Waiting...

It's not a real surprise that this is the weirdest Christmas Break I've ever had. It was a weird semester--different for a myriad reasons. It challenged me academically, it challenged me socially, it challenged me emotionally. Yet I feel that I was able to overcome the challenges and enjoy my time at Bates, however brief.

It was also weird saying goodbye. There are so many friendships that have been forged over the past five semesters. Many I will see in September, if not sooner, but there are those who I will not see. There are the seniors who will have left Bates for the last time before I get back to the States. They will go on with their lives and try new things without me there. While these feelings may matter more to me than they do to them, having to cut this time brief is obviously a bitter-sweet experience. I had been told by many people that they had never gone abroad because they couldn't bear to be away from Bates. As I prepare to do what they did not I can obviously see what they meant. Bates has so much to offer, much of which I have been able to experience already. I've been told that Bates won't change much while I'm away, and I guess that may be true, but at the same time it pains me to leave that which I love, and those whom I value so deeply.

But those feelings have passed. I've spent over a week at home now and the operative word is waiting. Home is great, for many reasons, but my eyes are focused on that which awaits me. I've gotten my schedule--it's much lighter than Bates--I've gotten a new jacket, new boots, and other essentials. I'm making last minute preparations, and in less than two weeks I'll be off.

Scotland holds so much. While it will be my third time living there--my second in the past year--I still feel like so much awaits me. Obviously, I've never experienced it as a student. I've never lived there alone, without parental support, or without a guide. I'll be doing a lot of it on my own--but this reality seems to excite me more than it scares me. Cooking for myself may not be the most fun, but I'll survive. What challenge that may present will hopefully be overshadowed by my newfound abilities to travel, to eat, to drink, to go to football matches--all of the things that make Scotland what it is in my eyes.

It will be a challenge, but I'll be fine. What matters more is what I can learn, what I can experience, and how these experiences will help shape me for the future. I'll take classes that will expand my understanding, and hopefully perfect my aspirations for a career. I'll get to connect again with the "old country" the ancestral homeland which means so much to my family. I'll hopefully forge new friendships and sure up old ones that will continue prosper for many years to come.

While I hope that my reflections over the next months will be more of excitement and retelling my adventures than simply writing drawn-out visions into my innerconscioueness I hope that this new adventure will give me more than just a good time. I guess only time will tell--I'll just have to wait and see.

My two cents on the greatest Senator to ever live...

While those who have followed the passing of Senator Ted Kennedy have seen and heard tribute after tribute and story after story about the man's storied life and career, I feel it necessary to add my own--for reasons that seem more clear to me now than they did a few days ago.

Barack Obama may be a rockstar, a man who reinvigorated America's political and civic consciousness, but for someone like me who not only follows politics closely but aspires to make it my life's work, I must say that Ted Kennedy was, is, and always will be my political idol.

This man was the youngest of nine children, and the last of three brothers. He grew up, as my mother would say, "in the lap of luxury" to a family that before his birth was already storied in Massachusetts political circles. His grandfather--"Honey Fitz"-- had been Mayor of Boston and had set the standard high for the future public lives of his grandsons.

As we all know, Joe came first, a WWII combat hero who sadly perished during that conflict. Then came John, elected the youngest and first Catholic President of the United States in 1960, and then Robert, the country's Attorney General and later a Senator from New York. To say the bar wasn't set for Teddy would be very false indeed. Tragedy struck Senator Kennedy three times in the 1960s. The assassinations of his two remaining brothers, and then of course the tragedy at Chappaquiddick in 1969. As President Obama eulogized, a lesser man would have simply given up, but Senator Kennedy persevered and became the "voice and conscience of American progressivism" over the course of the next 40 years.

For someone like me, who feels called to use politics as a means of helping others, helping those who have been forgotten in society's periphery, Ted Kennedy set the example. He crafted the Civil Rights Act, the Americans with Disabilities Act, the Minimum Wage, the Children's Health Insurance Program, and so many other pieces of legislation which strove to make this country more just and equitable.

One needed only to look at the myriad faces, over 50,000 who walked past and gave respect to his casket at the JFK library last Friday and Saturday to see how much his work had inpacted the lives of regular Americans. People from all walks of life, from coast to coast, felt the need to come and say goodbye to the man who was known as the Lion of the Senate, a man whose career can now be remembered as one of the greatest--if not the greatest--to have graced the halls of the US Senate.

I had the pleasure of meeting Senator Kennedy for a few brief moments last year, when he came and stumped for President Obama at the Bates College Chapel. The place was packed, after the event had been publicized for a few short hours. Yes, people were excited about Obama and his message, but I think just as many people wanted to come and hear Senator Kennedy speak, hear why he supported thsi candidacy. It ewas clear that his health was slipping, but Senator Kennedy exuded that presence which made him such a famous and respected official. His speech was invigorating but it was just getting to see and meet the man that had done so much good for this country which gave me the most pleasure.

The prevailing theme throughout all of Senator Kennedy's funeral was not necessarily how perfect of a man he was, but of how human he was. He was not perfect, but, as the Rev. Peter Gomes remarked, it was his imperfection that allowed so many people to get so close to him. He was not pure, but he worked so hard on behalf of those that needed his help and his example that he inspired so many more to give back. His power in the Senate grew, but instead of builiding his political capital he used it change the country for the better. Thus, while many mourn him, the message was sent by all those that reflected on his life, that his example should be used to inspire more people, to encourage the next generation, my generation, to live and work like he did.

That's what means so much to me. He was not just a powerful Senator, but he was a man that worked for the common people in a way that was so humble. He did not brag or gloat, he simply gave, and that is an example that can only inspire. No one, in my estimation, will achieve what he achieved, but as long as his memory lives people can try, and that can only bring ou country farther. Thus, when I look at the framed notecard with his autograph, I imagine the good that following his light can do for both me, this country, and this world.

What Makes a Vacation Memorable?

I surprise myself sometimes by how philosophical this blog has to become. While it really reflects the way I think I had always envisioned this being more of a travel log than an editorial column. However, I like the way it's turned out.

This is my last post from Scotland. It's weird when you get to the end of a trip how much you want to stay--and this emotion becomes even more ironic when I've been wanting to return home badly for over a week at this point. I suppose that it's more of wanting to remain in a place which is currently familiar, and of course who wants to spend nearly 20 hours traveling? Not me. In either case, I'm sitting in the seat that has been my computing hub for the last five weeks, looking out the window onto a street that has become home, and beginning to miss the tranquility and comfort that Scotland has offered me. The only saving grace I suppose is that I will be returning to this country--what has become to seem like a second home--in five short months.

What all of this leads me to wonder is what has made this trip special? The family time has definitely been nice, although having it at a constant clip has obviously taken its toll. Simply being away from Maine for a while is always nice--especially in a place which is so remarkably different that you can truly miss things that you can't experience on this side of the pond.

But what has made this trip different? I was here six years ago, as a bright-eyed 14 year old who had never been to his ancestral homeland. Unlike this trip, our time here in 2003 consisted of non-stop travel. We covered most of Scotland, a good deal of Ireland, and then traveled "south of the border" to see as much of England as we could pack into two weeks. I had no time to stop and think--nor did I have the mental stamina or maturity to do so. I simply took it all in, took a few photos, and lived my truly oblivious pre-high school life without a care.

We retraced a number of our steps this time around, and took in things we hadn't known existed last time. We went to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Stirling--the big sites, and thus early on I had seen what I really wanted to see and was able to take it all in on a different level.

Being someone who has seen 20 years of life, who has been in college for two years, and who now has a deep appreciation for culture and the small details of life--for better or for worse--I was able to really experience Scotland. The ability to live in a house, in a community, and to essentially "be a Scot" for a short while puts everything in a different light. Not only was I able to see the things that made Scotland wonderful: the food, the drink, the customs; and the bad--unemployment, alcoholism, ridiculous retail prices etc. As someone who's seen what it means to be a semi-adult in America I was/wasn't able to see/overlook the things the things below the surface that make a country what it is. Because, being a country that is relatively similar to my own, I was able to digest and analyze what made it unique.

So, what I will remember from this trip will not necessarily be all the castles, cathedrals, and other historical spots--although they were fantastic to visit--but the everyday interactions with people, watching different TV sitcoms and quiz shows, and getting to dive headfirst into a culture which is relatively similar yet remarkably different from my own. I'm thankful that I was able to share this experience with my family, and even more thankful that I will be able to return soon to experience life as a University student, an experience which I'm sure will provide me with plenty more food for thought and reflection.

Thus concludes the McCall's Scottish Odyssey 2009. Tomorrow it's off to Edinburgh, Dublin, Shannon, Boston, Portland and finally South Portland! Cheers.

Get Up, It's Football Day!

Disclaimer: For those of you out there in the blogosphere that don't like sports and especially dislike football (soccer) don't read this, because my enthusiasm might just make you ill.

The title of this post is taken from "Green Street Hooligans," one of my favorite movies and one which is well worth a watch for anyone who has the slightest like for sport. Yesterday was, for all intensive purposes, my introduction to live in-person football. Thus, while my throat recovers from 120 minutes of screaming, I'll take the time to reflect. Many might remind me that I've been down to Gillette Stadium a few times to see the New England Revolution of the horribly pathetic MLS, to which I would say if you think that's what a match should feel like than you've lost all feeling from your body.

Let me set the stage. I've been living in Bridge of Allan, a small village in Stirling County, in central Scotland. Considered part of the "greater Stirling area" many locals follow Stirling Albion FC, a small club who plays in Scotland's Second Division. Yesterday was the club's opening round fixture in the Scottish League Cup (known to the marketers as the Co-Operative Insurance Cup.) Opposing them was Ayr United, a club representing the town I lived in six years ago. The choice of who to support might have been less clear to many, but to me it was easy to choose Ayr--the Honest Men--the choice club of the two friends I still stay in touch with.

So, my friend David made the trek up the coast from Ayr, we ate a sandwich, grabbed an Irn-Bru (the best soda in the history of the world) and walked through the center of Stirling to the Forthbank Stadium.

Now, this was not the World Cup, this was not the Champions League, it wasn't even a Scottish Premier League match, but it was a time that I will never forget. David had bought me a traditional black Ayr United training sweatshirt which I proudly wore and we eagerly qued with the rest of the Ayr United faithful some half hour before game time. This was not a small stadium, in fact at capacity it only holds about 3,000 spectators, but even so it was heaven. The smell of black coffee and steak pies wafted through the stands and I finally felt that I was where I belonged.

Unlike what all of us in America would expect, the stadium was divided into two seperate stands on either side of the pitch. One was for the home support, the other for the visiting support. In larger venues the away support might only recieve a small fraction of the entire park but nevertheless it must be noted that fans of opposite teams are purposely divided. You enter and exit from seperate gates, buy your refreshments from a seperate vendor etc. Besides the obvious safety concerns which prompt this distinct seperation this divide makes it seems as if the two teams' supporters are opposing armies in a good war movie, yelling and banging things in order to intimidate or harass the other.

The twenty or so minutes before kickoff were rather quiet but right about the start the diehard fans showed up, already piss drunk at 3PM. They started the songs, something which sorely missed in most American sporting events. "Ayr Ayr Super Ayr" was chanted, accompanying "the referee's a w***er" everytime a less than favorable call was made. I rarely joined in, not wanting to make my American accent readily audible, but nonetheless such support was emphatic and contagious.

Ayr United won the match 2-1 in extra time. Scoring on a bomb from center-back Willie Easton from about 25 yards out, and a scrambling winner about 115 minutes in.

The result definitely made the day more enjoyable, but the overall atmosphere was what did it for me. While there were only about 1500 fans in the entire crowd nearly all of them were so intune with what was happening in front of their eyes, so behind their side, that I wished it would never end. Most had scarves wrapped around their necks, the crest of their sides emblazaned on a shirt or hat and no matter what the score they had something either supportive or divisive to shout.

There were no riots, no scuffles, only a few birds flipped after a nasty tackle, and epiphets yelled following a missed call. But it was just like I had imagined--the singing, the support, the devotion. I'm not saying that American sports fans are any less devoted to their teams. In fact, I would say that I am just as supportive of my Red Sox and Bruins. Yet it is the way that it is expressed. Fans are so involved in these matches--whether it be singing or swearing or dancing that I can't help but wonder why that sort of fervor is so lacking in the States. Maybe it's just not the culture--and maybe soccer's unique flavor is the thing that delivers such enthusiasm. Whatever the answer may be, if one exists at all, I hope that I get to experience that rush again. It is something I will never forget.

Home is where the heart is...

I challenge you to find a saying that is more of a cliche in the American vernacular. To so many, "home is where the heart is" represents a warm sentiment enabling us to establish a sense of comfort in the face of unfamiliarity and stress. Yet over the past few days, I've realized that this phrase and the feelings it embodies, are much more complex than I had at first believed.

My time in Scotland is almost over, and not a moment too fast. The mystique and excitement of the castles, cathedrals, and brilliant scenery had faded. Maybe this is because my parents have simply run out of things to do. This seems rather interesting considering our initial excitement of traveling across the pond and our endless lists of things to do and places to see. However, what seemed impossible--that we would ever get sick of Scotland--seems to be occurring. It's not that we don't like this place, but more so that we just need to go home. I wonder whether the relative familiarity of the UK has something to do with it. I feel that it would be easier to get overwhelmed in a country where a different language was spoken and where an entirely different culture prevailed, yet I feel that one would not yearn for home as much. No longer am I struck by wonder but just sheer monotony, and I wish this to end as quickly as possible.

For almost 5 weeks, Bridge of Allan has been where our hearts were, literally, and thus it has been home. Despite it being someone else's house--a fact which is still a little bit weird--we have made it our own. We've bought groceries, we've walked down the street as if we've lived here for years and years, and it's been the bed, the living room, and the kitchen that I am the most familiar with.

Then there's the more figurative "home." Like millions of people across the world, my family ties its collective ancestry to these islands. While the McCalls and the Thompsons are not relative newcomers to the US there is a wonderful feeling of going home which occurs when one steps foot on these ancient lands. Last weekend, more than 40,000 people attened the Homecoming Celebration in Edinburgh, people just like us--though many were far more obsessed with family heritage, tartan, and kilts, as I--descended on Holyrood Park to gather as one. There were Americans, Canadians, Australians, South Africans, New Zealanders, and more, all of whom felt a connection to this land.

That sentiment of going home was matched yesterday. During a recent geneaology conference which my dad attended in Glasgow he discovered the home town of a line of Campbells (my great-grandmother's surname) who came from Kilmartin, a tiny village in Argyll--a county along Scotland's western coast. Thus, it was necessary for us to travel there to see it for ourselves. The culmination of the journey was finding the gravestones of many Campbells, most related directly to us, who had called that tiny place home for hundreds of years. While much of the excitement of tracing one's family is lost on me I came to appreciate that sense of going home. While I had never, and may never again see Kilmartin, I know that that and many other sites around Scotland and Northern Ireland, are places that my family have called home in the past. While many of these sites have no contemporary connection to my family knowing that your bloodline can be traced to a particular place thousands of miles away is something that I hope all people can one day experience.

So what does this all mean? I seem to be rambling on, probably a result of fatigue and hunger. Yet, what I'm really saying is that it's time to go home. This is exactly what I was feeling five weeks ago, as we got on the plane to come here. I love Scotland, I love its people, its scenery, its sport. Yet Scotland is not my home. I may feel the twang of ancient family connection, the love of Rangers, the love Irn Bru, and the love of Glasgow and Edinburgh. Yet I'm an American, my home is in Maine.

I feel it to be an oversimplifcation to state that one must only call one place home. My ancestral home is here, my permamnent home is there. While I will return to Scotland in January for five whole months the sentiment will be must different. I will be here surounded with people my own age, not stuck with two parents for the entire time. I will be free to roam and explore without encumbrances. And most of all I will know what to expect. Until then, the time has come to be reunited with friends and family, house and job, and settle back in to the good old boring life which awaits.

The water of life

"Freedom and Whisky gang thegither" --Robert Burns

While Aberdeen may have lacked a certain something, the day that followed was the best I've had in Scotland so far.

Today consisted of two main events. The first was Balmoral Castle. Situated in some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen, Balmoral is the Queen's "country home." It's actually over 50,000 acres of land situated in the highlands. The castle itself is beyond words. It has a certain rugged beauty that doesn't exist in other castles. It was oringinally built by Queen Victoria in 1855 and has been the royal residence ever since. Currently, the entire royal family spends the month of August at Balmoral, enjoying all of the simple pleasures that they can't have in London. The castle is surrounded by beautiful mountains on all sides and has acres upon acres of gardens and landscapes that can take the breath away. I know that I'm not usually the biggest nature enthusiest, or lover of royalty, but this was something else. The reverence and respect that the British people--even the Scots--have for the Royals is astounding. Even in an age where royalty is seen as superfluous and over-the-top the royal family still garners a lot of admiration. All in all it was a wonderful time.

The last stop was the Royal Lochnagar whiskey distillery outside of Balmoral. Initially we were going to go father into the Highlands to tour a still but we decided that this was far more practical. The entire experience was a true delight. The distillery, although owned by an international beverage company, is very small and very traditional. We saw the entire facility, including the warehouse full of oak barrels, and got to sample the goods. I've recently started to enjoy whiskey. Not only do I find it a pleasurable drink but it bears a certain admiration in my family. My grandfather worshiped the drink. To him, single malt whiskey (usually Glenlivet) was something that could make the world good again. He was somewhat of a hapless man at times, but when the whiskey was poured life had a different sort of glow. Although he's been gone for six years now I felt that visiting Scotland and especially a distillery--places he would have loved to have seen--was keeping his memory alive. So, along with the tour and the drink being extradordinary, the spirit of my grandfather made it all the better.

Finally, we drove home. We've made this entire trip using a 2002 AAA atlas which has been very reliable yet at times outdated. We had no idea what this trip home would be like, except long. So when we found ourselves in the middle of the Highlands were were overjoyed. The road was narrower than I would have liked but as it wove in and around the countryside I couldn't help but be in awe. Mountains ran along our sides, heather dotted the landscape, and sheep far outnumbered people. At times the road was so steep or dippy that I feared for my life, but the experience will be one that I will never forget.

The trip up the coast

I have just returned from what might have been the best day in a long while--the culmination of an overnight trip up the east coast to Aberdeen and back again. The recap is as follows:

We began the jaunt by driving up to St. Andrews, home of the oldest university in Britain--founded in 1410. While the Uni was nice to see the main attraction in the town are its cathedral and castle. Both are in ruin but they hearken back to the day when St. Andrews was the ecclesiastical capital of Scotland, housing some of the human remains of Andrew, Jesus' disciple. Anyway, the coast really reminds me of Maine--the smell of the salty air, the gorgeous coast line, and of course all the tourists. I think it was the only time in the past three weeks when I've actually missed Maine--the land that is, I seem to always miss the people.

Next it was up to Dundee. As the guide book spelled out clearly, Dundee is a nice city but doesn't have much for the tourists. They tell the truth. Dundee is located right along the River Tay, making it a large port city. However, it's relatively low class and rather ugly--no offense to those that call it home. So, the most we saw was a drive along the main street and a stop at a Shell station for "petrol" which was a relative bargain at only 99p per liter. Yes, that's right, 99p a liter.

The to Abroath--a one hit wonder. It houses the ruins of Arbroath Abbey, where in 1320 the Declaration of Abroath was signed, a document which was written by Scottish nobles to the Pope declaring Scotland's independece. We were the only ones there, except for a large group of young Muslim girls, probably from Egypt. It was a nice stop, but the town obviously has seen better days.

Last was Aberdeen. We had never seen Aberdeen so the whole family agreed that we should make the nearly 4 hour drive north to see it. Aberdeen sucked. Well, most of it did. Aberdeen, like Dundee, is a port city. However, Aberdeen serves as Scotland's oil capital, receiving a great amount of imports from all over the world. So, we unknowingly checked into a hotel for the night. It seemed nice enough, rather basic but nice. Then, because we were so tired, we went to the restaurant in the lobby for dinner. 10 pounds for a bleeping burger. Little did we know at the time that the hotel served business travelers, mostly oil related, whose companies didn't care what the bill was. So, we ate our below average meals and paid an arm and a leg. The next morning we explored. Aberdeen is known as the gray city because its buildings are predominantely built from granite. We did manage to see Pittodrie Stadium, home of Aberdeen FC, a fun attraction. Other than that we just got lost in the city center for a while and left town.

Good ridance.

July 12--What It Means Over Here

So today is 12 July. To many or most of us in the States this simply another day, but being keenly aware of such things I felt the need to share what this day means to many natives of Scotland and Northern Ireland.

On July 12, 1690, William of Orange and his Protestant troops won the Battle of the Boyne, a victory which capped the Glorious Revolution and the restoration of a Protestant England. Today it is celebrated throughout the isles as Orangemen's Day--a day of parades and merrymaking.

However, these celebrations have a rather nasty tone to them. The centuries old conflict in Northern Ireland, seeing the death of thousands of people still lives on in many of these celebrations. While the festivities are seen by many to be more a festival celebrating Ulster heritage, these parades and festivals are seen as racist and inflamatory by most.

What's my connection to all of this? Well, despite the fact that I trace a good deal of my heritage to Scottish immigrants to Ireland and then the US, I am an adamant supporter of Glasgow Rangers, a club with a celebrated yet dark Protestant Heritage.

Whether it be singing sectarian tunes and matches, waving the Union Jack, or wearing bright orange shirts, many Rangers supporters continue to act as the vanguards of militant protestantism in Scotland. My question is whether this still has a place in modern sport.

Both the Scottish government, as well as both Rangers and Celtic, have made it a priority to shun sectarian activity in favor of more friendly, if still heated, rivalry. Many young fans may not even know why the two clubs hate each other so much, yet the hatred persists. Is such sectarianism necessary? Many angry fans argue that the government is too politically correct and that not recognizing this conflict is to disregard history and tradition. Maybe so, but can't we recognize the sources of such conflict and move past it?

This particular conflict in Glasgow's neighborhoods is less than 150 years old--stemming from a mass migration of Irish immigrants (mostly Catholic) to find jobs in Glasgow's shipyards during the Irish Potato Famine. Thus, as has happened time and time again throughout history, the resident population grew weary and resentful of these newcomers stealing all of their hard earned jobs. And since the division between these two groups was religious it soon spurned conflict.

As the Scottish national anthem notes, "those days are past now, and in the past they must remain." History is important. Yet we must learn from our past. I feel that recognizing the history surrounding 12 July is important but it is of equal importance to use it as an educational tool to aid future generations in reaching out and resolving these vast yet fordable differences. Sport is all about rivalry, but culture need not be as such.

No Fireworks

July 4--I must say it's rather weird being outside of the US on the 4th of July. This is the second time that I've done it but even so, the normalcy of just another Saturday gets to me. To celebrate in our own way we visited Bannockburn, the site of the decisive battle in 1314 when Scotland finally won its independence. Of course, Scotland joined the United Kingdom in 1707 but we like to think that learning about events where the English lost was good enough for our 4th of July.

I must say, it's impressive how many people know about our holiday. I understand the whole deal with the US being the last remaining "super power" thus projecting our history and customs on the rest of the world. Yet, it amazes me how many people wished us a happy 4th, or were able to talk to us about what happened in our war of independence. I sure as heck don't know much about other people's independece celebrations so I was very flattered that people remembered mine.

July 5--Since we are in fact exchanging churches, houses, cars, etc. with another pastor I had to to go to church so that my dad could "pay the rent." I must say, protestant worship isn't that different, no matter where you go. The Church of Scotland is relatively more conservative and traditional that the UCC but never the less it seemed very familiar. We were greeted very warmly by the members of the congregation, all of whom asked me about my studies and told me that I will love the University of Edinburgh. All in all it was a good time. 1 down, 4 to go.

July 6--Another football/ soccer day! My mom says that with each one I drag them to I have to go see another garden or museum--I guess I have to pay my dues eventually. Anyway, we went to Hampden Park in Glasgow, the National Staidum of Scotland--home to the national team and to the finals of many major competitions.

It was a great time. Despite the fact that I couldn't tour the stadium due to the setup for Bruce Springsteen, Coldplay, and U2, I spent a few hours in the Scottish Football Museum and Hall of Fame. It wasn't the most enthralling thing I'd ever done but I was able to learn a lot more about the game I love and especially about Rangers.

Ironically, in our haste to get to the stadium, we drove through the wrong part of Glasgow--the East End. Not only is this a very rough part of town, but it's home to Celtic Park and Celtic FC. I was wearing a bright blue Rangers top which I quickly ripped off in case some ruffian saw me. However, despite my utter hate of Celtic, I noticed the major differences between this neighberhood and the rest of the city. As many might know, Celtic is a Catholic club, founded by a priest to be a sporting outlett for Glasgow's Catholic community. This community is notoriously discriminated against, given the poorest jobs and confined to the worst parts of town. I won't get into all the nitty gritty details but I felt a bit of shame at seeing the discrimination and subjugation that many of my Protestant ancestors perpetrated. Thus, while I can't stand Celtic and find the Catholic church hypocritical and superstitious, I can't help but notice the terrible things that people do out of hate, especially that spurned by religious conviction.

Until next time...

More from Scotland

2 July--I spent the day in Glasgow. The main attraction was seeing Ibrox--for more see my Facebook or the post below. After completing that pilgrimage we traveled to the city's Cathedral district. The Glasgow Cathedral is one of the many pre-reformation churches in Scotland. Originally a Catholic church, the fevor of the Protestant momvement in the 1570s led many to destroy most of the insides and convert it to comply with Protestant teachings. It's a beautiful building, both inside and out. Most notably, it houses the tomb of St. Mungo, the patron saint of Glasgow.

Overlooking the cathedral is the amazing Necropolis. It's kind of creepy, being a graveyard and all, but the structures are amazing. It's bulit on many levels, up both sides of a large hill. Most of the monuments date back to the 17 or 1800s. However, the largest structure, and the most important, is the monument to John Knox, the famous Scottish Reformer. Scotland is very proud and haunted by its Protestant past and this is yet another sign.

3 July--Today we were taken out into the city of Stirling. First we toured the Church of the Holy Rude, an ancient medieval structure, whose past is similar to that of Glasgow Cathedral. It was built as a Catholic church, burned down accidentally, rebuilt, ransacked, and converted to its existing Protestant form. Most notably, the church is the site of the crowning of King James VI of Scotland, son of Mary Queen of Scots.

We also went to Stirling Castle, the ancient fortress used in Braveheart--the historical events, not the actual movie. It's a brilliant and royal structure which today commemorates all of those battles and other events which led to Scottish independence in the 1200s. More on all of these to come.

Cheers!

...

Scotland is an amazing place.

First of all, the people are beyond friendly. Our family have already been greeted by members of the Bridge of Allan congregation on many occasions. Today we were taken out to a concert and a tour of Stirling Castle by a 70 year old couple, both of which were completely charming.

The beer is also good. My favorite so far is Tennent's Lager--made in Glasgow. I haven't gone to a pub yet, so the thrill of being "of legal age" hasn't really been found yet, but in good time it will. Also, may I add, the beer comes in 15 oz cans of goodness. No wonder Scots are always talking about the fact that their country has a serious drinking problem.

The sports are also fantastic. Any visitor to my Facebook will notice the massive album of photos documenting my trip to Ibrox Stadium, home of Glasgow's Rangers FC--a team who I am completely in love with--not news to most of you. The passion which Scots have for their teams are unparalleled. Yes, lots of Americans love their baseball teams--but I'd posit that the number of major sports in the US reduces the overall deovtion to one in particular. People have their favorites and support them accordingly. But, when you live in a country where football is really all there is--with the exception of a few rugby or cricket nuts--then it's not hard to understand why people are willing to bash in another's head if the time and the place are right.

Then there's tennis. I'm not a huge fan, but the past couple days of Wimbledon action have made me a fan. For those of you who don't know, a Brit hasn't won Wimbledon--played in London--in over 70 years. So, when Andy Murray, a 22 year from Dumblane, Scotland--just down the road from where I am now--comes this close the country goes wild. I'll admit, I cheered for Murray when he played Andy Roddick today. I know Roddick's an American, but I seriously got swept up in all of the emotion. Murray's loss will inevitably send Britain back under their rocks, waiting for the British Open in the south of Scotland at the end of this month.

Better, or Just Different?

I'll begin this post with a simple disclaimer: I've never pulled an all-nighter, for any reason, until today. Because of the five hour time differences between the East Coast and the UK I was forced to keep my eyes open throughout my 6 hour flight and suffer the consequences. I am, for those that don't know already, not someone who fares well without sleep. Thus, my feet are really heavy, my vision is rather blurry--could be the contacts--and I'm rather irratable.

With all that aside, I'm in Scotland! It is, believe it or not, really nice here. The weather is warm, even warmer than Maine, things spell nice, and, well I love Scotland.

As I've said before, I'm living in a little village named Bridge of Allan, which is, for those of you familiar with Scottish geography, about 30 miles from Glasgow, 35 miles from Edinburgh, and right next to Stirling--the place where William Wallace (aka Mel Gibson) kicked major English ass in 1297.

This location will make for a lot of fun. It's close to two great cities, each with major attractions, which are both easily accessible by bus or train.

So, besides the sleep deprivation, and getting used to looking at traffic coming from the opposite directions, things have been great so far. Yet, there is one thing that has really made me think--when my brain/body can spare the energy. Life is so much simpler here.

As the title of this post reflects, my personal jury is still out as to whether this is actually better. But, in case ya'll want to ponder along with me, consider this.

1. All the cars are smaller. I mean, they are no trucks other than those used for delivering things. Most of the cars are those which would be considered "compact" or "sub-compact" in the U.S. Thus, there are no Hummers, no Expeditions, no F150s. People drive Focuses, small Audis, BMWs, etc. You get the picture. Why you ask? Well, gas costs around 1.5 pounds per liter! That means upwords of $7 a gallon. We would be committing suicide en masse if we had to deal with prices like this. Yet, because of the UK's place in the world economy, prices have been at this level for a long time. Thus, public transportation is utilized a lot, and people drive far less.

2. All the houses look the same. Granted, there are some that are bigger than others. But like Agrestic or Stepford, these houses make up an endless sea of brown stone, making equity a normaility.

3. Food is wicked expensive. As I was buying food today I noticed that everything in the grocery store is priced in pounds what I would expect to see at home in dollars. However, as we all know, the pound is about $1.67 these days. Thus, food is wicked expensive. Most striking is how expensivev fresh produce is. I'm guessing this has to do with the fact that the UK doesn't produce much domestic produce, and is forced to import from countries like Morocco and Egypt who charge exorbotent tariffs.

The bottom line is that people are much more humble here, and live far more simpler lives. This obviously has to do with the economic situation in the UK and throughout Europe, yet I wonder how much of it stems from pure culture.

We in America believe that we should be free to do whatever we like, especially make as much money as we possibly. Fine, that's capitalism. Yet, we do this at times without thinking about the situations of others. I won't be as bold as to speculate whether Scots genuinely care more for each other than Americans do, but having universial health care, more welfare benefits, etc. seem to push that point to be the case.

Are we just too self absorbed? Do we really care about our neighbors? Does the simpler life I see here make more sense, and if so is it ever attainable amid an exceptionalist America? These are all questions that bother me.

I know that this may be a very lenghthy post, but I'd really love to know what other people think. Feel free to chime in.

Until next time, cheers!

Here We Go...

Here it is, the day of departure. Today I embark on a trip to one my my favorite countries in the world, Scotland. The trip will be grueling--2 hour bus ride, followed by a 6 1/2 plane ride across the Atlantic and a loss of five hours thanks to the beauty of Greenwich Mean Time. However, once the dust has cleared I'll be in little Bridge of Allan.

I know this isn't my most poignant writing to date, I couldn't sleep well last night and the coffee hasn't really set it yet. However, I felt it worth the embarrassment to write this little piece before I left.

I will do my very best to keep this updated over the next five weeks, to let ya'll know what I'm doing. Most of my activities will inevitably be linked to castles, soccer, and beer but seeing as those are three things people don't experience too regularly I figure it's still worth mentioning.

So here we go, let's hope that jet lag doesn't hit me too hard. I'll write more when the chance presents its self. And, as they say in those parts, If it's nay Scottish, it's crap!

Sarah Palin...Get Over Yourself

This just needs to stop. After a media storm surrounding David Letterman's rather crude joke about Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol, there is more trouble in the frozen tundra.

Now, Palin and her slew of publicists are all up in arms about an Alaskan blogger superimposing the face of a highly conservative, Palin-friendly radio personality over that of her infant son Trig.

"Recently we learned of a malicious desecration of a photo of the Governor and baby Trig that has become an iconic representation of a mother's love for a special needs child," Palin spokeswoman Meghan Stapelton said in a statement provided to CNN. "The mere idea of someone doctoring the photo of a special needs baby is appalling." (quote taken from http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/).

Please, Governor Palin, either get used to the media coming after you or retire from politics. Political cartoons are, as we well know, a staple of political pundits and commentators across the world. Whether it be President Obama's ears, Governor Baldacci's rather bald head, or the shear stupidity of President Bush's quotes, this is completely mainstream. I get the fact that Governor Palin doesn't like it when the "liberal media" go after her. I'm sure if I were in her shoes I would feel the same way. But that's just the way it is. If Palin wants to be the "new face of the GOP," if she wants to have a shot at the White House again, or if she ever wants to be reelected to the Governor's mansion in Juneau, she needs to get a thicker skin.
You all might remember the last election cycle. Sarah Palin came out of nowhere. She was bold, somewhat articulate, good looking, and above all, she was conservative. Thus, she was catapulted into the media spotlight and expected to turn the McCain ticket around.

Above all of that, she shamlessly used her family as political ploys. As a staunch opponent of abortion, her choice to carry a child with Down Syndrome worked perfectly. I am not saying that Palin is any less of a caring parent because of these actions, but using her "hockey mom" image along with her brave demeanor as a mother who decided to keep her baby despite various setbacks, reeked of political pandering.

Now, simply because her son Trig has Down Syndrome, her entire family is supposed to be immune to political commentary. If this were any other baby I forsee a lack of such a response. But no. Since Trig is a "special needs child" it is cimpletely innaporpriate for him to be included in a political cartoon.

Maybe my utter dislike for Sarah Palin is shining through too much. I agree that the media--on both ends of the spectrum--can be rather harsh. But really, get over yourself Governor Palin. If you want to play the game dirt is going to fly.

Does This Change Anything?

In other news today...

The United States men's soccer team defeated Spain 2-0 to advance to the Final of the FIFA Confederations Cup in South Africa.

Who cares?

Soccer, for those of you who haven't noticed, isn't that popular in the United States. It's criticized for being too slow, too boring, and devoid of scoring. I, myself, tend to like it. Actually, I'm obsessed, as the title of this blog may imply. So, pardon me if I get a little excited when recapping what I see to be the importance of this match.

The FIFA Confederations Cup happens every four years, and is seen as the "run-up" to the World Cup--arguably the largest sporting event in the world. It's hosted by the country who will be hosting the World Cup in a year's time, and while it's merely for bragging rights it's an opportunity for the host country to test out its new stadiums and for top countries to see how they stack up against the rest of the world.

In comparison to the rest of the world, the U.S. 'aint that good. In 2002 we surprised the world by advancing to the final 16 of the World Cup in Korea, but failed to make it to the knock-out stages in 2006.

Not only is our general apathy noted by the rest of the world, but out lack of development shows. However, since we have to compete against the likes of Ecuador, Bolivia, and Venezuela in order to qualify for the World Cup we make ourselves look a little bit better than we normally would be in competition with other parts of the globe.

That was all in the past.

Following poor showings in the opening two matches of the tournament, the U.S. owned Egypt, beating them 3-0 and only advancing due to Brazil's dominance of Spain by the same score.

Today, the U.S. defeated Spain, the reigning European Champion, and a team that had won its last 35 competitive matches. They boast some of the top names in the sport--Fernando Torres, David Villa, Iker Casillas, and Carols Puyol--and frankly, they were expected to steam roll a United States team which was seen as undersized and underskilled.

Analysts will tell you that Spain did not play their best, which gave the U.S. a decent chance. They're right. But give the U.S. some credit, they played very well, looking confident and well coached.

They will now face the winner of Brazil-South Africa on Sunday. A game that they might have a shot of winning, whichever the opponent.

The question for me is, does this change anything for this country? Media outlets across the world are calling this win historic. A team that is not highly regarded in the world took down the #1 team on the planet, by a decent score. Now, pundits may give the U.S. a shot of not only qualifying for the 2010 World Cup, but an adequate shot of going far into the tournament. U.S. stars liek Oguchi Onyewu, Landon Donavon, and Jozy Altidore may get a second look from the world's major clubs like Machester United, Real Madrid, or my beloved Rangers. And this win, although meaningless in the grand sweep of things, may start to get the U.S. the respect it deserves.

Yet, I predict that this story will not do much to advance the popularity of the sport in this country.

Those who pay attention, like me, will be astonished at the result, and may start to look closer at their own national team. Sportscenter will have the story covered well tonight, and it might even make the front page of the sports section of tomorrow's New York Times. But things will go on as usual, there will be no giant tsunami of soccer sweeping the nation. This win might get the team more viewers in the future, but it will take something far greater to change how this country percieves the beautiful game.

Like the Franklin drawn cartoon of old, the U.S. program has adopted the old motto, Don't Tread on Me. Maybe this win will allow soccer to not get trampled under the feet of the "big four" but other than that soccer nuts like yours truly will have to go abroad to get the latest headlines, watch the Primere League on the satellite dish and keep praying that the rest of the country changes their mind.

The Party of Family Values?

Now I must admit, I've never liked the Republican Party. I'm a Democrat, a so-called "bleeding heart liberal," and can't stand much of what the GOP has on its platform. But with all of that aside, I keep wondering how the GOP can hope to stand for "family values" when it's top politicians keep having affairs and furthermore lying about them.

Of course, the Democratic Party doesn't have a perfect record when it comes to extramarital relations. Everyone knows about Bill Clinton, so I need not spend any time talking about the whole Lewinsky business. And of course, on a more recent note, John Edwards, a man whom I once supported for President, cheated on his wife--a wonderful woman who is still battling cancer.

HOWEVER, this whole Mark Sanford business is completely ridiculous. For those of you not 100% familiar with the story Mr. Sanford, the Republican Governor of South Carolina left town, in what he claims was a stress-relieving trip following the end of the legislative session. Fine, take some time to blow of steam. This move seemed completely legitimate, especially when he said he was spending a few days hiking on the Appalachian Trail. Then, however, he just vanishes. Four days later his staff leaks the fact that he was not, in fact, hiking, but instead was on a trip to Argentina. Weird, but I've seen weirder things. The best part was yet to come. Turns out, Sanford wasn't just going down to see Buenos Aires, he was going to see his mistress. Yes, his mistress.

So, just a week after Nevada Senator John Ensign admits to sleeping with a campaign staffer, a governor, and the Chair of the Republican National Committee drives a government vehicle to the airport, leaves it there, and flees to another country to see a woman who is not his wife. Wow. Both men, among other things, were looking at possible runs for the White House in 2012. No more.

While I'm not saying that all Republicans are cheating scum-bags I do wonder what message this sends to the nation. As a keen political observer it may something different to me than it does for the rest of the country, but I feel that being a party whose core champions "family values" especially in terms of gay rights and a woman's right to choose, having its stars getting caught in affairs can't be good for their image.

Time will only tell.

"The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy."

Blogging and I have not always been the best of friends. I usually find that I like the idea at the outset and then fall behind or fail to come up with anything worth writing about. I hope that this blog proves to be the exception to this rule.

As the description above states, the first purpose of this blog is to be sort of a travel diary. I want people to know what I'm doing in Scotland over the next year. Who knows what this will actually entail. It will certainly have a lot to do with soccer (football), primarily Rangers FC--a team which I have an almost sickening passion for. I'll also write about what I observe, especially the things I know many of you will find interesting.

I also tend to be a very extroverted and outspoken guy--most of you know this. Thus, I'll use this as a rant page, an informational page, basically a clearing house for the things I find interesting, angering, perplexing, etc. Hopefully, getting to write about these things will save my friends from hearing me rant about them elsewhere--although I doubt it.

I find many blogs with be a little over-the-top and at times egotistical. While I like to think that what I have to say matters I know that most people would rather not know about it. That's fine. I hope people find this interesting because they care about what I have to say. If they don't, then I hope that they wouldn't waste their time.

So we'll see how this goes. Please bear with me. And if it's been a while since I've posted let me know. Cheers!