So I’ve been out for a few weeks. The Disneys have even stopped, but that’s more because I just haven’t been in the mood, tbh. They will start up again in a few weeks when my work has quieted down. Apologies for all that! But for now – onto the necessary and rather late day 6 of my study abroad experience in Scotland.
With my reputation for parties before me, I set out for what is known in Europe as a ‘Carnival Party’, or a Halloween-like party literally at any time of the year. With that in mind, the only catch to attend is that you MUST be dressed up. So, after fussing with myself and my roommates over what to wear all week, I decided that I could easily go as a wolf. I owned the appropriate wolf hat, the leggings, the cropped top. All that was left was the makeup. So there I was, already slightly buzzed from two pints at Bar Home with mountaineering club (first time out with them), getting ready for yet another party. As I swaggered through Birkbeck Court, someone threw open their window and howled down at me. I raised my arm, drink in hand, and wolf-howled right back. Little did I know that I would soon be howling myself into the ground and become known as the ‘Da wolf!’. Safe to say that it was a good end to week 3.
The very next day, Friday, I already had another evening planned. I was hardly ready. Despite my eagerness, I was quite the grandmother inside and had a hard time keeping up with my own antics. Nevertheless, I dolled up just enough for a silly international pub night where I met one of the most interesting people yet. A boy, of course. One straight from France. He wasn’t someone who studied at Strathclyde, unfortunately, but was visiting one of our other French friends. Needless to say, we got along just splendidly. And stuck together like glue the rest of that very drunken, slightly blacked out, night. If you’re curious, he’s the one right below me in the picture, with his tongue sticking out.
Well — only a few days later and I’m following this French man like a loyal Labrador. I became greatly attached to him, actually. I figured he felt the same; yet ever since that one, fateful night where I gave more of myself to him than I probably should’ve, he had been a tad cautious and hesitant around me. I tried to ignore it. But, despite my efforts, it stuck out to me very clearly. Almost as clear to me as this rainbow, which I swear was sitting right on top of us. Still couldn’t seem to spot the pot of gold though. He had invited me to Edinburgh with him and his French lads. It was a grand ol’ trip. We spent the day walking, talking, joking. Here, we hiked up Arthur’s Seat – the famous spot where Arthur himself tore the sword out of the stone. Or so the rumor goes.
Of course, as we made our way over to the seat, I couldn’t deny myself a shot with my inspiration’s old hotspot. The French boys wouldn’t let me go inside. They were on a mission, apparently. But I was able to at least snag a photo of the outside, with a whispered promise to return to it eventually, where I would go inside and write my own novels’ notes on scraps of coffee napkins.
Besides the rainbow and the mysteriously missing pot of gold (I suppose it isn’t Ireland, is it?), the top of Arthur’s Seat offered a view such as this one. Basically one like no other. At least in Edinburgh, that is. Here, one can see that night is falling. The unusual sun sinking below the horizon. And you know what? Despite the cold, I didn’t want to leave. I could’ve stayed up there for as long as the weather and the French boys would’ve let me…
Peace. Cheers. Love. xx
Day 7 to come next week (Promise this time)