on wednesdays

If there were two things that 13 years of piano lessons taught me, it was 1) Sight-reading, though a difficult talent to master, will prove far more valuable than any other strength and 2) Wednesdays are the worst day of the week (Originally I had lessons on Mondays. around 2003 lessons were switched to Wednesdays. Crummy move, seeing that I couldn't enjoy 2 days of the week with a looming threat of a Wednesday lesson). Of course, the latter was always subject to my ability to perfect the former.
Wednesdays in Scotland are a different story.

My Wednesdays are free and always an adventure irregardless (that one's for you, pop!) of what I decide to do. Today I woke up. Then I went downtown... to look for a job. Then I hung out in front of the drug store. That's mostly a lie. My day, as I just described it was actually a self-indulgent attempt at humor from a childhood record my brother and I would listen to (Sister Mary Elephant) over and over and over and over until it was time for dinner. Then we'd listen some more. Sorry for getting sidetracked. My mind wanders too much. My day, in reality, started with a sensible 8:05 alarm that turned into an actual wake-up time of 8:40. I could have slept in all day if I chose, but instead I took up an offer with the Equestrian Club on campus to go ride horses for an hour. For 14.5£ I could learn to ride a horse with members of the team. They're more than welcoming of newcomers and I needn't commit to anything. So, off to the facilities I went at 9:20 ride a horse. While it was absolutely bitter cold this morning, I had the most enjoyable time. I met my horse, Sugar, an 8-year old white training horse and knew we'd have a good time. Why? Because while I was filling out my paperwork and choosing a helmet, I heard the trainer yell at Sugar. My ears perked up, already knowing that was the name of the horse I was to ride, and I got quite excited for having a rule-breaking horse. We got along just fine during the session, but she was very antsy. Always moving about and not one to stand still, she gave me a run for my money. I wouldn't have had it any other way. We got to walk, trot, and trot while standing up and down. As easy as some make it look, it was anything but. The controlling of my legs was the biggest difficulty. The first time around my legs were flying in the air just as much as my body was. (Not the goal for all you non-horse riders) I'm so glad I went to do it. Will I go again? Probably not, but who knows! I'd rather use my money for more unique adventures like it. The skydiving club seems pretty appetizing. YOLO!

By the time I was back in my room it was only 11AM. So, I did my laundry, got lunch, hid my candles for room checks today and am no typing this post. Later, however, I will be busy once again with a club that I officially joined on campus. It's called AirTV and is video production club that makes films every other week. Last week for the first meeting we were split into groups of seven or eight, and we had 3.5 hours to completely make a trailer for mock-film. We drew genres out of hats as well as two subject notes. Unfortunately (or fortunately if you're Andrew Lloyd Webber), our genre was musical, and our two subjects were 'cats' and 'jesus.' What are the chances! You may think that'd be easy for a satirical film trailer but it was actually quite difficult. While I can't bring myself to showing any clips from the film, I'll give you the joy of its title, The DaKitty Code (A musical romp based VERY LOOSELY of The DaVinci Code ). Just imagine The Vitruvian Man with a cat's tail and whiskers. Or DaVinci's drawings of a 'Cat-apolt.' Get it? I know, it sounds super lame and nerdy, but I had a blast and learned so much about filming just in that small amount of time. Nothing forces you to learn about film more than a 3.5 hour crunch session with other film majors. Tonight we view all of last week's films and posters and vote on the winners. Then we pick production teams for the semester. These are smaller groups (3 or 4) that will make a professional-looking film to present in May. I have ideas stirring in my mind, but we'll see what becomes of the project throughout the semester.

For several different reasons I'm going to end. I've been getting some feedback from readers about posts being a bit lengthy. One friend here even commented "It took me a whole lecture to read it." You can see we take our academics most seriously (don't worry mum and dad, I'll at least pass everything!). So, I will likely making shorter posts. That way, I don't spend too much time on one project. The second reason is because I have a great amount of social media obligations to attend to. (For class... I swear!) We have to keep a class blog, use Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook as well as the option of LinkedIn and  other various outlets to promote ourselves and to better be prepared for the mass media takeover that is our current world. 

A shameless plug, Follow me on Twitter!  @jakobplummer 
Believe me, as juvenile and inane as some feel Twitter is, it is really so much more. Seriously.

Cheers!

“Promise yourself to be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet."
                                                -Christian D. Larson

some quirks

I'm not quite sure what to post about today, and while I have been consciously preparing for a post today, few of my ideas have transpired into practicality. I could discuss the weather of Scotland, but I fear it would bring about resentment from those living in the miserable conditions of Ohio's ever-changing weather. If there were an interesting aspect of my whopping cough, I could talk about this last week and how I had accomplished close to nothing due to a terrible virus I contracted (Don't worry too much. It's dying off now. And no... it's not the SARS virus  - though that does bring up a humorous tale involving all the Asian exchange students wearing medical masks around campus to avoid infection). Or, I could talk about the oddities of a foreign country and aspects of my daily life that I've taken for granted. Since the latter has the best production value, I will discuss it today in the hopes that I don't forget anything too shockingly divergent from The United States. BUT... before I go into those extensive details, I must discuss the most comical aspect of my trip thus far. *Warning: You may find this terribly offensive, but you're choosing to continue reading, so I don't feel too responsible. 

The picture to the left is called The World Map of Stereotypes. An intelligently constructed visual of the world and how most people view it. It's relevance has yet to wane among the 5th floor kitchen occupants. (I share a kitchen with approximately 15 other students from a surrounding area of most of this map. *I often forget what I've typed in previous posts and what I have left out so forgive me if my writing is repetitious.) It has started countless dinner, drinking, or more drinking discussion while also serving an academic purpose of breaking down whatever stereotypes the map is insistent upon. I've included some of my favorites below since the picture is not of the best quality. However, I propose a challenge. Read my clues, take your guess as to which country and then check the answers below.

1) 'Ignorant, Obese, Jesus-Obsessed, Gun-Nuts'

2) 'Maple Syrup-Drinking, Ice Hockey-Playing, Lumbar Jacks.

3) 'Nothing'

4) Cigar-Smoking Communists

5) Björk
6) Bollywood Call Center

7) Ginger-Haired Drunks

8)  Leederhosen-Wearing, Beer-Guzzling, Efficiency Freaks

9) Kung-Fu Fighting Bootleggers

10) Siesta-Taking Bull-Stabbers

11) Binge-Drinking Hooligans with Bad Teeth

12) Middle-Earth

Answers:

1) North America   2) Canada   3) Russia   4) Cuba   5) Iceland   6) India   7) Ireland   8) Germany  9) China   10) Spain   11) United Kingdom   12) New Zealand 

Overall, it's great fun to always be looking at and discussing. We each put our passport photos on our country so we could stereotype on the floor! Of course, I'm kidding. We're a pretty tight-knit group. Now onto the quirks of the country.

Brand Recognition - As much as I am willing to try new things all the time and truly explore, I dearly miss some regular brands of products. Among the most missed would be SpaghettiOs. They're cheap, delicious, and not terrible bad for you. A major comfort for me and it's not here. Instead I found Heinz alphabetti. WOOF. After one can I thought I'd be sick for quite some time. To get an idea of what it's like, take SpaghettiOs, take out all of the salt, and add human blood instead of tomato soup. Now you have Alphabetti!
Since that's the only brand I'm attached to that isn't here, I'll note some UK fascinations with our brands. In any major city you can find at least two or three 'American' candy stores. The stores names, bothersome at the least, include Americandy, United States of Candy, and Barak ObamaOreos. The last, of course, is a joke! The candy in these stores is various and can include anything from Twinkies (I didn't have the heart to let them know they're now illegal) and a Snickers bar (rounding in at 1.8£ or $2.70. I repeat, for a SNICKERS BAR). Next time I come to the U.K., I'll be sure to bring lots of candy with me now that I know it's a hot commodity. 

Hours of Operation - This one I was warned about, and while it hasn't caused me many issues, I find it fascinating. The mall closes at 6:00PM on Saturday and 5:30PM on weekdays. On-Campus eateries close at 4:00PM, and the library closes at 9:00PM most nights (Again, because everyone parties after 9 no matter what day. The University just caught on and took advantage of saving money). You cannot buy alcohol passed 10PM on ANY day. To make up for all this, though, is that everything - yes I mean everything - is open on Sunday. The hours are shortened, but anything you need done on a Sunday can be done if planned properly. 

Television - I'm having a couple issues with this quirk, as the televisions here are few and far between. And watching events (like The Oscars, which I have to regrettably miss) is rarely an option. You aren't able to stream as many videos and certainly nothing that is live. (The British Government charges per TV. The purpose is to be able to note those who are exposed to 'live' programming). It becomes a challenge to me when I need to watch certain movies or clips for a course. Being that I study film, the restrictions are very limiting in terms of availability. There also are no video rental stores around. People just don't have a purpose for it (And while I can see this as a valid argument from the government, I object strongly because there is a great deal to learn from films and television programs that are not widely available). 

The Refrigerator - It's the worst. Literally. Those of you who have been around awhile and remember vividly the days of Lyndon B. Johnson & Richard Nixon's time at the White House (or maybe even further back!) can possibly imagine what their refrigerators looked like. Take that, divide it into 18 boxes, and put a lock and door for each section. That's right folks, our 1 fridge has 18 boxes that we must open with a key. Unfortunately, my box is located on the bottom. The causes two problems. First, imagine your fridge and now pretend that every ingredient was in the very bottom produce drawer. Now, take that produce door and imagine that you have to unlock it with a key just to get a pepper. When you go to the fridge you may forget the key, you may not want to bend over, etc... Secondly, everyone else's boxes drip down to mine. If someone has a leaky milk carton or anything of the sort, it drips down and all over my food. The good news? Well, there really isn't any. I just learned not to buy refrigerated food. 

Eggs - The eggs are HUGE and you don't put them in a fridge. They're fresh, Scottish eggs that come in cartons of 6 (people grocery shop every day. Not a big 'bulk' nation) and last for about a month.

Bathrooms - My Brother In-Law shared this cartoon with me the other day, and I couldn't thank him enough. The accuracy of this is mesmerizing. As I told him, either the pictures are awkwardly similar or there are pictures of underwear on the doors. Another quirk? They call them toilets. I have objected to this custom, as a toilet is the actual bowl. The don't use the word restroom. I now desperately hope this doesn't get too graphic, but the toilets are... unique to say the least. For beginners, the doors to bathrooms don't lock. It's understood that if the door is closed, it is occupied by another. In addition, the toilet bowls are super high off the ground. I could literally swing my legs back and forth as if I were a three-year-old on a grown-up toilet. This is all fine and good, but when one is required to sit down, the bottom of the bowl is a good 2 feet away. If you haven't gotten the drift yet, it might as well be a bidet. It's not a comfortable change at all, and is still taking a while for me to get used to. Oh! And toilet paper is already a prescribed size. Very rarely is it up to the user to pick the amount of toilet paper. Instead, the dispensers offer 2-square pieces out of a mechanism similar to a tissue box. 

That's it for today, my friends. I hope you've enjoyed getting to know a bit more about Scotland. I learn new things every day and look forward to sharing them on here. Until then, another picture and quote. This picture is from my weekend trip to Glasgow. I'll likely be posting more about the trip on Wednesday. This is the oldest Scottish cathedral to have survived The Reformation in full.

To reform a world,
 to reform a nation, no wise man will undertake; and all but foolish men know, that the only solid, though a far slower reformation, is what each begins and perfects on himself.
   
       -Thomas Carlyle

the education

Yes, I know it's late on Wednesday (the day I said I'd post), but things happen and I can't always be certain I'll get this written before evening. After all, my deadline is a bit more flexible given that it's already 12:08 here. That leaves me 5 hours to write this and send it out!

"Those of you from the United States will likely receive marks lower than you would at your home institutions. Grading tends to be a bit more lax in the states."

You must be joking. Those were my first thoughts when our introductory speaker stood up to talk about the educational objectives and requirements of Stirling. You must be joking. I wasn't quite sure whether to take our speaker's comments offensively or to use it as a challenge. And so, as I have continuously done so with my educational studies, I took his insult to my head (If you heard the way he said the words and smiled ever so slightly afterwards, you would agree it was intended as such) and disregarded the rest of his presentation. As informative as it may have been, I turned to my Hungarian neighbor, Pálmi, and asked her to teach me several Hungarian phrases. Well, this too may have turned out to be a mistake just as thoughtless as not paying attention to the speaker. You see, the Hungarian language isn't one that can be learned quickly. Their alphabet, with 35 cases (consonants as far as I have understood) and 14 vowels makes it the 4th most difficult language to learn. The only languages more difficult include Chinese (1), Arabic (2), and Tuyuca (3 - this is the language of a portion of the Amazon) As you can see, I was in over my head but, in fact, came out a champion. After only a short 30 minute lesson I can now comfortably walk the streets of Hungary saying 'Hi' 'Good Morning' 'Have a nice meal' 'Good Night' 'Cheers' and 'Bunny.' You may not think that's enough to let me survive, but as my previous posts have stated, waking up, drinking (cheers!), and going to bed are about the only things that count in Europe. As for learning the term for bunny, it's mainly because this campus has millions of them. No joke. Each night on a walk across campus you'll likely run into a dozen or so bunnies hopping along footpaths or along the hillsides.

My Hungarian lessons were a short and sweet start to my academic endeavors in Scotland, but they would not soon be my last. Classes were about to begin, and they run very differently than the classes in the United States. For starters, I am currently enrolled in 3 courses. Back at BW I was subjected to six courses. And while I often took a large schedule load, the minimum coursework of 12 credit hours would still require 4 courses of 3 credit hours each. What makes the fewer classes even more unusual is the amount of time given for lectures and seminars. I have two classes that have 1-hour lectures and one class with a 2-hour lecture. That's it. The course doesn't meet three times a week or even four (like most classes at BW). We meet ONCE a week. I sit and listen to professors for 4 hours a week. That's not much time at all. And while there are seminars for each class, these portions of the course are more discussion and productivity time. I have 5 hours of seminar a week (2 of these hours are specifically set aside for additional film viewing). All together my grand total of in-class exposure is 9 hours per week. It's a ridiculously small amount of time to get anything done. However, all the quick judgements are made about all the free time I have with my life, I must articulate a resounding difference between the educational systems of different countries. Scotland does not cater to students. One is still expected to be doing an extreme amount of work and research in all the 'free time.' The University expects students to take complete responsibility for their academic success... or failure. This is a concept that worries me. After all I am in a brand new country with plenty of things to do. I could climb a mountain during the day, travel to town, visit another country (Did I mention I don't have classes on Wednesdays or Fridays!). I do know, however, that this probably isn't the best ideas, knowing that the lurking of essays and exams will soon approach.

For each of the classes at Stirling, there are two portions to a final mark (grade). The exam is worth 50% of your final mark, and it's often due right after spring break (The University calls it 'reading week' so you catch up on reading. I call that bull shit and will be traveling to London! YOLO!). It's a relatively similar situation to the sick thrill my high school English teacher got out of making research papers due the Monday after prom weekend. Everyone leaves campus before essays are due and then all of a sudden, a large essay is to be turned in. If not on time, that's perfectly acceptable. You're grade simply drops a letter for each day it is late. This leaves the other 50% of the final mark to the mercy of a final exam. For each course there is a three-hour exam period where we are required to write another essay. This time, though, there are both time constraints and resource shortages. There's very little I can write in an exam essay that sounds intelligent if I am unable cite other resources and then expand on their already established and accredited ideas. Overall, if you've been following anything I've been writing (it's quite likely I'm not making much sense, however I'm far too tired to proof-read at this hour), then you can put the pieces together and figure if I get a poor mark on one of these, I will do very poorly in the class. While the thought of doing poorly makes me sick to an extent, I am slowly convincing myself that the grade is irrelevant. I'm studying abroad. That's already more than 95% of college graduates can claim.

For those of you who are interested, the grade breakdown is as follows:

1A, 1B, 1C (A)

2A (A-)

2B (B+)

2C, 2D (B)

2E, 2F (B-)

3A (C+)

3B (C)

3C (C-)

4 (D)

5 (F)

Make whatever conclusions you will. I just hope I never see a 3.

I avoid boring you to death in one epic breakdown of my courses, but here's an idea of one of my courses. It's entitled Experimental Cinema. Now, what about that class doesn't sound fun? That's what I originally thought, anyway. What I would soon come to learn is that the lectures are mind-baffling concepts that dive into the deepest and most inventive portions of the brain. The problems begin when that area of the brain has never or rarely been exposed to such artistic depth. Fortunately, Baldwin Wallace has trained me well with a cluster of its courses. Theatre Literature, and Film & Culture are the two main ones that have artistically stretched me. Experimental Cinema (EC), for those of you who have never had the opportunity to observe it at its finest is basically an artistic movement in film thats sole purpose was to disrupt the Hollywood model of cinema and all it stood for (order, precision, and conscious understanding). Therefore, these cinematic artists sought out a form of expression that gave little attention to form. If you care to explore more about it, search Un Chien Andalou in Youtube and watch the film. It's a great example, not too terribly long, and a good understanding as to what I watch and discuss in courses. Yes, I said watch. One can't expect to learn about film without watching it. The one-hour lecture becomes quite bearable when 40 of those minutes are for screening films.

While I'd love to keep typing and typing and typing until I can type no more, I must end the post with a picture I took several days ago on a walk. For I am off to read The Flower Thief: The 'film poem,' Warhol's early films, and the beat writers. Sounds fun, doesn't it? Until next time, my friends!

A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.
 - Greek proverb

the camera

The camera. Where do I even begin. I guess I'll start at the very beginning... a very good place to start. When I read I begin with A, B, C, when I  About a week before I came to Scotland, my parents took me out for a surprise. I went along because I had nothing else to do, and then they pulled their 'surprise' on me. Let me first tell you how I feel about surprises. I'll now quote the musical Young Frankenstein as they sing a number right before Elizabeth walks in on Dr. Frankenstein (or is it Stien?) making love to Inga. "Some folks don't appreciate a surprise. 'specially if they're naked when they're surprised." I guess the last part of that isn't necessary. I wasn't naked when they surprised me. But you get the drift. Anyways, they take me to Sam's Club and walk me over to the camera section. It didn't take me long to understand what was happening. I also knew that this meant I wouldn't be getting monetary assistance from them for my trip. See, the original plan was that for Christmas I had asked 'Santa' for money for my trip to Scotland. I knew I would want plenty of spending money, so I thought being practical for Christmas was the best option for me. I was told Xmas morning that I would be getting assistance, which was good. But now, that camera was taking place of my money. Yes, it was a nice camera, and yes I probably shouldn't have just given it to the family at the airport without asking for some money for it, but they really seemed to love it. And besides, that family of four is going to get so much more use out of that camera than I would have ever. Of course I joke. I didn't just give the camera away. I just thought I'd panic my parents for a bit and seem like the irresponsible child; to cover up tracks of another sibling of course :). So the camera is with me, I still don't care to take a mass of pictures, but I am surviving with it.

Why wouldn't I want a camera? That's not so much a simple answer, but I'll try to briefly summarize. Last spring I took a course at Baldwin Wallace entitled Philosophy of Human Nature. In the class we discussed a great deal of commonplace practices in America today and the psychological purpose behind them. Cameras were a particular Friday's topic, and I made sure to sober up from my body and pay attention to the lecture. Camera's are used for two main purposes. 1) Tourists & 2) Artistry. In one category I do not belong and in the other I voluntarily chose to avoid. Nothing turns locals away quicker than a tourist with a camera, and I didn't care to become one of them. On the other side, I do find myself to be an artist (of at least a small degree) but no where to the point where I would take the pictures from my trip and turn them into a collage of sorts or a canvas to hang on the barren wall of my campus apartment. The philosophical side of cameras, however, discusses the difference between experience and material. For pictures are simply material objects that were distractions in an experience. For example, in October I had the chance to see Barbra Streisand in concert with a good friend. Neither of us had a camera to take pictures of the event even though we had snuck into seats that were as close as could be. If we had been taking pictures - and there were plenty of people doing so - then we would have missed moments of her flawless concert. Instead, I simply sat in awe for 3 hours, and though I don't have the material photographs to prove I was there or to remind me of what a great time I had, I do have the memory of being there and seeing a legend. So that's my camera story, and I'm sticking to it... well kinda. As I said, I ended up bringing the camera and have taken some pictures. I hope you enjoy them and that viewing Scotland vicariously through these photographs brings you peace of mind because I have come to discover this past week that Scotland is the pacific clarity that I needed so badly to clear my mind.

This is the view from my window of my room. Simply gorgeous, though we are told not to leave
our windows open for too long because squirrels will come in and eat our food

This is one of my favorites I have taken. It's called Airthrey Castle and is right on campus.
I run by it on my runs each morning.

This is the same view from my room two days after the first was taken. I'll eventually
do a post about the weather. As you can see, it's temperamental at least.


A rather haunting photograph taken at a cathedral nearby.
The snow made the visit even more chilling


The inside of Dunblane Cathedral. 

Each window had articulate stained glass windows. 

This was in a back hallway of the cathedral 

Again, the cemetery but this time from within the cathedral 

These flowers are known as snowdrops. I've never seen them  in the USA, but they are
everywhere here. A sign that spring has almost arrived.

Wallace Monument. This can be seen from the kitchen in my corridor and is a commemoration 

of William Wallace. If you have no idea who he is, watch Braveheart.

Some of the film was shot on Stirling's campus (battle of Stirling Bridge!)

A view from the street on my way to get groceries. About 6-7km from campus


Though I loath the thought of posting a picture of myself, I though it good to show
1) The typical weather
2) Everyone wears green in Scotland (Kate... take note)

So that's all the pictures I care to share now. There are more that I may post in the future, but it takes far too much of my day to upload them to the blog. I'm going to go out and enjoy the fresh air. I hope it was worth your time to skim through the pictures. It's a great place to be, this Scotland. It's a shame so many people think of it only for it's rain... and Braveheart.

Disclaimer: If you watch Braveheart and discuss it with a Scot, they'll likely get offended. They say it's not very true. And as student studying film at the University, I must argue that at least they had a film made about it that won the Academy Award for Best Picture. Not many films can say that.

the drinking

       Being a Plummer hasn't even gotten me close to an understanding of how to REALLY drink. The Plummers are pretty good at it, don't get me wrong, but they've got miles to go to catch up with the Scots. I've had the fortune of growing up with two sides of my family that party, celebrate, and commemorate very differently. The Weibl side of has gotten me to Scotland and helped me understand that staying in every once-in-a-while from the blustery winds and rain is certainly okay, if not the best decision. The Plummer side, however, has given me the energy, free-spirited, and craziness (YOLO if you will. Or should I say CLI.... ah nevermind :P) that my mind needs for survival in the United Kingdom. Let me tell you something that you may already know but haven't completely established to reality. The UK loves to drink. They drink wine, they drink beer, they drink whiskey, they drink scotch (clearly), they drink absinth (Yes, I do plan to try it eventually), and I would imagine they would down a bottle of rubbing alcohol if you set it out in front one. It's a stamina not matched by the United States, and I must say that I've seen my fair share of drinking. Whether it be my residents of my floor during the interim of my hellish job as a resident assistant or a New Year's Eve trip to Ohio State with my best friends, there is still little comparison. 

       As I believe I had mentioned in the post previous to this, it took little time for me to make a good amount of friends and to head to a pub. The one located in the university that I had written about was a great starter. I had gotten a whiskey and coke along with a bottle of wine for the table. Now I know it sounds odd to drink those together, but the UK doesn't let you buy alcohol past the hour of 10PM on any day, and so when I tried to buy a bottle from the store they wouldn't let me. While engaging in a slight plan of chicanery toward the British government, I bought a bottle of wine at the bar in the hopes to take it out with me. However, the bartender took the cork, refused to give it to me, and proceeded to ask how many glasses I would need. The six of us surrendered our plan of drinking back at the dorm and basically chucked to bottle to finish it (A mighty waste of 5P). The next night came and low and behold there were plans to go out to a club. I'll admit that I stayed behind that night for several reasons. For starters, I wasn't willing to pay for the bus, the admission fee, the coat-check fee, drinks from the bar, and the taxi to get back to campus (buses stop at 10PM. It's quite unfortunate). I wasn't missing out though. I later found out that the next night would be bigger and better than the night I missed. 
     It was now Monday night and a large group of decided to go out after hearing of all the good clubs to go to on a Monday night (MONDAY. As in a weekday. As in why are we clubbing?) So we started with a drinking at an in-town international's flat. (Some live on campus and some live in town near the shopping and clubs, which is about 4Km from the school) We drank a bit there then headed to the a pub, this time led by an actual Englishman. His name was Robert, and he was a 4th year at Stirling. At 6'4'', he was rather intimidating, but he knew his way around, which was a help for all of us internationals. At the pub I had gotten one small drink and was enjoying the a spanish conversation between Barbara and Alissa when Robert came down to sit at the same end of the table. He had three very large glasses (more like a vase in reality) of Australian beer. After basically gulping down one, he slid one across the table to me and said they would be warm by the time he got to the 3rd. His logic for buying three at once was so he wouldn't have to stand up and walk to the front of the pub multiple times. (They may be lushes, but they sure know how to reason!) 
       Okay, so the bar closed at midnight, which was unfortunate, but after we left the group - not unanimously - wanted to go to another pub/club. (I forgot to mention that the entire time we were at the last pub there was a television above us that was playing a BBC interview with a British nudist colony. They were showing EVERYTHING. I mean, I saw more of the human anatomy on complete, uninhibited strangers than I ever imagined I would on a TV) I felt like going back to the university and setting down, but this was not the popular idea. So, we traveled down the street and across the way to a dance club called Fubar. *For my older readers, Fubar is an acronym for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.* You now know why I'd be hesitant. I didn't want to be 'Fucked up.' I just wanted to dance a bit then go to bed. That, however, was out of the question. It would be 3 more hours until I was in bed. Don't get me wrong, though. The club was incredibly fun. At first it was a bit dead because while the Scots love to drink, they're a bit awkward when they need to get a party going. So the Canadians and Americans headed to the club floor and started dancing. It didn't take long for others to join in, which was great. Nothing is more embarrassing than dancing by yourself... in a foreign country... with all the locals staring. The night kept getting better, but eventually it had to end: drinking and all. 
      Like an altered version of Groundhog Day, there were once again plans to go out drinking on Tuesday night. These people are beasts at drinking! I passed at the offer, giving my liver a day to catch up, but I'm almost certain there's either a party tonight or Valentine's-Day themed clubs come Thursday. By then I'll be ready to go again, and hopefully by the end of the semester, I'll be able to drink like a Scot. It'll take a bit of work and may involve a nasty hangover here or there, but it's all a part of the culture... right? (some more English reasoning for you.) 
      While some of you may worry or freak out from what you've read (Oh my goodness Jakob's partying too much and losing any scruples he once had), I can assure you that there is safety in numbers, and I will never travel alone. The University of Stirling recently had a student go missing around 2 in the morning, and while the school has done a fine job making it sound as if the student is well and being held somewhere, the students at the school tell the story much differently. There's a great sense of awareness here because of what students believe to have happened. - Again, I'm not typing all of this to scare you all but rather assure you of the meticulous efforts to staying safe on campus and not overdoing it. - David O'Halloran was apparently drunk as could be and on his way back to the University was kicked out of his cab for announcing he didn't have enough money to pay the driver. Because he was extremely intoxicated, it is believed as of now that he fell into the river. The school has since made measures to insure this won't happen, so if ever students are short on money, they can borrow from the hall's porter (a doorman) and pay him back at a later time. All of it is a bit surreal, but I'm glad the school is working to help students out.
      On to some better stuff... today we get a tour of the city and it's absolutely gorgeous out. It snowed overnight and now there's about an inch covering all of campus. It's remarkably stunning. And before you wonder... no the weather isn't as bad as people say. It has been sunny for two days, it is sunny today, and is expected to be in the upper forty's and only slightly overcast the rest of the week. While it's not always clear skies, the weather is pacifying and unique. I am enjoying it very much and cannot wait to see what the spring brings. There have been snowdrops (the flower) all over campus. There as widespread as the American dandelion, and show that winter is winding down here. 
     Before I end this post, I'll leave a picture of campus. I'll also inform you of my plans to write a post every Wednesday and Sunday. No specific times, but that's when I will likely have time. This could likely change throughout the semester, as I am beginning to feel classes could be a bit more challenging here.

the city

I'll fast forward through a great majority of my next travels, as they were some of my darkest hours alive. Let's just say it it involved plenty of staring, more bad currency exchange rates, and an oddly over-friendly van driver. The one thing I will say is that on the short journey from the airport to Stirling, there were two girls in the same van. One was from Sweden and the other from Denmark. About twenty minutes into the ride, the girl from Denmark, Agnete (pronounced similarly to Anita only with a softly spoken 'g'), offered us all a 'piece of candy.' I was famished at this point and had only eaten the crumblings of airplane food, so I jumped at the mention of candy. I took the tic-tac sized, blue box from her and and poured out one thimble-like object that did not smell like anything in particular. The candy was black and hard. I then made the mistake of putting it in my mouth. Though small in size, this candy can only be described as playing a round of chubby bunny (for all my older family members reading this, Chubby Bunny is a game where you shove objects in your mouth - normally marshmallows - and whoever can fit more in wins. Very dangerous. Very exciting.) with approximately 23 fishermen's cough drops. I couldn't believe it. I was so hungry and she gives me a cough drop! The nerve of Denmark. I would imagine it's why they are the happiest country in the world. They get a sick thrill watching others suffer from their misconstrued language. Of course I laugh now, and have thoroughly enjoyed the variation of word definitions, some of which I'll be sure to include. 

After getting to my room, I slept. I slept from 5:30pm to 9:00am to avoid any jet-lag that would carry throughout the weekend. Right after I woke up, I chose to do what any level-headed foreigner would do his first time out of the country. I went shopping! The city of Stirling is approximately 2.5km from my school, and the bus is the easiest way to travel. I hoped on a bus right away and was off. For those who know me well, you can attest to my enjoyment with shopping; especially if I find good deals (thanks mom!). I've always had a great desire for both the naturalistic and the materialistic. Though they're complete opposites, I have learned to love both equally and respect each in comparison to the other. For example, while I truly love shopping, I am very environmentally friendly and more often than not tell the cashier that I won't be needing a bag. I rarely buy clothing made in China, and I often follow my favorite store's sustainability efforts. This all fit perfectly with Scotland. Once I got off the bus, I entered a shoe store to look for rain boots/shoes. Note: If you ever travel to Scotland, the first two things in your suitcase should be rain-proof footwear and an umbrella. It didn't take me long to make a decision, and I was likely one of their favorite customers for coming into the store, spending four or five minutes looking at shoes and then buying a pair of NorthFace terrain hiking shoes. It was a bit of a splurge, but I didn't feel like hiking mountains in swamp boots. 

When going to buy my boots, it was still one of the first few times that I had paid with British Pounds (or Scottish. I hear they only care if you are in England and pay with Scottish Pounds). As most foreign travelers have experienced at some point or another, the bills aren't a problem. (Those of you who have traveled the world can attest to that). Everywhere but the USA has the system of bigger denominations of bills are bigger in size as well. Fancy that (*said in a Scottish accent, of course). The coins are another story. It's truly disastrous anytime my total is not an even Pound amount. Scotland carries coins with the following worths: 1p, 2p, 5p, 10p, 20p, 50p (p = pence). So for starters that's two addition coins to what I, as an American, am subconsciously privileged to. BUT WAIT! There's more! If you order today you can get two for the price of one! 1£, unlike the US equivalent of $1, is a coin. There is also a coin for 2£. That's right folks. There are eight different coins in Scotland. I caught on to the game after a while to avoid embarassment. See, when I stand in a line whether it be for the bus or at a department store, there are people behind me. These people want to move on with their lives at a swift pace, and I understand. So, instead of drawing a grand amount of attention towards my monetary disability, I pull every coin from my pocket, hold it out in front of the cashier and tell him or her to grab whatever coins are needed. Some may find this embarrassing or quite passive of me, but I don't much care. Would you rather have the cashier know you're from America or the ten people standing behind you? Yup, that's precisely what I thought.  

I'll fast forward a bit more through my shopping, which turned up to be one of the best of my life. All in all, I got a cell phone (for 3£!), an umbrella, a tank top, pants (5£!), lunch at a nice cafe, and a rain coat! It was simply splendid and I can't wait to go back. I actually learned today that it is a walkable distance. A group of the international students walked to the town for groceries about an hour ago. Anyways...

Last night I had the opportunity to go to a Pub. Ironically, this pub is part of the University, and is cheap alcohol for that reason. Since the drinking age is 18, all students are able to drink. (No 17 year olds on campus. It's expected you take a break between high school and college in Europe.) It was an incredible experience talking to six other students from all different parts of the world. We discussed the difference of our countries, which included Argentina, Brazil, England, Scotland, Malta, and Hungry. It was fascinating. Until a year ago it was illegal to get divorced in Malta! Who knew. Better yet, you probably have no idea where Malta is (I can think of 3 or 4 people reading this who would know). I'll be honest. I had no idea where it was. But, the night's conversation led me to research my newfound friends' countries to understand them a bit better. 

Over Christmas my aunt told me that study abroad would help show me that the United States is not the only country in the world, as we sometimes forget. I'm learning that this is not only true for the actions of Americans (at least the majority) but also for others' perceptions of Americans. It's sad but very true, and quite frankly it makes me uncomfortable seeing it up close in a foreign country, but I'm learning from it and will work to always be alert and aware to the world. There is a remarkable amount to learn here, and I'm quite excited. 

-J

*On a completely different note, Netflix in the UK runs different programming than the USA. Among the most upsetting losses on my cross of the pond: Desperate Housewives. 

the beginning

Here's to the start of a journey as the crazy women on my flight said to me. They were kind enough to give me the joy of laughter on my first flight to Detroit from Columbus, and they also offered advice; Don't trust anyone, and enjoy your journey on your accord and no one else's. I'm getting ahead of myself though. That's likely because I'm still jittery, I'm drinking a freezing cold margarita in the OnLine Cafe, and I have only twenty minutes until my flight to Amsterdam boards. So let me back up to the beginning of the trip.

For argument's sake, my journey to Scotland began quite some time ago. My first application to the Study Abroad office was sent in over a year and a half ago, and now it's finally happening. After booking my flights, over-packing my belongings (No joke. You should see how packed my crap was thanks to my mom's help), and signing up for my classes, I was on my way. I gathered all my things, closed up a small chapter of living with my parents for an extended stay, said goodbye to my precious dogs, and headed to Columbus. It didn't take long for me to make my first major traveling mistake (though I have traveled plenty in the past to know that it's a no-no). When inquiring the currency exchange station as to whether they had Scottish pounds (they didn't) I set my THREE boarding passes on the counter. After getting my answer to my exchange question, I left... without the boarding passes. I headed straight to the check-point at the entrance of security and when asked for my license and boarding pass, I panicked. I didn't have them. Worse yet, when I turned to my parents to see if they were by some freak chance holding onto them, I was greeted with worried looks. My first thought... 'Shit.' Though as I have realized in life, all will be okay, which it was, because I found my passes. Phewww! That was a close one, and I hadn't even gotten to security.

Well, as all travelers know, security was next. I was ready. I made certain that I wouldn't have any problems by reading every last guideline and even searching on the TSA website whether or not I could take my feather pillow as a carry-on item (good news - you can!). I did, however, forget to take my belt off. Again, 'shit.' While I would have looked forward to be patted down by the attractive TSA attendant, it was clear he was only invested in his work and not interested in me, as he tentatively patted my sides twice and gave my belt back. Now, I guess it was finally time to begin my travels after people-watching in the C51 terminal for about an hour. (*This next section is being typed at 9:00AM in Amsterdam. I'll explain eventually, but if my writing isn't cohesive, that's why!) When I boarded the Columbus plane, nothing very exciting happened until the door was about to lock and two rambunctious, Melissa McCarthy-esque ladies run onto the plane shouting and laughing 'Hot damn, that was close." I knew we'd get along even if it would only be for the 28 minute flight to Detroit. Fortunately, they sat one row behind me, and made me laugh the entire way. They were headed to LA to see the Grammy awards, which I was kinda jealous about, but she promised me that one day if I want to see them, I will make time to see them. As I said, the connection to Detroit wasn't long at all, and before I knew it, the ladies were gone (I never caught their names, but I did give her my twitter information. She should be posting a photo one of these days!).

At this point I had lots of energy, and went on a search for two things throughout the Detroit airport. First, I needed to exchange my money. I found a currency exchange booth, and was told they only had 200 USD worth of Scottish Pounds. They also told me that English Pounds wouldn't work (which I found out is completely UNTRUE, but I figured I shouldn't question the currency exchange booth). Luckily, there was a very kind young couple and a baby who saw me and said (only the parents told me. The baby didn't talk) they were also flying to Amsterdam, which they apparently do often, and said it would be easier to exchange there. I took their word and began my search for object #2 - New York Magazine. It's the only magazine I'll actually read, and can you believe they don't have it ANYWHERE. It was so frustrating. Among the surplus of senseless magazines (who even reads a monthly magazine about guns or bears? Is there truly that much new, invigorating material to catch up on?), there wasn't a New York to be found. The other frustrating fact was anytime I asked if they carried the magazine, the shop owner would excitedly say yes and take me to The New Yorker. Not the same, kids. Not the same. So, with 2 major fails in my back pocket, I went to get a drink at the OnLine Cafe. I only had twenty minutes before boarding began for my flight, but I went in anyways. I do, however, know now that I never need to be right on time for boarding of an international flight and I could have taken my time with my drink. With a solid 350+ people boarding the flight and having to show a passport, it took the line a good amount of time to die down.

The next part of my journey would be one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. I walked onto the massive plane and back three sections to find my seat among strangers. No funny ladies this time. Just lots of awkward glances from people likely wondering why I would be traveling to Amsterdam. Even worse? The plane had the unique, yet unfortunate, smell of a nursing home. I knew I was in for what could be the longest seven hours of my life. The plane took off right around 6:00pm and landed in Amsterdam at 10:00am. The flight, however, was only 7 hours. Think about that. I normally go to sleep around midnight. That's how my internal clock works. Midnight for my body meant that I would fall asleep (with any luck) six hours into the flight. One hour before landing: 9:00AM in Amsterdam. I lost an entire night of my life. What was even worse was my seat's position. It's practically impossible to sleep if you are on an isle seat. You must never put your feat into the aisle and I knew I couldn't count on leaning on my neighbor, a kind though quiet, man from Mumbai. So, I didn't sleep at all. The worst. The only saving grace of the entire flight was the fact that the little televisions they had for each seat were loaded with the most brilliant film selections and cd's to listen to all for free. I started with a movie. Actually, it was the only Academy Award Best Picture nominee that I had yet to see: Beasts of The Southern Wild. It was a real blessing to have that (Though it stopped half way through because of the airplane's network problems, which took 1 hour to fix by restarting all electric in the plane. That's right. All the lights went out so we could restart our electronics. Horrifying).  I finished the film eventually (It's brilliant by the way. One of the best, and I hope the little girl wins best actress!) and moved on to nothing but Bon Iver until the plane landed. This is where life got interesting once again.

As I exited the plane and walked into the Amsterdam International Airport, I felt as if the world was in one spot. No body spoke the same language, the announcements being made overhead where first in Dutch, then Italian, then German, then English, then French, the several other languages I wasn't quite sure of (oddly, there was no Spanish. I think they expect you to know another language if your main language is Spanish). The people were from all walks of life, but the one genetic prominence among the crowd was an overwhelming number of blonde-haired, blue-eyed individuals. Adults, kids, teenagers alike. It felt nice to not be the only one, and while I would have loved to spark up conversation, I don't know any other language than English. So, I traveled throughout the airport to find a currency exchange, as the couple had suggested, and waited in line for 30 minutes behind 2 people to change my money. I walk up to the counter, hand the woman my 540 USD, she plugs it into her computer and offers me something around 250 GBP. Bull shit. I know how much my money's worth, and it's not that bad. I asked her politely for the exchange rate, and she proceeded to tell me that I was in Holland. A Euro country. Therefore, she had to convert my USD to the Euro and from the Euro to the Pound. I was basically being screwed twice. I told her no thank you and went on my way through more security, a waiting area of about 200 people most with British accents, read an email from my sister and messaged my parents saying I was safe, but very tired. From there I sat. And in approximately an hour, I would be in Scotland: My home for the next 4 months.