Inspiration

This blog post...
1. Involves a list, well, 2 lists, if you include this one. *Cue oohs and ahhs and cheering because lists are fun and exciting and a new thing I'm trying, and we like new things.* I'm really bad at keeping listed items short and to the point. I'm also pretty bad at keeping them separate from each other, so it's really not that much of a list, but more like my thoughts in a list-y format with numbers. However, this blog is mine all mine and I will do what I want here.
2. Is much more of a journal entry than my past few blogs. Read on, and you'll see into my mind.
3. Is an attempt to ignore the Arthurian Legends essay that I must finish before noon tomorrow.
4. May be titled "Inspiration," but holds no cheesy inspirational quotes. I promise.
5. Is fueled by some really bad coffee that I made in my french press, with grounds that were left over from the PERFECT french press I had previously made (with the very last of my coffee), and then promptly spilled. All this to say, this blog is fueled by caffeine and too-much-essaying-in-one-day.


Inspiration is a funny thing, I've been finding.

I think when I came to Europe, I had this idea that I was going to be inspired, by the sights I saw, by the people I met, and by the places I went. And I have been, but one thing I've noticed is that inspiration is fleeting, and it most definitely cannot be forced. You can walk along the Seine all day and all night, and if you are not in the right state of mind, it's just a dirty river (still prettier than the Thames, though).

Inspiration is so much harder to pin down than I used to think. Maybe it's just me, but I can't just look at something and feel automatically inspired. Even when I was in the "Water Lilies" rooms at Musée de l'Orangerie, surrounded by the most beautiful things I had ever seen that were created by the hands of man, I did not draw inspiration directly from it. The paintings made me feel awed, excited, proud to be a human, because Claude Monet was a human, and even almost made me cry because I had wanted to see them for so long. But rather than inspire me directly, I think they were just poured into a vast pool of things that I have seen and touched and experienced in my life, and from that pool of sensations and dreams and memories and words, comes everything good that I have ever created.

I had this idea about Paris… that I would be inspired there, because F. Scott Fitzgerald and Earnest Hemingway were. I dreamt that by walking along the banks of the Seine and popping into random bookshops, I would feel what T. S. Eliot felt. Maybe I did, who knows? I didn't find the magical Jazz Age Paris that I read about in Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, but I did have some pretty cool experiences of my own while I was there. Just because I was in the same places as these great writers-writers that I admire (I might even say my three favorite writers, who have shaped my own writing more than any others), does not mean I can produce what they produced, nor does it mean that I should. I do not want to produce things that have already been written. I do not want my work to be passé.

Even while I did not necessarily "feel inspired" while walking the streets of Paris, and hopping on trains, and seeing all kinds of new and exciting things, since I've been back home in Glasgow, I've been writing more than I've written all semester. Ruminating on my travels has certainly sparked something.


Here are a few of the things that I think inspire me most of all:

1. A sunny day, and a friend with whom I can walk the streets of my city, and just enjoy it together and marvel at things which, if we didn't take the time to marvel at them, could have become normal, every-day things by now. It inspires me to still find new things here, in a place that has become home.

2. Deadlines. No, this isn't what you think. It's actually kind of the opposite. Whenever I am forced to sit down at my computer and write an essay that is due very soon, I sit down, I get distracted, I start to type, and type, and then research a little, and then I type some more.

Then, invariably, something annoying, but also awesome happens. Ideas start to pop into my head. These ideas are not in any way related to the essay I'm writing, but instead, are related to whatever creative project I'm currently working on. If I'm not working on anything, they're great ideas for short stories or novels I could start working on. Then, I inevitably put the essay aside and write for hours, for the creative, non-school related project, because, in the end, isn't that why I'm going to school, why I'm writing essays and reading classical literature, and why I am sitting under the tutelage of people who are supposedly smarter and better at these things than I am, or at least have Doctorate degrees where I have no degrees?! Wow, long sentence. Seriously. I'm out of breath.

This is a problem that I've lamented about so much my friend Robin recently threatened to assign essays to me after I graduate, so that I'll have something to spur me into writing what I want to write. It seems like an okay way to get around writer's block; am I right?

3. Reminiscing. Reminiscing about the past, especially since I've been here in Glasgow, puts me in such a great mood. I'm not talking about the far distant past, I'm talking about stuff that happened, oh four or five months ago. I'm talking about things that are still happening, an ocean away in the little city of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Going back home, to the people I love most, and seeing what has changed and what is still the same, excites me. This is ironic because a big part of the reason I want to travel the world is to pull inspiration from everything I see. While I'm over here, gallivanting about, the familiar things are the things that get to me.

4. My favorite authors. I think what I realized in my wee Parisian search for the things Hemingway, Pound, Fitzgerald, and Eliot were inspired by, is that they have already inspired me. Their works inspire me enough to want to see the things they saw. I'd say that's a pretty good measure of how awesome their work is. In the same way, I searched for James Joyce in his native Dublin, amidst the flurry of St. Paddy's Day festivities. Jack Kerouac made me want to strike out on a road trip across the west and I will probably go to The Eagle and the Child in Oxford, because C.S.Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien chilled there. I am even planning to go to the tourist trap that is Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of one William Shakespeare. Their work is what makes these places exciting. That's why my one "big" souvenir from my backpacking trip was a gorgeous book of Fitzgerald short stories. It is not because of where he wrote them, but what he wrote.

5. A worship session. Being in church on Sunday for the first time in a few weeks actually had me near tears, it was so good to be back. The older I get, the more I have a tendency toward worrying, and yes, I know age is no excuse, but it happens. Just sitting down and delving into the Word, or singing worship songs in a church that already feels familiar, lifts that worry right off my shoulders and puts me in a much better state of mind. It's crazy how much I take on, completely forgetting to trust in God, but He is faithful in my life, again and again, no matter how faithless I am.

6. T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. I just recommended this poem to someone, and then of course read it again, and was struck by how much it has inspired me. If there is one poem I would force every millennial to read, it is this one. I look at my generation and see inactivity and passivity and the decay of society, but Eliot was writing it about his own generation a century ago, and I guess he saw the same thing.

I first remember reading this poem in one of my high school English classes, and I don't remember much, besides my teacher trying to explain the correlation between the questions "Do I dare disturb the universe?" and "Do I dare to eat a peach?" to us, and we all just stared back at him like he was crazy because it was easier to just make it through the 40 minutes without caring or really learning anything (ahem, passivity). I think I read the poem once more my freshman year of college and liked it a little more, but it was last year, in my favorite professor's class, that I read this poem and felt deeply convicted by it. I saw myself so clearly in Prufrock. One might say this poem is the reason studying abroad changed from being a dream/possibility into a reality. One might say this poem is the reason the novel I'm currently working on is actually being worked on, and not just sitting dejected and untouched, in a wee folder on my desktop.

If you read the poem and can't figure out what I'm talking about, read it again. If you read the poem and think the line "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons," is a good thing, or something that belongs on a cutsey sign, I will treat you to my loudest, most exasperated sigh. (I have seen this on Etsy and it makes me sad.)

7. Finding something I wrote months or years ago, that is good. The most exciting and inspiring feeling I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing, is finding a quote I jotted down somewhere, and then googling it to see who said it, and realizing no one said it. Or no one ever wrote it down in a blog, or published it, or said it in a movie. The thing that inspires me most of all is realizing a quote I thought was cool enough to look up, actually originated with me.

Now I have told you a few of the things that inspire me. What inspires you?

xx

Carrie Sue Wagler

Paris, France

Paris was lovely. 

In a lot of ways I think we had all romanticized it in our heads, so there was definitely the potential for disappointment. However, the city really delivered, and we packed a lot into 3.5 days there. 

My cousin, Emily, and one of my best friends, Veronica, flew into Glasgow April 2nd and 1st, respectively. Saturday, the 4th, we flew from Glasgow to Paris CDG Airport, with Easy Jet. I was a little nervous flying with a budget airline after what just went down with Germanwings, but our flight was smooth and of course, fine, and after just an hour and 20 minutes, we found ourselves in Paris! 

I've divided our time in Paris into five categories. Transportation (the most exciting one should be first, obviously), hostel, food, sights, and people. 

Transportion:

After asking around for information at the airport, we were soon on an RER train to Gare du Nord train station. Paris has a complex web of both metro and RER trains. I much preferred metro so that is what we took for the most part. By the end I actually enjoyed hopping from metro to metro, and the last day and a half I didn't even need a map. 

Hostel: Located in Montmartre, our hostel, Perfect Hostel Paris, was just a short walk from Gare du Nord train station, and we settled in easily, happy to ditch our heavy hiking backpacks. We had a private room and we loved our wee balcony with its view of the narrow Montmartre streets and the quaint houses. The staff was friendly, and the people who worked the front desk spoke English. One lady in particular was helpful in answering all the questions I had when we first arrived. And one man was very lazy and unhelpful, but so it goes. A sweet old gentleman also served us a breakfast of pain au chocolat and baguettes, orange juice, and coffee every morning. That brings me to my next category.

Food: the FOOD. The food, the food, the food. We ate a lot, obviously. That's a big part of being in Paris. The thing about Paris is the restaurants are expensive (but yes, on a student budget, everything is expensive). However, the street food is relatively cheap, and there are patisseries and boulangeries all over selling all kinds of cheap fresh baked goods (often still warm), including baguettes as long as my arm for 1€. I can't count how many people I saw walking down the street with an armful of baguettes they'd just picked up from their favorite bakery. We had crepes in one of the bistros that are scattered across Montmartre, I had French onion soup in St. Germaine, and we ate a few times at our neighbourhood kebab shop, which was open until midnight. The kebab reminded me of döner, which I have craved ever since leaving Germany almost 4 years ago. The kebab man may have declared us family by the end of our stay. Another big thing we wanted to try was Ladurèe macarons. They are the original macaron, and, in my opinion, the best. My favorites were the salted caramel and the orange blossom, which tasted like springtime.

Sites:

We packed a lot into a few days. I hope I didn't rush the other girls TOO much, but I'm not one to sit around when there is a city to be explored!

Sacré Cœur was lovely, and only a 5 minute walk from our hostel. The stairs up to the top were intense, but well worth it. The first time we were there we entered the church and walked around it in a kind of cattle chute, elbow to elbow with thousands of other people. The last time, we went up early to watch the sunrise, and the interior was peaceful and nearly empty except for a few people praying. Basilicas are meant to be 24 hour places of prayer, so there were people there praying even at 6:30 a.m.

Notre-Dame Cathédrale: Walking out of the metro and seeing Notre-Dame right in front of my eyes may be my favorite moment from my time in Paris. We were there on Easter Sunday, and it was nothing short of breath-taking.

The River Seine: The river was lovely and the many bridges that crossed it each had their own unique design and character. I especially loved a wee park of an island we found as we walked along the banks. There were also many vendors who opened up their little shops alongside it.

The Louvre: We decided to skip this museum. I know, I know. But the queues were unending, and most people I've spoken to who've traveled in Paris tell me it simply wasn't worth it. Plus I'm not about to pay to see a room full of hands scrambling to get the best picture of Mona. I am a big fan of Impressionism, so there were two other museums I was more interested in seeing: Musée de l'Orangerie, and Musée d'Orsay. However, we did enjoy the Louvre's courtyards and the Tuilleries-the gardens that connect the Louvre to one of the other museums we went to.

Musée de l'Orangerie: The big draw here was "the water lilies room." The museum has 8 massive canvases from Monet's "Water Lilies" series, and they are beautifully displayed in two pristine sunlit oval rooms, just as Monet wanted them to be displayed. We started in the basement with the Paul Guillame collection, which included works by Monet, Manet, Cézzane, and Sisley. This collection should definitely not be overlooked when visiting the museum. But then we went upstairs, and I spent some time getting blissfully lost in Monet. 

Musée d'Orsay: We had a long queue here, but this museum, along with Musée de l'Orangerie, was free because it was the first Sunday of the month. Housed in a beautiful old train station, the architecture itself was enough to make the queue worth it. I especially loved the post-impressionist and neo-impressionist galleries, as well as the extensive impressionist gallery on the top floor. I've never seen so many Monets in my life. Okay, yes, I am a Monet fangirl, but I promise his name will not be mentioned again in this post.

The Eiffel Tower: We got off the Metro at Trocadéro where we had a beautiful view of the tower. The queue was already extensive even though we arrived before it opened. We walked up the stairs instead of taking the lift, though, so we queued for a much shorter time than the lazier people. The tower did not disappoint. I especially loved the first floor, where there are clear windows tilted inward that you can lean against and feel like you may fall forward at any moment. We had a beautiful sunny day for it too; the views were incredible. At nighttime we sat in Champ du Mars, the long park in front of the tower, and enjoyed the light show.

Avenue des Champs-Élysées: 

Coming out of the metro and seeing the Arc de Triomphe seperated from me only by a busy traffic circle was another surreal moment. We enjoyed walking down the avenue, especially because our time there ended with macarons and Café Viennois (coffee)!

Versailles: Versailles was a little bit disappointing, but only because of all the people inside the Chateau! The intricate design and endless gold filigree were still stunning.  The gardens were not quite at their prime, and some of the fountains weren't turned on yet, but we did find a nice pond with a fountain show set to classical music that was very nice. We spent nearly an hour sitting on the grass nearby, soaking up the sun and the music.

Shakespeare and Company Bookshop: I've wanted to go to this little bookshop (located just across the Seine from Notre Dame) for a long time. Somehow, in the excitement of being at Notre Dame, I completely forgot about the shop when we were there! I decided I needed to go back though, because I knew I would've regretted not going. The shop was quaint and just as I'd seen it pictured. The inside was crowded, but they still had some nice reading areas and a wee library upstairs. The black dog that's become a kind of mascot for the shop in recent years was running around inside, and the entire staff seemed to be British rather than French, which surprised me. I ended up breaking down and buying a really nice copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's "Flappers and Philosophers," which has the Shakespeare and Company stamp inside it and is now my most prized possession. A big part of why I wanted to go to Paris was to see what it was that drew in Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and more of my favorite authors, so it felt right to pick up one of their works while in the city. Hopefully I can draw new inspiration from it.

People:

The people were generally lovely. We'd heard so much about rude Parisians who hate tourists, but we had no experience with this. The people in the shops always tried their best to kindly explain things to us in English, even if they didn't speak it well. Maybe they moaned and groaned behind our backs, but as long as it stayed behind our backs I was fine with it. The elderly man at our hostel served us with a sweet "voilà!" every morning, and the kebab man loved us and ran out for hugs and high fives whenever we passed. One old lady rattled off a lot of brisk French when I asked her a question on the RER. I think she expected far too much of me, but I don't think she was trying to be rude.

That was our time in Paris, in a nutshell! We had fantastic weather, which was such a blessing. I did most of the planning for the trip, so I was nervous how everything would turn out, but the first leg of our journey was definitely a success.

I am currently sitting on a train bound for the wee city of Bruges, Belgium. We spent the last three nights in Brussels, where I ate mainly street food, and enjoyed some fantastic architecture and more clear blue skies–but more on that soon. We've been traveling with Eurail passes. We have a flexi-pass for the Benelux-France region, and so far have had no issues using it. I'm always nervous I'll wake up and we'll be in Frankfurt or Warsaw, which I might actually be fine with. But so far we've stayed on track. Keep us in your prayers!

Cheers, 

Carrie Wagler

Cymru am byth

A few weeks ago my Canadian friend Robin and I decided we wanted to spend a weekend in Wales. So, on March 5, we headed to the train station with only backpacks and our Wales Rover passes, which are similar to Eurail passes, but only to be used in north Wales. Some drama with our seats on our first train caused me to accidentally cause a man, who was thankfully quite good-natured, to spill his Coke on himself. After another encounter with some elderly people, a woman winked at us and assured us that, "Not all Brits are like that." I will not go into detail about the events that led up to her having to tell us this. By the time we got to Warrington Bank Quay, where we transferred onto Arriva Trains (the main Welsh train company), we were getting nervous, as our morning train ride had not gone as smoothly as it could have. However, the rest of our trip went more smoothly than we could have hoped.

The first thing that stuck out to me was the Welsh language. The places all have odd names, such as Blaenau Ffestiniog and Betws-y-Coed. "Wales" itself is "Cymru" in Welsh, and is pronounced kind of like "Come-ree," but with the last syllable accented differently. Of course I was pronouncing it "Sim-rue" the whole time we were there, though thankfully I do not think I ever said that to an actual Welsh person. All of the signs had their message first in Welsh, then in English, like this sign at our favorite castle: random double "l's" and double "f's," everywhere.

None of the names of places are pronounced even close to how they are spelled. We talked to a young Welsh guy and he told us that he knew Welsh somewhat but had not started really learning it until high school. At least he had the pronunciations down, though, unlike us.

We arrived in Llandudno Junction via Arriva Trains, the provider of our bus and train passes. We then walked through the town and crossed a bridge, and the Conwy Castle spread out impressively before us. Around this point we started to get very cocky and self-congratulatory about this epic adventure we had planned for ourselves. Conwy is a quaint town, but you can tell it used to be a fairly epic stronghold. The stone walls that once surrounded the city now wind through it, fallen completely into disrepair at some places, but standing tall and strong at others.

Our first destination was our hostel, which was at the very top of the hill the town was built on. By the time we had climbed to the top, our spirits had fallen somewhat. We dropped our bags and said we would be back before 10:00 in the evening (or 22:00) to check in. In hindsight, we probably should have asked for some type of security to make sure our bags would be there when we returned. They did not ask for any ID or give us any type of bag tags to give back to them when we returned to retrieve our bags. But at this point we were on a we're-about-to-explore-an-epic-castle high. The lady at the desk recommended a few places in Wales that we should go, so we decided to change our already shaky itinerary, cutting out one town and adding in one or two others.

First we explored the walls that ran down from our hostel and through the town to the castle.

Then we explored the castle itself.

The rest of the town was very quaint, but the stone fortress was always visible. Also, the tides in the bay seemed to be confused, or perhaps they just confused us. We also had tea in a tea shop run by several old ladies. It gave me a slightly creepy, "A Rose for Emily" vibe, but we escaped with our lives, and even tried some Welsh cakes, which are basically just flat, small scones.

This photo was not edited at all. Cut out the cars and I would think I had somehow found my way into a fairytale!

That night we put our Wales passes to use, walking back to Llandudno Junction and taking the train 15 minutes away to Llandudno. We were… a bit nervous in this town. It was dark, rather empty, many of the restaurants were closed, and every time we try to go into a pub together we end up in an "old man pub." But we managed to find a quasi-authentic American diner; they even had Heinz ketchup and French's mustard, as well as an Elvis tribute wall and red and white vinyl booths. They also had large statues of Alice in Wonderland characters throughout the town, for no apparent reason. *Clarification: I have since found out that Alice Liddell, the supposed inspiration for Lewis Carroll's stories.

The next day we went back to the train station with plans to take a train to Betws-y-Coed, or at least part of the way there. As it turned out, the train was not coming for a few more hours, so we took the bus, instead. Every time we showed bus drivers and train conductors our Wales Rover pass, we went out of our way to over-explain it, but they never seemed to care. Truthfully, if we had just had any little orange and white piece of paper, we could probably have made it through most of Wales for free.

We passed through beautiful Welsh countryside, including great slate mountains and fields dotted with sheep and so many tiny lambs. One of our goals was to pet a little lamb, but alas, it did not happen. Hopefully Scotland's lambing season will start soon. Hmm, I wonder if I could somehow sneak a lamb into my tiny flat… Anyway, we eventually arrived at the little hamlet of Betws-y-Coed. Nestled in between the River Conwy and its three western tributaries, this town reminded me of Star's Hollow, from Gilmore Girls. Unfortunately there were more bed and breakfasts and fancy vacation restaurants than diners, and while I did not run into Taylor Doose, I did see the town meeting minutes stapled in a glass case in the park, for all to read.

After Betws-y-Coed, we took the train, and then the bus, onward to Caernarfon, and then Beaumaris. It is only because of Robin (and her data) that I am not still in Wales to this day. She bravely planned out our journey, and got us from train to bus and back again. Sometimes this involved running from the train to an about-to-leave bus, other times it involved a helpful stranger a few seats over giving us advice. Luckily, as loud North Americans, everyone always knew our plans and knew when we needed help.

Later that day we saw some more castles. I never thought I would say that so nonchalantly. First we explored Caernarfon...

Next we saw Beaumaris Castle, which is known as the most technically beautiful castle in the UK, and has its very own moat.

All the castles we visited were built by Edward Longshanks in the late 13th and early 14th centuries. He built and rebuilt a string of castles across Wales, and we saw three of the "four great castles." They were all incredible, and massive, and made me wonder what type of man Edward was.

When we got off the bus at Beaumaris, I specifically asked the driver how often the bus back to Bangor comes, and he told us every 15 minutes. Well, that was a lie, so we waited in the wind and cold for over an hour until the bus finally came. A young Welsh guy was also waiting for the bus, and when we dropped him off at his stop, his next bus was just pulling away, so at least we did not have his luck.

We spent that night in Chester, England, at another hostel. This time we had a roommate which was a wee bit awkward. She spent a disconcerting amount of time sitting on her bed with no phone or book, watching me. But we made the most of it. The next morning, we hopped on a bus to our last destination, Llangollen. We originally put this town on our list because they were having a steam train festival, but when we arrived we decided to skip it, as we had already been riding trains, albeit not steam trains, all weekend, and it was more expensive than we hoped. Instead, we wandered around the town, which was a very nice little place with a river running through it, and fruit, vegetable, and flower markets spilling out onto the sidewalk.

A little old lady approached us in the street and asked if we were lost. We told her "No, we're just wandering around." She said we simply had to see the ceiling of their church, as it would be like nothing we had ever seen before. She then commanded us to go around the church to a building where they were serving free breakfast, and tell them that Pam said to tell Mike to open the church for us. We did, and not only did we get a free full English breakfast, complete with beans, tomatoes, and two kinds of meat, but we also got to see the exquisite, wood carved ceiling of the church.

We spent the afternoon taking a canal boat down the Llangollen Canal to the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. Collectively they are another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Honestly I'm not sure why I'm so excited about going to these UNESCO sites, but why not? Most of them we went to without even knowing what they were. We chilled on the boat with people a few years (or 30-50 years) older than us, and then embraced our youth by running down into a random farmer's field to get a closer view of the aqueduct we had just crossed via boat. There was also a viaduct in the distance.

All in all, Wales was much more spectacular than I thought it would be. When I first came to the United Kingdom, Wales was at the bottom of my list of places to travel to, but now, northern Wales is one of the first places I would recommend to people traveling in the UK, after the Scottish highlands of course. The Welsh motto, "Cymru am byth" means "Wales forever" or "Long live Wales." I could not agree more. I hope Wales lives on for a very long time; it will live on in my memory as long as I live.


Thanks for reading,

Carrie

In Which I Try to Make Weather and School Interesting Topics to Read About

It is raining in Scotland this week. This is fine... to be expected… I might even say it is a part of the reason I chose to come to Scotland. (I'm weird, okay. Leave melancholy people alone. Let us be. We like being sad, we like clouds, we like rain. Don't try to understand us.) Of course, this rainy week I'm in the mood to be outside, to drink up some sun, to be warm. Maybe it has something to do with my family at home continually flying off to tropical destinations. Maybe it has something to do with missing beautiful places like the Ayrshire Coast, which I visited a few weeks ago, and loved.

I mean, check out that blue sky meeting that even bluer ocean, and the rocky coast? Exactly what I imagined when I thought of Scotland. There were also some castle ruins…

And some sheep chilling on a lush green field…

And a dragon to protect the coast from future viking invasions…

So, that was my throwback to happier times, about two weeks ago, when it was sunny and there was water but it was not falling from the sky.

I've had a few people (my mom, mostly) ask me about what I'm actually doing here. You know, school? As it turns out I do not actually spend all of my time traveling and taking in pretty sights and Scottish culture. Sadly, most of my time is spent in class, and studying, and writing essays, or at least trying to find the motivation to go to class, and study, and write essays.

I have only three classes here, which is quite different from home, where I generally have 5 or even 6 classes in a semester. These classes will transfer back as more credits than my classes at home (or so they told me), and I even get an added bonus of not having to take the dreaded Perspectives course, since I suppose living in a foreign country is exposing me to enough new perspectives and different cultures and ways of thinking.

Two of my three classes are English classes, and they are somewhat similar to my English courses at home. I am in a Renaissance course, which is okay but most of the works we are looking at I have read before and did not find too enlightening the first time. There's only so many times I can read Ben Jonson or Andrew Marvell without wondering why I'm even bothering when the majority of the population (non English-majors) just reads Shakespeare and maybe Milton and calls it a day, when it comes to the Renaissance. One thing that is interesting about this course is seeing how differently my professor here analyzes works than my professors at home. I'm starting to think she may be making up her analysis on the fly and it may be 100% wrong, but hey, maybe she's just interpreting the works in a more... British way? (That was me being generous. Her interpretations are wrong in any culture.)

My other English course is called "Arthurian Legends From Monmouth To Monty Python." I actually really like this one. It is all about King Arthur's court, and how Camelot and the whole story has been seen and interpreted through the years. Scots, and Brits in general, seem to have much more of a connection to these stories, as at least some aspects of it are the history of their nation. Even the parts that are clearly myth they kind of claim as history. It's interesting because I received very little exposure to King Arthur in the past. I knew the basic characters (Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin, Guinevere, Mordred), and the basic plot, but that's about it. Everything I did know, I learned through books and movies I read and watched on my own, not in school.

We started out with a text from 1138, Geoffrey of Monmouth's The History of the Kings of Britain then moved on through a few other books, including one of my personal favorites, Tennyson, though we read his Idylls of the King, which was much different and a few hundred pages longer than "The Lady of Shallot," my favorite of his poems, which also happens to be set in Camelot.

Now we are moving on to versions of this story that were created in modern times. We just read Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court which was actually the most disturbing. Now, as my brothers will tell you, I am not Twain's biggest fan. We have an on-going argument about whether Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is the great American novel (it's not). But this was even a little far for Twain. It started out funny, but then part way through it took a dark turn and ended with (spoiler alert!) everyone dying. So that was fun. I'm still ruminating on this book, so in a day or two I may decide I loved it. Either way, we now get to watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail, so all will be right with the world again.

My final course is a History class, called "The 'Highland Problem?': Crown-Clan Relations In The 16th Century." To be honest, I am lost in this course, because I knew nothing about the highlands except what I learned from Braveheart and Brave, and apparently most of that was wrong. I spent the first few weeks of the course trying to figure out why "MacLeod" is pronounced "McCloud." I'm still confused about that. Even though I feel like I am playing catch up to the Scots when it comes to my knowledge of highland and lowland clan interaction, I am enjoying the course because the professor is brilliant. Also, the first day she told us while she'd be asking all the Scottish students if they did the readings, she'd be asking the study abroad students where we traveled over the weekend, so she's my kind of woman. (It should be noted that she was probably joking. It should also be noted that I took what she said at face value.)

There you have it; this is what I am doing in school. Also, I feel as if this is a good time to tell you that this entire post was merely me procrastinating and not starting my Arthurian Legends essay. I have three or four essays due before and during spring break, so I am trying to work ahead (clearly this is not going well), because come spring break, my best friend and my cousin are coming to see me. And, let me just say, I have never been so excited to see anyone! It is like home is coming to me, and oh how I miss home. In fact, I think my next blog post may be a Lancaster/America appreciation post, because none of you realize how good you have it (she says, from Scotland, where she dreamt of going for a very long time). I love it here-I really do, but I miss home none the less.

This weekend I am going to Wales with my Canadian friend, Robin. Wales was not one of the places I had on my "Must-See" list, but ever since we started researching it, I have realized how incredibly beautiful it is. I think they have the best castles in the UK, like this this one, and this one, or "the most technically perfect castle in Great Britain" and we are going to see them all, or at least the three I listed. Wish us luck. Neither of us have done a multi-day trip over here, so the trains and the hostels and all the planning it takes is all a little new to us, but either way, we will have fun, because WALES.

Cheers,

Carrie

Times Long Past

I wrote a blog a little while ago, about my first seven days in Scotland, and seven things I had learned over that time. Something did not feel right about that blog, so I put off posting it, telling myself it needed more editing. In the week since writing that post, I realized how much what I learned in the first week was wrong. Most of my first week of living in Glasgow was all me running around in circles, going out every night, going out every day, not studying, trying Haggis, trying blood pudding, going to museums, going to the cathedral. I forced pretty much every touristy thing there is to do here into my first week, and I have realized that in this second week I have been experiencing true Glasgow. The first week was touristing; the second week has simply been living. Yes, I will only be here for five months, and will not be anything close to a true Scot by the end of my time here, but for now, this beautiful country is home.

I have started to meet the real people of Scotland. I met a lady at a church I visited last Sunday who was from the Outer Hebrides, also known as the western isles (since then, I have met quite a few more people from the isles and the highlands). What struck me about her, is that while she is a citizen of the UK, and has lived in Glasgow for many years, she has this fierce loyalty to the place of her birth. First the Hebrides, then Scotland, and then, somewhere much further along the line, she is loyal to Britain, probably. It is a loyalty I do not have for Pennsylvania, where I make my home, or to Iowa, where I was born. While Americans do have a fierce and strong loyalty to their country, Scots have this divided loyalty that is equally strong. Where you are from says everything about you here. Lowlanders and highlanders are fiercely loyal to there place of origin. In fact, some of the lowlanders I have spoken to have no desire to even go to the highlands.

Last Friday night, I went to a Scottish Ceilidh, which is a traditional Scottish party, with dancing and music. I went not knowing much about ceilidhs, but when dancing the first dance, I realized most of the people there knew the steps like the back of their hand. Think Jane Austen meets western square dancing. When I talked to a couple from the outskirts of Glasgow they told me they could not remember a time when they could not dance those dances. I danced a few more times throughout the night (when I could find a Scottish partner who promised that he knew all the steps and would lead me), but I spent a lot of time on the sidelines, watching. (Yes, I was the Nick Carraway of this party. No I can never pass up a Gatsby reference.)

It is a conflicting feeling, to be asked to be a part of such an old tradition. It is both exhilarating and intimidating. No matter how many ceilidhs I go to, I will never know the steps the way many of those young people did. One of the things that sticks out to me about Scotland is that while in many ways their culture is very similar to American culture, they have a much older history. America has people from everywhere in the world, and most of us have our own cultures that are derived from the places our ancestors came from, but it's not the same as this Scottish heritage. Many of them are a part of clans who still have chiefs and special tartans. In fact, some of the boys at the ceilidh were wearing kilts, which fascinated me, as I do not know many boys at home who would be secure enough in their manhood to wear what is, in essence, a plaid skirt. But the men here do not look feminine when wearing kilts. They are upholding a proud tradition, and there is no shame to be found in that.

My favorite part of the ceilidh was the end, after the last dance. We all stood in a circle, held hands, and sang "Auld Lang Syne" together. If I felt like an outsider before, that all faded away in that moment. As a fervent advocate of singing in the New Year with "Auld Lang Syne," (no Americans ever want to help me) this was probably my favorite moment of my time here thus far. Holding the hands of strangers, I felt oddly close to them. But I could not help but think of my family and friends across the pond as I sang the words Robert Burns' penned so many years ago.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

"For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne."

I can never listen to or sing this song without a feeling of nostalgia rising up inside of me. When I was looking into the history and the importance of the song, I came upon this quote, which pretty well captured my feelings about this song. "'Auld Lang Syne' is one of Scotland's gifts to the world, recalling the love and kindness of days gone by, but in the communion of taking our neighbours' hands, it also gives us a sense of belonging and fellowship to take into the future." (http://www.scotland.org/features/the-history-and-words-of-auld-lang-syne/)

That is what I am learning here. I am befriending many more people than I do at home, and making all kinds of memories. And, just like I am not forgetting home, I know I will not forget these moments. In a few years I will probably be sitting at a kitchen table not so unlike the one I am sitting at now, with a cup of coffee, reminiscing about my time in Scotland. The thing I know I will remember the most is the relationships and friendships I built here. "Auld Lang Syne" means "times long past" but it encapsulates the feeling of every stage of this life I am living, and the way each stage is wound together, making me the person I am and the person I will be in 5, 10, 25 years.

It's hard to believe I have been here for two and a half weeks! The first week was so jam-packed it felt like a month, but now things have slowed down and I am getting into a consistent rhythm. Scottish life is becoming everyday life, but yes, sometimes I still have to take a minute to stop and marvel at the fact that I am really here. I have this conflicting feeling of wanting these five months to be over quickly so I can go home, back to the familiar, but also wanting them to slow down.

On a different topic, does anyone have any tips on growing herbs? I bought a basil plant, and it promptly decided to wilt into a sad little green pile. I think I have mostly saved it, with a lot of watering and sunlight, but it still wilts at times. Speaking of sunlight, it has not rained in over two weeks. I was led to believe it would rain nearly every day! I like the sun as much as the next person, but my melancholy side wants the rain it was promised.

From now on, I'm going to try to post a blog every Sunday. This may or may not happen, but I need some kind of motivation.

Cheers, 

Carrie

Wander

"You should start a blog."

It's a phrase I have heard often, usually at times when I suspect I have rambled on for a bit too long about something the person I am talking to could not possibly care less about. Blogging has always seemed lame and presumptuous to me. Why do bloggers think anyone cares about their ideas on the latest political scandal or what they've been making for breakfast? On top of that, I have always had an apprehensive attitude about blogging, because it involves putting my thoughts out there for friends and family (and everyone else in the world) to see. Even though I am an English major, and have dreamt of being a writer for as long as I can remember, the idea of letting other people actually read my writing has always intimidated me. But hey, that's probably a fear I should get over sometime, so I may as well start a blog.

Blog. What a weird word. I wonder if I even want to have a blog. Maybe I'll go by the old fashioned term: "Weblog." There, that's better.

The more pressing reason I am starting a blog that I may or may not update regularly? I am moving to Scotland for 5 months. I'm excited, because this is something I have wanted for such a long time, and now it is finally happening. I was so nervous in the first stages, when I was applying, and then hoping my application was solid, and then waiting for the acceptance, and then waiting to hear back about this application and that application and this application and that application that had to be verified by my university and the university in Glasgow ( I filled out a LOT of applications, for a LOT of different things). I was truly worrying, for the first time in my life. I have always had a very carefree attitude about almost everything, but suddenly, I was worrying about everything. And, despite my worry, everything worked out. Again and again, I felt God's hand was so evident in every step of the process. Now, the airplane tickets are booked, I may not have started packing yet, but I have a pretty solid list of stuff I need to pack, and I leave for Glasgow in just 4 days.

Wander has been on my mind lately. The concept of wandering. To me it brings about an ache in my gut, a desire to jump on the next train, not caring where it takes me, or how long it'll be until I'm home again, or how much money I have stuffed in my back pocket. Webster's Dictionary defines "wander" as "to move around or go to different places usually without having a particular purpose or direction." To me, that is both terrifying and invigorating.  The thing is, I have a path, in life. It's just not particularly clear yet, but I know the more I search for it and the more I ask God to make my path clear, the more defined it will become. For now, I don't think there is any shame or anything wrong, in simply wandering wherever I may, enjoying life, and taking in as many different cultures and meeting as many different people and going to as many different places as I can.

Ok, time to stop avoiding the pile of clothes in the corner and actually kind of start packing. But anyway, for pictures, stories, and more (okay, probably not more), you can check in here.

Carrie