Stories, starting with Stonehenge

There's not much happening at home. I read Clockwork Angel (all 478 pages) today, and I'm working on getting my hands on American Gods. (Even though I've got a million other books to read.) I unpacked a little more, and tracked down a cell phone/mobile charger that will fit into an American wall socket. Started another book and watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith with the Brother.

Yesterday was more exciting. I went surfing with my dad, then ice skating with a bunch of friends from high school. One of them graduated early and is going to be traveling this winter and upcoming spring. I can't quite express the degree of envy that inspires, so I'm not even going to try.

To avoid boring anyone this summer with tales of how many seconds I managed to catch a wave, I'm going to tell stories--completely out of order--and slooowwly put up pictures of my own travels. Stuff I hadn't yet gotten to before disappearing back into the wilderness.

Not that Stonehenge is really the wilderness. At all. I stayed in the quaint and touristy little town nearest it, Salisbury, for two nights. Showed up at the train station, disembarked, and called the YHA hostel as I started walking toward it to see if I could book a room.

They were full. Cue one of those brow-furrowing, "Hmm" moments where all that's to be done is turn over your current predicament in your mind a bit before you can even start to churn out possible solutions.

Didn't know anyone. Evening. Exhausted. Didn't have anywhere to stay. Shit, I shouldda stayed in Oxford--that was a nice hostel, at least.

In the end, I just started walking into town. Really, there wasn't much else to be done. My plan was to stop at each hotel I saw and ask about prices, but the very first place I passed--a pub--advertised accommodation vacancies. So I went in, more or less ignored the harmless old drunks that wanted to hit on me, and arranged to rent a private room for twenty-five pounds a night. Not a bad deal, considering I'd had to pay eighteen pounds a night in Oxford to share a room with fifteen other people.

I didn't actually make it out to Stonehenge until the next day. I came downstairs and met another American guy about my age from D.C. at breakfast. He was affable and nice, and we hung out pretty much all day.

I'd been told a few times that Stonehenge was kind of disappointing, so I had pretty low expectations. I needn't have bothered--Stonehenge was fantastic. No, you don't get to crawl over the stones and chip off pieces to take home, but I'm one of those people who finds that rather horrifying, anyway.

I want to go back and have a picnic out there one day. You're all welcome to join me. It's going to be wonderful. :)

I'm home.

I'm exhausted beyond belief and confused at how nothing seems to have changed, but very very pleased at the enormous pile of books waiting for me. I'm not even sure I'll be able to make it through them before classes start back up in September.

And yes, that is a lava lamp. And yes, I did win it at Chuck E. Cheese, thankyouverymuch.

Why hello there, Ahmurica. Happy bday.

(Originally posted on Tumblr on July 4, 2011.)

So the last few weeks, as predicted, were a big fat failure in terms of blogging. But really, they were too awesome to stop what I was doing and sit around on the computer for longer than it took to check my email and make sure there weren't any deadlines I was missing. (Housing for next year: boom. Sorted.)

I'm not in Edinburgh anymore. I flew away on a big fat jet plane yesterday afternoon and forgot that sleeping on said big fat jet plane might help negate the worst of jetlag. At this precise moment in time it's seven AM, Eastern time, and I've been up for almost two hours. Goodness gracious me-oh-my, I'm going to be exhausted by the time the fireworks start tonight.

(And a happy fourth of July to all the rest of the Ahmurica. Hope yours won't be as rainy as the one I'll be having.)

Getting through customs was a nightmare compared to every other trip through customs I've taken in the past year. (Even Heathrow, which you always hear horror stories about.) It's weird being around only one kind of accent. I kept using the wrong words in conversation last night. (My uncle had to ask what a "flat" is--an apartment.) I found the $25 USD my mother handed me last September to be used when I finally left Edinburgh, but I can't find my American sim card. I know it's around somewhere, but I remember putting it somewhere "safe" while I was packing for move-out (you remember, that night I didn't sleep?) and we all know how well that always turns out.

And... that's probably the extent of what you'll be hearing about my return-culture-shock, because to be honest it's completely unsettling and I'm not sure how to put everything into words. I do have internet access, though, and it looks like I'll be having plenty of quiet time to myself in the mornings. So there'll be anecdotes about traveling with Melbourne and her mother through England, wandering through Budapest, getting caught in the rain in Prague, and visiting Skye to see an (ex) flatmate. And I'll be going into NYC tomorrow and the day after, so... yeah. Be mentioning that as well, more'n likely.

It's all going to be all right. I could use some quiet time to myself, probably. And I've got plenty of new books to read. :)

Catch-up!

Soooo, I updated my Tumblr once while I was abroad. This is that post, from June 13, 2011 (i.e., like two weeks ago):

There is going to be minimal keeping-up with the blogging/documentation, as there has been in the almost-week-and-a-half since I moved out of my housing. Internet is just too hard to come by without an laptop/ipad/cell phone/itouch/something that does me good when there’s wifi around.

I’ve been snaking my way across England the last week or so, mostly with Melbourne and her mother—we started in the Yorkshire Dales, then sort of criss-crossed back up to the Lake District (I played the piano in John Ruskin’s house! =P), then went south to Chester to see some Roman and English Civil War stuff. I split with them the next morning and took a train to Oxford, then another train to Salisbury—the closest town to Stonehenge, which was FANTASTIC—and then flew out of London to Budapest.

I’ve finally got internet, all thanks to the hostel I’m staying at. (Haven’t found a single internet cafe yet, but now I don’t need to!)

Budapest is pretty fantastic. Gorgeous, and all I did was wander today. After dinner I walked down the riverfront (of the Danube) past the parliament, across a bridge, past the palace, and back up the other side of the river. Marvelous pictures, but I don’t know if I brought the right cord to do any uploading. (Move-out/packing for this trip turned into an all-nighter, so I’m still not quite sure what’s in my bag.)

The hostel is nice, even if the internet is slow. The rooms are big and brightly colored, and the people are nice. I’m going to the opera tomorrow with a Dutch guy I met tonight—the tickets are so cheap. There’s a tram line right outside, though, so I’m glad I’ve got ear plugs. (Lame but effective.)

And the heat out here. It’s not as humid as I was expecting, but my fingers have swollen up. It makes me glad I haven’t been wearing rings.

Suddenly so, so tired. Going to see Verdi’s Otello tomorrow evening at the opera. G’night, world. <3

Last night

Tonight's the last night of my lease. Those of us that're left will be kicked out tomorrow at ten AM, bright and... semi-early. And no, I'm not packed yet. I'm working on it. I tried to take a picture of the bomb site that is my room, but my camera died.

I'm kind of freaking out. Not too much, but I'm hungry and all the food has been binned and I'm tired because it's three in the morning, and it's not really making for the best mental state at the moment.

And even if I was packed at this precise moment in time, I'd still have to vacuum and dust. Gaaahhh.

Kincaid's Court, it's been... interesting. Both disgusting and the best year of my life thus far.

This weather--I just can't even.

It's raining. But the sky is blue. And there's sunlight glaring like crazy off the wet rooftops.

I just don't even understand Scottish weather. (But it is kind of exciting.)

Room with a view

I had a nice little room in Naxos at this place called Pension Irene. Irene's son met me at the Naxos dock at 11:30 at night when I arrived and offered me a thirty euro room. I snorted, and he offered it for twenty. I told him I'd pay fifteen, and he grumbled but gave in. No hard feelings, either. He was a very nice guy. On my last day there, he let me stay in the room until midnight for five euros.

The shower sucked and sprayed water everywhere, but at least it sprayed warm water. And I had a double bed, a television, a mini-kitchen (with a kettle for tea!), and a balcony. Not bad a'tall.

Looking left out of the balcony...

And looking right. Yes, that is the ocean off in the distance. It was about a ten minute walk away, maybe less.

From a distance

I really, really fell in love with Ariadne's Arch, in case you couldn't tell.

Pictures from Naxos' dock

The Turkish castle. Opening times varied and the entrance was difficult to find. (So no, I didn't make it inside.)

Naxos' waterfront. Ariadne's Arch is almost directly behind the camera.

Inland

Another photo from the bike ride around Naxos, this one from securely inland. That hill in the background is actually another island, though. (Paros, I think. Which I ended up on eventually, though it wasn't part of the original plan.)