Hello all!

I just wanted to say (even though this is a wee bit late in the process) thank you for keeping up with my adventures! Even further, I wanted to thank you for all of your lovely comments. I would have responded to them long ago, except, technological maverick that I am not, I can't figure out how to (I need my tech whiz of a brother). But I do read every one of them. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you take the time to keep up with me and encourage me, and I cherish your thoughts more than Santa cherishes a plate of homemade cookies. So, thank you!

My semester in London has ended. Fortunately, I'll be returning there in two weeks with my aunt, so I needn't write the tearful, nostalgic post yet. Instead, I think I'll talk about my first experience in Italy!

Going to Italy has been a dream of mine for ages! So after missed buses, delayed flights, and airport mix-ups, I was especially happy to make it to the Venice airport and be picked up by the angel who is Jessica's great aunt. She was gracious enough to open her home to us, and my word, she is the most hospitable woman.

We spent our first day in Italy getting to know her town of Polcenigo.
Polcenigo is small and restful, nestled in the foothills of mountains an hour west of Venice--and my word, is it enchanting. There is a mix of old and new--brightly painted buildings with gracefully peeling shutters; elderly people conversing as children ride their bikes up and down the same stretch of road. All stages of life are happening here, all enveloped in an easiness of transition--everyone just flows like the fresh, vital river that runs through Polcenigo's center.
It was an absolute pleasure to discovering this about Polcinego from different angles--whether we were turning down random streets, sunbathing in the Italian heat, or chasing melting gelato down its cone.
Walking easily, smiling easily, breathing easily--Polcenigo is beautiful and tranquil and just what we needed (after waking up at 4 a.m. and waiting half an hour in the English rain after watching our bus drive past us. Yes. Sun and rest were very nice indeed).

We did, however, experience a bit more hustle and bustle as we found our way into the city of Venice. Talk about a dream.
From the moment we stepped out of the train station, I could hardly believe my eyes. The grand buildings sloping off into the canals, gondoliers weaving their ways through water traffic, window boxes bursting with flowers, Venice looked like everything I had expected it to be. While walking through the city, I often found myself looking down to check the ground was still beneath my feet, that I  was the one walking through this history, not just some character that I was watching in a film. It's unlike any city that I've ever been to.
I expected the hustle and bustle that I've come to associate with any city, but Venice was a different speed. While there was more of an urgency and a crush of people on the banks of the Grand Canal, as we wove further back into the maze of streets, the noise faded, and there was more space in your head to stare dumbly at the ubiquitous beauty of graceful decay.
There were times walking through there, where it seemed as if you're in a different world completely. You're walking through a tunnel of buildings--a forest of apartments rising up high on either side of you, the echo of your footsteps dissolving into the playfully painted walls--and then suddenly you'll emerge into the fresh air of a piazza, with perhaps a café, or children playing soccer. Venice is a city of stone, but there is life that resonates within it. I will be back there in a couple of days to explore with my beloved aunt, and look forward to it very much!

We're settling in for the evening, now. There's an Italian thunderstorm raging outside at the moment, so we're going to wrap ourselves in blankets on the couch, eat homemade soup, and watch Under the Tuscan Sun. I am a very happy girl. And a very thankful one.

P.S. Thank you to the woman who has made all of this adventure possible by birthing me! And thank you to God for giving both of us life! Happy Mother's Day, Lisa McGaha!

Right now it's dark (because it's one in the morning),  but let me take you back to a time when the sun shone unabashedly and dreams came true. The time? A  Saturday afternoon. The dream? Football!
I knew I wanted to go to a match while I was here, but it was my classmate, Rachel, who found the cheap tickets for a home match.
The whole weekend had gorgeous weather, and this day was no exception. A group of us ventured out to find Loftus Road Stadium, got off at the closest Tube stop, and then subtly followed the people in blue jerseys.

All that stalking had us work up an appetite, so we searched out some food. We were hungry and had a couple options from a pub to a
food cart, but eventually we settled for fish and chips...okay for the chips. It was satisfying pregame fare. I never got to go to the University of Alabama, and so I've yet to experience tailgating (one of my bigger regrets in life), but any pre-game ritual that involves cheap fries and foreign ketchup-that-doesn't-taste-like-ketchup, that's fine with me!

Soon enough, it was time for the match! Our excitement was building as we made our way into the stadium. The  dark, compact space of the tunnel muffled the buzz of the outside world. And then we emerged from the and there was the green pitch stretching out before us, the stadium seats around it slowly filling.
Was great to be in the midst of the excitement, surrounded by people passionate about the team. Was a good game, the QPRs keeping the opposing team on its toes, but still beating them 3-0. Even though our seats were by the corner of the pitch, I still felt like I was in the middle of it all, I guess that's the case when you're surrounded by dedicated fans. You rose on the swell of their excitement--especially that of the gentlemen behind us.! I even learned some new vocabulary from them! Oddly enough, most of it rhymed with "duck".

The man behind us was hardcore fan--he had the QPR logo tattooed on his arm and  knew the name of every player. He was able to give quite a good commentary! I felt well acquainted with QPR by the time I left. Funnily enough,  I met some of their junior players a couple weeks later on a bus back from Cardiff. Small world!

I had missed going to games. Cheering for the players as they stepped onto the green, following the insane progress of the ball up and down the field, unwittingly holding my breath as the ball nears the goal, shouting entirely too indignantly when the ref seems to have made a bad call, shooting out of my seat as one with the crowd when the ball goes in! It's an experience.

The man behind us was hardcore fan--he had the QPR logo tattooed on his arm  knew the name of every player. He was able to give quite a good commentary! I felt well acquainted with QPR by the time I left. Funnily enough, I met some of their junior players a couple weeks later on a bus back from Cardiff. Small world!

Oh man, but the day was a blast! It was just one of those days where you're with your friends, the warm weather wraps you in a hug,  you're united with strangers in excitement, and you discover something new. I will always look fondly on my day with the Queens Park Rangers!

Well, heh heh, it would seem that about a month has passed since I've adventured around the British Isles for spring break. Time really does get away. I'll bet by now you all think that I've made the whole thing up! Not the case at all. If you're still interested, please have a look at what I got up to over spring break. I'm excited to share!

Oh Scotland!

This country was, hands down, my favorite part of break. Maybe it was the scenery that reminded me of home, maybe it was the music that I felt in my bones, maybe it was the haggis; whatever it was, Scotland resonated with me (it was probably the haggis, now that I'm thinking about it).

The adventure started right away, from nearly missing our train to spending four hours quasi-sleeping in the Gatwick airport, we were making memories all over the place. And then fellow classmate Tabitha and I were off to start our tri-city Scottish trip of Aberdeen, Inverness, and Glasgow. I had no idea what to expect from any of the cities, and looking back, I realize how we saw a different side of Scotland in each of them.

Aberdeen was our first stop. Oh man, I still remember the air as we got off the plane: so clean and cold--just the way I like it! We took a bus to our hostel and got to see a bit of the Scottish countryside. The sunlight was that cold, bluish quality that makes you feel like you're on top of the world. It was about the freshest start you could imagine!
Since our hostel ended up being a bit out of the city centre, we spent most of our time in  Aberdeen walking from point to point. But what a great way to see the city! 
 You can tell we were really excited to be there because we took a picture of a stump our first day out. An impressively large stump. But still.

We didn't have any main things to do in Aberdeen, so we just let our feet
take us wherever. Honestly, things started to blur together  after awhile.
They don't call Aberdeen the "Granite City" for nothing. There's, ahm...a lot of granite. Gets a bit aesthetically stale after awhile. But something that
was fun to look at was the Maritime Museum! We learned about the
importance of the sea to the identity and development of Aberdeen. I even learned a little somethin' somethin' about oil rigs! Big, scary metal beasts in the middle of the ocean. Props to all the workers who live on those (especially when Iron Man has his final showdown there). It's quite an intimidating position. And, from looking at the detailed diorama/educational chandelier of the museum lobby, I remembered that as big as we build things, nature is bigger. Which may not be an
incredible revelation, but it's good to remember that we're small. 

    One sunrise later we
were off to Inverness, but I don't want to talk about that just yet. Fast-forward a bit and we'll find ourselves in Scotland's largest city--Glasgow!
    We also spent only a short time here, and most of it was void of daylight. But it was still good to experience.  We walked down the main shopping quarter,  saw some sweet street art, and almost went to a comedy show. But all of this is besides the point because in Glasgow, we had HAGGIS! Woo! The wild side! It was pretty good. I could never quite reconcile with the texture, but on the whole, it was more than palatable. That also may have had something to do with the fact that it was served with mashed potatoes and smothered in whisky sauce, but that is neither here nor there.

    It  was a chill time in Glasgow. And one brief day
after our arrival, we were on a plane to Belfast, Northern Ireland.
And although I was excited to finally make it to the Emerald Isles,
there was one Scottish place still resonating in my heart: Inverness.

Ah, Inverness. I'm probably going to move there. It was the second of our three stops, and just like a sandwich, the middle was the best part!   I can truly say that my heart is left in the Highlands (insert mental picture of me standing on a cliff, hair blowing in the wind and wistful flute music coming from nowhere. Did you picture it? Good.).
    Our time in Inverness  was just full of unexpected happiness. We arrived and found out that our hostel was 1. In the middle of nowhere and 2. Kiiiiind of sketch. So we wandered and (hysterically) laughed our way back towards the city centre and ended up finding THE BEST hostel in existence. It was disconcerting during that first bit, not knowing where we were going to sleep that night, but it all turned out. We got to walk around for nearly an hour in the Scottish rain, and see trees and brooks and smell wet Scottish dirt. It's what I didn't even know I wanted. And then we got to the homiest hostel I've ever been in, run by a kind Canadian man in a forest green sweater. I don't think I can describe the place Bazpacker
hostel made in my heart. But at first I was a little skeptical. I mean,
"Bazpacker"? This was apparently established by the same people who bring us Cheez Whiz. But it was wonderful. More than just a place to sleep, the hostel was a place that we could settle into, be refreshed in. We shared our space with Frenchmen, we drank of free tea by the wood stove, we learned how to make rice!

A reason I loved Inverness so much was because the weather was spastic, just like Washington! We took a walk before we left for Loch Ness, and
I'm pretty sure that we experienced all four of the Scottish seasons within those 45 minutes. Rain, sun, snow, hail...we got it all. And it was wonderful.  But at least I know that Scotland is beautiful no matter what's falling out of the stratosphere. Funnily enough, the weather cleared up for the afternoon as we headed out to Loch Ness. That was quite the experience. Tabitha and I kind of giggled when the bus pulled up to the Loch, though. I mean, it was certainly beautiful...but it kind of resembled Washington an awful lot. We flew halfway across the world to end up in Washington with an accent. Ahaha.

That Pacific Northwest...I just can't quit it. I was thankful to see echoes of home from across the world. After we were dropped off at the Loch, we took a boat ride across it and then walked around the ruins of Urqhart Castle. That  was cool, to step into history, and imagine all the kilts that had walked there before me. Good day.

We spent the rest of our time in Inverness walking around the streets, finding music at night and thrift stores and food co-ops by day. I don't know how, but Inverness seemed large and small at the same time, like you were familiar with the area but that there was always another corner to turn. Two days later, as we waved goodbye to Ian the Quiet Canadian and fast-walked to the train station, it was with a heavy heart. I loved about Inverness. I loved how almost everything was closed and quiet on Sundays, I loved how earnest the musicians were as they shared their music, I loved how I could always feel the life of the river coursing through the city even when I couldn't see it. I loved speaking bad French and learning how to make rice and playing guitar to Scottish rooftops at Bazpackers! As the train moved further away from Inverness and closer to Glasgow, Tabitha and I shared a knowing look and a wonderfully sad smile. Inverness was so much more than expected, so much better than we knew to expect. We found a very special place. And there was so much to still look forward to, even if it was tempting to keep looking back to Inverness.  Just a month later, details of Aberdeen and Glasgow and Inverness are starting to fade. But however long it lives on, what a beautiful experience. What a beautiful Scottish Dream.

If you've known me for a longish length of time, it's probably not unknown to you that I appreciate the theatrical arts very much. That is one of the reasons that I'm so grateful that AHA weaves so much theatre into the curriculum. Thanks to them I've experienced opera, fringe, and Shakespeare on numerous occasions.

And of course, when it comes to theatre in London, the options are endless! Just go to the West End, spin around, and pick one! At least that's what I'd do if I had saved money before I came instead of blowing it on my weekly NPCC tea habit. But happily, this weekend my roommate and were able to find some sweet entertainment deals, and while the seats were cheap, the experiences most certainly were not!

On Friday a group of us gathered our hopeful hearts and entered the Queen's Theatre box office to see if we could nab any reasonably priced tickets for Les Miserables. Five minutes later we left with those blessed slips of paper burning a hole in our pockets. And they were only £12.50! True, they were standing tickets, and we were all the way at the back of the balcony,  but we could still see just fine! I was really thankful to be able to go and see this show again. The show itself was fantastic, of course. The strength of the ensemble, the colors, the Thenardiers, the mercy, Les Mis definitely played my heartstrings like Keri Russell's character in August Rush played the cello. But something that was particularly cool for me was how seeing the show showed me something about my own life. I went and saw this show three years ago with family friends when I came to London with them. Getting it organized seemed so adult and complicated to me at the time, but this weekend I discovered that I was capable of doing it all myself! It was a nice feeling. So yes. It was a very good experience!

I guess that Megan and I caught the theatre bug because at 6:30 the next morning we were up to queue for £5 tickets to Matilda. It was a long and cold two hours, but with good company and good croissants it was more than bearable. And we got the tickets!

Truthfully, I didn't expect too much from the show. I thought that it would be a mild adaptation of a beloved childhood tale. And really, how could you reproduce the magic of the detestable perfection that is the Trunchbull, among other things?

But I was happily mistaken! Matilda was so good! And mild it was not. There  was a grit to this performance, kind of an eerie sharpness to it. But at the same time, it was altogether heartwarming and delightful. The entire cast was supremely talented--especially those kids. People were busting a move left and right!  By curtain call I was jumping out of my seat clapping, hooting, wanting to cry from my surprised delight. The production of Matilda was good for the soul.

And that's what added to my excitement. I spoke of
it a bit in my post about "Once", but I am truly inspired to start pursuing
theatre. The people of these shows get to work their booties off for
months, perform their hearts out on stage, touch people in the
audience who come from all over the world, and then do it again for the evening show! What a life. I am thankful to see the possibilities again! Who knows where they'll lead?

Also, as a side note, speaking of theatre, this is me at the Globe! Our Shakespeare class fittingly got to take a tour of it and then do a theatre workshop. So far we've seen a couple of Shakespeare plays in other locations. But come May, we will be groundlings for the season opener, Titus Andronicus. Oh my good golly gosh. Feel free to look up the plot summary if you'd like, I'll not spoil it for you. Sufice it to say that this one's going to be a bumpy ride. Apparently the Globe staff take bets on how many audience members faint. Can't wait to tell you about it! If I haven't blocked out the memories, that is.

As I've said before, I am so glad to be able to experience theatre in a deeper way than ever before. Hopefully this the start of something more!

First of all:

Go listen to this song:

Are there pirates in here? Because I have shivers all over my timbers. (For the record, I'm not even entirely sure what I mean.)

"Falling Slowly" is the most popular song from the musical, "Once", the film-turned-stage production that I had fortune of seeing today.

But what? (You say.) What's this talk about musical theatre? What about the still-unpublished posts about your spring break adventures?

All in good time, dear reader, all in good time. Actually, probably after said time ceases being consumed by my VIP (Very Important Paper) due this upcoming week. But I did want to find the time to tell you about this experience because it touched me so.

My heart grew two sizes today, and that's because of "Once". To comprehend my emotional spectrum, here are some reference photos:

Before the show:

After the show:

I laughed, I cried, it moved me, Bob.

The show was heartwarming! Between the creative set, the energetic cast, the great chemistry, and the fresh music, it was such a treat. We felt comfortable right as we settled into our seats. They even let people come up onstage (eeeeeee I stood on a London stage!!) with the cast before the show and listen to them play music. It was things like that that created an honest atmosphere. And when the show started, the cast didn't just deliver lines and lyrics, but they really shared  something with the audience. And boy, does that kind of theatre resonate.

Oh gosh, I think it resonated for all three of us the rest of the day. Personally, I left the show and went about my business, only to be hit by flashbacks that would promptly reduce me into a puddle. Oh don't mind me, fellow Sainsbury's shopper, I'm  just rehashing an emotional revelation, carry on. Those kinds of episodes will pass soon, I'm pretty sure, but I suspect the random, wistful sighing will last far into the week.

Seeing "Once" inspired me in different ways. It helped me learn what is I love about theatre. Where you actually give something to the audience instead of just asking them to stare at you parade onstage for three hours. If I'm ever fortunate enough to perform professionally, that's the kind of work I want to do. I haven't seriously considered my dream of performing since middle school, but now? I'm encouraged.

Another reason that I was inspired was because I got to see the lead actor, Arthur Darvill--who's known to me as Rory in the beloved television programme, Dr. Who. But seeing Arthur Darvill there made me think: He was on TV, and now he's in this building, and I'm in this building too. And he just happens to be standing on a floor that's elevated five feet higher than the rest of us. Anyone can climb those steps to the stage. He's just a person, we're all just people, and anything can happen. It's exciting to think about!

So, yeah! That was my experience with "Once"! If you're not familiar with it, I really encourage you to check out the soundtrack! Maybe we can get together and sing the songs when I get back. I might cry. But don't let that put you off!

Until next time!

I would like to interrupt my not-yet-started Spring Break Series of posts to make a very important announcement:
Today, in the UK, it's Mother's Day! And although I am miles away from both my Mum (that's British-speak for "Mom") and my Grandmums (is that a thing?), they are still shaping  my London life.

This is my Grandma Betty, and I love her! This woman is a hoot! So much of my life has been spent in her house, so many memories have been made there. She's shown me the joy that can be found in funky-looking Christmas trees, the best collection of salt-and-pepper shakers you've ever seen, and a stash of comics from the Sunday paper. 
She's always amazed me with her savvy couponing and her endless wit (not to mention her insane capacity for crossword puzzles), and she's taught me how to love others by just paying attention to the little things they love, which I've experienced through surprise gifts of exotic postcards or pomegranate juice. I love her, and I love learning from her! I look forward to many more lessons in the future!

My dear, dear Grandma Emma. We've lived on opposite sides of the country for most of my life, but coming together with her is always so good to my heart. This woman is strong. She taught me the meaning of being sassy and classy. She taught me to hold out for a boy who respects his mama (and has offered to fight off all the fools that don't). We can laugh together picking turnip greens, sing together at the piano in her living room, or just relax in loving silence on her incredibly comfortable couch, recovering from a big meal. Because of her, I know the value of just taking time to take the day in slowly, and of thanking the Lord for everything that comes in it. I sure do love her!

So. There's this woman named Lisa. She's pretty wonderful. She also happens to be my very own mother.

People always say that I look like my dad, but I am so happy when I look at pictures and see bits of her in me. Hopefully my heart will look like hers as well.

I don't even know where to start when it comes to all that she's given me (you know, aside from life, and all that). This is the woman who introduced me to Muppet Treasure Island, Veggie Tales, and the Importance of Being Earnest. The woman who bakes delicious maple scones (let's face it, she bakes delicious everything), makes chocolate for gifts at Christmas, who orders fish and chips almost every time we go out to eat. This is the woman who inspires me by not only running her own business, but by using that business to love on whoever walks through her salon's doors.

But most of all, this is the woman who showed me Jesus my entire life. While he was just some character in Bible stories at Sunday School, my mom showed what he was about by loving the way he loves--sacrificially and unconditionally. She was (is) an illustration in the book of the greatest story ever told, and I am grateful for that.

I realize that this is a broken world. Not everyone gets to grow up with loving mothers in their lives, mothers like Betty and Emma and Lisa. For whatever reason God let these women be a part of my story, I am so, so thankful. Happy UK Mother's Day, all.

Whew!

Well, it's been a whirlwind eight days out and about the British Isles. I can't wait to catch you all up on all of the adventures, but it is much too much for one post, so I'll be breaking it up into a three part Spring Break Series.

The next best things to having great experiences is sharing them with others as you remember them, so thank you guys for sharing this with me!

Today was quite, quite lovely.

It was just a day for
discovery. The sun was out, there were no classes, and I had an Oyster Card
burning a hole in my pocket. So I decided to take the tube to an unfamiliar stop and then walk whichever direction seemed best. It turned out better than I thought.

There were no wrong turns as I wandered from Liverpool St. Station down to the south bank of the Thames. It was
relaxing to have no place to be, and the sun warming the back of
my neck. I would stop here to crane my head back and look up at a church
steeple, and change course there to meander through a park. The buildings were
grand and stone, and fun to marvel at. Eventually, things got a little more
familiar as the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral appeared on the skyline.

I had been excited to get back to this area I so fondly remembered from two years ago, when I made a trip to Europe with family friends. My old roommate introduced me to a quote by W. Somerset Maugham, "I do not bring back from a journey quite the same self that I took", and I began to see the truth of it here. I'm not the same person I was when I first gaped at the cathedral's dome, or first imagined being attacked by Death Eaters on the Millennium Bridge. Two years later, I walked the same path with a different confidence, and a different connection to London. The change made me smile.

Up and over the Millennium Bridge I went, taking in the fresh air and the xylophone stylings of the current street performer. The sun brought out people in droves, and we all shared the good weather. Surrounded by strangers, there was hustle and bustle, but there was also peace in flying solo. I love going out with friends, but there was a goodness in just being alone. It was also really nice to walk around alone and not get kidnapped (thank You, Lord). I certainly felt quite the intellectual lone wolf as I drifted through the Tate Modern, and later through the Museum of London (really some fascinating things there). And in between, I stumbled upon the Borough Market, a colorful, lively place with delicious, moist brownies just begging to be purchased (sadly, mine did not survive long enough to be pictured here).

A lot of days are about efficiency, but this one was about adventure. I
could  have just taken the tube everywhere, but finding my way by foot
gave me so much more perspective than if I had been underground. And
as I headed home, I got one more precious surprise. I was walking back in the direction of St Paul's when a walled garden caught my eye. When I first entered, it seemed like any pleasant park, but as I stepped further in, my breath caught. I was in Postman's Park.

Postman's Park is beautiful, but not for the reasons you may think. Because in the midst of the blooming flowers and the inviting benches there is a tiled wall, each tile bearing the name and story of a person now passed. But what makes this park so poignant is that every person honored on that wall died saving the life of someone else.

Story after story of lives changed and saved and ended. Once I started reading, I couldn't stop. And it was so, so good, to stand there in the cooling afternoon with a lump in my throat and eyes that burned. Those people, dear to others and unknown to me, helped me to
remember. That there can be beauty in death, hope in tragedy. And it just
made me think: sacrificial deaths, deaths that give life, have a different
quality about them.  Maybe that's because they're a reminder, a small
picture of how God chose to die for us. Even if I don't always think about it or acknowledge it, it's a truth that's written into who I am, as it's written into every single person who ever lived, that Jesus died for. Standing there, I was awake. It was beautiful.

Looking back on the day, it seems like there was a path laid out just for  
me--which I guess there was. It was my pleasure to wander through the streets of  London, walking with memories, walking with strangers, walking with God.
It certainly was a walk to remember.

My, where does the time go? It's odd that a two whole weeks have gone by since my class boarded a train to go on a study trip to Edinburgh, Scotland. Our fantastic faculty managed to pack a lot into the two and half days we were there, and I'm glad to say that many happy memories were made. And although the days were pretty busy, we certainly got to see the beauty of Scotland!

It took me a bit to come round to, but Edinburgh is beautiful. I won't tell you how much time I spent gawking at buildings, monuments, what have you. 
However, I will tell you that I spent a LOT of time gawking at history when we visited not one, but two castles our first day. Yes, I do believe my princess dreams are fulfilled.
Separated by the charming Royal Mile (which has some pretty great fudge shops, let me tell you), Holyrood Palace and Edinburgh Castle are two great monuments of Scottish history. It was hard to think about everything that had gone on in the rooms I was walking through. And the views!!! The buildings were great, but the views were greater. Something that carried a lot of weight for me, though, was the end of the tour of Holyrood House. After an hour of walking through a lavish palace, you wander out and make your way into the area of an ancient, roofless abbey. That day, the sky was silver and overcast, and the air was still. It was as if everything was suspended. Haunting and comforting at the same time. It was lovely.

Another lovely thing was seeing the Scottish identity take form. I've always heard that in theory, Britain isn't just one big blob of Englishness, but actually going to Scotland helped to make it click. Edinburgh definitely  had a different feel than London. Things were less hectic, and more spaced out. People seemed to look at each other more.  It was different. And seeing that really helped me to connect the things we talked about in class. And visiting a session of Scottish Parliament was also a great visual aid. Those politicians, can get sassy! Quite entertaining. And educational! I wonder how that Parliament differs from the one in London. But something that Edinburgh actually had  in common with London was the abundance of things to do at night! It was great fun to explore the city after dusk with the girls(it would have been more fun if I had brought a sweater). We found lots to do! Live music, private karaoke parties, deep-fried pizza at one in the morning. All great fun!

There certainly was a lot to stop and take in. But monuments and buildings aside, my dearest love of Scotland was getting out into the green stuff! The nature. Fun fact: Edinburgh's actually built on a network of extinct volcanoes! And we climbed one! I think that was my favorite part of the trip.
We had been sitting in lectures all day, and we figured, hey, we have some free time, our legs work, the sun's (kind of) out, let's go climb a mountain (being aware that Scottish "mountains" are often compared to hills in the PNW. But it felt like a mountain when we were climbing it!)!
So off a group of us went, walking down the Royal Mile, past the overpriced pubs and the tartan-laden shop windows, until we ended up at the foot of Arthur's Seat. Just looking up at it was delicious. Jesus made some beautiful Planet Earth.
And as we were climbing, I couldn't stop smiling. Being out there was just...good. It was a good thing.
And of course, standing at the top of a Scottish volcano with my classmates, looking over all of Edinburgh, that was quite a good thing too.
By the time we reached the top, though, the inclement weather had moved in, so we were all slightly fearing for our lives as the wind and rain started to buffet us towards the edges of the summit. It was exhilarating. But we promptly started our slippery way back down. Oddly, it seemed steeper. By the time we made it back to the hostel, we were thoroughly soaked, thoroughly hungry and thoroughly ready for a monster pre-dinner nap. It was a beautiful day.

And there were certainly a lot of new beautiful things I learned to love on this trip to Edinburgh. I love Scottish castles with stories, and sassy MSPs trying to make Scotland the best country it can be. I love damp Scottish grass you can feel through your tights, and Scottish rain that numbs your face, and Scottish tablet that's so sweet it makes your teeth hurt. And I love breathlessly breathing the Scottish air, and getting Scottish mud on my hands, and climbing Scottish volcanoes in dresses.

I love these Scottish memories.