Take That, Maudlin Post

I may very soon be living in a new flat! So exciting! It isn't entirely secured yet, but unless a reference falls through or the agency decides we suck, it shall be ours on November 4th. It's lovely - views to the castle from both bedrooms and the potential to get a cat. Aaaaand it's in a lovely part of town, quite close to Bennets (my views on which can be seen here). So hoorah.

The morning after we viewed said flat, as I rode the bus into work, I thought about how wonderful it will be to begin to carve out a little space for myself here. To live in Bruntsfield, to have a 20-minute walk to work, to be so close to the Meadows, to have a little flat (and possibly a cat) where I can put my things just as I want them and possibly buy some new little knick-knacks. How exhilarating! And as I thought this, sitting on a double-decker bus, watching the world go by, I realized that I love Edinburgh. I do. I have become quite fond of this city, and I'm finally beginning to feel at home here. Gone is that feeling that I don't quite fit. Gone is the sense that I cannot belong. Maybe it's the fall weather, maybe it's the fun of wearing scarves and sweaters while seeking out my favorite spots to show new friends, but whatever it is, it feels great.

 

Happenings, Happenings the World Over

Today I had my second meeting with my PhD advisors. Yes, I have officially begun! It's a scary prospect to think that in three years I have to have finished my project, complete with an 80,000- to 100,000-word thesis. It's going to be a comparison of the revolutions and resulting constitutions in what became the United States and Belgium. Not entirely obscure, but definitely not a run-of-the-mill topic. Each meeting reinforces why I am here, why I have always wanted to be here. Talking about the project, the things that may (or may not) prove relevant, the directions my research could take, the possibilities of further research is not just engaging, it is purely enthralling. To a degree that I find rare in other corners of my life. I remarked to one of my supervisors today that I'm genuinely intrigued to see where this will all lead. At this point, from this vantage, none of us can really see the clear path - no roadmap has been hammered out yet - but the elements are beginning to surface through the murk and the mud. In many ways, academic work takes on a life of its own. Everyone always says that, I realize in typing it, but there's a very good reason: it's true. You cannot tell where a project will go until you are in the middle, or possibly near the end. And that is a pure joy. People sometimes liken a PhD thesis to someone's child, usually jokingly. But, like children, someone's thesis takes them to unforeseen intellectual spaces, challenges their limits and their sense of self, and grows into something quite different from what was perhaps expected. I'm just at the beginning. (In the child analogy, probably still pregnant, really.) Already, though, I am excited and ready and rearin' to go. Ah, the sweet smell of academia. How I missed you these past (4) weeks. [NB: the break was welcomed with open arms.]

In other news, I finally browsed the NY Times today for the first time in quite a while. Not having internet at home (crazy flat-moving going on... too much to mention) means my forays onto the wonderful worldly web have been fairly specific, short, and sweet. But today I have some time and so news came to the top of the heap. The first article to jump out at me was one on the general anti-establishment nature of recent uprisings the world over, and a sister article about the protests in Israel. It was interesting to consider the idea that the world at large is moving beyond the governmental structures we know so well. It was a joy to everyone to see the use of Twitter and Facebook during the election protests in Iran over a year ago, and it seemed everyone in the West could unite in condemning state shut-downs of internet access to stop peaceful organization through social media. Hell, the very fact that I can write about social media on this here blog says a lot, considering this girl only got Twitter to follow the great Rachel Maddow. That all made sense without necessarily impinging on our own little worlds. But that first article I mentioned puts forward an interesting premise: that even in the West now, people are going around normal "democratic" processes and using social networks to take matters into their own hands. The article emphasizes a true disappointment on the part of the public when it comes to the effectiveness of their governments and the legitimacy of their voices in elections and polls. It struck me as I read that we are at the precipice of a brand new world, one that could potentially exist without traditional structures and nation-states made up of vast, intricate systems that require cloak-and-dagger diplomacy and special ops forces. Are we as humanity moving beyond the nation-state? Is there about to be a break that, for students of the future, will represent a new fall-line, demarcating the start of a post-Treaty of Westphalia universe? I doubt anything that drastic will actually come to fruition, but the implications are mind-numbingly awesome. How tantalizing to think of tearing down structures that have given Wall Street, bankers, and career politicians the power that monarchs, viceroys, generals, and career diplomats used to have. [You didn't think I'd be able to leave my study of 18th-century revolutions out of this did you?]

[Side note: my Twitter feed just popped up with this tragically hilarious (and relevant) article from the Onion.]

In truth, part of why all of this caught my eye to the degree it did is because I've recently been on some outings with a charming PhD in Education student whose interests lie in social media, technology, etc. and the implications for education. Interesting stuff. I don't get on the Twitter all that often and I don't use LinkedIn or any of that jazz, but I realized that maybe in letting that kind of thing pass me by I'm doing more than sitting in a comfortable cocoon of insulation. Maybe I'm missing out on something. Maybe not.

Whatever the status of the world and its revolutions, Edinburgh is proving itself splendid as ever. An Indian summer has descended upon us, and I welcome it with open arms. Today I actually sat in the Meadows in a tank top... I think I even got a little tan. Being a funded student has meant that I can finally take a little advantage of this fantastic town. In the spirit of revolutions, the other night involved a fantabulous dinner at Pancho Villa's in the Canongate and dessert at Chez Jules (both extremely highly recommended). I'm looking forward to the next three years. For their academic fun, their opportunities, and for the chance to know and love Edinburgh even better.

The Slightly Maudlin Post (it had to come sooner or later....)

Why are some things easier to obsess over than others? Admittedly, I'm prone to obsessing. My true nature is a classic hypochondriac-worrier-worst-case-scenario kind of person. Over the years, though, I've worked hard at being less neurotic and more able to go with the flow, as it were. I don't always succeed and I do always have that nagging feeling like I should care more, but for the most part I've been able to become fairly laid back about most of what life throws at me. Until something comes along that, for some reason, sticks in my craw. There's generally no rhyme or reason to what that thing will be but once it's there, oooh boy, it is tough to get rid of.

Without going into unnecessary detail, suffice it to say that the latest unwanted kernel of thought relates to a relationship. (Serious pain in the ass.) It's been ages, I've tried everything. The pain has dulled, the emotions come through like haze on a hot Carolina day, but for some reason my thoughts still turn to it way more often than they should. This morning as I walked across the meadows in glorious Fall sunshine, the castle to my left, Arthur's Seat to my right and Edinburgh a true feast for the eyes, I hit on a possible reason. There is a small part of me that does not feel welcome here. Not in any immediate sense - the hospitality of this country certainly rivals anything Southerners have ever offered this Yankee - not even in any way social. It's a deeper, nationalistic feeling. There is a part of me that can't shake the countless times I was told, "You're not actually Scottish. This isn't your country." That may sound trite. It certainly sounds lame to just look at it like that. But over months of hearing that, of seeing severe reaction to anyone claiming any kind of Scottish heritage (which, for the record, I do not -  we're from Sligo in Ireland, way back when...) it's hard to feel like I can ever own a piece of this. It's hard to get that feeling like I could maybe adopt Scotland, or it could adopt me. And, as a citizen of the world who would gladly change her passport, that's hard to come to terms with. Even Paris - a city owned by no one, a city as wild and free as any I've ever come across - even Paris took me in and gave me a small part of herself. Perhaps my tendency to turn my thoughts to that affair does not stem from anything to do with the events between two people. Perhaps it comes from a search for why I don't feel quite at home here. For why I can't hear the bagpipes on Princes Street and feel a sense of belonging. Who knows? What I can say is this: what a ridiculous way to feel. And all because there's someone out there who doesn't think you should look back several generations to understand who you are. As a historian, I cannot accept that. And so, as a person living in Scotland, I will not accept this. I am going to change this - I am going to own my own little part of Edinburgh. This city will be mine in some little way. And I will love it, pretensions and all.

Meet Me At the Pub

So, as you may have realized in my last post, Edinburgh is currently pretty insane. Really insane. Ok, not as insane as London was a couple nights ago, but a civil insanity bent, not on destruction and chaos, but on art and turning streets upside down for creative reasons. And, as I so blatantly stated, I am not enjoying this.

However, all is not lost in this higgledy-piggledy town. There are bastions of peace and tranquility, at least comparatively. Pockets untouched by the festival where citizens can get away from the tourists, the students, the gawkers, and the performers and sink back into the middle-class quiet and respectability Edinburgh likes to pride itself on for the other 11 months of the year. One of these pockets happens to be the part of town that contains my favorite pub: Bennets Bar.

I was first alerted to Bennets by my beloved advisor. (Postgrad advisors are so much more than academic guides.) It's his "local" and so one afternoon we popped in after a chat in the office. (One thing I love about grad school, and especially grad school in Britain/Europe is the complete acceptability of having an amiable drink with a professor.) This place is brilliant. According to Michael Fry, it's one of only 5 pubs in the city that maintains its Victorian (1890s, specifically) layout and style. And sure enough, the ceiling, the glasswork, even the ladies' side bar are all still there. The seating area opposite the bar is done in little pseudo-alcoves around small round tables, so it has a cosy, intimate feel no matter where you sit. Even better? They stock a large number of whiskies, including obscure ones.

This past Tuesday, I stopped in to Bennets for some me time. A pint of Timothy Taylor, a dram of Edradour (Scotland's smallest distillery), me and my journal at one of the wee tables. The weather was disgusting - it's been more like a wet fall than a summer here lately - but with one sip of the Edradour and a look around, it was easy to forget all the stress and cold and dissertation and festival. The colors from the internal stained glass give the whole place a happy feel, and if you try hard enough, you can almost feel like you're in a cheerful, warmer version of the Saint Chapel in Paris. Sitting there, soaking in the place, made me realize that there is one thing you cannot, under any circumstances, in any way, fault the Brits for: pub culture. People here can sometimes (especially to an American) come off as pompous, fake or just obnoxious. But once you walk into a pub, that melts away.  All those annoying little quirks dim and a cheerfulness seeps in. Everything takes on the warmth and color of an amber beer, or a Speyside whisky (my fave region, for the record). Conversation lightens and loosens and people get positively jovial. Even the women drinking half pints, as if they, too, are left-over from the Victorian era, give off a charm you can't seem to find anywhere else.

So here's to Bennets. And whisky. And Scottish pubs. May we always have one around when life gets to be too much.

The Good, the Bad, and the Pipers

It's August here in Edinburgh - a time when multiple festivals descend on the city, creating a giant jumble of crazy. There's venues all over town - some in university buildings, some in the meadows, some made to look like a giant up-side-down purple cow right outside the student union. There are street performers everywhere, either performing or handing out flyer after flyer begging people to come to their show that night. There's a thousand and one shows to go see. In truth, it's all a bit overwhelming.

Everyone keeps asking those of us who are in Edinburgh for the Fringe for the first time, "What are you going to see? Have you seen any gigs yet? You just *have* to see such-and-such! Aren't you loving it?!"

I can tell you this: I am not loving it. As someone who is trying to finish up a dissertation that is getting more stressful by the day, having to wade through crowds and listen to shouting and singing and drums and chaos day in and day out is not fun. Nor do I have the time to go see any of the actual shows (or the money for that matter) so it's not even a silver-lining. Now, that may sound a bit harsh, but I do have two other reasons to be grumpy about this festival: I am a barista at a tourist-laden Starbucks and I give tours on the Royal Mile. The Royal Mile. Home of 70% of those performers, buskers, and flyer-hander-outers. Try getting a group of tourists who have paid to come on your tour down a street packed cheek-to-jowl with people whose only current goal in life is to hand out as many small pieces of paper possible. Including while you're telling a story. Now see if you like the festival....... Told you.

There was, however, one awesome, amazing bright spot: the Military Tattoo. Possibly one of the greatest things I've ever seen. In my entire life. It's done on the Castle Esplanade (pronounced by the Brits to rhyme with gatorade) and involves Scottish and international bands, bagpipes, and performers. The thrill of watching an entire fleet of pipers all dressed to the nines is something I cannot do justice to with words. Nor can I adequately describe the awesome sight of a castle lit behind them. Or the fireworks. Maybe this set of pictures I stole from one of my best friends will help:

Is that not amazing?! The best part, I think, is that it's different every year. Each year has a new theme, and thus new international elements. This year Brazil (whose navy was created by a Scot, just like the US one), the Netherlands (always closely connected to Scotland over the waterways), and Bavaria (apparently Scottish soldiers are sent there to train in the mountains?) featured prominently. It was spectacular.