When I was planning where I'd fill my time here in Great Britain, I discovered that I couldn't get a direct train from Glasgow to Cardiff. I figured that if I had to stop anyway, I might as well choose a place I wanted to see and stay the night. When I looked into some information on the stations I could get to, I quickly decided that York was the place to go. Old York as Neal called it, as opposed to New York, which apparently was once New Amsterdam. Why they changed it, I can't say. People probably liked it better that way.
Anyway.
All I knew about York coming in was that it started as a Viking town called Jorvik. Eventually it fell to the Brits, though, and the city's Viking history was lost until archaeologists literally dug it back up.
I arrived this afternoon, dropped my bags at the hotel, and immediately headed through the middle of town to the Jorvik Viking Centre, which turned out to be a bit disappointing. While it has a few choice artifacts and informational placards, even a couple of excavated skeletons, the main attraction is a 'ride' through an educational but slightly cheesy recreation of Jorvik. I wasn't thrilled with the experience, but happily spent a few pounds at the gift shop, the spoils including a Viking history book.
Having achieved my one goal for York, I started wandering the town, and quite liked it. It's one of those small old cities where the aged buildings remain, but all the first floors have been converted to fancy shops and eateries. I always enjoy myself in places like this, because I can wander and get lost without actually getting lost; the place is small enough that I always end up back in a central area and not have to remember my route. I saw the castle (which is very small and beaten up comparatively), took photos of a few beautiful churches and a grand cathedral, and did a bit of shopping.
Now that it's dark, all that's left is dinner and a bitter, then to bed early. My train ride tomorrow is over 4.5 hours, and I'll need to hop into action as soon as I arrive if I want time to do anything on my one night in Cardiff. It will be a tiring day, just one of many in a row.
Wednesday 29 February 2012
Linguistics Class
I've thought about it, and I'm pretty sure I figured out why Americans feel that Glaswegians hate them.
As I mentioned before, I seem to be better at deciphering accents than most of my American counterparts. I can tell a South African from an Australian from a Kiwi. Give me a Canadian, and I can give you a region that they likely came from. Any movie or television with a heavily accented speaker? No matter! My subtitles remain off.
But out here, in the real world, with fast-talkers and background noises, all my conversations were like this...
Glaswegian: Achnetashehootenachenetenoosebenashachenachen...?
My brain: Oh no, they're waiting for a reply. I could ask them to repeat, but I certainly won't understand the second time either. Based on the context I think I can make an estimation of what they said...
Me: Oh, that's okay, I don't want any apple juice [or something equally random]
Glaswegian: [Says nothing, walks away, often after giving me a look like I must be special needs]
My brain: This is EXACTLY why they hate Americans!
So, ultimately, what I've discovered is that all the stereotypes about Glasgow probably aren't true, but every negative assumption of Americans is, in many cases, correct. I've traveled the world, I've lived in two different countries, I don't look at a Kiwi and say, "Oh, are you English?" But still, I couldn't cope in Glasgow. Every lack of communication was totally my fault.
So maybe Glaswegians can be hard drinkers and hard hitters, but at the same time, Americans can be a bit arrogant and stupid.
So there you have it. For whatever it's worth.
As I mentioned before, I seem to be better at deciphering accents than most of my American counterparts. I can tell a South African from an Australian from a Kiwi. Give me a Canadian, and I can give you a region that they likely came from. Any movie or television with a heavily accented speaker? No matter! My subtitles remain off.
But out here, in the real world, with fast-talkers and background noises, all my conversations were like this...
Glaswegian: Achnetashehootenachenetenoosebenashachenachen...?
My brain: Oh no, they're waiting for a reply. I could ask them to repeat, but I certainly won't understand the second time either. Based on the context I think I can make an estimation of what they said...
Me: Oh, that's okay, I don't want any apple juice [or something equally random]
Glaswegian: [Says nothing, walks away, often after giving me a look like I must be special needs]
My brain: This is EXACTLY why they hate Americans!
So, ultimately, what I've discovered is that all the stereotypes about Glasgow probably aren't true, but every negative assumption of Americans is, in many cases, correct. I've traveled the world, I've lived in two different countries, I don't look at a Kiwi and say, "Oh, are you English?" But still, I couldn't cope in Glasgow. Every lack of communication was totally my fault.
So maybe Glaswegians can be hard drinkers and hard hitters, but at the same time, Americans can be a bit arrogant and stupid.
So there you have it. For whatever it's worth.
Tuesday 28 February 2012
Glasgow
The official score is in, and Glasgow has won. I've been beaten.
First off, the weather here is just like Seattle. I hate Seattle weather. It's cold, wet and windy. Also like Seattle, despite a light rain all afternoon, I saw less than 10 umbrellas in all the loads of people walking. Secondly, I can't understand a damn word anyone says. Compared to most Americans, I'm pretty good with accents, but the Glaswegians are too much for me. Whenever I'm asked a question, my reply is mostly based on a guess at what they might've said. I could be having a completely different conversation from the person speaking to me, and have no idea.
I started my day by sleeping in for the first time this trip, trying to get my cold in a manageable state before going out exploring the city. Knowing that I only had today, I made a plan to visit a few places, all within walking distance, per the map.
After about 4 hours on the town, my feet are blistered, my back is sore, I'm rather damp, my nose is clogged, and I'd be happy to go right back to bed. My first stop was meant to be Glasgow Green, a large park on the water, which is also home to People's Palace, a museum honoring the residents of this city. It looked as if it would be a straight shot down the road my hotel's on, but after walking nearly 3/4 of an hour, I hadn't seen anything except a Morrison's superstore and some rather sketchy areas of town. I gave up and came back to my room to reorient myself briefly, where I discovered that I'd carried on straight when I should've veered off. Frustrated, I revised my plan and went on to stop two: Glasgow Cathedral.
After a long walk uphill through the campuses of City College of Glasgow and Strathclyde University, I made it to the Cathedral. I looked around, took a few photos, and then went back down the hill to my third tourist attraction: George Square. After foregoing the ferris wheel in the square, I stopped for lunch, then decided to try again for Glasgow Green.
This time, I noticed a sign pointing the way, so I followed it. It ended up taking me to a dead end that was more like a car park than a public park. Still not content to give up, I turned back and took the street my map had indicated instead. After another several minutes, I still didn't seem any nearer Glasgow Green, but I did come across a rather large pack of hookers and junkies, and nearly got hit by a black cab while crossing against the light.
Since I had no idea which way to go, and it was nearing closing time for the park and museum, I gave up. I accepted defeat and went to Marks & Spencer instead, whose food hall features delicious scones and cheap wine. I stand by my choice.
Tomorrow it's time for a 2.5 hour train ride and an evening in York. I hope to fare better there, mostly because it's a former Viking outpost.
First off, the weather here is just like Seattle. I hate Seattle weather. It's cold, wet and windy. Also like Seattle, despite a light rain all afternoon, I saw less than 10 umbrellas in all the loads of people walking. Secondly, I can't understand a damn word anyone says. Compared to most Americans, I'm pretty good with accents, but the Glaswegians are too much for me. Whenever I'm asked a question, my reply is mostly based on a guess at what they might've said. I could be having a completely different conversation from the person speaking to me, and have no idea.
I started my day by sleeping in for the first time this trip, trying to get my cold in a manageable state before going out exploring the city. Knowing that I only had today, I made a plan to visit a few places, all within walking distance, per the map.
After about 4 hours on the town, my feet are blistered, my back is sore, I'm rather damp, my nose is clogged, and I'd be happy to go right back to bed. My first stop was meant to be Glasgow Green, a large park on the water, which is also home to People's Palace, a museum honoring the residents of this city. It looked as if it would be a straight shot down the road my hotel's on, but after walking nearly 3/4 of an hour, I hadn't seen anything except a Morrison's superstore and some rather sketchy areas of town. I gave up and came back to my room to reorient myself briefly, where I discovered that I'd carried on straight when I should've veered off. Frustrated, I revised my plan and went on to stop two: Glasgow Cathedral.
After a long walk uphill through the campuses of City College of Glasgow and Strathclyde University, I made it to the Cathedral. I looked around, took a few photos, and then went back down the hill to my third tourist attraction: George Square. After foregoing the ferris wheel in the square, I stopped for lunch, then decided to try again for Glasgow Green.
This time, I noticed a sign pointing the way, so I followed it. It ended up taking me to a dead end that was more like a car park than a public park. Still not content to give up, I turned back and took the street my map had indicated instead. After another several minutes, I still didn't seem any nearer Glasgow Green, but I did come across a rather large pack of hookers and junkies, and nearly got hit by a black cab while crossing against the light.
Since I had no idea which way to go, and it was nearing closing time for the park and museum, I gave up. I accepted defeat and went to Marks & Spencer instead, whose food hall features delicious scones and cheap wine. I stand by my choice.
Tomorrow it's time for a 2.5 hour train ride and an evening in York. I hope to fare better there, mostly because it's a former Viking outpost.
Monday 27 February 2012
Hotels
I pretty much loathe the nickel-and-dime mentality of so many hotels. Really, £10 for 24 hours of wi-fi? Even the so-called free access in the lobby is controlled by an ever-changing code that the front desk hands out. So now that I’ve checked out, I can’t use it while I wait for the time to catch my train.
Today I’m off to Glasgow, roughly an hour journey by rail. Edinburgh is always nice, despite the craziness of the rugby crowd. The people are very sweet and hospitable, even to the most blatantly clueless tourists. Glasgow, though, I’m not sure ‘nice’ is what I’ll find. From what I hear, Glaswegians are a rowdy bunch. They drink hard and fight hard; even their accents are hard. I’ve also been told they’re wonderful and friendly people, but also that they hate Americans, and would rather draw blood than ask for clarification. So we’ll see which stereotype proves closer to the truth.
Until I can get on my way there, though, I’ll be sitting in the lobby, not having internet access, staring at the wall and listening to the conversations of the dozen or so French people here doing the same.
Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it?
**Update from Glasgow**
No information yet on Glaswegians, but I’m much happier with my hotel, which is by far my favorite chain in Europe; every time I stay here it more than meets my expectations. Free internet AND a copy of the Guardian at my door in the morning? Yes, please! Now that I’m in my happy place, I may just never go out…
Except that I’m hungry, so… Ok, FINE, I’ll wander off and see Glasgow. If I must.
Today I’m off to Glasgow, roughly an hour journey by rail. Edinburgh is always nice, despite the craziness of the rugby crowd. The people are very sweet and hospitable, even to the most blatantly clueless tourists. Glasgow, though, I’m not sure ‘nice’ is what I’ll find. From what I hear, Glaswegians are a rowdy bunch. They drink hard and fight hard; even their accents are hard. I’ve also been told they’re wonderful and friendly people, but also that they hate Americans, and would rather draw blood than ask for clarification. So we’ll see which stereotype proves closer to the truth.
Until I can get on my way there, though, I’ll be sitting in the lobby, not having internet access, staring at the wall and listening to the conversations of the dozen or so French people here doing the same.
Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it?
**Update from Glasgow**
No information yet on Glaswegians, but I’m much happier with my hotel, which is by far my favorite chain in Europe; every time I stay here it more than meets my expectations. Free internet AND a copy of the Guardian at my door in the morning? Yes, please! Now that I’m in my happy place, I may just never go out…
Except that I’m hungry, so… Ok, FINE, I’ll wander off and see Glasgow. If I must.
Sunday 26 February 2012
Murrayfield: France v Scotland
I have a real knack for backing losing teams, I’ll tell ya.
This afternoon, I joined the throngs at Murrayfield to see Scotland play a Six Nations rugby match against France. Stymied by the crowd, I was a bit late getting to my seat, so I missed the French anthem, but arrived just as the Scottish refrain was starting. The band on the field played the first half of it, then stopped and just let the crowd sing the rest. The whole stadium full of voices carrying the tune was quite moving. My small, black heart grew three sizes this day.
Then the game started, and I cheered for the home team. For the first 25 minutes, Scotland controlled the game, scoring and converting a quick try. Before long, they were up 10-0. But then they started making errors, which France capitalized on. Mistakes have been Scotland’s undoing in recent matches, and this was no exception. They managed to put forth a tremendous effort, but in the end, they lost 23-17.
I had a fantastic time. The energy in the stadium was amazing, and the overhead announcer made no attempt to appear unbiased. He’d call out Scotland’s score with joy in his voice, and France’s a bit darkly, and with the last minute of play announcement added a comment about Scotland putting up one last push. I dare say that being in the midst of a home crowd was even more electric than the World Cup, despite the lower stakes of a Six Nations game. Although, like the World Cup, there was a streaker who made it all the way across the field wearing nothing but a France flag as a cape.
For the first time in my attending sporting contests alone, no one wanted to chat. Everybody was completely absorbed in the play. Maybe that contributed to me having 4 large Carlings (plus chips w/ gravy) during the 2 hours I was sat there.
To be fair, it wasn’t my fault. Beer and rugby goes together like… erm… beer and Scotland. Or Scotland and rugby. I really had no choice.
At the end of day -- the end of the losing game -- the trip was well worth it. I loved every second of the match, and could easily come back every year.
And I want to bring my brother next time. Because he’s the only other person I know who would get it.
Good game, Scotland. Let’s get ‘em next time….
Edinburgh
Edinburgh is chaos today. I suppose that's to be expected, considering the big Six Nations match happening this afternoon, but just WOW.
The primary reason (read: excuse) for this trip was to see Scotland rugby play at home, so here I am with ticket in hand, getting ready for the faceoff between them and France. Since I already saw pretty much all Edinburgh had to offer on my last trip, I didn't allow myself a great deal of time here; yesterday afternoon and this morning were my only chances to wander.
I slept later than planned today due to the acceptance that I've come down with a cold, then set out to The Royal Mile. It's a giant tourist fiasco up by the castle, but I figured that would be the best spot to pick up additional items I could use in support of the team today. I ultimately got a small flag to wave and a blue poncho (in case it does rain as predicted), but only after fighting my way through the sea of French supporters. Backers of team France are out in droves, singing, donning flags, and even playing the anthem on a french horn from a car window. The game will be lively, if nothing else.
As for me, I have a sinus headache, and this trip has done my back in. Since feet are my only mode of transport, and I love wandering cities, I tend to walk for a couple of hours at a time without stopping, then I sit down and can't get back up. The increased fragility of the area around my spine is my least favorite part of getting older. Needless to say, I am not amused.
I've just stopped back in the hotel (where I appear to be the only guest who doesn't speak French), to eat a quick lunch and get into my gear for the game. My only hope is that a handful of ibuprofen and the excitement of rugby will make me feel better.
C'MON SCOTLAND!!!
The primary reason (read: excuse) for this trip was to see Scotland rugby play at home, so here I am with ticket in hand, getting ready for the faceoff between them and France. Since I already saw pretty much all Edinburgh had to offer on my last trip, I didn't allow myself a great deal of time here; yesterday afternoon and this morning were my only chances to wander.
I slept later than planned today due to the acceptance that I've come down with a cold, then set out to The Royal Mile. It's a giant tourist fiasco up by the castle, but I figured that would be the best spot to pick up additional items I could use in support of the team today. I ultimately got a small flag to wave and a blue poncho (in case it does rain as predicted), but only after fighting my way through the sea of French supporters. Backers of team France are out in droves, singing, donning flags, and even playing the anthem on a french horn from a car window. The game will be lively, if nothing else.
As for me, I have a sinus headache, and this trip has done my back in. Since feet are my only mode of transport, and I love wandering cities, I tend to walk for a couple of hours at a time without stopping, then I sit down and can't get back up. The increased fragility of the area around my spine is my least favorite part of getting older. Needless to say, I am not amused.
I've just stopped back in the hotel (where I appear to be the only guest who doesn't speak French), to eat a quick lunch and get into my gear for the game. My only hope is that a handful of ibuprofen and the excitement of rugby will make me feel better.
C'MON SCOTLAND!!!
Friday 24 February 2012
London Stopover
I’m so sleep deprived that I can barely function, but damnit, I need to beat this jet lag!
I got home from work Wednesday to find my water heater rapidly dumping all its contents onto the floor of my apartment. So instead of getting ready to leave on my trip, I went into problem-solving mode and started work on getting that fixed before I left the country. But I was only partially successful. And I still had a million things on my travel prep list, so I was up until about 1am and then slept really poorly until 7.
When it came time for me to head to the airport Thursday, the wet (ruined) carpet had been ripped out, and there were 2 fans and a dehumidifier doing an extremely noisy job of drying out the floor and walls. The new water heater won’t arrive until sometime during my absence.
All of the commotion (and especially all the racket) had the cats in a panic, and at their advanced ages, combining that with my absence for 10 days could have some really bad effects on their health. I had a strong urge to postpone leaving until I had a chance to clear things up, which probably wouldn’t be until after the weekend, and I’d still need to be back at the same time. I’d have only a few days in Britain and I’d miss the rugby match that inspired the whole trip, so it would make more sense to just cancel.
If I cancelled and everything was fine in a couple days, I would always regret it. But if I left and something bad happened to any of my kitties, I’d never forgive myself. I agonized over it; I imagined the worst of every possible outcome; I went emotionally off the rails.
And ultimately I decided to take the risk and get on the plane, partly because I trust that Steve will do everything he can to make sure I come home to the best possible situation, and partly because I can’t edit my life to avoid bad things ever happening. That’s doing it wrong.
So I made it to London, via Keflavik, but I was too stressed to get any sleep on the flight (even with a combo of wine and Benadryl). Through the haze of sleep dep I managed to catch the Heathrow Express, get on the Tube going the correct direction, find my hotel, visit Sainsbury’s for a bacon sandwich and some scones, and watch Countdown. As I write this now, it’s not even 4:30pm and I’m wiped out. I’m so hopeless I’m not sure I can even manage to stay awake a few more hours, sleep a decent amount, and get up in time to catch my train to Edinburgh in the morning. They don’t seem like lofty goals.
If I don’t do anything tonight, it’s fine, I come back to London at the end of my trip and will have time to enjoy it when my brain works.
So, London, I’m happy to be in you, but tonight I need to sleep. I’ll make it up to you next weekend. Promise!
I got home from work Wednesday to find my water heater rapidly dumping all its contents onto the floor of my apartment. So instead of getting ready to leave on my trip, I went into problem-solving mode and started work on getting that fixed before I left the country. But I was only partially successful. And I still had a million things on my travel prep list, so I was up until about 1am and then slept really poorly until 7.
When it came time for me to head to the airport Thursday, the wet (ruined) carpet had been ripped out, and there were 2 fans and a dehumidifier doing an extremely noisy job of drying out the floor and walls. The new water heater won’t arrive until sometime during my absence.
All of the commotion (and especially all the racket) had the cats in a panic, and at their advanced ages, combining that with my absence for 10 days could have some really bad effects on their health. I had a strong urge to postpone leaving until I had a chance to clear things up, which probably wouldn’t be until after the weekend, and I’d still need to be back at the same time. I’d have only a few days in Britain and I’d miss the rugby match that inspired the whole trip, so it would make more sense to just cancel.
If I cancelled and everything was fine in a couple days, I would always regret it. But if I left and something bad happened to any of my kitties, I’d never forgive myself. I agonized over it; I imagined the worst of every possible outcome; I went emotionally off the rails.
And ultimately I decided to take the risk and get on the plane, partly because I trust that Steve will do everything he can to make sure I come home to the best possible situation, and partly because I can’t edit my life to avoid bad things ever happening. That’s doing it wrong.
So I made it to London, via Keflavik, but I was too stressed to get any sleep on the flight (even with a combo of wine and Benadryl). Through the haze of sleep dep I managed to catch the Heathrow Express, get on the Tube going the correct direction, find my hotel, visit Sainsbury’s for a bacon sandwich and some scones, and watch Countdown. As I write this now, it’s not even 4:30pm and I’m wiped out. I’m so hopeless I’m not sure I can even manage to stay awake a few more hours, sleep a decent amount, and get up in time to catch my train to Edinburgh in the morning. They don’t seem like lofty goals.
If I don’t do anything tonight, it’s fine, I come back to London at the end of my trip and will have time to enjoy it when my brain works.
So, London, I’m happy to be in you, but tonight I need to sleep. I’ll make it up to you next weekend. Promise!
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