I'm sorry, I'm lazy, and I'm a lousy conversationalist.
So....its been days and days since I updated this darned thing, and I'm sorry. I really really am! More than you might imagine! And less than I probably should be. Anyway. I'm here now and hopefully order shall shortly be restored.
I spent today being very domestic...did some laundry, cleaned my room, fixed my nails up...yeah. Nice and boring. It suits me after yesterday's wet adventure.
There are not pictures of Stirling yet, give me six hours or so. There ARE pictures of the Burns Supper, feel free to browse around.
Monday- 02-02-4. We ventured up to Stirling, about an hour away on the train. There we had lofty goals to visit the Monty Python castle and shout from the rooftops, "Go away or I shall taunt you a second time!" in outrageous French accents before hiking up the Wallace monument and around Stirling Castle. These hopes were washed away in the morning floodstorm known as rain, and I nearly chickened out of going at all. But go I did, and rain the sky did, and lost we became, and near to tears was I when to our addled, bus-illiterate aid came two kind old men with twinkly kind eyes and happy smiles. So we found ourselves, after a short but wet walk, at the base of the Dunhill (or such?) castle, home to Monty Python homages everywhere. We explored, we climbed creepy staircases, we nearly fell back down them, some of us jumped restricted fences and galloped along rooftops, we found secret passages and scared the beejeezus out of eachother, and had a slimely grand ol' time. We even got off a picture or two. Alas, though, the rain continued and we were unable to access the wall turrets to shout at pretend silly english king-dogs and their kaaaanigits. So we left. But since we entered and left before the return of the groundskeep, we managed also to escape the entry fee...although that also voided our access to the free coconuts with every admission. So, thoroughly soddon and well photographed, courtesy of clicker happy Jamison, we headed back to the bus, where we again met the kind old men. Small world? No, just small town! We ventured to the base of the Wallace Monument, but did not have the time to climb up and explore. That worked out well for me though, since I've been fighting a goopy cough off, and in fact, I slept the entire train ride back to Edinburgh. Still, a highly adventerous and memorable day- especially since we rounded off the day with a stout dousing of Holy Grail movie madness.
Friday 01-30-04: The Burns Supper
I hope I can compact that evening into this tiny space. The Burns supper was really fantastic. We all had such a great time, and some of us more than others ;-). There is a picture of the Haggis they served us- its in three layers, thus called a pudding, the top being mashed potatoes (tatties) the middle, mashed turnips (neeps) and the bottom Haggis (not really a wild animal in the Scottish highlands). I passed. But it was so pretty, I had to photograph it, if only for future camoflauge reference! The rest of the supper food was pretty good, the chicken was braised in a sweet lemon cream, and the desert was a fantastically beautiful raspberries and fresh cream parfait. But the best part was the entertainment. The Burns Supper is held yearly in January to honor the great Scottish poet Robert (Bobby) Burns, and tradition states the meal is shared with many friends, haggis, and is dedicated to the immortal memory of Burns. So, an honored guest (or six in our case) is asked to give The Immortal Memory during the supper. Our little student group was quite lucky, we dined at the Robert Burns Memorial Center, which is a select seating of about sixty patrons a year, and usually very select. Our honored guests regaled us with recitations of Burns' beautiful poetry, pronounced correctly, and fantastic renditions of his songs. Particularly memorable is the baritone, whose rich, massive voice gave such life, and such emotion, to the laments of Burns. I don't believe there were many dry eyes as he finished Highland Mary.
Then...well, if you looked at the pictures (in the Burns folder) you saw the pictures of the scallywags in traditional scottish uniform, followed by a similar picture with one in a redcoat, and me brandishing a sword. These fine gentlemen related the tales of the Highlanders, explaining the true wearing of tartans (not pansy kilts) and the wars of honor and pride which the Scottish people fought in. During intermission, while both were still Scots, I went over to take pictures and discuss the possible marauding of Lindsey, who was being stubborn. They laughed and said they'd see what they could do, and away I went. Alas, I should not make myself so noticeable.
So the second part began, and the Redcoat (noting he had killed a scot what looked exactly like him only moments before) brought out a highland prisoner, and wanted to execute him for wearing his tartan. But the crowd begged mercy, and so the Redcoat Campbell put it to a vote--all save one (not the Redcoat) called for him to save the MacDonald, and so the Campbell found himself with a draw of a vote. The prisoner, considered too stupid to decide on his own behalf, was permitted to chose one to cast the deciding vote...and he chose...yes, the tall pretty redhead in the corner, what sounds suspiciously like a colonist. Damn. Well being the only tall (?) pretty (?!) redhead in the place, I found myself on stage, and declared the MacDonald should live. So, being both both a stupid woman and ignorant colonist (with a hellish name they couldn't pronounce and so was promplty renamed Sega or such) I was rediculed, until I asked to see the pretty sword. Then he made me go back to my seat. Jerks. But not, mind you, before I was asked if any man there owned me, and finding it was not so, I was requested to meet both Campbell and MacDonald outside at the haunted Kirk at midnight. Fun fun.
Actually, being the ham I am, I had a great time. And you know, being an American there was apparently a really big deal. Everyone seemed so fascinated with us- it was like being a novelty toy or zoo animal. People asked about our homes and our clothes and our basic knowledge of the English language...and mostly, if we enjoyed ourselves. I felt so welcome, and so honored, to be a part of this lovely tradition. It almost made the idea of haggis bearable.
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