PrintBefore I came to Edinburgh, Scotland, I had all different notions and
plans and fantasies about what it was going to be like. You know the
ones I mean. I was going to meet the coolest people ever, never get
bored, succeed in all my classes, and adjust to a new culture without
any trouble at all.
Months later, I am sitting in my “flat” – the small studio that is
going to be my home for the next year. I’ve only been in Edinburgh
for a week and a half, and I am still a bit jetlagged and disoriented.
I have traveled a bit in my lifetime, but this is my first time in
Scotland, and my first time living on my own. My preconceived notions
of what Edinburgh (for the record: it’s pronounced “Edin-burr-oh”)
would be like are slowly dissolving as I discover the city for myself.
Edinburgh is gorgeous, full of that uncanny mix of old and new that
one cannot find anywhere in the States. In America, people wonder at
an 19th century building. Here, you can have a drink in a pub that’s
been around since the 1600s. And the history isn’t limited to battle
sites or museums. I ate at a restaurant yesterday that used to be an
insane asylum, and I had coffee where they once performed public
hangings. Even the little flat my mother and I rented for the week
overlooks a graveyard famous for the loyalty of one of its
inhabitant’s dogs, a Sheltie named Bobby. Legend has it the dog sat at
his master’s grave for fourteen years after the owner died. Of
course, being American, one of my favorite bits of living history is
to have coffee and snacks in the shop where J.K. Rowling wrote most of
“Harry Potter”.
Along with being five hours ahead in time, Edinburgh also seems to be
several months ahead in terms of weather. My first day here was cold
and gray, the kind of day one might encounter in November in New York,
and for the first time I understood the Scots’ reputation for copious
whiskey drinking. Now that the weather has been better, people treat
every sunny day as if it might be the last (which it very well might
be). They park themselves outside of pubs, drinking from noon until
dusk, soaking up every last ray of sunshine.
Now, I know people say that New York is a great city for walking, but
here you don’t need to worry much about being mowed down by a bike
messenger or aggressive taxi. You do, however, need to remember to
look right instead of left when crossing the road. I can never think
of which way the traffic is coming, so I’ve taken to looking each way
about three or four times. I’ve almost been run over twice now.
I am living right near the city center, and as I exit my building I
can meander along the high street, home to various little shops and
restaurants. Then, I carry on over to the “Royal Mile,” which houses
the old Parliament building and a lovely cathedral. At the very end
of the long street is Holyrood Palace, where the Queen stays when she
comes to visit. If I’m feeling really adventurous, I can hike up to
Arthur’s Seat, a mountain formed from volcanic rock, which is located
close to the Royal Mile.
Last week was wonderful and exciting. Then, on Sunday, my mom left,
after staying with me the first week. Suddenly, I had to fill all
those hours that I’d previously spent unpacking, exploring, and joking
around. Here is the one thing that no one can really convey about
studying abroad until you’ve experienced it yourself: the excruciating
loneliness. I’m sure it’s easier for some people, but I felt it to my
very core. I remember learning in high school that human beings need
water, food, shelter and companionship in order to survive. I
questioned the idea of companionship, but now I understand it.
I had the company of a good friend who already goes here. But no one
wants to be the desperate, tag along friend. I needed to find my own
people, and I was suddenly convinced that it would never happen. I
tried to think back to every new experience I’ve had: starting
college, starting high school. I could vaguely recall feeling exactly
the same way, but though this was somewhat reassuring, I was still
convinced that this would be the time that I would never meet anyone.
And then, even as I was meeting people, I was worried I wouldn’t like
me.
The feeling was at its worst the first three days. And then, at all
those orientation events that I dragged myself to, I did meet new
people. I went to the zoo, went on tours, joined the Debating Society
and the Cocktail Appreciation Society. Slowly, the feeling began to
subside. Even now, it’s not completely gone. But it’s getting
better. Because here’s the thing: no matter how much you vow that
you’ll never make stupid comments or be stumped for conversation while
abroad, it turns out you’re the same person you were before when at
home. And since I’ll be living in a different ime zone for the next
months, maybe having that security going in is one of the greatest
advantages you can have.