had a boyfriend and tried to walk with me for a while. That was, unfortunately, not so unexpected and not so nice.
I bid adieu to Deb the next morning, who once again had been very kind to me, and moved on to Norwich where someone else was waiting to be kind to me. I swear, this trip was made on the fact that people have been amazingly generous to me when they'd never even met or heard of me before. I'll never be able to show these people how much they've helped me and how much I've learnt from them about hospitality and goodness. The lady I stayed with Norwich had even written "Welcome Hannah!" on their blackboard, like I was an honoured guest and not a scruffy backpacker.
Norwich is a great little city. I mean that. It made a lot of sense when I found out Stephen Fry was from there because it is this quirky but old-fashioned place with a great sense of self-deprecation and warmth. Sound familiar? Among the awesome stuff that happened there; I went on a Dungeon tour, visited an amazing vegie cafe, had my hair cut by children in an interactive art installation thingamagig, saw an interesting Amanda Palmer-esque cabaret act, had a boat tour of the nearby Broads and cooked on an Aga (so much fun!). The city, the people and the home were all so comfy, like somewhere you could settle for a long time without wanting to leave or move. I met some honorary Aussies too, these two Neighbours-loving British twins who knew all this stuff about Melbourne and Australia and made me strangely homesick. Odd that.
So I left Norwich and came to Brighton. I love Brighton. I can't... I just... I love Brighton. I did what I always do my first night anywhere and got lost in the new place which meant that after a day of seeing the Pavilion, white cliffs, Marina, shopping scene, North Laines and Lanes with a friendly girl from Switzerland (who also adores Sugar Rush and looks at Brighton in that context), I could take her to a tumbly-down shack in the back of the Lanes that's actually a cosy North African restaurant that I discovered the day before.
Today's my last day in Brighton and I'll miss the sea but I'm excited to move onto Bath. Someone asked me the other day what the most exciting thing that happened so far is and I had a list. A list! It's a bit of a shock to me, since I see myself as so boring and had been categorising this trip as such. But writing it all down, I know it's a great achievement for me. After Bath, I go back to Manchester for a night and then it's onto Ireland. I can't wait to tell you all about it, I mean it. Since I've sort of figured out that there is something to tell, this is big and I am enjoying it.
Before I go, here is a list of things I love about England:
- tea. People here love tea more than I do and they do it better than Australia, by far.
- EastEnders, Hollyoaks... new addictions, people.
- the mix of old and new in everything. The winning scarecrow at this ancient festival I went to was X Factor-themed.
- it's a tiny country but everywhere I go is different. The Broads and the Lake District are like night and day and I love that.\
- there is always marmalade at breakfast even though nobody eats it.
- Brighton exists here.
Manchester, again, was delightful. I love the Northern Quarter and I adored the City Gallery. I did a lot of floating around aimlessly there, it was another example of me learning how to be on my own. Except for two of the three nights I was there, Hostess the Elder from my previous sojourn there took me out to dinner to these great places. I really like the restaurants in England, be they Indian or weird or Italian... maybe I'm just happy here, and with the people here, so I think I like them better when really I like me better. Self analysis comes free with any hot drink, folks.
I left Manchester for Lancaster where I picked up Signor Backpack (he lived at the Abominable Family's house while I went to Manchester) and said a long hello before being shuttled off to Caton that night. My hosts there were very lively, opinionated people and it was fun watching things like the Prime Ministerial Debate with them (P.S. I love the election stuff happening/ed here. Fascinating.) Hostess is this amazing self-made hero lady who brought up a son (now my age) and built a career while having absolutely no advantages or shortcuts. The son, by the way, is the nicest guy who let me sit and watch rubbish telly with him for hours which is, to be honest, part of the fun of being in Britain. Seriously, their media is hilarious. I am geniunely loving all of the soaps and ridiculous reality TV shows and the sorts of things that do and don't pass for news. Australian news is pretty much just another breed of this, I know, but I worship the differences.
Anyway, while I was in Caton (tiny village) I; got stung by a wasp, witnessed a scarecrow festival, was taken for a drink at an art deco hotel by the seaside (northern England in the Spring. Beach weather if I ever saw it), did a day trip to the Lake District (I don't think I can properly express how gorgeous that place is), walked around Wordsworth's home and gardens, saw the cutest little kittens and was fed quinoa (that last thing is just for us geeky vegos. Protein pride!). There's other stuff I'm failing to remember, I know, but you knew I was a bad person already.
From Caton I went to Oxford which, while picturesque in places, was disappointing. People on bikes and not much else to distinguish it. I suppose it has a sense of history to it which is nice because I hadn't really seen that anywhere at all in England yet. In all seriousness, though, totally made me wonder what Jenny in An Education was going on about. I'd rather go to University somewhere interesting, though I suppose the college culture might be slightly more engaging. I did meet a 28-year-old Aussie girl in the hostel who said meeting me was like meeting herself ten years ago. She could tell I wasn't really feeling it, at least not in Oxford, and advised me that she made all the same choices and mistakes that I did when she was my age. She told me to make decisions based on what I'm feeling, not on what people tell me or on what I think I should be doing or feeling. It was probably the single biggest influence on my decision, for now, to travel for the full time I had originally planned rather than changing my flight.
I was still thinking about it though, by the time I got back to Peterborough to see Deb. On the way I'd finally gotten that picture of Platform 9 and 3/4 in London that I forgot to get six weeks ago. It was great to see Deb and bum around a bit. On the only full day I was there I just wandered around Peterborough, which I hadn't done yet, and discovered the amazing Cathedral there. I also got a really different perception of the South; previously I had seen it as the place with the money (while North has the culture) but that certainly cannot be said of Peterborough. It seems like a complicated place. I did meet a lovely girl there though, surprisingly in Muffin Break (oh, what a magical place!) and we walked around together and chatted for hours. Unexpected but nice. I also met a lovely man who asked me if I was lost and whether I had a boyfriend and tried to walk with me for a while. That was, unfortunately, not so unexpected and not so nice.
I bid adieu to Deb the next morning, who once again had been very kind to me, and moved on to Norwich where someone else was waiting to be kind to me. I swear, this trip was made on the fact that people have been amazingly generous to me when they'd never even met or heard of me before. I'll never be able to show these people how much they've helped me and how much I've learnt from them about hospitality and goodness. The lady I stayed with Norwich had even written "Welcome Hannah!" on their blackboard, like I was an honoured guest and not a scruffy backpacker.
Norwich is a great little city. I mean that. It made a lot of sense when I found out Stephen Fry was from there because it is this quirky but old-fashioned place with a great sense of self-deprecation and warmth. Sound familiar? Among the awesome stuff that happened there; I went on a Dungeon tour, visited an amazing vegie cafe, had my hair cut by children in an interactive art installation thingamagig, saw an interesting Amanda Palmer-esque cabaret act, had a boat tour of the nearby Broads and cooked on an Aga (so much fun!). The city, the people and the home were all so comfy, like somewhere you could settle for a long time without wanting to leave or move. I met some honorary Aussies too, these two Neighbours-loving British twins who knew all this stuff about Melbourne and Australia and made me strangely homesick. Odd that.
So I left Norwich and came to Brighton. I love Brighton. I can't... I just... I love Brighton. I did what I always do my first night anywhere and got lost in the new place which meant that after a day of seeing the Pavilion, white cliffs, Marina, shopping scene, North Laines and Lanes with a friendly girl from Switzerland (who also adores Sugar Rush and looks at Brighton in that context), I could take her to a tumbly-down shack in the back of the Lanes that's actually a cosy North African restaurant that I discovered the day before.
Today's my last day in Brighton and I'll miss the sea but I'm excited to move onto Bath. Someone asked me the other day what the most exciting thing that happened so far is and I had a list. A list! It's a bit of a shock to me, since I see myself as so boring and had been categorising this trip as such. But writing it all down, I know it's a great achievement for me. After Bath, I go back to Manchester for a night and then it's onto Ireland. I can't wait to tell you all about it, I mean it. Since I've sort of figured out that there is something to tell, this is big and I am enjoying it.
Before I go, here is a list of things I love about England:
- tea. People here love tea more than I do and they do it better than Australia, by far.
- EastEnders, Hollyoaks... new addictions, people.
- the mix of old and new in everything. The winning scarecrow at this ancient festival I went to was X Factor-themed.
- it's a tiny country but everywhere I go is different. The Broads and the Lake District are like night and day and I love that.\
- there is always marmalade at breakfast even though nobody eats it.
- Brighton exists here.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Catch my disease.
From Scotland I came to Lancaster, a small town in the north-west of England. See, it doesn't feel that small to me except everyone here knows each other. I was sitting in the town square during the Saturday market eating curry (heaven, FYI) and two sets of people sat down either side of me and started chatting all of a sudden. I figured they were just friendly, like how in Inverness everyone said hello to me all the time, but no; if you sit down in the town square in Lancaster on a Saturday you will see someone you know sitting next to the strange girl with the Harry Potter glasses. Crazy.
So I arrived here from Edinburgh last Wednesday and stayed with the most outrageous family. Nine-year-old daughter is Harry Potter, book and Hitchcock obsessed and completely Hermione-esque (Ugh, British kids. So uncultured.) and seven-year-old son couldn't stop talking about Avatar (though he'd never seen it)and had an allergy to keeping still that caused him to street dance and randomly hug his mother. So if these children weren't horrible enough, their parents were just dreadful. Always asking me if they could get me a cup of tea, joking around, giving me maps of the town and suggestions for places to go. It was driving me mad. Anyway, I had to get out of that obviously toxic environment and I'd already arranged to stay with someone else for a couple of nights so wasn't that a relief.
While staying with the aforementioned family I went to see the castle and the museums and the local vegetarian cafe (come on, I couldn't not), whereas my new host is a young person into music and late nights (how risque!). Unfortunately I wasn't much in a way to experience either as I have caught, from poor baby in Edinburgh, her cold. I should be grateful as I experienced her two illnesses separately and she had them at the same time but waaa! I don't like being sick! But before my throat completely gave out I was taken out for dinner on Friday night which was loverly, a charming old-fashioned restaurant looking onto the canal- I'm not even teasing, that's what it was- and, frankly, peer pressured into trying several desserts. What can I say? My night sucked.
Saturday is market day basically anywhere in England which makes me way too happy. I spent quite a while wandering the now stall-covered inner streets of Lancaster and actually buying fresh fruit and vegetables for a change (novelty!). Oh, and stopped to smell the Indian food which you just have to do if you're able. It's amazing. So that strenuous activity left me basically exhausted so I spent the rest of the day reading and pottering around before eating dinner early and going to bed in the same fashion. I was sincerely disappointed to miss my host's gig though as he is touted as an amazing musician and I really wanted to see him play. Throats will be throats though.
Yesterday was productive. I made pancakes in the morning while everyone else was still sleeping (because they are so much more rock and/or roll than me) which were gratefully received in the afternoon when people woke up or came back from their gig the night before in London (which is three hours away). The uncoolness of me in comparison to these people is unfathomable. It cannot be fathomed. My debt to my host done, I then accepted the invitation to see a place called Hawes (the pronunciation is apparently hilarious and, truthfully, it did keep my host amused all afternoon). It was a gorgeous little town and we took lunch/afternoon tea in this adorable cafe that was like something out of a 1940s movie. Or just a movie starring Keira Knightley that's based in the 1940s. Either or.
I then went to see some other people whose contact details I was given by Denise, this time it was her son and his partner, and they took me to this great blues night that's apparently been running for years. It's all these people that sit around and just shout out songs or tell each other what to play and then they just do (play, that is). It's amazing and though I know less than nothing about the blues (I mean, I was smiling the whole time I was there) I had a really good time and was very impressed.
Today I'ma drop off my backpack for safekeeping with that abominable family I first stayed with, have lunch with another of Denise's friends (she has too many, I think) and get a train to Manchester to see if I can have as good a time the second time round as I did the first time. Wish me luck, I suppose, and also clear sinuses.
So I arrived here from Edinburgh last Wednesday and stayed with the most outrageous family. Nine-year-old daughter is Harry Potter, book and Hitchcock obsessed and completely Hermione-esque (Ugh, British kids. So uncultured.) and seven-year-old son couldn't stop talking about Avatar (though he'd never seen it)and had an allergy to keeping still that caused him to street dance and randomly hug his mother. So if these children weren't horrible enough, their parents were just dreadful. Always asking me if they could get me a cup of tea, joking around, giving me maps of the town and suggestions for places to go. It was driving me mad. Anyway, I had to get out of that obviously toxic environment and I'd already arranged to stay with someone else for a couple of nights so wasn't that a relief.
While staying with the aforementioned family I went to see the castle and the museums and the local vegetarian cafe (come on, I couldn't not), whereas my new host is a young person into music and late nights (how risque!). Unfortunately I wasn't much in a way to experience either as I have caught, from poor baby in Edinburgh, her cold. I should be grateful as I experienced her two illnesses separately and she had them at the same time but waaa! I don't like being sick! But before my throat completely gave out I was taken out for dinner on Friday night which was loverly, a charming old-fashioned restaurant looking onto the canal- I'm not even teasing, that's what it was- and, frankly, peer pressured into trying several desserts. What can I say? My night sucked.
Saturday is market day basically anywhere in England which makes me way too happy. I spent quite a while wandering the now stall-covered inner streets of Lancaster and actually buying fresh fruit and vegetables for a change (novelty!). Oh, and stopped to smell the Indian food which you just have to do if you're able. It's amazing. So that strenuous activity left me basically exhausted so I spent the rest of the day reading and pottering around before eating dinner early and going to bed in the same fashion. I was sincerely disappointed to miss my host's gig though as he is touted as an amazing musician and I really wanted to see him play. Throats will be throats though.
Yesterday was productive. I made pancakes in the morning while everyone else was still sleeping (because they are so much more rock and/or roll than me) which were gratefully received in the afternoon when people woke up or came back from their gig the night before in London (which is three hours away). The uncoolness of me in comparison to these people is unfathomable. It cannot be fathomed. My debt to my host done, I then accepted the invitation to see a place called Hawes (the pronunciation is apparently hilarious and, truthfully, it did keep my host amused all afternoon). It was a gorgeous little town and we took lunch/afternoon tea in this adorable cafe that was like something out of a 1940s movie. Or just a movie starring Keira Knightley that's based in the 1940s. Either or.
I then went to see some other people whose contact details I was given by Denise, this time it was her son and his partner, and they took me to this great blues night that's apparently been running for years. It's all these people that sit around and just shout out songs or tell each other what to play and then they just do (play, that is). It's amazing and though I know less than nothing about the blues (I mean, I was smiling the whole time I was there) I had a really good time and was very impressed.
Today I'ma drop off my backpack for safekeeping with that abominable family I first stayed with, have lunch with another of Denise's friends (she has too many, I think) and get a train to Manchester to see if I can have as good a time the second time round as I did the first time. Wish me luck, I suppose, and also clear sinuses.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Scotland, Part 2.
I got the bus to Inverness. The thing is, Scotland is a beautiful place to see regardless of how, so the journey was beautiful. There were literally snow topped hills and beautiful rivers and quaint little towns. Everything was a postcard. But bus journeys themselves are frightful so while I distracted myself with the amazing scenery it was still hell. It was around four hours of not being able to read without getting travel sick so just eating crackers and staring out the window.
Once I checked into my hostel- which looked like a nightmare but since I was paying less to stay there than I did for my bus ticket I had to just deal- I found the smallest cafe I could with basically no one in it on the outskirts of the city centre. There I sat, read, ate soup and watched the news where I discovered all the business about ash cloud chaos. The thing is, I couldn't bring myself to panic or worry or regret whatever all the air space closure was going to mean for me. I think that's a positive. All I thought was "I guess I should start planning to spend more time in the UK." I wandered about, went back to the hostel and had the worst night yet.
My bunkmate was an obese Turkish man with what I can only assume was the flu or something. And his was the top bunk. I'm gonna let you imagine that night rather than describe it because I don't think I can do it justice. Whatever you come up with in your mind is most likely correct.
Surprisingly I was pretty beat the next day. I suppose sometimes getting no sleep can do that to you. So instead of getting on a bus to go see the battle ground of Culloden or even the Loch Ness, I walked along the River Ness for hours and hours. I was in a daze, and Inverness felt like somewhere I would have gone with my family, so I felt rather homesick. It's been less than a month since I left home but that really kicked in there. I did end up calling my parents that day, and going back to that same cafe. I must have been in the mood for something familiar. I just read some more and went back to the hostel earlier than I would have liked. I didn't have the energy to go out and was resigned to another horror night. I think I'd also begun massively overeating at that point as a reaction to all the stress which felt eerily like year ten so I was pretty miserable despite the beautiful river and what the walk along there did for my feelings about the trip. And then Pride and Prejudice and Zombies saved my night.
I'd been reading it while drinking a cup of tea and when I went into the kitchen to put away my mug this German girl practically leapt on me. I was terrified at first but she just started asking me these rapid-fire questions; "do you like it? I think the English is sort of hmm. What do you think?..." She had been working in Glasgow and her two friends from Germany were visiting. They were also eating with their American roommate. All four were incredibly intelligent, thoughtful people, and- as seems to be the case a lot here- wanted to hear my take, as an Australian, on everything from racism to MTV to the Australian Aborigines to Glasgow. We talked for hours and it was very eye opening.
The next morning I got the train to Edinburgh (much more agreeable) to stay with a friend of a friend of a friend who had been nice enough to offer. She had a sick 6-month-old baby so we stayed in that afternoon and her friend made us dinner that night. It was a relaxed place, I felt, and I was able to actually sleep with two eyes closed after all the hostel-ness of the previous week. The next day I lounged around until mid afternoon when I decided to go out and, purely because it was right in front of me, climb Arthur's Seat. Blimey, it was hard but so gorgeous. Oh, and of course- it seems like it's always the way- there were all these New Zealanders at the top. I come all the way across the world to meet more people from the Southern Hemisphere.
That evening, though, was horrendous. So, um, I can't not write about this although it was possibly the worst moment of my life. I felt ill after dinner and went to bed early, only to wake up later and get up in time to vomit all over the spare bedroom floor. Seems I'd caught the baby's bug. Well, I don't think I have ever been so mortified and despite my host and hostess being incredibly good natured about having me stay an extra couple of days while I slept it off, I still think I am possibly the worst guest ever. I was sick only overnight and then forced by my weak arse body- that just gives up after the slightest hint of trouble- to sleep for another twenty four hours. I felt strong enough on my last day in Edinburgh to go into town and catch up on what I'd missed, namely the tail end of the Royal Mile, but mostly my second visit to Edinburgh, though I try not to regret it or associate the city too much with retching, was far less successful than the first. So on Wednesday I bid adieu to the family who had so graciously allowed me to come, get sick on their floor, and leave, and came back to England.
Once I checked into my hostel- which looked like a nightmare but since I was paying less to stay there than I did for my bus ticket I had to just deal- I found the smallest cafe I could with basically no one in it on the outskirts of the city centre. There I sat, read, ate soup and watched the news where I discovered all the business about ash cloud chaos. The thing is, I couldn't bring myself to panic or worry or regret whatever all the air space closure was going to mean for me. I think that's a positive. All I thought was "I guess I should start planning to spend more time in the UK." I wandered about, went back to the hostel and had the worst night yet.
My bunkmate was an obese Turkish man with what I can only assume was the flu or something. And his was the top bunk. I'm gonna let you imagine that night rather than describe it because I don't think I can do it justice. Whatever you come up with in your mind is most likely correct.
Surprisingly I was pretty beat the next day. I suppose sometimes getting no sleep can do that to you. So instead of getting on a bus to go see the battle ground of Culloden or even the Loch Ness, I walked along the River Ness for hours and hours. I was in a daze, and Inverness felt like somewhere I would have gone with my family, so I felt rather homesick. It's been less than a month since I left home but that really kicked in there. I did end up calling my parents that day, and going back to that same cafe. I must have been in the mood for something familiar. I just read some more and went back to the hostel earlier than I would have liked. I didn't have the energy to go out and was resigned to another horror night. I think I'd also begun massively overeating at that point as a reaction to all the stress which felt eerily like year ten so I was pretty miserable despite the beautiful river and what the walk along there did for my feelings about the trip. And then Pride and Prejudice and Zombies saved my night.
I'd been reading it while drinking a cup of tea and when I went into the kitchen to put away my mug this German girl practically leapt on me. I was terrified at first but she just started asking me these rapid-fire questions; "do you like it? I think the English is sort of hmm. What do you think?..." She had been working in Glasgow and her two friends from Germany were visiting. They were also eating with their American roommate. All four were incredibly intelligent, thoughtful people, and- as seems to be the case a lot here- wanted to hear my take, as an Australian, on everything from racism to MTV to the Australian Aborigines to Glasgow. We talked for hours and it was very eye opening.
The next morning I got the train to Edinburgh (much more agreeable) to stay with a friend of a friend of a friend who had been nice enough to offer. She had a sick 6-month-old baby so we stayed in that afternoon and her friend made us dinner that night. It was a relaxed place, I felt, and I was able to actually sleep with two eyes closed after all the hostel-ness of the previous week. The next day I lounged around until mid afternoon when I decided to go out and, purely because it was right in front of me, climb Arthur's Seat. Blimey, it was hard but so gorgeous. Oh, and of course- it seems like it's always the way- there were all these New Zealanders at the top. I come all the way across the world to meet more people from the Southern Hemisphere.
That evening, though, was horrendous. So, um, I can't not write about this although it was possibly the worst moment of my life. I felt ill after dinner and went to bed early, only to wake up later and get up in time to vomit all over the spare bedroom floor. Seems I'd caught the baby's bug. Well, I don't think I have ever been so mortified and despite my host and hostess being incredibly good natured about having me stay an extra couple of days while I slept it off, I still think I am possibly the worst guest ever. I was sick only overnight and then forced by my weak arse body- that just gives up after the slightest hint of trouble- to sleep for another twenty four hours. I felt strong enough on my last day in Edinburgh to go into town and catch up on what I'd missed, namely the tail end of the Royal Mile, but mostly my second visit to Edinburgh, though I try not to regret it or associate the city too much with retching, was far less successful than the first. So on Wednesday I bid adieu to the family who had so graciously allowed me to come, get sick on their floor, and leave, and came back to England.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Scotland, part 1.
Gawd, this is ridiculously overdue. Apologies, all. It is also in no way edited or drafted or thought out so expect some seriously longwinded and terrible stories in here. Now that I've got you interested...
Edinburgh. It's hard to explain why but I really love this city. The second I got off the train its brilliance punched me in the face and since then it's only intensified. I was lonely my first twenty four hours here but that wore off. I met a guy in the hostel (don't start teasing me and making those repulsive "oooh" noises yet) who was training to be a walking tour guide around the Old Town and who reminded me so much of Tam. Steve was all theatrical and big-gestured but at the same time really caring and friendly and, anyway, when I told him I had nothing to do my second day in Edinburgh he offered to take me on a tour himself since he would already be practicing with a couple of friends anyhow. He listened to all my crazy babbling enough to know that I was a crazed Harry Potter buff so as well as showing us the traditional stuff (Greyfriars Bobby's statue, the Meercat Cross, Lady Stairs Close...), he also took us to certain JK Rowling-attended places and told stories of how she would look out from the Elephant House cafe, across Greyfriars Kirk Graveyard, see Heriots School and dream of Hogwarts. Oh, and before the grand tour he took me to a Candy Shop that I swear was like a real-life Honeydukes. The tour ended late in the day on the Castle-side hill of Princes Street Gardens among the daffodils, on a very sunny day, and Steve was regailing us with the very long, very hilarious story of the theft (or reclamation, if you think about it) of the Stone of Destiny (the italics are to indicate the voice and gestures Steve used each time he said it) in 1950 by a couple of young, crazy rebels. I slept off the excitement of a day's walk around Edinburgh before a free dinner in the hostel kitchen which is where I met Claudia and Lola.
I'd already met a couple of really nice people the day before and, well, familiarity is key so I went and sat with them. Then in walk these two girls and we invited them to sit with us and got talking and from there it just got awesome. They were from London, both studying and had only known each other for a little while before they decided to take a trip to Scotland together. I dunno, that just sounded rather great to me, to leap in with a new friend and continue to get to know them while you're getting to know a new place. They each had these ambitions and goals but at the same time were open to all sorts of things and I felt really lucky to meet them because, really, this trip was about meeting people like that. After dinner we had a game of Scrabble (their idea) which I won (I have the scrap of score-keeping paper to prove it) and then went off to bed. They were checking out in the morning and having one last day in Scotland and I felt truly disappointed after meeting these really impressive, interesting people who it seemed I was only going to know for one night. And then morning came.
I was sitting in the kitchen/dining room again, on le computer (becoming a sad sort of pattern, really) and in walks Claudia. She looked happy to see me- I have no idea why- and said that on their last day in Edinburgh she and Lola were going to Edinburgh Castle. I asked if I could come along (I'm not normally that forward but these girls were cool, damn it!) and soon enough we were off toward said Castle with Steve in tow. Yes, I saw Steve a lot in Edinburgh. But he was so entertaining, even just in general conversation, and I said with a sense of pride (as I imagine girls often do about their boyfriends. I say "imagine" because evidently it's a pleasure I've never experienced but oh what a useful analogy it maketh) "yeah, he was my tour guide yesterday." Steve left us somewhere on the Royal Mile (most awesome street ever, FYI) and off we went to Edinburgh Castle. I know we weren't paying with blood as centuries past saw visitors to this castle do but whoa, that entrance fee. Anyhow, the place is extraordinary and we spent about five or six hours there which may or may not have been due to my chattering the entire time. You know me, you be the judge. There is so much history there (I know; duh. But still!) and it was nice to experience it with people as intelligent and insightful as Claudia and Lola who knew when to just be silent and take things in and when to make jokes. Ah, timing. A charming trait in a girl. Maybe one day I'll get some.
Anyhow, our day was basically gone after we left the castle so we went in search of many things; deep fried Mars Bars, cash points, things to draw... It was nice just to have been with people for the day. We hung around, ate baked potatoes, sat in bars... and eventually it was time to say "so long". Claudia and Lola went off to catch their bus home and left me with the hope that I might see them again next time I'm in London.
While Claudia was talking to me that morning, I had asked her which city I should go to next. She was somewhat surprised, but when I posed the question of either Inverness or Glasgow, she suggested the latter. So the next morning I checked out of the hostel early, left a couple of books to replace my theft of the Unbearable Lightness of Being (I wasn't finished yet!) and headed off to get the train to Glasgow. There's really not much good to say about my two days there. I wandered around aimlessly and alone and felt depressed, I suppose. I discovered Kelvingrove Park which I visited both days because it was one beautiful spot in a dreary city. I loved the Museums and the Necropolis was strangely captivating. Mostly I drifted while I was there. I agreed with Claudia that the architecture was pretty and I have to say that maybe there is more to see in that city, I just didn't look deep enough, but I don't know if I care enough to find out. To quote Ross Geller; "Yeah, obvious beauty's the worst. You know, when it's right there in your face. Me, I like to have to work to find someone attractive. Makes me feel like I earned it."
So here's the part where I throw caution to the wind, disregard who may or may not be reading and just write how I feel about what happened. The first night in the hostel in Glasgow (and it was the very cheapest one I could find), I felt very lonely. And then this guy started talking to me. He'd seen my book on Scotland and, being Scottish, he wanted to talk to me about where I wanted to go and should go and could go and all that. I was so relieved to find someone to talk to, I already felt less alone. He would have been at least fifteen years older than me but obviously still young-feeling to be staying in a hostel that bore such a striking resemblance to a University share house. We talked for a long time about my plans and this bled into his travelling experience and then just life in general. After staying with someone who had been very perceptive and asked all sorts of poignant questions, only with the interest of understanding me better, I was used to answering all sorts of curious enquiries with honesty. But this began to feel less and less like my previous experiences and when the questions turned to my sex life- as if I have one, ha! But anyway- I suddenly felt completely out of my depth. I was in a communal lounge room with so many people surrounding me but here I was with someone who was starting to make me feel really uncomfortable and for some reason I just couldn't extricate myself from the situation. Up until now I still haven't been able to decide whether it was him or me that made this whole situation feel unbearable because, really, he seemed to just be a naturally friendly and unashamed sort of person. Regardless, I was relieved when all of his talk of my own and his sex lives eventually subsided and, thankfully, he went to bed. Amongst it all though were these nagging questions in my head; "what does he want with all this?", "why are you so scared?", "what would you do if it wasn't all innocent and harmless?" And I had no answers. Because I was on my own on a side of the world where I love no one and am loved by no one and am safe only as long as I make sure of it. And this was a low, low level danger but one that, for whatever reason, I felt keenly.
My lesson of not talking to strangers wasn't learnt very well because after spending the next day as I had the first (before I met this man that night), all alone and wandering aimlessly, I met a woman that night named Betty. She was from France but had done a sort of trainee teacher exchange in Glasgow a while ago and was visiting some friends. She told me what I had assumed, that it was a gorgeous city if you saw the right parts of it, and basically talked me through what I could expect to feel both while I was travelling and when I was done. She was lovely and, like many of the people I've met so far, was very kind and patient with me, enduring my naivety and badly-thought-out notions of basically everything.
So Glasgow wasn't an entire failure, or I refuse to believe it one, because of what I learnt. There were the teachings of a seemingly unfriendly city, and of people like the man I had such an ill-fated conversation with, that showed me what this trip could inevitably be at times which is something capable of crushing me with loneliness and fear . And there were those of people like Betty and of Kelvingrove Park; both of which are patches of loveliness in an otherwise grey place.
This was all a bit emotionally and mentally exhausting, so more to come soon on Scotland when I have time and feel able to do so.
Edinburgh. It's hard to explain why but I really love this city. The second I got off the train its brilliance punched me in the face and since then it's only intensified. I was lonely my first twenty four hours here but that wore off. I met a guy in the hostel (don't start teasing me and making those repulsive "oooh" noises yet) who was training to be a walking tour guide around the Old Town and who reminded me so much of Tam. Steve was all theatrical and big-gestured but at the same time really caring and friendly and, anyway, when I told him I had nothing to do my second day in Edinburgh he offered to take me on a tour himself since he would already be practicing with a couple of friends anyhow. He listened to all my crazy babbling enough to know that I was a crazed Harry Potter buff so as well as showing us the traditional stuff (Greyfriars Bobby's statue, the Meercat Cross, Lady Stairs Close...), he also took us to certain JK Rowling-attended places and told stories of how she would look out from the Elephant House cafe, across Greyfriars Kirk Graveyard, see Heriots School and dream of Hogwarts. Oh, and before the grand tour he took me to a Candy Shop that I swear was like a real-life Honeydukes. The tour ended late in the day on the Castle-side hill of Princes Street Gardens among the daffodils, on a very sunny day, and Steve was regailing us with the very long, very hilarious story of the theft (or reclamation, if you think about it) of the Stone of Destiny (the italics are to indicate the voice and gestures Steve used each time he said it) in 1950 by a couple of young, crazy rebels. I slept off the excitement of a day's walk around Edinburgh before a free dinner in the hostel kitchen which is where I met Claudia and Lola.
I'd already met a couple of really nice people the day before and, well, familiarity is key so I went and sat with them. Then in walk these two girls and we invited them to sit with us and got talking and from there it just got awesome. They were from London, both studying and had only known each other for a little while before they decided to take a trip to Scotland together. I dunno, that just sounded rather great to me, to leap in with a new friend and continue to get to know them while you're getting to know a new place. They each had these ambitions and goals but at the same time were open to all sorts of things and I felt really lucky to meet them because, really, this trip was about meeting people like that. After dinner we had a game of Scrabble (their idea) which I won (I have the scrap of score-keeping paper to prove it) and then went off to bed. They were checking out in the morning and having one last day in Scotland and I felt truly disappointed after meeting these really impressive, interesting people who it seemed I was only going to know for one night. And then morning came.
I was sitting in the kitchen/dining room again, on le computer (becoming a sad sort of pattern, really) and in walks Claudia. She looked happy to see me- I have no idea why- and said that on their last day in Edinburgh she and Lola were going to Edinburgh Castle. I asked if I could come along (I'm not normally that forward but these girls were cool, damn it!) and soon enough we were off toward said Castle with Steve in tow. Yes, I saw Steve a lot in Edinburgh. But he was so entertaining, even just in general conversation, and I said with a sense of pride (as I imagine girls often do about their boyfriends. I say "imagine" because evidently it's a pleasure I've never experienced but oh what a useful analogy it maketh) "yeah, he was my tour guide yesterday." Steve left us somewhere on the Royal Mile (most awesome street ever, FYI) and off we went to Edinburgh Castle. I know we weren't paying with blood as centuries past saw visitors to this castle do but whoa, that entrance fee. Anyhow, the place is extraordinary and we spent about five or six hours there which may or may not have been due to my chattering the entire time. You know me, you be the judge. There is so much history there (I know; duh. But still!) and it was nice to experience it with people as intelligent and insightful as Claudia and Lola who knew when to just be silent and take things in and when to make jokes. Ah, timing. A charming trait in a girl. Maybe one day I'll get some.
Anyhow, our day was basically gone after we left the castle so we went in search of many things; deep fried Mars Bars, cash points, things to draw... It was nice just to have been with people for the day. We hung around, ate baked potatoes, sat in bars... and eventually it was time to say "so long". Claudia and Lola went off to catch their bus home and left me with the hope that I might see them again next time I'm in London.
While Claudia was talking to me that morning, I had asked her which city I should go to next. She was somewhat surprised, but when I posed the question of either Inverness or Glasgow, she suggested the latter. So the next morning I checked out of the hostel early, left a couple of books to replace my theft of the Unbearable Lightness of Being (I wasn't finished yet!) and headed off to get the train to Glasgow. There's really not much good to say about my two days there. I wandered around aimlessly and alone and felt depressed, I suppose. I discovered Kelvingrove Park which I visited both days because it was one beautiful spot in a dreary city. I loved the Museums and the Necropolis was strangely captivating. Mostly I drifted while I was there. I agreed with Claudia that the architecture was pretty and I have to say that maybe there is more to see in that city, I just didn't look deep enough, but I don't know if I care enough to find out. To quote Ross Geller; "Yeah, obvious beauty's the worst. You know, when it's right there in your face. Me, I like to have to work to find someone attractive. Makes me feel like I earned it."
So here's the part where I throw caution to the wind, disregard who may or may not be reading and just write how I feel about what happened. The first night in the hostel in Glasgow (and it was the very cheapest one I could find), I felt very lonely. And then this guy started talking to me. He'd seen my book on Scotland and, being Scottish, he wanted to talk to me about where I wanted to go and should go and could go and all that. I was so relieved to find someone to talk to, I already felt less alone. He would have been at least fifteen years older than me but obviously still young-feeling to be staying in a hostel that bore such a striking resemblance to a University share house. We talked for a long time about my plans and this bled into his travelling experience and then just life in general. After staying with someone who had been very perceptive and asked all sorts of poignant questions, only with the interest of understanding me better, I was used to answering all sorts of curious enquiries with honesty. But this began to feel less and less like my previous experiences and when the questions turned to my sex life- as if I have one, ha! But anyway- I suddenly felt completely out of my depth. I was in a communal lounge room with so many people surrounding me but here I was with someone who was starting to make me feel really uncomfortable and for some reason I just couldn't extricate myself from the situation. Up until now I still haven't been able to decide whether it was him or me that made this whole situation feel unbearable because, really, he seemed to just be a naturally friendly and unashamed sort of person. Regardless, I was relieved when all of his talk of my own and his sex lives eventually subsided and, thankfully, he went to bed. Amongst it all though were these nagging questions in my head; "what does he want with all this?", "why are you so scared?", "what would you do if it wasn't all innocent and harmless?" And I had no answers. Because I was on my own on a side of the world where I love no one and am loved by no one and am safe only as long as I make sure of it. And this was a low, low level danger but one that, for whatever reason, I felt keenly.
My lesson of not talking to strangers wasn't learnt very well because after spending the next day as I had the first (before I met this man that night), all alone and wandering aimlessly, I met a woman that night named Betty. She was from France but had done a sort of trainee teacher exchange in Glasgow a while ago and was visiting some friends. She told me what I had assumed, that it was a gorgeous city if you saw the right parts of it, and basically talked me through what I could expect to feel both while I was travelling and when I was done. She was lovely and, like many of the people I've met so far, was very kind and patient with me, enduring my naivety and badly-thought-out notions of basically everything.
So Glasgow wasn't an entire failure, or I refuse to believe it one, because of what I learnt. There were the teachings of a seemingly unfriendly city, and of people like the man I had such an ill-fated conversation with, that showed me what this trip could inevitably be at times which is something capable of crushing me with loneliness and fear . And there were those of people like Betty and of Kelvingrove Park; both of which are patches of loveliness in an otherwise grey place.
This was all a bit emotionally and mentally exhausting, so more to come soon on Scotland when I have time and feel able to do so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
