Ain't No Party Like a St Andrews Party...

So although I left for St Andrews for two days last Thursday, I have been a lazy old sod and neglected to report on my pre-weekend rendezvous. St Andrews is a medieval town, it's cobbled streets charming and well trodden; also extremely dangerous if you're wearing heels at 3:30 am and have been drinking since lunch time the previous day. I only share this information as a safety disclaimer, I do not speak from experience, I heard the story from an educational elitist - of whom the town is 1/3 composed. St Andrews University, the third oldest English speaking university and the oldest in Scotland is situated here (in case you could not tell), interwoven between enfeebled pubs, cottages and cafés. Students come from all corners of the universe; though namely White-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant 'breadbasket', pedigree education proud Americans call the institution their 'college'. Probably the two most notable graduates of the university ever, well in my not-so humble opinion, are Will and Kate. The pair famously met whilst studying at the secluded and prestigious university, meeting for their early dates in dingy coffee houses, one of which proudly proclaims so with an celebratory banner in the window.

It goes without saying then that I was relishing being in the presence of so many of my favourite types of people: Americans and the intellectually gifted. The place was awash with boys who looked like they should be competing in exclusive rowing races in Amsterdam: right from their Arian blonde hair and blue eyes to their evenly cuffed bone coloured chinos and embroided navy blue, tan and burgundy loafers, with the inevitable indetectable sock. It was a Green Card hunter's fantasy. I of course wanted to climb just about every boy like a tree; although I'm not too sure that they were too keen on an obnoxiously drunk Australian, slut-dropping more than she actually stood up. 

Aside from my embarrassing behaviour which undeniably caused a temporary spectacle; St Andrews is also a history fanatic's dream come true: with dilapidated ruins of a castle and St Andrews Cathedral; once the biggest in all of Scotland adorning the coastline.

Ruins of St Andrews Castle. 

Ruins of St Andrews Cathedral.

St Andrews University.

On the Thursday night my cousins and I ventured just two doors down from The Saint Andrews Tourist Hostel - the cheapest accommodation in town! To what probably was the only youth hub in town: Vic. The place was ingenious really; one half pub/restaurant, one half nightclub. We ate dinner there (two bowls of potato and leek soup for me accompanied with thick, rustic bread and butter... I don't think I was hungry), bought £11 vodka at Tesco, drank up in the comfort of our £14 a night hostel, squeezed our asses (well I squeezed, they slipped into with thin person ease) into some tight clothing, tamed our manes, applied a game face, strapped on some '90s chunky shoes (okay again, just me #fashun #individual) and walked/crawled to the metropolis of St Andrews... At 11:30, we were the first three there. What does that mean? Double vodkas all round! We were "ready to paaaaaarrrrtaaaayyyy! Yeeeoooow". 

Eventually, a few students rocked up. I say a few, but to the conservative St Andreians it probably was a rager. I made friends with a guy from Georgia, one from Holland, and two from France. Party gal me convinced poor old Georgia and Holland to buy beers and host an 'afterparty'; once again, probably an actual party by uber-nerd standards. The party consisted of the two boys, me, two unimpressed girls (from North Carolina and Manchester - represent!) and an exuberant girl from Chicago, who witnessed me minus all signs of dignity, tumbling all around town, landing on my ass and shoulder bone more than once. I would like to take a moment here to publicly announce that I patted myself on the back for my antics that fine evening. I would also like to slip in the fact that I fell backwards into the bath (twice!) when I went to the 'toilet' in the boys' apartment. Really I slunk away just for a tiny sec to recompose myself and also to rethink my life and decisions. 

Me being a doll.

Ashley and I.

Ashley, Nicole and I. 

Considering my Thursday night behaviour, I scrubbed up semi okay on the Friday to visit a Scottish wartime necessity: Scotland's Secret Underground Bunker in Crail. A 137 meter long tunnel leads to two enormous blast proof doors which encase 24,000 square feet of underground accommodation. I know that might sound less exciting than a big old fart from Grandad, but it actually was incredible: both the logistics of building such a mammoth structure and the fact that the British Government was willing to be so callous and brutal in the event of a Cold War attack: saving positions for the nation's most important politicians, bureaucrats and wealthy aristocrats: paying upwards of £50,000 per adult for a lucrative spot in the bunker. Having studied modern history in my final two years of high school I had some prior knowledge of the Cold War but still was fascinated by the human, civilian side; every day people were entrenched in fear, right up until just years before my birth. Having bomb shelters in the back yard and school time drills which instruct students to hide underneath desks in the event of an impending attack seems like a set of values that should be more than just thirty years old. It just went to prove that we still have a long way to go as humanity. I was probably even further shocked however by the amount of nuclear weapons allegedly stored in the United Kingdom alone. I left the place wanting to become a toe ring toting, medicinal marajuana smoking and mid-driff exposing hippy. Part of me is enchanted by the illustrious idea of hippy life, but then the other half of me wants to be a rich, high heel strutting, Haute Couture collecting woman of the Upper East Side. The struggle is real my friends. 

We ended the Friday with a trip to Anstruther; a small fishing village and home to the UK's number one chippy (supposedly). I'm just going to put it out there and say that 'the best fish and chips in the UK' ain't got shit on the gourmet fish and chips that you can get down at good 'ol Rocko foreshore. By the end of the night we were far too destroyed to even think about gracing Vic with our presence - and ended our short St Andrews soirée by playing a mid-90s version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire: the board game. I won. 

Cold War headlines.

Terrifying propaganda. 

Anstruther.

The 'best fish and chips' my ass!

'I Am One With The World'

Finally today after nearly three weeks of travelling, my 'World Ring' arrived in the mail, having journeyed all the way from sunny Perth. I am enraptured with the concept of this ring. It has been designed to provide a channel to connect people with people and loop each individual together through experiences and sharing. Each ring infuses the perceptive, balancing and healing energies of the ancient fine metal of silver with the powerful master number 11 to remind its wearer to have a conscious awareness of life and their journey through it. It is suggested that each wearer of a ring, who will have been given the next consecutive number, will participate in the initiative of sharing 11 experiences had whilst wearing the ring. 

I purchased the ring only three days before leaving Perth on my one way adventure; however it had to be specially made and then delivered. I had been to breakfast with my wonderful and stunning friend Lynn and we were strolling the streets of North and East Perth, both discussing the mutual constant urge to add to our respective ring collections. Lynn took me into an intriguing store along Perth's Beaufort Street - Behind the Monkey (www.behindthemonkey.com) - and being a quiet Monday we had the opportunity to chat with the owner, a spiritual and stylish woman named Elaine who mentioned the concept of The World Ring to us. The next number happened to be 22, which coincidentally holds a great deal of personal significance to Lynn, a fellow wanderlust global nomad who is also exceptionally good at spending money. We both decided then and there that we must each have a ring, and it would be something the two of us could use to remember both one another and the remarkable world that we live in. The number assigned to me was number 23, and it came with the following written passage describing the importance of the number:

"The number 23 when reduced holds the power of the single number of 5. As such it will take you on an energetic, adventurous and daring journey. This beautifully unpredictable number is always I. Motion and in needs of change. It is a number that can take risks and will adjust to change with versatility, adaptability and tolerance. This is not a conventional number. It is a prime number and the only prime number that consists of two consecutive prime numbers - a true individual! 

With the aligned energies also of the number 2 - sensitive, peacemaking and patient and of the creative, imaginative artistic number 3 the number 23 ring will want to experience everything in life!

There is also a curious and somewhat superstitious enigma to the number 23 - and that "all things happen in fives, or are divisible by or are multiples of five, or are somehow directly or indirectly appropriate to five - as is The Law of Fives." The 23 Enigma is regarded as part of this law - that is most events are directly connected to the number 23. 

This is a number of personal freedom, artistic creativity and one that seeks companionship."

I Can't Figure Out How to Edit My Description...

So I'll just put this here. Another reason why I consider myself to be accessible: I am bamboozled by technology!

I think what sets me aside from other travel bloggers is my painful normalcy. My unimpressive physique, face and overall aesthetic is certainly attainable and hopefully very relatable. I am embarking on this mission by myself, financially supporting myself having worked and saved for the prior 14 months leading up to this trip. Essentially, anybody could be me. My pictures are not professional, my clothes not gifted to me by eccentric and fabulous designers, my hair is far from perfect. Regardless, I am pursuing my dream of seeing the world and hopefully can encourage everybody else out there who is perhaps not supermodel material to do the same. 

I also like to post about my travels on Instagram, and love checking out the lives of others too - @gordo95.

Here's a photo of me going to Miley; and yes, my camera has a skin perfecting setting. It works wondrously. 

Scotland - an Eclectic Land of Hippies, Rangas, Tartan, Freaks, Vintage and Antiques!

Finally I have realised there is a Blogger app!

So, after a great deal of tech hassle since arriving in Scotland on May 1st, I am beginning to once again feel an affinity to these funny things called 'apps', as I have realised that yes there is in Fact a Blogger app! Rest assured, a solo celebration is ensuing within the walls of my tiny single bedded room in my Uncle's home in Baillieston! I have been reluctant in posting details of my trip thus far, simply because trying to operate Blogger on safari on an iPad is extremely tedious and only further proves my desperate need to attend anger management classes. However, now that an Apple app has once again awed and impressed me I will slowly start to become less of a bigoted insta-twat and more of a sophisticated travel blogger! Hoorah! Rather than compose post after boring-as-batshit post however, I shall condense my wonderful and diverse adventures hitherto to one post. Apart from May Boyd... And Miley; both of these ladies, although quite obviously being starkly different, deserve posts of their own! 

I have been lucky enough to so far been given a taste of both modern and medieval Glasgow, from the cosmopolitan West End and Ashton Lane to the stunning in their antiquity Stirling and Edinburgh castles, grimy with hundreds of years of blood rich history. At Edinburgh Castle, my eyes were even privy to the priceless Crown Jewels; a sight sure to floor even the wealthiest of viewers accustomed to the world's finest. I have attended two DJ shows back to back - Dimitri Vegas and Like Mike, followed by Duke Dumont - on my first two nights in town, both in two of Glasgow's night time hotspots, The O2 Academy and The Arches. I have stood on the edge of a Scottish loch, absorbing the eerie tranquility of the mammoth Loch Lomond; still appreciating Mother Nature's finesse despite chucking a classy vom in the national park's toilets upon arrival. Later that same day I was charmed by the neighbouring town of Luss, a small village of cottages bordering on the Loch, where I had my photo taken with a kilted gentleman, stood next to the grave of a Viking and alarmed the poor Scottish boy serving me my serving of four slices of just bacon by exclaiming: "you absolute beauty!". Needless to say I was talking about the bacon, not him. 

Edinburgh herself deserves an honourable mention; that city is just spectacular. Home to many Scottish high achieves, JK Rowling being the most relevant to my generation, the city is awe-inspiring. Food, culture, history, architecture, formidable views and an awesome milkshake shop make the place unforgettable; somewhere I will visit again. Not only did I explore the castle, climb the 200 foot tall Sir Walter Scott monument, visit The Writers Museum, a random cemetery, cathedral and Calton Hill - but I also spotted 'William Wallace', a floating Yoda, the world record holder as the most pierced woman and discovered a kick ass milkshake shop. I am aware that I have mentioned the milkshake shop twice, all I can say is yes: it was THAT good. I was in such a cheerful mood that I even agreed to buy lunch for a beggar, who conveniently selected the largest piece of fish AND chips to go with her meal. Karma: I'm still waiting to hear from you. 

Another honourable mention goes to my rad family: from my cousins who I had never met who welcomed me with open arms (including the one who has been said to look like my twin) to my slightly zany but completely adorable Great Uncle Alec, who I also had never met. I am overjoyed that I took the step of flying halfway around the world by myself to virtual strangers and have thereby extended my family network. I feel like I already will have friends for life in my cousins, family connections which I have always longed for. I am very fortunate. 

Loch Lomond.

Stirling Castle.

Sir Walter Scott monument.

And the view from.

Edinburgh Castle.

 

View from Calton Hill. 

Ashton Lane.

An Unexpected Lunch Companion

Written 11/05/14

Yesterday afternoon I decided to venture into Glasgow City on my own to visit the world famous Willow Tea Rooms, intending to grab a spot of lunch and read my book peacefully. I did not anticipate the hype surrounding the place; when I got there I had to line up for a table - the place was packed (albeit with mostly the over 50 crowd)! Fortunately, being a party of one I did not have to wait for too long, and was quickly offered a seat under the stipulation that I share with another patron, who I was told was a friendly frequent. I was led upstairs and seated across from a sweet looking elderly woman, happily eating her lentil soup. The lady and I, May Boyd, born Christmas Day 1928, soon got to chatting and by the end of our time together I almost shed a tear (and I have the emotional range of a brick). May was charming and inspiring - having traveled far and wide and lived a life so vast and varied. She shared with me many heartwarming anecdotes of her life both in Scotland and abroad, experiences that undoubtedly made her a liberal thinker and kept her young at heart. Not only did she encourage me to live a life less ordinary, she was also wickedly witty, making me laugh in the first few minutes after asking me where I came from:

Me: "I'm from Australia."

May: "Ah, I knew that was an Australian accent... I hate Australian accents!"

And when she then asked me about my hometown: "do you stay in the town of Perth? No.. In the outback?"

Or when she questioned me on my travels hitherto, with me answering: "yeah I've only really been to Bali outside of Australia", only to have her quickly retort with: "why would you visit an Islamic country?". 

That's what's so great about old people - they give no f*cks! And why should they? A privilege of such age and esteem should be the freedom to say whatever they please without reprimand! 

I could go on endlessly about how honoured I felt to have a one on one conversation with such an extraordinary and august woman, despite her insistently calling me 'Jenny' even though I told her that my name was Jess/Jessica at least three times, but I am aware that I already look like a bigoted travel twat. I will however include in this long-winded the last thing that she said to me before carrying along on her merry way: "don't listen to anybody else... Follow your star, not your heart because hearts can be broken. You've got to be strong Jenny." 

You're in Glasgow now aye lass!

Thursday night at 7:53 local time I touched down in Glasgow after an 11 hour solo flight from Perth to Dubai and then an 8 hour flight from Dubai to Glasgow. All in all I spent about 26 hours in transit, beginning when I left my front door to arriving in the Motherland. Thankfully on my first flight (scored the window seat) I sat next to a pleasant Perth couple in their early 60s whom I chatted with about my plans for the future, their grand kids and how poor the food service was. We all agreed before we even took off that we all would need the toilet several times throughout the flight and would all go at the same time in order to avoid the awkward climbing over your fellow passenger debacle. 'Twas grand (as the Scots would say). After a brief layover at Dubai airport, where my inner Blair Waldorf spotted Pink Berry frozen yoghurt ($10.60 later, note to self: never buy anything at Dubai airport again!) and where I am 95% sure I sat a seat down from Ricky Gervais, or at least his Doppelgänger,  in the departure lounge, I boarded an 8 hour flight en route to Glasgow!  Reign and destroy! Now the reason that I keep saying that is because some uber-patriotic Scot yelled it down the cabin as we graced the tarmac and I thought that if I am to be a proper Glaswegian then I best practice some national pride - aye. Astoundingly, I was just about the only person on my flight arriving on an Australian passport, here's to being an exotic foreigner! After 'clearing customs', and by 'clearing', I mean walking through a back hallway straight into the country, potentially carrying god knows what (I could have smuggled a donkey in should I have wanted to), I was met by my uncle, aunt and cousin - who I have only met once in my life, 10 years ago! Apart from that, I don't have much to report.

Later on I will compose a post about my weekend getting amongst the Glasgow nightlife! But for now, I'm about to walk my adopted puppy/boyfriend - Reginald the Boxer.