stirlingscribe

View of the Stirling Horizon

“Do I taste like Tequila?”

“You taste like a Woman.”

These were some of the last words I heard uttered on American soil. They were delivered by a Rhinestone-enthusiastic couple who had just given each other the sloppiest kiss approximately one foot away from me, moments before I boarded my flight from Dallas to London.

I took it as a final sign I was making the right choice by getting on that plane.

This weekend, I discovered that the majority of international travel feels like constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. In full honesty, the journey from Sioux Falls to Stirling went entirely too well. Not a single flight delay or strange airplane companion in sight. By the time I was seated in the aisle next to a woman smaller than me on my 10-hour flight, I was just waiting for the news that my luggage had arrived in the wrong country.

But it didn’t, and all of a sudden I was outside of the Glasgow airport, luggage in my hands, waiting for a Taxi to pick me up and drive me to Stirling. There were no more obstacles to jump over–just the incredibly fresh Scottish air, and five months of adventure ahead of me. To be honest, it was terrifying.

Thankfully, I had an incredibly kind Taxi driver. Giovanni had probably the strongest Scottish accent I’ve heard to date, though I don’t yet have the ability to place exactly where it came from. In the UK, they have an estimated 40-50 different dialects, with around 6 of those coming from Scotland–a fact that astounds me, given the size of the country.

Goal Number 1: To have, by May, the ability to distinguish every Scottish dialect from the other and name where it comes from.

Giovanni, quite used to taking students from the airport to Stirling, was immediately friendly, and happy to answer any questions I had for him. For the first thirty minutes of the drive, we talked about the University, Scottish weather, and the differences between Edinburgh and Glasgow. Then, there was a brief moment of silence before Giovanni finally blurted out the question he had clearly been waiting to ask me the entire drive:

“So…what do you think of that Mr. Trump, then?”

There it was. I gave him my honest opinion.

Giovanni offered that, “while the French have contributed little worthwhile to society, they were on to something with the invention of the Guillotine.”

I expect this type of inquiry to be one I answer to frequently, so I’ll do my best to represent America with the most appropriate amount of criticism, regret, and optimism that I can.

After arriving in Stirling, there was a whirlwind of orientation, meeting fellow study-abroad students, and a lot of presentations about how to not make a fool of myself in a brand new country. These things, paired with some intense Jet-lag, made for quite the overwhelming first day-and-a-half. However, even in thick of this, it was abundantly clear that any fear, apprehension, or exhaustion I might be feeling would be worth it.

On Sunday morning, the day after I arrived, I forced myself out of bed at 8am to take a walk, by myself, into town for a coffee. In Scotland, the darkness of January rivals South Dakota, and the sun didn’t fully rise until about 30 minutes into my walk. The town was just as slow-moving on a Sunday morning, and I only spotted a few others on my journey. It was a stunning walk, with all sorts of unfamiliar birds chirping the entire way. While the architecture and scenery couldn’t have been more different, there was a peacefulness and safety to the town that felt inexplicably Midwestern. So far, simply walking around the cityscape, experiencing a sense of tangible, physical history so unfamiliar to an American has been the highlight of every day.

At the University, these past few days have been a series of orientation events that have thrown me, violently, back to my first few weeks at Augie. The overwhelming feeling of being a Freshman, clueless, unfamiliar, frightened, and asking humiliating questions like: Is it okay if I sit with you? What dorm are you staying in? Remind me of your name?, or, I’m sorry, could you point me in the direction of the Humanities building?

As a weathered, wise Senior, this is not a feeling I ever expected, nor wanted to feel again, and honestly, it’s thrown me off more than any jet-lag or unfamiliar accents. I was feeling rather like a fish out of water, so I did what I tend to always do and sought refuge in the theatre.

I wasn’t planning on participating in any theatre activities while abroad, but I saw a flier for the Stirling University Drama Society (SUDS, as they call themselves) and gave in immediately.

It turns out, theatre people are unchanging as the sea–just the same, no matter the country or distance. And, apparently, a long evening of ridiculous improv games and tips on snagging cheap tickets for the National Theatre was exactly the sense of familiarity I needed to pull myself back out of the Freshman heebie jeebies. (Though, it did, just a little bit, make me miss my Augie theatre family at home).

While I certainly have grand plans to explore the highlands, brave the cities, and adventure as a courageous, independent woman, it’s nice to know there will always be places to rest and feel at home, even thousands of miles away. A healthy dose of fear and familiarity.

In the next weeks, I’ll be starting my classes, venturing into Glasgow, and taking a trip to the fishing villages near St. Andrews–all adventures I’m excited to share with you soon!

Thanks for following along!

Suki