In Which Kailey Acclamates to Her Environment and Writes to You in a Rambling Fashion

So. London is great. I’m settling in fine. I arrived to my apartment in the later afternoon on Monday, after stumbling through public transportation the narrow streets to my apartment, I met two of my roommates immediately. I swear the first one shot out of nowhere greeting me with enthusiasm that I couldn’t hope to match under my current level of fatigue.  As I greeted them, the smell of two continents, polyester, twelve hours of travel, and several hours of exertion emanated from my body. That is not a good smell. Especially when you are meeting your roommates for the first time.

            I live in a flat in the heart of London along with four other Americans. The first I met is a guy who also goes to DU (we had never met before, go figure), one girl is from New York, one guy from Minneapolis, and another girl from I don’t know where. I didn’t meet her until Tuesday night after she’d gotten back from Oktoberfest in Germany and then only in passing. I have a well outfitted, fairly spacious bedroom and we all share two bathrooms, a small room with a couch overlooking the street, a kitchen, and a very small refrigerator. Luckily the kitchen has more cabinets than we know what to do with.

            Sleeping in till twelve on Tuesday (which, by the way, did not help my jetlag), I spent the rest of the day shopping for essentials because I couldn’t iron my clothes or charge my phone. Also there was the hunger. After spending five hours searching for one Whole Foods a mile and a half away from me, I had not only found Whole Foods (Finally!), but also the theatre district, China Town, a cute little park, Drury Lane, a few music stores, and Chipotle. No joke. Chipotle is everywhere.

In the evening I decided to go to Ikea out in Boonyville, England. Not really, but it’s over an hour away by bus. So less than forty-eight hours after I had landed in London, I decided to tackle the bus system. Word to the wise: when boarding a double decker bus, if the driver is wearing a turban, don’t give him a ten pound note. It will make him cranky. He will be ill-equipped to handle such a large bill and will have to go searching in the nether regions of his cabin to find enough coins to hand out the change required. This will not only hold up the bus, but also attract the attention of everyone on the first level of the bus while the busdriver persists in asking for your presentation of an Oystercard or smaller bill. Which you know you would hand over in a heartbeat if you only just had it. But you don’t. If you don’t have an Oystercard, just pay in coins in the city, my friends. Just pay in coins in the city.

            Anyway, orientation was as unimpressive as it was disorienting, but I think I’ve mostly organized all of the conflicting information and we’ll see how it sorts itself out this first week of school. Also, when I got home from Scotland, a main supply line had burst in the plumbing, and we were rendered waterless for all but a few hours this past day. I spent the day buying water and bumming restrooms off of non-assuming retail establishments. Luckily I was able to procure a shower sometime during the day, in between water crises, so I don't smell as bad as I could. Just a minor inconvenience, but it caused a lot of mumblings, moanings, and grumblings in the ranks as students used to running water and functional living quarters sorted through their various emotions pertaining to this event. It made me feel like my life so far has amply prepared me for moments like these, that my peers may not be as well equipped for. 

            So. London is great. I miss you all back home, but I’m making out on my own alright so far.  

Scotland. Was. Beautiful.

I’m writing this post from a train traveling through the Scottish and English countryside while I head back to London from the Cairngorms National Park. Anticipating the drunken stupor of my American roommates who had just recently arrived in a diverse metropolis, this weekend I struck out on my own to the Scottish Highlands after spotting a rather large spot of green on the map. I had no idea whether this was a major tourist attraction or not, but after spending an entire day hiking through a national park accompanied only by elderly Scots, I think it’s safe to say that the Cairngorms National Park has not seen many Americans this year. At least not the part that I visited, but I couldn’t have planned this holiday more perfectly if I had tried. I took an easyJet flight out of Luton Airport on Friday night, a cab to the hotel, and sacked out at the Huntly Arms Hotel in Aboyne, Scotland. The reason I did this was because it was cheap, but Aboyne was peaceful and stunningly beautiful. The next morning I took a bus to Braemar through the Scottish countryside, while elderly people got on and off the bus and greeted the busdriver like an old friend. I chose to go to Braemar because it looked like it was at roughly the center of the Cairngorms National Park and I could easily get there by bus. I had no idea, when I made the decision to stop there that Braemar has trails which pass by the site of the 1715 Jacobite uprising, Braemar Castle, and trenches intact from World War II. This is all on top of being the home of Robert Louis Stevenson during the summer that he wrote Treasure Island. Needless to say, I probably hiked about 14ish miles through all but one of six marked trails in the area of Braemar, greeting and smiling at every person that passed me by. Everyone is friendly in the Highlands. When I finally called it quits, the sun was setting, and I still had about two miles to the village center from the trail that I had set out on at six in the evening, overconfident in my ability to finish before dark. Since every restaurant was closed at eight o’clock, I went to the grocers and bought potato chips and spam which I devoured cold as I shivered at the bus stop. Who says gluten free has to healthy?

            I swear that the Scottish countryside is one of the most beautiful places a pair of eyes can alight on. As I ride the train to London, I can see the coast on the right side of me. To the left I see only rolling hills and green fields, golden ones spread with bales of hay. The cottages that dot the horizon seem from a fairytale, the pastures punctuated with herds of sheep and cows. Rivaled only by it’s counterpart in Colorado, the sky above us is a clear blue, big, fluffy clouds suspended in space.  Someone pinch me. Instead of rambling on, I’ll let you see a few choice bits in the pictures below.