Loch Ness or Lost Mess?

When I came to Scotland in September, I knew next to nothing about the country. I couldn’t correctly identify the flag (I bought a Finish flag from a flea market for a pound…and proudly displayed it in my window for a few weeks), didn’t realize that Scotland and England shared an island (geography was never my strong point…I mean Ohio is deceivingly far east!), and had never seen Braveheart. The only real historical information (if you can even call it that) I had about Scotland came from my earliest memories watching Scooby Doo and Shaggy solving the mystery of the Loch Ness Monster. Therefore, when given the opportunity to take the Sharan on its inaugural 2010 road trip, I chose to go to Loch Ness. I mean who is gonna say no to chasing evil eel-like monsters around a lake all day? I’d bring my tazer…it would be great. So I got my new hall crew together (it didn’t take long, there were only four of us), and we planned a day trip up to the legendary lake.

Easy mistaken, right? (l-Finnish, r-Scottish)

So much more fun!

Sounds pretty straight forward right? Well, it probably would have, but the GPS wasn’t working that day, and we all know how reliable Mapquest directions can be. Nevertheless, we got there in just under 3 hours. You might think that after spending such a long time getting to such a famous destination, that we would go straight to the loch. But never underestimate the power of discount shopping on the likes of city folk like us. An hour and a half later, 10 pounds poorer, and a shirt, a pair of shoes, and a pair of slacks richer, we finally made our way to the great Loch Ness.

We zipped past the sign originally. I stopped the car, put it in reverse until we were far enough away to take this picture.

Me, Colleen, Molly, Greg, and Nessie!!!!!

Here’s something Rick Steve’s didn’t tell me in his travel guide: Loch Ness is just a lake. I know how simple that sounds, but really, there is NOTHING to do there, except look at a lake. You basically just drive around this ordinary lake and hope to God there is a random cloud overhead that feigns the appearance of the legendary “Nessie” in the water. Unless of course you want to spend 15 pounds to get on a cruise boat, in which case, you basically do the same thing on boat instead. So we spent a while driving down the coast, until the initial “Ohhhhh, Loooch Nessssss” hypnosis wore off. Then we found ourselves sucked into Nessieland instead. There is a special place in tourist heaven for Nessieland, which saves unsuspecting tourists from total boredom on a daily basis. All those tourists looking for zoo with baby nessies or who just want a nessie snow globe. It’s just a wee side attraction, but it has a “life-size” replica of the monster. Popular amongst children ages 3-15 and apparently college students from America. After snapping a few photos with the monster, we went on our way.

Pit stop.

Okay, really this time. We found Nessie!!!

Next stop: the Urquhart Castle. Never heard of it? Neither had we. And to be honest, we got there just in time for it to close, so we are still pretty much clueless as to what went on in the castle. But I was pretty sure that it was the castle that Shaggy and Scooby ran up and down in their desperate attempt to avoid the Loch Ness monster. I know you’re all judging me for not being more knowledgeable about this colorful part of Scottish history, but I didn’t promise you a history lesson here.

Castle, Shmastle. Kings or something lived here.

Now, if this were a classic British novel, then this would be where the story takes a turn towards the climax. This is the pivotal scene where things start to get good. So if you’re just skimming this blog like a knob, here’d be a good place to start reading again.

If you know me, then you know I hate backtracking. I can’t stand the idea of seeing the same place twice, so I suggested that we just keep following the loch down to the end, and try to meet up with the motorway further south (see the map below). My co-pilot, Colleen, said she didn’t see any roads on the map that met up with the motorway. I laughed it off though, insisting that there MUST be some small country roads that connect the loch to the main highway. “Don’t worry!”

So we continue on. And we are loving life. We stop off on the side of the road and take cute scenic pictures. We even happen upon a castle. While visiting our quaint fantasy world, we heard some boys yelling in the distance. We followed the sounds down a dirt pathway. And, I kid you not, we walked onto what I though was the most beautiful scene I had ever encountered. A giant lake, perfectly calm, was reflecting all the colors of the trees and the clouds onto its surface. And there was this gang of boys. The Lost boys, lost no more! And to our right, a legit sinking ship. I swear, we were in our own fairy tale.

Our secret castle...much better!!!

Check out that reflection!

"We are dressed in our best and are prepared to go down as gentlemen. But, we would like a brandy."

Our Lost Boys

Before long, the sun started to set, so we returned to reality and the ol’ Sharan. We drove for an hour or so as the sun completely set. Now it was dark and we were all getting tired and cranky…I mean hungry. We stopped for dinner at a pub, called Paddy’s, at about 7:30pm. While the others are going to the bathroom and looking through the menu, I walked up to the bartender and asked him how long it would take to get back to St. Andrews. Bear in mind, I’m expecting it to be like an hour, maybe an hour and a half trip from here. He literally turns to me and says, “Like the university? We’re on the west coast and that’s on the east coast. I have no idea.” With that, he chuckled and returned to work. I was literally defeated by his comment. I was pretty much ready to curl up into a ball, as I ran to gas station across the street to ask the attendant there. She also laughed at me, when I asked her how far we were from St. Andrews. She pulled out a map and explained that we were in Fort William, which happened to be on the complete opposite coast. We were within 30 minutes of the Isle of Skye (To put this in perspective, we had planned to take a 2 day trip to the Isle of Skye, because it was so far away!!!). We were about 4.5 hours from our destination.

red

At this point, we made the executive decision to stop making pit stops for scenic photos.

I think this picture best describes the mood by dinner time.

After dinner, we returned to the gas station to stock up for the long haul back to St. Andrews. 1 Red Bull, 1 Diet Pepsi, 2 packages of crispy M&Ms (yeah, the one’s that are discontinued in the US…be jealous), and a can of Pringles (we really couldn’t stop, once it was popped), we were back on the road for our 4.5 hour drive back to St. Andrews. I tried to imagine how pretty the mountains would have looked in the light as I drove through Glencoe (that is, when I wasn’t worried about giant 16-wheelers careening towards me on narrow mountain roads). I owe a special shout out to the creators of “never have I ever” and “would you rather,” the only things that made the drive back bearable. Final arrival time: 11:34pm. Total trip time: 14 hours, 34 minutes.

I’m sure there are quite a few take home messages that you can glean from this story. I’ll just hit on a few: 1) Legends seem to be a lot more fun when Shaggy and Scooby are around; 2) Always follow the voices of little boys (that sounds so wrong); and 3) Always take the road less travelled, unless you’re in Scotland. Then, by all means, take the printed directions!

Anyways, here’s a little video I put together from our trip this weekend! Enjoy!

New Hall Nazis (aka the Soup Nazi re-incarnate)

Do you guys remember that Seinfeld episode where everyone goes to the soup place owned by the infamous "Soup Nazi?" They had to follow a particular ordering procedure or else he would kick them out. George and Elaine both get denied soup because they fail to follow procedure. Jerry broke up with his girlfriend in order to maintain good relations with the Nazi. And of course Kramer was besties with the guy. If you don't remember this episode, then you should really consider yourself an embarrassment to this generation. And once you've recollected yourself, you should watch the following video to get caught up to speed.

You must be wondering, what does this guy have to do with Scotland. Well, New Hall (where I live) has its own Soup Nazi (let's be honest, they have the whole effing regime). This group of women truly has been sent from Hitler himself to make my life a living hell. [To be fair, there are some really wonderful girls who work in the kitchen, but for the sake of hyperbole, I'm gonna disregard these women].

So like in the Soup Nazi's kitchen, the dining hall has a very strict procedure for getting your food. Don't worry, these rules are very well outlined throughout the servery. Stupid things like: (1) you can only have one [dixie-cup-sized] glass of juice per meal and (2) you can either have a dessert or a starter (appetizer) with lunch, but not both. So okay, you get the gist. These rules are stupid, but (apparently) necessary. It is the unstated rules that are the most ridiculous, and the ones that really make me think they are specifically watching and waiting for me to fail.

The Nazis' Ten Commandments

Unstated Rule #1: You are only meant (trans: supposed) to have one plate per meal. Side Salads go on that one plate.

When you order a side salad, what are you expecting? Maybe I'm picky, but I'm expected a salad served on a separate plate, to the side of my meal. Perhaps if you're less picky than me, then you might expect that your salad would be served on the same plate as your meal, but sort of on one portion of the plate. But if that's your expectation, then even you would be disappointed. Your salad will come on top of the rest of the meal, so you are forever picking out leafs of lettuce and shreds of carrot from your spaghetti or indiscernible meat concoction. So my question is, why are we even calling it a side salad. Why don't we just order an on top of salad. Why don't they just say that, "would you like an on-top salad? At least then I could say, "No."

So needless to say, I would NOT have this (I'm my father's son). I wanted my salad, and I wanted it on the side. So I started asking if the women could put my salad on a small plate. I figured this would allow me to enjoy the salad and wouldn't be too much of a hassle. The new hall Nazis HATED this about as much as Hitler hated Hanukkah. Every day I ask for my salad on a separate plate, and every day they would say I was only meant to have one plate.

The Nazis hard at work.

Unstated Rule #2: You cannot receive ketchup during seconds. EVER!

And if there is one thing the Nazis hate more than side salads on the side, its giving out ketchup packets (this doesn't even make sense to me). One day I got a main meal that did not require any ketchup, so I obviously didn't get any. Logical right? Wrong! Never assume ANYTHING! So I went back for seconds on this particular day, because they had fries (i mean, "chips"). I got this pile of fries for seconds and went to get some ketchup. I felt pretty good and asked the woman at the counter if I could have a few ketchup packets (yes the little ones they basically pass out like water at McDonalds). I mistook her for one of the nice servers. Wrong again. She was a Nazi too. She turned to me and said, "You can't have ketchup with seconds." I explained to her that I didn't get a meal that required ketchup during my first go around, but now I have fries and would like some ketchup. She responded, "I don't know that," as if I might be lying to her in order to get this most basic condiment! So I'm ripping. I wait until the woman left the dining hall and ran in, trying to steal some ketchup. Little do I know I was being watched by Nazi #2, who reprimanded me again. So no ketchup for me. WTF!


Unstated Rule #3: Side Salad or Soup. Never both. NEVER!

Are you satisfied? Well, while I'm venting, I'm just gonna keep going.

So we've had the issue with the side salad and the ketchup. How about my veggie friend, who couldn't find any palatable vegetarian options one night, so she decided to just get a side salad and some soup for dinner. Let me be clear, this girl did not get a main course. Her meal that evening would simply be a side salad and a bowl of soup.
Seems like a fairly benign request, right. WRONG! See, a side salad and a soup are technically in the same category, and according to the rules, you can EITHER have a soup OR a side salad. And the woman monitoring that day was so brainwashed, that she actually told the veggie girl that she could only have ONE! NO SOUP FO YOU! Despite her clearly not having a main course. Denied.

It tastes worse than it looks. Promise.

My Revenge!

So you must be saying, Steve, son of Dave, what are you doing?! The Dry clan would NOT put up with this shit! Well, all this frustration came to a head one afternoon in the lunch line. Here's how it went down.

So I was waiting in line. As I walk through the line, I grabbed a piece a fruit (as my starter of course...following the rules) and put it on this small plate (I was meant to put my starter on this small plate). I thought for a second, "hmmm this plate is the perfect size for a salad plate." I think you see where I am going with this. So I get up the Nazi and we get ready to spar. She knows me and I know her. I give her a little wink and she snarls back. I order, perfectly polite. And then I tell her I want my salad on the side. She of course says, "You are only meant to have one plate. Why do you always make this a big deal." I respond, "Because I don't want my salad all over my food. Why don't you just put the salad on this plate?" handing her the plate on which I was supposed to put my fruit. "You are only meant to have ONE plate!" she said more sternly. "Well, this plate was for my fruit, so technically I'm MEANT to have this plate (bitch!)."So she realizes she's got nothing, and the line is now really long. So I get my salad on a side plate. Finally!

Now I go get my dixie cup of fruit juice and then go to get a hot chocolate. Let me just inform you of the official rule on hot beverages, as written in my student information guide:

"Tea/coffee is provided free to Catered Students at Breakfast and is also available at dinner but only if you bring your own mug."

As I told you, this particular day, it was lunch. It doesn't say anything about lunch. Dun dun dun. Again, I should have known better than to use any sort of logic with these brainwashed terrors. But I though I was one step ahead of them. I had brought my own cup to lunch so I could get hot chocolate. I filled up my cup, and the second it was full, this woman came over and told me I was not meant to have a hot drink during lunch. She didn't even wait for me to respond. Instead she walked over to the guard and told her that I needed to pay for the hot chocolate. So I flipped out inside, because I was not about to pay for this crap. So I went and asked her to tell me where it said I couldn't have a hot drink for lunch. She directs me to the diagram that specifies what I am "meant" to have at each meal (see below). Of course, there is NOTHING that talks about hot drinks on the sign (or anywhere near the hot drinks area). I mentioned this to her, and further questioned her as to why the hot drink machine was even on if we weren't meant to have them. This seemed counter to their huge campaign to be a more eco-friendly dining establishment. So she had nothing to stand on and started to get flustered. She kept pointing to the sign and I kept shaking my head. So she says, "I'll have to talk to my manager," to which I respond, "How about I talk to your manager."

Hmmm, nothing about hot drinks on this sheet.

At this point, the manager had already come out, because the line was now extremely backed up. So Hitler herself came over to meet with me. She was much more diplomatic than the other Nazis, so I gave her credit. She basically didn't really understand my complaint, which was that I deserved to be respected as a patron. She told me that they were working on the ketchup issue and that I could definitely have a side salad with my meal (but the implication was that I would be the only one afforded this courtesy). I told her they needed to focus on customer service and she told me that they sent all their employees to Scottish parliament customer service training over the summer. I told her she should demand a refund.

Anyways, the end result is that I've been treated MUCH better. The Nazis KNOW me (since this whole meeting with Hitler happened right in front of all of them), and treat me much better. And I get my salad on the side! WOOOO. We'll see how long this lasts.

Celebrity Stalking and Kilt Hiring

Dearest bloggeteers,

A whole week without an update! Are you freaking kidding me! You must be ripshit right now. Anyways, let's put the hostility behind us and focus on the future.

Getting together for some BJ love at MaBells. We are newbies, but Steve Haag (far left) has been BJ-ing since 2007!

So if you don't know, I come from Hopkinton, Massachusetts, a pretty small town exactly 26 miles, 385 yards west of Boston. Perhaps you're wonder, "Steve, how do you possibly know the exact distance from your town to Boston?" Well, Hopkinton is famous for quite a few things--Mike Scanlon, Ciao Time (this link is totally worth while because i'm in the video...pretending to be busy "preparing a dessert"), Colellas and Hopnews.com--but its greatest claim to fame is it being the start of the Boston Marathon. So for one day a year, everyone knows where Hopkinton, Massachusetts is.

I feel like the same thing happens with St. Andrews. Once or twice a year, the entire (golfing) world turns its head to St. Andrews. This week is that week (well, i guess earlier this year the British Open was here as well).

I still have no idea who Al is.

I think everyone was out stalking Hugh at this point.

The Dunhill has come to St. Andrews! If you're like me, then you probably have no idea what the Dunhill is. Basically, all you need to know is that celebrities and big time golfers flood the city and go out to bars with the students. Let the stalking begin! My entire weeks plans revolved around the possibility of meeting Hugh Grant, Samuel L. Jackson, or Lee Westwood (if he wins today, he'll overtake Tiger as the number one golfer in the world!, but if not, there's no need to know his name). Unfortunately, no luck on the celebrity stalking front. I did get to see Hugh, Lee and Sam...tee off on Friday morning, from 50m away. But I guess I gotta take what I can get.

I love Hugh!

Friday night was the Opening Ball. A guy from new hall and I hired kilts for the occasion, because real men wear kilts i guess. So I'm used to formal events taking a little over 10 minutes to get ready for. You know, jump in the shower, dry off, put on your pants, shirt, and bow tie. Spritz some cologne on and comb your hair. Easy, in and out. Someone should have prepared me for this kilt business. I knew I was in trouble from the beginning. I took the kilt out of the bag and couldn't even figure out how to unbuckle the thing. There are three different buckles that are in various locations around the waist. So I'm like fiddling with this stupid dress for 10 minutes before I completely give up and go online. Thank GOD for google. Even with my googled instructions, it took me a good 20 minutes to get the outfit on. Needless to say, I was quite late for our pre-Opening Ball get together.

Pretty normal looking, right?

I like it on my kilt.

So scottish! kilt: done and done.

E-M-O-R-Y, that's our eagle battle cry!

After all the build up, the ball was pretty underwhelming. Not much to report.

Oh yeah, I GOT PARENTS!!!! If you're anyone but Katie Sheehan or Kevin Kelly, you are probably like...WTF! Don't worry, despite many good reasons to abandon me, Dave and Leigh are hanging in there with me, atleast for the time being. At St. Andrew's they have this tradition where you get "academic parents." Third (and sometimes fourth years) adopt freshers (and post-graduates in my case) for the year. I think the original purpose for the parents was an academic mentoring program, but over the years it has sort of spiraled into a drinking fraternity/sorority thing...but much more intimate...like five to ten siblings per set of parents. This relationship climaxes (oh the double entendre) on Raisen Weekend with a giant foam fight. Of course there is the natural amount of incest that comes along with family relationships. But you needn't worry, we are a very good family. Are you totally confused? Good, because I am too! I'm sure come Raisen weekend, I'll be able to explain the whole process a lot more thoroughly. So stay tuned for more on that.

Fiona (my academic aunt, left) and Dani (my academic mom) being hipsters.

Dani is my academic mom. She is a fourth year studying geography (haha i totally made that up, i have no idea). She studied abroad last year, so she is trying to make up for lost time by adopting this year. She invited me to hang out last night at the Westport (a very posch bar near the gates of the town). She and a few of my academic aunts (so if you're trying to follow the geneology, these would be the girls who were also adopted by Dani's academic parents when she was a fresher)...oh the complexity. We hung out at the bar for a couple hours before heading to a hipster themed party for the night. I attempted at hipster dress, but I don't think I'm very hip. But Dani...Dani's hip. Then we went to fireworks at the Old Course to celebrate the last day of the Dunhill!!! And we went to the world's best fish and chips shop of 2008-09. But it ain't no thang.

What's the deal with being a tourist and feeling the need to take pictures of yourself with inanimate statues.

You'd think that the best fish and chips in the world would look a little more appetizing.

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!