Though the weather outside is frightful...

After days of Kate and Elizabeth Christmas Caroling through our eleven day adventure, I can't get the fragmented lyrics - and Christmas spirit - out of my happy, but exhausted head.

As I fall asleep now, writing this itty bitty blog post, I think how great my senora's welcome home chicken soup was. And the big hug she gave me. And the big hugs I am going to give my friends when I get back to America - I can't wait to see everyone!

My flight's booked, my suitcase is out, and my finals are here. I'm back from vacation and speaking in a language that's less of a struggle than it was three months ago.

Where did it all go? I was just sitting in a jazz bar, having friends tell me this would be an experience without words. Well, I definitely tried to give it words. Thousands and thousands of them. And for some reason, five thousand eyes have been following along.

I hope I captured the fragmented bits through my words that will help me not to well up too much and remember how exactly excellent this has all been. Even the part when I ate shark. Here's to a week of memorizing European Union country capitals and stuffing souvenirs in a suitcase and remembering how great every second was. Really really really great.

Addendum

*These are notes of the night's continuation

• more wine
• my own fresh salmon. forgot what that tasted like
• cheese platter
• with fruit
• tea
• with liqueurs
• chocolates with personality identifiers. mine? 'exquisitely cheeky.'
• with peach schnapps
• and a long conversation on the English language, how we've botched it up, or how they've made it impossible, and why saying fannypack is superawkward in the UK. 
• crashing on the giant pillow that is my bed at the Wieldon's, reading Janet's Good Housekeeping, and trying to brainstorm how our future lives can be like this always

Best for last

What is England? It's cows and countryside. It's antiquing and ale. It's markets and medieval castles. It's refined but simple pleasures that make you unreasonably happy - like the Wedgewood plate with the Queen's silhouette on it I found in Ludlow for 1 pound.

Our hosts, the wonderful Janet and David, delighted us from dawn till dusk. We started with freshly-warmed croissants and jam and granola and yogurt and fruit salad. We then drove out in their his and hers Audis to Ludlow, a quaint town that they really love visiting. We really loved it, too. First, in both outdoor and indoor markets, we browsed through thousands of knicknacks from mugs to pin to earwarmers to books to thimbles. Lots of things I don't need but wanted. Afterwards, our strange family outing continued to Ludlow Castle, a destroyed medieval palace estate in the middle of the cute town. The admissions people gave us a family ticket as long as we would 'keep mum about it' - I don't think anyone would've cared but 20-year-old American very fraternal triplets with two British parents? Not so reasonable. But we have felt very much at home with them here in the Midlands. The castle was all broken down but I have a Medieval England fetish so I enjoyed the moat to the fireplaces. The view from the guard tower was exceptionally lovely with tudor-walled farm houses and church spires in the distant rolling green hills.

We had a beautiful lunch at a glamorized pub called Feathers. Then we strolled through the town back to the bakery and market for a few last minute pick-ups. We found lots of marmalade marketed as 'made with Seville oranges' - the same ones we walk by every day in Spain...which are supposed to be too bitter for eating.

Kate and I both fell asleep in the car on the windy roads through pastures of sheep. I woke up at Witley Court, another old British ruin site. My extraordinary powers of imagination took over as we wandered the grounds and ransacked, burned halls of the palace, originally owned by the Earl of Dudley and then some others. A great fire damaged too much of the magnificent house in 1937 and the owners couldn't pay to have it fixed. So, all of the insides were stripped away and sold, from marble busts to copper pipes. The emptied house was sold for just 4000 pounds a few years later. It had taken the equivalent of hundreds of thousands to put it all together. Witley used to be home to true glamor - banquets and fireworks for all of the nation's nobility, diamond-decorated Christmas trees to burn guests' eyes, fountains with 100 feet of water blasted into the sky, and gardens arranged in patterns for miles into the distance. Ah, the poetic life of British royalty. One day...

Anyway, we moved on to a gilt-painted church next door, which people had the money to preserve and protect even as the house next door fell to complete ruin. It was very pretty, and not overwhelming to look at, like most of the churches I've been to. Kate and I played a game of comparing our favorite European places of worship as we walked back to the parking lot. Sacre Couer or Sagrada Familia? Cathedral of Sevilla or Cathedral of Granada? Westminster Abbey or Notre Dame? Tough decisions. What a rough semester we've had.

Now we're snuggled on the perfectly worn couches of the green room in Janet and David's house.   I'm writing this blog as "Strictly Come Dancing" just ended, British "Dancing with the Stars." We looked through pictures of their world travels from India (they've been everywhere - Sharm Al-Sheikh, Sinai Peninsula, Egypt for the umpteenth time is next!) while enjoying the warmth of a fire and cool sips of white wine.

Must I go back to Spain tomorrow? Must I go back to America next week? Why was I not born a duchess? These are the big life questions I have to ask myself tonight and always.

(Insert frustrated and facetious exagerated sigh here. And tell me to really turn up the studying for finals!)

Toasty Teatime in Kidderminster

I am writing from a bed that feels like a giant pillow. I am propped up by two giant pillows. The carpet in this room feels like I’m walking on pillows. You’re not in hostelland anymore. Welcome to Kidderminster, Worcestershire which is right outside of Birmingham, in the Midlands of England. The Midlands should be called the Farmlands. While driving here in a wrong-side car on the wrong side of the road (left turn on red?), we passed a sign that had no words, just a picture of a cow. After a week of city-hopping, we made it to our final destination: a true British home in a regular people town.

Upon settling in, we found ourselves enjoying tea and toast in the ‘conservatory,’ a glass room with a heated tile floor and plush but almost too clean white sofas and a collection of classic music and Simon and Garfunkel. As we went to bed, I began to think about how nice life might be, living in the English countryside, in a lovely home, perhaps running it as a bed and breakfast. I would probably enjoy that for a month or two and then miss the more diverse ways of cities like sushi and protests and public transportation. Right now though, two nights is absolutely not long enough.

Janet, the matron of this fine household and a good friend of Elizabeth’s mother, has a keen eye for interior decorating or hired a great designer – every inch of the house has some floral wallpaper or a little clock with a bell or some wicker chair or a scenic painting. I can’t even see Kate and we’re sharing a bed – it’s that huge. Our room has a sink in it – so much more logical for teeth-brushing and face-washing and indoor water fights. Just kidding on one of those, you decide which. Seriously, when have you ever seen floral wallpaper that isn’t tacky? Janet wins.

I feel like the Queen’s posh-looking zen has hit me. When I think of Britain now, I with think of this feeling: post-toast/tea and total relaxation.

Just a nice day in Edinburgh

After landing in Hurricane Bawbag, Scotland's scariest storm in a while, we were quite happy with the negative temperatures of a dry Friday to explore. We started at the Elephant House cafe, where JK Rowling penned the early editions of Harry Potter. Creative and delicious. Next, we stopped in the graveyard the cafe overlooks to see the grave of Thomas Riddel - sound familiar, Potterheads? I'm not a huge fan, but I knew that this was a site of holiness for those of the HP cult following. Anyone could tell by the destroyed grass and muddy footprints leading to the resting place of this unknowingly famous man.

The day continued on the Royal Mile, Edinburgh's big touristy street, and then at a German Christmas Market. We powered on to Topshop, the happiest place on earth, the classy Forever21 where every garment is either fantastical or magical. I bought wonderful earwarmer because I was freezing more than it was cute. But, it is very cute. You'll see it in the upcoming photoblog, if you so care. You probably don't. Oh well.

We sped through a return visit to the Christmas market, a brief runthrough of the National Gallery, and then a walk down to Grassmarket, another cute area of cafes and shops. One vintage place boasted cashmere sweaters, kilts, and wigs. Quite an outfit one could make.

We rested in the University of Edinburgh's stunning student center while our  NU friend studying there, Maura printed our boarding passes. We only had a few hours left!
As had become customary, we stopped at a Tesco grocery store for more grabngo meal items! Who doesn't love a budget supermarket meal! Exciting additions included canned soup - a warmer before we headed down to Birmingham for two lovely days at Elizabeth's parent's friend's home.

General Sleepiness hits you after a week in three cities in three countries. The thing I like the least about these three countries is the hot and cold faucets don't overlap streams, so your left hand becomes very hot and your right hand, very cold. I very much don't like this sensation of inequality and, well, pain.

But I very much do like formulating sentences in strange orders with superfluous words, as do the British quite enjoy. I think it sounds just lovely.

And I am excited to be in a warm home with a real bed tonight. That sounds much more than just lovely.

Kilts and Haggis and Clean Towels

Who books a 25 minute flight? To anywhere? They call that a joyride. Or the distance from Dublin to Glasgow. I fell asleep on our 8 am flight out and woke up as we bumpily landed in the rainy gale force winds of Scotland’s not-capital.  For my first time, Ryanair was a little late and didn’t play that horrible revelry horn as we landed, congratulating themselves on an on-time job well-done. I was grateful – it’s not a tune you want to hear early in the day. Or ever.

Both places have a strong Gaelic background (most confusing language I’ve personally encountered), a lot of crude industrial zones, and a lot of beer drinking and animal farming. However, I can’t actually vouch for what’s in Glasgow other than the bagel I split with Kate in the train station before we boarded for Edinburgh.

The toy two-car train stopped in every single town between Glasgow and Edinburgh. About twelve. They were all very pretty – I even saw a rainbow at some point among the sheep grazing in the rolling green hills. I bet the Highlands are beautiful, but if I’m back, it’ll be in the summer. In Edinburgh, we were greeted by slaps in the face of freezing rain as we carried our twelve-day bags up some hill to nowhere. Indoors, we grabbed wifi at a McDonalds (my ‘cheese dippers with festive tomato sauce’ are occupying a stronghold in my diet and my heart this vacation…) and got in touch with our hotel, our friends, and our tummies.

The rain stopped, and the wind blew us right to the hotel check-in. Sometimes, removing the s from your accommodations and upgrading is worth the splurge - the provided plushier bath towels were exactly what we needed after a morning of travel and general dampness.

Here are some things about Edinburgh and Scotland and the UK in general:

1.      The money in Scotland is not accepted in England, I hear. It’s also bright colors (think regal purple, or monopoly money) so it looks fun to spend! Yea!

2.      Everywhere has those fantastic Dyson airblade hand-dryers. I once saw a job to work at a pop-up store for Dyson, and I totally should’ve done it – I love those machines! Normal air hand dryers in public bathrooms actually make the experience worse but those sleek-looking blade machines – quick, effective, hygienic, and awesome. Good for you, UK public wash closets!

3.      No wonder JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter here. I was expecting to see Hermione in the student center today, or Harry zipping through the skyline. All of the stoney architecture and the gothic spires and the Christmas lights just make me think of the HP Yule Ball! (and I didn’t even get past book four, to be honest.)

4.      While the Eurozone implodes, the pound is still strong. Very strong. And that hot chocolate today cost me about $4.50. But it didn’t look so bad in pounds. And it tasted like a million (insert relatable currency here  - I’ve been carrying three in my wallet, and I’m very confused). Marshmallows and whipped cream and warmth is really joy in a cup. 

5.      If you like a city as a chunk of hail smacks you across the cheek, it must really be quite precious. Edinburgh for the wintery weathery win.

Thanks to Maura’s friend Lainey who made us haggis for dinner, Scottish 'meatloaf' at her apartment! I only ate the side dishes but they were delicious – especially the banofee cheesecake! We hit up some slightly grungy bars with a crew of Americans and had a decent time. I met up with Ben, a friend from relative back-in-the-day and we caught up over a drink – served in a plastic glass without ice or a lime. Edinburgh, this is your one and perhaps only pitfall – fake glass glasses? Seriously? Seriously? That is Tacky McTacksterson. So, if you’re ever in Edinburgh, avoid the Hive. What kind of bar serves drinks in plastic glasses? Redeeming city qualities include a castle overlooking a cliff, so we’ll call it even.

I have all day Friday for this small gem of a city to keep winning me over.

Luck of the Irish

I am Irish. You'd never guess it, but I really am. Since the day I was born. Being a St. Patrick’s Day baby has resulted in a strong favoring of all things green, pots of gold, and a small island in the shadows of London. Logically, after spending several days in London, it only made sense to stop around the rest of the area before heading back to Spain/leaving Europe forever. We landed in Dublin for just about 36 hours starting Tuesday afternoon. Gatwick Airport had insane new security systems: rebagging liquids, full-body patdown, camera iris scans – and they weren’t even nice about it. Avoid that airport at all costs if you can. We were really glad to leave that heartless penitentiary of an airfield and land in Dublin just over an hour later. 

Airport, to bus, to hostel safe and sound, we ended up at Isaac’s one of “Dublin’s Best Hotels.” Not sure who decided that, nor do I have a frame of reference, but Isaac’s has been just fine. Wifi in the lobby, full kitchen, included breakfast, central heating, clean sheets, and some random guy’s clothing in my shower, that none of the neighbors can identify. Pretty standard on the positive side. 

A nice Lithuanian man offered me some butter, while telling me his life story in broken English, once I knew the capital of his homeland. True hostel friendships born at Isaacs.

So first evening in Dublin, we head to an undercover location to meet with the FBI. Aka Kate’s family friend who retired from his secret service and now consults for Ireland’s police force. He gave us a tour of his office complete with coffee and cookies before whisking us to Dublin’s fanciest hotel for drinks and then the shnazziest vietnamese restaurant. Since we had Chinese takeout the night before, I enjoyed two straight nights of tofu mania – much gastronomic enjoyment ensued, from dumplings and tempura to a full wok of stir fry. Courtesy of the FBI. Just kidding, but it was incredibly generous of this professional and society man to give us an introduction to Dublin.

We spent the rest of the evening at the famous Temple Bar, which I had never heard of prior to coming to Europe (so it can’t be that famous, right?). There, people did Irish pub things which include buying pints of beer, sitting on stools around barrels, listening to live folk covers, and shouting at each other drunkenly. I quite enjoyed myself.

In the morning, we walked through Trinity College’s campus. We didn’t want to pay to see the library and the Book of Kells because we’ve all seen Harry Potter and old bibles. Okay, not the real answers, but we just decided other sites would be better. We hit up the museum of natural history by accident, mistaking it for the museum of archaeology. The first was really just a huge hall of taxidermy. We lasted about ten minutes, totally creeped out the whole way. We then went to the National Gallery around the corner and were surprised to see Rembrandts, Monets, Bruegels, and a Picasso! The short visit made me appreciate Fox Meadow Elementary’s Learning to Look program. 

On our way out, we took advantage of the creative hands on area of the gallery and drew Christmas cards. I have no future in visual arts, really. But who doesn’t dig Christmas cheer?

Non-sequitor warning. We grabbed lunch at a cute café because they had mozzarella cheese in panini form – rarities in Spain. After eating that with the hugest hot chocolate ever, I made a near full recovery from my frozen state and proceeded to see lots of old stuff in the archaeology museum, the original primary destination. Viking capes, ancient engravings, and tavern coins – oh my. It was like a mini-British museum. But I’m sure Ireland would resent that comparison. Sorry.

We continued on for an alcohol adventure of an afternoon. First stop: Jameson Whiskey Distillery! Apparently, we were 25 minutes late (or 35 minutes early?) for our tour. Feeling time-crunched, and not like we were missing out too much, we joined the midway through tour, totally confusing the guide. We got our included whiskey beverages and Kate became a certified whiskey taster. She prefers Jameson to Jack Daniels and Johnny Walkers. To me, it did taste the least like wood, burning my lips minimally. The watered down cranberry whiskey drink I chose was delightful though – it tasted like nothing.

On an alcoroll, we walked far far far away to Guinness’s base plant. This massive distillery is a huge tourist attraction, employing every fashionable mode of advertising to captivate visitors, promising the opportunity to pull your own pint and see a great view of the city. Since I don’t appreciate beer, I had a diet coke. I am not embarrassed. I tried it. I didn’t like it. And that’s that. The view of Dublin all lit up at night was wonderful and definitely worth the multimedia and multisensory seven floors of tourvertisement. We got to touch barley and throw it in the air, see the 9000 year lease Mr. Guinness signed 200 years ago, smell and taste the beer, and feel like we were Dubliners, in the city, having a home-brewed pint. Or a diet coke. At the upstairs bar, we met two girls from Northeastern and ran into a Dartmouth student we’d met on our plane.

As you can now tell, Dublin is not very big. In just under 1000 words and 36 hours, I feel very satisfied with my visit. The city is a charming blend of Sevilla and Detroit in terms of size, ambiance, and recent development, still a bit rough around the edges… Dublin is a bro city – a place to chill with your friends in a cozy sweatshirt and never worry about the freezing rain outside. We have felt welcomed by everyone, from the secret agent to the random man who asked if we needed directions.

In case you wanted every last detail, like I do, we had veggie pizza delivered to our hostel, with jalapeno poppers (so healthy) and enjoyed the hostelculture.

Now we’re going to bed, praying the incoming snowstorm in Glasgow doesn’t affect our 8 am flight. Ha.