My adventure began last Tuesday, when, after having stayed up most of the previous evening to pack, my parents peeled me out of my bed, stuck me in the truck, and dropped me off at the airport. Airports tend to generate teary goodbyes, but I manged to maintain my composure as I waved my final farewell and trudged over to the security line, where I promptly surrendered my shoes and my dignity.
My first flight was slightly delayed, so I wandered down to the only charmingly expensive shop in the terminal. As I checked the water bottle prices, I noticed some plastic bottles of Ale-8. Though I was tempted to grab one for a final taste of my homeland, I decided against it, knowing the heartburn that it might later inspire. My flight to Chicago was fairly uneventful. I had a window seat, and after snapping a few photos of the clouds and geography, I nodded off into a somewhat restless sleep.
I had planned a multiple hour layover in Chicago - thinking that I could quickly check into my terminal and then spend the next several hours grabbing some lunch or dinner, checking the internet, and calling my friends and family for the last time. Unfortunately, at O'Hare, international flights via international carriers require a separate terminal, building, and security. So, things weren't as comfortable or laid back as I had hoped. Anyway, in the end, I managed to contact most of my friends before once again leaving the ground for the cloudy skies.
I've never been on an trans-Atlantic flight before, so I don't know if it was the difference of destination, or the difference of carrier, but my British Airways flight from Chicago to London was perhaps the most theoretically comfortable flight I've yet experienced. I say "theoretically" because long flights are never really comfortable, and I had a headache for most of the evening. However, my body's own inner displeasure aside, it was pretty awesome flight. Each seat had its own tiny video screen, with access to multiple films, tv shows, and music (I chose to watch The Informant!, because I'm pretty much a 40-year old, white male. It's not my new favorite film, but it was a nice distraction form the somewhat joyless discomfort of air travel). They also provided a pillow, blanket, and eye-mask! Did I mention dinner? Breakfast? And coffee or tea with each meal? Amazing. Sure, it's often difficult to appreciate such things gastronomically after spending so much time in the air, but in my heart, I was thrilled!
By the time we reached London, my sense of wonderment was dying, as I began to fight the discomfort resulting from lack of adequate sleep and showering. After (thankfully) getting my visa and going through security one final time (I luckily, though accidentally, slipped into the express line for more valued passengers), I rushed to my terminal just in time to catch my flight to Edinburgh.
After spending most of the hour with my head resting upon my food tray, I finally, finally, made it to Scotland. After freshening up a bit, I began to inquire how I could make it to St Andrews. On the advice of the woman at the bus booth, I took the bus to Waverly Train Station. Of course, I couldn't really understand all of what she had said, but not wanting to ask too many questions, I hopped on the bus, and assumed things would become self evident. As we plowed through the streets of Edinburgh, I began to have little moments of "I'm in Scotland!!" - like swerving through a roundabout, or suddenly seeing Edinburgh Castle as the bus turned a corner.
Ten minutes later, I found myself standing on a sidewalk in the middle of Edinburgh, realizing that I had no idea what to do or where to go next. I had intended to take the bus to St Andrews, but I could find no out-of-town bus stops in sight. After wandering around the block a few times (during which a kilted man began playing bagpipes on the street corner), I gave up and wandered down into Waverly Station. The man at the ticket counter recommend that I take the train to Leuchars and then take the bus from there to St Andrews. After pondering for a moment and realizing I had no other options, I purchased the ticket (£13.55 - Oh, the exchange rate!) and sought out some lunch. Twenty minutes later, I rushed tot he platform, thinking I was going to be late, only to realize that I had no idea how to board train. Luckily, a few moments later, a woman wandered down my way and approached the train. She pressed a seemingly magical light-filled circle on the side of the train, and *poof* the doors opened. Feeling a bit foolish, I quickly followed her lead and hopped aboard the train.
The train was wonderful. As we sped away from Edinburgh, I snapped several photos of the city and countryside. At one of the early stops, a Scottish father and his 5-6 year old daughter boarded the train. Though I didn't speak to them, it was charming to here them talk about their lunch, "Daddy's brought and orange for him and an orange for you!" "Two Oranges?!"
Anyway, about an hour later, I found myself at the Leuchars bus station, with, judging my their ages and amount of luggage, several other students. After a bit of confusion, I lugged my heavy suitcase onto the proper bus and peered out the windows for something that looked like New Hall (my dorm). Nothing seemed to be materializing, so at the first stop that seemed near the town, I approached the driver to ask for advice. He, and one of the students I'd been standing next to, said that this was the proper stop, and that I could find a foot path to my dorm across the street.
The footpath was more of a sidewalk than a provincial short cut through the woods, but it still sounded charming. With two other also somewhat lost American students, I dragged my now ridiculous seeming suitcase along the path and to the gleaming, distant mirage of New Hall. Checking in, I took the lift up to my room, and began settling in.
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