First Christmas Away From Home
My absence can totally be explained away by saying that I've been sick on and off (pretty much since I got here), and also I've just been procrastinating. But now I can finally catch up on what's been going on. The holiday break has come and gone before I even realized. I'm lucky to have parents that support me, financially and otherwise, but even luckier still that they've got frequent flier miles that they have allowed me to use to get from point A to point B (and subsequently from B to C and to D and E and F and everywhere else). However, airline prices being what they are during Christmas time, our airline wanted to charge an extortionate amount of miles to get from Spain to home and back. Really, it's only about 4,000 or so (a little less, actually), but the airline required us to use 130,000 or more, depending on the date. I certainly didn't have the money for a December flight home, and we all decided that a Christmas at home just wasn't in the cards for me. Also I kinda wanted to have a European Christmas (but don't tell my family that). In the end, Scotland was my Christmas destination.
Before the break, I made a presentation for the kids about the "holiday season" in the US, and they were reasonably pleased by it. They enjoy doing things that aren't out of the textbook, and listening to a presentation was more fun for them than the usual grammar lesson (especially because they didn't have to do any work). I tried to discuss what is done generally in the US in a cultural context, and then show what we do in my family specifically. US traditions as compared to Dill family traditions. Anyway, here it is, if you'd like to see it:
http://prezi.com/vm5ydd61jwzy/?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=copy
Part 1: Santiago
Because of my class schedule, I found myself with a ton of vacation time. My holiday started Wednesday the 18th after class, but my flight to Glasgow wasn't until the following Monday. The flight was out of Santiago early on the Monday morning, so early that there were no trains that would get me there on time. So I decided to go to Santiago a few days before and make a weekend out of it.
I caught a ride with a man named Iñaki and a few others through a service called blablacar. Now, I know what you're going to say, but hear me out. It's a bit like couchsurfing, but instead of offering/asking for a couch to sleep on, you offer/ask for a seat in a car, and unlike couchsurfing, there is an exchange of money involved. So if you've got a long drive, you post your trip online and people can ask to join you for a small fee. It sounded terrifying the first time I heard about it too, but I'm glad I did, because I ended up having company while getting a direct ride to my destination, and it cost me less than half of what the train would have. Highly recommended.
I met with Mónica (the Gallega that joined us on the Porto trip) who was letting me stay with her for the weekend. Monica is a tiny little firecracker of a Spaniard. Nothing about her betrays her age: She's adorable and very social and absolutely full of energy.
We had some coffee and caught up and later went out for tapas. I really like Santiago's old town. It's much more impressive and big than Vigo's. Also, a lot of the bars in Vigo are kinda the same. But in Santiago, everything's a bit off center and weird. Stylized, if you will. I didn't see a lot of those personality-less, middle of the road bars that try to please everyone.
I had a great look around the old town, like the cathedral and the ayuntamiento square. It was all lit up and festive for the upcoming Christmas holiday. It was really nice, with great bars and an unrelenting night life. Also they have lots of food delivery. Like, straight to your door. Oh, how I've missed delivery.
Monday morning I got a cab to the airport, which took me to Barcelona. That was a bit of a weird experience, because I was suddenly surrounded by a large handful of people (obviously on the same flight as me) who spoke in Scottish accents. It was a bit disorienting, but also excited me because I was reminded about where I was headed.
Part Two: Glasgow
Steve came to get me from the airport (I'd forgotten how nice it is to have friends with cars), and we went to his apartment to catch up. Later on we went to see a bit of the Glasgow center, George Square, as it was all lit up and decorated for Christmas. We tried to go see the open air Christmas market that was on, but when we got there all the shops were shutting up. Instead, we went for dinner, and then to meet some of Steve's friends. At first, as I suppose is normal, it was a bit intimidating meeting a group of people all at once who are already well acquainted. But by the end of the night, after a good handful of beers, I'm happy to say I felt like part of the group.
At the second bar we went to, I ordered a Sam Adams and was immediately made fun of for being "so typically American." Maybe, I said, but I never order Sam Adams at home. I'm a simple gal, requiring only a can of PBR to be happy. Steve has a friend called Dom who revealed himself to be somewhat of a beer snob. When it was his turn to buy a round, he returned to the table with a BOTTLE OF PBR and set it in front of me, and suddenly he was my favorite of Steve's friends. He asked only to try a bit of it. He, of course, grimaced and said that it was awful. And I gotta say that I kinda agree-it didn't taste as great as I remember it. But I think it was just out of context. PBR needs to be drunk out of a can, quickly, and at 9pm. Or after 2am. Any time in between and out of a bottle is just wrong.
The next day was Christmas Eve. In my family, as well as in the US in general, Christmas Eve is a day for family. Every one has a lazy day off work and we always have various versions of A Christmas Carol playing in the background on the TV. We spend the day together doing things like making cookies and in the evening we always go and meet my uncle and his family for a big Christmas Eve dinner. But, as far as I can tell, in the UK, Christmas Eve is a day for friends. Everyone goes out to a bar to get drunk with their friends (a pretty foreign idea to me). But, when in Glasgow, do as the Weegies do (Glaswegian=person from Glasgow, Weegie=short for Glaswegian). We went to a bar called The Esquire, which sounds a lot fancier than it is. Several of his friends came to meet us. The bar shut a little after 12, but we celebrated midnight (Christmas day) with a tequila shot.
The next morning Steve and I opened presents before going to his parents' house. This was the time I most keenly felt not at home. We have a very set Christmas schedule, normally, and feeling like it was Christmas but not hearing A Christmas Story in the background while helping my dog dig into his stocking (yes my dog has his own stocking) was a bit strange, however grateful I am that the Freels let me spend the holiday with them.
We went to his parents' house around 2 in the afternoon. The family came in waves, which was lucky for me because it was hard enough to learn all the names. They welcomed me with open arms (and usually a single kiss on the cheek, which is something I wish someone had told me beforehand...so if you ever go to Scotland, people greet close friends and family with a kiss on the cheek), after that brief "who is this girl and why is she here" period. I am but a lonely American expat with no where to go.
After meeting Steve's dad's family for drinks, we went to his mom's dad's house to have dinner with his mom's side of the family. It was very Cypriot, which was a diversion from my usual American style Christmas dinner. We sat around the dinner table and began to eat, and even had crackers! For those Americans that are reading and don't know what crackers are, they're paper tubes with little gifts inside and two handle things on either side. You and another person grab an end and pull, and whoever gets the tube gets to keep what's inside. I, of course, won. Pretty soon, however, everyone had little paper crowns on.
After an huge amount of food that shouldn't even be allowed, we had dessert and ever more drinks, and headed home.
The following day was Boxing day, a lovely extra day of festivities that we don't get in the States. Steve had bought tickets to see a Rangers game at Ibrox stadium. I've mentioned this in a previous post, but the Rangers is not so much a soccer team to the (non-catholic) people of Glasgow as it is a religion. And I mean that. Historically the Rangers are associated with Glasgow's protestants, and their rival, the Celtic, are supported by the Irish Catholic. Anywhoodles, I'm going to leave it at that before I reveal just how little I actually know about football. It was exciting to go to a game, even though in the end it was the first game of the season that the Rangers didn't win (I think they drew 1-1).
I did a fair amount of traveling while in Scotland. We took a very scenic train ride up north to Fort William. It was a long train that took us through all the snow covered mountains and Lochs. Even though it was gray, the view was always impressive. From Fort William we took a train to a tiny town called Glenfinnan. Though there's not much there, Glenfinnan catapulted into a sort of cult-like fame after the movie adaptation of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was released. It was at the Glenfinnan Viaduct that the Hogwarts Express is filmed traveling to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. In point of fact, the Glenfinnan Viaduct is more than 115 years old and really quite impressive. But it wasn't until a little 12 year old boy wizard almost fell out of a flying Ford Anglia over the viaduct that the town began to host visitors from all over the Harry Potter-loving world.
Being in Glasgow was really nice. Culturally, it's quite different. More than I would have thought, and there were times where I was acutely aware of being foreign. While stepping into a cab, the driver might say, "Awrite?" Literally, he is asking "Are you alright?" which, to my American ears, sounds like he's asking if I'm hurt. (Tell me if you think differently, but I never ask "are you alright?" unless I already have the suspicion that the person is not "alright." For instance, if I see someone who is crying or who looks sick.) But people in the UK ask this to mean "How are you?" This is a pretty common custom everywhere, at least in the western world. But when I responded brightly, saying "I'm doing fine, how are you tonight?" the driver would often give me a squinty-eyed look through the rear view mirror, ignore my response, and ask where I was headed.
That's not to say that the people of Glasgow were mean or rude. Just different. To be fair, they were actually very friendly. I was surprised at how such a big city could have that small town feel. It seemed like no matter where you went, the people knew each other. And even friends who had made no prior arrangements to meet up would run into each other and smile and hug and buy each other a pint. Oh, that's another thing-the round system. Maybe we're more selfish in the US (or, more likely, we don't drink nearly as much), but we don't really do rounds. Not in North Carolina anyway. Everyone pays for their own drinks. Everyone starts their own bar tabs. You might buy someone a drink if you're feeling particularly nice, or if it's your friend's birthday. But the Glaswegians were almost eager to buy me drinks. If someone were to do that in Wilmington, you'd think the person was coming on to you. Overall, it felt like-and not to sound like an after school special-an actual community.
Part Three: England
Having enjoyed Glasgow as much as I did, it still came time to leave before my welcome was overstayed. My next destination was London. I wrote about my friend Leon in the wrap-up post of my last blog, which was near the end of summer 2012. It had been about a year and a half since we'd last seen each other, me standing in the doorway of my hostel on the eve of my departure with tears streaming down my face, and him trying to make a quick getaway, and I'm happy to say I got to see him yet again. One thing I love about travel culture (among many other things), is the unspoken contract that exists between you and the friends you make. Upon meeting each other, you know you won't have much time together. It, in its own way, lengthens your friendship because knowing from the start that you're going to part ways, you become aware and prepared to have a long distance friendship. It gives you incentive to take advantage of the opportunities you do have to see each other. Though we hadn't seen each other for more than a year, it was like nothing had changed. In fact, when we met up, we went to Nando's, the exact same restaurant we'd gone to back in 2012. He assured me that he does eat food other than Nando's. I have my doubts though.
I'd planned a short trip to Bristol in the middle of the week, because, well, why not? When friends or people in the hostel would ask about what my plans were, their next question was always "Why are you going to Bristol?" To which I would say, "Why not?" It's only a short train ride or a long drawn out bus ride away to the city, and it's pretty freaking cool. I stayed in a small hostel right next to this expensive shopping district. Even though I was alone (I really do wish I'd couch surfed instead of staying in a hostel), the city was great just to walk around and see.
On my first day, I decided just to head in a random direction and go for a walk to see some of the famous street art. I stumbled upon something called the See No Evil gallery. They call it a "gallery" but really it's just a street called Nelson Street that's covered with graffiti. There were some stairs across the street leading to what looked like a little alley way in between two buildings. The entire space was covered in graffiti, and I was in no way pressed for time, so I decided to check it out.
When I got to the platform, there was a guy about my age painting over a part of the wall. My first thought was "shit, am I not supposed to be here?" He seemed a bit surprised by my appearance and I thought maybe he'd been hired by one of the neighboring businesses to paint over the art. But he sort of half nodded and said "Ya awrite?" and went back to his work.
After a quick look around, I asked, "Why are you painting over that?"
"It's my mural. Some asshole tagged it," he said. Not the answer I was expecting. He had made a large mural on the wall, and someone had come around with an ugly gold spray paint and scribbled simply the word "Swindon" over it. Swindon? Really?!? I mean if you're going to ruin someone's artwork at least write something more worthy than freaking "Swindon," possibly the most uninteresting city in the country. It was a shame, it's true, but it was a spring board for a lovely conversation with the guy.
I asked him if that happened often, and he said, "Of course, this is Bristol. If you paint something here you can't expect it to last longer than a few days before it gets painted over by the next guy."
He told me he was a student at the University of Bristol studying graphic design. He paints every couple days, different designs, but always the same word: Loner. Roll your eyes if you will (at whatever implications "loner" might have, if perhaps he's trying to be profound or something), but he was an interesting guy. He said he always does the same word, and said that yes, if I did see "loner" around the city, that it was him. He changes the word every couples years or so (he'd been painting for a long time), but he wouldn't tell me what his previous words had been.
He gave me some advice on where to go in Bristol, and after letting me take a few pictures of him, I felt like I might be hovering (even though he told me painters often have audiences) and decided to be on my way. Taking his advice, I went to Stokes Croft, which is where he said I'd be most likely to find Banksy stuff. It was so hip I could hardly stand it. Stokes Croft was probably my favorite bit of Bristol because it was so niche and original, and it so ferociously resisted the culture-killing corporate giants like Tesco and Primark and the like. These places were there once, but now there only remains one lonely Tesco Express. The people of Stokes Croft so successfully rejected these chains in defense of their small mom and pop shops, cafés, and used book/record stores that stores like Tesco had to close their doors; I've never seen or heard of anything like it.
Anyway, as I said before, I wish I had couch surfed in Bristol. It was a cool city that needed a more personal touch. Being on my own I didn't really know where to go, so I just did all the touristy things, like the modern art museum, the Bristol cathedral, and the Aquarium. "Yes, I'd like one sad lonely adult ticket to the aquarium. No, I'm not ashamed of that...Yes, I'll take the student discount."
On my way back to the hostel, I decided to stop back by the alley to see how my new artist friend was getting on. He was nowhere to be found, but there was his finished mural, all shiny and new.
I had seen the Christmas Steps on the map, but with just the name to go by, I had no idea what to expect. They actually turned out to be pretty cool. It's a steep alley way of uneven steps, with the name "Christmas" presumably because of the Christmas lights that hang there year round (Or perhaps it's the other way around). It's full of unexpectedly quaint shops and restaurants. Worth a visit.
I did not make it to the Brunel's SS Great Britain, the Thekla (where I'm told a lot of one of my favorite TV shows, Skins, was filmed), or the Clifton Suspension Bridge during my last day. That night in the hostel I met an Australian girl from Brisbane who insisted that I make time the next day to go to Brandon Hill. The next morning I went back to Stokes Croft to stop at one of their totally hip fair-trade-eco-friendly-paper-cup-recycling-capitalist-pig-fighting-middle-class-growing cafés for breakfast, and found myself with about an hour of extra time before my train back to London. I decided to take my new friend's advice and go to Brandon Hill, and I'm so glad I did. The 105 ft tall Cabot Tower stands at the highest point in the park, and the weather was gorgeous and it was all green and beautiful. I mean, it's just a 100 year old tower in the middle of a park, but sometimes it's the little things in life, you know?
Anyway, Bristol was great. There are some cities you just wanna be a tourist in, like Paris or Madrid or London. And there are some that would be better experienced with a local. Bristol is one of those cities. I would have preferred to visit a friend, or couch surf, or, say, study abroad there. I don't think I got quite as much out of it being a tourist. Either way, it was back to London.
The first order of business was to meet up with my friend Maeve. Maeve had studied at UNCW as well, during my senior year. I accidentally got turned around on my way to the train station, meaning I missed the 12:00 one, so I had to catch the next train to Windsor, where we had planned to meet. But late though I did arrive, Maeve was there with British sweeties (little gummy pigs, no less, seriously) as a welcome present. She had planned a whole day for us, in fact! We went for a little walk around and my first impression of Windsor was that it all felt very old and very regal. It reminded me of a Charles Dickensian England.
First we went to the Windsor castle and had a look around, taking our time, even doing the audio guide. Then we went for tea and scones (which, if I'm calling a spade a spade, are actually biscuits. Come on, England. Get real), a combination I wasn't aware was actually so popular. It felt like we were in someone's living room being served tea and scones with bowls of cream and jam next to a crackling fire place. It couldn't have been more English.
After, I accompanied Maeve to Staines, where she lives. I had a train ticket to London, but Staines was on the way. We went to The George, and Esquire-esque Whetherspoons chain bar (remember that one I mentioned earlier?) that sounds fancier than it is. We met one of her friends for a drink, and I tried some of their mulled cider that was on special for the season. Dad's been insistent that I try some in England, but as it was cider and not wine, I didn't feel like it counted.
Eventually it was about time to head back to London. I had one more weekend in England before it was back to the daily grind, and I wanted to make sure to fit in enough time to see everyone I could.
Steve had come down for the weekend, so Saturday we went for a long walk around the city, including Camden Town. It was all a bit hip for Steve (he's a bitter old man who doesn't understand the young people), but I really enjoyed it. I can't actually believe no one ever told me about how cool Camden Town is. It goes on for ages, as well, and it ranges from giant chain stores like H&M to little booths for souvenirs to comic book shops to outdoor markets. I came across a booth selling booze, including mulled wine, and decided to get a cup. It warmed me right up; glorious on this freezing (but mercifully sunny) day.
That night I went to go meet Leon again. We all went to have a drink at Jamie's Italian restaurant (they're obsessed with him over there, it seems) and chat, my eyes glazing over when the guys began to discuss football. I comforted Leon when it was time to leave, assuring him that I wouldn't cry this time. As melodramatic as it may sound, by now, I'm pretty used to doing this whole goodbye thing.
TL;DR: What was going to be a Christmas in Glasgow actually ended up being a full on travel adventure. You learn to take things on the fly, and go with the flow when things don't work out or change last minute. I'm glad I did, because otherwise I wouldn't have experienced Santiago or Windsor or even Bristol. I really enjoyed England, and this second time around only served to remind me that I need to go more often.
So that's that: If you're one of those people who control + F'ed their name and just read about yourself, I wholly understand. This post was entirely too long. My apologies. But thanks for stopping by.
El mundo es un libro y aquellos que no viajan leen sólo una página.
Before the break, I made a presentation for the kids about the "holiday season" in the US, and they were reasonably pleased by it. They enjoy doing things that aren't out of the textbook, and listening to a presentation was more fun for them than the usual grammar lesson (especially because they didn't have to do any work). I tried to discuss what is done generally in the US in a cultural context, and then show what we do in my family specifically. US traditions as compared to Dill family traditions. Anyway, here it is, if you'd like to see it:
http://prezi.com/vm5ydd61jwzy/?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=copy
Part 1: Santiago
Because of my class schedule, I found myself with a ton of vacation time. My holiday started Wednesday the 18th after class, but my flight to Glasgow wasn't until the following Monday. The flight was out of Santiago early on the Monday morning, so early that there were no trains that would get me there on time. So I decided to go to Santiago a few days before and make a weekend out of it.
I caught a ride with a man named Iñaki and a few others through a service called blablacar. Now, I know what you're going to say, but hear me out. It's a bit like couchsurfing, but instead of offering/asking for a couch to sleep on, you offer/ask for a seat in a car, and unlike couchsurfing, there is an exchange of money involved. So if you've got a long drive, you post your trip online and people can ask to join you for a small fee. It sounded terrifying the first time I heard about it too, but I'm glad I did, because I ended up having company while getting a direct ride to my destination, and it cost me less than half of what the train would have. Highly recommended.
I met with Mónica (the Gallega that joined us on the Porto trip) who was letting me stay with her for the weekend. Monica is a tiny little firecracker of a Spaniard. Nothing about her betrays her age: She's adorable and very social and absolutely full of energy.
We had some coffee and caught up and later went out for tapas. I really like Santiago's old town. It's much more impressive and big than Vigo's. Also, a lot of the bars in Vigo are kinda the same. But in Santiago, everything's a bit off center and weird. Stylized, if you will. I didn't see a lot of those personality-less, middle of the road bars that try to please everyone.
I had a great look around the old town, like the cathedral and the ayuntamiento square. It was all lit up and festive for the upcoming Christmas holiday. It was really nice, with great bars and an unrelenting night life. Also they have lots of food delivery. Like, straight to your door. Oh, how I've missed delivery.
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| "Merry Christmas!" |
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| Fairy lights up in Cervantes Square in Santiago |
Monday morning I got a cab to the airport, which took me to Barcelona. That was a bit of a weird experience, because I was suddenly surrounded by a large handful of people (obviously on the same flight as me) who spoke in Scottish accents. It was a bit disorienting, but also excited me because I was reminded about where I was headed.
Part Two: Glasgow
Steve came to get me from the airport (I'd forgotten how nice it is to have friends with cars), and we went to his apartment to catch up. Later on we went to see a bit of the Glasgow center, George Square, as it was all lit up and decorated for Christmas. We tried to go see the open air Christmas market that was on, but when we got there all the shops were shutting up. Instead, we went for dinner, and then to meet some of Steve's friends. At first, as I suppose is normal, it was a bit intimidating meeting a group of people all at once who are already well acquainted. But by the end of the night, after a good handful of beers, I'm happy to say I felt like part of the group.
At the second bar we went to, I ordered a Sam Adams and was immediately made fun of for being "so typically American." Maybe, I said, but I never order Sam Adams at home. I'm a simple gal, requiring only a can of PBR to be happy. Steve has a friend called Dom who revealed himself to be somewhat of a beer snob. When it was his turn to buy a round, he returned to the table with a BOTTLE OF PBR and set it in front of me, and suddenly he was my favorite of Steve's friends. He asked only to try a bit of it. He, of course, grimaced and said that it was awful. And I gotta say that I kinda agree-it didn't taste as great as I remember it. But I think it was just out of context. PBR needs to be drunk out of a can, quickly, and at 9pm. Or after 2am. Any time in between and out of a bottle is just wrong.
The next day was Christmas Eve. In my family, as well as in the US in general, Christmas Eve is a day for family. Every one has a lazy day off work and we always have various versions of A Christmas Carol playing in the background on the TV. We spend the day together doing things like making cookies and in the evening we always go and meet my uncle and his family for a big Christmas Eve dinner. But, as far as I can tell, in the UK, Christmas Eve is a day for friends. Everyone goes out to a bar to get drunk with their friends (a pretty foreign idea to me). But, when in Glasgow, do as the Weegies do (Glaswegian=person from Glasgow, Weegie=short for Glaswegian). We went to a bar called The Esquire, which sounds a lot fancier than it is. Several of his friends came to meet us. The bar shut a little after 12, but we celebrated midnight (Christmas day) with a tequila shot.
The next morning Steve and I opened presents before going to his parents' house. This was the time I most keenly felt not at home. We have a very set Christmas schedule, normally, and feeling like it was Christmas but not hearing A Christmas Story in the background while helping my dog dig into his stocking (yes my dog has his own stocking) was a bit strange, however grateful I am that the Freels let me spend the holiday with them.
We went to his parents' house around 2 in the afternoon. The family came in waves, which was lucky for me because it was hard enough to learn all the names. They welcomed me with open arms (and usually a single kiss on the cheek, which is something I wish someone had told me beforehand...so if you ever go to Scotland, people greet close friends and family with a kiss on the cheek), after that brief "who is this girl and why is she here" period. I am but a lonely American expat with no where to go.
After meeting Steve's dad's family for drinks, we went to his mom's dad's house to have dinner with his mom's side of the family. It was very Cypriot, which was a diversion from my usual American style Christmas dinner. We sat around the dinner table and began to eat, and even had crackers! For those Americans that are reading and don't know what crackers are, they're paper tubes with little gifts inside and two handle things on either side. You and another person grab an end and pull, and whoever gets the tube gets to keep what's inside. I, of course, won. Pretty soon, however, everyone had little paper crowns on.
After an huge amount of food that shouldn't even be allowed, we had dessert and ever more drinks, and headed home.
The following day was Boxing day, a lovely extra day of festivities that we don't get in the States. Steve had bought tickets to see a Rangers game at Ibrox stadium. I've mentioned this in a previous post, but the Rangers is not so much a soccer team to the (non-catholic) people of Glasgow as it is a religion. And I mean that. Historically the Rangers are associated with Glasgow's protestants, and their rival, the Celtic, are supported by the Irish Catholic. Anywhoodles, I'm going to leave it at that before I reveal just how little I actually know about football. It was exciting to go to a game, even though in the end it was the first game of the season that the Rangers didn't win (I think they drew 1-1).
I did a fair amount of traveling while in Scotland. We took a very scenic train ride up north to Fort William. It was a long train that took us through all the snow covered mountains and Lochs. Even though it was gray, the view was always impressive. From Fort William we took a train to a tiny town called Glenfinnan. Though there's not much there, Glenfinnan catapulted into a sort of cult-like fame after the movie adaptation of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was released. It was at the Glenfinnan Viaduct that the Hogwarts Express is filmed traveling to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. In point of fact, the Glenfinnan Viaduct is more than 115 years old and really quite impressive. But it wasn't until a little 12 year old boy wizard almost fell out of a flying Ford Anglia over the viaduct that the town began to host visitors from all over the Harry Potter-loving world.
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| Source |
Being in Glasgow was really nice. Culturally, it's quite different. More than I would have thought, and there were times where I was acutely aware of being foreign. While stepping into a cab, the driver might say, "Awrite?" Literally, he is asking "Are you alright?" which, to my American ears, sounds like he's asking if I'm hurt. (Tell me if you think differently, but I never ask "are you alright?" unless I already have the suspicion that the person is not "alright." For instance, if I see someone who is crying or who looks sick.) But people in the UK ask this to mean "How are you?" This is a pretty common custom everywhere, at least in the western world. But when I responded brightly, saying "I'm doing fine, how are you tonight?" the driver would often give me a squinty-eyed look through the rear view mirror, ignore my response, and ask where I was headed.
That's not to say that the people of Glasgow were mean or rude. Just different. To be fair, they were actually very friendly. I was surprised at how such a big city could have that small town feel. It seemed like no matter where you went, the people knew each other. And even friends who had made no prior arrangements to meet up would run into each other and smile and hug and buy each other a pint. Oh, that's another thing-the round system. Maybe we're more selfish in the US (or, more likely, we don't drink nearly as much), but we don't really do rounds. Not in North Carolina anyway. Everyone pays for their own drinks. Everyone starts their own bar tabs. You might buy someone a drink if you're feeling particularly nice, or if it's your friend's birthday. But the Glaswegians were almost eager to buy me drinks. If someone were to do that in Wilmington, you'd think the person was coming on to you. Overall, it felt like-and not to sound like an after school special-an actual community.
Part Three: England
Having enjoyed Glasgow as much as I did, it still came time to leave before my welcome was overstayed. My next destination was London. I wrote about my friend Leon in the wrap-up post of my last blog, which was near the end of summer 2012. It had been about a year and a half since we'd last seen each other, me standing in the doorway of my hostel on the eve of my departure with tears streaming down my face, and him trying to make a quick getaway, and I'm happy to say I got to see him yet again. One thing I love about travel culture (among many other things), is the unspoken contract that exists between you and the friends you make. Upon meeting each other, you know you won't have much time together. It, in its own way, lengthens your friendship because knowing from the start that you're going to part ways, you become aware and prepared to have a long distance friendship. It gives you incentive to take advantage of the opportunities you do have to see each other. Though we hadn't seen each other for more than a year, it was like nothing had changed. In fact, when we met up, we went to Nando's, the exact same restaurant we'd gone to back in 2012. He assured me that he does eat food other than Nando's. I have my doubts though.
I'd planned a short trip to Bristol in the middle of the week, because, well, why not? When friends or people in the hostel would ask about what my plans were, their next question was always "Why are you going to Bristol?" To which I would say, "Why not?" It's only a short train ride or a long drawn out bus ride away to the city, and it's pretty freaking cool. I stayed in a small hostel right next to this expensive shopping district. Even though I was alone (I really do wish I'd couch surfed instead of staying in a hostel), the city was great just to walk around and see.
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| Welcome to Bristol! |
On my first day, I decided just to head in a random direction and go for a walk to see some of the famous street art. I stumbled upon something called the See No Evil gallery. They call it a "gallery" but really it's just a street called Nelson Street that's covered with graffiti. There were some stairs across the street leading to what looked like a little alley way in between two buildings. The entire space was covered in graffiti, and I was in no way pressed for time, so I decided to check it out.
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| The start of See No Evil gallery |
When I got to the platform, there was a guy about my age painting over a part of the wall. My first thought was "shit, am I not supposed to be here?" He seemed a bit surprised by my appearance and I thought maybe he'd been hired by one of the neighboring businesses to paint over the art. But he sort of half nodded and said "Ya awrite?" and went back to his work.
After a quick look around, I asked, "Why are you painting over that?"
"It's my mural. Some asshole tagged it," he said. Not the answer I was expecting. He had made a large mural on the wall, and someone had come around with an ugly gold spray paint and scribbled simply the word "Swindon" over it. Swindon? Really?!? I mean if you're going to ruin someone's artwork at least write something more worthy than freaking "Swindon," possibly the most uninteresting city in the country. It was a shame, it's true, but it was a spring board for a lovely conversation with the guy.
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| If you look closely on the right, you can see the golden word "Swindon!" |
I asked him if that happened often, and he said, "Of course, this is Bristol. If you paint something here you can't expect it to last longer than a few days before it gets painted over by the next guy."
He told me he was a student at the University of Bristol studying graphic design. He paints every couple days, different designs, but always the same word: Loner. Roll your eyes if you will (at whatever implications "loner" might have, if perhaps he's trying to be profound or something), but he was an interesting guy. He said he always does the same word, and said that yes, if I did see "loner" around the city, that it was him. He changes the word every couples years or so (he'd been painting for a long time), but he wouldn't tell me what his previous words had been.
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| Bristol in Action |
He gave me some advice on where to go in Bristol, and after letting me take a few pictures of him, I felt like I might be hovering (even though he told me painters often have audiences) and decided to be on my way. Taking his advice, I went to Stokes Croft, which is where he said I'd be most likely to find Banksy stuff. It was so hip I could hardly stand it. Stokes Croft was probably my favorite bit of Bristol because it was so niche and original, and it so ferociously resisted the culture-killing corporate giants like Tesco and Primark and the like. These places were there once, but now there only remains one lonely Tesco Express. The people of Stokes Croft so successfully rejected these chains in defense of their small mom and pop shops, cafés, and used book/record stores that stores like Tesco had to close their doors; I've never seen or heard of anything like it.
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| On the way to Stokes Croft, you have to cross something called the "Bear Pit" |
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| Jesus |
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| Stokes Croft |
Anyway, as I said before, I wish I had couch surfed in Bristol. It was a cool city that needed a more personal touch. Being on my own I didn't really know where to go, so I just did all the touristy things, like the modern art museum, the Bristol cathedral, and the Aquarium. "Yes, I'd like one sad lonely adult ticket to the aquarium. No, I'm not ashamed of that...Yes, I'll take the student discount."
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| Bristol Aquarium |
On my way back to the hostel, I decided to stop back by the alley to see how my new artist friend was getting on. He was nowhere to be found, but there was his finished mural, all shiny and new.
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| He asked me if I liked the fried egg. I said it was my favorite part. |
I had seen the Christmas Steps on the map, but with just the name to go by, I had no idea what to expect. They actually turned out to be pretty cool. It's a steep alley way of uneven steps, with the name "Christmas" presumably because of the Christmas lights that hang there year round (Or perhaps it's the other way around). It's full of unexpectedly quaint shops and restaurants. Worth a visit.
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| Christmas Steps |
I did not make it to the Brunel's SS Great Britain, the Thekla (where I'm told a lot of one of my favorite TV shows, Skins, was filmed), or the Clifton Suspension Bridge during my last day. That night in the hostel I met an Australian girl from Brisbane who insisted that I make time the next day to go to Brandon Hill. The next morning I went back to Stokes Croft to stop at one of their totally hip fair-trade-eco-friendly-paper-cup-recycling-capitalist-pig-fighting-middle-class-growing cafés for breakfast, and found myself with about an hour of extra time before my train back to London. I decided to take my new friend's advice and go to Brandon Hill, and I'm so glad I did. The 105 ft tall Cabot Tower stands at the highest point in the park, and the weather was gorgeous and it was all green and beautiful. I mean, it's just a 100 year old tower in the middle of a park, but sometimes it's the little things in life, you know?
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| The view from Cabot Tower |
Anyway, Bristol was great. There are some cities you just wanna be a tourist in, like Paris or Madrid or London. And there are some that would be better experienced with a local. Bristol is one of those cities. I would have preferred to visit a friend, or couch surf, or, say, study abroad there. I don't think I got quite as much out of it being a tourist. Either way, it was back to London.
The first order of business was to meet up with my friend Maeve. Maeve had studied at UNCW as well, during my senior year. I accidentally got turned around on my way to the train station, meaning I missed the 12:00 one, so I had to catch the next train to Windsor, where we had planned to meet. But late though I did arrive, Maeve was there with British sweeties (little gummy pigs, no less, seriously) as a welcome present. She had planned a whole day for us, in fact! We went for a little walk around and my first impression of Windsor was that it all felt very old and very regal. It reminded me of a Charles Dickensian England.
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| Percy Pig AND vegetarian Percy Pig...Seriously this girl is amazing. |
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| Maeve and I at Windsor Castle |
First we went to the Windsor castle and had a look around, taking our time, even doing the audio guide. Then we went for tea and scones (which, if I'm calling a spade a spade, are actually biscuits. Come on, England. Get real), a combination I wasn't aware was actually so popular. It felt like we were in someone's living room being served tea and scones with bowls of cream and jam next to a crackling fire place. It couldn't have been more English.
After, I accompanied Maeve to Staines, where she lives. I had a train ticket to London, but Staines was on the way. We went to The George, and Esquire-esque Whetherspoons chain bar (remember that one I mentioned earlier?) that sounds fancier than it is. We met one of her friends for a drink, and I tried some of their mulled cider that was on special for the season. Dad's been insistent that I try some in England, but as it was cider and not wine, I didn't feel like it counted.
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| With my giant glass of mulled cider |
Eventually it was about time to head back to London. I had one more weekend in England before it was back to the daily grind, and I wanted to make sure to fit in enough time to see everyone I could.
Steve had come down for the weekend, so Saturday we went for a long walk around the city, including Camden Town. It was all a bit hip for Steve (he's a bitter old man who doesn't understand the young people), but I really enjoyed it. I can't actually believe no one ever told me about how cool Camden Town is. It goes on for ages, as well, and it ranges from giant chain stores like H&M to little booths for souvenirs to comic book shops to outdoor markets. I came across a booth selling booze, including mulled wine, and decided to get a cup. It warmed me right up; glorious on this freezing (but mercifully sunny) day.
That night I went to go meet Leon again. We all went to have a drink at Jamie's Italian restaurant (they're obsessed with him over there, it seems) and chat, my eyes glazing over when the guys began to discuss football. I comforted Leon when it was time to leave, assuring him that I wouldn't cry this time. As melodramatic as it may sound, by now, I'm pretty used to doing this whole goodbye thing.
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| Reunited! |
TL;DR: What was going to be a Christmas in Glasgow actually ended up being a full on travel adventure. You learn to take things on the fly, and go with the flow when things don't work out or change last minute. I'm glad I did, because otherwise I wouldn't have experienced Santiago or Windsor or even Bristol. I really enjoyed England, and this second time around only served to remind me that I need to go more often.
So that's that: If you're one of those people who control + F'ed their name and just read about yourself, I wholly understand. This post was entirely too long. My apologies. But thanks for stopping by.
El mundo es un libro y aquellos que no viajan leen sólo una página.
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