"we hungry? maybe some cake strawberry? cake apple? cake cheese?" : Palma de Mallorca

If you've spoken to me in the last....oh, maybe month or so, you'll have heard me GUSHING about how Greg and I were planning to go to Spain over spring break. We've both traveled the south of Spain before, but really, the possibility of sitting on a beach and actually feeling warm was just too alluring to pass up. So, scraped our loose change together and managed to book trip to Palma de Mallorca-- a teensy island floating in the Mediterranean just off the coast of Spain. The only requirement was that we find a hostel within walking distance of a beach, and with some kind of proximity to an interesting buildling or two.

What we got was a place that was filled with saggy middle-aged bodies on the beach, and a thousand and advertisers haranguing us to eat at their restaurants with heavy German accents and garbled English syntax (see the title-- Could. Not. Stop. Giggling). But you know what? That was okay. Because between being mistaken for German tourists (German appears to be the lingua franca in these parts), and being totally confused as to whether or not we should even try to make a point of using our (admittedly rusty, but certainly passable) Spanish, we managed to have a great time.

For about 3 days, we lay on the beach and tanned, reveling in the fact that there's absolutely no way we could have managed this in Scotland*. I devoured a book (The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. A quick read, but incredibly poignant). We wandered the old city centre, oogling the buildings, the blue sky, the bluer Mediterranean, the palm trees, the insanely gorgeous cathederal, palace and palace gardens (pictures to follow when Greg uploads them)...We ate great food, late, under street lights and in gorgeous squares, or looking out on the ocean. And on the second-to-last night, Greg led me up to rooftop of our hostel, where we watched the sun setting over the ocean, listened to somebody else's music playing out of a top story flat, and drank a bottle of (delicious) Spanish wine. Bliss.

Aaaaand, then we reluctantly returned home. But (miracle of miracles!) Scotland decided to be sunny for us! In fact, I thought I might actually sweat to death on the bus back to St Andrews (Scottish transportation is not well-equipped for the possibility of good weather), but I only sustained a mild sunburn...ironically, the worst one of the trip :P

Plus, upon my return, I discovered that the NINo office finally came through for me, and had my first shift as a server/bartender last night (more on this to come, I'm certain). I've literally never been more excited about a job-- the staff is great (one of my good friends works there, so when it got slow, we just chatted), the clientele is pleasant, and the 8.5 hours honestly flew by like nothing (the only thing reminding me was my achy feet :P).

In conclusion, I'm warm, relaxed, well-fed, well-rested, totally in love... AND gainfully employed. Life is great.


*Only later did we learn that Scotland has been enjoying some very fine weather in the last week as well. And in typical Scottish fashion, everyone's either looking over their shoulders for the clouds to roll in, or proclaiming, "Looks like today's our summer!" and suggesting we enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, Scotland.

meanwhile, in weird news...

Alright. Having had my rant (and then given a much more polite version of it to the people at the office, who've kindly agreed to help me all they can with the awful, admittedly ineffective system they've got)...Life got much better the end of this week.

The sun came out, and I had a picnic by the beach with a friend while reading a Havelok, a Middle English romance about an exiled Danish king who happens to breathe fire in his sleep. Super pleasant.

I also woke up this morning to go swimming (Getting back in the water has been absolutely fantastic. Although I can say with great disappointment that my times are not what they used to be....) but apparently there was a problem with the pool today, so instead, my swimming buddy and I grabbed coffee at North Point. (They took one look at us and knew our order. Achieving "regular" status is my absolute favorite.) We took our coffee to go, and drank it out by the cliffs, watching the tide roll in and crash against the castle wall. It was a delightfully Scottish morning-- low clouds, wind, the whole town washed in grey. St Andrews is sparkling in the sunshine, but it's unmistakably striking in this more natural setting.

But to get to the "weird news" bit: on the way back, we walked past a construction worker kneeling in the middle of the street. With a tiny brush. Dusting off the spinal column and pelvis of a 15th century monk.

...as you do.

Seriously though! First of all, how bizarre is it that they managed to lay down a sewage system right next to this body without finding it? And secondly, man. I've gotta say. Bits of 17th century pottery found by Jamestown settlement back home have got nothing on this kinda history. At least for a medievalist :)

Which makes me incredibly glad to be here. Before leaving, I'd encountered a lot of people that asked (and rightfully so), "But why are you going all the way to Scotland to study literature?" And obviously, the US has some great literature programs. But on days like today, I'm super glad to have chosen St Andrews. Because sometimes, on the way home from coffee by the cliffs on the North Sea, overlooking the castle ruins, you run into people digging up ancient history.

And what could possibly be more exciting than that?

warning: this is a rant

Dear National Insurance Number Office:

Could you please endeavor to be more incompetent? Because it's really going to take some effort at this point.

First, you sent my application to the wrong house. Fine. It happens. But since I got the memo a mere 4 days before the application expired [side-note: who puts an expiry date on an application?! who?!] and since, apparently, Royal Mail is pretty bad at getting things delivered in a timely fashion anyway, even my efforts to send it out within one hour of receiving the application has not been sufficient.

You couldn't have phoned me to let me know you'd rejected my application on the grounds that it arrived a day or two later than you wanted it? Instead of letting me wait 2 weeks, patiently checking my mail and harassing my neighbors to see if it's been mis-delivered again? That was too much for you?

Honestly. I've got this fabulous employer waiting for me to get this NI number, so that I'm legally allowed to work, so I can earn back the money I spent on the visa that will allow me to live and be employed in this country in the first place. (That is to say, almost the entirety of the sparse funds that I earned slaving away with a broken arm in a dark, garlic-scented restaurant that shall remain nameless. I'm not bitter; why do you ask?) But I'm sure this goal is in your best interest as well, because really, I'm just asking to pay taxes--which you should enjoy, being a government operation and all. The least you could do would be to comply.

Sincerely (and with a fair amount of rage),
Christy

old english, st. patty's and too much fun.

Well, first things first: If you're wondering how the test went... What a painful experience! My brain wasn't right for hours after taking it; I was just so exhausted by the physical act of a two-hour translation, not to mention how ridiculously difficult it was in comparison with anything we'd done in class to that point!

So, as we sat at lunch, discussing how we footnoted various grammatical oddities, and why on earth our professor chose a poem about a wall covered in hoar-frost (and what the heck hoar-frost is), and kennings are the worst ever, we came to the conclusion that Old English is not for us. And thank goodness, we don't have to think about it at least until our grades come out in another few weeks.

But, because it was such a horrific experience, I felt totally justified to skive off to Glasgow in the middle of the week BECAUSE...

...my friend (and sorority sister. Shout out to ΦΜ's ΓΑ chapter!) Katie was in town! She'd been in the UK on business (after working with Bedouin women in Israel for the last 6 months. Because she's a bad. ass.) and once her contract was over, she took off to come hang out in Scotland for a little while. Glasgow wasn't originally on the books for her trip, but because I have a boyfriend there whose couch she could crash on, she made it happen. Which gave me a really excellent reason to wander around Glasgow, have tea in a classy tearoom, do some girly shopping and catch up with my long lost friend!

Plus, she came back to St. Andrews to visit our now-mutual friend (they met when he came for a visit last January), and the three of us went out for St. Patrick's day with my medieval crew. What a group!

Unfortunately, there was no group shot (apart from one sweaty-looking one in the bop after we'd danced our faces off; more on this later), but this one's pretty great, right?

So that was a SUPER FUN night, which, of course, ended with the bop. Nevermind that we're postgrads and we're supposed to be to old for it. I guess since the only dancing alternative is a sketchy underground dancefloor full of locals (the Lizard), we somehow always end up there.

Exhibit A: last week, same place, same friends.


But, as result of my too-fun weekend, here I am, still in my pj's, surrounded by books and papers, trying desperately to get back on my academic game. It's kind of rough, but I think there's something in me that firmly believes that if I put everything I need to read in my immediate vision, I'll get so overwhelmed that I'll actually read it. Lest you get the wrong impression of how thrilling my life is, I think this process is how I spend at least 80% of my time lately. It looks like this:


And with that, I really had better get back to the grindstone.

lots of words for the same thing.

I'm trying to be better about this "posting regularly" thing...But tell me if I start to be obnoxious. Seriously!

I've got an Old English exam in the morning. My head is spinning with prepositions and noun declensions, and far, far too many ways to say "warrior." Also, "the." There are so many ways to say "the" in our ancestral language (kiiinda like Latin. I'll never escape!). But because people are naturally lazy, language follows suit, and here we sit, totally deprived of at least 24 other ways to say it! Don't you feel sad now?

I don't. I don't feel sad at all.

Big sigh. It will alllll be over tomorrow. To be fair, I do really love this course. And our totally bizarre English roots. But I will be very glad to get back to researching fart jokes in 16th century poetry. Because, in case you were curious, my course is very, very serious.

quirks.

I recently read a blog about "secret single behavior"--ie, what quirky habits single people develop when they're living alone, a la Sex & the City--which apparently includes eating weird things for dinner and wearing bizarre outfits (because they're comfortable, and who's watching?). Now, I don't really live alone, but compared to a house with 4 other women, and far, far less personal space, it's close enough to single-living that I think I'm starting to develop some bizarre habits of my own. Only things is, I'm not entirely sure if they're a product of not needing to interact with human beings much once I'm in the haven that is my room, or if this is just a sign of absent-minded-professor-ism hitting about one university degree too early.

In the last week, symptoms have included:
-wearing this outfit to bed more often than not.
-nattering to myself, sometimes in Old English
-leaving for the grocery store, getting halfway there, realizing that I'm wearing my slippers instead of real shoes, and deciding that there's no use going back now (low point.)
-eating cold leftovers out of a tupperware container while standing in the kitchen and reading a Middle English hagiography
-making endless to-do lists, leaving them laying around my floor so I don't forget about them
-stacking books everywhere, to the point that I'm now using some of them as a table.

All I can say is, thank goodness for my completely wonderful friends, who mandate dressing like a real girl when we go out on the town, and also for Greg, whose visits give me reason to serve dinner on plates. I'm afraid the book stacking might be chronic. Ah well-- can't win 'em all.

snail-mail struggles

Receiving mail in my flat has always been an adventure. The mailman mysteriously has a keycard to the complex, so I do get mail delivered directly to my door, but sometimes it goes into the black hole known as the mailbox on the front gate (to which I don't have a key), or sometimes it just goes somewhere else in St Andrews entirely (usually when the mailman doesn't happen to his keycard).

So mostly, I don't get mail-- or if I do, it can fit through the mail slot. But today, it all came to a head: First, my National Insurance Number application (pretty freaking important. I have a job waiting for me, but they won't let me work until I've got this) was delivered to a different flat in my complex. This was mostly incompetence on the part of the NINo Office, but it resulted in me spending my week 1) borrowing a key from a neighbor all week to check the Black Hole Gate-Mailbox, 2) requesting my own mailbox key (to no avail), 3) getting my landlord to ask around the complex for my mail. Eventually he did show up with my letter, thank goodness, but I'm wondering if I would ever have seen it had I not called in reinforcements!

I was also waiting for an Anglo Saxon Dictionary ('Cause I'm a huge nerd!) and I know that occasionally things get delivered to weird places when they don't fit through the mail slot. For instance, I had to chase down the UPS truck to get a parcel at the beginning of the year. Like, literally trotted up to the truck and knocked on the door, and got handed my mail. Also, I've had workmen in the complex occasionally inform me that the postman came and went, and was going to leave my parcel at the shop next door. On another occasion, my parcels were being held at the post office on the edge of town (instead of the one down the road?). Like I said, mail likes to go somewhere else entirely.

Anyway, I figured that it would be pretty wise to stop next door on my way home before they closed, so I went in, inquired about my parcel (actually, I said "Hi, I live next door, and I'm waiting on--" And the salesgirl filled in the rest and went searching for it) They said the man had come and gone, but that they didn't have my parcel.

Odd. I decided to go home and re-group before launching a town-wide search for my lost mail. You know, just the usual.

So imagine my surprise when I found it laying on the floor below my mail slot.

Royal Mail, UPS, and St Andrews Student Accommodation Services: Thanks for keepin' me on my feet. You truly add spice to my life.

planes, trains and automobiles: part II, the [whole freakin'] USA

Alright team.

You've been so very patient with me. (And for good reason, might I add. My computer is a dinosaur, and I've been avoiding doing anything with it apart from absolutely necessary tasks, and even then it puts up a fight.)

So, for the sake of your collective eyesight and attention span, I'm going to keep this story incredibly succint, and tell it mostly through pictures. Kind of like kindergarten.

So, sit back, and please don't ask me when recess is (because I will answer "5 minutes," always).

After an all-too-brief but totally wonderful visit with Greg's family in Arlington, Mom and Peter drove down from NYC. We brought the families (or, part of mine and all of his) together for some pizza, and breathed a sigh of relief because it seemed that everyone liked everyone else. Hooray!

We drove down to Williamsburg, where we met up with Katie, and stayed with our family friends for a few days. (I also fell madly in love with their English sheepdog, Bentley.) During this visit, I had a GLORIOUS reunion with some of my favorites:


There were, of course, other favorites who I got to see, but unfortunately, I don't have photos. Next time!

After this (again) all-too-brief visit, we headed out for California. buuut not before we said goodbye to our house in our own special way:


(if you haven't been introduced to the internet-phenomenon known as planking, this will all seem very bizzare.)

Anyway, we made it all of 4 hours into Western Virginia (what a place.) before we found FOAMhenge. (emphasis mine). I wish we had pictures. But if you can imagine Stonehenge, but with foam...you've pretty much got it.

We did see something slightly more spectacular, however. Natural Bridge. One of the 7 New Wonders of the World, it's basically a huge bridge made from centuries of erosion by a river (or that was my sleep-deprived understanding of the plaque). More excitingly, here's where I get to introduce John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, our traveling snowman companion (also known as a dashboard toy given to us by Toyota for having our car repaired. OH the advertising bucks they should be shelling out...)

There it is. Not pictured: the really bizzare gift shop with a statue of a man riding a T-Rex in front of it. And, for the Anglophiles in the house, a sign directing us to Glasgow, Virginia.

Moving right along, we ended up in Cookeville, TN that night.

Note the adorable friend that Schmidt found.

After that, it was back on the road. Day 2 was a little more dismal...and rainy. And generally less fun than discovering Natural Bridge.

It did, however, conclude with a stop for dinner in Little Rock, Arkansas, and to my deep and abiding commitment to illustrating my travels via an odd, commercialized stuffed snowman, I brought Schmidt into the Cracker Barrel with us. In addition to receiving several shunning glances from my sister, and a few from perfect strangers, when I walked up to the hostess stand, I had the following encounter:

Hostess (to me): Would you like a kid's menu?
Me: Sorry?
Hostess: Would you like a kid's menu?
Me: No, I'd like an adult menu... (and I start mentally bemoaning being the shortest sibling)
Hostess: I mean for him.
Me: Who?
Hostess: The little one.
Me: .....
Hostess: OH, I saw the red hoodie and just thought he was yours!
Me: ....nope. Just a snowman.
Whole restaurant (thinking): what kind of a freakshow is this family?

And as a result:

This is Schmidt, as my first-born child. Don't I make a great mother?

Ah. Only in Arkansas.

Anyhow! We made it to Dallas, Texas that night. And as we left the next morning, we continued our unlikely trip around the globe with....

The Taj Mahal. Not pictured: shiny dinosaur sculptures in the front garden. Possibly more bizarre than Foamhenge? Jury's out.

Now, the next photo-taken outside of Odessa, TX, aka the middle of nowhere-- will pretty much sum up the rest of the journey, which pretty much dissolved into madness in the form of singing along to musicals at the top of our lungs, making Schmidt dance along to whatever song happened to be playing (and laughing like it was the most amusing thing ever), going on a search for the most delicious Tex-Mex food (and finding it! in Midland, TX), seeing a few illegal immigrants pulled over by cops (with guns, on occasion, eep), therefore becoming unnecessarily paranoid about stopping in El Paso (to the point that as the driver, I refused to take a bathroom break, even at a clearly benign Macaroni Grill), ooh-ing and aah-ing at desert sunsets, driving the road with the highest speed limit in the US (80, for the record. It was also my turn at the wheel. Grand)....and generally wishing that Texas were smaller.

D'awww. Cutest.

Arizona was much the same, except my mom made us take A THOUSAND videos of the joshua trees, which somehow, I managed not to have on my phone. They were pretty fantastic, though. This is also the point at which wearing the Santa hats that we had been storing for kicks and giggles in the backseat became the greatest joke ever. Everything is more hilarious when said with a Santa hat on. Particularly if you've been in the car for several days.

And finally, FINALLY, we made it to the Pacific Time Zone. (lemme tell ya, it's a trip to gain an hour every day. Spoiled us rotten, but probably made our insane driving schedule possible).

Check us out! Not pictured: The HOOVER DAM. That's right. It was right in front of us, looming terrifying high off the ground. We also almost dropped Schmidt over the edge trying to capture the moment. Guess I'm not the greatest mother after all. (Those photos are on my mom's phone, unfortunately.) So you'll just have to settle for this measly old state sign.

That night, we stayed in VEGAS, BABY. Paris, to be exact. Only we were so exhausted that we only had energy to eat the delicious food, ooh and ahh over the enormity and cheesiness of the whole place, and crash in bed. But Schmidt had a great time.

My boy is growing up..... and sneaking off to Vegas....*sniffle*

After that, it was 100 miles between ghost-towns and gas stations in the desert on the backside of the Sierra Nevadas. That, friends, is a desolate place. But also stark and lovely. We'd finally hit our rhythm by this point, so it was just another fun driving day of Santa-hat wearing and laughing till we cried and eating way. too. much. SmartPop.

Sadly, this is the last photo I have before we got to California, and I stopped having steady access to internet / mobile uploads. So as soon as I find myself with wireless internet access again, I will find a way to get those photos off my phone! Until then, this gem will just have to suffice:

Katie and Schmidt, just shootin' the breeze in Death Valley.

That night, we arrived in Tahoe (well, Truckee, technically), where we got to settle into the best, coziest cabin in the whole wide world, and spend a Christmas together, and hang around the house alternately eating and doing nothing, and occasionally hang out by the lake like this:

What could be happier? (Except maybe our brother squished in there next to us :))

From there, it was just another 4 hours west to Menlo Park, and tons of family! Aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins-to-be, grandparents, family friends, great aunts and uncles, you name it-- and so much love that my heart about exploded with joy. New Year's was particularly wonderful--spent at my cousin Spence & Jadie's new house, laughing so hard I nearly peed myself on several occasions. But what's new with that one? I couldn't have asked for more.

Finally, we took off to drop Peter off in L.A....by way of Disneyland. As we barreled down I-5, however, I had to write an essay worth 50% of my grade for one class. What an adventure. But we made it, more or less in one frazzled piece after L.A. rush hour. We stayed in a fabulous hotel near L.A. Live, and I pulled (quite literally) an all-nighter to reach 4,000 words. And THEN, one glorious day of Disney magic with my family. I wish I had the photos for the sheer glee on our faces. It was like we were 6 years old again, and it was fantastic.

The worst was leaving: Peter dropped us off at the airport and (bless his heart) had to hug us 3 weeping women and send us on our way...Katie was on her way back to South Carolina, and Mom and I flew into Richmond, VA. After all our time in the car together, it just felt so wrong not to be within fingertip's reach of one another!

But we made it back to Williamsburg, recovered there, hung out with old friends and tied up some loose ends....before one last car ride up to NYC (minus the 1/2 of the dream team....heartbreak!)

Mom and I spent our week looking for apartments for her (to jump to the present-day...she's found one!!), playing with my FABULOUS little cousins (bedtime stories are officially my favorite at this age), eating delicious food, having good conversations, and watching How I Met Your Mother like it was our job.

And after 5 weeks with my family, a huge trip across the country and back, lots of laughter and not a few tears...I was so not ready to get back on that plane.

But, once I tearfully made it through security, waved goodbye to my mom (who, mercifully, made ridiculous faces the whole way through), and got my game-face back...I remembered the fabulous life I had waiting for me on the other side.

Of course, it didn't seem so beautiful at 6 am on the Tube to London Euston. But once I got to pass out on the train to Glasgow for 5 hours, and wake up to a cheerful boyfriend meeting me, even the awful sleeting weather couldn't deter me from feeling at home again.


AND there you have it, folks. There And Back Again: A Christy's Tale. (please be a nerd and get the Tolkien reference).