Long and Rambling...

...which is exactly how I like my flowerbeds, pathways, rivers, stories and updates.

I'm beginning to feel a little more at home here in Aberdeen. This past Sunday I struck out on my own for the grocery store with which I am acquainted, the local Morrison's. This required two separate bus fares, but now I have milk, cottage cheese and hummus. I spent less than I had thought I would, and won't really need to go back for another 10 days. A good deal all around, and while it might not seem like a milestone, it is for me-- I'm not a city-dweller by nature, and the bus system intimidates me. Really, all public transportation. I'm not really sure why, perhaps that's why I loved my car so much and why I miss it so dearly. I doubt I'd be able to actually drive here, what with the roads all being backwards and counter-intuitive and tiny, but I think I'd feel better about my situation. For me, my car is a really expensive security blanket: so long as I have it, I can always drive away, regardless of how badly I screw things up. Unlike Captain Sparrow, freedom, for Miss Melville, is not a boat but a car-- maybe it would be if I had a boat and lived on the ocean, but I don't. I'm landlocked, and as long as I have a car I don't have to rely on anybody else. Regardless, I'm without it and me braving the bus system is a big step towards becoming one with the city.

Moving backwards to Saturday, I made another significant move and took the train for the first time in my adult life. It was just a short little trip, down to the pleasant seaside town of Stonehaven, with its quaint charm and fish and chips shops. Despite how gray the picture looks, there was actually quite a bit of sunshine, and the constant breeze off the water smelled like oceans always do. I went with my three favorite Norwegians, and it was interesting to see how each had an additional bounce in the step as we came within sniffing distance of the sea. There were dogs running and playing in the surf, parents with babies in strollers walking the boardwalk, elderly tottering along hand in hand... all of this just reinforced my opinion that vast bodies of water are good for the soul. The surf and the moisture and the sand have a cathartic effect that I need more in my life. Something about the brine cleansing the soul. Additionally, I think I've read the opening of Moby Dick too many times. You know, the part where Ishmael says, "Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me." Yeah, one too many times.

Anyway, Stonehaven held more for us than just the pleasures of brine: Dunnottar Castle lay just outside it, not more than a good stretch of the legs, you might think. Well, it might look that way, but in fact it's a healthy 5 miles from boardwalk to portis, and it seemed like most of it was via the most rinky-dink goat path I've ever seen. Apparently the Scottish fail to see the merit in handrails, and while this is perhaps a way to thin down the wobbly end of the gene pool, I never did dream of falling off the side of a sea cliff as the way I would eventually go. Anyway, the climb out accomplished, the ruins themselves were breathtaking. The previous weekend had included the castle and whiskey tour, and while Ballindalloch is very nice in its own right, THIS is what I think of when I conjure up a castle. It was all rocky and forlorn and remote. For a nominal fee, one is allowed to scamper like a billy goat anywhere you can get to, with the occasional handrail installed on the walk up into the grounds proper and on the still fully-functional stone spiral staircase which provides access to the remaining upper stories of what used to be the tower keep. The views from the windows were spectacular with all the rocky, crashing surf and steep, green hillsides. I tried to imagine what it mist have been like, to live there, the might and the force that built it, maintained it... needless to say, my poor 12-volt imagination was hardly up to the task. I capered all over the grounds and snapped dozens of photos, though I fear my three compatriots tired of the grounds before I did. I found them standing next to the old well long before I was done exploring. If they were bored, they hid it well, and the hike back out was a pleasant one. I'm certainly not in the best shape, and the exercise in all the fresh air absolutely kicked my ass. Then again, my ass needed some kicking. I'm hoping with my student diet of apples, crackers and the occasional pint of beer, in combination with all the walking I'm doing to and from campus and the weekend outings I'm determined to take to Stonehaven, even if it's just to sit beside the sea, maybe I'll be happier with my physical self when I leave this lovely land than I was when I arrived. Anyways, the castle ruins were beautiful and I'm sure I'll be out there again. If and when you visit, my imaginary and ubiquitous reader, I'll take you there and we'll have a picnic lunch.

In other, more girly news, I've been in communication with M3. Yes, the one and only Minnesotan Mountain Man... oh my. He's playing hockey in France, and we're both on the wonderful and amazing skype, so... yeah. I don't know if he's still with that wretched girlfriend of his or not, I personally hope not, for his sake if no other reason. We talked for an hour and a half when he called the first time. He's dong well, though it sounds like he's bored out of his mind. The team isn't doing particularly well, and he's got a lot of free time on his hands, which he is filling with voracious reading. He finished War & Peace not long ago and wanted to chat about it... and I'm fine with that. I'm sending him my copy of Anna Karenina when I get the chance. I called him on Monday to see how his game this weekend went, and though he was on another call, he called me right back. I guess they got "schelacked" as he put it, 9-0, with a brutally long bus ride to and from. Poor devil. And he had another forever-long away game that required an overnight bus trip last night into today with the game this evening. Regardless, I don't really know where all this chatting is going, but it's nice to have a friend. A friend who reads, at that.

I got my box of books from home today, which is wonderfully good news. I just didn't feel right without my anthologies, my reference texts and, OF COURSE, my better homes and gardens. I know it's silly and 1950s housewife, but it's not my home without my cookbook. no two ways about it. Additionally, my mother sent me a post-it pad, some really nifty page-marker-flag-thingies, my battery-powered toothbrush, and a copy of Peter Benchley's The Beast that I'd found at the Book Exchange back home. I'd meant to bring it with my on the flight for some good, distracting, all-out-mind-rot reading, but accidentally left it in the back seat of my aforementioned much-missed car. Well, I got the box this morning at around 9:30 and spent quite literally until 4:00 this afternoon solidly reading. Now, I don't have lecture on Tuesdays, and I've only got 10 more pages of required reading left to do for my second lecture tomorrow (at least I think it's tomorrow, my prof said he would double-check and e-mail us, but I have yet to receive anything) and I didn't have any big plans. However, I wasn't planning on staying in bed all day with such a light book! I absolutely devoured it, no two ways about it. I didn't turn any music on, I didn't check my e-mail, I didn't even get up to use the facilities-- I didn't need to; I was completely engrossed in my fast-paced little thriller about renegade giant squid and economically depressed coastal towns and the possible dire perils of overfishing and knocking Nature out of its natural balance. To be honest, it wasn't particularly well-written, and the author's perchant for using the word 'for' instead of 'and' got to me a little (for example, " He could have found them five hundred fathoms closer on the south shore, for there the reefs ended and deep water began only a mile or two from land"). See what I mean? They also changed a LOT from the original book for that wonderful, wonderful movie that I know and love so well. Some names were altered, personal plot details, the whole love-interest angle-- everything but the Beast herself. Well, there's no baby Beast in the book, just lots of egg sacs. And they never really say if the Beast is a male or a female. Whatever, it doesn't matter. What does matter is the book was a brilliant way for me to while away the day, and the movie has William Petersen as an angry and noble fisherman who clings to a disappearing way of life and kicks the shit out of a evil, man-killing giant squid. Also, lots of well-knit fisherman's sweaters. What's not to love? (PS-- I'm still stalking the SciFi Channel schedule for the next time they are planning on airing the aforementioned movie/mini-series/4 hours of squid-filled goodness so that I can bootleg tape the hell out of it. Hopefully someone with such taping capabilities in the US loves me enough to tape said programming, transfer it to dvd and then mail it to me. I'm hoping. And I'll keep looking for a copy on Amazon and E-bay, though I hold out very little hope-- nobody else loves the Architeuthis dux like I do.)

Well, that's about all I've got for now. Stay tuned for some future discussion on how my lectures are turning out at all how I had expected but I still hold out hope for the program as a whole, and the adventures of prudent Miss Melville in the Special Collections Library!

Sitting by the River Don or; How I Spent My Day

After walking up to campus to pick my Student ID card, I decided to park my butt down my the river for a while. It hadn't been a particularly inspiring morning-- my throat hurt, I found a brand-new blister, I fought and lost with Adobe over how to fill out a form, and my ID is atrocious. I genuinely hope that, should I perish in some tragic tram accident, the officials would be unable to identify me from this picture. Completely wretched.

So I strayed from the formal gardens to the more rustic and natural riverside. Don't get me wrong, the manicured gardens are absolutely beautiful, but there's something in me that calls out for the wild and the rugged and the unkempt. (Not in men, just in landscapes.) So wander I did, and found a little dip in the bank leading to some exposed tree roots and a scholl of last years fallen leaves. I looked at one of the slightly sheltered level places and thought, "Yeah, that's about as wide as my ass," and began to billy-goat my way to the edge of the river. Briefly considering the possibility that my little flat shoes were not equal to the task of keeping me out of the river, I wondered what had happened to my sense of adventure. As it was, I made the descent in fine shape, and I flopped down and found myself completely isolated from the occasional passerby, with the path to my back and above my ears.

The river was beautiful. Peaceful, fast-moving, bubbling, cooling-- all of it. I watched the occasional leaf float by, saw people and their dogs come and go a little further down on the bank. I'm beginning to realize that this is sort of how my life is going to go: I'm going to find a beautiful perch, but I'm also going to be there alone.

I'm getting to be okay with that... It's just going to take me a while.

Proper Football and a Sore Throat

I had my very first encounter with honest-to-god Scottish Football last night at the match against (some Ukranian team... we were all very hazy on who they were, but it didn't really matter) it I think I'm a better person for it. My three Norwegian friends and I walked down to the stadium, where we were supposed to meet up with Michael and his roommates. This was a bit of foolishness on our part, as none of us had any idea how big the stadium was or how many thousands of people were going to be there. Needless to say, we never found them. We did meet up with another group that Christine (the girl in the room directly next to mine) had met in her orientation, consisting of an English-born Indian girl, Raj, Raj's boyfriend Jerry, and a German law student, Sabrina.
After finding out seats, the fun truly began. Now, admittedly I'm a big fan of organized sports-- I like the enthusiasm and energy people exhibit for them, I like the loyalty of the fans for their team, I like the feeling of unity in the stands, and I love the instant morality of officiating-- everybody knows the rules and the minute somebody breaks them, there is a set and standard punishment. Perfect. So, anyway, we're settling into our seats, and I look around-- the stadium isn't really packed, but there are a huge number of people there. Lots of families with young kids, college students, grandparents-- the whole lot. And they're all cheering for one team, their team: Aberdeen.
They had songs and chants and unified jeers. It was amazing to find myself absolutely surrounded by a sea of red. And in all this, I realized the difference between Scottish Football and American Soccer; it's not the name, it's the fact that Soccer has too much money and not enough heart, while my steadfast companions in Aberdeen have perhaps too much heart. A man sitting diagonally from us yelled "That's my boy!" when one of the players did something near him, and the player turned and gave a thumbs-up when the actions moved away from him. People yelled all night long to players named Jackie and Jamie, and I kept grinning.
During the half, a bagpipe and drum corps marched around the pitch. I won't deny it-- I giggled.
The second half saw a wide variety of scoring opportunities for Aberdeen, but they just weren't able to convert. It was hard to see a lot of the action, as we were all the way at the other end of the field, but the most shocking thing I did view was the crowd reaction to a man down on the field. Now, I know that players are sometimes prone to falling over and miming serious injury to perhaps get better field placement for a play. However, this one fellow rolled about so much that the field medics came sprinting out for him twice. Did he have a cramp? Did he catch a boot to the face? Who knows. The crowd certainly didn't care-- even I learned some new terms for the devil from their jeers.
Honestly? I was shocked. In the States, everybody on the field takes a knee until the injured player is seen to by the medics, and if he or she gets up and walks off, everybody in the stands cheers. In Aberdeen? Not so much. Even the little old ladies behind us were shouting things at the opposing player as he lay on the edge of the field. And then the ref came over and gestured with both hands to scoot off the field. THE REF. The crowd laughed and then cheered when, as the downed player did not scoot, the ref gave him a yellow card! I'd never seen anything like it before.
I'm not sure what the final score was, maybe 0-1. Aberdeen never scored, I know that much. Regardless, after the game we all walked back to Raj's apartment, where we shared some drinks and some stories. All in all, remarkably good times! They all laughed and said I was the most open-minded and plain-spoken American they had ever met, but, then again, I do respond to the 'Where are you from?' question with the answer, "The US, and I'm sorry."
We walked home from the afterparty quite late, and I'll be the first to admit that I was rather toasted. However, I can't figure out why my throat is killing me this morning.it woke me up twice in the night. I'm drinking lemon and honey water in an effort to shake it, and I'll buy some lozenges later, but that doesn't solve the mystery. I just hope it's gone before the Whiskey and Castle tour tomorrow!

Loving the Lovely Aberdeen

Well, I'm here. I'm alive. My baggage came through just fine. I'm starting to get the hang of all this.

We're all girls in my flat, which is on the third f-ing floor of my building... two from Norway, one from Uganda, one from Ghana and one from Nigeria. I'm still a little unclear on who the seventh is or even if we have one. Right now I have one plate, a knife, a spoon and several shot glasses that I brought with me. No forks-- the entire city of Aberdeen seems to be out of forks.

It hasn't rained all the time, just most of it. The sunshine comes and goes in bursts. I love it.
My housing is a 20 minute walk from the campus, and each time I've gone out I've gotten lost. The maps they give us are for shit-- there are few road names on ANYTHING, and no key that points to north! I did wander about on campus today and wait in a line for 2 hours to get my computer fixed. It needed to be calibrated or something. Oh well, it's worth it. I just ate a potato with some butter and a bit of applewood cheddar... a fine dinner for a college student! Some of the girls want to go out bowling tonight with Fresher's Week, but I think I might take a long hot shower and do a little reading. And if they decide to go down to the local pub ON CAMPUS, called the Watering Hole, I'm totally in!

The flight from DTW to Amsterdam was fine, just long. We had a strong tailwind, so we got to Amsterdam an hour ahead of schedule. I didn't sleep a wink-- those seats are so uncomfortable and i had my laptop bag under my feet. That, and I imagine I was still a bit nervous. The flight to Aberdeen was pretty bumpy, but I was sandwiched between a bunch of soccer fans coming back a little late from the game in France. Apparently Scotland beat the French for the first time EVER and they stayed to celebrate. I guess the "Tartan Army" is a huge deal over here. Regardless, they were all very friendly. When we went to exit the plane, it was onto one of the moveable ladders directly onto the tarmack, and the fellow behind me clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Welcome to Scotland! Hope you enjoy the weather!" I don't think I've stopped grinning since. There were people holding a sign with my name on it in the airport proper, and my luggage made it through just fine. There was a minibus to take us to Hillhead, and a very nice guy driving pointed out the campus as we flew past.
I met a guy named Michael at the Watering Hole last night and I guess he's all about taking me to my first proper FOOTBALL game. It's on Thursday, and part of the Scottish Premiere League. All I really know is that it's a pretty important match, I have to wear red, he's buying my ticket and a scarf, and there will be drinking beforehand. By the way, the translation of the Norwegian for Pregame comes out roughly as Foreplay... that made for an interesting conversation...

I'm going to try to straighten out my loans tomorrow, and as soon as my excess aid check comes through, I'll get a phone. Also, they're doing Tom Stoppard's Arcadia at the Arts Center, and I think I'll give that a go. I am going to put in my 3 pounds and sign up for the "Castle and Whiskey" tour for next weekend as well... it sounds basically perfect. And I need to e-mail the station manager at the Uni Radio Station and see if they have any openings, considering I'm outrageously qualified for that as well. All in all, things are looking pretty good for little Miss Melville.

Alive and Well in Aberdeen!

I'm here! I made it! I survived!

More details later, but I just thought I would pop in to let you know, dear imaginary reader, that things appear to be working out so far. All I need to do is find someone to help me with my wireless service so I don't have to come down to the computer lab every fifteen minutes...

Ciao!