Month: January 2016

Treat Yourself

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The past two weeks have been quite chaotic, as the faint buzzing in my ears from residual stress and caffeine intake can attest to. So far, in a mere two weeks I have managed to:

  • Finish the entirety of Dante’s Purgatorio 
  • Read The Qur’an
  • Read the entirety of Plato’s Republic
  • Discuss the true meaning of justice in a philosophical paper
  • Write an essay on the double entendre in Old English riddles
  • Read some Canterbury Tales (in Middle English, mind)
  • Begin a swimming routine at the Fife Leisure Center
  • Compete in a six kilometer cross country race
  • Embark on a nine mile pleasure run

How I managed to accomplish all of these tasks in such a short time, on top of regularly attending my lectures and tutorials, is beyond me. Though I enjoy being a busy bee, I feel as though I have had barely any time to devote to the people who are important to me, such as my parents. While I make a point to Skype with them at least once a week, I feel as though I haven’t seen their faces in ages. Quite distressing indeed.

But soft! This coming week is known as Consolidation Week, which offers a bit of respite in the long haul to the holiday in December. I will not have English or Comparative Literature classes all next week, so I have some time to breathe, get my coursework completed at reasonable times (perhaps even ahead of schedule!) so I may begin preparing myself for exams and my eventual return at Yuletide.

Amongst the haze of coursework, though, I have managed to squeeze in some wee adventures. Last Saturday, after a very vexing bout with an Old English essay, I woke up and decided to go to Pittenweem on a whim. I mostly just liked the name. Pittenweem is a wee town on the Fife Coast just south of Anstruther; it seems as though I am continually pushing south on the Fife Coast in my adventures, seeing what lies just beyond the bend in the road.

Pittenweem was a delightful coastal town. If one ever finds themselves in this area, I highly recommend a stop at The Cocoa Tree. Here I ordered stick-to-your-bones bean soup to warm the coggles of my heart on this blustery day, and needless to say, it made me red in the face and jovial. Also, The Cocoa Tree is renowned for their hot chocolate. Essentially you are drinking a melted chocolate bar. Can a place be any more perfect?

This jaunt was part of a grand scheme I have adopted for second year that I have deemed Treat Yourself (as the youths say). As some of my followers have discerned, I was actually quite melancholic upon my return to university. Perhaps it is a certain woe that comes with being a twenty-something: the expectation of being an adult yet having none of the knowledge to be such. This has been a constant source of worry and vexation for me as of late.

However, I slowly came to this realization: I can either be completely consumed by this uncertainty, the self-doubt that comes with being a young adult, or I can simply laugh at the sky and enjoy being young. I am trying so very hard to do the latter. Lately I have been doing things for myself more; a sort of “self care” regimen in order to be a happier and more carefree person. Such things have included:

  • Spending time down by the sea
  • Wandering aimlessly and smiling at all the passersby
  • Asking people politely if I may pet their dogs. Thanking them.
  • Writing more.
  • Cooking tasty and wholesome meals for myself (and maybe a friend)
  • Being more generous
  • Going on spontaneous adventures
  • Exercising because it makes me feel strong and lively, not solely for weight loss or any other such nonsense
  • Not worrying about my appearance
  • Laughing more freely
  • Learning to accept compliments

The more I take time for myself, the more I see the positive outcomes. My struggles with body-image have slowly been fading away. I look and feel healthier. I find myself smiling more often. I am falling in love with the exuberance of life once again. Though there are days when the melancholy creeps back, I simply call my most favorite person in the world, my mother, and everything is peaceful once more.

Also, I have been quite inspired by the film The Dead Poet’s Society as of late, and adopted carpe diem as the sub-heading to all of this rejuvenation. I think the two go quite well together, treating oneself and seizing the day. Life, especially as a young adult, is all about seizing opportunities to make each day magical. I intend to do so.

Originally written 19 October 2013

Raisin Revenge

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Raisin Weekend is in five weeks. Running into my academic mother in Tesco last night reminded me just how excited I am for Raisin this year. For a second year, Raisin Weekend looks a bit different.

In second year, the academic children must organize what’s called a Raisin Revenge for their parents. The whole idea is to “get back” at your parents for all of the “terrible and embarrassing things” they made you do on Raisin as a first year. However, since my academic parents were quite kind, I have no horror stories. Essentially, Raisin Revenge is for the second years to return the favor of a good time over Raisin Weekend for their parents, especially since those parents are now stressed fourth years working on their dissertations.

Now, a bit of my academic family. I have heard from numerous sources that I have been blessed with one of the best. My academic mom, Ali, is one of the kindest people I met at St Andrews. She’s quirky, friendly, intelligent, and all around n lovely person to be around. She is very fond of costume parties and Halloween, thus, every family gathering here in St Andrews involves some sort of fancy dress. For example, one could not attend her surprise twenty-first birthday party without being in costume. I went as the Mad Tea Party from Alice in Wonderland. Also, my academic siblings all get along quite well. We are all quirky and have our personality traits that mesh well together, so every family gathering is pleasant.

In order to make this the best possible Raisin for Ali as her last hurrah, two of the more outgoing siblings, Sam and Kendall, organized our Raisin Revenge six months in advance. And what children would we be if we did not have a theme? This year, we decided to keep the medieval theme alive from our Raisin and put on a party loosely inspired by Game of Thrones. Long live the King in the North!

Originally written 25 September 2013

Second Year Commences

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Beginnings are often the hardest part of life. I find that this is especially pertinent as I addle my brain for what to write. The trepidation, the “what ifs”, and the constant longing to know the future are enough to drive one mad. Such is the nature of my thoughts whenever I begin a new chapter in my life. Who will I meet? Will they affect me positively, negatively, or not at all? Will the direction I see myself traveling change? Is this really what I want in my life? What new joy will be had? Sometimes I feel my predictions overshadow actually turning the page and reading on.

That being said, I was hesitant to resume my studies after such a long period of uninterrupted exposure to the technicolor of my thoughts. Being able to concentrate on things I enjoy, such as writing, now have to take a back seat to stress over marks on coursework, revising for exams, and reading Plato’s Apology (which is dry as hard tack). I’m already consumed with doubt over my essay writing abilities, whether I will pass my exams with better marks this semester, and the ever looming threat of making Honors next year.

However, this first week, as St Andrews has a knack for doing, has pleasantly surprised me. I am learning such interesting skills that I perhaps would not have access to until a Masters program back in the United States.

For example, English kicked off with a forty-five line translation of the Old English Fall of Man, detailing Eve’s temptation by the Devil in serpent form and the subsequent expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Having already dipped my toes in Milton’s Paradise Lost, I am familiar with the story, but reading a different version in a (let’s be honest here) completely different language is so fascinating. How the English language has evolved in such a short period of time is one of our topics of discussion, which is a mystery I am keen to solve. Also, learning how to translate Old English puts me one step closer to my fantasy of becoming Indiana Jones. If I can understand the basics of a dead language, learn the bullwhip, and drink from my Holy Grail, I am well on my way to a lifetime of harrowing adventure in the name of academia!

Even Comparative Literature, the module I detest, actually sounds quite intriguing this semester. We are studying quite a broad topic in literature: Good and Evil. This is one of the areas of literature that fascinates me, due in part to Paradise Lost, so I am interested to see how the course handles the theme. Also, I am keen to discuss the role of villains in texts; this is actually an area of literature that fascinates me to the point of wanting to pursue it for my dissertation, so finally getting the chance to study them will really help with this decision.

A final point to note is my English tutor. This semester, I made sure to choose my tutorial group based on the quality of the tutor and the direction of their research. I have selected Dr. Christine Rauer, who focuses on Celtic, Anglo-Saxon, and Norse mythologies and folk lores. This being another subject matter I am considering for my dissertation, I am eager to try and establish a relationship with Dr. Rauer and pick her brain about such a fascinating subject in literature. My fondness for learning really bubbles over when I discuss this topic, since I am so incredibly interested in the folk tales and oral traditions of the Celtic world. It is my hope that Dr. Rauer could offer guidance in the course of my studies and really help make up my mind about just what I want to study.

I apologize for such a long discourse about my intellectual pursuits. However, that is the main reason why I am here, plus, being the nerd that I am, I do quite like learning intriguing things, such as how to translate Old English. Yet, to sate the “entertainment” side of this blog, here are a few more updates from my first few weeks back in St Andrews:

A Room of One’s Own

This year my really good friend and I are living in an apartment in the center of town. Though I have only been here a few weeks, the situation is leaps and bounds ahead of my experience in university accommodation last year. We have dubbed our dwelling The Green Dragon, as an ode to our beloved Tolkien, and filled our abode with homey and cozy pieces. Here is a peek at our sunny and Nifty Fifties inspired kitchen.

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Major Changes

I have also officially changed my major from Joint Honors Comparative Literature and Philosophy to Joint Honors English and Philosophy. I could not be more pleased, and what a relief this is. I finally feel as though I can relax in my degree subject and really focus on what I am passionate about. Onwards to Celtic mythological glory!

New Friends and Old

Though I already have a solid group of friends that I enjoy spending time with, I am eager to meet even more people and really expand my network of acquaintances. I recently had tea with a very nice girl who had Comparative Literature tutorials with me last year, and we both are keen to become better friends with one another. We are actually quite similar: quiet and shy at the start, but I’m sure once our friendship grows our true selves with come through, and it will be as though we’re old chums. As for the suitor department, as I am sure all are dying to hear about since I tend to be a wee bit secretive, I regret to inform my readers that I am alone, as per usual.

This summer I learned that one of my closest friends, Justin, has been accepted to a six week study abroad program in London for the spring semester. Though things are just in the talking stage, we are hoping to spend some time together. Having a friend who will know London a bit will be great, as I have yet to travel to London, and I of course love showing people around to my favorite St Andrews haunts. Justin and I have been good friends since we were just a wee three years of age, so I am beyond thrilled to share this next phase of my life with a friend so important to me.

She Rides Again

After much consideration, and a summer of pony fun times to boot, I have decided to join the St. Andrews equestrian team. Try outs for the official competitive team are next Wednesday. Apparently, thirty-five riders have indicated they wish to try out, and only eight spots are available. I am so nervous! Though I have fourteen years of experience, those three years out of the saddle really took their toll. While I did my best to get back up to speed this summer, I still do not feel completely confident, much less competition ready. However, if I just keep telling myself that I am going for the love of riding, I think I will be much better for it. If I do not make the team, I can still train with them and get time in the saddle, which is what I want to do the most.

Originally Written 21 September 2013

To Be Brave Once More

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I am not as brave as I pretend to be. When many of the people I encounter in my secluded Midwestern community applaud me for my courage to study overseas for four years, I really struggle to swallow the trepidation, anxiety, and genuine fear I actually feel. The last month of summer I spent at home was a tumultuous one: if I am to be completely honest with my audience, I had a general feeling of not wanting to return to St Andrews for my second year. I was scared. I still am scared.

In many ways I believe that returning for second year is harder than removing myself from the comforts of my home to begin this journey. I am perhaps the world’s biggest homebody: I love the comforts of the familiar, I adore my parents, and I Bear is the keeper of my sanity. Yet the terror of severing these ties for a life in the beyond is often numbed by the general newness of being a first year. However, second year has relegated me to a sad and confused limbo.

Oddly enough, the realization that I am so far from home has finally hit me, despite the fact that I began university a year ago. Getting to spend time with the people and places that I love so dearly has really opened my eyes to just what I am leaving behind. This thought has made me quite sad for the past couple of weeks, and I also feel very conflicted because of it.

On the one hand, I know that I should be entirely grateful that I have the opportunity to participate in such an incredible academic community. I have seen places that I once thought were a mere fantasy, have met so many wonderful and engaging individuals from across the globe, and have received a remarkable education in subjects I am wildly passionate about. Yet the timid homebody I so cruelly abused into a corner of my heart has finally found her voice, using it to force doubt into my thoughts. I miss home: apple orchards in the autumn, the fiery hues of autumnal trees in the North Country, kayaking adventures, solitude, wide open spaces, and Bear. I miss not having my accent analyzed for its “barbarism” multiple times a day. I miss the freedom of having a car so I may travel anywhere I wish. I miss my parents, the two people I truly feel understand and love me for me.

I acknowledge that I still am very much a child. Making the decision to study abroad for my undergraduate degree is both parts the best and worst I have ever made, due to this fact. Youth is the time to explore the world and change one’s perspective to be more globally aware, yet how can anyone with any certainty decide to do such a thing when they are a mere eighteen years old? This summer has really given me time to meditate on these thoughts. While I committed to this venture completely, there are parts of me that, at times, wish I really knew myself more and chose somewhere closer to home. Can anyone really know themselves at that age, though?

I do not doubt that once I settle in to my studies, all of this negativity shall diminish. I do love school and am looking forward to some of the modules I have selected, like Medieval and Renaissance Texts. I feel as though I am now beginning to take steps toward my ultimate goals as a scholar. However, this summer was a really critical one. It has made me rethink some of my spontaneous decisions. At times I feel I can truly relate to Bilbo Baggins, who impulsively ran out his door to catch the carrot Gandalf teased him with, yet finds the road more perilous than he anticipated. I have certainly come to appreciate my home a great deal since spending the summer there.

Though my thoughts may change once I am actually at the next threshold of my life, I feel myself beginning to think that I want to return to America permanently. The United Kingdom is a wonderful place and I have had many a wonderful adventure (and will no doubt have many more in the future), there truly is no place like home. What I feel I am missing in my life, at this point, is my own little haven to call home. My experience at university so far has cemented my status as a home body. While I am committed to St Andrews completely, I do feel less brave than when I began this journey.

Yet I am still open to unexpected surprises. I cannot say for certain where I shall end up once this undergraduate experience is over. I may be called to a new and unknown destination to continue my education, I may meet someone special and journey with them into the future, or I may return to where my life began, recharging until that wanderlust tugs at my heart once more. Hopefully second year here at St Andrews will turn out even better than I anticipated, and I will have an even better time than first year.

Roads are rarely ever perfect. At this point, I feel as though I have encountered a treacherous hole. Yet I am optimistic, and as I look up from this wreck I find myself in, I see a smoother path ahead.

Originally written 12 September 2013

“The Road Goes Ever On and On”

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Sometimes I wonder how Alice felt after leaving Wonderland and her mad companions. Or Wendy parting with the mermaid coves of Neverland for the mundane streets of London. As I awoke this morning, the soft summer sun streamed in through my window, a realization that I was finally home. While laying in my own bed after months of being cooped in David Russell Apartments, I finally had the opportunity to calmly reflect on my final semester of first year.

I cannot even begin to comprehend that I have finished my first full year at St Andrews. As trite as it may sound, Fresher’s Week feels like it only occurred a few weeks ago, not nine months. How overwhelming it all was, my trepidation at finally leaving my door for this unknown, and how frightened I was are as clear as the sense of peace I currently feel.

Second semester, though, was by far a more incredible experience than the first. I began my time at St Andrews feeling small, scared, and alone, never knowing what to expect or just what to feel. Yet with the help of some amazing friends, the second half of this year passed as smoothly as a summer’s breeze. The people I met for the spring semester were truly incredible, and I am so thankful to have made such wonderful friends. Being quite shy and generally nervous in social situations, I am amazed that so many interesting, intelligent, and witty people have gathered around me. They have made this transition from quiet homebody to intrepid adventurer all the more exciting and easy.

My spring was also spent on very incredible journeys. Two forays into the Highlands, quaint harbor towns, castles, and my beloved Lake District made this first year at St Andrews all the more memorable. Though I have already endlessly praised the Lake District, words cannot really encompass all that I feel when I recall my time there. Visiting such a wonderfully quiet and peaceful place topped this year as my favorite experience, and I can only hope that I will return very soon.

This year, and particularly this semester, also helped truly cement what it is I wish to pursue with my life. Enrolling in the English module second semester made my school work all the more bearable, and I actually enjoyed myself as I studied Frankenstein and The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. This course of study made me rediscover my love of learning, which years of public schooling back home had stamped out of me. I truly enjoyed writing essays on my English texts and plumbing the depths of the various poems we were assigned. My foray into English helped me rediscover reading and writing for knowledge’s sake, not just the marks on the paper or the grade on the exam.

At this time, I am just at a loss for words on how to accurately describe my first year at St Andrews, which is a rare occurrence for any who really know me. Though I very much love the comfort of my own home, tucked away amongst my books and leather arm chairs, deep within my heart I yearn for a real experience of the places I usually only read of. This first year at St Andrews has done just that, opening a new world of incredible adventures filled with a motley cast of characters. Looking back on all that has occurred since September, I am so thankful that I did not hesitate at the last moment. Leaving my front door for this new world has been the best decision of my life, and I cannot wait for what mysteries the next three years holds for me. This hobbit has had her first taste of adventure, and though initially unsure, is now addicted.

Originally written 29 May 2013

Stirling

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At last I finally get to catch my breath after the hubbub that was this past week. Amidst packing, preparing for my exam, and sight seeing with my mother, I have barely had any time to reflect on what is actually occurring.

After completing my final exam of the year, I had some down time before I needed to journey back home. So, last Saturday my mother and I hopped on a bus and travelled to Stirling, as per a family friend’s recommendation. The bus ride there was incredible enough; we went around the base of a large hill painted in spring’s yellow flowers, through several wee hamlets that were so charming. I think my favorite town name is Pool o’ Muckhart, it sounds as if it belongs in one of the Celtic myths I habitually read.

Stirling Castle was our primary destination, and what a fantastic one it was! Known for the many additions made by James IV and James V of Scotland, Stirling Castle is a very important historical sight. You can also see the Wallace Monument from the castle. The castle is absolutely incredible, and its grandeur was heightened by the lovely spring weather we were fortunate enough to have. I really enjoy Stirling Castle because nearly all of it is open to the public, whereas Edinburgh Castle only has a few rooms open for exploration. Also, photography is permitted within Stirling Castle, whereas it is heavily regulated by grumpy overseers at other historical sights. I think having such a free rein to enjoy the castle without sassy workers made the experience more enjoyable, since it allowed us to explore at our own pace without the constant worry of causing offense.

Festooned with unicorns, the national animal of Scotland, and boasting its own lion’s den, Stirling Castle had many unique quirks that made it very memorable. I think the most magical aspect, though, was the replica of one of my favorite pieces of art hanging in the queen’s chambers, The Hunt of the Unicorn tapestry. Though not the original, the replica is handmade by a team of weavers who spend two years completing each panel. The level of talent invested in the incredible detail of the tapestry is truly awe-inspiring. I think what makes it so intriguing is the mille-fleurs technique, or “thousand flowers”, which makes up the tapestry’s background. There is just so much to look at with this technique in mind, and each tapestry’s background is different, with new little easter eggs tucked in with all the unique and individual flowers. When gazing at this piece of art, human creativity and artistic talent almost overwhelm you.

Stirling Castle and its surrounding grounds are truly wonderful, and I highly recommend it to any looking for various adventures in Scotland. Also, the fact that I got to go to such a lovely place with my mother made it all the more incredible. As one of my last grand adventures in Scotland in my first year, I would say this was a fine finale.

Originally written 29 May 2013

Newtonmore

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Every year the St Andrews cross country team ventures to the Highlands for an end of term celebratory away trip. I am so incredibly fortunate that I got to be a part of this tradition, and it was wonderful to escape “The Bubble” for a weekend of adventures and quality companionship.

We stayed in the quaint hamlet of Newtonmore, which we ran around on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, early in the run I hit a bit of loose stones and rolled the ankle that I had injured las semester. Needless to say, that made the remainder of the run a bit uncomfortable. I was so embarrassed that I slowed everyone down, and I was ashamed that I could not simply tough it out and keep up with the group. Though everyone was patient and concerned, I strongly dislike people fussing over me.

However, my injury was not too severe as to keep me hostel-bound for the afternoon hike. We journeyed about an hour to the west according to Roger’s, the team’s resident Sacagawea, recommendation. Here we spent about three hours hiking up mountains and journeying to ruined forts. Once we reached the fort, we had a small picnic overlooking the pictured loch. Words cannot describe how peaceful it was, lunching with some really unique and friendly people in such a beautiful place. 

Saturday evening wound down with some delicious home cooked food, board games, and general chit-chat. The next morning we vacated the Newtonmore hostel and made our way back to St Andrews, stopping briefly in Pitlochry for a wee run. Unfortunately, my ankle was too weak to run with my usual group, so I stayed back with Ruth, the team captain, Rhiannon, who had kindly helped me with my earlier injury, and Roger, my fellow injury-prone runner, for a nice jaunt around the river that moseyed through the town. After a brief rest in the cafe with scones and tea, everyone made it back to St Andrews refreshed and ready to begin preparing for exams.

Though I had some minor misfortune, I still had a wonderful time on this trip. I am so thankful that I am part of a club brimming with just as much wanderlust as myself. I absolutely love my cross country team, and getting to spend some quality time with them without the stress of classes and deadlines was lovely. I think some of my favorite memories from this trip include our rousing round of Richard Gere (I still maintain that Cecil Beaton is a well-known historical figure), Roger’s compass and hand drawn map that took us five miles out of our way on Saturday’s run, and the baby sheep that joined us when we jaunted through the fields. Though I am excited to return home for the summer, it is bittersweet to think that I will have to spend three months without these people I have grown so close with. This weekend was truly a memorable one, and I am already looking forward to the next adventure.

Originally written 28 April 2013

An Unexpected Visit

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As an unexpected surprise, my dad has flown into St Andrews for a few days of merry relaxation before he heads to London on business. Already quite familiar with St Andrews, I decided to pack up the head Hobbit and head over to the quiet, quaint, coastal town of Crail, about half an hour by bus away from St Andrews.

To say I fell a little bit in love with Crail is an understatement. While St Andrews is a very lovely place to be, sometimes all of the students and tourists can get overwhelming. Crail was quiet and clean, a St Andrews without all the bustle of haggard students and raucous travelers.

The views of the sea at Crail were unparalleled. A wider view of open ocean met us as we exited the bus, and we had the opportunity to venture right down onto the mossy rocks for a closer look at the sea. When I returned home over Christmas, the sea was the element of Scotland I missed most, and after this trip to Crail, I would definitely say that its coast is the best. The air was clean, the sky was clear, and the gulls cried upon the wind: perfectly picturesque and most undoubtedly Maggie.

After some gallivanting, my dad and I wandered into the Crail Harbor Gallery, a wee tea room situated in a 300 year old cellar. The interior boasted exposed ceiling beams and uneven floors, completely magical. However, because the day was so wonderfully pristine, we took our afternoon tea out on the patio, overlooking the delightful surf.

All in all, I adored Crail. It is definitely the type of place I could envision tucking myself away in, nestled within the heart of a seaside cottage as I diligently compose my novels. Some of the homes in Crail were so incredible, I grew nauseous with envy. Patios embracing the open ocean, immaculate gardens upon the hillside, and rough hewn stone for a bit of history- I cannot even contain my joy. Hopefully I may make a return journey in the near future, as I am counting down the days for my mother’s arrival.

Originally written 21 April 2013

Ceilidh in the Castle

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At times, when I am slogging through the mire that is my coursework, I tend to forget that I am studying abroad. Accented words and foreign tongues simply blend into the background, while the wee quirks of the United Kingdom are simply every day occurrences. Occasionally, I am saddened by this fact: I feel as though I put too much effort into my coursework, electing to stay within my dorm and labor day after day, when I should be out in the world, making the most of this experience abroad. However, this sadness was somewhat sated by the events of last Sunday.

Last week, St Andrews hosted the On the Rocks Festival. Each day was dedicated to various events of artistic expression, whether it be poetry readings, play productions, or art galleries. I actually went and saw a student production of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, followed by a comedy show titled “Colin Mirth” (that may have been the only reason I went. I am a sucker for puns.) A few friends of mine are members of the group that put on the show, and the final act of dancing to Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights was a treat.

To conclude the On the Rocks Festival, though, was my favorite event: the Castle Ceilidh. Held in the castle ruins upon the seaside, a ceilidh is a traditional Scottish folk dancing event.

Kilts, fiddle music, castle ruins by the sea, and a gorgeous Sunday evening all made the event a remarkable experience. Grace is not a virtue I possess, so early on I gave up attempting to perfect the intricate dance steps and simply went with whatever my bumbling self thought resembled the steps. Though I probably looked like a fool, I cared not, for many others were ceilidh novices as well. I simply enjoyed participating, and I recall a great deal of giggling on my part.

Below is a video of what one of the dances looks like, taken at the exact event I attended! Unfortunately you cannot see me look like a bumbling fool.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYkuvyb9uvI

I think my favorites were The Witch’s Dance and Strip the Willow. The first involved, as the kilted emcee described, “bewitching” the men by turning circles about them. I think he also said something about eating their souls at the conclusion of the dance. As anyone who knows me well enough can attest, this influence of magic and folklore was right up my alley, and the mood was only heightened by the gorgeous castle ruins. The second, Strip the Willow, was one of the most intense things I have ever done. It is so difficult to put to words: all one does is spin down a very, very long line of people. Yet “spin” is a gentle term: you are more likely to be hurled down the line by all the participants.

As I look back on such a jovial evening, it really makes me appreciate the fact that I am able to study abroad. There are times when wee rivulets of homesickness trickle into my hearts, especially if I see photos of my friends all gathering together to enjoy the little quirks of my hometown, such as apple orchards in the fall or driving in the country on the first warm day. These moods sometimes make me question if I made the right decision to buck the “traditional college experience” and leave the country for the unknown. Yet when I partake in events, such as the Castle Ceilidh, I remember why I came abroad. These experiences are ones I would never have even dreamed of if I stayed at home for university. Prior to arriving in St Andrews, I never knew what a ceilidh was, much less how to pronounce it (hint: kay-lee), or some of the other little cultural differences Scotland has to offer.

I am so thankful that I get to spend four years in such a special place. Though the year is 2013, the magic of ancient times has not yet passed, for it has retreated to Scotland, tucked within castle ruins or drifting upon the notes of a fiddle. As the semester is nearing its close, I will miss my second Scottish home as I return to America for the summer vacation.

Originally written 20 April 2013

To The Lakes

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My mother used to read to me The Complete Tales of Beatrix Potter when I was younger, which instilled a deep love of the countryside and quaint ways of life. Beatrix Potter still remains one of my idols, and I hope to emulate her in some way as I age. Thus, a deep-seated desire to visit the place she cherished most, The Lake District, was born.

Thanks to the immense generosity of my friend Kate, I have the opportunity to stay in The Lakes for an entire week. I depart tomorrow morning for this land I so far only dreamed of visiting. I cannot even begin to comprehend that I am fulfilling a dream I have held for about fifteen years. My excitement overwhelms me, and I am looking forward to finally being immersed in a land I had only read about. I feel as though I may lose my heart to this magical and beautiful place.

Thistlewood

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I spent most of my time at Thistlewood, the Allan’s enchanting home in Cumbria. Words cannot express how peaceful Thistlewood is. I could not believe that I was spending my days in a place right out of my beloved period novels. The surrounding countryside, the cozy interior, and the gardens made my heart sing. I hope one day I may return.

Grasmere

On my first full day in the Lakes, I was packed up and taken to Grasmere. Here, I was fortunate enough to sample the famed Grasmere gingerbread. I have never tasted true English gingerbread, and while it was not what I was expecting, the taste was pleasant enough for a cup of tea and a cozy moment spent relaxing. Adjacent to the gingerbread store was the Daffodil Garden where William Wordsworth (1770-1850), English poet, is buried.

After this wee detour we ventured up to Rydal Mount, one of Wordsworth’s homes in the Lakes. The architecture of the house captured my imagination. The surrounding gardens were incredible; I just tried to imagine what it must have been like for Wordsworth’s daughter to grow up in such a fairytale place.

Later, the Allens and I took a walk around Grasmere Lake. I was awestruck at the peaceful, picturesque setting of the lake.

Hawkshead

There are places on this earth that one may yearn to visit with every fiber of their being. They pine for its hidden secrets, its adventures, and the vibrancy of its culture. However, they are sometimes let down. Then what do they have except gaunt and ravished dreams?

However, visiting Hill Top Farm, home of my Beatrix Potter, was everything I hoped and dreamed of, if not better. Leading up to our journey, I almost could not comprehend I would be walking the very paths she did, gazing upon the land she loved so dearly. Ever since I was a little girl, I have wanted a life like Miss Potter’s, and yearned so ardently to gaze upon her prized cottage. I still cannot believe I visited such an idyllic and charming place.

After touring Hill Top, which is the most quaint cottage in all of England, Kate and I wandered about Hawkshead, the nearest village. After one of my favorite films, Stardust, I have deemed this village Wall, and hoped at every corner to meet my very own Tristan Thorne. Tea rooms were nuzzled deep within every cobbled alley, and charming gates marked entrances to many a cottage.

Later, we visited the Hawkshead Solicitor’s Office, where William Heelis, Beatrix Potter’s beloved husband worked. The office is since converted to a museum. 2013 actually marks the centennial of their marriage, as well as the centennial publication of The Tale of Pigling Bland. Many believe this story, of a little pig named Pigling Bland who falls in love with a beautiful black pig named Pigwig, Beatrix based off of William and herself. Above Kate and I are pictured posing as William and Beatrix, since replicas of their hats were available for dress up. That smile was on my face since Monday and did not leave until the following Sunday.

I ended my perfect day with some nice tea and my very first English crumpet back at Thistlewood. I finally know what a crumpet is, and I topped it with the most divine English honey. Perfect day indeed.

Blencathra

My final great adventure was a true mountain expedition in Blencathra. While many an Englishman may insist that these are mere hills in the Lakes, I am convinced they are mountains. With a smile carved onto my face and an intrepid heart I eagerly bounded up the snow encrusted “hill."  The view from the summit is something I will never forget. I truly felt as if I was an adventurer from my favorite tales, and I could not help but be completely at peace. The chill mountain air put a fresh vigor in my step, and I truly believed I could conquer anything life threw at me in that moment. Nothing can ever compare to a mountain view. Nature is so very humbling.  My final thought on this trip was my introduction to Fell Cottage, nestled warmly at the base of Blencathra. Though simple and humble, I think my heart has been taken. I have made it my personal mission to keep tabs on such a sweet abode, and perhaps one day, I could become it’s proud owner. Though it may be but a dream, this trip proved that dreams do come true if you remain true to them. 

My final great adventure was a true mountain expedition in Blencathra. While many an Englishman may insist that these are mere hills in the Lakes, I am convinced they are mountains. With a smile carved onto my face and an intrepid heart I eagerly bounded up the snow encrusted “hill.”

The view from the summit is something I will never forget. I truly felt as if I was an adventurer from my favorite tales, and I could not help but be completely at peace. The chill mountain air put a fresh vigor in my step, and I truly believed I could conquer anything life threw at me in that moment. Nothing can ever compare to a mountain view. Nature is so very humbling.

My final thought on this trip was my introduction to Fell Cottage, nestled warmly at the base of Blencathra. Though simple and humble, I think my heart has been taken. I have made it my personal mission to keep tabs on such a sweet abode, and perhaps one day, I could become its proud owner. Though it may be but a dream, this trip proved that dreams do come true if you remain true to them.

Originally written 24 March 2013