Scott's profileMePhotosBlogListsMore  |  Tools Help |
|
|
December 11 Why I Went to EnglandI've often been asked why I decided to go to England in 1998. Most people I've told the story understood my reasoning. There were others who were like, "Why?"
Here it is.
August 31, 1997. I was playing on my roomate's computer, which was located in the kitchen. Mine, unfortunately, died due to not having my phoneline to my modem surge protected. A month earlier, in a freak thunderstorm, my computer got fried throughmy phone line. My answering machine got fried as well.
I turned on the TV, and flipped it to CNN, and Tom Cruise was interviewed over the phone. I was like, "What the?" Then I realized what had happened.
I cried. Hard. Here was an icon of not only the United Kingdom (she was WAY more popular than the Royals) but the world cut down by (and pardon my French) fucking people who just wanted to get a picture for whatever tabloid, mag, newspaper. Yes, I blame the papparazzi. They were not found guilty, and the blame was placed on the limo driver. I'll say right now, if I was famous, I'd make it my mission in life to ensure my privacy. I'd sue these guys every chance I get if my privacy was invaded. This goes to not just me, but to my family, and friends.
I digress. I watched her funeral, even though I had to work that Saturday afternoon. I didn't sleep. I cried when Elton sung Candle in the Wind.
What made me go on the trip was simple. As I was watching the funeral, I saw the majesty of Westminster. I thought to myself: I'm 27, and what have I done in my life? Here's a woman who broke many traditions who died a senseless death. And here I was, honoring her to the point where I needed to visit her country.
As we traveled the country, I felt so at home (especially Scotland...FREEDOM!)
I visited Westminster Abbey, and quite frankly, I was disappointed for two reasons:
1). I had to pay five pounds. I don't mind doing donations, but this was REQUIRED. I would have happily donated if it was optional.
2). I simply could not explore the place. They literally made us walk a path. Yes, I realize that the place is the Royal's place of worship, but as a gentle soul as I am, I just wanted to explore.
However, the cool thing about the place was they had the caskets of some of the kings and queens. I saw Lonshanks' tomb (Edward I from Braveheart), Queen Elizabeth I. Henry V and Henry VIII, George III. Even Mary, Queen of Scots. And she had her own special room.
Also, major English personalities are buried under the floor. Lord Byron, Sir Winston, and The Bard. Except, The Bard's "tomb" is honorary. He was actually buried back in Stratford-Upon-Avon.
I saw WW II damage on St. Paul's Catherdal, visited Coventry (which was annihilated in WWII by the Gernans).
I have ended up becoming a historian of this great nation. My tourguide was floored when I told her I outright read books about the history of the UK. Heck, I even corrected her on a couple of facts that she (Cathy is Ozzie,and damned HOT..sorry..hormone moment..hehe) got wrong. The glaring one was she said Richard Lionheart was the one who signed the Magna Carta.
The funny thing about England is, when we were riding the bus, I noticed the scenery reminded me of South Dakota. Particularly when we visited the most overrated site. Stonehenge.
That's another story..
 We were extremely lucky about the infamaous rain. I landed in London during a rainstorm at 6am. Edinburgh, we had a small shower, but it was rather rainy on the day we traveled from Edin to Fort William.
Edinburgh is..home. Another blog entry on that one.
And yes, I've played with Nessie at Loch Ness..
Wales is beautiful. Shame my experience there was tarnished by a coffee house. YET another story.
Overall, I'm glad I went. I learned a lot about life, particularly saving money for a goal, and realizing it.
Thank you, Princess.
August 16 Oz Part III: Mmmmm....BeeerOk, right now, I will say that Foster's is NOT representative of Australia's brewage. Quite honestly, no native Ozzie drinks the stuff. It's horrible. It tastes like crap.
However, the commercials for that beer actually does represent the Aussies quite accurately...LOL! They be rather laid back.
Each state has a favorite, but quite a few of them are more or less national. I myself fell in love with two beers: Victoria Bitter (VB for short), and Toohey's Old. I tried Carling and XXXX (Four X), but didn't care for them.
Heck each state has different sizes of draft beer. 5-7oz, 12oz, 20oz, and if you're in the NT (Northern Territory), if you ask for a Darwin Stubbie, it's a pint of whatever you're drinking!
Now, their beer is very strong, and ice cold. Since much of the country is tropical, they tend to drink their beer hard and fast. I made the mistake when we were in Cairns to drink about six 20oz in a three hour period. Kiddies, my advice: Don't do that LOL!
Ozzies are a very outdoorsy culture. They barbie, beach, and drink lots of beer when they do those activities. It's also a rather manly culture too. One of my tourmates said he was in Germany during Oktoberfest. He said that the Ozzies literally left the tents, threw up, and went back in just to prove to the Germans that they could out drink them. Kind of scary, IMHO.
August 13 Oz Part Two: My friend JoyMy second day in Australia was rather interesting, because I met one of the nicest people I've ever met.
We went on a rainforest skyway tour thing. That's when I met Joy. She is one of the sweetest people I've ever met. She's from Canada, but she lives in Switzerland, and works for a bank. Being that she is so Euro now, it became funny.
See, in Europe, unlike here in the US, they're more touchy-feely when it comes to expression. As in, what we North Americans would consider 'sexual harrassment' when it comes to touching other people in general conversation is just the norm there. I mean, light touches while talking to another person (particularly with the opposite sex). It's nothing sexual, but more of emphasizing a point.
She joked when she did this, saying "Oh, I forgot, darling, you're fron North America. You're not going to sue me for harrassment?"
I just laughed. She's playful.
We hooked up together as friends, and I remember that when we were on the Great Barrier Reef, she asked me to put sunscreen on her back (Kiddies, if you go to Oz, the ozone hole is really close to the country, so they're bloody serious when it comes to this), I did, and I plum forgot to do one of my arms.
Being on the water, good Lord, my arm got burned bad. I mean, REALLY bad. Wasn't blister territory, but the SOB hurt like hell.
When she left the tour, I surprised the hell out of her. Shame my friend Paul took the picture after the crime, but I went to her, and gave a wet one right on the lips. It was spontanious, but fun. I knew she loved it..LOL! The look on her face was classic. Mine, I just grinned like I robbed the cradle or something, LOL!
Over the years, we've been in contact with each other. One of the few friends from that tour that I've kept in contact with. She has said that if I ever go to central Europe, I have welcome home. Hell, she's been trying for years to find a way to get me to live there. I wouldn't mind it at all, because of the sheer history of the place.
Joy is so sweet. Even when we disagreed on politics, or other things, we respect each other's opinion.
If you make America again, darling, I'd love to see you again.
Pals. August 12 Oz Part OneThis is going to be an on-going post. Not sure on how long it's gonna be, because I experienced so much down in Australia. I spent a month there...that's a lot of time. But I will say, it's one of my favorite memories.
Crickey, how to begin?
Oz. (Australia to the rest of the world)---well, let's just say, I WANT to go back there.
Hands down, the most fun I've ever had in my entire life. I went a week after the election of 2000. I went from literally a blizzard here in South Dakota to Los Angeles. I was glad it was a Sunday, because I actually wanted to visit Hollywood, but cab rides cost way too much. And since the transit system sucks there, I decided to sit in the airport for 12+ hours. Luckily, we had football.
I also had a book to read to pass my time, but when I became hungry, the restaurant in the international gates area actually served some great food in generous portions for a damned good price. I bought a chicken breast dinner, with steamed veggies for $12. Yes, in LAX, a good meal for $12.
Enter Cairns, Queensland, Australia. I flew 19 hours including a stop in Sydney.
My biological clock is already messed up as it is, but seeing Santa Claus in 95 degrees plus one hundred percent humidity, and Christmas trees with no snow (and my Canadian friends said the same thing), it was just plain wrong.
Now to Cairns. This town is geared for backpackers. It's a gateway to the Great Barrier Reef. It's also reknowned to be the biggest party town in all of Australia. Trust me, it is.
We went to a place called The Woolshed. This is supposed to be the most happening place in town.
We got in fast (via Contiki), bought our food, and ate it. At the time, I paid $6 for a 12 oz. sirloin, with a ton of fries. At around 10pm, the house lights went down, and the music went up.
The thing with this place is, the tables are oaken. Instead of dancing on the floor, you danced on the tables.
One thing I do remember fondly, was there was a little Chinese girl named Ming, who could not speak English hardly at all. She and I happened to be across from each other, and we tried to talk to each other. It was fun, because we managed to find a way to explain to each other where we were from. She had a Chinese-English dictionary with her. I was very patient (as I knew her experience when I was in Paris two years prior).
I actually managed to teach her how to say South Dakota in English. She said she was from Shanghai, least from what I could understand.
To me, that's fun. July 24 Navigating Paris, Part TroiDay three of Paris was actually a nightmare.
I woke up at 4am, so I could get to Charles de Gaulle for my flight home.
A couple of days before, I had to change my flight plans, because Northwest Airlines had a strike, and while in London, I had to call them up to change plans. One thing I learned is: 1-800 numbers are not toll-free overseas. They use 1-888 for toll-free. I spent an hour trying to get my schedule straight and it cost me like $100 for the call! I bought a calling card, which just enough time to call my dad to have him wire me $150 (which is what I used in Paris to buy my rail pass and my museum pass).
Well, I was told that at 5:30am, the rail would be up.
Being it was night (and I can't see very well), and being tired, I was lost. I ran into a woman, asked her where the closest train station was. I was expecting just directions, but she actually took my hand, and led me there!
Now, my flight to Amsterdam was at 7:30, and I figured I had plenty of time.
Wrong.
I didn't get to the airport UNTIL 7:30. My stop was the last stop on the line for the first train of the day, plus it was an hour ride to the airport.
Sooooo, since I missed my flight to Amsterdam, I took it leisurely. My train passed the stadium in St. Denis, where France won the World Cup several months back.
I don't know if all continental airports are like Charles de Gaulle, but there are no signs overhead to tell you where to go for tickets, baggage area, or even the gates. I went to an Air France booth to ask where the KLM desk was. The man told me I was in the domestic wing of the airport. He directed me to go back to the train station, and stop off at the first stop from the airport. That would take me to the international wing.
Now, I was looking around to find out where the concourse was. There were a couple of French soldiers packing a couple of nasty looking machine guns. I was standing there, and appearantly I looked suspicious, because I noticed one of the soldiers move his gun my direction slightly. He was speking in French, and I told him I couldn't understand him. He just kept talking, and I probably did the most stupid thing considering the situation.
In the movies or TV, you see people hold their hand up, open their jacket to reach into their pocket to pull out (depending on the situation) their ID or a gun and stuff right? I did that. Here I am, having two guns pointed threateningly towards me (I've never had a gun pointed at me in my life), and ever so slowly, I pull out my passport. They eased up, and I simply said "Lost." I think they pretty much understood my predicament, and lead me to where I needed to go. An airport representative greeted me, and I explained my situation. She asked me how I liked the city, and I told her I loved it.
I found the KLM desk (KLM is the international portion of Northwest, hence Northwest/KLM), and told the REALLY hot French woman (have I mentioned that Paris women are hot?
 ) my predicament. She was actually being rather slow, and out of desparation, I pleaded that I would lose my job if I didn't come home that day. It wasn't true, BUT I did not have any time off left. That seemed to make her work faster.She told me that the only available flight (since international flights with NWA were still not fully operational) was a Delta flight was six hours from the time I was at the desk. It was 8:30am or so by then. I asked her if there was another, earlier flight, and she said no. She also said that the flight mentioned was being booked really fast.
I took it.
I got to Cincinnati, and literally kissed the ground. American soil never tasted so good. I called my friend who was supposed to pick me up in Sioux City that I would arrive much later. With what little cash I had left, I bought two Heinekens, and a McDonald's happy meal. I think because of my experience of the day, and cash reasons, I reverted back to a child. Heck, while waiting for my flight, I just played with the toy that came with my meal. Maybe it's because it was something from home. I've realized that sometimes just simple things can do wonders to help you along.
I arrived in Sioux City at about 11pm. More or less, I was up for twenty-four plus hours, and on the ride home, Steve said that I was more or less a babbling idiot. Then finally, I was home.
I went to work the next night, and my boss basically told me to not to worry about my numbers, because he knew I was spent. On the way home, I REALLY was a babbling idiot, because I think the jet lag finally hit me.
But you know what? Despite the nightmare of just trying to come home from Paris, I would not trade the experience for the world. Why?
Because I truly found out just how resourceful a person can be in a time of desparation, especially when one cannot speak the language. Even when I was desparate, I just knew that I would make it home.
Home.
Such a lovely word.
Navigating Paris, Part DeuxMy sightseeing day in Paris started rather abruptly. Being the fact that I was just plain worn out from the rail ride, and trying to just find my hotel the day before, I just crashed. However; I completely forgot to put my DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door, and at about 10am, I was awakened by the maid opening my door.
I must of scared the living daylights out of her as well, because I literally sat up in bed, and looked at the door. She politely apologized for disturbing my sleep, and I nodded to her.
Well, since I was awakened, I turned on my TV. It's really wierd hearing Bart Simpson speak French, hehe.
I showered, then decided to go down for brekie. I packed up my smaller backpack (which consisted of my camera, map, some bottled water, tourbooks, and my first aid kit).
Continental breakfast is really wierd, considering that we North Americans (and the Brits) are so meat and potato. It's complimentary, but all you get is a roll, some cheese, and coffee or tea. If you want cereal, or something hot, you have to pay. I found that out as I was pouring my milk on my Frosted Flakes. I paid the rather attractive waitress ten francs for my Tony grub.
Like London, Paris is such a place of history. Quite frankly, my impulse to visit the city was not really to see the Louvre, Notre Dame, or the Eiffel Tower (which I did), but the Palace of Versailles. As a trained historian (sans degree, hehe), the place was totally AMAZING.
Versailles is about twelve kilometers southwest of Paris. King Louis XIV hated Paris, and built the palace there.
Louis was a really an expert on manipulating people. He basically had the nobles fight each other to please him. I mean, it was a bloody honor to watch the man wake up, or go to bed. If you were REALLY in favor, you were allowed to dress him, and undress him for bed.
Now, Versailles is just HUGE (what's scary is, the Louvre is even bigger). The grounds are huge. The place just exudes ego and fallicy. I was there for three hours, and only hit the highlights of the palace.
The most impressive part, of course is the Hall of Mirrors. It's where Louis held court. On one side, there's seventeen picture windows. Facing them on the other wall, are giant mirrors. So many treaties were signed in this hall (Treaty of Utrecht, Treaty of Versailles, as examples). Between the windows and mirrors are countless pieces of art, from Caeser busts dating from Roman times to paintings. Not only that, there is just so much gold. I've NEVER seen so much gold in one place in my life.
I went back to Paris proper, and my next stop was the Eiffel Tower. It's just one of those iconic landmarks, and I thought it was really neat.
I walked to Notre Dame, and I was instructed to take off my hat as I entered (I forgot to do naturally.) I honestly loved it. It reminded me of my walk through Yorkminster, because you could just go where you like. What ticked me off about going to Westminster in London, is you couldn't do that. You were basically directed to follow a path.
On my way to the Louvre, I dropped by a sports shop. Being that I love soccer, the World Cup in 98 was played in France. Immediately, the hot sales woman (Paris is filled with extremely good-looking women!) asked me in English on what I wanted. I told her I just wanted a World Cup shirt. I bought a Spain shirt. All that was left, really, hehe.
Now, I arrived at the Louvre. It took me about three hours to find Mona. What's kind of neat is, there's little hand-drawn pictures of her with arrows pointing the way to her location. Now for the fun part.
I happenend to run into a couple from Jacksonville. As you probably can see, I can be a chatterbox. For two days, I didn't speak much, because of the language barrier. Those poor people! I must have talked their ears off, just to talk!
I finally found Mona, and believe it or not, she's smaller than I expected. Heavily guarded, and behind glass. A girl from Kentucky took a picture of me pointing to her with my thumb.
After seeing the lovely lady, I made my way back to my hotel. Before going to bed, I decided to see what the French watch for porn. I figured, what the hell. Turns out, they're more on the softcore stuff. Makes sense, considering they're a more sensual/flirtatious culture when it comes to sex.
I went to bed, and then woke up the next day to go home. Talk about an experience I would never forget!
July 17 Ground ZeroI made a premature post back on the 4th of July Weeekend about today, but I decided to delve into it further.
If you've been there, or to Sommerset, or to the Pentagon, you know.
My New York experience was a healing experience. I needed to go there. I needed to look at the horror, and frankly, spit in it's face. I had to look it in the eye, give out my prayers to the victims. And give them, those who kill innocents, the bird. I do not fear you.
I damned near puked on my way walking to it, because I was realizing it was real.
I do not fear you.
Last night, when CNN showed the pictures of the bastards that bombed London, I was with my brother Rick, and our brother-in-law Mike. I gave the tv the bird. Rick gave the double-bird. Mike followed suit.
I think these guys are cowards. Killing innocent people for a cause is just.....abomniable.
Extremists exist in all religions and cultures. That is the problem.
Just not give into the fear. Christ, if I had it my way, I'd be in the military. I'd be on the front lines in Iraq, Afghanistan, or wherever. I would give my life away to this country. And I would do it honorably. In a fight. I would not go and blow myself up to kill innocent people. If I died in a firefight against these bastards, I would hope to knoe my death would have meant something.
I can't do it because of my eyes. But I think I'm serving with the use of my words.
I wear my patriotism on my sleeve, just as I do love.
I do not fear you.
Nuff said. July 15 Navigating Paris Part UneI mentioned a few weeks ago that I went to Europe. One thing I've learned is, if you have the means, travel. You don't necessarily need to go overseas, but go to a place that you find interesting, or where you've always wanted to go.
It's kind of funny about Paris. When I booked my trip to the UK, I added three days in Paris as an afterthought. After doing some research, for $99 (at the time, not sure of price now), and in about four hours, you can take a Eurostar train from London to Paris. I had to book the Paris part with my flight through Northwest, as the tour company I was going trough did not have a stand-alone Paris package.
Well, when I arrived at Gare de Nord station, I went to the info booth wanting to purchase a three day rail pass (which included the airport), but the lady gave me a bus stop location for my hotel.
I was carrying a backpack which could double as a shoulderbag. When I left the station, I looked around and saw the bus stop. Problem is, trying to navigate the streets of a city that is thousands of years old. There were little islands of sidewalk, is the best way to describe it. Trying to navigate it was impossible. I looked for the most logical way to where I wanted to go, but it didn't follow logic at all.
I finally arrived at A bus stop, but not the one I wanted. In the stall was a young man, perhaps twenty or so. I asked him politely if he knew English, and he said no.
Ok, backing up some. I bought a travel phrase book for French. Somehow, somewhere, and I don't know where or how, I lost it before leaving London. Months leading up to my trip, I drilled certain phrases in my head:
Excusez moi, monsieur/madame, je ne parl pas francais, parle vou Anglais?--Excuse me sir/madam, I cannot speak French, can you speak English?
Merci--Thank you.
S'il vou Plait?--Please?
Comment obtiens-j'à la Tour Eiffel?--How do I get to the Eiffel Tower? (or where ever)
Oui--Yes
Non--No
Combien?--How much (as in price)
Merde--Shit (useful when you're frustrated and want the locals to understand the predicament..
)And my personal favorite phrase, but unfortunately, I couldn't use it, because I was low on funds:
Je suis un mâle riche et seul américain--I am a rich and single American Male.
 You figure it out..That's all I knew in French, since I lost my book. And with precious cash problems, I couldn't go buy another book, so I just went by memory. And you know what? I got around Paris just fine.
Anyway, here I was at this bus stop with this kid who said he was from Marsailles. He looked just as lost as I did. We both were looking on the rail map, but we both seemed to not find our destinations. I tapped him on the shoulder, held up my finger, and pulled out my city map of Paris; it came with one of the books I bought off of Amazon. It had on one side, the layout of the city, and on the other, the layout of the rail system (subway).
An old man joined us at our bus stop, and my new found friend began asking in French some questions. He gestured to me, asked me for my map. I handed it to him. I also politely asked the older gentleman to look at my hotel address.
The older gentleman held up his finger, and pulled out a pen. He pointed to the kid, and drew on the subway side f the map his directions. The guy wrote down all of his stops.
He then pointed to me, and drew a path to where I needed to go.
We both thanked him, and I then had to find a way back to Gare de Nord.
With the help of some teenage girls, they led me to the station.
All of this with me knowing only thirty French words, and none of the people I met knew English.
At the time, I was hot, sweaty, tired, and just wanted a bed.
But I wouldn't trade that experience away.
Pure gravitas. July 02 Ground Zero, and other NYC experiencesJuly 17,, 2002
I was saving this for a later blog, but since its’ the 4th weekend, I figured it has it’s place with the 4th.. I’m with Melanie, Danica, and Joe. Danica and Melanie are from Canada. Danica is from British Columbia. Melanie is from Toronto. Joe, Sydney. We walk south on Church Street. Joe decides he needs some food, and enters a shop . We follow. We then continue our journey, until I see flags, hats, shirts, sheets. Everything remembering the people who died. I stop, and for some reason, I give Joe my camera. I bought a NYPD hat the day before on Liberty Island, and put it down. I say a prayer is give the sign of the cross. He takes a picture of me me, and for two weeks, I had people from work look at it, until Ricky, an inventory guy (and former drug user), said: “Dude, you had a moment of clarity.” That’s when I accepted what had happened. When we walked the sacred path, I was close to throwing up. But I held my cool. As I viewed the site., I was silent. I think my friends did their own thing, but I also think they knew (I did announce on our Contiki tour that my intent was to see the site. I called my parents to let them knoe I’ve seen it. Dad answers. “How was it?” “A fucking hole,” is all I could say. Later that night, I asked a bartender about the nearest fire station. They give out shirts for like $20 which went to the relief fund. She told me my drinks were free for the rest of the night. I was paying $5 for a can of beer, and after two, I asked her why she was buying me my drinks. She told me that her husband was a firefighter who died in the North Tower. I dropped a $10 bill, and told her that was her tip. Joe and I went out for the final night of my time in NYC. Knowing that I was shy with women, he introduced me to someone he met. He was one of those who liked to get underground music, and met a girl who knew the market. She took us to a quiet bar (huh? There’s those in NYC??) and they pushed me to talk to the bartender, who was such a fine looking woman. Her husband was in Afghanistan. I think Joe knew I had a thing for one of the British girls. I can’t remember her name, but I do remember that she saw my Lord of the Rings book, and wondered whose it was owned by.. But alas, the lass from Birmingham was not interested. I did leave New York with one thing: Closure.
Gravitas
. 9-11-01 (PART TWO)Being that I have some personal friends over in Iraq, I have the feeling I need to air some feelings; and this is also a HOLIDAY WEEKEND.
First off, on July 17, it will be the third rememberance day since I visited Ground Zero. On that day, I'll post my experiences in New York City. I have seen Ground Zero, and it's hard to explain, unless you've been there, or visited the Petagon, or the site in PA. Or if you knew someone, or know someone, or knew someone who someone who died that day. You simlply can't undertstand, IMHO.
My conversations with those who have been to one of the sites, or who've experienced it is:
Yeah. Trust me, there is a phenonenon called words left unsaid. Sometimes people connect without having to say a goddamn thing.
This is one of the hardest things to discuss, but yet the easiest. Unless you personally want to hear my stories concerning this matter before I publish them, let me know. This definatey is a topic I take to heart, and I do wear my patriotism on my sleeve. I don't cuss on boards much, out of respect to others who don't like it, but FUCK YOU Osama. May you NOT see the virgins awaiting or your sick excuse of a human being, and the same that follow you.
BTW, I use REMEMBERANCE DAY as opposed to ANNIVERSSARY, because people died. I mourn their deaths. I honor them. I personally think 9-11 should be a public day of mourning. Shame on the politicians who forget this. Shame on those Americans who forget this Shame on you.
Man, I'm quoting Michael Moore, and I can't stand that man.
Gravitas. July 01 9-11-01 (PART ONE)I guess it's hard to understand on what everyone's feelings on what happened.
But over the weekend, pray for our men and women who are serving. I do not care for your affiliation, but I care for at least sending love to those who need it.
Gravitas June 28 Edinburgh, Part IIWell, now I'm going to explain the deja' vu portion of my experience in Edinburgh.
Each major stop on the tour, we were given a map of the city we were visiting in.
We spent basically a day and a half in Edinburgh. Now, what's so deja' vu? It's like, I've been here before. Everything seemed so familiar.
Now, if you're the type that doesn't believe in deja' vu, let me describe, or at least try to describe it. It's basically the feeling of sensing that you have been in a situation, a place, or seen someone or something before. But you know you haven't.
It's just that funny feeling thing, you know?
While I was walking the streets of the city, things just seemed natural to me.
When I explained it to my mom when I got back, she commented that perhaps one of my anscestor's spirits resides in me. Even though I was raised a Roman Catholic, I do believe in reincarnation.
It's just wierd. Edinburgh Part 1Edinburgh, Scotland. September 10, 1998. My mom's birthday. I gave her a call to wish her a happy one from the streets of Edinburgh. Her side of the family are Scots, and I wanted to celebrate that part of my heritage.
Contiki, of course, had an optional cultural event, which basically was a traditional Scottish dinner. I tasted haggis, for Pete's sake. It smells bad, but it's really not that bad tasting, considering what it's made from.
I had some whiskey as well. Note: never, EVER refer whiskey as scotch, or scotch whiskey. The Scots take pride in their whiskey! It's good stuff, if you can handle it. Glenlivet is incredibly good. Heck, I sampled some stuff made long before JFK was killed.
Well, now I should probably get to the meat and potatoes. A Scotsman (never got his first name, so I just refer to him as Mr. Grant) came out in full ragelia: Kilt, plume hat, and of course, the pipes. He played Amazing Grace on the pipes. I shudder when I hear that song is played on the pipes. It's eerie, but inspiring at the same time.
He introduces himself, and then begins to talk about the history of the clans. He explains the history of the tartan (ala kilt. Another thing, don't refer to the Tartan as a kilt. It's kinda offensive.)
Mr. Grant plays a few more songs on the pipes throughout his history lesson. Then comes the highlight of the evening.
One of the Australians, Travis became the class clown of our tour. This guy was just over the top. Well, Mr. Grant wanted a volunteer to help explain the victory dance. Basically, the dance is having two swords on the ground crossing each other, where the dancer has to tip-toe between the X, and have to do some hand gestures.
Mr. Grant asked where Travis was from.
"Perth." (Perth is a town across the Firth and Forth River from Edinburgh).
Travis explained he was from Perth, Australia.
"Have you Scottish blood in you?" asked Mr. Grant.
"Yes," Travis said. I knew then that all hell would break loose, because Travis is a joker. But if you know British history, his answer is going to tick off Mr. Grant.
"What clan?"
"Windsor."
Total, absolute silence.
"Brave lad," is all Mr. Grant said.
The evening wound down, and we posed with Mr. Grant. Before I left, however, I asked Mr. Grant about my mother's maiden name. He said it was Scottish, and I did some research. Back in 1999, I have the family crest tattooed to my left shoulder.
Well, it's one of the clans affiliated with my mum's MacDougall.
Bumidah No Bas
Nuff said June 27 EuropeBack in 1997, I never thought I'de ever go out of the US, but Princess Diana died. I don't know why, but her death hurt me. Perhaps it's because she was such a good person. I also admit I was physically attracted to her. I used to have a website of my Eruropean trip, but due to Yahoo and Geocities' merger, I lost my password through a glitch, and it ended up getting erased. It was a rather huge site, and very detailed. Heck, my Aunt Marylin used it as research to go to England to visit. Basically, www.contiki.com was what I went through for booking my three trips: Eruope, Australia, and New York. I'm still in contact with a friend from my Oz trip. Ok, for Europe: London is like a carnival to me. Edinburgh. I need to blog on my eperience there. Let's just say deja vu. The Highlands, Wow. Pretty country. Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. Because of Scotland (it's where my mum's family is from) I got a tattoo on my left shoulder. Finally, Paris. I was so lost there, but knowing just enough of the language, I got around. One of my favorite life stories revolves around how I traveled the city with little cash, and without a common language.
Nuff said
|
|
|
