Kickin' It British Style

So I was hanging out in the commons of New Hall last night playing Categories (among other things). You know the gist of the game: One person picks the category and you go around the circle, each person saying a different thing they think of that fits in the category. If you say something outside of the category or repeat another players answer, you drink. Easy right.

So the category was: British things. And it went a little something like this:

• Player 1: tea
• Player 2: Prince William (clearly, Prince William is far more important than the Queen)
  
• Player 3: red telephone booths
• Player 4 (Me): bad teeth (a little contention from the brits on this one, but ultimately they conceded.)
  
• Player 5: Driving on the right side of the road. DRINK! (if you didn't catch that, they drive on the left side...stupid Americans).

So I got to thinking how little of the quintessential British culture I had explored.

• I haven't had a cup of tea since I got sick last Christmas.
  
• Apparently, Prince William graduated like five years ago, so my little teenage girl escapade through St. Salvador's Hall searching for him (they allegedly gave him half of the hall to house his "people") was pointless.
• Who uses pay phones anymore anyways?
• Unfortunately, I've had too much success with this teeth issue. I may become an orthodontist before the year is through.
• Does it count if you almost got hit by a car(s)? :/

Anyways, I set out to kick it British style. First stop, TEA!

So if you've been following the blog, you know Lauren, Taylor and I had a little threesome hike on Sunday. That was where the idea of tea came up. Seems all well and good, right. We decide to go on Wednesday at 4:30pm and invite some other friends to join. It's raining outside, but the sea looks cool, so we brave the weather and take some pictures.

It's like God just took his rubber (it means eraser okay. you're all sick.) and erased the horizon for a wee bit (oh yeah, I learned that they use wee to mean urinate).

I've got a dollar, I've got a dollar, I've got a dollar, hey! hey! hey! hey!

I'm expecting a packed house of people enjoying their tea and crumpets, it being a national tradition and all. Wrong. Our party of 6 was the only table in the place.

High tea with sneakers. And I wonder why the Queen hasn't invited me to join her for tea yet.

We sit down and look at the menu, expecting a list of small scones, maybe a choice of tea. Instead, there's braised beef, fish and chips, potatoes gratin on the menu. I'm still thinking nothing of this. I'm getting all Emory on myself: "See how you had preconceived notions of this culture. Open yourself up to difference blah blah). I'm actually thinking this is the best idea for a mid-day meal I've ever seen. Skrew siestas and fikas and starbucks. Pass me some braised beef for a snack.

Happy Face Plate.

We all order and are sitting around, pleased with ourselves for finally experiencing this national tradition and slightly surprised by the heartiness of the menu. Then our lone British friend, Kevin, starts to explain to us, this wasn't "afternoon tea." This was actually "high tea." The difference being, normal Brits have afternoon tea earlier and only have the tea and desserts. (thanks for telling us now, Kevin?)

Kevin. He's British. Can you tell?

Anyways, cut to the chase, we messed up in traditional tourist fashion, laying down 15 pounds to have tea and we didn't even really do it! It's like paying full price to go horseback riding and getting a donkey, when you could have gotten the half price deal riding real horses down the road. (I have no idea why I chose that example. I'm still disappointed about polo I think). On the upside, we had an amazing view of the most stunning sunset I've seen at St. Andrews.

Why I'll be obese by Thanksgiving.

I love when chandelier reflections ruin my sunset pictures.

Okay, High Tea: Check. Afternoon tea: in progress?

Now for driving on the other side of the road. First, I just want to say, it wasn't my fault. haha jk. I took the plunge today. Good ol' Pete picked me up at New Hall and we drove over to pick up the shaggin' wagon, a VW Sharan, from some random parking lot in town. We have to use this car, because it's an automatic (and I'm a woman). Anyways, the guy tells me to hop out of the car, get into the Sharan, and following him through the streets of St. Andrew's so he can park his car in a legal spot. I'm thinking to myself, aren't you supposed to be teaching me how to drive? Wouldn't it be helpful if the first time I were behind the wheel of this thing, you were, idk next to me?

I didn't really have a say in the matter, so I followed. Except he got a couple cars ahead and I lost sight of him. I think we can all see where this is going. He turned into a parking lot and I kept right on going. I literally didn't notice that I wasn't following him until the car pulled into the Old Course parking lot, and a woman got out of the drivers seat. So yeah, that's how I started my driving hours. Luckily I passed him on the way back and we figured everything out.

I'm proud to say I only drove on the wrong side of the road twice and only nearly got sideswiped by a tourist bus once. So I'd call it a win for the day. Next week, I'm learning to drive on the metroway (highway) and to parallel park. What's funny about the parallel parking is that I never learned to pp in the states, so I don't think good ole Pete knows what he's in for.

Driving on the left side of the road: check.

[Sorry there weren't any pictures from driving. I tried to take some of those Hold-the-camera-in-front-of-you-and-get-your-arm-and-shoulder pictures while I was driving, but Pete got mad. Then, I asked if he would take a picture instead, but he just grumbled. Some people just don't understand.]

My "Proper" Date with Lauren (sponsored by Azibo)

The back story:
Last week, Lauren and I went to speed dating sponsored by this society, Azibo. You know the drill, 3 minutes with 30 people over the course of an hour and half. no biggie. The only girl I remember was one from Russia, who went off on this whole thing about the conflict between Russia and Georgia (yes, I made the mistake of telling her I went to school in Georgia, and she made the mistake of thinking I meant the country). All I could respond with was: "So, do you know Maria Sharapova?" But after the first round, we found out that there were prizes being awarded for a couple that was the most compatible. Smile off, game face on.

The plan:
Lauren and I would rank each other as highly as possible on the score-card and hopefully we would win ten pounds to go on a "proper date" with one another. And unlike most of my plans, this one actually worked. We got a gift certificate to go to a cafe called North Point, near the cathedral ruins.

Can you say, "Love at first...3 minute convo?"

The Date:
As with any "proper" date, we started off with a trip to the cathedral for Anglican mass. We wouldn't want anything unkosher (or i guess, un-Christian) to happen during our date. Mass was interesting. We stuck out like sore thumbs amidst the crowds of students wearing their St. Andrews red capes. And the seats all face towards the center aisle, so everyone could see we were foreigners. It was basically a showdown at morning mass. This was particularly unfortunate for the very expressive soprano sitting opposite Lauren and me. She certainly was loving the Lord.

Historically, all the students at mass file out of the cathedral and start a procession down to the pier. Contemporaneously, the handful of students at mass meet up with a larger group of students whose drinking habits the night before will now require them to attempt the pier walk incredibly hungover. Apparently, the Rick Steve's and other tour guide books describe this pier walk as "the thing to see at St. Andrews." As a result, we were met at the pier by hoards of paparazzi (okay, so there were a couple purple haired old ladies with their disposable cameras...but this is my blog, so I can embellish when necessary). So there were these paparazzi snapping pictures of us left and right for magazines like Us and People. As we walked onto the pier, I tried to act like I belonged, but Lauren and I were wearing all black, so we looked like we belonged in a funeral procession instead.

Hand-holding. A staple of any "proper date."

Back from the funeral.

The actual pier walk itself begins at the far end of the pier and you walk back towards the cathedral ruins. You might think that this walk would be pretty relaxing, and you'd be wrong. Why you ask? 1) the pier walk actually takes place on a stone wall about a foot and a half wide; 2) the winds are pretty gusty at the beach; 3) low tide meant that there was a 20 foot drop from the pier to a bunch of rocks. Hence Lauren's fear.

Pierwalking.

"This is kind of Scary"

Afterward, we went to North Point. The restaurant is basically the quintessential American breakfast place. It's kind of trashy looking, with rickety tables and chairs. The place is always packed and has that terrible service that you come to expect from a breakfast establishment. We walked in to find our new friend Taylor (who we met a few days earlier at a bar in town). We invited him on our date (because everyone knows tricycles are more fun than bicycles). Scrambled Eggs and fresh salmon for breakfast. always delicious. And we didn't even go over our 10 pound budget.

Then we were off on a hike through the east sands (which should really be called the East cliffs, since there really isn't any sand involved). The further we got from St. Andrews, the more beautiful the views. Looking back at the city and the ocean, it became clear why some crazy amount (like 60%) of St. Andrew's grads meet their future partners at the University.

I should get paid to rep Emory T&F this well. Up on the East Sands.

You know, just chillin' on a mossy rock.

We ended up about three miles away from the city and discovered the enchanted (sorry, more creative license) "Castle course" (one of the most famous golf courses in St. Andrew's, second only to the "Old course"). The dunes looked like we were in outer space. Can't you just see a cute little hobbit creeping out of one of those knolls?


...and then we had to get home, which proved a little more difficult than expected. Apparently hitchhiking is not as common in Scotland as other parts of the UK.

ugg...

failure.

We found some wild berries along the way.

Snackaroo.

Then there was this giant field of hay barrels and we couldn't resist. Recess!

Practicing terrible squatting technique on the hay barrel. Steve Lewis would be so disappointed.

We're frum Amurica!

But we finally made it back. Thanks Azibo! (even though I still have no idea what your society does).

Next blog: DRIVING LESSONS!!! Look out St. Andrews!

Freshers Week (or Jet Laggin' and Pub Crawlin' ) (or Bra or Bow?)

We got to the town of St. Andrew's a week from today, and it only feels like a couple of days have gone by since then. To be fair, that's probably because I spent much of the last week asleep in my bed. Sunday night (my first night in the UK) I slept 15 hours. I legitimized this by telling myself I had a long trip here and needed the recovery. But after getting more than 12 hours of sleep a night for four consecutive nights, I began to worry I was sick or something. Rest assured I am completely healthy and only struggling with a severe bout of jet lag.

The nice thing about jet lag is you have an excuse to miss all the frivolous freshers week orientation events (you know, the paperwork sessions and the "optional but highly encouraged" book discussion group on the summer reading you "forgot" to read). It also means you miss overcooked sausage and runny eggs from the dining hall. Waking up at "half past 12" means you are full of energy when 8pm comes around and the real "orientation" begins.

Pub crawls for instance. I can honestly say I haven't missed a pub crawl I've been at St. A's (yes, this actually is Steve Dry writing that he has gone out every night since he's arrived...and I do expect credit for this).

Bobby Jones-ers plus Kate (two from the left) and Lauren (far right)

At the Sustainability Pub Crawl, I got tied together with this girl Eugenia. We never did find out the symbolism of the tying. Maybe we were supposed to eat dirt or something while we drank. idk. I think the intent was for two people to be tied together at one time, but within minutes I was in a line of 20 fellow freshers. Being tied on both arms made it pretty hard to drink anything. And then management got mad and broke up the party. BOOO. Never saw Eugenia again.

About a minute before the manager told us we were a fire hazard and forced us to untie ourselves. A sustainable slap in the face.

At the post graduate crawl (which Emily and I crashed since we are technically undergraduates), we met a girl named KT (yes, she's in fact cool enough to spell her name in letters) at the Victoria. She pounded back 4 consecutive shots of Sambuca at the bar (side note: the Victoria is a classy version of Maggie's that has 1 pound drinks on Tuesdays, Wednesday's and Thursdays, which fed nicely into KT's drinking habits). I sat in awe, drinking my cider (such a lightweight). I should probably just get a cardigan and some grandpa slippers and call it a year.

Two notable things about KT: 1) She had the enchanted castle silly band from the princess pack (we had to trade!). Saxophone for a tiara?

Lauren was sad because her saxophone wasn't a worthy trade for the enchanted castle from the princess pack.

and 2) Her shirt had a giant bow on it that bore a strange resemblance to a bra.

Bow or Bra?

And then we met another girl with the same bow/bra thing going on and we were perplexed.

"Emily, go take a picture with this girl and her bow/bra." "Okay!"

Oh yeah, and move over Steak and Shake, in St. Andrews the night isn't over until you've gotten toasties at the local Church. What are toasties? Grilled Cheese, but better. Maybe only because I've only eaten them after having a couple rounds or perhaps because you have the option of adding in ham, pesto or trying the world famous Mars Bar Toasty (don't worry, no cheese on that one). The only down side is you sort of feel bad about yourself for sitting in a church at 1am drunk. You never had to worry about the guy at Steak and Shake judging you for your indiscretions.

The world famous Mars Bar Toasty. Appetizing, right?

The church helped me find heaven (on earth) and it's the Mars Bar Toasty. Mmmmm.

So I'm gonna leave you with a very important question to ponder: Bow...or Bra?

Leave your comments below.

Finally here!

Greetings from Scotland!

After four days of craziness, I think I'm finally pretty much settled into my dorm (New Hall), just a twenty (ugg) minute walk from the heart of St. Andrew's.

We started off with a pretty long trip from Atlanta to St. Andrews. I passed the time by catching up on some trashy movies: Valentines Day, Avatar, and The Backup Plan. We spent five hours in the Gatwick airport in London (basically a huge mall with airplanes flying out periodically). I had my first hula-hooping lesson from Emily (another Bobby Jones Scholar). And then hopped on a final plane to Edinburgh, Scotland. By the end of the trip, I felt like Lady Gaga at the VMAs, what with all the change of clothes I had gone through by the end of my journey.

The Cast of Characters: (clockwise) Surabhi, Emily, Walt, Philip, and ME!

Aside from the boring matriculation stuff, I experienced my first Ceilidh (pronounced kay-lee), which is like the Scottish version of a how-down (substitute jeans for kilts and fiddles for an accordion); taste tested all of the traditional scottish foods (I'm ashamed to say that I enjoyed haggis); went on a pub crawl tied to a complete stranger; and won ten pounds speed dating at the union.

Traditional scottish foods: irn bru (basically scottish orange soda), caramel bar (kit kat meets milky way), haggis (i don't even know, but with enough spices it's not too bad), mashed potatoes and turnips, salmon, strawberries, brown sugar squares, and some candy that has stale shortbread, caramel and chocolate.

I tried my hand at a variety of English sports at the "Give it a go" fayre (yeah, fayre! just wait until we get to shoppe). I realized quickly that polo would not be my forte; or I could play "back" on the rugby team; or a serve as a batsman on the cricket team. But then I went over to the golf course to meet with the Golfsoc (pro: Golf-sock), where I fell in love with the wood paneled driving range and the amazing landscape of the "old course." So I think I'm gonna stick with that.

Straight out of a Polo photo shoot.

Reppin' Emory Track and Field around the world.

I'm gonna leave you all with a little intro to Scotland, brought to you by Danny Bhoy. Cheers.