Haggis Nips & Tatties

Yes. I went to Scotland. Yes. I ate several helpings of haggis nips & tatties. Yes. I loved it. No. I did not know what it was.

But back to the topic on hand: Scotland. A country inhabited by the most hospitable people I’ve ever met. And such nice accents, too. The visit consisted primarily of walking. Walking the Royal Mile up to Edinburgh Castle, walking in the footsteps of William Wallace....

walking to the Royal Botanical Gardens...

walking off our city map and walking up Arthur’s Seat for some spectacular vistas...

 then walking back into the city and walking into a crowded pub where I ordered a round of ginger beer, fish and chips and haggis nips & tatties. I just can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.

To top off the whole weekend, I spent the train ride back to London reading Emerson’s Essays. Being abroad has brought out an insatiable appetite for American philosophy and literature. So here’s to a little bit of transcendentalism in the heart of the motherland!

And in case I have piqued your imagination I will divulge the secret of haggis, compliments of wiki:

Haggis is a dish containing sheep’s ‘pluck’ (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally simmered in the animal’s stomach for approximately three hours.

I had sneaking suspicion, so I didn’t ask what it was until after my last serving. 

Welcome to London. Welcome to the blog.

So here it is, homeboys and girls, the inaugural post of my latest blogging escapade. Let's hope it isn't the last.

First order of business: bidding all of my lovelies farewell. And here they are:

Ladies... there are no words. Thanks for the loads of support, friendship and love. Our years together were formative ones, without a doubt.

Next order of business: moving to London. No big D. All you do is: get on an airplane, leave half of your stuff behind because your bag it too heavy, sit in the Houston airport and cry for the good memories you are leaving behind, catch another flight, collect your luggage, talk to customer service about the suitcase that was lost, hire a cabbie named Steve to take you to West Hampstead, frantically try to call your new roommate from Steve's phone because the apartment is locked and nobody is home, sit on your baggage on your new front porch hoping it won't start raining until somebody comes to let you in, and fight the jet-lag.

While sitting on your luggage in the damp London air is a good time to ask yourself why your house looks like this:

when your neighbor's house looks like this:

Then you realize that you don't mind much because you're a student, the rent is cheap, and besides, your neighbor doesn't have THIS bad boy:

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. The view from my roof comes with patio furniture. And I love it. Late night bowls of cereal on the roof? I think so.

Now, on to the next items. School. It takes me 40 minutes to get from my house to school. I time it everyday. Or, if you prefer, it takes me from Chris Brown to Jay-Z on my favorite playlist. 15 minute walk to Finchley Station, change from Jubilee Line to Central Line at Bond Street, take the Central until Tottenham Court Road, walk 5 minutes to no. 30 Bedford Square. It looks something like this coming around the corner:

Then as you approach you will be able to take in the lovely front door of Sotheby's Institute of Art, London.

Guess this is home for the next year.

Now for the rest of the details. Lists of important people.

Teacher: Lis Darby.

Classmates: Amywren from Michigan, Sophie from England, Ezgi from Istanbul, Noura from Saudi Arabia, Jan from England, David from California, Sunny from Canada, Williams from Italy, Lindsay from Baltimore, Helena from Spain, and Claire from Idaho.

Roommates: Larissa, McKenzie, Asha and Megan from Australia, Celine and Sophie from France, and Claire from Idaho.

Church? Only sacrament meeting and Relief Society. Sunday school? Canceled until our building's renovations are finished. They just started work.

I love my life.