Music and Dance

Tonight I went to a proper Scottish ceilidh (pronounced "kay-lee", like the Firefly character) with two friends. It was possibly one of the most fun things I've ever done in my life. There was a band playing music--I think there was a guitarist, a fiddler, and an accordion. It was a little bit like square-dancing--a lot of people grouping up into couples and spinning. There were quite a few men in kilts, with sporrans. I think I even saw one man with a sgian dubh, which is a type of ceremonial knife that men stick in their stockings so that only the hilt shows.

I'd write in significantly more detail but at the moment I'm exhausted.

Don't know what to say, really

Clearly I am a very bad blog writer, in terms of intent vs. reality. I have not written for roughly two weeks. I guess that's a bad thing, but since last time I wrote I've been to Stirling and Linlithgow, so those have to count on my List of Things I've Done in Scotland. And on Thursday I'm heading off to the Borderlands. Which should be interesting/awesome/picturesque. I've decided that Scotland may very well be one of THE most beautiful countries on the planet. It's just mind-boggling how I can look out of the library window and see an EXTINCT VOLCANO just over the top of eighteenth-century buildings. Edinburgh's so dark and remarkable and stunning; part of me misses home so much but part of me never wants to leave this place. And it's not even the places I go to visit, it's just being here and living here and walking through cobblestone streets.

I think one reason I'm homesick, though, is that I feel that I've lost the thread of life back at AU. I can see people on Facebook or talk to them on AIM but there's a lag there that, in some ways, completely breaks my heart. And I stayed up all night last week finishing that play because I thought maybe it would help, maybe it would make me feel connected, and that I could do something to affect people's lives three thousand miles away, but it didn't. I'm not saying that no one cares about it but just that I'm starting to realize that maybe I'm not as important, in the whole scheme of things, as I thought I was, and that's troubling. I so often feel as if I'm on the outside, staring in, and I hate it. I want to be a part of things, I want to be inside, instead of out here. But I don't know how to do that.

More than a month

I've been here in Edinburgh more than a month. In that time, I've been to class, Malting's, the National Museum, the Three Sisters, Glasgow, the Castle, the Vaults, Elephant House, and Manchester. But that's a MONTH and I feel like I've done NOTHING. And like I'm running out of time to enjoy myself. And yet, it's cold here, I'm consumed by work, and it's not all fun and games. Seriously. I had to write two papers this weekend, which amounted to 3,000 words (roughly 12 pages, double-spaced). I've had reading every night, and I'm trying to work on my play, which is in the second act and stalling, and while I'm sure Edinburgh's nightlife is fabulous I'm not for getting drunk and sitting in dark rooms with loud music. And the odd part is that I'm happy just being here--walking out of the library and seeing Arthur's Seat looming in the distance, stumbling down ice-lined cobblestone streets, listening to Scottish lecturers. So I've got these two conflicts: I'm delighted that I'm here but I don't feel like I'm doing enough and I don't know how to change that. I'm going to Stirling this weekend, though, so that should be beautiful.

If anyone is still reading this, please comment because otherwise I forget about it and I think writing in a blog is a good idea.

American Food!!

Good lord! It appears I am reluctant, somehow, to update this more than about once a week. It has been more than a week, in fact, though justifiably I've not done anything much worth noting. I did go to Manchester this weekend, though, which was absolutely lovely--I got to see Chester, which is this charming English town with a medieval wall, and downtown Manchester, which looks very much the way Life on Mars would like us to believe. I kept expecting (hoping, maybe) that John Simm would run around the corner or something. I got to see my uncle, which was nice, and of course I brought American food back for my flatmates and myself. Campbell's Double Noodle Soup has never tasted quite so good.

I've been trying to write a bit every day, but so far not much good has come of it. My play is progressing (slowly) and though I've touched on the important bits regarding structure and so on, there seems to be something missing that I haven't yet found. The part I keep having to remind myself is that no matter how much I think I know, I'm still feeling my way through my craft and that doesn't mean it has to be perfect on the first go.

I'll write more when I'm not quite so knackered.

A week later...

I've often found that my intentions to be a loyal writer have failed me. All of this week, for instance, I kept telling myself: you should update your blog. You should update your blog. You should update your blog. So the saga of my life since my last post:

Sunday I came to the realization that my zipper on my coat was broken, this being a euphemism for the reality--i.e., that I, in an effort to unzip my jacket, effectively broke my coat. All right, I said to myself (I'm an optimist), I'll just go to a tailor on Clerk Street tomorrow, hand it in, wear a sweatshirt all week. How bad can it be?

I wake up Monday and head off in search of the tailor. It started to rain very lightly when I walked outside, but I just put up the hood on my (dad's) American University sweatshirt. It rains frequently in Edinburgh, so I didn't think much of it. Until it began to snow.

Here I am, trapped on Nicholson Street, in a blizzard. In my sweatshirt, my now-drenched broken coat on my arm. When I arrived at the tailor's, I could barely speak. My pants were soaked through, my sweatshirt was soaked through. I handed them the coat and ran to the library, where I tried to warm up.

I didn't get my coat back until last night. In the meantime I tried to keep myself warm by layering up, which can be pretty torturous.

Tuesday was, of course, Inauguration Day. I skipped a Classical Literature lecture to stand in the corner of the Teviot Union's crowded Sports Bar to watch it on a big screen TV (b/c it was five o'clock here!). It was, in all likelihood, one of the most momentous experiences of my life. And heartbreaking that I wasn't there to see it in person.

Today we went to Glasgow, a beautiful city that is significantly bigger than Edinburgh as well as considerably more industrial. There was a museum (pictures on Facebook are pending) of art and native wildlife, as well as a Science Centre, and Glasgow Cathedral, which had the shrine of St. Mungo. I don't know who that was, but his tomb was pretty impressive. The whole place was positively gorgeous, and the necropolis...I don't think I've ever seen anything quite as beautiful as that cemetery. The moment we walked through the black, wrought-iron gates, I felt tears fill my eyes. The hills here are so green, and the tombstones looked so solemn, and behind the hill of the necropolis, the setting sun threw orange light against them like a blaze of fire. From the top, you could see all of Glasgow spread out below us.

I've been working a lot on writing. I'm still writing the FWIW prequel, but until I can determine what I'm willing to relinquish in order to make it a coherent and well-moving play, it's going to be stuck where it is. Any suggestions would be appreciated. I'm also thinking of adapting King Lear by turning it into a modern drama with limited moral culpability.

Ten weeks left to go! Wooh!

Despite the pessimism of my entry title I really am very excited to be here. While I'm still getting used to the city and the life and everything, I've started to find my footing and I am already starting to love Edinburgh fiercely. I'm hoping that will make it harder to be homesick, but as I've only been here a little over a week I'm not surprised that the homesickness hasn't started to sink in. One of my flatmates said that just now it feels like camp, and she's right. Everything's new and exciting and beautiful but once it starts to sink in that I can't go home until the end of March (and I'm going home @ spring break; most of the kids here are staying through May) I'll probably go insane.

I cleaned my room today, in a marginal effort to make myself feel better, and bought a blanket, because I haven't been able to sleep without the quilt that I left back in the States. Last night I went on a "terror tour" of Edinburgh's High Street; I got to see where the Tolbooth used to be (as well as hear some pretty gruesome descriptions of how the Scots tortured and subsequently burned witches), saw a torture chamber which for some obvious reasons included a chastity belt, and got to see the very haunted Vaults beneath South Bridge. Apparently the Vaults is one of the most haunted places in the city, and I can see why. It's cramped and claustrophobic and apparently during a city wide fire the people who fled down into the vaults were literally roasted to death by the hot stone.

Yesterday I also saw The Elephant House, a cafe that was apparently the birthplace of Harry Potter, and I've realized, somewhat belatedly (i.e., I was here five years ago and never noticed this) that the city of Edinburgh shares a lot in common with the world JK Rowling created. It's all cobblestone and old stone buildings and narrow, crowded streets; you walk around Old Town and the sensation is one of something phenomenally ancient and magical. I'm starting to see why this city inspired so many writers. It's like it gets into your head.

I'll write more when I have a better opportunity to do so, but I should probably be working on some homework right now. Hopefully by the time I write my next entry I'll actually understand some of the issues of the various Jacobite rebellions.

Rain and Cold

I feel like the title of this post is part of the story of my life here in Edinburgh. I've been informed by my Scottish flatmates that it does in fact get better, that spring actually exists here in Scotland, but I have my doubts. I'm comforted to know that it's actually supposed to be colder in DC, though--and it doesn't surprise me. It isn't that Edinburgh's cold, per se. Today was the first day in like four that I could actually see my breath. It's just that the wind cuts through you and it's rained three or four times since I got here, so that's what? Three or four out of six days? Not that I mind rain; I like rain, and it makes the cobblestone gleam, but I'm tired of being cold.

I went in search of a Chinese take-away today, found one that was closed for Chinese New Year (which doesn't make much sense because New Year's next week, isn't it?) and went to Tesco's. It's the closest thing I've found to an American supermarket here, but the queue was astronomically long. I mentally slept through my class today--I think the only thing I remember about it was my teacher trashing Mel Gibson's portrayal of William Wallace in Braveheart. And being asked if I'd ever read Chaucer. The lecturer had this lilt and was pretty soft-spoken; it kind of set my mind wandering.

I'm reading the Oresteia trilogy for class tomorrow. It's really, exquisitely beautiful--I'm not sure I've ever read anything like it before. Greek theatre is so...visceral, and heartrending, and--dramatic. I can't think of any other way to describe it. If you ever get a chance, Robert Fagles' translation of Aeschylus is positively brilliant. I just wish I had that kind of talent.