In Train-ing

Monday's plan in Oslo was strictly to activate my Eurail Pass and not miss my train to Gothenburg. 

The Eurail Pass is a magical object that is totally worth the amount of mana you need to get one.

I bought a two month "Global Flexipass".  For $1100, I can take basically any train I want, any day I want, as many times a day as I want, wherever I want, for two months.  The main exclusions include the UK, Poland, and Turkey.  This works out rather perfect for me as the UK and Turkey are at the polar ends of my adventure, so I could by a two month rather than a three month pass.  All I do is make sure the train doesn't require previous reservations, and hop on any second class train I wish.  Economy class in a train isn't near as shitty as economy in an airplane.  My headrest moves, I only have one neighbor, and my legs retain their ability to feel for the entire duration of the trip. 

I would also like to point out that this second class ticket was made possible because I am considered a "youth".  I'm under 25, which makes pretty much everything cheaper here.  In many museums, I get in free just for being under 25.  Student discounts are also extremely widespread here (unfortunately I've left all my univeristy ID's in Ohio) Even if I was 25, it wouldn't really matter.  They've never asked me to prove it.

Looking 12 does have its benefits after all.

All I took was a quick stamp on the pass I had received in the mail, and I was ready to train-it for two months.  Erkki saw me to my train to Gothenburg, which was going to take approximately 4 hours.  My next host Mia, was to be there waiting for me at the Gothenburg central station when I arrived.

Mia was to be my first female host, and I was pretty excited about it.

As a single female traveler, you might assume that I would only want to stay with female hosts.  The truth is that a large majority of hosts on couchsurfing are male, and if I were to be sexist, I could find myself sleeping in the train station instead.  Also, I've historically for the most part gotten along better with males than females.  My circle of girl friends is substantially smaller than my circle of guy friends.  That being said, I am VERY particular about my male hosts.  They must have plenty of references that include single female travelers.  I have found hosts that looked pretty safe until I read the one or two negative references written by females.  The couchsurfing website makes it very easy to pick out the creepers...

Upon my arrival to Gothenburg, (and I'm so proud of this) I recognized Mia before she recognized me.  She was with a man I was later introduced to as her boyfriend Luis from Bolivia. 

Mia is one of the sweetest, most charming people I have ever met. 

She was adopted from Columbia into a Swedish familiy when she was very young, and has a very close connection to her birth culture.  She's traveled in Bolivia and Columbia, as well as some of the US east coast, south, and southwest. 

When I first met her, she was waiting with pamphlets and tour books about Gothenburg, ready to hand them to me.  As we took the bus back to her place (after she gave me a card I could buy 3 day of bus/tram travel on) she explained each and every leg of the journey that it would take to get to apartment, in case I was out venturing on my own. 

She explained her #1 rule.

I must feel as if I am at home with her.

And I did.

Her apartment was cute and cozy.  While I have loved all of my hosting boys and their flats, there is something about a girl decorated apartment that made me feel very at home.  Bright colors, flowers, posters, ticket stubs, all of it.  Mia explained to me that she would leave me alone my first night so that I could settle in, rest, and do as I pleased.  She would go to stay with Luis after we all ate dinner together in her apartment.  She also told me to pick out places I wanted to see the next day, because she would be my personal tour guide of Gothenburg. To top it all off, she had sheets and towels set out for me, and  showed me how to run the TV, the shower, and the computer.

You wouldn't think alone time would be that valuable when you are traveling alone.  But I have more or less been around people 24/7 since I've been abroad.  Most of my time alone in my hosts apartments was spent either getting ready to go out into the city, or too leave for the next city.  Don't get me wrong, I also love my hosts' company, but that one night alone was perfect. 

I showered, watched Hotel Rwanda, picked some destinations for the next day, and then passed out to Ice Age 2.

Perfect.

Ha en bra natt Sweden
Tegs

Peace, Love, and Handball

Sunday consisted of exactly two things (not three as the title may suggest).

The Nobel Peace Prize museum, and a game of handball.

I set off for the museum, solo this time.  I had plans to visit some gardens and a cemetary that day as well.

Except I spent 3 hours at the Nobel museum.

The guided tour was only 35 minutes, but there was so much to see and read.  And of course, I had to read everything.  The ground floor consisted of two photo exhibitions, both of which were truly extraordinary.

The first, Veiled Rebellion was shot by Lynsey Addario and featured the women and girls of Afghanistan.  The following information is via the facts written in the museum, as well as our tour guide.

Afghanistan is considered the worst place in the world for women to live.  57% of all Afghan girls are married before they are 16.  The average life expectancy for a woman there is only 43 years.  Under Taliban rule, only 5000 girls attended school.  Now almost 500,000 attend school (I'm not 100% sure if the second part of the fact is accurate).  It is difficult to say if those figures the museum had were even accurate, as Afghanistan lacks basic infrastructure. 

The pictures showed a variety of things.  From women in full burkas to more progressive women wearing makeup with their faces, arms, and hair exposed.  From the scarred faces of women beaten and mutilated by their husbands to women graduating from university.  They showed some of the medical care that women have access to, as well as their social lives.

The whole thing made you feel both sorry and proud at the same time.  Sorry that many women have no opportunity to demand for better treatment, but proud of those that can.  The 2012 Olympics will feature the first Afghan women's boxing team.  The girls will wear hijabs under their head guards, but just the fact that their families have allowed them to participate is a huge step. 

The other photo exhibition, Infidel, was shot by the late Tim Hetherington.  Tim was killed in April of 2011 while covering the civil war in Misrata, Libya.  His exhibit was based on a group of American soldiers.  All I could gather was second platoon.  I'm assuming army based on the pictures.

Its main focus was the subculture that could only exist in all male groups such as the one it featured,  as well as the bonds that men in war had with each other.

"Only in war is it possible for men to demonstrate their love for one another.  It's the only place where society sanctions such behavior."

The photos showed the men in both leisure and duty.  Some of the rituals the group had adopted (which as a woman I couldn't possibly understand) included giving members a "pink belly" fo his birthday. Which meant each member slapped him in the stomach until you could see the blood rise beneath the skin.  Happy Birthday.  Another was called blooding.  A soldier going on, or returning from leave was wrestled and punched till he bled.  The one picture showed a member getting his blooding, as well as him smiling after it was administered, blood dripping from his nose.  Other photos showed the men in contact with the locals in peaceful settings.  Also shown were some of the entertainment consumed by the plattoon, namely magazines and posters featuring guns, tattoos, and porn. 

One member of the group had brought his tattoo gun with him.  The others allowed him to tattoo them (his artwork got progressively better I must say).  Some tattoos were obviously done on a whim, others had meanings. One soldeirs helmet had been struck by two bullets in previous combat.  He had two bullets with wings tattood on his chest.  Several soldiers had gotten large tattoos across their sternums that said "Infidel", saying that this is what the enemy called them on the radio, so why not adopt it as their name. 

This whole exhibit moved me almost as equally as the first.  Despite having dated someone in the military (although never while he was overseas), I had never thought of the military as a fraternal organization in its own right.  Nor had I ever thought of it as a good way to open or broaden one's mind.  I'm not saying that I've never respected those willing to join, more like I thought the only items of value one would get from it were adrenaline rushes, college funds, and the occasional career (and of course the whole dicipline and respect aspects). Despite knowing many in the armed forces (including friends and past boyfriends) I had never really heard that side of the story.  Not a typical everyday conversation.

I feel like that should be enough to chew on for quite awhile.

I returned back to Erkki's flat, and he made some awesome pasta (I swear they were trying to make me fat in Oslo), and then we left for Erkki's handball game.  He played in a local league that practiced twice a week and was basically for anyone that wanted to sign up and play. 

If you've never seen handball before, as I hadn't, its pretty intense.  Its like basketball meets soccer.  The ball was between a softball and a soccerball, and didn't bounce all that well.  You could take three steps with the ball without bouncing it (dribbling wasn't really possible).  Scoring meant throwing it into a soccer like goal (keeper and all) from a circular boundary.  You had to stand outside the line to score...

Unless you were in midair.

This meant that scoring players looked somewhat like they were "slam dunking" (do we really say that? I've never realized how dumb that sounds? Its even worse in text...slam dunking). Whatever. The point is, each score was a pretty epic event.

The whole game is an hour long, with two periods of a half an hour each, and extremely limited timeouts.  Which I think is a good way to play a sport, none of this stopping the clock BS.  Erkki's team ended up killing their opponents in the end.

We rode the subway (without tickets of course) back, along with a few of the teammates.  They asked a bit about the Presidential election.  Who I thought would win, did anyone besides Obama really have a chance, who did I like, etc.  They even knew enough about American politics to know that Ohio was an important electoral state that didn't necessarily always vote one way or the other.  Do you know how much I know about Norwegian politics? Nothing.  I'm pretty sure they have a prime minister, and I'm thinking he must be at least 6 ft 5 and have a red beard.  Embarrassing.

The next day I would leave Oslo for Gothenburg, Sweden.

Ha Det Bra Norway
Tegs

Viking Country

I started walking into the busstation in Oslo, when a guy stops me. I really need to pay attention when I'm walking because Erkki was standing there waiting the whole time. I even recognized him from his pictures when I did look up.

Oslo is the point in my trip where I commit my first illegal act.

We walked a short distance towards the subway station.  When I mentioned that I didn't have an Kronors yet, he said I wouldn't need them here anyways.  Unlike the London tube, you don't have to swipe your ticket to enter the station.  They have people randomly pop up to check any make sure everyone has a ticket. Erkki said that they rarely check, we weren't going that far, and they aren't good at enforcing the
citations anyways.

So I boarded the subway illegally. Without a ticket.

I would be a repeat offender the rest of my stay here.

Erkki lived with three other guys (and two cats Sonic and Silver), and everyone was actually Swedish, not Norwegian.  One was his brother, the others he had known for a very long time.  Throughout the whole of my stay I didn't see much of the brother or the one flat mate.  Erkki, his flat mate Billy, and I played some cards and had a few (what they considered to be shitty, but tasted better than Bud Light) beers.  We decided to go out, beer in hand, as apparently that's not a big deal here.
I don't know if I've ever laughed so hard in my entire life.

Between the three of us, my stomach and face hurt from laughing the entire time.  Nothing in particular, just people watching mostly.  On the way back, we stopped at a kebab stand.  For those that have never experienced a real kebab, I don't mean shishkebab (sp?).  A kebab is essentially a pita like bread in a cone shape filled with assorted vegetables, meat (lamb usually I think), and a sauce that can range from a garlic greek yogurt to a spice curry sauce.  They can be compared to a gyro I suppose.  I hadn't had one in a long long time. Probably since Maastricht when we used get kebabs at Nora's (the only place to eat open late).
The next day, Erkki took me to central Oslo and showed me around.  The opera house in Oslo has stairs all around its exterior, and visitors are able to climb to the top and look out over the sea.  Oslo is situated in the middle of several hills, and it would have been a rather pretty view if it wasn't for the plethora of cranes surrounding the shore.

We walked to the "castle", which was really more of a fort type structure set upon a hill.  Then, we made it to the Nobel Peace Prize center, which was a must on my destination list.  There was an entrance fee, and Erkki didn't seem near as interested in it as I was. So, I said I would return on my own the next day.
We walked down Oslo's main strip on the way back. Lots of shoppers, tourists, street performers, etc.  It was a beautiful day, and people were enjoying it.  We even took our coats off half way throught the excursion.

That night, Billy cooked a traditional dinner of Swedish meatballs and boiled potatoes. It went a little something like this...

Swedish meatballs

Erkki and I were the "retarded team" that rolled the meatballs...

It was sooo good.  The meatballs are basically beef, breadcrumbs, and onion (from what I understood).  They fry the meatballs in a pan, and then make a sauce in the pan using basically cream and soy sauce.  We were all miserably full afterwards.  You really couldn't stop. It was that good.
The rest of the night we slothed on the couch watching stand-up comedy.  Any physical activity would have been impossible after that dinner.

Food coma in Oslo,
Tegs

Leaving the UK

Friday was my last day in Edinburgh, and therefore also my last day in the UK. 

David dropped me off at the train station, so I could leave my bag there and do a little more exploring before my 16:00 flight to Oslo.   I will definitely miss him.  He was a little quieter than my previous hosts, but he was very knowledgeable about Scotland and other important things.  I wish I had had more time to pick apart his brain, as I am so uninformed about anything on this side of the Atlantic.

After checking my bag in a locker, I headed DIRECTLY to the castle. 

I wasn't leaving the country before I had seen it.

Everything was even more beautiful in the morning.  All the buildings, churches, and statues were shrouded in fog.  I wouldn't say that it was cold out exactly.  More, crisp.  It was supposed to be another lovely day.

The castle didn't come into full view until I was practically tripping over its flagstones.

Victory. Finally.

Edinburgh Castle really consisted of a wall around several different buildings.  I spent a bit of time in the war museum there, which included history from just about every time period.  I can only imagine what fighting in a kilt was like.  As with Britain, some uniforms were for function, but a lot of them were just meant to look sharp and intimidating.  Fashion them to death I suppose.  There was also a military monument that honored all the different types of soilders in all the different wars and conquests undertaken by the British Empire, that of course Scotland participated in. 

Then came the real castle-y part.

Short history lesson (of course).  Scotland used to be its own independent nation.  There was a bit of back and forth where England would take over the castle, but the Scots would regain it again not too much later.  Each had their own monarchs, but they were all distantly related in some way, just as the monarchs of France, Norway, etc are also distantly intertwined (I do believe).  Anyways, in 1603, Queen I Elizabeth of England died without an heir, and King James VI of Scotland happened to be her first cousin twice removed. So he became the monarch of both countries.  He left for England and promised to return to Scotland tri-annually.  He only came back once before he died, when Edinburgh threw a party for him.  At this time the two nations, Scotland and England, remained seperate even though they shared a monarch.  In 1707 is when they actually joined to form Great Britian.

The castle held the portraits of the last sole monarchs of Scotland, as well as the Scottish Crown Jewels and the Stone of Destiny, which has its own interesting story, including a theft from Westminster Abbey.

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stone_of_Scone

After the castle, I went to the National Museum where I spent 2 hours in the Egyptian exhibit.  I had plans to go see the Scottish History part, but I just couldn't help myself and got a little carried away in Egypt (an obsession I've had since I was fairly young).  I WILL go there someday, but I can wait until things are a bit more stable if I have to.

It was an uneventful bus ride to the airport.  An uneventful check-in at the airport (thank goodness),  and an uneventful flight to Oslo, Norway.  I did however get a little worried as we were preparing to land.  There were frozen lakes and patches of snow I could see clearly from my window seat.  I was prepared for cold, but not THAT cold.  Getting off the plane proved that the weather in Oslo was just about the same as the weather in Edinburgh.  Not what one expects at the same latitude as Anchorage. 

If you've never flown with Ryan Air before, this is how it works.  The seats are plastic. You pay for your own peanuts.  You pay to check any bag that isn't your purse.  You also fly to a smaller airport that isn't quite in the city you think you're flying to.  Its usually a half hour to an hour bus ride into the real city.  However, because of all this, Ryan Air flights are dirt cheap.  I've taken an 8 Euro flight before (approximately $11).

I was so excited to be paying in Euros again, after switching back and forth to GB Pounds.  As soon as I got on the bus, I remembered that they don't use Euros here.  They have Norwegian Kronors.  For those of you that were fooled by the whole "unification of Europe under one Euro", I'm right there with you. 

Its not the exchanging that bothers me.  Its converting what I am spending back to American dollars in my head that's the pain in the ass.  Its hard to keep a budget when nothing is ever the same rate.  In case you were wondering, 57 Kronor is 10 US dollars.  Luckily, this country has embraced Visa, which makes things a little easier.  (If I could log onto my Wells Fargo account that is).

The bus took about an hour, and then we pulled in to Oslo's central station where my next host, Erkki, would be meeting me.

God kveld Oslo
Tegs

Castle in the Clouds

Thursday morning, I woke up to the sun shining through the window. This was somewhat of a rarity in Scotland, so I understand.  Turns out it was supposed to be beautiful all day, around 53F.  I made the (awesome) Scottish oatmeal that David bought me (I had posted on my couchsurfing profile that I pretty much eat the same thing for breakfast everyday, eggs and oatmeal, however this oatmeal was so filling that I never made it to eggs).

I took the bus that David had said would take me to the castle.  I asked an attendant which stop I should get off at, and he said George Street stop.  Okay. Easy enough. Turns out there are several George Street stops, and the buses in Scotland don't announce where you're stopping, you just have to know.  I got off on the first George Street stop, which I later found out was the furthest one from the castle...

I could see the castle from where I was, so I walked in that general direction.  David had also introduced me to this AWESOME application I downloaded onto my tablet computer.  It was basically a travel guide app for any city that you could want to visit.  You searched the city you wanted, downloaded the guide, and you could access it even without being in range of wifi.  The best part, it has a map of each city with little markers of things worth seeing/eating/etc. and it uses your GPS location to show you where you are.  Presumably so you don't get lost...

The thing is, the map doesn't show elevation.

You wouldn't think that elevation would be that important.  Neither did I.

As I'm walking towards the castle, I wandered into Princes Park, which was a giant beautiful park that sat in a deep valley in between the new and old districts of the town.  The valley had at one time been a lake, but during new town development, it had been drained and made into a public park.  The park was literally right next to the castle.

Only the park was over 200 ft below the castle.

There it was. Mocking me.  Turns out that even though I was so close, I had QUITE a bit of walking to do before I could actually get there.

En route to the castle, I stopped at the National Gallery.  Outside on the pavillion there was a Scotsman in full dress playing the bagpipes.  It sounded really impressive until you realized he was playing Twinkle Twinkle and Old McDonald.  What a business man.  He had quite a lot of coins in his donation hat.  Within the museum, I saw several Titians and Rembrandts, a few Reubens (who's one of my favorites), and a whole section by a painter named William McTaggart who I really really liked.  All I gathered is that he is Scottish, and his paintings had an impressionistic feel to them.  Mostly seascapes, very beautiful.

My favorite part of the gallery was the red chalk drawing exhibition they had.  To me, drawings are far more interesting than most paintings.  They had a Raphael and a Reubens, as well as several other artists that I wasn't familiar with. They were all stunning.  Made me wish I had brought my own red chalk with me. (I debated taking a sketchbook with me, but decided if I was ever moved to draw, lined paper would do fine) I skipped the advertised Boticelli they had upstairs.  I've never been a huge fan, and I've already seen his two most famous pieces.

Upon exiting a different door of the museum, I found some stairs that lead up the hill.  Finally, I was getting somewhere.  My travel app map said I still had a bit of traversing to do in order to access the singular entrance to the castle.  On the way, I stopped at a cafe for a sandwich, and to email David saying that even though he had my phone number, my phone had died (whoops), and I would be back at his place later.  By the time I traversed the (enormous) hill to the castle, it was already 4 o'clock (16:00).  The man at the ticket window suggested that I come back tomorrow when I'd have more time, as the castle closed at 5.

Great.

Back down the hill I went.  I stopped at St. Giles Cathedral, a very famous and beautiful church. I wandered in to the antechapel, which was  a newer addition to the existing cathedtral.  It was dedicated solely to the Scottish Order of the Thistle (Thistle being the Scottish national flower), which is an order of chivalry that includes 16 knighted members selected by the Sovereign, and the Sovereign herself. I would not have known any of this, had I not met the man that was hiding out in the small chapel room.

This guy, without a doubt, was one of the silliest people I have even encountered.

He whipped out this giant flashlight and started pointing around the room to the different carvings and coats of arms.  After each thing he pointed out, he gives a little laugh.  Not like a normal laugh.  It was like a hissing/shushing noise.  Like he was trying to pronounce a word that began with the letter K, but he never actually got to the rest of the word.  He would point out the tiny carved lions, and Kkk Kkkk Kkkkk laugh. Here was the mermaid on the knight's coat of arms, Kkk Kkkk Kkkkk. He seemed to know where every tiny carved pelican was, and what every little status symbol meant.  I asked him how long he had worked here.  "Oh I'm just a volunteer"  Aha. That explains a lot.  Other people started walking in the chapel at that point (it had been just him and I the past half hour), so I made sure to thank him for his time before I left.

Here's more information if you're as interested as I was.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_the_Thistle

I still had a bit of time before I told David I would be back.  I discovered an old cemetary on another hill that included David Hume's grave.  I also happend upon Calton Hill, sort of a look out hill with lots of monuments.  Then, I hopped back on the bus and headed back to David's flat.

He was already home, but was soon heading off to a friendly football (soccer) match. (This was kind of ironic because that is exactly what Soner had done on Thursdays).  I stayed in (catching up on my blog, believe it or not).  When he came back, he had all the fixings for dinner, and made an awesome chili like stew over rice.  I kind of felt guilty that I hadn't bought dinner (as he was hosting me for goodness sake), I offered to go get wine to contribute, but apparently there wasn't a store I could go to nearby.  I sure as hell couldn't drive here.  Wrong side of the road/car AND manual transmission.  It'd be a death wish.

After eating, it was Scottish culture lesson time.  Watch Trainspotting or Braveheart.  I wasn't sure if I could last through Braveheart, so I picked the former.  Had to have David translate several of the movie lines, as I couldn't understand the Scottish when they started talking too fast.  The slang was different too.  Of the three main UK accents, Irish was probably the hardest to understand, but Scottish was definitely the most attractive.

We called it an early night after the movie, as he offered to take me into town on his way to work in the morning.  My flight to Oslo was at 4, and so it didn't make sense for me to return to his apartment again, after I visited the castle.

From one of my favorite places so far,
Tegs

Stuck in Transit

Yes, yes, I know I'm way behind on my blog posts.

So Tuesday was supposed to be the day I flew to Edinburgh.

Got to the airport in plenty of time, simply because I've had misunderstandings with RyanAir in the past.  Check the screen at the terminal, and wtf I don't see my flight.  I keep looking to see if the screen will change. It doesn't.  I check my ticket.

Shit.

It says March 21st.

That's not today, it's tomorrow.

Panicked? Not in the least bit.  I found a pub with Wifi in the airport, emailed my host telling him what was up, and explored the ferry options to Edinburgh.  Turns out it would have been near a hundred Euros, and would have taken 12 hours compared to 45 minutes.

Airport camping it is.

This is not the first time RyanAir has had me spending 24+ hours in an airport.  In my last two weeks studying abroad, my Austrailian friend Jenna and I planned a trip to Italy.  First stop: Rome.  We got to the airport in plenty of time for us to fly out, but not enough time to check the one large bag we were sharing.  So we spent 27 hours in Düsseldorf airport, sitting in broken shiatsu massage chairs and playing cards.  The benches we slept on were next to the doors, and December in Germany is COLD.  The worst part of the whole situation was that it took a day of Rome from us, which we quickly got over.

That was noon on Tuesday when I sat down in that pub.

I didn't leave until 11:30pm that night when it finally closed.

I mostly camped out in my corner booth.  Blogged, wrote in my written journal, and read a book.  Met some Frenchmen that missed their flight and were pretty much in the same boat as me.  Between the one's terrible English and my terrible French, we got along just fine.  We made a pact to let the other know if one of us found an awesome place to sleep.

That's the thing about airports.  They are pretty much designed to be the most un-freaking-comfortable places ever.  I know its to discourage people from sleeping there, but this was a bit overkill.

All the benches were aluminum and had armrest dividing each seat.  I poked around a bit and found the only padded, non-armrested bench.  Sweet. I'm set.

Not quite.

It also happened to be right in between two employee only areas.  One of which I think was a break room, the other was where the employees went through security. 

It was so loud. All night.

I probably got all of my sleep between midnight and 3am when the next shift started coming in.  Even with my headphones on, it was too much to be able to sleep.  Plus for somereason I had a raging headache. 
I finally gave up at about 6am.  Set up in the shop in the bathroom Tom Hanks style like in The Terminal.  Washed up, changed, blogged some more.  Whipped out a jar of peanut butter, a package of rye bread, and the plastic knife I stole from the McDonalds upstairs (all of which were stashed in my backpack) and had breakfast right there by the arrivals gate. 

I probably looked like a homeless person.

This was crumbly weird bread, so I had a system down to be able to eat it.  Dip knife in PB, slap a chunk of bread into the PB, and shove in mouth.  Straight up Viking table manners.

As soon as it hit noon, I checked in, walked to my terminal, and passed the hell out until they called for boarding.  I also slept for the 45 minutes of the flight.  When I got to Edinburgh, I chugged a coffee, switched my money back to GB pounds, and boarded a bus.  My next host, David, had a meeting that day, and so I was supposed to take the bus to the West End stop, and he'd pick me up there afterwards.

Thing is, Edinburgh is in the middle of putting a new tram line down.  So the West End stop didn't exist at the moment. It had been "diverted" to several other stops.  I got off at the one closest to its original location. Sat down on some steps and started to read.

I couldn't remember if he said his meeting went till 4 or 5.  It was 3:45pm then.  Luckily it was a good book so I kept on reading until 5, when I started getting a little cold.  I walked over to the nearest cafe and stood out front to steal their wireless.

Turns out he had messaged me from that exact cafe, an hour ago.  I have a mobile phone that I bought at Tesco, but I still have no clue how dialing country codes work or even how many numbers are supposed to be in a telephone number here.

After many messages back and forth on the couchsurfing website. He finally found me.  I'm sure any other person would have been irritated by now, but not me.  Hell, I was stoked just to be here and know someone that would come and find me.

David is my first host that is an actual native of the country I'm staying in.  He's also the first host that has owned a car as well.  We walked the few blocks back to his car.  He politely offered to help me with my bag(s).  I declined, wondering which he would look more ridiculous carrying, my purse or my women's maroon backpack.

It was a short drive back to his place, which was actually located right on the edge of the North Sea.  His flat was a gorgeous one bedroom apartment located at the very top of the building, which I found out later he actually owned and didn't just rent.  After changing out of my 2-day airport clothes, we decided on just going out for some food and a pint.  Before we left, he kindly offered up his washing machine, which I eagerly accepted.  As dumb as it sounds, this was huge for me.  I had packed concentrated all purpose soap and planned on rubbing my clothes together in a sink and calling them clean.  Washing machine=clutch.

We drove up into the old town district, which is basically exactly what it sounds like.  He actually had a lot of interesting knowledge about the city and it's history.  We had dinner and a drink in a neat little pub.  Talked a bit about this and that. What he said that I thought was particularly interesting, was that there is an upcoming referendum to make Scotland an independent nation.  Whether or not it will really happen is I guess still up in the air.  Apparently some believe Scotland will not be as strong on it's own.  I, of course, know very little about anything in the UK or Scotland, but I say go for it.  From what I do know, Scotland seems to have been shat on a lot in the past. It's about time they had their own show.

We migrated to another pub that looked like it might have been in my family room from my house when I was growing up.  We talked also a bit about physics on the way back.  He mentioned that Edinburgh had a good physics department and the country was looking to attract new people to keep up the dwindling population.  Hmmm....

When we got back, David inflated a giant air mattress in the middle of the living room and very thoughtfully left a physics show on the TV for me to fall asleep to.

From Kilt Country
Tegs

But Wait, There's Moher!

Man I love puns.

My entire Monday consisted of a day long trip out to the West coast of Ireland to see the Cliffs of Moher.

Never heard of them?

Neither had I, but if you've seen Princess Bride (Cliffs of Insanity), or Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (where Harry goes with Dumbledore to fetch the locket Horocrux), then you've see the Cliffs of Moher on film.

We stopped at Poulnabrone Burial Tomb on the way.  I don't mean to downplay ancient history, but essentially it was three rocks in the shape of a house that have been there for 4000 years.  Impressive, but also unimpressive at the same time.

The real "Aha Moment" of the drive westward, was coming to the realization that Ireland is not all green.  There for several miles, all you could see was limestone.  Entire hills made of limestone.  I'm sure it made building the stone fences between fields a lot easier, but I can't imagine the soil had much growing potential.  Either that, or the small field sizes made it unpractical to raise anything besides horses, sheep, or cattle. 

Apparently, as Ireland has been Roman Catholic since the beginning of time, birth control was illegal for the longest time.  This meant extremely large families.  When paps died, his land was divided among the children.  Meaning generation after generation, the plots one inherited got smaller and smaller.  This also had a lot to do with the potato famine.

The discovery of the Americas brought the potato to Ireland, and it couldn't have come at a better time.  With small tracts of land, and large families, potatoes were the only produce that could yield enough to feed everyone.  When the blight wiped out the potatoes, even if the farmers could have grown something else, it wouldn't have been enough.  The famine killed approximately 1 million people, and another million emigrated, dropping Irelands population by 20-25%.  Dublin had several monuments dedicated to the tragedy. 

And that, kids, is your history lesson for the day...

Between stops for toilets and the stop for lunch, we made it to the Cliffs of Moher about 5 hours after our departure from Dublin.  I ended up finding an exit buddy in the form of a Canadian girl also traveling on her own.  She was a nurse in London and had just come over for the St. Patty's day weekend.  We paired up and took pictures of each other (having yourself in pictures is something you take for granted until you travel alone).

My goodness was it windy out.

With my long hair down, and of course all my pony tail holders back in Dublin, it was the kind of wind that blinded you temporarily and left you walking drunk.  Not a safe thing on giant cliffs next to the ocean.  (Apprently the Druids were the first recorded people to have dreadlocks, with the wind, I can see how). The path was barricaded with large sheets of rock put up as a fence.  But, let's get real.  There was a clearly worn path jumping two of the fences.  What did you expect us to do...

Luckily the wind blew you inwards towards land rather than yanking you out to sea.

The whole scene was literally (paired with the wind) breathtaking.  Giant cliffs of perfectly spaced rock strata covered in brillian green moss.  Birds nested in the nooks of the rocks, unaffected by the constant spray of sea water that every wave brought.  Right where the water's frothy mouth bit into the rocks, you could see the clear blue color of the ocean.  Almost made you want to dive off to see for yourself.

Almost.

Let's be real.  I can hardly swim in a chlorinated pool, let alone open water.  Not to mention heights are my least favorite thing (besides losing all my teeth,  I'd take heights over a gummy smile anyday).  Even despite my fear of heights, I couldn't get enough of the cliffs.  The Canadian and I climbed two and a half of them, and would have gone all the way to the farthest one, had our tour guide allowed us the time.

A long bus ride back to Dublin had made me hungry.  I stopped at a pub to savor one more Guinness before I departed for Scotland the next day.  I also ordered the pan-fried Clonakilty Black Pudding.

I had an idea what black pudding was, but couldn't quite remember exactly.  I asked the bartender if it was good, he said yes and began to explain what it was.  I stopped him right there.  He could tell me AFTER, and only after, I had eaten it.

I have to say, it was actually quite good.  It was more of a soft slightly crumbly cheese consistency and was served with slices of apple on top and bottom (could have used more apple in my opinion).  After I had finished, I said that I liked it, and he could now tell me what it was.

Pig's blood.

Dad would be so proud. 

Congealed, cooked, pig's blood with perhaps some oatmeal or other kind of filler.

I've come a very, very long way from being a vegetarian 3 years ago.

I choked down the rest of my Guinness, and headed back to Leonardo's flat.  Now the original agreement was for me to leave Monday and not stay another night.  But an expensive plane ticket to Glasgow caused me to cut the city out completely and just fly directly to Edinburgh the next day instead.  Unfortunately, Leonardo had already made arrangements to host his friends from Brazil.  I put out an emergency couch request for Dublin for Monday night.  The only person that replied was a male 30-something host with no previous references.  While he sounded nice and genuine and all, I did not feel comfortable staying with someone that had absolutely no credibility.  What also struck me as odd, was that he joined Couchsurfing late this past February, but had not hosted anyone for St. Patrick's day.  Leonardo said he was getting tons of requests everyday from surfers looking to stay for the holiday weekend.

I explained the situation to Leonardo, and being the extremely aimiable gentleman that he is, he said I was welcome to crash on the couch, as his friends from Brazil would be staying in the extra bedroom.  I was extremely grateful for this.

The other part of the situation was that his friends spoke very little English.

It was the most comical hour and a half of awkardness I've ever experienced.  Here they are trying their best to put together the limited English they know.  Me, I'm whipping random Spanish words out of my butt, often accidentally mixing them with French. (Brazilians speak mainly Portugese, but Spanish is close enough to convey a basic understanding).  Meanwhile, Leonardo is cracking up, translating the entire conversation, as we were getting no where fast on our own.  The only correct phrase I managed to put together was "no comprende"...

The Brazilian couple (whose names I couldn't catch for the life of me) left early in the morning for the same cliffs tour that I had done.  Leonardo also left before I had completely packed and departed.  It was a short and sort of distant goodbye.  I had a feeling he disliked seeing people leave, just as I was sad to leave.

In the many deep/philosophical/comical/whimsical conversations I had with Leonardo, he made many points that each sort of opened up their own little epiphany in my head.  Only two of which I will share with the entire online community.

The first was when we were discussing traveling.  I expressed my concern that maybe I could never be content going back to Ohio.  That perhaps, in this second trip to Europe, I was condemning myself, just as I had almost gotten over my first visit.  He said, (and I loosely quote as this conversation was of course over a Guinness)...

"Once you have expanded you mind, it will never fit back into the same size it once was"

I think I will refrain from further commenting on this statement for now.

The other extremely wise statement that came out of Leonardo's mouth happened when we were discussing the ideas surrounding Couchsurfing.  This is a concept that I've long been aware of, and I think I knew it to be true, but it had never really resonated with me like it did just then.

"Traveling isn't about the places you go, or the things you see, it's about the people you meet."

How often to people go on vacation, and the only natives they talk to are the waitstaff.  I've been on trips to Bahamas, Aruba, and Honduras.  I can't actually tell you anything about those places besides the beautiful beaches and impeccable weather.  What are the people like? What sort of culture do they have there?  I'll admit I'm usually pretty good about getting chummy with the waitstaff (I'm Facebook friends with two of the hotel workers from my vacation in Honduras 6 years ago), but I can't say I've ever had a real conversation with any of them.

Really puts things into perspective.

This entry has gotten entirely too serious.

Tuesday was the day I flew to Edinburgh, Scotland.  Or rather it was the day I was supposed to fly to Edinburgh....

Slán go foíll Dublin
Tegs

Just Wandering

Sunday was finally just a day to chill out.

Besides waking up to the stunning aftermath of St. Patty's day.  The day was rather uneventful.

I had only three firm destinations in mind, Trinity College, St. Stephen's Green, and (don't judge) the Leprechaun Museum.  The rest of the day I just wanted to take random pictures of the city.

The Leprechaun Museum happened to be the closest.  Thankfully I wasn't the only one there over 12 years old.  Museum is a loose term, but it was an interesting exhibition.  They talked about the earliest written record of leprechaun stories.  There was a room full of giant furniture, so you could see what if felt like to be tiny like one.  They also briefly discussed Faerie lore (something the nerd in me really wished they'd have covered more in depth) as well as changelings and their accompanying myths.  All in all, interesting, but not worth the money.  Even if I did convince the doorman to charge me for the children's ticket price...

I wandered across the river, down Bob knows what street.  I believe I was in what's considered the city centre, but that's purely based on the amount of random shit that was happening there.  There were giant mascot leprechauns dancing creepily to a cassette player.  Bagpipes. Pennywhistles. Banjos (Irish?). Street artists spray painting. Street artists painting the stones.  Clowns making balloon animals. Men juggling flaming batons atop 9 ft ladders.  Men juggling flaming batons atop 9 ft unicycles. You name it.  Pretty sure I saw a sand sculpture of a pig...  Anyways.  Finally made my way to St. Stephen's Green.

Absolutely gorgeous park.

Ponds and fountains. Swans and ducks.  Hyacinths and cherry blossoms. Most surprising of all was the amount of people out enjoying the sunshine, a rare commodity here (partly sunny in Ohio is when the Irish whip out their SPF 60). Here, as I was observing the park map, I was approached by a 50-something Irishman that invited me to do something rather (they claim to speak English here, but honestly you can only catch every 5th word.  And that's only if they're sober and mentally challenged), I politely declined, as I had no idea what I might have been accepting otherwise.

Slightly creeped out, I exited a different gate than the one I had entered.  Normally this would be a fatal mistake, as I have not even the tiniest symptom of a sense of direction.  Luckily (pun intended) the Irish have landmark signs everywhere (they also have bed & breakfast signs everywhere as well), and I manage to find Trinity College.

What I would have given to attend a university with a history longer than that of the U.S.

To go to the same univeristy that produced Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker, Ernest Walton, etc.  I think my jealousy reached is maximum when I saw (and smelled) The Long Room, which is their oldest and most historic library (as they have several). 
It was just like the Hogwarts Library, minus the scrolls.

Books the size of your head that would for sure puff into clouds of ash if you picked them up.  Oh and the smell.  It's like the normal library smell is something you cook up in your dorm room, and the Long Room library smell is a dish created by Emeril.

Besides the ancient priceless books, Trinity College is a national library that is entitled to own a copy of every book published in the U.K. and Ireland.  Do you know what kind of modern authors come from the U.K.? The best kind.  Pullman, Gaiman, Fforde, Colfer, Rowling, I could go for days. Enough of that, I'm getting fired up just thinking about it again. Moral of the story

Trinity College > Otterbein University

As if there was a dispute in my mind before...

Okay one more thing.  The grounds are huge there! I had no idea which entrance I came in, or where I exited.

This is where I get really lost.

I knew I needed to cross the river to get back to Leonardo's flat.  So I headed in, what I thought, was a northern direction based on the sun's position.  However, I was accounting for the sun setting in a very southern position, thinking that it was still winter. 

Nope.  Its about as close to the Equinox as you can get.

I eventually make it to water. To what I think is the river.  Turns out its not. Its a docking bay created off the river.  There are cranes and industrial looking buildings that I have definitely never seen before.  Now. Before you spare any concern, there were plenty of people walking around.  All I had to do was ask how to get to the Spire (large needle like monument), but nooo Tegan, we had to be stubborn and do it all by ourselves.

By the time I found the river, realized how far east I was, and walked back to Leonardo's flat, it had been over an hour and a half since I decided to head home.

On the bright side, I found an awesome bridge shaped like a sideways harp and took some neato picures.

Ádhúil in Dublin
Tegs

The Hangover

Before I get into how my experience was, let me just tell you what I woke up to the morning after Dublin's St. Patrick's day parade... 

I got up at about ten, and got ready to just go out and roam around the city, take some pictures.  Took an extra apartment key, and this is what I encountered when I walked out the door into the hall...

First of all, the hallway reeked of weed. As I entered the stair well, I was hit full in the face with the stench of piss (this is a pretty nice place to live mind you).  Okay, pee I could handle, not exactly a rare phenomenon in college dorms.

Then there was the large Asian man curled up on the floor of the second flight.

Ookay, just step around, try not to wake him up.

Then there was the shattered window of the second foyer. 

Apparently the drunkard had only enough patience to use his key for the first set of doors.

Outside the building, everything seemed normal.  I can only imagine the wreckage that laid within other buildings...

That was the result of other's St. Patty's Day, not mine.

My day started after a grocery trip to Tesco, when Leonardo and I headed out for the parade around 11.  (on a side note, Leonardo thought his camera bag was green, I will post a picture to see if you agree) It didn't start till noon, but as neither of us had been in Dublin for St. Patty's, we figured it would be ample time to get a good spot.

Wrong. 

It wouldn't have been do bad if we'd have stuck to the first spot we saw.  That was only one row of people deep from the parade. But nooo we had to look for somewhere better.  In the meantime, I got my face painted, and he took some pictures.  We ended up in a spot about four people deep from the street.  I could see bits and pieces of most of the parade depending on whether the woman in front of me kept her large green hat on or not (just going to point this out, if no one had had on a ridiculously large green hat, everyone could have seen better). I caught on long after the parade had started that each sort of group had a different theme/story to tell. We left the parade early, and went for fish and chips and a Guinness. 

People. Everywhere. Green hats. Orange beards. Shamrocks. Noisemakers.  Girls wearing flags as dresses. You name it.

From what I could hear. A large majority were American, but you could hear just about any langage if you listened long enough.  Not a whole lot of Irish accents like one would expect.  After the fish and chips, and the BEST Guinness I've ever had (honestly, Guinness drinkers that have never had one in Dublin have no idea what they are missing) we decided to head back for a nap, so that we would be rested for round two. 

One glorious nap later, we headed to the Porter House, which must have been the only pub in Dublin that did not have Guinness on tap.  Rightly so since they had their own brewery with good (not Guinness good) dark brews on tap.

This bar was amazing.  It consisted of three floors with a hole running through each floor, creating balconies of sorts.  There were bars on each floor, with a live Irish band playing on a platform on the second floor, sort of floating above the first floor.  Amazing.  Three bandmembers. One bagpipe. One penny whistle. One guitar. And one guy with metal whisks on drums.

When it was my turn to buy the next round of beers, I happened upon a group of Americans from Oregon.  The one brother was teaching English in Madrid, and so the other brother and his wife were just coming to party.  They insisted that I put my beers on their tab (despite the fact that the second beer was for a male not in the vicinity).  And of course we got into the topic of couchsurfing.

The older brother, Justin, thought that I shouldn't even need to be on a website, that girls like his wife and I could just find random people to let us stay with.  I quickly pointed out that this completely removes the element of safety that couchsurfing has built into it.  (I promise to fill in the tab above marked Couchsurfing Concept). If I were to stay with a completely random stranger, I would have no idea if he really was who he said he was.  I would have no idea how he has treated house guests in the past, particularly the female ones.   The wife commented how brave I was to do this on my own.  It isn't about being brave.  I had no other option (but that is a subject for another one of those above tabs that I haven't filled out)

Eventually the group of Americans met Leonardo, and he and the younger brother sped off into a Spanish conversation.  Which to me was rather ironic, as it wasn't the first language of either.  Soon their group departed for another bar, and Leonard and I decided to head home as well.

I will have you note, that the scenario I first described, the Piss, the Asian, and the Broken Glass (sounds like a C. S. Lewis novel...) did not exist when we turned in around 1am. I am actually thankful we missed it, and that our night wasn't as near as eventful.

Oíche mhaith Dublin
Tegs

Luckily Located

On my way to Leonardo's flat, I talk with the taxi driver about tomorrow's festivities and where I should go.  He suggests a few places and then tells me that the place I am going to is all but directly on the parade route for St. Patrick's day.  This is right before he tells the American mom and daughter that I shared the cab with that their place is out in BFE no where near the city center.  Awesome. Lucky me. Not only am I staying for free, whereas they are paying over 50 Euros per night, I'm also in prime parade real estate as well.

The mom and daughter asked about my sleeping arrangements, whether it was a hostel, hotel, etc.  I explained that I would be couch surfing, and I got basically the same reaction that my mother gave me.  I reassured them that I had had a BALLER stay in London and had never felt threatened.  I could only have the same expectations for this host, especially since Leonardo had waaay more positive references than Soner had had. 

We finally find the flat, after having called Leonardo so he could direct the driver, and I snuck into the key protected lobby of the building.  He met me there in the lobby, and right as I stuck out my hand to shake his, he came at me.

Oh right, forgot about the kissing on the cheek thing.

Luckily, I sort of knew how many times you duck, dodge, and kiss, or else that could have been super awkward. (two times in most places if you're not really good friends, three times in Poland)

I'm really glad Leonardo was not my first host, or else I would have been completely spoiled.  Not only was his flat immaculate, but I had my own room with a real bed! He let me know that I could take a shower if I liked, for which at this point I was very grateful.  Afterwards we made dinner consisting of Ikea meatballs (which are actually pretty awesome), fish sticks, and garlic bread.  Not much, but I was very thankful that he would share his food, as I did not want to run to Tesco after the long journey.

Then, just as with my last host, we just sat and talked in his living room.  Once I got used to his Brazilian accent (odd that I have yet to stay with anyone actually from that country) it was much easier to understand him.  His English itself was actually very good, it was the pronunciation that was just a bit off.  However, he asked me to repeat myself as many times as I asked him, so I didn't feel so rude. When he noticed me nodding off mid conversation (I literally slept all the way from London, I don't understand) he told me to go to bed and we'd get up and go to the parade tomorrow.

Meaning we'd walk half a block to see THE St. Patty's Day Parade.

Slaínte from Dublin
Tegs