My Paris Adventures!

When my friends said they were spending three days in Paris before coming to visit me in Scotland this summer, my heart raced to join them. The three of us had actually planned on taking a trip there two summers ago, but life happened and the timing just didn't work out. Now here they were tempting me again. I hadn't accounted for a jaunt to Paris in my Scotland adventures, but after dreaming of her for so long, how could I not go?

For three days and nights, we walked, we ate, we drank. We took pictures, we sat by the Seine and under the Eiffel and on the steps of Sacre Cour. We took shelter in a restaurant with a bottle of wine when a rainstorm caught us by surprise. From our perch, we watched artists sketch portraits and paint landscapes; marveled at women wearing 4-inch stilettos, stumbling through the cobblestone street ("amateurs!"); and drank bottles of wine. We became lost in the buzzing energy of tourists and locals alike and were carried by that feeling one gets when returning to a magical place after much too long. There was a stifling heat and constant noise that wouldn't let us sleep, but we were in Paris and we were in heaven. 

Though beautiful by day, there's nothing like seeing Paris at night. Its beautiful sights and sounds transformed into an other-worldly experience, and what were breath-taking sights in the sun became translucent works of beauty against the moonlight.

Actual wedding pics, or photo shoot?  Either way,
a beautiful sight.

The Eiffel tower by night.

Despite our leisurely pace, we managed to pack quite a bit in those three days. I could fill an album with the photos I took and write page after page about the countless moments we experienced, but instead I will leave you with some of my favorite snapshots of that trip.

Watching the sunset from our boat ride on the Seine.

Maneuvering the city streets to find Musee Rodin, only to get there thirty minutes before closing.
I still managed to zip through the gardens and get my fill. 

What better way to cool off from the sweltering heat than with a gigantic mug of belgian ale!

Resting on the grass under the Eiffel.

Hanging out at the bar below our apartment until we had to leave for the airport.
Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Feeling giddy at finding the street where Julia Child lived while in Paris.

Introducing the girls to the deliciousness of Laduree!

Eating a croque-madame... in France!

Picnicking by the Seine.

I think back to a few months ago, to the days I was deciding whether to take this trip, and I can't imagine not having gone. It turned out to be one of the most wonderful whirlwind adventures and I can't wait to return. Au revoir, Paree -until we meet again.

Farewell, Dear Scotland

Packing. Cleaning. Procrastinating. Packing some more. Thinking of all the wonderful memories created over the past two months. The newness, the excitement of an unexplored country. The fluffy clouds, the rambling hills. The trees and birds and flowers and bees. The sheep -oh, my darling Blackface sheep, how I will miss you. The horses and rivers and scenic roads. The castles and abbeys, each telling stories of their own. The country side and the bustling city, grateful to have experienced both. 

Edinburgh Castle

Even the tough days, the not so fun days, had something to teach me. Learning, always learning. I discovered that in those moments when confusion and overwhelm take over, if you just pause and breathe and have faith, something shifts. Clarity comes in and calmness replaces chaos.The right people show up, the perfect words are said, the pieces of the puzzle somehow all seem to fit. I had guardian angels stepping in everywhere on this trip and I am so grateful to have met such amazing people (you know who you are!). 

Someone asked me yesterday if I was ready to go home and I wasn't sure how to answer. 

Boats in Portree, Isle of Skye

I don't have that, ugh I'm done with this holiday and ready to be home feeling that usually accompanies the end of a trip. I suppose it's because this was more than just a holiday; it was a kind of hybrid of a vacation and living abroad. Too long for one, too short for the other. So I guess if I were to be completely honest, I don't feel ready to leave, but I know it's time. Time to go back and figure some things out -career, where to live, those pesky little things that need attention. 

Forest at Yellowcraig Beach

I feel like I'll be back here someday, and that thought keeps me from dwelling on the goodbyes for too long. After all, I still have so many more castles to chase! As I get ready to leave this country that now feels like home, one of my favorite poems comes to mind. It reminds me that life is unfolding exactly as it should. 

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident

the art of losing's not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-- Elizabeth Bishop

A Perfect Evening

Sitting in the Tontine lobby bar, sipping on a crisp sauvignon blanc, something cool for this unusually hot day. I sit alone, but not lonely. I start reading a book about Julia Child's life in Paris, but only get a few pages in before I am inspired to pick up my notebook. The room has an old feel to it. Heavy curtains, pulled open to let the light in on this bright day. Simple, modern lighting hangs above. Old furniture, worn out leather. A few newer pieces interspersed among the old to give it a fresher look. Club chairs in rich greens and chocolate browns. Pink polka dot velvet couches flank the fireplace, one that likely boasts a roaring fire during the winter months. Brown and green striped carpeting, the kind that reminds me of decades long gone. It suits this place.

The Tontine Hotel -opened in 1808

I love people watching. Cyclists come in for a pint or two after a long day of riding. Guests staying at the hotel come down for dinner. They laugh heartily at something and it makes me smile. A mother chases after her toddler. Everyone is with someone. The plan had been to meet a "friend of a friend of a friend" in Edinburgh for dinner, but he ended up canceling at the last minute. The truth is, I was a bit disappointed, especially after having spent too many Saturday nights in my pajamas in front of the television lately. I couldn't do it again. The weather was perfect and I was already geared up for an evening out, so I decided to come to the neighboring town of Peebles. I strolled the high street, walked over the bridge and watched the river for a while. I window shopped, as most stores were already closed, and then found a place to spend the evening. That's how I came to be here in the lobby of the Tontine.

The Adam Room

There is a beautiful dining room adjoining the room that I'm sitting in. It has its own name -The Adam Room. It has high ceilings and chandeliers but it is far from stuffy, exuding a classy yet casual vibe. I wonder if I will have the nerve to finally do it today -to dine alone. But given past experiences I have my doubts. It's one thing to order something in a lobby bar. It's casual, it's easy. I've eaten countless lunches at cafes with my laptop as my companion and breakfasted in coffee shops with my work files laid out. But to sit in a proper dining room -flowers, white table cloths- the only person dining alone; to leave my book in my bag and put my notebook away; to leave my phone untouched; to just enjoy my meal... that would be a first for me.

I know people do it all the time, but I'm just not one of those people. Even on the odd occasion when my work would take me to another city, I would rather order room service and read a book than dine alone. Married friends will tell me how nice it is to have a meal by themselves, a break from their routine with their partners. Moms will go even further, telling me what they wouldn't do to enjoy a meal in silence. I've come to realize those sort of comparisons are pointless, for each of us is having our own experience and what may seem like a dream for one person may be a dreaded experience for another. I've learned so much on this trip; traveling alone to an unfamiliar country has opened up many opportunities to push myself beyond my comfort zone. Each day I find myself making choices between that which is easy and familiar and an alternative that is a bit uncomfortable and foreign.

That's it. I'm doing it. I put my things in my bag and ask the hostess for a table near the windows...
...

So, how did it go? I didn't check my email. I didn't read my book. I took a few pictures, then put my phone away. Instead, I stared at the mountains. I watched birds soar by. I listened to Frank Sinatra's sultry voice in the background, and I smiled.

Come fly with me. let's fly, let's fly away

If you can use, some exotic booze

There's a bar in far Bombay

Come on and fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away...

It reminded of my childhood, when my dad used to play his records. I had fallen in love with the lyrics, the melodies, the feeling of love and longing in his music.

My attention was drawn back to the present with the arrival of my dinner, a glass of cabernet and the Tontine Burger. It was delicious, perfectly cooked and flavorful, well deserving of the knife and fork with which I ate it. The service was impeccable, the staff friendly and attentive. A cool breeze blew past from a window just behind me. I watched the other diners, and I didn't freak out just because I was alone. A older couple shared a bottle of wine at a window table. Three young women in jeans in t-shirts sat at a table behind me, likely having just gotten back from a day of sightseeing. They chatted away like old friends. A man and woman came in wearing matching motorcycle jackets and sat at their reserved table with the champagne bottle chilling. I sipped on my wine and felt content as I sat with my thoughts:
I am in Scotland, on a Saturday night, dressed up and having dinner by myself in a nice restaurant. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and I am fine. In fact, I'm better than fine. I am happy. 

Lost (and Found) in Translation

So, I've been here a few weeks now and I've picked up quite a bit of Scottish English in my time here. When I arrived, I was determined to learn the local culture so I wouldn't seem like that American -you know, the one who goes abroad and expects everything to be, sound, and feel like it is back home. In my efforts to better understand my surroundings, I'm pretty sure I ended up asking some inane-sounding questions.

This is how it would generally go. I would hear a word or phrase that I either didn't understand or that seemed out of context. Then I would find an unsuspecting victim and ask, "sooooo, when you say [insert confounding word/phrase], what exaaaaactly do you mean by that?" I've also added some words used in everyday lingo here. Just in case you find yourself in Scotland for the first time, here's a compilation of all the mental notes I took:

An American Gal's Mini-Guide to Understanding Scottish

1. Aye. Pronounced like "eye". You'll here this pretty much all the time because it means: yeah, yes, yup. 
2. Cheers! For weeks, as I would say my "thank you" to the bus driver when I would get off at my stop, inevitably there would be someone saying "cheers!" Then the first couple of times I went out to eat, I would hear patrons say this to their servers as they left the restaurant. I had incorrectly assumed the parties were familiar with one another. It turns out the word is informally used as both "thank you" and "good bye." 
3. Coos. "Have you seen our coos yet?" she asked. I was silent. I feebly replied, "I don't think

   

   Coooooooooo!

   so."Then we drove by some and she pointed them out, saying, "Oh, they're absolutely lovely."  OHHHHHH, cows!
4. To Let. When I first arrived in the Borders I kept seeing these "To Let" signs above various shops. I kept thinking they read, "Toilet." (Okay, so this one I just read wrong.) I figured it was for the wandering out of towners -you know, like in India, where they have signs above shops reading, "A/C here". I finally realized they said To Let, as in a room to let out in exchange for payment.
5. Chuffed. Sounds like someone's really pissed off, but it means you're really thrilled about something. "I'm so chuffed to see the sun out again."
6. Tea. (This one seems more common in rural towns than in the larger cities.) When my new Innerleithen friend had suggested one day that I come over for tea on the upcoming Saturday, I gladly accepted.  She had mentioned on several occasions how she likes to have her tea earlier than most people, but I didn't give it much thought, thinking five in the evening was perfect chai time. When I arrived, I could smell something delicious on the stove. I was offered wine, not tea.  I connected the dots and finally realized all those times she was talking about dinner! So what does one say if you just want to invite someone for a cup of tea? See 7.
7. Cuppa. It means a cup of tea. As in, "would you like a cuppa?" The "tea" part is implied, but I still want to ask, "cuppa what?"
8. Lemonade -If you want a 7-Up or Sprite, just ask for a lemonade. If you want the drink that's usually made from lemons, sugar and water, you need to specify an old-fashioned lemonade. 
9. Neeps and Tatties. A very common side dish combo. Turnips ("neeps") and potatoes ("tatties"). 
10. Pudding. Now this one really threw me for a loop. I love pudding, especially chocolate pudding. Any time I ate out, the server would ask at the end of the meal if I had any room for pudding. The first time I just said, "I would love to, but I'm stuffed, thank you." By the third time I heard this question (had Bill Cosby and his J-E-L-L-O commercials infiltrated the country?), I was starting to wonder about the Scots' obsession with p-u-d-d-i-n-g. I finally asked a Scottish friend to explain. Turns out it just refers to the dessert course; it can refer to a tart, cheesecake, even ice cream!
11. Piece. When I was first asked if I'd like a piece, I did some zombie stare while racking my

    

    A cheese and pickle piece with crisps.

    brain for an alternative definition filed away somewhere. I think I finally said, "Piece? Piece of what?" It's a sandwich. A common quick midday meal is a pickle and cheese "piece". Oh, and pickle isn't referring to what we Americans think of as pickles. The leading brand, Branston Pickle, is a sweet and tangy chutney-like condiment, with small pieces of vegetables.
12. Chips and Crisps. Craving some chips with that sandwich? Make sure you know your chips from your crisps. If you're craving American chips, you need to order crisps. If you order chips here, you'll end up with a side of fries!
13. Pants. Yeah, you'd think this was pretty self-explanatory, but I made the mistake of thinking it meant the same here as it does back home. Apparently, the word "pants" is used here to casually refer to underpants! Imagine my embarrassment when my son's 11-year old went home to change out of his rain-drenched shorts and I say to him, "oh, good, you're wearing pants now." I wondered why he giggled to his mom (sorry, mum), but now I know. Adding "trousers" to my when-in-Scotland list!

Happy Independence!

Happy 4th!

Today marks a month of my being in Scotland, but I haven't forgotten that it's that time of year again - the day that Americans all over celebrate their Independence. Truth be told, over the years this day has come to mean less of a celebration of patriotism for me and more of a day to connect and celebrate with the people in my life. Don't get me wrong. My hand still reflexively moves to cover my heart every time I hear the pledge of allegiance, and my eyes well up for most renditions of the Star Spangled Banner -- but the fact is that when I think of the 4th of July, I think of picnics and barbecues, friends and family, fireworks and fun. 

Red, white and blue for last year's celebration.

Since I'm far away from home this year, I resigned myself to having a 4th of July without the parties and fireworks (though I really would have done anything for the latter). It was just another day here, like most other days. I did, however, spend a good part of the afternoon contemplating the idea of independence and what it means to me. There are the practical freedoms that I've been able to enjoy while I've been abroad -like not having to worry about texts and phone calls, and all the social obligations that somehow manage to overlap despite best intentions. I'm even surprised at how little I miss driving, happy to take the bus an hour and a half to get into the city. There's the independence of having my own schedule here, exploring new places, stepping outside my ordinary ways and doing new things.

And then there is the personal independence that each of us has -in our choices, our values, our beliefs -and the fact that we often give so much of it away in our day to day lives. This concept of independence is an ongoing journey for me, as I grow towards thinking and doing without so much influence of others. I often find myself overly concerned about what others think, but the older I get, the more trust I have in myself. That, to me, is true independence.

So all in all I have no regrets being away from home on this day. Oh, and those fireworks I was dreaming about? A couple of days ago I came home to find a note through my mail slot. It read: "Dear neighbour -This Friday 5th July...we will be setting off fireworks...Please feel free to enjoy the aerial display. Happy 4th of July!" Apparently, I'm not the only American in this little Scottish town!

 Fireworks! 

Bagpipes, Friendships and those Summer Nights

Several years ago, I was working in mid-Wilshire at a job that I dreaded going to every morning. My only solace during the day was the thirty minutes when I would take my lunch to the park across the street and sit at a bench and people-watch. Afterwards, I would walk through the park for a few minutes before heading back to the office. On one such occasion, I came across familiar but unlikely sounds coming from the far end of the park. I walked towards the direction of the music, all the while thinking, there is no way I'm hearing what I'm hearing. But sure enough, tucked among the tress was a man playing bagpipes! (I'm pretty sure  he was wearing a kilt, but that could very well be my memory filling in the blanks.) I've always loved the sound of bagpipes (commonly referred to as "pipes" here), finding it simultaneously uplifting and slightly melancholy ---so it wasn't surprising that my first solo outing in Scotland was to the town's Pipe Band Championships.

These guys were ready for it to rain on their parade!

The forecast had called for rain and I was tempted to stay in cuddled up on the couch with a blanket and a book, but I knew it was time to get out and get a taste of the local culture. Not to mention, all that alone time was starting to make me antsy. So I bundled up and headed out to the park where the competition was taking place. People were already gathered under the covered stands and I could hear one of the bands on the field. It was more than just great music; I loved watching the synchronized movements, the different tartans and the enthusiasm of the spectators.

At some point there was a break in the performances and I found myself striking up a conversation with a woman and her mother;  before I knew it, they had taken this L.A. girl under their wing. They wanted to know my story. After all, it's not often someone moves from Los Angeles to Innerleithen. I assured them it was just a long stay, but they were intrigued nonetheless. We went for coffee afterwards and by the end of the day, a friendship was forged. The following week, I was having dinner at their home. Yay, my first friends here. I should have known my love for bagpipes wouldn't lead me astray.


... a week later, I went to a festival in neighboring Peebles with my new friends.  A week-long event, it was ending that evening in a sort of band-off between the Peebles Silver Band and a visiting pipe band from Oman. The main street was blocked off, crowds had gathered all around. We were bundled up in hats, scarves and jackets, fingers crossed that the rain would hold out, but no such luck was in store. Just as the bands began, it started pouring.  Within minutes, the sidewalks became a sea of umbrellas, everyone craning their necks to get

Scotland v. Oman -bring it on!

a good view of the musicians. Kids splashed around in puddles, kicking up water and squealing with joy. College kids hung in packs without any covering, letting raindrops fall into their plastic cups of beer, cheering in drunken celebration.

It was absolutely amazing. Rain came down hard but the band players didn't flinch. I kept waiting for someone to reach up and wipe the water off his face but it didn't happen. Determination and passion kept them going. The fans were not to be deterred either; they stayed until the very end. My friend was giving me the scoop on the various tunes -some old national songs that she's known since childhood, other more popular ones. It was all Greek (er, Scottish) to me. That is, until I found myself moving to a familiar beat. The song was probably half done before I even realized that I knew the tune. Excitedly I asked, Is that "Summer Nights" from Grease?! Yup, it was. It was totally random, but a fun way to end the evening.

My favorite part: At the end of the evening, the two bands joined as one. 

Rosslyn Chapel: A Step Back in Time

One of the gargoyles protecting the chapel. 

Just a few miles outside the bustling city of Edinburgh is a little village called Roslin. Within the village is Rosslyn Chapel. If it sounds familiar, it's likely because you recall the famous site from Dan Brown's book Da Vinci Code. Having read it myself, excitement kicked in as we drove closer to our destination. It was my chance to experience a bit of history that had felt so real through Robert Langdon's eyes. 

I spent the first ten or fifteen minutes walking around the building and just taking it in. People passed me by, posing for photographs or rushing to enter the building. In comparison to other architectural works I've seen, it is average in size, but there was just something about it that made me want to take my time. I felt like a panther on a slow prowl around the periphery.  It was an unusually warm day here and the sun shone bright, emphasizing the green grass, the blue skies and the browns of the chapel. I gazed at the pillars, the gargoyles, the carvings bordering the windows. Every inch of the place seemed to have a story behind it.  It was like I was back in another time -long, long ago.

Once inside, I was mesmerized by even more intricate carvings and the rich colors of stained glass windows. I walked around in a sort of trance, from pillar to pillar, taking in the history and beauty of it all. At some point, I found myself in front of the famous Apprentice Pillar. Legend has it that the master mason had left to seek out the original inspiration for the column, but when he had returned, his apprentice had completed the column. In a fit of jealous rage, he struck the apprentice dead. It is said that as punishment, the master mason's face is carved facing the apprentice's pillar so he would be forced to stare at his work for all eternity. Ah, that treacherous ego! 

We were only at Rosslyn for about an hour or so, but the hundreds of detailed symbols and scenes are enough to keep one occupied all day. This was just the first of the iconic buildings in Scotland on this trip; I can't wait to see more! Next up: Melrose Abbey. 

Unfortunately, they've stopped allowing photography on the inside of the chapel so I had to sneak this shot by zooming in from the outside.

Aside for its architectural beauty,  Rosslyn Chapel is also famous for its association with the Knights Templar and the Holy Grail. According to some, the Grail was buried beneath the Rosslyn Chapel.