Dapper Downton

Well, yesterday marked the pinnacle point of what my study abroad class is all about . . . Downton Abbey.
We started out in the later half of the morning, making our trek from Paddington Station to the outskirt town of Newbury, Berkshire.  Despite the obvious increase in revenue and foot-traffic, there is no general mass transportation from the station to Highclere Castle (Downton Abbey).  The fourteen of us, including the professor, split cabs which of course started a not-so-friendly war amongst the fellow cabbies (what is new?) and our nervous blabbering made it worse.  However, we still managed to arrive safe and sound and with everyone's attitude, well... somewhat intact.

This is probably where I should explain that we had been told (merely 48 hours previous to this day trip) that we did not have tickets to tour Highclere and that they had been sold out since last summer . . .
     Needless to say, there was some growing restlessness amongst the beasts.
It had been rumored that if you showed up around 2 p.m. (14 p.m.) and on, you could still get entry tickets and that no one had yet to be turned away!
    Need I remind anyone that there is a first time for everything?
With that noted, I do believe that this picture dully notes that things went well . . .

Granted, the photography of the interior was severely limited, but as Becca and I began to descend from the second floor of bedrooms to "The Saloon" (or as the Downton fans know it: the forye at the bottom of the grand staircase), we grabbed for one another's hand and proceeded to imagine as though we were Mary and Carson and Matthew were watching us with new-found love in the hope of a cold Christmas.
     Needless to say, most English majors are the first ones to show overly affectionate signs of emotion towards such things, but it was dearest Becca (the pharmaceutical major) that shed the first, and most, actual tears.  It was worth the whole trip.  That is the power of Downton, people . . .

Of course I had to continue the fantasy of being Mary and sit my happy-little-self on the bench where she and Matthew have their first proposal. . .

I'm cute; I know.
And so continues the Downton/ Highclere fandom . .

I touched Downton Abbey!

Also, a small shout out to my very sweet friend Marcus who is actually from Newbury and lives 10 minutes from Highclere! Wish you could have joined us but I think this suffices how our day was spent :)

Moral of the story?  Be jealous and come visit before the opportunity passes!

Rolling Hills O' the Borders

On Sunday we traveled to the border land between Scotland and England, which is some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen.  We had to listen to the song above as we went and I felt that everyone else should listen to it as they read the blog.  The funny part?  It actually grows on you, especially since it is on repeat right now while I work. . .
Anyway, there is some really interesting history about the people that created the in-between clans called The Borders.  They claim neither to be Scottish nor English.  They are simply from The Borders.  This, interestingly enough is where Sir Walter Scott is from and where his home, Abbotsford, is located.
     Once again, I truly hope that everyone knows who this is.  If not, comment below and I would love to talk to you about it.  But not only was he a successful lawyer and author, Walter Scott also invented the kilt.  When King George III requested a special presence with him, he ordered for a new outfit to be fashioned for him.  An outfit of tartan (what we call plaid) was created but Scott was afraid that it would reveal to much of his "crown jewels" so he requested that it be pleated: thus the kilt was born.  The controversy now, of course, is whether or not the Scottish invented it or the English . . .

What I find interesting abut myself in relation to his house is that based on my personality and personal interest, Sir Walter Scott's house is perfect for me.  It is my favorite by far and I could easily see myself living there for forever.

Pulling myself away from Abbotsford, we traveled to a sleepy little town called Melrose where there are some abbey remains.  Amongst the ruins, it is rumored that the heart of Robert the Bruce is buried there . . .

"When I die, bury me low
Where I can hear the bonnie Tweed flow
A sweeter place I'll never know
Than the rolling hills o' the borders . . ."

A bonnie lass from the borders!

So this weekend I had the blessed experience to visit Edinburgh in Scotland.  I told my mother on Skype last night that as much as I could not believe I was saying it, I actually enjoyed Scotland more than London.
                                                             I Know Right??!!
Well I suppose there is always a first for everything, haha.  Of course the natural landscape of the land is breathtaking and the colors are as rich as their traditions and their familial history.  Although there is a hint of the Gothic built in, the architecture is the perfect balance between inspiring and practical.  Not to mention that the locals are just wonderful people.  Always wanting to genuinely talk and value your experience and time there.  (The accent is also more pleasing to the ear, in my opinion :))

  And once again, I have a travel story (surprise, surprise).  The train ride there, and eventually back, is 5 hours one way.  All I wanted to do was read my book, take the occasional snooze, and most importantly, not be bothered.  Twas not meant to be . . . .
Due to some double bookings of seats (courtesy of the train staff) I get re-positioned to the seat where, as the girl pointed out, was "The one with the baby, baby."  Not having a clue what she was referring to, I made my way to the front where I meet a grandmother with . . . well . . . a baby, baby.  Once situated, the mother sits next to me with her two-week old (I later found out) and proceeds to expose herself in  order to nourish the child.
          Now I know this is Europe and things are just done a little different here, but would someone tell me where in the world I am supposed to be looking when she is talking to you and then looking down to refer to her baby???
          Of course this goes on for over an hour and when the train finally (all the praises!) pulls into the station in Edinburgh, she then tells me that she has had a cesarean and can't lift anything.  She wants to know if we (meaning my fellow comrades and I) will help her get her stuff off the train and onto the platform. . . Including her baby . . .
           Well naturally at this point I feel just as much connected with the baby as the mother so I volunteer, slightly petrified, to take the baby.  The mother places her into a bassinet that is a hand basket and immediately when I pick it up, baby and all, people assume it is mine.
                                      I just want everyone to know- in this moment, carrying the baby in the basket- I felt like the mother of Moses taking her child to the Nile to be rescued . . .
                                     Yup . . .
The story ends quite well with me gently placing the baby with its mother on the platform amongst her numerous other things (including another 2 year old) and walking away.  But not without everyone in Edinburgh thinking I had a two-week old.
                                                                     ~
However, I did get the immense pleasure of getting to room and board on the luxurious campus of Edinburgh University.  Some may remember that the movie One Day is based around a couple meeting here.
Saturday morning really kicked off the day when we climbed a part of a mountain called Arthur's Seat (although they don't call it a mountain because a mountain must be 1,000 kilometers and Arthur's Seat is only 831) . . .

Next, we made our way to the Queen's holiday palace called Holyrood.  She normally would be there right now but she stayed in London so she could be present for the Royal Birth.

After this we did various museums and shopped along the Royal Mile . . .

From here we went to Edinburgh Castle which was the home of Mary Queen of Scots and where King James was born.  They call this a castle but, let me tell you, it is a fortress.  Think Lord of the Rings and you've got it . . .

We topped such a chill day by getting a spot of tea at The Elephant's Cafe where J.K. Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter book.  (Well, at least part of it.  They are just the ones to capitalize on it.  Cool either way.)  Then we had dinner at the Frankenstein pub.  Such an awesome atmosphere . . .

While this concluded our day, we still had much to do on Sunday.  Stay tuned for that!