C is for Cheers

 So I left Edinburgh this last Saturday, and it seems unreal. I miss it already but I’m glad to be home. It’s a very weird sensation. 

Those who know I’ve been abroad will inevitably ask, “Oh, how was Scotland?” and I really appreciate that they ask because they want to know but it’s hard to respond with anything but “oh it was great I really loved it”, so here's the longer answer:

I think overall it was not what I expected, but I liked what it ended up being. I thought I would be drowning in a sea of thick Scottish accents, but I ended up making friends with people from all over the globe. I know so much more about cultures I had never given much thought to and value my own American culture (which exists, also contrary to what I previously thought). I thought the best benefit of being over the legal drinking age is that it would get me into venues, but instead it gave me the joy of enjoying interesting conversations over the oldest and greatest of conversational tools. I thought I would meet the Scottish man of my dreams and ride off into the British sunset but instead I made true friends I think I’ll have for the rest of my life.

If I boil it down to one thought, it’s that Scotland treated me so well. I took classes on things I wanted to learn about but never had time to study on my own. I lived in the middle of an amazing city. I have friends from all over the world who begged me to visit them in these amazing places, and to them I say, you know San Francisco is a place you’ve always wanted to go. :)

Edinburgh, thanks for taking care of me, and I promise I’ll be back. 

Cheers!

I is for Incroyable (fr., adj.)

Ex. France: C’est incroyable!

(Not Scottish I know but thematically appropriate and it's just such a good word)

Due to other Facebook activity and no subtlety at all, you probably already know I went to France. Voila! Announcement over.

I went because I have friends there and it would be cheaper to travel from Scotland to France than the opposite side of America to France, but mostly because it’s something I would probably not do otherwise and possibly the most adventuresome thing I’ve done maybe ever.

You might be (/are) thinking, “Lauren, people go to France all the time. There’s literally nothing to be afraid of.” And you would be right. This trip was a big deal literally only because language barriers freak me out. Because I’ve only lived and traveled to places where there is no need for me to speak anything other than my native language (apart from Mexico, but I spoke enough Spanish at the time), going to a place where I wouldn’t be able to understand anyone was daunting. How do you order food? How do you ask for directions? I knew how to say “bonjour” and “merci” and that was about it. If someone had offered me this trip even six months ago, I would not have gone. That’s how frightened I was of it.

However, what influenced me otherwise is the European/British perspective of travel. In an hour’s plane ride from London, you can arrive in one of about five different countries who all speak different languages and have different cultures. In the same distance in America, I can land on the other side of my own state. Just the accessibility to other cultures alone makes the people who grew up here way more chill about traveling to crazy new places. Also, a lot of American exchange students were also traveling everywhere. This somewhat diminished my fears about how hard a trip to France could be.

The trip began with Paris for the weekend, where we only had time to see the most touristy places (the Eiffel Tower, the Lourve, the Arc d’Triomphe, etc.) which was fine with us. Neither of us had been to France before, so we were equally excited about these sights. All these places were awesome and totally worth the hype. We went on a walking tour on Saturday, and then that night we met Lizzie (hi Lizzie!), who as some of you know is an SAI bro who moved there just four months ago. It was amazing and surreal to catch up with her and ask her what living in Paris is like, while we ate Parisian crepes on our way to the Notre Dame. I felt so blessed.

After about a day and a half in Paris (which is something I really do not recommend because Paris deserves more of your time), we took an eight-hour train ride from Paris to Toulouse, where we were to meet another friend of mine (hey Clément!), and after 24 hours, we would take another train to Marseilles. I thought going into the trip that if I was going to see a country I had never been to before, I couldn’t just go to the biggest city – I had to see smaller cities that were more representative of what France and French people were like. I thought, surely not all French people are like Parisians, and not all French cities are – or even can be – like Paris. Well, it was certainly true. For one, they were much, much harder to navigate. The major streets are as skinny as the minor ones, and there is no perceptible organization to them, which is just how it is with older cities. It really made me miss American grid cities. There was a sort of rhythm to our trip – get into the city, follow the carefully mapped out directions to our hostel, drop off our stuff, and then wander around/get lost. Which was fine, unless we had somewhere to be, in which case it was immensely frustrating.  But as we got to know both southern cities, they grew on us. Both of them were equally gorgeous and charming, with amazing cafes on every block and a Christmas market in each.

The whole trip, for me, was a mixture of absolutely being in love with the food and the architecture and being frustrated/embarrassed at not being able to speak French. Those were the only things on my mind the whole time. We would see the sights and be amazed by how every angle of each city was beautiful, but as soon as a meal rolled around, I would be anxious about the nearing interaction we would have to have – how long will I be able to fake knowing French? At what point in the conversation (more like “conversation”) will they know I’ve tried but I really can’t speak their language? When would I have to ask them if they could say what they were saying in English? Are they going to hate me and visibly look exasperated or are they going to take pity on me and be nice because I tried? The entire time I just wished at any point in my life I had chosen French over whatever language I ended up choosing.

The upshot of it was, these interactions, which were the worst parts of our day, were quickly followed by the best parts of our day, which was eating French food. Both my travel partner Jen (hi Jen!) and I really, really appreciate good food. Every meal I would have that moment where you take the first bite and you are sent to another place. Even if we stepped into a café that looked like it was pretty mediocre, the pastries were always incredible.

On the whole, it was amazing. I wouldn’t trade the trip for anything. And the language barrier proved to not be a huge issue. You can communicate surprisingly well without language. As I mentioned in the beginning of this blog, if you want something just beyond the border of your comfort zone, that’s a dumb reason not to go for it. I was really ready to go back to an English-speaking country at the end of the trip, but I got to eat nutella crepes and walk around inside the Notre Dame (not at the same time… they’re pretty strict about that sort of thing). I went to somewhere I had never been and wanted to go. Amazing. 

H is for Happy Days

Ex: Wow, that’s a lot of essays. But no exams? Oh nice, happy days.

Here’s a list of things I’ve done since we last chatted: 

1) Thanksgiving – had roast/Thanksgiving dinner for a fine fusion of cultures, like ya do.

2) Went to Oxford to meet up with the Khouri family (hi guys!) for Thanksgiving weekend. It was terrific and magical and yes of course we went to the Inklings’ pub.

3) Took a tourist day in Edinburgh, because I hadn't yet.

4) Sang in two carol services which were both delightful and a great reconnection with choir music.

5) Wore both of my garishly Christmas garments. Happy Christmas Season!

My “I’ve been busy” excuse is that I’ve finished two essays recently and have two more to write in the next four days, as well as clean up and write about a huge project due for another class. It’ll get done. End of excuse.

I worked out that I have less than a week’s worth of days left here in Edinburgh, though I am trying not to think about it. I know I’ve written a lot about being homesick or that the UK isn’t what I expected or whatever, but as timing would have it, now I don’t want to leave.

I haven’t talked a lot about people here on this blog because I’ve felt it’s been too personal to post on the internet, but the editor cleared it so here we go.

The place I’ve felt most embodies my experience at Edinburgh for me is my church. I’ve been attending it since my first Sunday here (for whatever weekends I’m actually here, which have been, admittedly, very few) and have also been a part of one of their small groups/the best small group (holla). The church is filled with the most genuine and wonderful people, and whenever I’m around them, my heart is full.

I’ve been a Christian for a very long time, and have always thrown myself into whatever Christian community I can, and that’s because, for me, community was the way I best connected with God – through the ways I saw him in other people. Honestly, I’ve never been a part of a community that so resembles how wonderful God is. From the first Sunday, as soon as they knew my name it was like I wasn’t just some new person they were trying to rope in, I was like I was already a part of the church. They knew I might still be looking for a church, but it didn’t matter. They welcomed me in and have been just as welcoming ever since. Real talk – last semester was really rough, spiritually, for a lot of reasons, and I came to Scotland in a state where I was questioning the reasons why I was a Christian and if wanted to continue fully committing myself to it. Through these people, I’ve been reminded why I do this. They are kind and compassionate and, most notably, they really meet God in their worship. It shook the way I viewed my interactions with God, and as a result, my life has been changed in big ways. I have been so incredibly blessed by this church and the friends I've found there, and I’ve learned so much about God and about myself. I’ve basically only been hanging out with them in the last couple of weeks, and it’s been great. They are the reason the thought of leaving is accompanied by this crazy crippling sadness. Well not quite, but I haven’t thought about it enough to analyze the feeling. Until then I’ll just enjoy the time I have left. :) 

Also, I realize I set out to make this blog about my adventures to fun places and it’s kinda turned into this weird introspective journey instead, so sorry about that. BUT I’m making it up to you all: adventure is coming. I promise. All I can tell you is that I’m going to a place where the only thing I know how to say in the national language is “Je ne parle pas francais. Parlez-vous anglais?”

…ADVENTURE!

M is for Mawiage

Ex. Mawiage is what bwings us togeva today.

I feel weird blogging about it because it wasn’t about me or my experiences. It isn’t even about my adventures abroad or new places I’ve been. To be fair, I hadn’t actually been to Michigan proper before this last weekend, but I don't think it goes under the category of "adventures abroad".

Anywho, my brother got married a couple weekends ago to a fantastic lady and yes, I went back to America for it. I feel like every time I told people my plans for the weekend, the conversation went:

“Yeah, my brother’s getting married, so I’m going to Michigan for the weekend.”

“Michigan… like in the States?”

“…Yes.”

“Wait, so you’re going back to the States.”

“Yes.”

“For the weekend.”

“Yes.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yep.”

To be fair, it was crazy, but if you think about it, there’s no way I wouldn’t go back. My brother is one of my favorite people, and this was the best day of his life. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And, to be honest, I was really looking forward to spending some time in the States and seeing my family. Since I wouldn’t be home for Thanksgiving, a wedding was a pretty good family-time substitute.

The wedding itself was magical. It was so beautiful and I may have cried a few times. I still get warm fuzzies when I think about it. Words cannot express how happy I am about them finally being married.

But let’s remember that this blog is about ME. I mean, really. Let’s get back to what’s important.

As you can imagine, culturally, it was surreal. As soon as I arrived at Chicago O’Hare, I became acutely aware of the cultural differences between the UK and the Midwest. My mom’s family is all from the Midwest, so I already kind of knew where I was going, culturally, but it was still pretty different to where I've been for the past three months. Also, my family is from Indiana, where they kind of have a little drawl, but once you get to Michigan/Minnesota/Ohio area, there’s a LEGIT accent. I keep telling people here that Americans don’t have regional accents – to everyone I’ve said that to, I was very wrong. I lied to you and I am sorry.

The main thing I noticed was that I felt a general sense of interpersonal disconnect, much like how I felt for the first few weeks here. When customer service people in the Chicago airport wanted to make conversation to be friendly, I felt uncomfortable and would share very little about myself because strangers in the UK don’t make conversation, and I’ve gotten really used to saying the absolute minimum to new people. Just in my interactions with anyone, it was hard to adjust back to where I was three months ago. After some awkward conversations (the awkwardness being my fault), I would walk away thinking “What is wrong with me? Why was that so hard?” It helped that Midwest culture is extra friendly and inviting. It didn’t take me long to adjust, but I needed more time to do that than I thought I would.

By the time I had to go back, I was finally in completely familiar territory. I was hesitant to put myself back in a place where I don’t entirely belong, but to my surprise, when I got back, I felt the sense of relief you feel when you return to the comforts of home.

Probably because I hadn’t slept well in 40 hours and there was a warm bed and lectures I could skip. Who knows.

M is for Mad (adj)

Ex: It's mad that I'm already thinking about how soon it is till I go home.

I would apologize for not posting for a while, but really nothing exciting has happened. To catch you up, I spent a weekend in Edinburgh, which was super nice to get some quality work done on my essays (“quality” meaning “some/any”). It was also nice to be at church since I hadn’t been in a few weeks. Then last weekend I went to London to visit some friends, which was really fun but not life-changing/blog-worthy. Also one of the problems with living in Edinburgh is that they try to keep their slang to a minimum in case someone makes fun of them for it so it’s really hard to come up with new slang for every blog post title and I’m embarrassed by lame titles like this one.

So anyway, as my flatmate Marie points out to me almost on the daily (Hey Marie!), we only have two and half weeks of lectures left, followed by a week of revision/studying/writing essays, followed by two weeks of exams, after which I will be going home.

At this point, it feels like everything I’m doing is tainted with the knowledge that I’m leaving. Like I just started going to the weekly swing dancing venue in Edinburgh and all I could think while I was there was that I would only be there for like a month and is it even worth it to get to know people there? I only have two weekends left where I’ll actually be in Edinburgh, so only two more times that I’ll see everyone at my church. Only a couple more times I can go to pubs with my friends when we know we’re all free.

I really like Edinburgh and I feel like I’m finally adjusted to living here. I have friends and a routine and I know to get around the city. Switching on outlets before using them has become automatic, I look the right way when crossing the street, and I’m used to everyone having British accents. And I’ve FINALLY learned how to respond to “Alright?” (don’t laugh it was a huge step for me). I’ve learned about the little things that make Edinburgh what it is, and I love so many little things about it.

At the same time, I really miss home and Puget Sound. I miss the music building and I miss Denny’s and I miss going to a small school and I really miss my friends. Just registering for classes and having friends in every single one made me excited about being back.

I started the semester excited about living in the UK for a period of time to try it out, and I think I’ve lived here long enough to get a feel for what it’s like, and if I’m honest, I had a really romanticized view of British life. Now that I’ve lived here for a little bit, it’s become a complex place with problems and awesome aspects and real people. It’s really cool, but as I think about where I want to work even next summer, as far as exciting opportunities go, I see America and the UK on the same level. Which is something I never thought I’d say.

What it boils down to though, is that it’s the people that are drawing me in different directions. I’ve met amazing, amazing people in Scotland, and I feel like I don’t have enough time to really get to know them. On the other hand, the time difference makes it really rough skype friends at home, and I miss being surrounded by people I already know and love.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I hate having friends. Seriously why you gotta make life so hard you all suck

The upside is that I actually do have a solid month left, which is more time than I think it is. As long as I remember it is too early to be thinking such sad things and ignore my inevitable return to the states, I should have a grand month. 

Tune in next time when I talk about being in Michigan for a weekend because of GORDON’S WEDDING (I KNOWWWW)