Howdy pardners. I’m starting this post on Friday, July 3, a day before my 31st, making it the second time I’ve celebrated a birthday in the U.K. This morning I’d like to be able to rip a hole in the space-time continuum and be home for a night, with many of you, eating a Dairy Queen ice cream cake. Still, birthday in the Scottish Highlands? NOT BAD.
This may be a post you’ll want to skip reading if you still want to like me, even a little bit, but I figured I need to be honest about the whole experience.
The Great and Good: Teaching has still been fun and, to their credit, the students have (mostly) really engaged themselves, which makes it extra fun. Most mornings I come into the classroom and find something written about me the chalkboard like “1978: The Year of the Bird” or “Robyn Long: Also the Pretender” that is a play on something I’ve taught the day before. They make me laugh. One of the students asked if she could just take me out for queso in lieu of having to take the final exam. I nearly said yes.
On Tuesday afternoon we had a great tour of the National Gallery with a very competent tour guide, after the students’ incompetent teacher (that’s me, folks) took them to the Portrait Gallery only to find it was closed for TWO YEARS. I’ve been communicating with the tour director there for six months about our visit, and never a mention of the renovation, I swear. The students have made fun of me since, but I like to chalk it up to a lesson on the ambiguities of travel. Ben and I had a nice afternoon that day, having a picnic in St. Andrews Square, and that evening we took the students to Monster Mash which was hilarious—we have a lone male student, “Moose,” on the trip, and he ate everyone’s leftovers. Watching people experience things for the first time is such a joy, (I know, I know, super nerdy) and I bet that’s part of what it is like to be a parent? You parents out there tell me. Speaking of parents, did you know that Jean Jacques Rousseau gave all five of his children away to a foundling hospital just after their birth?
Here’s where it gets REAL nerdy. On Wednesday I gave the students three options for their excursions: The Museum of Surgery, a hike up Arthur’s Seat, or a lecture on the portraits of Rousseau and Hume that led to their falling out. I showed up to the lecture (in an air conditioned hall, thank you God) and wasn’t all that surprised to find myself the lone attendee from our group. I used to go to these free lunchtime lectures at the galleries when I lived in Edinburgh, and this was a winner—the lecturer was great. None of my students showed up, and, of the seventy-odd people in the crowd, I was the only person under sixty. I loved it. At one point I became aware that I was leaning forward in my seat because I was so excited about the lecture, and I was just sort of overcome by how fortunate I feel to live in a world where I have the leisure time for learning. Anyway, I hung out afterwards, like a lecture groupie, and just today, as I returned to internet access, I got a nice email from the lecturer WHO SAID SHE WAS IMPRESSED WITH MY QUESTIONS. Awesome.
Ben and I met Shan, Esme and Steve for dinner and drinks on Wednesday, and Esme and I cooed over Callie, Shan’s baby, all evening. We had a great time and a nice walk home with Esme.
The Bad and The Ugly: On Thursday, my students hit the wall. I’d seen it coming: The need for alone time, the increased anxiety about papers and exams, the frustration over the lack of ice and refills…Ben and I had quietly chuckled about it all week prior to Thursday, with the smug condescension of seasoned travelers. On Thursday morning, during my lecture, I tried to convey to my students that I understood, and recalled tearing up once I’d found Mexican food in Edinburgh six years ago. This led to a passionate discussion about the value of good nachos, and I tried in vain to make it work for class (a cognitive map of the components of nachos, anyone?) but in the end I agreed to make nachos for everyone while they studied for their final exam on Friday morning. It ended up being a really fun evening, and a good way to say good bye to Edinburgh.
The Ugly Americans: That afternoon, though, we hit the wall. It was 29 C that day (84 F) and, remember, we’re walking everywhere and there is virtually no air conditioning. We spent the afternoon on the Royal Mile at a museum, (now that we are smug and condescending we hate the Royal Mile, that’s where the tourists go, ugh) and the students were getting snippy with each other. Ben and I practically marched down the hill, and, after an irritating errand for bus passes, happened upon the Chinese buffet where Moose had eaten earlier in the week (we’d made fun of him for it.) The lure of big portions, ice, refills and air conditioning proved to be too strong. Well, the food was gross, the air conditioning was broken, and the ice (all three pieces) melted immediately. We were not impressed. Remind me, friends: Chinese buffets are never a good idea. We left with me muttering about “God d*%@ country, no frickin’ ice!” On the walk home, I informed Ben that I was probably going to die in the heat, here, just two days before my 31st, and that I was moving to Iceland. I also suggested that we get a taxi for the four blocks between us and the grocery store, and Ben wisely kept quiet, and patiently walked with me while I pouted.
Enough, enough. Will write soon about our restorative weekend in the Highlands.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
