Montreux

Ah, Montreux. Where to start. I suppose it should be somewhere near the beginning.


I was on a train, two trains actually, to transfer myself from Rome to Geneva. The two trains met in Milan, said hello, and swapped me from one to the other. The train from Milan to Geneva was a relatively long journey and it was in a style of car I had never been in before, with compartments of 8 seats (or 6 seats?) with two rows facing one another. There were four other passengers in the car with me to begin the journey. I couldn't speak to any of them because I do not speak their languages, and because one was a dog. As I said, in Switzerland everyone speaks everything, so the people likely could have spoken to me, but did not make any overt tries. Not to mean that they were unfriendly. There was a girl traveling alone who simply sat in the corner, read, and listened to music. There was also a couple, sitting across from me, only slightly older than myself. With them was a very small dog traveling in some kind of ridiculous designer handbag. The poor thing was so terribly domesticated that it seemed as if it never emerged from the handbag, and was alright with that.

I mention this couple because they taught me one of the great lessons of my trip, unknowingly. They were not talking much as they got on the train, and mostly just quietly mumbled things and pointed as they got settled down. Once the journey was underway, however, I was scoping out everyone in the car, mostly for lack of anything better to do. They were an attractive young couple, both of them good and healthy looking people. And then they spoke. And now I know that German (which I can only assume is what they were speaking) is the singlemost ugly language ever used to communicate a series of messages between human beings. Yuck. A language of gurgling saliva and horrible hacking noises. I don't hold it against this couple, who seemed nice enough. But my goodness, I hope I never have to learn and use German.

That, in effect is a very long introduction to the topic of Montreux. This couple exited the train relatively early in the journey, leaving me to nurse my horrified ears and anticipate Geneva. As the train neared Geneva mountains began to sprout up in the window. As did a big lake, Lake Geneva. And then, something magical happened. The mountains and the lake combined to create one of the most visually stunning landscapes you will ever see (or read about I suppose). The effect was amplified by the effect of the late afternoon sun coming in at an impossible angle through a sky featuring just one or two cotton candy clouds. In the words of my own esteemed generation, it was "like whoah." I wanted to take a picture, but my camera was packed somewhere in my violently stuffed backpack, and I didn't want to disturb those around me by going through such a battle again, so I contented myself with the idea that I would return to this magical land. Just as I had this thought, the train stopped at a place called Montreux.

I whipped out my guidebook and began reading about Montreux, to see how I could get back there from Geneva. It turns out that there would be some expense involved, but I decided that if there was a window of opportunity while in Geneva I would just do it. The guidebook also mentioned that the song about "Smoke on the Water" had its roots in Montreux, as its writer, while visiting, witnessed a fire and wrote about the sights that he saw. Interesting.

Fast forward a bit. Geneva was a lovely city and all, but there really didn't prove to be an immense amount of stuff to do, especially on Easter weekend. So when Easter, my last day rolled around, I made the rather safe assumption that I would have nothing much to do in Geneva, and took off for a day in Montreux. I assumed there would be even less to do in Montreux, but I was hoping the scenery could absorb me for an entire day.

Yep, scenery could absorb me for the day.

It was a day not nearly as beautiful as the day I was on the train. There was an abundance of clouds, but not too heavy, and not rain clouds. But it was not brilliantly sunny and blue. When I made it down to lakeside at Montreux I was hit with two surprises. I had expected there to be nothing open, and a limited number of people. Instead, everything was open. There were even festival-like tents set up along the shore selling candy and cheap bracelets and things, and there were plenty of people, in increasing numbers as the day progressed. The second surprise was a statue of Freddie Mercury. Huh? Apparently he had bought some sort of property or recording studio or something in Montreux when he was alive (obviously), and Montreux wanted to honor him after his death. You've already seen this picture, but just imagine walking through a scenic town along a lake with the Alps as a backdrop, in Switzerland, and stumbling upon a Freddie Mercury statue. Lamar really wanted a picture.

I wish I were rich...
Then I'd go see "We Will Rock You" in London.
But I'm sure it is too cheesy to warrant the price.

But, my day in Montreux was generally what I thought it would be. Lovely scenery, with me walking up and down the shoreline occasionally snapping photos, or sitting and watching... nothing. It was all very pleasant. When I walked far enough down the lake I came across this castle thing. I had read of its existence in my guidebook, but wasn't really interested in another castle, so I didn't pay to go in, and don't know anything about its history. But it made for some scenic photos!

My camera struggles with the white peak against
white cloud thing. So imagine this... more dramatic

The day was not without its further surprises, though. I had packed my lunch, assuming eateries would not be open for business in Montreux on Easter, but a combination of looking for something to do and being a little hungry still compelled me to search for ice cream. I returned down the lake to the crowded area with the vendors (as I had wandered away to much quieter stretches of lakeside path) and came across the most wicked awesome concert ever. And I say that as a complete lie. It was bizarre. It featured nobody playing instruments (though there were instruments behind them), some really bad recorded instrumental bits, a green beard, pink hair, and a three and a half foot singer with a dead mic. Just take a look. Uh... what?

Anyone care to explain this, especially the child?

Finally, the day was drawing to a close. I was determined to get shots of the sun setting over the mountains and the water. The obstacles were the clouds already mentioned, and the angle. Basically, if I waited for sunset in Montreux it really wasn't going to be that dramatic. So I took off down the lake to a spot I could see way in the distance that I felt would offer better views due to the curvature of the shore. Basically it was the next town down the lake from Montreux, to which I walked. Then of course I was faced with the prospect of walking back to Montreux in the dark, and an hour long train ride back to Geneva, which I really didn't want to do all that late. So I had some balancing to do. I settled for shots like this, with the sun almost setting, so that I could begin the long journey back.

I love the tree in the middle of the lake, mostly because I just don't get it.

That's basically all I have to say about Montreux, so I'll leave you with a bunch of other shots....

This is a panorama from two pictures, stitched together later (but before my computer meltdown)

Montreux had all these weird plant people set up.

Scotland, Day 2

Loch Ness!

Glencoe

Rainbow... from Bus

Dunkeld Cathedral

The second day in Scotland began with breakfast at the hostel. Nothing fancy, just cereal, bread and butter essentially. We all then hopped aboard the coach waiting outside, with our driver, Sandy, bidding Edinburgh goodbye after a wonderful, albeit too short, stay.

Michael gave us a general overview of what we would be seeing during the day, and how things would operate. This portion of the trip was going to take us all the way across the Scottish highlands, stopping at points along the way. We would then stay the night at a hostel in Oban, on the west coast, and make the return trip to Edinburgh for our train the next day. When Michael wasn't talking to us over the bus's PA system (which he spent an awful lot of time doing), he would be playing music from Scotland ranging from traditional folk to far more modern stuff as well.

Our first stop of the day was at a town called Dunkeld. It is a little town on the River Tay at the edge of the highlands. The bit of history from there that people are most likely to be familiar with is that Beatrix Potter was inspired to write Peter Rabbit by her time living in Dunkeld. She is remembered there today with a quiet little park bearing her name. More impressive, however, is the Templar cathedral sitting on the River Tay. It is a very interesting building because today it lies in ruins, and its floor has been converted into a graveyard, yet one half of it actually has been restored and serves as an active center of worship for the Church of Scotland.

We only spent a brief time checking it out, and then it was back on the bus, and off to our next destination. We drove through the pass of Killiecrankie, witnessing some spectacular scenery that would not diminish in its impressiveness for the remainder of our journey. Michael pointed out a place called Blair Castle as we drove past. It is a castle belonging to the Murray Clan and has an interesting story. Due to a strange series of events at one point, the leadership of the clan had to be traced deep into the clan's makeup, and it was eventually determined that a man living in South Africa (obviously of Scottish descent) was to be the new leader. Another interesting aside is that the Murray Clan is the only remaining clan with the legal privilege of maintaining its own private army (though I'm sure they are about as fierce as the funny bear hat guards). So essentially this random guy in South Africa woke up one day, and got a letter or visit or something informing him that he is all of a sudden a Scottish clan chief in possession of both a castle and a private army. Kinda sweet.

I was a little surprised we didn't actually stop at the castle though. In the US when you reach landmarks like that you stop because A.) there aren't than many, and B.) those that do exist are really far apart. As the tour went on however, it became clear why we didn't stop at every castle. We would have been stopping every 20 minutes!

There were other stories as we drove too. For instance, as we drove past Loch Lochy Michael pointed out a pine tree near a building that was missing a portion on top. He explained that the RAF frequently runs flights over the Loch for testing/practice/whatnot, often very, very close to the surface of the water. Apparently on one occasion a flight was too low and too close to the banks, and the aircraft's wing actually sliced through the top of the tree, completely severing it. The plane itself was fine (or at least it didn't crash!), but the top of the tree fell on the hotel, doing damage. The hotel's owners received compensation and an apology letter from the RAF, and apparently they framed the letter and have it hanging in their lobby.

Eventually we got off the bus again at Loch Ness. I was unaware how big Loch Ness is. I always envisioned it being relatively small in comparison to lakes like Seneca. It is actually as deep as 250 m however and on some scales is the largest body of water in Britain. No sight of Nessy as we poked around the town and had our lunch. The fact is that there is very little to do at Loch Ness... but it was a beautiful area.

Once again we boarded the bus and took off through the scenic highlands. Now is a good time to note that even though it was a generally rainless day, there were many low clouds and mists hanging on all of the various mountains. This, combined with the sunlight, allowed us to see probably 7-8 rainbows in a 2 day span. It was absolutely gorgeous.

We then came to the foot of Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in Britain, and unloaded at a Whiskey distillery. The tour started with a hilarious video in which the distillery invented its own myth about the origin of whiskey, the "dew of the mountain." Introduce the Scottish accent, and you have a ten minute video about the "Jew of the mountain" and how magical it is, and how good it tastes. We laughed hysterically, and then had to explain to our Scottish tour guide what we found so funny. At first he didn't think their pronunciation of "dew" and "Jew" were that similar, and then he tried saying both words, and you could see by his face that he had changed his mind!

All 50 of us went on a tour around, with one guy sans amplification trying to talk to us about the Whiskey-making process. It wasn't ideal, but it was interesting. The Hershey's factory we used to go to in Canada is certainly much more entertaining (and clean), but this was pretty interesting. Our guide was a Whiskey purist, turning up his nose at anybody who drinks Whiskey "for effect," and especially those that drink it in Coke. He took special offense to the American practice of putting ice in it. Apparently it should be poured and then allowed to sit so that you can drink it room temperature. It was also interesting to note that the wooden barrels they used are all used barrels. They are purposefully sent to be used in making various other kinds of alcohol around the world, allowing the wood to soak up other scents and flavors, and then are used for the whiskey. I think the funniest was that some barrels are first sent to the US to make Jack Daniels, and then are used to make real whiskey back in Scotland. It ended with everyone getting a taste of the whiskey.

Our next stop was at a place called Glencoe. It is an absolutely stunning stop surrounded by mountains. My pictures don't do it justice. It is also the sight of a great massacre, however, in 1692. The story is that after the Glorious Revolution replaced the Stuart monarchy, many highlanders, termed Jacobites, remained loyal to King James VII (II of England), who had been removed from power. There would be various rebellions in Scotland in the name of the Stuart monarchy over the ~65 years following the Glorious Revolution. Even when there was no active rebellion, however, the new monarchy in Britain was suspicious of the Scottish highland clans, and required them to take an oath of loyalty by a certain date. The MacDonald's, who inhabited Glencoe, sent their chief to make the necessary oath, but due to a series of unforeseen events, and officials that were away from their posts, the oath was made several days late, though the chief had arrived before the deadline. Nevertheless, the MacDonald's believed they were safe after fulfilling the spirit of the oath.

Of course the English, acting with similar displays of chivalry and gentlemanliness as they exhibit in modern times, decided to make an example of the late MacDonalds. The monarchy used another Scottish highland clan, the Campbells, to take advantage of a tradition of Scottish hospitality. It was highland custom to accept and aid any travelers, regardless of clan affiliation, as they went about their journey. So the plot unfolded like this: the Campbells came to the McDonald's and asked for hospitality. The MacDonalds obliged. After taking advantage of said hospitality, the Campells ambushed the MacDonald's at Glencoe as they slept, massacring them and scattering the survivors into the inhospitable hills. The Campell name has yet to recover in Scotland to this day (there is even a hotel that refuses to admit people with the last name Campbell).

From Glencoe we went to our final destination for the day, Oban, where we were to spend the night. Once again Charlotte, Kelly, Raphael and I went to get dinner together, stopping in at a little restaurant type place. We all got steak pies and talked about how nice our waitress was. From there we sought out a pub called Markie Dan's, where Michael said he would be spending the evening. He had also mentioned there would be live music. Once again it was one of the better nights I've spent over here, just chatting with other people from our group and with Michael, listening to the performers. Michael, I discovered, is very hopeful that Scotland will get full independence from the English. He believes there is a 90% it will happen before he dies. I think he's a wishful thinker.

Alright... done with day 2! Only one more segment to go. Unfortunately it will be pretty delayed. I have four essays due by the end of next week, and then Katie arrives, and will be here for a week! I'm pretty excited, but it means even less regularity in posts. We'll see how it goes.

Finally, Scotland! (Day 1)

Alright, so I'm going to try to do this as quick as possible, so excuse any and all errors and non sequiturs that sneak in.

Starting from where I left off with my last post. We got up in the morning on Friday and threw all our stuff in our bags, then headed out for the train station only a short distance away. An inexperienced hostel-stayer-inner and a poor packer in general, I had not thought about things such as a towel, soap, shampoo or flip flops. So I had skipped the shower thing, hoping we were staying someplace later that might have any or all of those things. It was alright because everyone else skipped showers too because it was incredibly early in the morning (for college students).

We were met at King's Cross by the two Arcadia guides going on the trip. They checked our names off their list, and that was essentially the last we heard from them for the rest of the trip. They literally did absolutely nothing, and probably got payed to do it. The train ride in was relatively uneventful. I sat with Briana and her friend Nicole who goes to school in Swansea (they're friends because they both actually attend Arcadia University in the US). The group had a group ticket and essentially had a whole car of the train to itself. The ride took 4 hours? Approximately. We were met on the platform in Edinburgh as we got off the train by Michael, a Scotsman in kilt and raincoat. He had two features everyone noticed first... his long relatively wild (but not so wild it that it looked unkempt) hair, and his calves the size of my torso. He started leading everyone up the big hill in Edinburgh towards our hostel which was actually right next to the cliff on which Edinburgh Castle sits (the last picture was actually taken from the door of the hostel). On the way there I got my first taste of what my fellow Arcadia tourees were like when one of them stopped all 50 people to ask if he could run back to the train to get the book he left behind. The answer dear friend, is: if you can find the hostel on your own!

Upon arriving at the hostel they first let everyone into their rooms, and then let us go find lunch. At the room divide was the first time I realized how few men there were. There were exactly 8 guys, which worked well in our hostels since they had 8 person rooms. It did not work out in the sense that only one of the other guys was of the right personality for me to bear spending time with, two were alright but just interested in different activities, and the other 4 were a combination of the stupidest and least friendly people I've ever stumbled upon. This was balanced by about 40 girls. A little lopsided one might say.

After grabbing a quick and non-memorable lunch we took off on a walking tour of the old city of Edinburgh. It actually covered very little area, but took a pretty long time. Michael, was really interesting, and told us the stories surrounding all of the various pub names, which was pretty cool. For instance, Greyfriars Bobby's was a pub named after a dog in the 1800s. He apparently belonged to a policeman who died, making him homeless. Always loyal he would sleep at night on his master's grave in the Greyfriars graveyard, and during the day he made himself into a favorite with kids and lived by receiving meals from a local restaurant owner. He was ordered to be killed by the city however, because law dictated that stray animals were to be killed. Everyone protested to the city, which eventually agreed to do something to save Bobby. They decided that since the Greyfriars graveyard belonged to the city, and Bobby slept there, they could have the city formally adopt Bobby, thereby technically giving him a home. A cute little story, and almost all the pubs have some sort of story like that attached.

It rained through the entire walking tour, making it a somewhat miserable experience physically, but interesting nonetheless. Everything was nearly ruined at the end by one of the other students, who had the gall and empty-headedness to approach Michael, a Scotsman in a kilt, and ask him if he knew where the nearest McDonald's was (she was asking seriously). He looked her in the eye and responded "no, and if I did I wouldn't tell you." She then went on to explain that she has this tradition of going and eating at a McDonald's in every city she goes to. Michael again looked her in the eye and responded, "that's pretty sad." I was dumbfounded by the question. On the tour we had heard that Edinburgh has over 850 pubs (possibly an exaggeration after getting to Michael and his excessive proclamations of Scottish price), and here is our American representative actively seeking out a McDonald's! Grrrrrr.

After the tour we were free for the night. I wound up hooking up with a large gaggle of girls, and the only guy I could stand, Raphael, and we toured around a little, checking out St. Giles Cathedral, as well as the Edinburgh court building, which was interesting. It had a big Great Hall through which there were lawyers actually pacing and debating legal stuff with one another. Kinda nifty. From there it was resolved that everyone wanted to go find this elephant cafe thing, which is apparently where JK Rowling dreamed up and first wrote about Harry Potter. I was game to go along, but we wound up stopping for the girls in a bunch of shops (though I did pick up some souvenirs for people while there), and generally taking forever. By this point Raphael had bailed, and I took off on my own as well. I took the opportunity, as it grew dark to catch a couple more scenic shots of Edinburgh Castle, and to check out the Greyfriars cemetery. It was too dark by that point to see much though, so I headed back to the hostel.

As luck would have it, I stumbled upon two girls, Charlotte and Kelly, as I walked into the hostel. They both attend King's in the city of London, and I had met Charlotte during my homestay in Swansea. They're both incredibly nice, and I made plans to meet them with Raphael to go to dinner at a pub about an hour later. I filled that hour by renting a towel for 20 pence from the hostel, and taking a soapless, shampooless, flipflopless shower. It was something less than cleansing, but it helped a little.

At the pub that night we had a pretty good time. There were all sorts of really interesting people out, even at 7:00. For instance, we saw an oompa-loompa. It was really a little person that had painted himself orange, put on a green wig and white suspenders, and then handcuffed himself to some other dude. We have no idea why, but it was interesting to watch. There was also a very interesting grandmother, probably in her early 70s, who had clearly started drinking early, and who seemed to be attempting to pick up 20-something guys, who were less than interested in her dancing. Weird.

From there we took off to another pub down the street, the White Hart, that Charlotte and Kelly said was supposed to have live music at 9. We got there about a quarter till and asked, because it was a tiny place that was absolutely packed and there appeared to be no room for any musicians. They said there would be music, but not until 9:30. So we departed again and went to yet another pub, also on the same street as the other two. We sat down there, ordered some desert and relaxed, before returning to the White Hart for the music. The White Hart was now even more crowded, and there was still no sign of the musicians. Finally, some guy with a guitar comes out, probably at around 10:15, and starts playing covers of things like the Beatles and the Killers. It was fun, and he was good, but it was really crowded and after awhile we'd just had enough. We had kinda been hoping for more authentically Scottish music. We left Raphael behind, however, because he had found another girl from our trip that he had started chatting with ;-)

So now Kelly, Charlotte and I began the search for more authentic music (or should I say Kelly did, because she did all the work). She began just asking random bouncers where we could go to find a pub with good Scottish music. During our travels we had a good serenade from a group of drunk Scottish teens across the street who were stumbling down the street singing "It's time to go home! It's time to go home! F&@# off (gibberish), it's time to go home!" repeatedly. Finally we wound up at this place called the Sandy Bells. It was a cute little pub with far fewer tourist types. At the back sat a collection of musicians with various instruments like violins, weird guitar-like things, an oboe, etc. They weren't really a group, and they didn't really have anything arranged, but they would just play together randomly. It was really nice; one of my favorite experiences. After enjoying that for awhile it was getting late, so we took off back for the hostel and went to bed.

End day one. The next two were far busier!


On a side note, just in an attempt to keep this current, I went to Portobello Rd. today. I was inspired to do so when I read it in my friend Jenn's travel book a few weeks ago, and realized that it was a place that existed in reality as well as in Bedknobs and Broomsticks. It made for a really long day in a lot of big crowds, but we had a lot of fun. It was really like walking through an endless museum at which you could touch and look at all of the items on display at will. The highlight of the day was the exceptional salesman we stumbled across at one stall. My friend Leah was picking up various items and looking at them (as most Portobello Rd. stalls simply throw their merchandise in heaps and let the customer sort it out). The guy behind the counter brusquely asks with a thick accent "you gotta touch everything?" She responds cautiously, "no... I guess not," and turns to leave. Determined to ensure we never give him any business he adds as we walk away "good, well piss of 'den. F#@$ing students." His comments pretty much summarize the impression I get from the English as a society. The Welsh and the Scots are infinitely nicer, and I can now understand why they hate the English.

Enormous Update Part 1 - Cardiff

It has been awhile... I've had (and have) lots to do!

We'll start a long time ago, since that is when I last posted! The weekend of Valentine's Day: I was pretty bummed that I couldn't see Katie, but I made sure to get to talk to her. By coincidence my parents decided, all by themselves, to go see Katie play a game at Colgate that day so I asked them to bring her a rose. But that isn't what you want to hear. You want to hear about how I went to Cardiff (Wales) that weekend! My friend Jenn Bradley from Colgate is on a Colgate study abroad program there, so I went to see her. I took off after class on Friday, by train. All in all I think it was like a 3 hour trip (I don't really remember). Unfortunately Cardiff was hosting the England-Wales rugby on Valentine's Day, so the train was absolutely packed. Standing room only. I stood for about 3/4 of the trip there, until a seat was finally vacated and I collapsed into it. I then caught a cab from the train station to Jenn's dorm, and met up with her and another friend, Lea, to bake some cookies (I hadn't arrived until pretty late, so anything more elaborate was kinda out of the question). As we made cookies I met all of Jen's flat mates, Peter, Anthony, Ed, Mickey and another guy I only met really briefly, most of whom were actually British, and more importantly very friendly. I am incredibly jealous. Totally schools my anti-social Asian flat. We stayed up chatting and then went to bed.

The next day we took off to Caerphilly, near Cardiff, and the site of a ruined castle (cheaper to visit than Cardiff Castle!). It was really cool, and so much less expensive than everything and everything in London. You have to pay 15 pounds to see anything like that in London; in Wales it was 3.20 with a student discount! So we explored and such, though I forgot my camera, as usual, and had a generally good time. After leaving the castle we found a place to grab a mid-afternoon lunch and watched the Scotland-France rugby on TV as we ate. The Wales-England match was later, but there were plenty of people packed in to see this early one! I convinced Jenn to try the sticky toffee pudding, and she agrees now that it is the single-best dessert in the universe (though I have since learned that this is only the case when it is done right).

It was now time to try to get back to Cardiff, which was much harder than we thought it would be. We had taken a bus out, and any other bus system I'd ever been on you simply went to the other side of the street and caught the same bus line to get back. So we tried that and it really wasn't working... none of the buses were what we wanted. We started asking bus drivers how to get to Cardiff and the consensus was that we should go to the other side of the street. They gave other directions as well, but with their thick accents we had no idea what those other directions were. So we tried the other side of the street, again with no success. Bus drivers just kept telling us that our bus would be there soon. We waited literally and hour to an hour and a half. We didn't really know what to do! Eventually a guy on the street saw us asking, and came to offer help.

He was certainly interesting in appearance. Completely shaved head, with a tattoo all the way around the back of his head. Nose ring. Big black boots. He told us we had to go to the Caerphilly bus station, which by chance he was walking to at the moment to go visit his friend somewhere. He said we could walk with him. So a little hesitantly we followed. Chatting with him as we walked behind Jenn and I were eye-talking to decide whether we should really be following him. We eventually decided that we would follow so long as there were other people were around. Turns out that we had nothing to worry about because the guy was every bit as nice as his offer to help hinted at; he got us to the bus station, helped us find the right bus, and then took off for his own. See? You can't judge a book by its cover.

After getting back to Cardiff we made a brief run to the grocery store with Jenn's flatmates to pick up stuff like "egg noodles" for dinner, and ice cream for after. We were going to go to the house of one of Jenn's friends from Germany for dinner, and her roommate, from someplace I don't remember (Asia somewhere...? I really don't know), was making the food. She had requested the egg noodles, but we couldn't find them in the store. Jenn and I figured "egg spaghetti" was close enough and got that instead. Still seems to me like it should be the same thing. Apparently not though... who knew? I don't know why it didn't work, because she made the food and we ate it, but apparently we ruined dinner. Oops.

After that we returned to Jenn's flat and got ready to go out in downtown Cardiff. They had some free entry passes into one of the clubs, but only if you went a little early, so we took off. Clubs aren't really my scene, but I had a good enough time. It was good just to spend time with old friends and new. When we left the club it was pretty late, but we stopped at a chips place that was absolutely PACKED. And it was 0n a street of about 10 places exactly like it. They just churned out french fries at breakneck speed, and you could get them with cheese, gravy or any number of things. It was like the Cardiff version of slices, but with french fries. I don't know if it was the crowds from the rugby, or just the fact that it was a Saturday night in the club district of Cardiff, but there were massive numbers of people, and there was trash from these chips places everywhere. I wouldn't have wanted to be on morning cleanup.

The next day I just grabbed the train for home, midday, after a fairly lazy morning. Jenn walked me to the train station via the scenic route through the park and past Cardiff Castle. It was a really nice place, and for once, the sun was actually shining! Cardiff was a lovely place. Jenn was a really good hostess, having extra blankets and towels all ready for me. I really appreciate everything she did for me!

Once again on the train, I didn't get a seat. This time I was standing in the food car, and eventually managed to get a seat on this little counter ledge thing. The problem was that it was at about chest height, so when I sat on it I had to crunch to keep from hitting my head on the ceiling. Not ideal conditions, but better than standing!

When I got back to Royal Holloway it was late afternoon. I spent some time getting things back together, and making dinner. Then at 8:00 I went to meet back up with my pub quiz team! After the terrible experience we'd had the week before at the on-campus quiz night we decided to try the quiz night at a local off-campus pub, The Crown. The atmosphere was infinitely nicer, there were questions we could answer, and we just generally had a much better time. We placed 3rd of 5 I think, and agreed it was definitely something we would do again. So hopefully that is a weekly thing now! The only issue came up on a question that should have been a gimme for us. The question was "what sport did the great Wayne Gretsky play." Given that we are Americans this was really easy, and presumably hard for the Brits for whom hockey is irrelevant. So we answered hockey and were done with it. When it came time to check answers, teams swapped sheets, and the answer to this particular question was "ice hockey." The other team immediately jumped up and said "does just hockey count if you don't say ice?" The pub's quiz person immediately said no, you must specify ice hockey. We were pretty upset of course and started a great debate about the meaning of hockey. We contended that if you asked Wayne Gretsky what sport he played he would say "hockey" not "ice hockey." Furthermore, he played in the NHL, not the NIHL. They would have none of it. It was yet another illustration of how logic and fact don't apply in England, all that matters is the bureaucracy!

In the end though we were content with the results and had a good time. The prize for the second place team, which was only 2 people, was a pitcher of Fosters and they offered it to our group, which was very nice, and we accepted, though I did not partake.

Phew! All in all a very successful weekend, though I don't have any pics to share! Eventually I will get some from Jenn, though even she only has a few. Another post to come soon about this past weekend, my trip to Scotland!