newcastle

It only feels right to be drinking a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale as I sit in the pub at the Newcastle Airport. It also only felt right to be running to catch my train out of Edinburgh this morning – running late when traveling seems to be how I travel best. The Newcastle is lovely … better, I venture to guess, than it tastes in Iowa. Maybe it’s my proximity to the Newcastle Brewery? Or, maybe it’s all in my head. I have – I must say – become a connoisseur of pints of the Black Stuff. Guinness. I’m excited to return to Ireland and see if my pallet notices the difference between Edinburgh pints and Ireland pints. I reckon it will. Aren’t you proud, Mom and Dad? Maybe even slightly better than the club I joined in Iowa City?!

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been stressing out over the upcoming week. I’m so excited to see Lauren but I’ve felt pressured to ensure the week goes as smoothly and as well as possible. In my head, I know it will. One of my concerns has been traveling Ireland without a car. The bus system in Ireland is class – it goes to nearly any village imaginable. This being said, however you often have to wait for buses and considering the nature of the Irish roadway infrastructure, the ride often takes longer than one would desire. I’m excited though as I think I figured out the ideal situation.

I was sitting on the train this morning yet again checking various car rental websites for their rates. Considering I’m living in the UK, the rates aren’t ungodly expensive – in fact, they’re quite reasonable. The problem arises when one takes into consideration my age of 23 years. Most rental agencies either won’t rent to me or if they do, they tack on a 10 or 15 quid a day surcharge because I’m not the magic age of 24 or 25 or 26 or whatever bloody age they’ve decided to pull out of a hat.

After continuing my research today on the train, I’m fairly certain I’ve figured out the best option which includes busing for a couple days and then picking up a car in cork for the second half of the week. I looked over to the girl next to me (not the lady across the isle who was the unlucky target of my pack as it fell from the overhead storage area – she at first seemed to be okay with the unfortunate introduction to my pack, but ten or so minutes after it happened, she looked back at me and said – ‘Sure is going to leave quite the bruise on my leg’ – I continued my apologies. No one told me about the luggage storage area …) and said, “Nothing like considering a last minute car rental for my trip to Ireland, huh?”

I explained to her the scenario, my thoughts, and the potential itinerary I had just developed. “Go on, book it,” she said. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

So I booked it. Assuming all goes as planned, Lauren and I will be picking up our car on the 27th. And then, who knows?

I think the key to the week will be finding the proper balance between relaxing and taking in the pub culture of Ireland while stilling ensuring we are able to see the many sights which Ireland offers. When Brian and I traveled Ireland, time was essentially our oyster (thanks Shakespear). If we stood on the side of the road for four hours to wait for a lift - no worries. If we drank too much Guinness the night before, slept through our checkout time at the hostel, and had to stay in said Irish village one more night - no bother. But we had not timeframe. We were, I guess travelers and not tourists - check out this link for an eloquent explanation of the difference between the two . This week, Lauren and I will be both - and I'll be the traveler/tour guideperson. It promises to be an unforgettable week. best,

mk

things (which are hopefully more interesting than the title)

I was talking with my dad last night, and he reminded me of something I've been constantly aware of lately. "You've kind of been neglecting your blog recently, haven't you?" he asked.

I have been. It's been some time since my last post. I guess my rationalization for this is my life hasn't been all to, shall we say, exciting. At least as unexciting as it can be living miles away from Iowa in Edinburgh, Scotland. I've been working a lot - most of my hours are put in at the pub I work for, but I occasionally pick up shifts with the temp agency. My feelings of the two are starkly different. These feelings strongly reinforce my thoughts on ultimately making a decision with what I want to do with my life - you have to enjoy what you do.

I happily work just about forty hours a week for the pub. I find myself hoping I'm scheduled for more hours. I - as the British say - really fancy pub work. Fast paced. Constant interaction with customers. Always something to do. And really, it's good craic. I have fun at work - something which surely is important. As my friend Lauren told me the other day, you can't control a lot of things in life, but you can control things such as the job or employment that you pursue. Don't stress about those things you can't control.

So, though I've been neglecting my blog, I haven't forgotten about it. Nor have I forgotten about those of you who continue to check in with my travels.

I continue to be amazed at how small the world is. Now, to be fair, by the nature of the location of the pub I work for, I'm going to meet a lot of tourists. This being said, I served this American tourist the other night. After talking for awhile, we both confirmed the fact that we were from the states. "Where are you from?" he asked me.

"Iowa." I let him know.

"Oh really, where at in Iowa?" he asked.

"I grew up in Southwest Iowa, in Atlantic, and went to school in Iowa city," I told him.

Turns out, your man ordering a pint of Caledonian 80 was currently living in Arizona - but he was born at the Cass County Memorial Hospital in Atlantic. What are the chances?


Prior to my arrival to the UK, most of my conversations with people I met ended with the same thing - so, what are you doing after Ireland? I always had the answer. 'I have a six month visa in the UK - so, I'll head to the UK and figure it out.' I continue to meet people and often have the same discussion with them - literally daily. And, as in Ireland, it ends with - so, what are you doing after you're done in Scotland? Every time I'm asked this question I'm forced to consider what the next step in my journey will be.

I'm not sure what the answer will be. When I originally left home, the plan was to travel for a couple months and head back stateside. Now, as it's basically the first of April, I have just three months left of my UK visa. These three months will fly by. There is still so much of the world - of Europe for that matter - to see. I love the lifestyle I'm living, and while it will ultimately have to come to an end, I'm not sure when that time will be. Anyway, enough on that (which is coincidentally what I tell Brian any time he tries to talk about what our next step will be!). I can worry about that tomorrow ... or come the first of April.

Monday morning, I'm catching a train from Edinburgh to Newcastle, England, and a plane from Newcastle to Cork to meet my friend Lauren from home. We're going to spend seven days in the homeland (well, my home of four months). I hope it treats her and I as grandly as it did me for four months. I'm excited to head back. And, equally excited to see a face from home.

Happy Easter to you all. While you're all enjoying an Easter brunch, I'll be pouring pints at Deacon Brodies - but enjoying it. Oh, this lifestyle I've chosen. cheers, mk.

thistle street bar

Hi, all. I'm sitting down to write from my Edinburgh watering hole. When Brian and I first went to view our flat, we walked past a comfortable looking pub not four or five doors down from our flat entrance. One of us surely said, "That looks like a pub that we'll be spending a fair amount of time at." As it turns out, this has been the case. The Thistle Street Bar ...


... is perfect with its size, ambiance, wi-fi access, selection of ales on tap, and staff. The pub attracts locals who live in the New Town area of Einburgh. An ideal place to have a pint and relax. From the door of my flat to the door of the Thistle Street Bar, I walk less than thirty seconds. So, you can't complain about its location.

I don't sit down to write tonight with any profound thoughts. Really, I don't have much (I don't think). But, I'll share with you some realizations or thoughts I've had in the past couple days.

I worked 9 - 5 today at the pub. I mean, with hours like that, I'm essentially your typical businessman. I arrive to the pub at nine to get things ready for the day and open the doors at ten. While Deacon's attracts, for the most part, tourists, we do have a selection of regulars and random Scottish folk that come in for a pint. Deacon Brodies is situated directly across from the High Court of Justiciary of Scotland. Considering this, in addition to having lawyers who stop in for a pint or two over their lunch hours, we have Kiran who is - from what I can gather - a freelance photographer. He spends some of his day hanging around outside of the courthouse taking pictures and the rest of his day at the pub drinking pints of Tennents Lager (I decided today it'd be a fun experiment to try and hang around Deacon's all day and drink pint for pint with him ... I'm not certain I could do it). I digress. I think the point of this paragraph was this realization about individuals who come to the pub in the late morning:

Any time you're greeted by the barman at your local pub with, "Good Morning," you might have a problem.

Now, on to a word of advice. If you ever find yourself tending bar in Edinburgh the Sunday after the Scotland - England match of the Six Nations Rugby Tournament, never grant a drunk, burly man wearing a kilt permission to do the splits on the bar. Kilts are amazingly commonplace in Scotland. I guess I didn't think much about them before arriving, but I guessed them to be a traditional piece of dress from the past. Not so. Scotsmen wear kilts for most formal events. Or, in the case below, whenever they're out hiking with a sword.


Sunday night, the rugby fans who filled Edinburgh were still continuing to party. Much like the Hawkeye fans who continue to party Saturday night after a Hawkeye football win (even though they have been up since 5am drinking), the Scottish - and English for that mater - continued to drink. One of these lifers dressed in a kilt was in Deacon Brodies Sunday night and asked me, "You think I can get on the bar and do the splits?" Not expecting him to be serious, I mistakenly answered, "Sure." Five seconds later, the man was making his way up on the bar to do the splits. Somehow, myself and the other girl behind the bar were able to convince him to get off before he completed the act (and nearly set his kilt on fire).

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but the weather in Edinburgh is, well as they say rubbish. The wind is nearly always blowing. Most shocking is its propensity to change at the drop of a hat. I was in my flat yesterday afternoon when I thought I heard the door being unlocked. I deemed this as impossible as Brian is in Ireland visiting his parents, but seconds later, a man in a suit walked into my flat. As it turns out, he was a surveyor coming to survey? my flat as it is for sale. Really great guy. The conversation we had made my day. Older guy who after finding out my short-term life story (graduated in May, decided to delay getting a real job, traveling and working, etc), proceeded to tell me about his days traveling the US, Indonesia, and Australia. Anyway, we were talking about Edinburgh, and in addition to many other old-man wise things he told me, he said if you don't like the weather in Edinburgh, wait five minutes, and it will change.

How true that is. This, I tell you, is not a lie. In the course of my eight hour shift at the pub today, Edinburgh had blue skies, rain, overcast skies, freezing rain, and about everything in between. Every time I looked out the window, the weather changed.

cheers.mk.

'heya'

Heya as the Scottish say. Not, 'Hello' or 'Hi,' but 'Heya.'

I'm writing today from my desk at my latest assignment with the temp agency I'm working for. Yes folks, I have a desk. I'm kind of a big deal. I'm not working in a cafe, I'm not working behind a bar, and I'm not working a function as a caterer. I'm working on a switchboard at Edinburgh's Aegon office - one of the world's largest life insurance and pension companies.

Let me tell you, it's a blast (all sarcasm intended)!

It may prove to be difficult to get anything significant included in this blog as every so often my computer beeps at me and I have to answer the phone. It goes a little something like this ...

'Good afternoon Aegon Scottish Equitable.' -me

'Yes, hello, my name is David Brandshed with Trifelt Investments. I'm calling about a pension my client has with you, reference number ...' -david (fictional name)

'Sorry to interrupt sir, is that a personal pension?'

'Yes, it is.'

'All right, I can go ahead and transfer you on to our Customer Services desk, and they should be able to help you with option one on the menu. Cheers.'

And then they get the computer recording. Often, when I answer the phone, the customers exclaim, 'Wow, a person!' I chuckle to myself and think just wait, the computer automated voice awaits.

It's definitely been an interesting experience. While the work with the temp agency hasn't always been the most glamorous, it has allowed me to see situations from different perspectives. I was thinking about this as I walked to get a cup of coffee this morning. Just two mornings ago, I was working in the cafe of a different office complex here in Edinburgh - making coffees and sandwiches. I've worked numerous functions and seen the planning (or lack thereof) which goes on behind the scenes. Hell, I've even served as a kitchen porter washing dishes. All of this in the name of earning enough money to live. All of this while holding a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science. All of this with the main goal of experiencing life outside of Iowa, away from friends and family, and outside of my comfort zone.

I read a quote yesterday evening that I loved, and wanted to share with you all - 'The greatest tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.' - W.M. Lewis