Is That a Challenge?

Last Thursday we had our first all-ISS (International Summer School) day trip. Now, when I first heard the phrase "All-ISS Day Trip," it was used in the context of a good way for all of us to get to know each other. It sounded a lot like an elementary school field trip. And so this is what I pictured: 30 twenty-something Americans, each carrying an unwieldy, brightly colored backpack (because we were told to be prepared for anything), holding hands as we cross the street in a never ending line. Obviously that was ridiculous. But it was a funny picture, at least.

As it turns out, that was not what happened.What actually happened is that they picked us up in a charter bus outside our flats at 8:30 in the morning, drove us to St Andrews, let us off and told us to be back by 4:00 or they'd leave without us. Much better. Despite the fact that we avoided that potential catastrophe (which just existed in my head) the day was full of challenges, the first of which was enjoying the bus ride.

I know what you're thinking. Doesn't seem like a challenge, does it? Well it was. You see, this whole allergy thing has been a series of small battles, and on this particular day the allergies won. Basically this means that my contacts refused to be inserted into my eyes...or maybe my eyes refused to have the contacts inserted...but either way, I wore glasses. Fine. After trying for days to find out what causes this allergic reaction and constant eye-watering, I have no clue. But I know the sunlight doesn't help. At all. And this is where the challenge comes in...

The ride to St. Andrews is gorgeous. We specifically took a road that goes along the Ochil Hills, which are beautiful green hills that provide a transition between the flat border country and the mountainous Highlands. I wasn't about to miss out on the view simply because I experienced stabbing pains and excessive watering every time I opened my eyes wide enough to appreciate my surroundings. I developed a strategy. And if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, you're welcome to borrow it.

Close your eyes. This won't necessarily stop the watering, but it will minimize it to a little bit of leaking from only your right eye. Be patient -- keep them closed and try to focus on something other than the irritation. Then, when you feel up to it, quickly use the back of your hand to wipe away the moisture from your face, and immediately turn your face to the window, open your eyes as wide as possible and enjoy .5 seconds of view before the waterfall of tears obscures the hills to a green blur. And...repeat.

It really wasn't that bad, but I do look forward to actually enjoying the drive the next time we go.

All of the waiting was more than worth it, because when we finally arrived in St. Andrews, my eyes had recovered and the day was beautiful. It was about 50 degrees and partly cloudy with a light (sometimes not so light) sea breeze. Many of us decided upon arrival that it was quite a bit more chilly than we expected, and a cup of coffee would be just the ticket (<-- I really don't like that phrase, but I feel like it's sort of British, and it fit).

I had up to this point been quite disappointed with the quality of coffee produced in this country. They have the tea thing down...which is great. But I really felt the need for a comforting, familiar, warm cup of goodness. And as we walked down the quaint, cobblestone streets, it appeared as if on cue -- Starbucks. I know, I know. It's pathetic. As far as I was concerned, though, as long as I was paying for coffee I might as well know it's going to be good. Many of the girls I was walking with had similar ideas. However, immediately after we spotted the Starbucks sign, Sterling pointed out a small bakery just down a side street that supposedly had amazing pastries.

Okay, Sterling, I see what you're saying, but I have one word for you -- Starbucks.

He then proceeded to explain to us that people came to St. Andrews just for these pastries. That people had them shipped across the country to the four corners of Britain. That people killed other people for these pastries.

Alright, so I just added that last bit for effect, but whatever he said worked well enough for us to agree to stop for pastries, and then carry them back for coffee at Starbucks. A win-win situation, really. But I wasn't willing to believe that these baked goods were all they were cracked up to be.

I walked into the doorway and was immediately hit with a wave of smells. Freshly baked bread. Roasted coffee beans. Whipped Cream. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. But not a sickly sweet smell. It was a perfect blend of richness and sweetness. And that was just the smell. I'm incredibly upset that I lost the picture I took of the counter window. Inside was every imaginable baked good you've ever dreamt of eating. I felt like I was in a shop in Harry Potter or maybe at the dessert table of a Redwall feast.

I had no idea what to order. ("Everything" came to mind at first, but I thought better of it.) So, I asked the guy behind the counter what his favorite is. And he pointed to one tray that had large, cream-stick looking items on it, saying (in a Scottish accent that I can't hope to accurately represent) that these were the town favorite, but it looks like they were overcooked today. And then, as though he knew me, he pointed to another tray which held a masterpiece entitled "Coffee Cream Tower."

He said, "These ones are a challenge."
And I wittily replied, "I'll take one of those. I'm up for a challenge."

Sadly, that is not made up. I really did say those words exactly. My only hope is that my reply was lost beneath the street noise coming from the door.

It was, indeed, a challenge. The CCT was roughly the size of both of my fists put together. The outer shell was the flakiest, softest pastry I've ever bitten into. Inside was a filling of fresh whipped cream (it had probably been in a cow the day before) with a slight hint of coffee flavoring. The tower was frosted with a thin coating of slightly chewy coffee icing and crowned with a chocolate circle.

Turns out, I would kill someone for one of those pastries. Okay. No...I probably wouldn't. Maybe a punch or two. I don't mean to be ridiculous, but Fisher and Donaldson was probably one of the highlights of St. Andrews.

After breakfast, we headed to the shore. In case you didn't know, St Andrews is in the middle of the east coast of Scotland. This makes for some amazing scenery. Many of the most beautiful spots in the town look out over the North Sea. And no matter where you are in the city, when the breeze picks up, you can smell the salt water. I wish so much that I could capture the beauty of the area with words, but I'm not sure that's possible. Not only is there the sea and rocky coast, but there are also many ruins that dot the coastline. Specifically, our first stop was to the site of the ruins of St Andrew's Castle.

The best way I can think to describe this part of the day is to explain that I could have stayed at one spot on the beach all day and snapped 1,000 photos without ever tiring of the view. I ended up taking hundreds and hundreds of pictures. I wonder sometimes if the sights are lost on the locals, or if they wake up every day in awe of their surroundings.

After my flatmate, Courtney, tripped and fell into a patch of seawater with her camera, we were a bit disenchanted with the beach and decided to ascend the cliff behind us in search of drier activities. Just a short way up the road, we came upon a monstrous stone tower and set of walls that we had been photographing from a distance. Enclosed in these crumbling remains were hundreds of gravestones and monuments. The ruins belong to The Cathedral of St. Andrews. The Cathedral was built beginning in AD 1158, and at the time was the largest Cathedral in Scotland. Even now, you can tell from the expanse between the walls and pieces of towers that the place was enormous.The pictures can describe it better than I, but two things struck me:

1) The gravestones themselves were clearly ancient, but wouldn't have been in place until after the cathedral had deteriorated...which means the cathedral was that much older.

2) Though the Castle and Cathedral were both made and destroyed hundreds of years ago, the landscape around them is basically just as it was during their prime. God's creation has remained perfect and strong and beautiful even as the buildings of men crumble. The people who lived in that Castle enjoyed the same view that I did last Thursday. Amazing.

Our final hours of the trip took us to the sandy beaches just near the Old Course, arguably the first golf course ever made. The beach near the courses was quite peaceful. A few sea gulls interrupted our conversation and sands blown up by the wind caused us to shield our eyes occasionally. Overall, it was a nice, relaxing way to end the day. I have to admit that we didn't actually go to the course to take pictures. It seems like a crime to be in St. Andrews and not see the golf courses or University, right? Well, I'll be going back in a few weeks to catch what I neglected (and to snag another pastry from Fisher and Donaldson!).

It Comes in Pints?

The following is an account of one of my most eventful days thus far...

My very first class period here was three hours long. Yes. Three hours. Fortunately, that was only because we spent the time watching Braveheart. I would like to note that as we were watching Braveheart, my eyes were having a severe reaction to...the air, light, and being open, so there was a constant stream of tears pouring down my face. I heard some of my classmates whispering about it to themselves:

"What's wrong with Marjorie?"
"I don't know. The movie isn't *that* sad."
"She's weird."

Okay, so maybe they didn't say any of those things, but it's probably due to some stealthy, but casual, hair-positioning that sheltered my face from their view.

Our discussion of Braveheart was quite a negative one. Obviously the movie stirred up quite the controversy when it first came out here. Most of our discussion was actually about the inaccuracy of its portrayal of Scotland/history, as well as its merits as a film. I felt rather defensive of the movie, though I can't blame my England-native professor for disliking it...it doesn't particularly portray her country in a positive light. And, of course, when she went on and on about how the music is terrible, I just kept my mouth shut and a running commentary going in my head. Overall, the class is enjoyable and I'm sure at the very least, it'll be interesting to get so many perspectives.

I figured after class it would be intelligent to head over to the campus pharmacy to get some sort of medicine to stop my allergic reaction. Do you remember that scene in Snow White when she first comes into the forest, and the creatures come up and surround her and are strangely, if not creepily, friendly and unafraid of human contact? Well, that's what it's like to walk across campus here.

I know at least at Grove City there are countless squirrels that will allow you within 5 feet of them. Here in Stirling, the more common animal is rabbits. No joke. There are probably hundreds of rabbits on this campus. Obviously there are rabbits in PA and OH, but not these kind of rabbits. These rabbits travel in packs of about 5 or 6 and they will not budge unless you make an obviously threatening move toward them. Additionally, since there's a loch on campus, there are also numerous water fowl that roam around. My personal favorite is the little duck family that lives on the shore by the sports center. Someday soon I'll get around to naming them.

After I'd traversed through the hoards of rabbits and flocks of fowl, I crossed the footbridge that leads to "The Atrium," which is basically the student center. It houses the pharmacy, bank, book store, cafe, etc. Basically it's a little self-contained city. Finding what you want in the stores can be a bit of a challenge, but nothing I'm not up to doing. Typically I end up pausing and staring at a shelf for a few minutes because the shopkeepers will be having a conversation with one another, and the accent is just so much fun to listen to. Once I've found what I want to buy (in this instance, allergy medicine), and finished being a creeper, the real challenge begins -- paying.

For purchases under 5 pounds, you have to pay with cash. This is unfortunate, mostly because I feel like a complete fool when I use the coins here. You wouldn't believe how much you take for granted that you can tell what a quarter, dime, nickel and penny are at a glance, even a touch. Well, here they have coins for 1 penny, 2 pence (tuppence!), five pence, ten pence, twenty pence, fifty pence, one pound and two pounds. That's a lot of different coins. It's been a few days since I went to the pharmacy, and at the time I really didn't have any clue which was which (aside from the one and two pound coins). So, after reaching into my pocket and pulling out a fist full of metal, I held up each one slowly to my face, carefully bent it to the light and attempted to read the label on the coins through watery, swollen eyes. Don't underestimate how ridiculous I looked doing this. And, of course, I felt 5 times as ridiculous as I looked.

Once that ordeal was over and I was safely back at the flat, my roommate Courtney informed me that a group of girls were going to an exercise class down at the sports center. The idea of exercise classes has never particularly appealed to me. The idea sounds great in theory. I like working out with a group, because it forces me not to be lazy. What I do not like about such classes is that they almost always take place with cheesy music and involve me looking like a complete idiot. However, I figured since the class is free and it could be very different (since I am in Scotland), I would give it a try.

It's not that different.

In fact, it reminded me a lot of the Aerobic Conditioning Fit Well class that I took at Grove City freshman year, except that the instructor had a thick Scottish accent. What immediately comes to mind is the scene from Father of the Bride II when Franc is leading the women in a workout ("Little tin soldier, happy tin soldier"). Youtube it.

So here's how the class went: I found a place in the back. Cheesy, obnoxious music came on and everyone started into moves that I swear they had all practiced beforehand. Of course, the instructor is supposedly telling us what to do, but it all sort of comes out jumbled. For all I know she could have been reading the morning news to me. The only option I really had was to attempt to imitate the people in front of me who, of course, magically understood everything that was going on. Good times. Basically, exercise classes much too closely resemble dancing for my taste.

Following that joyous time, my flatmates and I decided to head out for a night in Stirling. Though it is the University of Stirling, the city itself is a good 40 minute walk from campus, so we take the bus. The bus that drives on the left side of the road. Obviously everyone knows that people in Britain drive on the left side, but experiencing it is quite another thing. I have yet to lose the sudden terror that comes from seeing another vehicle careening down the road on what feels like your side. Combine this with the fact that roads around here are uncommonly narrow and you get a lovely cardio workout just by looking out the bus window.

Once in town, it's just a short stroll to the pub. Well, it's a very short stroll if you're not looking for a specific pub, because there's a different one every fifty meters or so. The specific pub that we headed to, though, is called "Drouthy Neebors." I know what it means, but I won't tell you [read:I have no idea what it means]. While there, I finally enjoyed a thoroughly Scottish meal -- Haggis with neeps and tatties (aka mashed turnips and potatoes), served with a whiskey sauce. And I had a pint of Tennent's, a local lager. [As a side note: Whenever I hear someone say the word "pint," I immediately think of Merry and Pippin in Lord of the Rings: "This, my friend, is a pint." "It comes in pints?...I'm getting one."]

The beer, neeps and tatties were wonderful. The haggis...was...less than wonderful (as you can probably tell by my face in this picture, having just tasted it). Actually, compared to what I expected, it wasn't all that bad. In fact, if I could have completely disregarded what it was made of, I may have been able to eat more than a third of the pile they gave me. But I couldn't. So I didn't. Still, overall the night was a definite success as far as sampling the local fare is concerned.

After finishing our meals at Drouthy Neebors, we went across the way to No. 2 Baker St., another pub that had a band playing live Scottish music. We found a table near the back of the pub, but it was so crowded that we ended up sharing with three other young people who happened to arrive with us. After introducing ourselves we came to discover that they were from Germany and this was just a stop on their tour of the UK. The music was quite loud, but it was interesting hearing the Germans' favorite parts of Scotland and their experiences on their travels so far.

Finally, leaving the boys to continue their chat with our German friends, my two female flatmates and I headed back home. Stirling is a very safe city at night, particularly in the summer. Although it was around 10:00 by this point, the sun was still up. Stirling is at a similar latitude to Southern Alaska, which essentially means the days are freakishly long in the summer -- the sun sets around 11 and then rises again at around 3 or so in the morning. It can really mess with your body clock, but overall it's quite convenient.

I hate to admit it, but our walk to the bus station included a stop at the local McDonald's for McFlurries. I decided that it was okay to interject this thoroughly American food into my night of Scottish culture, if only because "McDonald's" is clearly a Scottish name. I know...It's a stretch. But I'll take it.

And that concluded one of my busiest days around Stirling. I went to bed soon thereafter, because our bus to St. Andrews was set to leave at 8am the next day. My next entry will be about that lovely escapade.

My Habitat

As nice as it was to have a sort of theme for the last entry, I'm not sure I can cohesively sum up all of the information I want to share in this entry. Instead, I'm just going to break it into little sections with talking points under each…

The Campus:
Usually when I visit other college campuses, I'm struck with a large sense of gratitude for the beauty of Grove City's campus. And, actually, The University of Stirling is no exception. I should also mention that I'm completely struck by the beauty surrounding this campus as well. The wildlife, loch and hills surrounding and dispersed throughout campus are gorgeous. However, the buildings themselves leave something to be desired. The University was built in the 60s, and that is, unfortunately, quite evident. The one exception is, of course, Airthrey Castle. Thankfully, there is so much greenery around campus that half the time it completely obscures the view of any buildings. If you could transplant Grove City's beautiful gothic architecture onto this spot of land, you would have the most attractive campus in the world.

The Flat:
The main residence halls where I live were designed by a man who also designed prisons. I'm not making that up for effect. It's actually a fact. And if you saw them, you would believe me. My room itself is quite cozy, and despite the fact that they apparently don't believe in top sheets here and that the pillow is one inch thick, I'm pleased with my room overall. There's plenty of storage, including a large storage shelf above the bed that could easily fit a few average-sized adults. Additionally, this storage unit locks…from the inside. You're welcome to venture a guess for how that was meant to be used.

The kitchen is decently equipped, and the common room has a couple tables and chairs. One of my flatmates described it as "Spartan," and I suppose that's a fair assessment. I think we're going to start taping interesting pictures/maps from our adventures on the walls to spruce the place up a bit.

I will mention the shower briefly because I find it interesting. There is a knob to adjust the temperature of the water…and then there is a large button. When you press the button, the water comes on at the set temperature for about 12 seconds. Then it stops. So you press the button again. It's efficient, I guess, once you learn to time it well and not end up with soap in your eyes during one of the dry spells. I'm just glad that I wasn't the first to use it, because I probably would have spent hours trying to figure out how to keep the button pressed down.

The Food:
Thankfully there was a French press in our flat when we arrived. I would have had to buy a coffee maker if they hadn't provided one, I think. They also left a small amount of food to get us started. This food included instant coffee. Now, back in the States, instant coffee is a fairly obscure substance. In fact, I'm not sure I would have known it existed except that I've used it in baking. I was shocked when I went to the grocery store here and found the largest assortment of instant coffee known to man. There was honestly a five foot span of shelving devoted to that horrible powder (I can call it that because in a bout of desperation, I actually made myself a cup the first night). Then, next to the death zone, there were two short shelves with about 3 varieties of real coffee grounds. Interesting…and not in a good way.

I haven't tried much local food yet. Today I had a caesar salad for lunch at a restaurant whose outdoor seating provided a gorgeous view of Stirling Castle. I didn't think to ask for the dressing on the side, but apparently I should have. When the waiter set it down in front of me, I noticed a nice lattice of dressing almost completely obscuring the lettuce from view. I did my best to shovel it to the side, only to discover that they had also layered the dressing every three centimeters down. I'm not sure if it's a cultural thing or if that particular restaurant just had issues.

(I also haven't had any local whiskey or beer yet, for those of you interested in that)

The Language:
So far I haven't had too much trouble understanding anyone's accent. This is also due to the fact that I haven't really been around the locals since I just arrived a couple days ago. The most interaction I think I've had has been bus drivers and people working registers at shops/restaurants. One thing that has struck me the most is the use of the word "quite." It is used quite liberally to describe quite a lot of things. I've had quite a difficult time keeping myself from picking up the habit. But seriously, though, if you are going to use an adverb or adjective and you want to fit in, just throw "quite" right in front of it.

Another interesting thing I've learned is that it's considered rude to say "excuse me." Instead you should say "pardon." This has been a bit difficult to remember, and I tend to use "excuse me" quite a lot. I'm sure the people around here are somewhat used to it by now, but I'm doing my best to reform.

The Weather:
According to all the locals who've spoken to us, we've had unbelievably good weather here. It's much like I've expected. It's been mostly sunny every day except for yesterday when it rained for the better part of the afternoon and evening. The temperature is generally around 60 degrees, though it varies greatly from minute to minute.

This is just a brief overview of life here so far. I need to head over to the campus pharmacy now to see if they have Benadryl or an equivalent, because something in the air is driving my eyes crazy! I'll most likely be updating again very soon to tell some more in story format. Cheers! (<--they say that a lot as well)

The Amazing Race

The following is an account of my experience up until I actually reached my home for the summer -- The University of Stirling. I will be updating again soon to talk more about my accommodations, induction (orientation), etc. For now, bear with me, because getting here was quite the adventure.

Looking back on the day, I'm convinced that I was a contestant on a new, candid version of the popular reality television show, The Amazing Race. For those of you who are unaware, this is the basic premise of the show: Teams compete in exciting challenges while racing around the world. The last team to reach each "pit stop" is eliminated from the race.

CURRENT LOCATION: Stow, Ohio, U.S.A.

CLUE 1: Travel by car to the Port Columbus International Airport in Columbus, Ohio. Once you arrive, you must -
1. Check your baggage
2. Make it through security
3. Be excessively paranoid that every person in the airport is secretly waiting for you to let your guard down so that they can assault you and steal all of your things.

This segment of the trip went by fairly quickly. My parents and Ben accompanied me to the airport, getting me there with plenty of time to accomplish my tasks. They even assisted me in checking my luggage. Fantastic.

After saying goodbye to my family, I proceeded on to task number 2 -- security. I got through this without a hitch as well. The poor bloke in front of me was not quite so fortunate. Or, perhaps I should say, not quite so prepared. He seemed to be laboring under the impression that he could carry two-liter bottles of shampoo and other liquids on board with him. Needless to say, he did not complete task number two and (I'd imagine) was subsequently eliminated from the race...

If I had to pick a task that I completed particularly well, it would have to be number three -- paranoia. I had barely slept the night before and didn't want to risk falling asleep, so I ordered a Venti Caramel Macchiato from the conveniently placed Starbucks. While drinking the coffee, I kept my backpack between my legs, and my computer, passport and boarding pass tightly trapped between my left arm and my lap. I stayed in this position for the remainder of the two hours that I waited, though my limbs began to get quite shaky after about 15 minutes. And, of course, I sat in a corner so that no one could sneak up on me. It worked.

Everything was going very well up to this point. The loud speaker announced that my plane was delayed 20 minutes, but I was not too worried. I had used up all of my worry eyeing the suspicious, middle-aged women across from me who were supposedly traveling to Cairo, but were dressed for Scottish weather.

CLUE 2: Travel by frighteningly small plane to JFK International Airport in New York City.

I didn't expect my connecting plane from Columbus to NYC to be some huge, luxurious 747 or anything, but I had hoped that it would be wider than a 15 passenger van. It was not. I'm not sure how they fit three seats and an aisle in each row, but they did. The luggage compartments above the seats were large enough to fit a few wallets and, perhaps, a small purse. They were certainly not large enough to fit my backpack, which had to be shoved by my feet, restricting my leg room. I can't decide what was more uncomfortable -- the fact that my legs were locked into one position, or that the boy sitting next to me looked like he was about to be sick for the entire flight.

I distracted myself by wondering things like: Why do they give everyone two minuscule bags of peanuts instead of one small bag? If they're going to pour the pop into plastic cups, why use cups that use up exactly 3/4 of a can of pop so that the waitress has to open a new can every time anyway? Why not 6 ounce cups?

This was sufficiently distracting, and before I knew it we began our descent to JFK. I looked at my boarding pass for the 50th time and assured myself that my plane to Edinburgh wasn't leaving for another 30 minutes, and would probably be somewhere close by. The pass said "Gate 26," and sure enough, when our plane finally came to a stop, I could see a large number 26 just a few hundred feet away. Perfect.

I was close to the front of the plane, and would have had a quick exit, except that an intelligent man heading to Tel Aviv had obviously bribed the flight attendant into announcing that his connecting plane was now boarding and he had to get off first. I felt sorry for him, and figured I had plenty of time. I was wrong.

When I finally got off the plane and into the terminal, I glanced at a flight board. It informed me of three things -- my plane was scheduled to leave at 7:55 (this I knew), my plane was actually going to leave at 7:50 (earlier than scheduled? Is that allowed?), at Gate 10.

DETOUR - Desk or Dash: A Detour is a choice between two tasks, each with its own pros and cons. Teams must successfully complete one of the tasks in order to receive their next clue.

1. DESK: Attempt to locate a Delta customer service desk where they will inform you about your flight options, possibly hold your plane for you or get you a later, more relaxed journey to Scotland. You will not overexert yourself, but you may arrive to Scotland as late as tomorrow for all you know.

2. DASH: Run as fast as you can down the terminal in search of Gate 10 in an attempt to make your original flight time. You may be running in vain, and you will look like a complete idiot.

Maybe it was my dislike of asking for help, or maybe it was my need to be optimistic about the proximity of the gates, or maybe I didn't want to spend too much time thinking, but I chose to dash. Conveniently, Gate 26 was the very last gate of the terminal so there was no question of which direction to run. With my 30 pound backpack slung precariously over my shoulder and my computer and passport clutched tightly in my hands, I began to sprint down the hall.

If you have ever seen the actual Amazing Race you can sort of imagine what I looked like. I wove through crowds, jumped over obstacles, jogged on the moving sidewalks, and probably ran over a few small children. I can't be sure...I was moving very fast. As I saw the gate numbers slowly getting smaller, I heard a voice over the loud speaker announcing my name, suggesting that I get to gate 10 immediately as my plane was about to leave without me. There wasn't much to do besides continue running at this point, although I did shout "Gate 10?!" to a man standing at a desk in front of a gate clearly labeled 18. I don't know what I was hoping he would do...maybe magically turn it into a different gate.

Well, it just so happens that all of my running paid off, because I got to the gate literally seconds before they were going to close it. I climbed onto the plane and collapsed into my seat. From there the trip was rather uneventful. 7 hours of flying and a few airplane meals later and I was in Edinburgh, Scotland.

CLUE 3: Once you collect your luggage and make it through customs, find the University of Stirling representative and proceed via bus to The University of Stirling, your Pit Stop for this leg of the race.

This part was easy in some sense and difficult in another. Essentially what happened is that I arrived with the first wave of students that day (in other words, I basically won the race), but the representative didn't show up for at least an hour. And once we found her, she informed us that we had to wait for two more flights. This brought the amount of time I sat in the Edinburgh Airport to at least 3 hours and the amount of sleep I had in the past 30 hours to 20 minutes.

After a beautiful bus ride through the Scottish countryside, I arrived at the Pit Stop around noon on Saturday. I was exhausted, but more importantly, thrilled to finally be in bonny Scotland.