So, I am running a little low on inspiration today. That seems to be one thing that happens
when you go home after college- nothing happens. Okay, I am sure that is not true. I mean, I have seen friends and family and all of that. Obviously,
I have been doing things. (It's why it's been a few days since I have posted anything.) It is
just not anything I really want to blog about. So, sorry, if you wanted to hear (or read) about that.
Instead, I am going to write the first installment of what I
like to call “The Edinburgh Saga.”
Now, if you are friend or family, you have probably heard some version
of this, but I have wanted to write it for some time now. So, here goes. Enjoy the gratuitous pictures of Scotland
I throw in.
(Oh, by the way- Names have been changed so I don’t get in trouble. Insert big grin here.)
It was November of 2010, and I was spending the semester in
Dublin, Ireland. It was absolutely
marvelous, but when one has the whole of Europe to the east of oneself, it is
rather difficult to stay in one country, let alone one city. And so, during the first weekend of
that month, a group of eleven Notre Dame Dubliners got on a Ryanair flight from
Dublin, Ireland to Edinburgh, Scotland.
We were all naïve, excitable college students, and probably only
that last bit has changed in the couple years since. We were eager to experience Scotland and all of its culture,
and so we obviously went for the most stereotypical of tourist activities: the
pub-crawl.
Now, many fascinating things happened on this
pub-crawl. For one, I discovered
that scotch whiskey does in no way compare to Jameson. However, the story I wish to tell
mostly takes place in the wee small hours of the morning, after all the pubs
had closed.
It was ten o’clock, and the group of us had confiscated a
table at the first pub, somehow managing to squeeze all eleven of us around
said table. (For any who have been
to a real pub, you will realize what a feat this is.) Everybody was on their first drink of the night, and it was
cozy with the sort of comfort you only get when you have been in constant close
contact with a group of people for a couple months. I was looking forward to a fun, relaxing night and had
settled contentedly into my worn wooden chair, when Peter’s phone rang. We all thought nothing of it as Peter
backed away from the table so as to get some quiet. However, as the conversation went on and his smile faded, I
at least could tell it was not good news.
A twelfth member of our party, Fred, who had been in London
and was coming to meet us, had missed his flight that morning due to a sickness
born of alcohol. There were no
other flights available any time soon, and so he had decided to be adventurous
and had gotten on a bus. Fred
called Peter to let him know that said bus had run into problems and that he
would be arriving much later than planned, much later meaning approximately one
am. When Peter related this to the
rest of us, we realized that someone would have to meet him at the bus stop at
such an hour and guide him to the hostel, which was located a couple miles away
from said bus stop. Peter vowed
that he would be the one to make the trek, as Fred was a close friend. With a clink of our glasses, it was
decided.
Of course, going to a number of alcohol-selling establishments
can give rise to a change in plans, and so it proved to be true in this story.
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(PS- For any who want to know, the above pictures are all from Edinburgh. I'll probably post pics from other places in Scotland later.)
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