Hello, all. I am in fact not exploded, injured, or anything like that. Actually I’m in Glasgow right now, and have spent £2 (that’s like $4 or something) to finally be able to sit down and totally update this thing. I’ll add in pictures later because frankly, I’ve taken like eight gajillion of them or so and I don’t have time to sort out the ones that have the camera strap in them, or random creepy photo-sneaking dudes.
I sure picked a great day to update. As you might have heard, there were explosions in London this morning. My mom apparently panicked and worried about me, despite the fact that London and I are in different countries (I guess I can’t really blame her. My pre-trip geography of the UK was pretty fuzzy as well). It’s pretty bizarre though. I’ve never been to NYC, so when I saw footage of the WTC, I of course was upset and agitated, but I’d never actually been to the places and seen them undisturbed except for in photos and movies of course. Seeing the places in London where the explosions happened, however, was upsetting to me in a different way. I was just there! I rode the Piccadilly and Circle lines all the time; I know how horribly crowded they get and hence how awful it must be to be trapped inside one of those things with no ventilation and no light. My friend started to worry about the guy that tried to pickpocket her on the Tube. He does make his livelihood off the Tube, and probably was, um, hard at work when the explosions happened. Poor bloke.
It does seem that destruction is following close upon our heels. We were in Edinburgh last week, during the Make Poverty History march. Those of you in the states probably haven’t heard of this, because as far as we can tell, it didn’t make the major news programs or websites beyond a blip or two. Anyhow, it was a great big peaceful demonstration run by several different organizations – Oxfam, SCiaF, lots of churches, and others I can’t think of right now. The march was planned to precede the G8 summit meeting in Gleneagles, not far from Edinburgh. The objective of this particular demonstration was to raise awareness about poverty, in Africa specifically. It was splendid. Part of it was a planned march through the streets of Edinburgh that, from an aerial view, would form a big circle around the city. Marchers were asked to wear white shirts, so from up above it would show as a white band, the symbol of the MPH. Expected turnout was 100,000 – the actual figure was about 250k. I’ve been in city wide demonstrations in Lawrence, but nothing whatsoever near the scope of this one. It was amazing to see everyone band together for a good cause. Also, we ended up marching behind this really awesome African drum band (ed. note – Christ, how many times can one say ‘band’ in a paragraph? I must have been really exhausted), so we ended up dancing most of the way. It occurred to me midway through that here I was dancing, in the biggest demonstration I’d ever seen, in the street, in Scotland. Absolute craziness.
Anyway, none of that, as far as we can tell, made the news in the U.S. Correct me if I’m wrong, but what did make it was coverage of a big group of stupid anarchists trashing Edinburgh, basking in all the attention of the MPH march and the G8. Let me get a few things sorted out. The Anarchist collective in Lawrence, a few members of whom I am friends with, is what I think of when I think of anarchists. They’re actually more socialists than anarchists, and they’re about the most responsible, organized group of young people in the city of Lawrence, a fact which I love because of the delicious irony. The jokers that came to Edinburgh were totally unrelated to my Lawrencian anarchists. Basically they just tore things apart – they even tore out the flowers in the Botannical Garden! Bastards. – and got arrested, and got their heyday on TV, yadda yadda. That happened a few days after we left. Which is good that we weren’t there I guess, but it still sucks because I think Edinburgh is a rather nice town and it was a shame to see such rampant stupidity and senseless violence destroy it.
My last update was, I’m sorry to say, rather negative. I wish I had enjoyed London better, but we did end up staying there during the hottest week it had seen in about thirty years, and I guess the locals who weren’t able to escape the city were just extra cranky and short with the tourists. Maybe it’s just a big city thing, I don’t know. I am, however, very glad that we are not there right now. Even here, some people in our group are afraid to get on the buses. I’m of the attitude that it can’t be helped. Unless I happen to spot a suspicious, bomb-looking thing sitting in a sack next to me on the 41, I’ll take my chances and live my life how I will. Not much else one can do.
Rewind further. My enjoyment of this trip shot up significantly after we left London. We stayed for a few days in York, a charming college town north of London. The first night there, we wandered around a bit after our dinner and explored. The architecture of York is a great juxtaposition of modernity and antiquity – tanning booths and Poundlands (where everything is £1!) next to a giant hunk of Roman wall, lined with cobblestone streets and Tudor-style house designs. The streets have ridiculous names that are fun to say, like “Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate” and “Pavement” (Seriously, what would the naming committee have sounded like? : “‘Ey, wot say we name this ‘ere street?” – “Well wotsit made of? We’ll call it that!” “Bloody ‘ell, wot a great idear!”) My favorite bit about that night, though, was when we went to walk along the Shambles, another brilliantly named pedestrian street tucked away in the middle of town, with charming little shops (including a yarn shop where I, of course, bought some skeins to take home). We had been smelling chocolate for the longest time, and somehow that translated into a desire for ice cream. So we went looking for ice cream, and every place that looked like it could possibly carry cold dairy products was closed, except this little Italian deli in the Shambles. There were shafts of golden light emanating from the door, I swear. We went in and asked for ice cream, and the manager came out and, in a thick Italian accent said, “Oh, no, I cannot sell you my ice cream. It has gone bad. The ice cream machine does not work and it has gone soft. I cannot sell you something bad, because that is not how we do things here.” He then proceeded to usher us out into the street and show us how to get to places where there were ice cream parlors. Awed, we thanked him, and he said “gratzi” to us! Aww. As I wrote in my journal for the class – he melted his ice cream, and our hearts.
Clifford’s Tower, in York, best known for being the site of a Jewish massacre in 1190, during the time of the Crusades. Now, their website informs me that there are plans to build a huge shopping multiplex right next to the Tower.
View from the tower, as of yet untainted by overpriced clothing and tourists.
A street painting on the sidewalk just outside of Yorkminster.
Yorkminster itself.
The chapter house ceiling in Yorkminster; which, btw, has amazingly ridiculous acoustics. While browsing the chapter house, suddenly I heard this diaphanous melody that sounded like it was floating down from the ceiling, reverberating off the walls and soaking into my mind. I panicked for a second, thinking some winged being was descending from the clouds, about to smite me good for not believing in it – but it turned out to be my friend, on the other side of the room, humming to herself.
People, embarking on the overpriced ghost tour. Ha ha, silly tourists.
The other remarkably entertaining thing in York was the geese. That makes the town sound boring, but it really wasn’t; these geese were just really funny. They’re kind of chubby, and they will sit right in the middle of the road. They can get away with doing that in York, where they might stand a chance of not getting splatted by a bus – which would be the case in any other city we’ve been in on this trip. Anyhow, my friends and I decided to go on a wild goose chase – which makes it sound faster and more exciting than it actually was. As I mentioned, they are portly, and so we kind of strolled behind them as they waddled into the Fenwick’s parking lot. There were a good number of them – maybe twenty or thirty geese and goslings, and they kept walking in front of the cars and plopping down on the road in front of them. People threw food out their windows to get the geese out of the way, but that just made the geese want to stay around the cars and eat the food. So we wacky Americans took it upon ourselves to help them, and chased the geese out of the way by waving and stamping. I think the drivers appreciated it, but I also think that they thought we were absolutely bonkers. I can’t say they’re wrong.
The mean street geese of York. Don’t mess with tha Fowl Krew.
For some reason they were letting this duck guy hang out with them. It was cute and would have made for a fun game of ‘Duck Duck Goose’ had I my wits about me at the time. (I doubt they would have let me, though, they look like they mean serious business).
Fast forward to Edinburgh (sheesh, a lot has happened). I’ve already written about the major happenings in Edinburgh, but there’s one other story I have to get in before my £2 are up. My dorm room was really nice – it had a balcony that looked out onto Arthur’s Seat, a dormant volcano inside the city. One night a bunch of loud drunk people came in – probably about 3:00 a.m. or so, and woke me up. Now the sun stays up for a very long time in Scotland, so it looked like it was about 7:00 while I recognized that the actual time was probably very ridiculous. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to get up for the day and hike up Arthur’s Seat, which I had hiked the night before anyways. I grabbed my camera and jacket, and left, trying not to wake anybody. It was beautiful – cold, but I was wrapped in layers, and there was not a soul about except the squawking seagulls. I climbed up one trail, when I looked down and noticed these vans that looked kind of like taxi cabs that were driving around the side of the volcano. I thought it was rather odd that someone would ask to be let off at the volcano, so I didn’t think anything of it until one of the cabs pulled up near the bottom of the trail that I had just started. ‘Oh, shit,’ I thought, realizing that it was not a taxi cab, but in fact a police. I went down to see what he wanted, and they quizzed me about what I was doing up there, where I was from, did I have any ID (of course I didn’t), etc. They had stepped up security because of the MPH march and the G8 summit, and didn’t want anyone up there attempting to laser the castle or something. Anyhow, they soon established that I was not that threatening seeming, and then asked if I wanted to take photos of the sunset. I said yes, and then they offered me a ride to the other side of the mountain. I took them up on it, so this is how I got picked up by the police in Edinburgh! Fun times.
Arthur’s Seat, which is right next to my dorm. The moon is just setting.
The coppers that gave me a lift to the other side. Nice guys, once they realized that I didn’t have any lasers.
Sunrise over sleepy Edinburgh. I think that’s the Firth of Forth, or the Forth of Fifth…whatever. I’m no geography expert.
Okay, gotta go. Times up. Will update as soon as I get free internet again!
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