Jaunts

Wednesday already! The week's fulcrum - a time to recollect and look ahead.

Last Saturday I went to the "Scotch Whisky Experience" in Edinburgh, which boasts the world's largest collection of whiskies. I believe it. After going on an informative ride through a model whisky-distillery (seated in a big whisky barrel on a track!), myself and a friend got to learn about the four kinds of scotch whisky and then taste one. I was skeptical to begin with but at the end I was confident I could taste differences and distinguish region from region.

We invested in a bottle of single malt after fifteen minutes of careful comparisons in the whisky shop, only to later find out that we had bought the wrong kind...but still, it was whisky, so we were happy with what we got.

After the whisky tasting we parted ways and I began to walk home when something caught my eye. It was down an alleyway, over which a plaque was affixed stating: Herevpon lieth the howse of Robert Burns in Year XCVCXCI (<---made up number) and somesvch business, &c &c. So I was intrigued. I turned down the alleyway (they call them 'closes' here) and after a few steps emerged into a courtyard, with a building to my front bearing a black sign proclaiming it to be the Writers Museum of Edinburgh. Pretty cool, thought I.

So I went inside for a look around. Not a huge place, but the admission was free, and they had some nice collections of things from Robert Louis Stevenson, Walter Scott, and Robert Burns. I spent the most time pouring over the Stevenson exhibit - probably twenty minutes. The only annoying thing was a voice recording they had on repeat, which read out part of a chapter from Treasure Island. But the recording was only four or five minutes long, so as I was trying to enjoy the exhibit this creepy voice kept repeating, "pieces of eigggggght, pieces of eigggggght!!" over my shoulder. Quite unsettling.

From there I embarked homewards and took a nap before dinner. I got the real scotch whisky experience that night and it involved less careful connoisseurship than it did carefree carousal.

It's nice going to school in a capital city. This morning the tutorial for my art history class actually met in the National Gallery of Scotland to look at the real Hans Holbein Allergory of the Old and New Testaments in person instead of from a projector screen, along with some other works from the early Renaissance. I'm a fan of those Northern artists, myself. Go to Italy and it's all half-naked Marys holding swaddled saviors with angels and trumpets and garlands (not to say they didn't get painted in the North, too). But give me a good Vermeer or Rembrandt painting some somber looking fellows holding kitchen utensils or something. More relatable, anyway.

So after class I wandered around for half an hour and found myself in France staring at some Degas ballerinas, some Van Gogh olive trees, &c. All the museum guards wear dark blue sweaters and green/blue/yellow tartan trousers as their uniforms. Pretty legit. Won't mess with a guy in checkered dress pants.

I had an hour until my next, final, and only lecture of the day (on Oscar Wilde) and so decided to just walk around outside the museum for a bit. While I was sitting on a bench these two guys appeared out of the air in kilts with bagpipes and starting playing. No, I'm serious - it's like those guys you see in New York subway stations playing 3/5 of a drum set or a guitar missing a string, except with culture and polish. So that was pleasant. I've actually grown accustomed to the cranky crooning of the bagpipes. You hear them more often than not just walking around the city, sometimes from blocks away.

So to the left is the piper I tapped my foot to for a bit. When I walked away without throwing a coin into his case he kind of sneered at me, but I only had bills, and no one can expect you to give a bagpiper five pounds! Actually, I've been finding the whole no-one-dollar(pound)-bill thing a real conundrum here. I understand that one can't expect the UK to abandon all their time-cherished traditions and cultural habits in the face of US ones, but the dollar bill is just so easy. It fits in your wallet properly instead of filling it up with thick, heavy coins; it is a small enough denomination to give to street-performers or street-borne unfortunates, &c. I usually empty out all of my coins every day and put them in a jar, so the lowest denomination I carry is a 'fiver.' Sorry, Mr. Bagpipes, no tip for you today.

On a side note, I've been told that the UK one pound note exists, but that it is for some reason considered obscure and obsolete - like our two dollar bill. I can see why the two dollar bill is silly, but the one pound note? Hrm...

Looking ahead, I'm going to North Berwick this weekend with my pals Pete, Karrin, and Taylor. It's nothing special to Scots, I imagine, but for outdoorsy US visitors I'm sure its hills, shoreline, ruined castle, and fresh mussels will do us well. Just an hour outside of the city and very pretty, apparently.

To the right are my Scots of the Week, Calum (creepin') and Iain (sleepin'). Calum's from Glasgow, studying Physical Education, and wants to eventually come to teach in the States. He's recently become addicted to the show 'Californiacation.' Iain is a hard working Edinburgher (Edinburghite/burghian?) with a mind for economics/maths and cooking. They're my flatmates, mentioned in an earlier post, and 'quality lads' both.