Where the Sun Shines on the Cities of Saints

Last Saturday, three of my friends and I took a day trip to St. Andrews, which turned out to be a most excellent choice. We awoke bright and early and ran to the grocery store, where I got baguettes, ciabatta rolls, and juice (the best breakfast you could ask for) and then ran to the bus station. We hopped on an 8:40am bus and had a fun filled ride passing by bridges, country, and the sea. I guess you had to be there. Maybe this picture helps:


So we arrived in St. Andrews with a little repertoire of things to do, but got very quickly lost. We walked through an area for a brief time where students reclined on benches wearing their quintessential preppy St. Andrews clothes, right outside one of the student shops (which had a sale - school scarf for only £30!). But those were only a handful of students, so I didn’t judge the town too much. After stopping and asking a student who looked a tad more welcoming, we got excellent directions to the shore where the castle and cathedral both lay. Upon reaching said shore, however, we quickly ran down to the nearest beach in our excitement to see such a thing in Scotland. Also, I should note that when I thought of St. Andrews, I thought of golf. Not the ocean. I was happily proved very wrong indeed, and we spent the first part of our morning walking the tiny beach we had found, which the St. Andrews castle happened to overlook.

Thus, the castle was the place we went to next, and what a castle it was! Unlike the castles of Stirling or Edinburgh, a great deal of this castle was in ruins, and it was also a bit smaller than those two. Yet little did I know how many hidden facets and adventures it held! We first went through the historical exhibition that was in the visitor centre, which was very overwhelming, as it was full of histories of conflict between kings, bishops, pagans, and so forth. Typical medieval Britain, really. But one of my favorite stories depicted there was about how people tried to attack the castle by building a tunnel (though they called it a mine) into the castle. Well, the castle-folk got wind of this, and began to build a ‘counter-mine’, which would intercept this one, and then they could... fight in the mine instead of the castle. The pictures were quite gruesome, actually, and I quickly decided that I would not want anything to do with fighting in a mine (or digging one for that matter, since the pictures portrayed the fights happening while people were mining - they didn’t fare well). Good. There’s a life decision made. We left the exhibition and started exploring the castle, where we found many ‘false starts’ for the counter-mine. This wasn’t fully explained, so I guess they started to dig, and then decided ‘Woops, no. Let’s dig over there instead.’ and proceeded to make several very large holes in the ground. If I had been a groundskeeper then, I would not have been pleased. Anyway, though, then we found this:


And we were SO excited. We explored them hurriedly and happily. There were some people already in the tunnels who didn’t share our excitement as much, and it was a bit too exciting for our groceries as well, which took a few tumbles through the mines (safely retrieved though).

After that, since we had lost a bit of our energy, we explored other parts of the castle, and spent a great deal of time just staring out to the sea, which was a more stunning blue than I have seen in some while. We were subdued by it, and the peacefulness of the entire situation could have lasted a lifetime.

Taylor, Yannick, and Blake in one of the scenes that gave this post its name.


After quite reluctantly taking ourselves from that eternal scene, we headed back towards the city area, on our way to the cathedral. IFSA-Butler actually had given us all a travel newsletter a week before, and in it was a page on St. Andrews which I found (luckily) the day before. It suggested a famous doughnut store called Fisher & Donaldson’s which I stopped at to get a (also suggested) fudge doughnut. Now, when I think fudge, I think chocolate, which is (I think) understandable, but nonetheless incorrect. This was a doughnut with a creme colored frosting, and a white cream filling, both fudge, but not chocolate fudge. It was not what I expected at all, but I did enjoy it. For a country that doesn’t have many doughnuts (i.e. as America does), I was surprised, and a bit overwhelmed. But in a good way.

We then trod over to the cathedral after picking up some excellent lunch at a French café (I think I saw a French flag... not too sure), and we found it to be not exactly as expected. It was an old ruined cathedral, and inside of the ruined walls, surrounding the spires, were countless headstones. Really creative ones too at times (see the album for some examples - link at bottom of post), but almost too many for me to envision the area as a working cathedral. I’m not sure if the graves came first and the cathedral was just much smaller than it seems or what the deal was - the organization of it all was a bit confusing. Anyway, we got a chance to climb up the only stable standing tower (with tickets for two of us, the other two - Taylor and I - are members, so we actually got escorted up). It was a stunning view from the top, and from there we saw many exciting things, including a pier, which is exactly where we headed next. That was an even more subduing and peaceful experience, with beauty I cannot easily describe.

We had to tear ourselves reluctantly away from there as well, after which we headed back to the city to an IFSA-Butler suggested Ice Cream shop, which had over 150 flavors, including Irn-Bru! I’m not sure if I’ve told you about Irn-Bru (pronounced Iron-Brew), but it is a Scottish soft drink that surpasses many major ones in sugar content (33% of daily intake, I believe) and tastes like liquid, sugary bubblegum. Overwhelming. But in a bad way. It does have 10% of your daily intake of Iron though! Anyway, none of us got that type of ice cream, for good reason. I feel as though it was more of a novelty anyway. Afterwards, we dragged ourselves back to the bus station and had a weary, bleary-eyed ride home. Except it was MUCH longer, as it wasn’t the express bus we had taken that morning, but instead one that traversed the countryside through many seaside villages, which I really enjoyed - when I could keep awake for it. Here’s a good one to close with, a picture I took on that ride home, embodying my love for this country:

p.s. I’ve posted three albums to my Google public photo gallery, all viewable at: http://picasaweb.google.com/riordan.frost

The Gardens and the Seat of a King

Over the past week or so, I have been doing several smaller, yet still exciting things, like going to the Royal Botanic Gardens of Edinburgh and taking numerous wondrous trips to Holyrood.

To begin, my friends Blake and Alena and I all decided to visit the Botanic Gardens on Valentine’s Day (though not because of the day) and we walked there, as we are oft fond to do in Edinburgh - I have not yet taken a local bus here, as it is a very manageable city. However, we took a rather unique route, for reasons too complex and silly to explain, and we ended up walking quite a bit, somewhat lost, through Leith. Leith is basically Edinburgh’s port city - though I am uncertain of its status as a city and whether or not it is separate from Edinburgh - and it is much more working class, which was interesting to see. After quite a bit of meandering and searching, we found our way, but not before finding a magical paradise of a grocery store.

Now, as all of my friends live in flats, cooking is quite a happy occurrence, but since most of us live in the heart of the city, there are only small grocery stores available, which are understandably limited in their selection. So when we stumbled across a full-sized grocery store in Leith we were very excited. We stopped and found wonders. Alena found vanilla extract, which the entire city has seemed to lack before, and together we all excitedly laid our eyes on a 27 pack of Penguins. Now, Penguins are a phenomenon little surpassed by anything else, and I shall try my best to convey my love for them to you. A Penguin is in actual fact a chocolate biscuit, with a milk chocolate filling. It’s a small rectangular chocolate bar, basically. Now, you can just eat it as is, but you can do that with any old candy bar, like a Twix or something. An inconceivably better alternative is to bite two diagonally opposing corners and turn to your freshly made cup of Earl Grey (which you should always have at hand - this is Britain, after all) and place one end into the tea, and the other in your mouth. You then suck the hot tea through the biscuit, and after a couple of seconds, remove the biscuit which has been melted by the tea (especially the chocolate filling), and you then eat it. Or rather, you then experience the melted delicious chocolate sensation. I shall say no more but that it is the closest to doing and being addicted to any substance I have ever been.


But I digress. We arrived at the gardens, triumphant and weary, as shown in the picture above. We walked through, and it blew me away nearly as much as Penguins do. The expanses of trees, lakes, and small rugged hills lining the lovely paths which winded through them and around to the greenhouses filled with exotic and bizarre plants was all quite enough to take my breath away. Even with the cloudy skies and the wintry state of the trees and gardens, it was beautiful. And so quietly peaceful. We wandered, had a little picnic, and wandered some more. My feet didn’t feel so heavy in such a place. I especially loved this greenhouse, which was full of cacti:

We greatly enjoyed ourselves, and then soon afterwards we went back to Alena’s flat to prepare a cake for a birthday party of some reckoning that night.

Going back in time now, the previous Wednesday, Alena and I ventured up to the Seat of the King on Holyrood (Arthur’s Seat) and were, to put it simply, awestruck. Despite the fact that I have been to Holyrood many a time, this was my first time to the very summit. There was still some snow and ice present, and the sun reflected off of it brilliantly. Every picture I took seemed less and less real. And after surveying the view from the top, Alena and I sat on top of another crag, so peacefully content as the wind played and danced over the mountain for what seemed an endless moment. Here are some pictures from that to close this account:

Staying with the English

I must apologize for not posting in such a long time. At first it was because nothing in particular was happening, and then it became that I was too busy doing so many spectacular things that I could not find time to post. I think the most notable event was the family stay last weekend, so I shall focus on that and then perhaps post soon about the other wonderful smaller events. And thank you Terry for the supportive e-mail, which made me fully realize how long it has been since my last post.

As I think I have mentioned, I am studying here through a program that is partnered with Connecticut College - the Institute for Study Abroad at Butler University, IFSA-Butler for short. There are about 70 students attending the University of Edinburgh this semester through IFSA-Butler, and the folks at Butler have been an enormous aid - from taking care of a great deal of the academic bureaucracy to hosting weekend trips (Loch Lomond weekend coming up in March, quite excited). Well, another part of their program is teaming up with a host family organization and setting up family visits for one weekend for every IFSA-Butler student. Since there are 70 of us, they have spread these out amongst several weekends, with several different locations - from Stirling to Glasgow to Penrith. Mine was this last weekend, and on Friday afternoon I boarded a coach with about 25 other students for Penrith, which is actually in England. Two other IFSA-Butler students were staying with the same family as I, and we greeted the host mother at Penrith, to be driven about half an hour away to a ‘hamlet’ as she called it - a little village of about eight houses, with a small little elementary school and church.

The host mother was quite friendly, and she had an excellent pasta casserole waiting for us when we arrived. We talked, ate, and laughed until her 23-year-old daughter came home from work. It turns out she is taking a break from college and working as a bartender at a local restaurant, so she joined in on our conversation by the fire with tea. We drank quite a bit of tea that weekend. On Friday night we were discussing our options for what to do on Saturday, and we essentially had two: either join the other families and IFSA students to go somewhere, or make our own path into the Lake District. When Melanie (the host mother) mentioned that we could visit the village where William Wordsworth lived and is now buried, I nearly jumped out of my seat in excitement. William Wordsworth is one of my favorite poets of all time, and he was one of the leading romantic poets to invoke the beauty of the Lake District and make it such a destination for all lovers of nature. I opted for that choice quite strongly, and the others were perfectly up for it as well.

Thus the next day we headed to the Lake District, and it was cloudy and beautiful. That’s one thing about the UK - you start to appreciate clouds in a different way, almost out of necessity. When we arrived in the village, Grasmere, we took a walk around the village (picture at the top is from Grasmere) before heading into its center, which was quite small. We walked first to Wordsworth’s grave in the cemetery, and for the first time in my life I felt as though I was completing a pilgrimage, though not at all one previously planned. I stood there for quite some time, and I quietly recited Stepping Westward, my favorite poem of his. I felt very much at peace. Time passed, and I had to leave the tranquil setting to catch up with my host family. I then discovered Dove Cottage, the place where Wordsworth lived and wrote for quite some time. I bought a ticket and got a detailed and enlightening tour, which I was grateful for, as it was a very small cottage. One of the rooms was covered in old newspaper for insulation back in Wordsworth’s day (it was the children’s bedroom) and another had Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s scales he used for opium, which he was addicted to (but they might have belonged to Thomas de Quincy, also a friend of Wordsworth, also addicted to opium). Not only would I not have understood these things without a tour, I also wouldn’t have seen the dilemma of this beloved poet and family friend living in the room next door to the children, and often waking up screaming from his numerous nightmares. But it was a lovely cottage, really, and I especially enjoyed the room Wordsworth used for writing his poetry - though of course, his favorite place to write poetry was whilst walking through the Lake District.

I then briefly visited the Wordsworth museum, a modern slate building that fit in surprisingly well, but then rejoined my host family who had been patiently waiting. When we went back to the homy hamlet, we were greeted by the host father, who had flown in that morning from being away working for a month. He was working off the coast of Australia as a ‘drilling supervisor’ on an oil rig. He was quite a friendly lad, and together we all drank tea and enjoyed the first rugby match of the Six Nations (England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, and Italy) Rugby Tournament - England v. Italy. After much confusion and the occasional question to the host family, I finally started to understand the sport, and I enjoyed watching England win, 36-11. However, the English commentators were quite critical, and did not enjoy it in the slightest, because England was just not on form. Picky folks, these. After another wonderful dinner, complete with wine and cocktails and tea before, during, and after, we all retired to the fire and had another round of enjoyable conversation. On Sunday morning, we took a long walk around the rugged English countryside, and I felt quite at home and relaxed. It was with reluctance that I departed on Sunday afternoon. I took many good pictures, which I shall post soon. Here is one of Wordsworth’s grave, complete with early snow drops (thanks to Terry for the correction from my earlier mistaken name of wintry daffodils!):

My very best wishes to you all!