Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Back in the Granite City and I ate sheep
stomach!
Well, I
managed to make it safely back to Scotland. See, I told you…no terrorists,
flight attendant strikes, or planes crashing out of the sky were going to keep
me from my goal. Hooray. The flight was pretty smooth. One thing to note is
that as I was tossing and turning (well, as much as one can in a tiny area
known as an airline seat) while trying to sleep, I must have kicked out a panel
near my foot. The next thing I knew, my foot was freezing cold and was dangling
in a hole. I was fully awake instantaneously, as I feared that if my shoes fell
into this mystery hole, I would lose them forever and be forced to walk through
the airport shoeless. While my boots were quite close to the rim of this
opening, they hadn’t yet fallen in, so I shoved them to safety. Unfortunately,
I didn’t know how to close this panel, so I was forced to sit there and freeze
half to death, as I had a suspicion that this panel opened to the cargo area of
the plane and wasn’t heated. By the way, I would just like to say that I feel so
safe riding in a plane where mysterious panels can be opened by a light tap of
the foot. Way to go Federal Aviation Administration (FAA)!
Another
(disgusting) tidbit about my trip back is that after we had landed in Amsterdam
and were rolling uneventfully toward the jetway, a
young girl sitting with her family kitty-corner to me threw up. Why? I have no
idea, as it was a fairly smooth landing. Nonetheless, she threw up right on her
blanket. By this time everybody had gotten up and was retrieving their bags
from the overhead bins (carefully, you know, as items may have shifted during
the flight) and looking away as she finally found the airsickness bag and was
continuing to use it. Yuck. I was actually fine with it all, as a young girl
doesn’t make too much noise in that situation… but then the smell hit me. Oh,
the smell. Ew. I think the
one thought running through everybody’s mind was ‘open the bloody doors
already…gross!’
The
Amsterdam-Aberdeen trip went off without a hitch. It was only after the stairs
were pulled up to the door and people began to exit the plane that something
happened. This one was all me, unfortunately. I was wearing quite high heeled
boots and my feet were killing me from running around all of the airports.
Well, after that first step (in Aberdeen you get on/off the plane via stairs…no
convenient jetway leading into the building) I
slipped. Oh yes. Are you picturing it now? Luckily for me, I had grabbed the
handrails on either side of me just in time, so I was able to pull myself up. I
took the next step…and slipped. All in all, I believe that I actually stepped
correctly on just two steps before landing on the ground. How embarrassing! Ah
well, that’s quintessential Michelle I suppose.
After
walking swiftly through the airport, not looking anybody in the eye (hey, they
may have seen my moment of fame just minutes before) I pushed my (heavy, heavy,
heavy) luggage laden trolley toward the taxi queue. When the driver asked where
I was headed, I froze. I had only been in my flat for less than 24 hours way
back in June before I flew to Minnesota, so I couldn’t quite remember my
address. It finally clicked in my head and I told him, but when we drove down
George Street, I couldn’t remember what my building looked like. Luckily for
me, there is only one converted church on the street, so I just looked for the
enormous spire coming out of the top of the building and I was all good.
Of
course, in true Scottish fashion, we had to celebrate my triumphant
return…which, I’ll admit did contain a bit of alcohol. Okay, I won’t lie; there
was a tremendous amount of alcohol involved. My mates Kirstin (flatmate) and Gillian and I drank a bit in the flat, and
then headed to a pub called Revolution for some more liquid refreshment. We
decided to purchase a £20 pitcher of the most delicious mixed vodka drink. When
that was finished, be bought another pitcher and then (you guessed it) another
one. Oh boy were we quite pissed by the end of the night, but ‘twas all in good
fun.
Since
that night I’ve basically been acclimating myself to the Scottish environment
yet again…and getting reacquainted with the weather. I forgot how much you must
be able to tolerate rain in order to live here. Ah, I love any weather so it’s
all good.
To get to the point of the title of this post…the other day Kirstin and Gill took me to a pub with a name that I can’t remember right now (something like Boar’s Head or likewise) and we ordered lunch. Well, Gill decided that I needed to try Haggis, Neeps and Tatties. For those clueless people out there (like I was just a minute prior to ordering the meal!), Haggis is, according to the dictionary: ‘a traditional pudding made of the heart, liver, etc., of a sheep or calf, minced with suet and oatmeal, seasoned, and boiled in the stomach of the animal.’ Now, I know this seems so completely disgusting sounding that no person should ever consume it, but to be honest with you, it wasn’t actually that bad. Of course, you must completely forget what it is that you’re eating while you’re looking at it, and it does have a very strange creamy texture once you put it in your mouth, but other than that it just tastes like you’re eating a pile of meat (mercifully, they don’t serve you the stomach lining with the dish…that’s simply used for cooking purposes). I’m sure most of you now have a scrunched up, disgusted-looking face, but I assure you, it’s not as traumatic to eat as I had believed in the past. Now, neeps are served with Haggis, and they are simply turnips. I like to play a game with my non-American friends in which I point at something and ask what they call it. You’d be surprised what was different. A zucchini over here is called a courgette, molasses is called treacle, etc. Now, I’ve gotten off point. With the Haggis and neeps are tatties. One of the first things you learn over here is that tatties are potatoes (but to say it properly in ‘Scottish’, make sure you completely ignore the middle two ‘t’s, as in “I would like some ta-ies”…it’s too cute listening to my Scottish mates talk!). So there you go, I actually tried something new! Yeah for me. Maybe I’ll start to try every nation’s national dish…uh, I’ll take that back…there’s no way that I will ever eat lutefisk (cod soaked in lye…is that even legal anymore?!).
Well, now that I’ve thoroughly ruined your appetite I’m going to love you and leave you for now. I have to get back to my difficult life of reading, watching DVDs, shopping and generally just lounging about. Hey, give me a break…it’s my summer vacation. Luckily, university begins again in a short while and then I will have much to do. Until then, I shall be slothful. Goodnight all.