So I flew to Shetland the day after I got back from London. This is the first time I've done something like this totally onmyown. Booked the flight, found my way to the airport, got through check-in, security, found my gate, etc. But I should back up. Rewind.

That package I was waiting for was an Easter basket from the Clogger. Wonderful. It featured Charleston Chews and Butterfingers. How awesome is that? It also included some reading that proved most useful on the flight.

I sat in front of some Arabic women on the bus and tried to catch some of their conversation. Not nosy, really, but curious to see if I could do it. I could, almost. But I got to the airport with loads of time to spare and had some lunch. I also bought a book -- really bad airport chick lit is made worse by being British, I think -- and settled in for the long haul. By which I mean the three hours until I landed in Shetland. Because the flight is only about an hour and a half.

Two issues of the Weekly Dig later, Mhairi -- flatmate -- and her mother met me at the airport, which is about the smallest airport I've ever seen. We had spaghetti bolognese for dinner and it was sort of wonderful to be with a family. Mhairi's father loves Jackson Browne and the first thing he said to me when I walked into the house was "I hear you're a Red Sox fan. I like any team that beats the Yankees."

And I knew we would be great friends.

From Shetland

That's the view from Mhairi's kitchen window. Something I think I should say right now about Shetland is that it's easily one of the most beautiful places I've been in my life. Every corner, and there are lots of them, hides another fantastic view of the ocean and the hills and ponies and sheep. There aren't many trees, but that's okay. In fact, Mhairi and her mother drove me past the copse of trees -- the only one -- and explained that Mhairi loves trees. Don't we all?

Mhairi and I spent the first night just catching up and I slept in a real bed, with lots of pillows, and it was wonderful. Then we got up early-ish, ate breakfast, showered, and went to the gallery nearby with Mhairi's mother and friend, Jenny. It was fun.

Jenny is a sixteen year old girl who is trying to spend a year as an exchange student in Jersey. Ridgewood, of course. She was asking about American culture wondering. I told her she was a Red Sox fan, and indeed she was.

From Shetland

Afterwards, we went to Ness of Burgi with her brother and dog -- Ghengis. Ghengis and I became good friends. He's a black lab. I miss Zevon. Wouldn't you?

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

We had haggis for dinner and I learned something very important about myself. Which is to say that I love haggis. Go figure. It's sort of delicious. I know not everyone loves it, but I think it's great. I don't even care what it's made of, it's that good. I wish they sold it in the grocery stores back home.

The next day, Cara finally came over to see me, having begged me to hurry up and get to Shetland -- then she waited a good long time to see me! So we all went to St. Ninian's Isle and it was beautiful. I can't really describe how lovely it was, but we also saw some seals on the way down. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves as soon I mention that I found a pound buried in the sand and went dune diving and rolling. Sand in my pockets, yo. This was also the start of the "emotional currency" era, when we began pricing out our adventures and figuring out their emotional worth. I went "paddling," which basically just means I took off my boots, rolled up my jeans, and went knee-high in the water.

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

After Ninian's Isle, we went to Jenny's house, referred to affectionately as "The Ranch," and convinced her to take the bus in town with us and get some lunch. We ate at the Shetland Museum and wandered around a bit. It was here that I met Sofi, who is lovely. We had some fun listening to the authentic Shetland accents and talking about the Northern Lights. Then we went back to Mhairi's house and I borrowed Jenny's dress, which you'll hear more about later, I'm sure.

We had Shetland salmon for dinner because James told me to. GOD. Jason also got home that night so he stopped by to visit.

The next day Mhairi and I took the one-thirty bus in town and met Cara and Jenny on it. We bought groceries for Easter dinner, which was on Saturday. Then we sort of wandered around Lerwick while Mhairi took her driving lesson and went to charity shops, meeting Mhairi for some hot chocolate at the coffee shop.

Did I mention that I spent a lot of that day collecting sea glass? I got LOTS of sea glass.

From Shetland

That's Jenny, by the way.

From Shetland

I got trapped in a phone box.

Then we went out for Sofi's birthday dinner and drinks. This is a good time to tell you about the dress. It was silver. And covered in sequins. And short. Here, have a look:

From Shetland

It's not my usual style at all, but I had a lot of fun wearing it. We had fun, pretty much. And we talked about baseball and I explained it to them as best as I could. I also assigned them favorite players.

Roseanne: JD Drew
Mhairi: Dice-K
Cara: Papelbon
Jenny: Jacoby, obviously
Sofi: Mike Lowell

And my favorite is obviously Lester.

From Shetland

From Shetland

From Shetland

SO EASTER SATURDAY.

Menu:

Herb-crusted leg of lamb
Lemon and rosemary carrots
Dinner rolls - Cara's responsibility
Mashed sweet potatoes - more like sweet potato puree, as prepared by Cara and Mhairi
Aspargus - courtesy of Mhairi
Salad
Lemon meringue pie

It was my first time even looking cross-eyed at lamb and I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out. It was a fun and colorful meal.

From Shetland

Dinner?

From Shetland

Dinner.

From Shetland

From Shetland

Mom will be happy to know the rosemary lemon carrots were a divine success!

From Shetland

After dinner, we watched Doctor Who and everyone acted sad that I was leaving the next day. I was sad. I miss my family a lot. A lot, a lot. We were probably eating Easter dinner at exactly the same time, too, since ours started at 6 PM on Saturday and I bet theirs started around the 1 PM Saturday. Because they also had an early Easter.

Anyway, sad faces.

From Shetland

That's Roseanne and the boy is Harry, who is going to London to study fashion. He has Christian Siriano hair.

I got Mhairi hooked on Greek and 90210. I wished Mhairi a happy Easter and went to bed. Mhairi's mother bought me a chocolate Easter egg, too, which was really sweet. We went to some cliffs Sunday afternoon and tried to find some puffins. WHICH I TOTALLY SAW, NO LIE.

Flight back. It's weird, not having anyone to meet me at the airport. Sad, hollow, etc. I can't wait to give my parents hugs at the airport, by baggage claim, and then have a nice, mellow, quiet, peaceful, exclusive ride home from in the backseat of the Marquis while Dad listens to WEEI or The River and I tell Mom all about my adventures. Just the three of us.

And then maybe see people the next day, when I've had some time to sleep. By people I mean Kristin and Sara and James and Danielle and all the rest of them.

I'll leave you with this for now:

The [February] winds lament around the castle of [Edinburgh]

Disclaimer: Camera's battery is dead. Will be stealing pictures soon.

So Roberto and I went to the castle yesterday. Oh, hey, America, that's all you're really lacking. Castles! Barack should build castles. That would stimulate the economy, and offer us fortifications should the Canadians ever decide to invade. We could employ all sorts of masons and architects to build the castles, and if we went back to the huge guns -- like Mon Megs -- then we would employ carpenters to follow the troops around, building and repairing the wagons for said huge guns. Plus, just imagine -- we'd be able to say, "Check out our huge guns!" Caleb would love that, I think.

So I love Robert. He's hilarious. (He's such a cross between Wisconsin and DC and I don't even know what to do with him.) We took pictures of each other in front of the castle, including in front of the big guns that I mentioned. I took his picture with some swords and he took my picture with a man dressed for living history. The castle is cool, but the weather wasn't ideal. Not really drizzly, but threatening, and cold. We waited in line -- oh, about that.

Robert wanted to leave early so we wouldn't have to wait in long lines. Nine AM. Fine by me. I even went to bed early! And set my alarm! I woke up at ten, horrified. My alarm had not gone off, because my phone was still on silent. I was ready by 10:18 and went down to his flat and apologized. He was wrapped in a blanket and looked... well, I interpreted it as irritated, but apparently, it was "sleepy." He muttered "That's okay," and began shutting the door. I got really confused and didn't know if he meant "That's okay, too late now, though," or "That's okay; hold on a second." I waited for a minute before I felt like a creep and went back to my flat. I figured if he still wanted to go, he'd come up and knock. Well! I forgot that I can't hear the door from my room when my door is shut. So at quarter past eleven I got a text from him asking where I was.

And we finally headed out.

Good advice: there is a "one o'clock gun." If you want to see them fire it, be near the entrance at one o'clock. Wear argyle. You'll be so glad you did when you stumble upon Argyle Tower. Susannah knows what I'm talking about. Will would love Argyle Tower, I know, as would J. Crew. The crown jewels were a delight, and an unexpected delight. Moving through the exhibit felt a bit like moving through one of the Salem witch museums, with the figures frozen in a moment and piped-in audio dialogue. There is a nifty family tree, but if you're going to look at the family tree please understand that James V was the father of Mary, Queen of Scots. And her son was James VI, I -- aka the best king ever, besides Bonnie Prince Charlie. The crown jewels gift shop was awesome. They had plastic crowns and tiaras that would have made sixteen year old Ashley freak right out. Margaret's Chapel, built in the 12th century, was tiny and beautiful. The prisons were... unsettling. Though there was a bit of an American Pride moment, when we read about Washington and the most glorious war ever fought. (American Revolution, what?)

It was trippy being in the room where James VI, I was born. I had just done a presentation on him and everything, so it was overwhelming, historically speaking.

This castle is a bit more expensive than you might expect -- if all the museums, or "galleries," are free, the castles are not. It's about ten pounds (not bucks) to get in. If you want a self-guided audio tour, it's another 3.50, and for a guide book in addition to the audio guide, it's even more. They have an extensive gift shop, I'll give them that. The array of Scotch is impressive for a gift shop, as is the selection of whiskey armor they offer. Robert the Bruce not your type? Go for William Wallace. Oh, still too noble for you? Choose the piper! Coming from a place where alcohol is not sold within two feet of children's foam swords, it was, let's say, a revelation.



I went to mass today, at the University's Chaplaincy. Nine AM. I had imagined that it would be entirely older people, but also, that it might be three students and no one else. Well, it was a pretty full mass, for an early morning mass in a city whose official religion is "not Catholic." I guess that just means that all the Catholics go to the same couple of churches. It was such a small room, without pews or kneelers. You decide beforehand if you want to accept the host or not -- someone actually confronted me about this today.

"Excuse me," he said, meaning well. "You forgot your communion."
"Oh, I'm not taking communion," I replied. "I haven't been to confession."

I didn't add "in seven and a half years." Though, the idea of accepting communion without having gone to confession didn't seem to bother him too much. But the mass was quick, without singing. I missed Father Mark's booming "How are you, my children?" and his glorious "Through him, with him, in him." Does it occur to anyone else that he has the perfect voice for being a priest?

Anyway, no kneeling, no singing, no procession. It's the ritual of Catholicism stripped of its pretty. I think, for the most part, I loved it. Except for not understanding most of what they were saying during the prayers. Every time I thought I had figured out what part we were at, they tossed in something new or there was a collective mumble and I lost it. Alas.

The chapel is an old drawing room, and sparse. There was an iron crucifix over the altar, done in avant garde style, and no other decorations at all. Large windows, lots of light, sunny yellow walls. And aside from missing Father Mark (and Father Paul, for that matter...) it was a really lovely ceremony. It was a ceremony without the ritual, I guess. Without the fetishism a more well-funded Catholic church, like Saint Joe's, can afford. The pretty embossed wafers -- though they did have simple wafers, at least, and not pita bread -- and crystal chalices of my youth were nowhere to be found. It actually sort of felt like Catholicism wasn't a huge denomination throughout the world -- which, compared to its prevalence in eastern Massachusetts, especially the South Shore (or, the Irish Riviera), it's really not.




Here's a fun fact: my classes end MARCH 26TH. Yes, you read that correctly. My classes are over March 26th. And then I come home in the first week of June. Chyeah. Three finals spread out over that time, of course, but, really now. What on Earth will I do with myself? Having all that time to write, and to read, and to explore. If you want to come visit me in April or May, please do!