Koln: A Cathedral, Kolsch, and the Rhein

From Deutschland I return - soon to be off for England, France, and Italia.

The five days, five nights I spent in Germany took me from the medieval byways of Edinburgh into the 20th century plazas, boulevards, and town squares of Koln (Cologne) and back - and what a trip it was. I am reluctant to fit it all into a single post, but I may as well try.

First, some historio-geographical notes. Koln is Germany's 4th largest city, with a population just shy of one million. Located in the Northwest, its dialect apparently differs greatly from Germany's more southern and eastern regions (though of course I could not tell). During WWII the city was heavily bombed by the RAF, and most of its older, medieval structures were completely leveled. A tragedy for sure, still it gave Koln the opportunity to rebuild and reorganize itself into a more modern city. Compared to Edinburgh, its streets were quite wide, allowing for several lanes of cars to drive on main streets in both directions, as well accommodating for a network of trolley/tram systems which made travel around the city simple.

Also, in an extremely important note: civilization has reached Germany in the form of Dunkin Donuts. Its presence in Koln raised my opinion of it inestimably. Tears were shed upon my first sight of the purple and orange sign jutting out from a shopping center.

But what did I do there, for five days, on my own?

I arrived around 9pm Wednesday night, the 16th March. I got a taxi to my hotel after taking a train from the airport, which was a necessarily evil, it being dark. Only 'evil' because once I got to know the city I realized that I had paid 8 euro for a cab journey that would have taken me fifteen minutes to walk. The hostel was much nicer than I had expected. I stayed in a mixed 6-person room, but there was only one other guy there when I arrived. He holds the key to the second of two 'small world' experiences I was about to undergo. But that's for a bit later.

First came a wave of what I imagine falls under the name 'culture shock.' After stowing my goods in a locker and making my bed, I took to the streets, and instantly felt immensely dwarfed by the omnipresence of the German language around me. English - my English, the language in which I speak, write, and, most importantly, think - held no currency in this land. My articulate speech was thus rendered valueless; the swift strokes of my pencil likewise pathetic in their being foreign. I have never felt 'foreign' as I did in those first few minutes of walking through Koln's streets - I may not be from the UK, but a kind of retroactive feeling of kinship with the British kicked in once I found myself plunged into a pool of speech and writing that I could not decipher.

Fear not, however: I acclimated swiftly. Three out of four Germans usually spoke enough English to give me directions or conduct transactions, and I picked up an extremely limited vocabulary there as well (greetings, numbers, some foods, and common phrases). I also learned the word for 'push' - drucken - because it was on all the doors; likewise, I never internalized the word for 'pull,' because I just knew to pull if there was some other word than 'drucken' on the door. It also helped that, in my experience, the Germans of Koln were exceptionally friendly, always willing to give advice or else to speak about their culture.

After slinking around that first night, I returned to the hostel and ordered a beer - specifically a 'kolsch,' a beer specific to Koln - at the bar in the lounge downstairs. I figured that I was bound to meet someone if I sat there for more than five minutes with a beer in my hand, and, sure enogh, I was soon speaking with a woman from France, a younger guy from Arizona, and a sheepish man from outside of London who looked about thirty. We talked through a number of unmemorable topics when a fourth man entered the bar's lounge and took a seat with us. I sized him up, as I was beginning to do automatically with new folk I encountered: male in mid-thirties, african-american, Yankees hat on, amiable-looking, probably American. And American he was.

Raised in Kennilworth, New Jersey, Wayne (his name, I learned) and I had things to speak about in common, myself from the same region of northern Jersey. As usually happens, I was asked what town I live in, and responded with, "Ahh, you've probably never heard of it, it's a real small town next to Paramus and Ridgewood, about twenty minutes from the city." He replied with, "O, you mean Glen Rock?" I was impressed - but after all, he was raised not far from GR. I pressed on, "Yes, Glen Rock, it's a nice place." He returned with, "I know, I lived there when I was eighteen, I lived on Hamilton Avenue." WHAT? Readers, for those of you who have never visited sweet Glen Rock, I'll have you know that I walked or drove down Hamilton Avenue 180 days a year from the 6th grade up until the 12th - right past this man's old residence. The odds are impossible. Glen Rock is 2.7 square miles - a particle in a drop in the bucket of America's vast and various landscape - and I was in Koln, Germany, speaking to one of the proud and few people on Earth who have had the privilege of living there.

Briefly, I'll tell Wayne's story. After Glen Rock he got certification to teach ESL, but was down on his luck and could not secure a job. Instead: moves to Thailand (what any respectable teacher facing denial would do). Meets a German girl there from Hamburg whom he ends up dating for several years. Eventually moves back to the States, to become a full-time poker player in Las Vegas (apparently he is very good). Why was he in Koln at the same time as me? Apparently his Hamburg sweetheart had left him, severing all ties, and here he was, some months later, come all the way to Germany - to win her back! Yet he had tried, gone to Hamburg, and met only the cold shoulder of heartache. His plans for the future: move back to Thailand - apparently his favorite place to go when met with defeat.

My second chance meeting came when I began speaking to the other guy staying in my room at the hostel. His name was Roger, and he turned out to be from Glasgow. We began talking, and it turns out his father is an MSP - Member of Scottish Parliament - and works about half a mile away from me in Edinburgh. More interestingly, my friend who interns at the parliament actually knows Roger's father. And there we were, in Koln.

Thursday I resolved to peruse Koln's tourist attractions. This mainly meant, for me, the Dom, the massive cathedral near the Rhein, and the Wallraf-Richartz Museum of Art.

The Dom is mind bogglingly large. A colossus of Gothic architecture, it stands as the world's fourth-largest cathedral. The eye may not view it all at once: it must wander about it, seeking out the gradations of shadow bringing to view its massive sculptures, buttresses, spires, steeples, and towers - otherwise all is indistinct greyness. The detail involved in the cathedral's construction is baffling as well. Every cornice, wall, arch, crenellation, and column bears some sort of sculptor's touch; a statue, a flower, a wreath, &c. Begun in 1246, it took hundreds of years to complete, and undergoes constant renovation, restoration, and repair.

Notable for its two large towers in front, but also its seven-part, rounded end - wherein lies the Altarpiece of the Three Kings, and, allegedly, the bones of the three kings who gave gifts to Jesus upon his birth - the cathedral is astounding from tower down to terra firma. Its inside is cavernous, and quite imposing. Great columns stretch from floor to ceiling, the rotundity of which it would take three men to circumscribe, holding up tons of stone far above the pews and altars which rest below. Priests in scarlet robes patrol its byways, accepting donations and overseeing the affairs of tourism. I was able to ascend the southernmost tower to its top, past the belfry and up hundreds of stairs, where I could look out on all of Koln.

That afternoon I perused the Wallraf-Richartz Museum, where I was able to appreciate the paintings of my all-time favorite painter, the German Romantic, David Caspar Friedrich. On display were - regrettably - only three of his works, but they were wonderful. I particularly enjoyed "Mist on the Riverbank,' and bought a post-card sized copy of it in the shop afterwards. I also got the chance to view the first-ever exhibition of Alexander Cabanel's artwork. After one hundred and fifty years, this is the first true display of his works and life. Such is the fate of many artists.

That night - for St. Patty's Day - I embarked to every Irish pub I could find, and had a jolly good time.

Friday I rented a bike and made my way through the countryside along the scenic Rhein to a town called Bonn. I did not actually make it to Bonn, as I was initially told it would only take me about an hour of biking. The riverside was quite nice and scenic, and the day was nice enough. That is, until I emerged into a hellish haze of industrial pandemonium; those landscapes of pipes, towers, smokestacks, and power cables that serve as the rude and unsightly cogs of our civilization - the likes of which no alpine nor hedgerow can hide. Smoke billowed from endless rows of stacks; cables and pipes mazed their way past the and alongside the roads, and suddenly everything was significantly less picturesque. After one and a half hours I turned around and caught a train back to the riverside on the outskirts of Koln, and toured the Lindt chocolate factory and museum. My friends, I tell you: I saw more chocolate, and in more forms, that any man should ever encounter such. Toffees, truffles, sticks, rolls, rounds, malts, candies - I saw it all, and saw them made. Too much! All too much! In any case, I had my fill and then sat at their cafe, where I enjoyed a 'drinking chocolate' mixed with tequila, white rum, tabasco, and chili flakes: The Montezuma.

That night I purchased a ticket to the the Koln Philharmonie and saw Beethoven's 9th Symphony performed. It was wonderful, and certainly relaxed me after my long day of riding, but I lament my tired state. I may have enjoyed it more fully had I been more full of energy.

Saturday I awoke naturally at 8am to a sixty degree day. Blue skies, puffy clouds - I was outside walking around by 8:15. After my two rather touristy days of movement and activity, I decided it was most certainly time to simply grab a good book and sit by the river. I also brought a few pint-bottles of German Weisbeir (wheatbeer, think Blue Moon) along. Sitting in the sun by the Rhein, drinking good German beer out of a wee kolsch glass, reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra, there was nothing else in the world I could have needed. That Nietzsche had some interesting ideas - only about 50% of which I can actually understand - not the least his declaration: "You want to wear no clothes in front of your friend? It should be your friend's honor that your present yourself to him as you are." That's deep, Nietzsche, very deep.

So Saturday was mostly relaxation alongside the Rhein, watching the couples pass by, hearing German float by me as smoothly as the river within its banks, the meaning of both as inscrutable as could be.

Sunday and Monday I slept in and wandered around the city, once finding a massive park by a lake in the middle of town, by the university, reading and writing the day through. I cannot say I ever got lonely on my trip. I am like that - travel with companions is only advisable when the companions are completely suited to you. Truthfully, I've only known a handful of people I've been able to travel with and still have the time of my life. To travel alone, for a certain kind of person, is a higher pleasure than to travel accompanied. The city was, indeed, mine to do with whatever I pleased; mine to wander around, to drink beside, to stop and consider at my own leisure.

Looking ahead, I must prepare for my longer excursion into the Continent, which shall commence this Friday the 25th March. Within six days I will have stood beside three of Europe's most important rivers: The Rhein, the Thames, and the Seine. Until now, even with a tiny nook of Germany uncovered to me, the Continent, which has, in the words of Conrad's Marlow, "been one of the dark places of earth," shall cease to be for me; cease to be "a white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over," and become a living, existing swath of activity and culture, of language, and of experience. To London! To Paris! The wine-ripe fields of Bordeaux! The sea-lined channels of Venice! To Rome, that metropolis of antiquity and storehouse of exalted culture! To the towers of Bologna!

To Europe! I go!

William Wallace & Stirling

Hey folks.

Went to Stirling yesterday on the 10am train. Was there by 11am. I'm not sure if I kinda have a cold or am just recovering from last week, but I felt a little under the weather all day - nothing serious, just a bit fuzzy. The weather was nice enough when I arrived: 'Simpsons' clouds, blue sky, not too chilly. I remember thinking that if it could have been five degrees warmer it would have been perfect. Regardless, the town itself seemed nice enough, but I decided to cross the river Forth and head towards this large hill that had a huge stone tower on it, thinking it must have been a monument of some kind.

Along my way I passed a massive stone building that looked quite old. Upon inspection I learned it was Cambuskenneth Abbey, commissioned by the Lord of Stirling in 1140 and home to Augustinian monks. Only that central tower I had seen still remains, but low, ruined stone walls mark where the massive dormitories and meeting halls once stood crisscrossed the grassy landscape beyond. I could not pass the gates, the site closed until April, but on the other hand I could pretty much see everything from the gate. One interesting thing to note, however, was the carefully preserved tomb of King James III of Scotland, who fell in battle against his own son King James IV. So there was a king, his tomb fenced off in the middle of a field, the massive walls and roofs which had once encircled him turned to rubble, and only a vagabond youth from Massachusetts to bear witness to his having lived at all.

Turns out the large hilltop tower was the Wallace Monument, built in 1869 to commemorate Scotland's national hero, as well as the sentiments of freedom and liberty in general. I'm fairly certain I took an incredibly circuitous route to get to the actual monument, ending up on the other side of the massive cliffs upon which it stands. Still, it was a nice midday walk and I was in no hurry. The monument itself is an enormous tower with 246 steps that lead one past several open galleries. The monument was originally to be a massive stone lion crushing a serpent-man representing the victory of Scotland over England at Stirling, but critics called it too controversial, and added that although the Scots won at Stirling, that victory was short lived - the disastrous Battle of Falkirk occurring a year later.

So instead they built a massive tower and built a huge statue of Wallace on it. I have to say that aside from being in a nice park on top of the cliffs (called the Abbey Craig), with an amazing view from the top, the contents of the monument itself were disappointing. One gallery possessed some placards detailing Wallace's life and the Battle of Stirling, another the busts of Scottish greats such as Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Carlyle, and a third that I can't properly recall. The top of the tower was nice and open, where I could see out in all directions pretty far over the scenic plains and into the hills hills. It was cool to see the original William Wallace sword, which was about as tall as I am, wielded by the big guy himself in battle. It was a bit like seeing the Scottish crown jewels, knowing you were really close to a 'piece of history.'

After the monument and walking around the park - where signs promised year-round deer sightings, which never occurred - I down the large hill and into town. By now I was starving and it was getting overcast. In search of a nice cafe at which to acquire say, a bowl of soup along with a sandwich, I was surprised to find only cheap grab-and-go places, a subway, and a bunch of pubs who told me their kitchens had "just closed." Funny closing time, considering it was 2:38pm on a Monday. So I marched on until I found a place tat looked like it served real food, where I could also seat while eating, and enjoyed some fish and chips. They asked me if I'd like a beer or a cocktail, but I recalled my pledge to not drink til inside of German borders, and declined.

After my time eating I began a walk to the castle, but popped into a few shops on my way. Did not buy anything, but did have an interesting conversation with a girl at one of the registers about British daylight savings time. Unlike those in the States, that turned their clocks ahead last week (making the time gap only 4 hours between the US and the UK), the British Isles do not turn their clocks ahead for a few weeks from now, apparently.

I arrived at Stirling Castle at around 4pm, but was told there was no point in me paying for a ticket to go in, because it closed at 5pm and I wouldn't have enough time to really get my nine-pounds' worth. Dejected, I walked around until I saw a massive statue of a bearded man in the center of a graveyard. It turned out that it was John Knox's grave, which was interesting. He founded Presbyterianism, no big deal. So that was the second famous dead guy I'd seen that day.

Beside the graveyard was a ruined stone townhouse built by the governor of Stirling during the Renaissance. It was not finished before his death and fell into disrepair thereafter. Whereas its plaque described it as a 'magnificent display of renaissance luxury and craftsmanship,' all that now remains are dripping chambers, the roofs caved in, the sky looking down upon the jagged walls and its incomplete framework. Very Ozymandias.

This townhouse sat beside a fairly large church, called The Church of the Holy Rude. No, it was not named after an obstreperous clergyman - 'rude' is an alternate spelling of 'rood,' which comes from the Old Dutch word for 'rod,' and in religious term means 'cross.' It wasn't open except for Sunday mass, so I had a look around the exterior and headed for the train station. Apparently Mary, 'Queen of Scots' - not 'Bloody Mary,' she was Henry VIII's daughter - was crowned in this church. Would have been nice to have a poke inside.

Overall I would not call the day a let down by any means, but my other trips around the UK so far have all been better, relatively. I'm especially excited to get out of the UK altogether and see what Germany is like. It will be refreshing to be away from Edinburgh for a few days in a new country, and aside from seeing the sights and sampling the lagers, I plan on doing some leisure reading (The Essays of R.L. Stevenson) and continuing my writing.

On a side note, my flatmate Iain got me a very interesting birthday present, about which I am extremely excited. What could it be? Color contact lenses with Scottish Flags in them. I've never worn contacts before so I'll have to be careful about putting them on, but I'm pumped to be able to really see the world through Scottish eyes for once. They also sent him English ones too, by accident (just the red cross one, not the Union Jack), but coating my peepers in those might not earn me many pleasant looks in return here in Scotland.

I'll write again upon my return from Cologne (spelled Koln, in Germany). Auf wiedersehen!

Castle, Wombats, Snowy Volcano, and Turning 21 for an Entire Week

Wow. What a week it has been. Certainly feels like a turning point regarding my time here in the UK.

But I'll start at the beginning.

Monday I went up to Edinburgh Castle with a few friends to walk around and see the sights. The hill the castle sits upon has been home to settlers since before 1000 AD, and probably earlier. Before any thought of castles had come about, hunters and gatherers lived atop the large hill beside the Firth of Forth, overlooking the lush hills and valleys that would one day become the bustling capital of Scotland. The castle is far from being ruined, and acts as an active military base with its own garrison (though their presence goes unnoticed). The crown jewels are on display in the topmost tower of the castle, as well as the Stone of Destiny, upon which every king and queen of Scotland has sat at their coronation (I believe). The 'jewels,' actually called 'honors,' are composed of a lengthy sword adorned with a golden hilt in the shape of a thistle, an elegant crown that James the I/V had done over for his coronation, and the scepter with a large gem set into it. Quite interesting to think that I was amongst the stately riches once clutched by some of Europe's most influential monarchs. Fun fact: The honors were once hidden deep in the castle during a siege, remaining buried beneath a toilet for over a year, before they were removed in peacetime.

After seeing the castle I returned to my flat to have some drinks with Calum before going out later that night to see The Wombats perform at a venue in Edinburgh. They are an English alt-pop band, relatively well known in the UK, that had a few hits in the States about two or three years ago. The venue was pretty crowded but Calum, myself, and our two friends, Catrina and Naomi, were able to push our way up to the front for most of the show. They played pretty well and it was a good time out overall.

The security in front of the stage had passed out cups of water during the show in an attempt to resist dehydration in the crowd, but most of the time people just took a sip and chucked the cup over theirs shoulders. This resulted in myself, Calum, and Naomi getting certifiably drenched (although we were in danger of getting dehydrated, on the bright side). Calum and I walked back sans-shirt, and I quickly changed before going upstairs to our friends' flat.

The reason for our visit upstairs was the twenty-first birthday of our friend Kyle Duncan (right). Kyle goes to Bowdoin and is visiting for a semester, like myself, though not with my specific program. He has Scottish roots, and so it is only fitting that his twenty-first be celebrated in his native country. After some drinks upstairs we headed out to a bar, and then a club. This night is important in relation to the rest of the week, structurally, marking the first night of being out drinking, at a club.

Tuesday was spent in classes and in my flat that night. Despite suggestions from friends about going out to crawl through some pubs, I decided to sit down at my computer to write an essay. I sat down at 7:30pm and rose from my chair two and a half hours later, the essay complete (still need to revise, however). This writing is crucial, however, because it marks the final academic assignment I have to turn in for a grade until I receive my final exam question via email on April 25th. This means that I am completely finished with Art History, besides lectures and one more tutorial, and only have to write one 2,500 words essay for my ScotLit class and take one two-hour exam on May 11th for my third-years honors English seminar. So from here until April 25th I have no more assignments to turn in or tests to take.

That's about as much purely intellectual work as I've accomplished in the past seven days. Wednesday was a trip for my Art History class to the National Gallery again, followed by a lecture in Scottish literature, and then a night out with two friends to a club.

Thursday was a tutorial about Virginia Woolf, followed by a night out at the pubs with my friends to celebrate the stroke of midnight, upon which we drank to my turning twenty-one.

Of Thursday I shall relate two stories: one of minute probabilities and one of sheep.

Firstly, my friend Karrin was walking down a street in Edniburgh when a couple stopped her and asked of she might take a photo of the two of them. She said she would, and watched the couple position themselves for the picture accordingly. Karring gets ready to snap of a few shots when she cocks her head to the side and takes a closer look at the two travelers whose camera she is holding. To her amazement, they are two graduates from Wake Forest, where she is a student herself, and the lady of the couple had worked with her during Karrin's freshman year. What are the chances?

Secondly, this couple met up with us during my birthday drinks. The guy, Chris, studies dentistry post-grad at Penn, and his girlfriend and he were in the UK visiting someone at school in London. After 12 we ended up at an Irish pub decorated with football jerseys and a massive map of Ireland, and I was debating the appropriateness of ordering an irish car bomb there. Regardless, as I was entering the bathroom later on, Chris was just leaving it, and with a look of glee on his face informed me that the questionable vending machine inside (like those found dispensing contraceptives and gum in many bathrooms) was selling 'Fun Inflatable Sheep,' and that it sounded like a great birthday present. So we pooled our funds to buy it, but apparently it was out of stock.

Apparently 'fun' inflatable sheep are in high demand these days. What is our next thought? "Well, there must be a similar machine in the ladies' room!" No - we didn't just barge in. We had Karrin and the other ladies take our money and try to buy the sheep from the women's bathroom, but then it ate our money! Enraged at the level of difficulty we were faced with for the attempted acquisition of a blow-up sheep (and deeply intrigued at what such a thing could look like), we had Karrin tell us if the coast was clear inside. It was, being a Thursday at about 2am, so dentist-Chris and I popped inside to check out the machine. It had turned off, apparently, destroying our sheepy-dreams, but after a minute of trying to assess the situation a tall man in a black t-shirt explodes into the room and grabs me by the arm, dragging me out into the hallway.

"You're outta here sicko!" he tells me, gripping my shoulder and shoving me towards the stairs. Now, you readers must understand my predicament: To this bouncer, it clearly appeared that some drunk young American was creeping around the women's bathroom at a pub. What was I supposed to say - "No, please sir, me and the Dentist were just trying to buy an inflatable farm animal from a vending machine in a women's bathroom!!" Yeah, well, that's what I ended up yelling, and, as you can imagine, it didn't convince him of my innocence, or sanity. So I was forced upstairs, where I was left unattended for a moment by the bouncer. I used this moment to talk to the bartender - with whom I'd spoken earlier - and tried to explain myself. For all I said, the barman looked relatively perplexed, and he was about to respond when the big man returned to thrust me into the street. I pleaded for a moment to grab my coat, but the bouncer replied that he was going to steal my coat and burn it. 'A little strange,' I thought. I was nearly out the door, mind racing, in total disbelief that I was about to be tossed from a pub for trying to purchase a blow-up sheep, when the bouncer totally lost it and burst into laughter.

"I'm just f***ing with you man," he said, "I don't even work here!"

WHAT. True story. So I went back over to my friends, baffled at the events of the last ten minutes, had another drink or two, and walked home afterwards. What a birthday.

Friday my friends Karrin, Taylor, and Karrin's flatmates threw me a little party in their flat. Cake consumed alongside gin and tonics, card games played, Ke$ha blasted. That night went out to another club (are you picking up on the theme of my week?). It was a good time and it felt nice to know I've made friends close enough to me to want to throw a party for my birthday. Thanks guys! The party was going to be mardi gras themed, but I asked if it could be whale themed. Why? They're just great animals, that's why.

Saturday I realized that I absolutely had to do something that could in some way be described as physical exercise involving contact with fresh air. I rang up my friend Pete and together he, myself, and our friend Sarah began a trek up Arthur's Seat. Sarah peeled off before we really began to go up the higher parts of the post-volcanic hillsides, but Pete and I continued on. I'd been up the peak before, but what made this day interesting was the fact that about and inch or two of snow had fallen over the city and the hillsides the night before, changing the scenery completely. From atop the large hill we could see, at points, the entire city, blanketed in a veil of white, and the next moment have it all hidden from our view by a mass of cloud and fog. For periods of time it seemed like there was no one else on the planet, for all we could see. Indeed, it felt like we had gone back in time.

Saturday night marked the final of carousing for this week, taking me from a little gathering in my flat with some friends upstairs to a bar, and then out to......a club! Saw some kickboxers there and had a great time dancing the night away, but have to say I was jubilant when my head finally lay against my pillow in Darroch Court. I slept until 3pm today, went online, researched foods rich in vitamins and nutrients, and promptly procured the lot of them from the grocery store. The rest of my day has been spent in consumption of these protein-rich, vitamin-rich, cleansing, rejuvenating fruits, vegetables, smoothies, and meats. Tonight it's early to bed for me, and I can't bring myself to the thought of even looking at a beer until, at least, Wednesday.

This is primarily because on Wednesday I'm gong to Cologne, Germany! And you can;t go there and not enjoy the lager. That's be as crazy as going to an Omaha steakhouse and inquiring about their vegetarian options. My flight leaves at night and I'll be gone until Monday the 21st. I may meet up with some friends of a friend there, but for the most part I'll be on my own.

Hope all is well in the States.

My Life in Review

Hello all. My twenty-first birthday approaches, and I'm proud to say that on Friday, March 11th, 2011, I will pass from what is generally considered childhood or adolescence into what may be, theoretically, labelled 'adulthood.' I can't imagine I'll feel much different physically or mentally, but as year twenty-one seems to be such a relevant milestone in the life of a human being, I figured it would do to look back over what may turn out to be the first quarter of my life (fingers crossed!). So, with hopefully only the slightest taint of narcissism, I embark on a journey to paint the picture of a life examined.

Most of the people who happen to read this will already be relatively familiar with my history, but for the sake of this exercise, I may as well present a brief outline of my years and milestone experiences for posterity.

Thus, my highlights include:

Born March 11th, 1990 in Worcester, Massachusetts, the son of Bobby and Nancy Brown, I was ushered into the realm of the living from the abyss of pre-life, that place of conditions unknown. Variously moved around between towns in New England up until the time I was eight, I lived first with my mother, and then with my father after her passing. In the second grade on career day I filled in "My name is Kevin Brown and I live in Warwick, Rhode Island. When I grow up I want to be a Second Grade Teacher." This moment stands out to me for two reasons, the first being that it is my earliest recollection of wanting to teach, and the second being that what the hell kind of messed-up second grader wants to be a school teacher? What happened to Astronaut, Kev? Football player? Superhero? Nope - not for you, apparently, even at seven years ld you were prepared to wear a sweater and talk about Wordsworth for a living.

I identify my move from New England to Glen Rock, New Jersey as one of the pivotal moments in my life thus far. Aside from my mother's passing, it has perhaps shaped the consequences of my life more than any other event I've encountered; and contrary to it, it signaled the entry into my life of not only a new mother - Barbara - but a whole new slew of family. My time in Glen Rock's bubble shaped me socially (it was hard moving around so often as a kid), intellectually (I was always a weirdo who 'liked school'), and ethically (my first job at Kilroy's Wonder Market taught me a lot). It was strange not having friends in GR that I had known since birth, as so many of my new friends had. Yet I feel like I did pretty well, and I account my extroverted personality not only to that of my father's but also my frequent moving around when I was younger.

I attribute my love of English literature to Barbara, who got me reading when I was about twelve or thirteen. Like a machine I devoured fantasy fiction novels about magic, elves, and battles by Terry Brooks and Raymond E. Feist until, one day, I read Frankenstein and started wanting to read what I referred to at the time (and still do) as 'Real Literature.' Not that I don't enjoy popular fiction, but I just don't see its place alongside Shakespeare. From there roughly developed my idea of becoming an English teacher.

My acceptance in F&M lead me irrevocably down the path which my father tread in 1965, and yet I'm quite sure my experience there has been nothing like his (it's co-ed now, for one thing). My time on the rowing team, as a writing tutor, and fraternity boy has given me multiple perspectives on college life which I somehow try to reconcile (not always possible).

Finally, I would say that even if I do not totally appreciate it now, my time in Europe for these five months will probably end up affecting greatly. Whereas on January 3rd I had only been in America (though rather well-traveled there) and Canada, I will have additionally been through Scotland, England, Germany, France, and Italy by May 30th, and possibly more. My poetry has certain developed during my time in the UK, as has my scope of interest in writers. The people I've met here have also affected me, and not just those from the UK. I've met a slew of Americans I'll be keeping in touch with as well, and I now feel much better connected along the East coast than when I left.

I'll leave out girlfriends and such in detail, but it's safe to say that just as my perceptions of writing, working, traveling, family, &c have changed, so have mine of women.

But where does that place me? Let's see.

For the sake of comparison I've picked four people, two living, two dead, to compare with my first twenty-one years: Bill Clinton, Prince William, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Jesus.

As far as parentage goes, Bill was the son of a salesman, William a Prince, Stevenson a lighthouse engineer, and Jesus, God (but raised by a carpenter). I'd say that being the son of two college professors puts me somewhere closer to Bill and Stevenson.

Academically, Bill studied foreign service at Georgetown, William art history and geography at St. Andrews, Stevenson engineering at Ediburgh, and Jesus never went to college, but did question the high priests when he was like nine, so he clearly knew his stuff. Having studied at Franklin and Marshall and Edinburgh, I'd say I fall with Stevenson again, falling only slightly below Prince William. Not sure if I was born with any divinely endowed knowledge so can't factor Jesus in here. Georgetown's ranked higher than F&M, but I did better on the SAT than Bill by 230 points.

Assessing my interests and involvements, both Stevenson and I share literary passions. He was also a traveler, first for fun and then for his health. Stevenson was first published at 23. I have never been included in any significant publication, but I do not want to marginalize the high school and college journals I've contributed to, either. Prince William began his studies as an Art History major, and I absolutely deplore it. Bill and I both ran for class president, only he lost. Jesus was involved in many leadership roles, and I was the treasurer of my fraternity last year, as well as student member of Glen Rock's Board of Education for two years. I'd say we share those interests. he should have looked into the fraternity thing, though - turning water into wine would have seriously cut costs.

Economically I'd say I rank more closely with Stevenson and Clinton as a youth. We can't all be sons of Gods and Kings.

Overall, I guess I'm doing pretty well in terms of Stevenson. I have a ways to go socio-economically in terms of Prince William, politically in terms of Clinton, and religiously in terms of Jesus (Am I Catholic or Jewish? It is possible to be both? Neither?) I'm happy with where I am. I'm killer at interviews, easy at making friends, and have stocked up enough self-confidence to wear both the mask of the Romantic poet and red-cup wielding frat boy.

I had to renew my passport before I came to Edinburgh. The next time I have to renew it is 2021 - ten years from now. It struck me when I received my new passport that those tens years - age 20 to 30 - usually hold the biggest events of most people's lives: college graduation, career acquisition and possibly more formal education, marriage, perhaps children. In 2021, when I'm filling out my passport renewal application, will I be Mr. Brown of the English department, on my way home to Mrs. Brown, perhaps to check my email in my house's study, where another degree hangs on the wall next to my F&M one?

When I'm forty-two, with this coming Friday marking out the fulcrum of my life, the world will be a completely different place.

Argyll Forest and Looking Ahead

It's crunch time. Not in an academic way, but rather in the sense that, whereas once my calendar was as blank as Locke's slate, I now see weeks of March, April, and May filling up with travel and visits.

I have to go to the library soon to print two essays which I'll be handing in tomorrow. The only other assignment I have until finals in May is a 2,000 word essay for Art History, which I plan to write this week. With this in mind over the past month, I have constructed a fairly exciting and spontaneous series of trips (the largest of which is my Easter Break, which I detailed in an earlier entry).

Yet, before I divulge the shape of my travels to come, I must reflect on the last forty-eight hours or so. Friday at 2pm I struck out from Edinburgh with other students in my exchange program (collected from other colleges all over the States) to the Argyll Forest. The trip was a few hours, during which we passed through Glasgow briefly. I only caught glimpses but it looked very different - more modern, more industrial - from the Burgh. We put the massive bus on a ferry and crossed a loch, and soon we were finding our rooms inside of a hostel that had once been a medieval castle turned Victorian manor up until the 1920s. The spot was relatively isolated (though apparently actor Emma Thompson lived just twenty minutes away), and home to a massive botanical garden.

Pops, you would have had a field day: over 1,500 species of rhododendron with roughly another 1,500 subspecies, what I can only imagine to be one of the most extensive collection of rhodies in the world. Most were not yet in bloom, but their sheer size (massive - pictured Right) and quantity, mixed amongst various evergreens, &c was staggering. The landscape itself reminded me considerably of Colorado, with its low valleys and high, often snow-capped peaks. The only difference is that the surrounding land formations were by no means mountains, merely tall hills, made to seem taller by the surrounding lakes and deep valleys. Regardless, the landscape was a serene and picturesque change of pace from the vital thrum of Edinburgh's city streets.

Friday night included a 'night line,' in which myself and five others embarked into the pitch-black wilderness, relatively unequipped aside from tall rubber boots, instructed to find our way through the void only through the direction of a thin rope strung between some trees. In the daylight the task would be absurd, as you could simply see where you were going, yet the smothering dimness of the countryside's star-pocked night made romping through the trees a struggle. Pitfalls into streams, invisible branches, logs, and brambles meant staying in touch with your group and treading with care.

The next morning we arose early and were split into groups. I desperately wanted to kayak or canoe, but was still satisfied with hiking and mountain biking as my activities for the day. The morning's hike led us through Puck's Glen - named after Shakespeare's mischievous satyr - and down through commercial pinelands grown up over thirty years only to be cut down and grown back up again. Most of the landscape we trekked through is actually classifiable as 'rainforest,' which was interesting to encounter in Scotland - not that I'm surprised there's a lot of rain here. Our guide, Joe, had been working with the wilderness program for eight years, ever since he moved up from Oxford, where he'd been a consultant to Tesco (a massive food-distribution corporation) for most of his life. One day he decided that wearing a tie every day just wasn't worth it in return for two-weeks' vacation every year, and now spends his time leading hikes and kayaking five days a week, approaching fifty years old.

In the afternoon Joe also led our group on mountain bikes through the hills and woods - sometimes literally through the woods, where there was no trail (but lots of mud!). Thoroughly knackered after our active day we retired to our lodgings, showered up, and changed clothes (I had gone mountain biking in jeans and a v-neck sweater....clearly prepared for extreme sports), then proceeded to dinner.

That night held a showing of Braveheart, which, I must say, I actually read into differently after understanding the culture here for two months. I stayed until Gibson's speech at the Battle of Stirling ("They may take our lives, but they may never take our freedom, &c...") and sat down to write for a while, where I met some interesting people studying at St. Andrews, and plan to meet up with in the future.

The ride back today took us past Loch Lomond - we only had fifteen minutes to wander around/take photos, but it's a thoroughly beautiful spot.

That said, it was a wonderful weekend as much about getting outdoors and having a refreshing break from city life as much as it was about seeing the country. As an added treat, I was amongst four other fummers, all studying in Scotland - variously in Glasgow, St. Andrews, &c.

Looking ahead, I have quite the month or two coming up. Tomorrow I'm seeing The Wombats live in Edinburgh, a Scottish pop band that had a popular hit or two in the States about two years ago. That will act as one slice of bread to pair with my 21st birthday on Friday, sandwiching the writing of my 2,000 word Art History essay during the week. Friday and Saturday likely being occupied by celebration and recovery regarding my having survived 7,665 days on the planet, I'll have Monday and Tuesday to take it easy until next Wednesday the 16th, the night of which I'll be taking off for Cologne, Germany.

I booked my flight and stay in Cologne relatively spontaneously (and cheaply, too). It came over me suddenly that I am only going to be here so long, and that the funds I'd saved since last June for my time here should not simply idle away in clubs and pubs around Edinburgh. Cologne seemed like a good choice for a few reasons, being a lovely place in itself, a swift train ride from Brussels and Amsterdam, and in Germany, which I won't be hitting over Easter Break. After the sun has risen and set five times I'll be flying back to Edinburgh, my backpack slightly heavier and my travels complete - for the time being.

Returning Monday the 21st I will have three days to attend class, pack, make final arrangements, and mentally prepare for my 19-day excursion by rail from the bottom of Britain to the boot of Italy. I feel relatively prepared already, and this weekend at Argyll taught me valuable lessons. Taking only a backpack requires a certain kind of packing. I'm certainly not taking my laptop, so that will free up space. Still - basic items such as a toiletry bag, a small bath towel (I'm staying in hostels, after all), and clothing take up considerable space. As far as clothing goes, I'll be packing substantially light - in layers, to be safe. Instead of a book I'll load up my kindle with some good reads and tote that handy item along. After Argyll, I'm going to invest in a reusable, Nalgene-esque water-bottle, and be sure to pack an array of snacks to tide me over in between meals while I'm en route. Thanks to John and Kim I already have a UK.US.European electrical plug adapter, and I only need to charge my phone and the kindle, anyway (my ipod too, I guess).

It kinda feels like I'm playing that game Oregon Trail from 1997, except instead of packing 200lbs. of mutton and three spare wagon axles I have to cram my bare necessities into a bag on my back. Hopefully I'll avoid dysentery, as well (for those of you unfamiliar with Oregon Trail this reference is probably puzzling).

My Grand Tour of the Continent ends Wednesday April 13th, although I'll leave again two days later for the Isle of Skye with my exchange program again for three days. After that I'll have to screw my head back on and somehow take final exams (of which I only have two, one being a take-home essay). May, however, bodes only good tidings. My best friend from Glen Rock, Tom Brande, is visiting some time after the 18th for a week, and Mr. and Mrs. Brown are planning to make an appearance either before or after his visit, depending on when my one sit-down exam falls. While Tom's here it is possible we will go to Dublin with some of my Edinburgh mates, and I'm sure I'll see some sights with the Parents, as well.

That pretty much accounts for May, and my last stop is London again to depart on the 30th for chemical-sunset Newark. If time allows I may end up spending a day or two prior to that taking trains down through England seeing some sights. I'd like to visit Stratford and Oxford, if possible.

In other news, I sent in my contract to Northfield Mount Hermon, so my summer is looking like: June - live in Glen Rock and substitute teach at GRHS; July - teach writing/public speaking at NMH in Massachusetts; August - live in Lancaster at 249 once more and hopefully be a PA for PIT at F&M (kind of a counselor/supervisor for a great community service program I took part in as a volunteer the week before my Freshman year). Quite a plan, I think, and with ample opportunity to make back all the money I will have turned over to the EU since January, with time for leisure and shenanigans included.

I'll keep you updated with my experiences! Hope everyone is healthy, happy, and safe!