Hello all! I just got back from my excursion on the continent...
Ha. Actually I've been back for a while. A week or so. But I did journal it while it was happening, for the most part. Anyway, the trip precipitated a lot of thoughts, so I've been kind of intimidated by the mere thought of compiling everything. Not bad, lonely, "I've-been-abandoned" thoughts, mind you...I actually had an excellent time. But I was solo, and I didn't do much crazy partying after hours (What? You? No way!) so there was a lot of time to read and think.
Before we get started, on a related note, Sense and Sensibility is a great book. I was inspired to read it again after seeing the latest Andrew Davies miniseries. It really helps that they casted a fox to play Edward. And Dominic Cooper, despite my doubts, plays a pretty good Willoughby. He is a History Boy, after all...and he lives with Smithy. Which reminds me...I need to find that flat!
Okay. So, here's what I have written, it might require multiple posts. Actually, let's run with that. Here's what I have written...for Edinburgh, Scotland:
30/10/09 (The train to Edinburgh)-
On my way to Scotland now- started out fairly early this morning to catch my 8:00 train (I asked for 8:30!) and made every possible dumb mistake. Fortunately, I actually stared out very early, so I made it with plenty of time. And then it was late, anyway. Awesome.
I am glad to have purchased this soundtrack to Adventureland (bummer movie, but great music.) Lou Reed's "Satellite of Love" is on its way out...and I do love David Bowie's backing vocals. And now begins, that kook's own "Modern Love," one of the tracks for which I bought this. Such a fun song. And it's giving me some dance-y self-confidence in my own funness, which is important, as I'm about to head out on a foreign and basically solo adventure.
It is indeed a very trying thing (maybe rewarding too?) to be a complicated introvert. Expensive, too, but what's to be done? My days of wondering what the hell is wrong with me and wishing desperately for a "crowd" are over(ish.) Though occasionally beset by self-doubt (who isn't?) I'm actually quite fine with who I am. The other flatmates feel sorry for me, I can tell. They treat me like a sick child. Well, they can misunderstand me as much as they choose. I'll misunderstand those alcoholics right back! Alternatively, I could just not care.
So I won't. I am actually quite excited about this journey. Paris was a slightly difficult testing-of-the-waters, but I'm confident that I can rally here. They do speak English in Scotland, right? Something like, anyway. Also, I hope that hostels will provide some distractions. That was the main problem in Paris. One can only watch so much BBC World News.
On a new and wonderful note, I'm completely fascinated by the family sitting next to me on this train. The father's accent indicates a Northern English upbringing, while the mother and the kids (Martha, 8? and Finn, 4?) are from the South (Surreyish, I mean, not Alabama.) There's also Martha's doll, Annabelle. I think she's from Kent. Anyway, Martha just spoke on the phone to her grandmother, whom they are visiting in Yorkshire, to inform them of the delay (there's a delay- it's ridiculous) here at St. Neots Station:
"Hello gran! There's a delay here. They don't know when we'll move again. Daddy's quite upset. Oh, I don't know. Yes. I am excited to see you as well. Goodbye, then! We're on our way!"
Also, earlier she called Annabelle "darling," and told her father that "mummy is so lovely and kind." This is how my children will talk! I don't care if they're calling me or a warthog "lovely and kind," but it will absolutely be used with frequency. Quite seriously, I want to belong to this family. I don't even mind grumpy little Finn.
Ugh. I do hope there's no danger of having to terminate here, as Mr. British Family believes. That would be most inconvenient, not to mention disheartening. It's rather critical that this already maligned journey not kill my tentative Independent Spirit. If it weren't for this family, I'd have gone mad already. ("Mummy, could you draw me a hippo again, please?") Though, it does make me miss Joe a bit. He'd really get a kick out of this family...especially after "Oh my God! It's completely broken!" event from the cruise.
Oh, we're moving again! Excellent. Slow lines, but moving. Perhaps I'll make it to Edinburgh, after all. Or Petersbourogh, anyway. That's the next stop. Anyway, time to read.
[Here, I read, apparently...and probably slept...until...Yorkshire?]
Ah, there goes Yorkshire, and Durham, specifically. It's absolutely beautiful. I remember going to Durham Cathedral in 10th grade. It's rather magnificent, but it has nothing on the atmospheric scenery of the sea, the moors, the sky. I didn't know that I would be passing beach today. It's really very spectacular, what with the cliffs and the wind, and the rocks.
The next stop is Newcastle, which is where my school group was based in 10th grade (the same one that went to Durham). We flew into Edinburgh from Atlanta, and took a train similar to this one down to Newcastle, so this is a fun, reverse journey. Though, I think I slept on that old train, as I have no real memories of this scenery. I know that we arrived at night...
And I certainly don't remember Newcastle people being this unbelievably noisy! They're all absolutely bombed, too! Yikes! Anyway, the lovely British family got off at Darlington, and now I cannot concentrate. Anyway, nearly there!
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30/10/09 (High Street Hostel)-
Finally here! Armored in a CMF teeshirt, the green one from before my time, my favorite, I rode into Edinburgh feeling pensive and brave- but not exactly confident. Still, so far things are okay, so far. I am glad that there are people all around me. Some of them are most amusing. I think some of these Australians have been here for months! More on that, later.
I'm also under considerably less pressure for this trip to be magical and not-a-waste, which, so far, it is, and isn't, respectively. I've got a few days to explore (or two, anyway) and the hostel hosts free tours (including a ghost tour!) An additional help: Edinburgh is, in fact, awesome. More beautiful than I remembered (and I remembered it as quite beautiful) and with a lot of Lauren-y things to see and do.
It occurs to me as I sit here in this reception lobby, surrounded by all these weary travellers, most of whom are in friend-groups or long-settled societies, that this whole experience, this studying in London business, has indeed been extremely worthwhile. Though not in the way I expected. For the past couple weeks, I've been overcome by a fear that this isn't what it should be, what it's supposed to be- the best time of my life, the fulfillment of a lifelog dream, etc. Indeed, some of it has been quite nakedly painful, and it's hardly the confidence rush I thought it could be. However, I've learned so much about myself here. I'm growing up every second, and with each rejection and disappointment, I keep surprising myself with defensive resolve.
But, all that's just of-the-moment meditation. Not fitting in has that effect on me. Anyway, this hostel is very interesting. For the most part, its occupants are comprised partly of teams of vacationing students from abroad, and partly of individuals who seem to pretty much live here, marking food in the kitchen and hosting Halloween parties. I would like someone to talk to, sure, but it's reward enough to watch these people. There are so many different people and everyone is relaxed, and curious (a lot of staring), and seemingly, lost. I don't exclude myself from this. I'm a bit lost, but maybe that's just a condition of being in my early 20s.
Thinking seriously about this, if I have to travel alone, this is actually perfect for me. This is exactly how I would like to travel. I'm not pressured to do anything I don't want to, as I surely would if I was travelling alone with people (Munich.) There are people all around, friendly people too, if I desperately need to connect. It's perfect for people-watching, and I'm certainly immersed in culture. Tomorrow, I'm going on a walking tour, and then there's a Halloween party. And then a ghost tour at 9! I'm going up to bed now, at 10:00 with my book, and that's no problem whatsoever. So far, this trip is much more good than bad!
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01/11/09 (Edinburgh Airport)-
I charge forward in excellent spirits! Despite the fact that I ran out of time to see the Writer's Museum, Edinburgh Castle, and Hollyroodhouse Palace (all of which I've seen before), my solo Scots adventure was a phenomenal success. Even after all that self-discovery crap from the other night (and Erin's quotation of Robert Frost in my head,) I made friends, even talked to people without making friends, and enjoyed myself in the UK's Savannah, Georgia.
As decided, I am a great fan of the Euro-Hostel environment, thought this was tested to comic effect by my neighbor in bed "Loire" (I was in "Jordan,") a strapping young lad I sleepily dubbed "Asscrack McSnore." Indeed, I first became alarmed when young Asscrack situated himself on top of the covers, still in his jeans, with about 45% of his lilly-white bottom exposed. Each inadvertent look was a terrifying ordeal, and they became painfully frequent, too, as I soon started to fear for his health. For once he fell asleep, snores of a wild, mythic, bestial nature could be heard by all occupants of Room 6. And especially by me. Now, my father is a violent snorer, and so I did my best to embrace the situation with zen and understanding. I employed all of my tricks: counting the snores, pretending it's me, making sense of Tom Waits lyrics, but nothing worked. Chiefly because Asscrack McSnore has a tendency to mix it up, switching from whistles to chokes to grunts to noises for which there are no words yet.
After some time, I employed myself thinking of how I would represent these sounds textually. Here's what I came up with:
"kwhhhrrrnnnnkkkkwww"
"hnnnnnrtttshhhhh"
"fttttttdyrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt"
and of course, the old classic, "kaaaaaaawwwcth- shhhuuuuuuuu"
After a time, some other hostel occupants actually gathered around him, debating how best to take action. I didn't open my eyes, still haunted by the ass, but I'm sure there was a priest there. Indeed, some of those moans were not unlike those of a young girl from New England trying desperately to communicate through a demonic possession. In the end, this is what I heard:
"Just roll him over or something."
"Maybe just wake him and tell him?"
"Who?"
"Do you think that will work?"
"Okay-"
"WHAT THE HELL?"
"Sorry, I was just trying to turn you, because you were snoring so loud..."
"Jesus Christ!" (I can understand his indignation here. It seems to me a great violation to wake a stranger in this manner- my sleepy plan was simply to kill him.)
Shortly after this episode, the snores were louder than ever. Lord knows how I finally got to sleep.
For a free thing, the tour was shockingly comprehensive. My tour guide was an eager Canadian called Kate. I was disappointed to have her, and not, as my friends-from-later, Kelly and Ben, had, a massive , bearded Scots bloke called Hamish. But what this 6-year stalled backpacker lacked in nationality, she made up for in enthusiasm. And it was free, anyway.
Kate shared with us all manner of monuments, attractions, historical anecdotes, tips, and even the occasional ghost story. I took several pictures, answered questions correctly (Kate giddily told me that I was the only tourist in the whole history of the tour to know the significance of the year 1620) and even shared my amusing reflections with two Americans, Cameron and...his friend from Alaska studying architecture in Paris (funny, the things we do and do not remember.) Cameron was from Sacramento and was studying at Oxford, and both of them were normally students at UC San Francisco. I was disheartened a bit by their lack of conversation initiation, but they laughed enough and responded to my observations with sincerity, so who's to say they didn't like me. Anyway, they left for the airport just after the tour. And fearless solo traveller, Lauren Wood don't need no body, anyway.
I went back to the hostel and spent a couple of hours awkwardly flitting back and forth from my bed to the reception lounge to the Halloween party in the downstairs lounge. There was a ghost tour at 9:30 that sounded cool, but an opportunity for a more unique, authentic, free, and social activity came about when two Americans I had met the night before struck up a conversation and told me about a fire-full Halloween street show...Samhuinn, or something. It was basically a strange, Ent and Faun featuring Celtic ballet.
There was no discernible plot. Very odd indeed. Afterward, I was semi-assaulted by a man in a surgeon's costume. Despite this, it was the first good Halloween I've experienced in a few years. And I left a breakfast run-in with Kelly and Ben with the assurance of their every intention of facebooking me. [Kelly did!]
So, now I'm off to Amsterdam for four nights, but first I need to sleep for a bit [I think I'm on the plane now.] I've just remembered that Amsterdam is famous for tulips, my favorite flower. That's a nice thought to end with, I think.
