To build, or not to build: What the "Ground Zero" Mosque controversy tells us about today's America

Reactionary blogging can be dangerous, especially when it delves into a contentious and highly important topic. Yet, when an issue like the building of an Islamic center in lower Manhattan seems to be on the cusp of creating a dangerous precedent in the realm of Constitutional protection, a responsible American cannot keep silent forever.

I apologize if the intro sounds a bit conservative, especially with the "keep silent" bit, but with protection of the Constitution acting as a fulcrum for the Tea Party agenda, it seems only fair that those who put themselves a bit farther to the Left should be able to do the same.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."

These are the first words of the 1st Amendment to the Constitution; the first words of the Bill of Rights. Without digressing into an elementary school history lesson, it's important to remember that some of the first English settlers in what would later become the United States came here specifically to ensure that this right was maintained and protected. The English government has long since usurped this power, and held the keys to anyone's ability to act in what they deemed to be a religiously faithful manner. Thus, 1620 rolled around, and the English separatists came to start a new life.

Yes, our defense of religious liberty has been a bit dicey from time to time. Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson has to escape a bit of religious zealotry. Jewish immigrants in the 1880s weren't always welcomed with open arms, and as we all might remember, it wasn't until 1960 that the American public became sufficiently convinced that a Catholic could be President without being subservient to the wishes of the Pope. It hasn't been easy, but step by step, we've insured that Americans, whatever their national origin or faith tradition, can practice their religion in peace.

This of course brings us to the present day, where heat is building over the proposed building of an Islamic Center on Park Avenue in Lower Manhattan. Opponents cite the building's close proximity to Ground Zero as an automatic nix on construction moving forward. Calling the proposal "disrespectful" and "insensitive." Being two blocks away from the site of the September 11 attacks is too close for comfort for many Americans, bringing back bad memories, and ultimately being seen as a slap in the face of those who lost loved ones on that day.

I can sympathize. September 11 was a traumatic day for all Americans, including then young kids like me, who couldn't understand the true gravity of the situation. I remember being glued to the TV for days on end, waiting to see what would happen to the country that I love so much. To many, the talk of building anything associated with the Islamic faith brings these memories washing back, and no one likes to relive those.

However, reactionary tendencies CANNOT be the building blocks of our public policy, or even minor land-use decisions in urban settings.

We have to remember a few things. The proposed building is going in an abandoned Burlington Coat Factory. It's not being built anew, and like any other legitimate establishment, the property was bought legally, and is up to this point following all the necessary building procedures. But that's all technicality.

What potentially disturbs me the most is how the terrible memory of 9/11 is being used as a guise for what is, in my opinion, true religious bigotry. The proposed Islamic Center--and I must outline the obvious difference between an Islamic Center and a Mosque--is being constructed by The Cordoba Initiative an organization whose stated mission is "to actively promote engagement through a myriad of programs, by reinforcing similarities and addressing differences." By bringing up the memory of 9/11, so many opponents of the building are making the huge, uneducated mistake of lumping all Muslims together--insinuating that al-Qaeda, Hezbullah, Hamas, the Cordoba Initiative and the Muhammed family down the street, all practice a monolithic faith which preaches hate, intolerance, and murder. WRONG. We as Americans really should know better.

Not to say that we haven't made the same mistakes before. We often forget the differences between Christian denominations. I had to explain to so many of my classmates how it was that I was born, considering my father was a "minister." Of course, it's only Catholic priests (and other priests in more stringent Eastern Orthodox sects) who take a vow of chastity. I also had to remind a lot of angry gay friends of mine, that the United Church of Christ, and many other mainline protestant churches, don't decry homosexuality, and instead welcome all people regardless of sexual orientation. It's very easy make rash generalizations in lieu of actually learning the truth for one's self, but when we risk labeling people "terrorists" or "murderers," we really need to be a bit more prudent.

Then there's the overall issue of religious liberty. Talking with my Dad a bit earlier today, I expressed my knowledge and overall sympathy with those who would prefer that anything to do with Islam not be built so close to Ground Zero. But, he said, is anywhere far away enough? Would people really think that it was better if the Center was built on Staten Island or Jersey City? The underlying issue my father raised is that if we are truly serious about defending religious liberty in this country, people of conscience, and dare I say, patriotic persuasion, need to stand up to defend the Cordoba Initiative's Constitutional right to build the center wherever they choose. They've followed the law, they've hurdled the red tape, and now it seems perfectly LEGAL for them to go forward. If we allow the objections of some to overshadow the larger principle, then we're sending a very dangerous signal. If you shout loud enough and evoke enough emotion then you can get your way.

The hubbub over this particular project has drawn attention to other proposed Islamic centers and mosques in places like New Jersey and Tennessee. Issues which showcase far more religious intolerance than their New York counterpart, but shed light on the much larger issue. If we truly want to champion religious liberty, it's not good enough to say, "we support Islam and the building of mosques, just not here." Religious liberty doesn't have qualifiers, it doesn't cede to people with signs that read "don't glorify murders" (above photo courtesy of CNN.com) and it certainly doesn't get choosy when its ability to protect members of all faiths steps on the toes of a couple of people.

Although he's regrettably backtracked a bit, President Obama restated this principle in his recent address to Muslims gathered at the White House to celebrate the beginning of Ramadan.

"This is America. And our commitment to religious freedom must be unshakeable. The principle that people of all faiths are welcome in this country and that they will not be treated differently by their government is essential to who we are. The writ of the Founders must endure."

This is what we have to remember. However much we may not like it, or approve of it, or consider it insensitive or imprudent, we must respect the right of faiths to practice peacefully.

Furthermore, we should be helping, not discouraging groups like The Cordoba Initiative in bridging the gaps between people of faith, and people of no-faith. In this age where we're quick to label Muslims as "terrorists," Christians as "intolerant homophobes" and many other religions as "weird and inappropriate," we need to be making a much more concerted effort to encourage religious diversity and dialogue and thus refrain from immediately attacking and maligning those and that which we don't completely understand.

What this entire episode has shown us is that we have a long way to go before we will be a truly tolerant society. Some people will never get there, others are praying that we can simply see and respect different, let alone begin to understand it. We don't have to agree. We don't have to fly a star and crescent outside of our house. We don't have to know Five Pillars by heart. All we need to do is remember why we love our country so much, and remind ourselves that so much of what makes this country great is that we allow people to be different, allow them to forge new lives here, and allow a public forum to be maintained where ideas can be shared, cultures and religions can coexist in separate but equal stature, and ultimately, we can live together in peace.

Martin Niemoller was a German theologian who lived and worked in the era of Nazism. At first he was in support of Hitler's rise to power, but he soon became disillusioned with what the Third Reich stood for and eventually became a leader of a group of German clergy opposed to Hitler's policies. One of his most famous works was a short poem which he presented as part of a speech to the Confessing Church in Frankfurt in 1946.

"THEY CAME FIRST for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.

THEN THEY CAME for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.

THEN THEY CAME for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.

THEN THEY CAME for me
and by that time no one was left to speak up."

Niemoller's moral is at the heart of what I'm trying to say. It's easy for me as a progressive Christian, who has no familial ties to 9/11, and who has numerous Muslim friends and acquaintances, to speak out against what I see as clear religious bigotry. But my message isn't to people like me.

To people who feel that building an Islamic Center at its current location is insensitive, think of the message that you're sending. We're welcoming, but we get to choose when and where. We're saying: we consider ourselves intelligent people, but obviously all Muslims are just like Osama bin Laden--so building anything associated with Islam in Manhattan is ceding victory to terrorists. I know it hasn't been directly said, but this IS what we're insinuating. This IS how we're supposedly shining our "beacon of freedom." This is the example we're setting for the "free world" which we unabashedly claim to lead.

Allowing others to peacefully practice their faith, as well as educate others does not disrespect those who died on 9/11. Instead, allowing the center to exist and operate is a direct example of the liberty which this country embodies.

We love freedom in this country, or at least we claim to. Let's take this opportunity to show it.

Far too long

So it's been far too long since I posted, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, and most obviously, I guess, I'm not in Scotland any more. Auntie Em, Auntie Em! The blog was mostly used for Scotland--both the trip last summer and the much more extensive one last semester--and since both of those are in the past, a lot of the use of this blog has passed by the wayside.

However, I'm far too extroverted to keep quiet. Surprise, surprise!

I guess this will once again transition back to being a repository of thoughts; a place where I can just vent to the world, whilst still knowing that the world doesn't really care--which actually makes me feel better. I always function better when I can record my thoughts. Whether they be spoken too someone, written long day (which usually makes my arm hurt) or just type them down here.

That's what this will be. I don't really know what direction I'll take it in. I'm sure that if something Scotland related peaks my interest then I'll talk about it here. Or something football (soccer) related, or political in anyway. But by no means will that limit the content.

So it's nearing the end of July--already. Home has been a nice place to be, despite the fact that "home" has shifted from an old farm house on one side of South Portland, to a much newer condo on the other side. Maine is always a refreshing place to be, especially in the summer. The weather is warm (often too much so, considering the lack of central air in this part of the world) and the people are friendly. It was obvious once I stepped foot on Maine soil again, some two months ago, why I love this place so much, and why I hope to be able to live here long term.

Yet, Maine does have its drawbacks. Friends have decided to go elsewhere for summer internships, and overall, the sweet, laid-back reality of "school boy summers" have made way for the more frantic pace of the real world. All my friends, and myself of course, have taken on more permanent positions, with more important responsibilities, and that creates a dearth of hang-out time. Schedules are packed more easily, and for the most part, down time is spent alone with my XBOX or my computer, or just thinking about life, rather than romping about. I guess it's good to get a taste of this before the actual world comes into fruition in June.

But the lack of things to do leaves me yearning for Bates even more. This feeling is definitely accentuated by the fact that I wasn't there last semester, as well as by the fact that I only have one more year to spend there. Combined, these realities make me anxious to get started. Thesis seems to be the placeholder until classes get going. No surprise that I'm already stressing about, and trying to get research done in a feeble attempt to ward off the demons. I know the whole year--thesis and all--will turn out just fine, but the anticipation is killing me.

That's where things stand at this point. Maine is wonderful, but even the sound of bagpipes, or the roar of the Ibrox crowd on any recording will quickly transport be back across the Atlantic. I can only hope that Scotland and I are only separated for a short span of time.

Ironic?

So this is it...my last Friday in Edinburgh, the penultimate 24 hours. I feel beyond weird, and while that doesn't really surprise me, the mix of emotions I'm feeling kind of do. While I wouldn't have called you crazy if you had told me that I wouldn't want to leave Edinburgh, I would have thought it highly unlikely to happen now. For weeks now all I've been able to think about is home: what it will be like, who I will see, what I can do. Home seemed like the thing that I could almost touch, the end-all-be-all, the only place in the world that I wanted to be. Of course that is still the case, but the sheer joy of freedom that I was expecting to feel come the end of my last exam yesterday was quickly replaced with a deep sickness in my stomach. It's the feeling of sadness, of a tad bit of regret, of the feeling one would associate with actually leaving home. Edinburgh has been home for almost five months. I've made it my own in so many ways. I've shopped at the same grocery stores down the street. I've gone to the same gym, I've walked the same paths and hung out with the same friends. Unlike leaving a place after a lengthy vacation, this feels far more personal. And while I'm sure that my lethargy will be replaced with ecstasy once I do get home, for now I feel more sadness than excitement.

It all comes back to that theme of home: what does home mean, and whether or not one can have multiple homes. I feel that I do. As much as I'm attached to the US, to Maine, to South Portland, I feel just as connected to Edinburgh and to Scotland. This is home, and as such, it doesn't really surprise me that I'm feeling reluctant to leave. I feel that the stress of exams was the thing that was pushing me homewards. No matter how much or little they mattered, revising and actually sitting for such things is never fun. And unfortunately, that experience ate away at the last three weeks that I'll ever spend living in Edinburgh. Part of that is my fault, of course. I don't know how to study a little bit, and because of my overall boredom come three weeks ago, it made sense to just jump in head-first, get the material back in my head, and prepare myself as best I could. After finishing all three, I feel like I succeeded at that. Yet committing so much of myself to those exams meant that I couldn't do so for other things, the things that mean the most to me in this place. I was able to walk around and take photos. I was able to watch three seasons of The Wire and enjoy every minute. I was able to joke around and be a kid with my flat mates. But it wasn't what it could have been.

Now it's all done. Exams no longer own me, and as such I've returned to the land of nothing to do. But that isn't a bad thing any more. All of a sudden, I just want to do the things I did a month ago. I want to be able to have more fun times with the guys that I've learned to love. The grand irony of it all is that for so long all I've wanted to do is go home, and now that going home is less than 48 hours away, I want to stay instead. Again, it's theoretically not a surprise. I always have problems with leaving one situation and going to another, especially when I've invested myself heavily in both. Soon I'll be back in South Portland, able to drive, to see friends, to drink real coffee, to move to a new house. But I won't get to sit and watch hours of Sky Sports News. I won't get to drink Stella by the case--that's probably a good thing. I won't get to just be a kid.

Another precipitating factor in me not wanting to go is that I sense that leaving Edinburgh marks the beginning of adulthood. I've turned 21 here. I've finished my Junior year here. When I get home it will be off to do campaign work, to work in the public policy field. Then it will be off to start thesis research, to start my senior year, and ultimately graduate from Bates in a year. That's just a scary chain of events. If I was a kid at all when I got here, I'm sure not one anymore. Yes, I can still joke and act like a kid. But both the growing up that this lifestyle has necessitated, and the impending end of college have made me realize that I'm officially an adult. Thankfully I get some of the comforts of college life for another couple months. But the job search must start eventually. The realization that this is the last summer of just being a kid home from school and that every event at Bates may be the last of this or the last of that. I know that I'm always one who likes to jump from extreme to extreme. It may still be too much to say that I'm not a kid and am officially an adult, but signs definitely point in that direction.

So here's to junior year now done. Here's to getting to go to clubs and play ring of fire. Here's Edinburgh. It's been a crazy journey. While it was not what I expected, it's provided me with a unique opportunity to find myself. I've realized that I'm different in some ways than I had thought to begin with, and that some of my tendencies are actually what I should be doing. I don't like to drink heavily all that much. I'm very stingy with money. I don't laugh enough. I need to relax a bit more. But I'm very good at life so far. These are but a few of the lessons that I've learned here, and maybe it's because this experience has taught me so much about myself, and my world that I'm so reluctant to leave. Maybe it's because I'm scared about what everyone at home will make of me. Will they notice the changes that I see in myself? Are these changes actually real, or are they just figments of my imagination? Time will tell. As for now, I can only enjoy the last few hours, pack my things, and head back to what I know. In the end, it's not that ironic that I don't want to leave...but I'm glad that I don't. All good things must come to and end, and this was definitely good.

The Beautiful Letdown

"It was a beautiful letdown...when I crashed and burned."

These lyrics are definitely more mellow dramatic than my mood right now, but they come from Switchfoot, a band that guided me through a lot of tough times. Even if you're not a big fan of Christian rock--I'm not anymore, but definitely was when I was in middle school--they have some really provocative lyrics that seem to connect to my life still.

The bottom line is that I've reached the end, and not a moment too soon. As my last post reflected, the last month has been a real emotional roller coaster. Coming from an amazing trip, to having the flat to myself, to getting bored of that and immensely lonely, to beginning the process of studying, to freaking out about exams and feeling very under prepared, to today, having finished one exam. Now, for better or worse, the pre-exam freakout has been traded to complete restlessness. First off, I've studied over 85 hours for these exams (3 of them) which is way more than I ever have for any exams in my life. From this comes the grand irony of it all--my grades barely count. Based on my participation and essay grades, I barely need to pass these in order to get the B average I need to have my credits transfer. Combine that with the said amount of prep time, I know I should be fine. Yet until I took my first exam this morning I was completely unsure of myself; in a cold sweat. I had no idea what to expect from a UK exam. It turns out that it wasn't that bad, that I knew what I needed to know, and now I'm a day closer to going home.

Ecstasy was the emotion I felt as I left Adam House this morning. The sun was bright, I was done with philosophy, and all of a sudden the bundle of pre-exam nerves had been substituted with the giddiness of a boy on the last day of school. The problem, of course, is that I have 2 exams to go. But lost in the moment, I walked away in the sunshine, and got all of the little trinkets from the tourist shops on the Royal Mile that I had wanted for so long. Then I ventured back, unsure of what would come next.

What has come next has been a whole range of things. I went from pure bliss, to nervous wreck in regard to the coming exam, to relief that they wouldn't be that bad, to frustration with other things, to boredom, to homesickness, all in the course of a few short hours. That swing basically sums up the last month. Some days I've been elated to be here. Other days my head is home in Maine and nothing can bring me back to the here and now. Others I'm completely absorbed in my work. The bottom line is that there's been too much time as of late. I'm a person who likes to stay busy, for no other reason that it keeps my mind occupied. I'm also a person of bizarre neuroses and obsessions, so needless to say, having all the free time hasn't helped. Either I was obsessed with studying or I was obsessed with working out. Either I was obsessed with all things Scotland, or I was obsessed with the thought of going home. In either case, it wasn't a pretty picture.

But now I've come to the end. 4 hours of exams is all that separates me from summer, but more importantly, it's all that separates me from home (minus the actual travel.) As friends that I've made here start to depart for home, I get the feeling that Dorothy is about to click those ruby slippers. I've been told that going home from being abroad, no matter how analogous the locations may be, is a complete trip, as if a 5 month long dream has ended abruptly. For all the talk of going home, and yearning to be in Maine again, I'm a bit nervous about what I'll find. What will have changed? What changes will people see in me that I'm not that aware about? Will people like the person I've become? What have I missed that I will have to catch up on, or what will I have missed that I will never be able to retrieve? Again, this is the time talking. If I had had my way, and had been busy all this time, I would just go home and deal with the transition once I got there. But instead, it's all contemplation before the reality actually hits.

Yes, this post may have been all over the place, but it definitely reflects my current psyche, let's hope it changes before exam time tomorrow.

An Emotional Roller Coaster

To put it lightly, these last few weeks have been hectic. The grand irony, of course, is that they've been hectic without being busy. Actually, they've been anything but. Since returning from Rome I've been doing very little. Most of my flat mates only returned a few days ago, and it wasn't until last Monday that I actually started revising for exams. At the beginning, having the place to myself, having nothing to do, and just getting to take in the experience of living in Edinburgh was fun and exhilarating. The break neck pace of the trip had left me exhausted and the unstructured time was fun and calming. But as the days wore on, and I felt no nearer to home, nor content with being where I was, the despite started to set in. Why am I still here, I would wonder. Why can't I just make time go faster and finally go home? Being an extrovert also added to the depression. I went days without talking to anyone face-to-face, something that really drains my energy and resolve. Yet I found some good things to do. I went on a glorious walk along a river in Leith; I climbed to Arthur's Seat; I went for runs through Morningside. These definitely broke up the monotony, but I still wasn't content.

Then the flat mates came back, fresh from their holidays, but in need of getting to revising to fend off the impending exams. I decided to follow suit, both because it felt like time to get going, but also because I desperately needed something to do. But this didn't do much to help. Even a week in I still feel like I have way too much time left. The material I'm covering is challenging, but not too challenging. I know that I really only need seven or eight more days to study, but the other option is to go back to doing nothing, which isn't appealing either. So it was back to longing for home--something that won't subside till I get there, no matter how busy I am. I see pictures from Short Term and want to be back at Bates. I hear news from South Portland and just want to get back to what is most familiar. Yet it's not possible--at least not for another three weeks.

With all of this going on, I've been feeling rather empty. Services at St. Giles' Cathedral--a place that I have grown to love--only dull the pain a bit. I didn't want to limp to the finish line like this. I wanted to be really sad to leave Edinburgh, not be thankful to get out. What could I do? It was at this point that my Mom came up with a great idea. "It's free," she said, "to just take your camera and document your favorite places in Edinburgh...the places that you'll miss the most when you're gone." At first I didn't like the idea. I've seen everything, I thought, why do I need to go around again. With that I wrote it off and moved on with my life. Yet after a really exhilarating workout this morning, and seeing that the day was nice, I decided to go for it. I realized that by going around town and snapping pictures of places that I had passed by, or even large landmarks that I had grown used to, I could document my love for this city. It worked.

Over three hours this afternoon I walked all over the city. To the University Campus, Grass Market, and Cowgate. To the Castle, down the embankment to Princes' Street. To St. Andrew Square, Calton Hill and Regent's Street. To Holyrood Palace, the Royal Mile and the Crags. Maybe I should have left more for another day--although I'm sure I'll see a lot of these places again before I go--the day really sparked what needed to be sparked. I realized while I walked Edinburgh's ancient streets just how much I loved this place, and therefore how much I'm going to miss it. Edinburgh brings together thousands of years of history in a way that no other city does. The old and the new are melded together brilliantly--so well at times that you can't tell the difference between walls that have been standing since the 1200s and those that were only built at the turn of the last century. It has culture and a distinct vibe which is unique. It's funky, it's hip, but it's also authentic and real. Sure, there are those cheesy tourist shops, but there are little pubs in claustrophobic closes, and on main streets that ooze culture and life. These are all of the things that I remembered on my walk. It may not make the homesickness go away, but I truly felt attached to this place again. I can truly say that I not only visited Edinburgh, I lived there. I experienced it in a way that only residents can, and for that I will always be thankful. Now it's actually time to study, get through exams, and return home. But home, as I've always said, is where you are, and right now that's Scotland's capital.

As Days Go By

Music serves as the inspiration for a lot of my thoughts. I'm not what one would call a "music geek" but there's nothing that I like more than being able to either walk somewhere beautiful or just sit and listen to my iPod for hours on end. Music brings beauty and serenity and fresh thinking--and after a grueling, yet amazing journey that's exactly what I needed.

One of my favorite songs comes from the Canadian band Carbon Leaf. The oft-repeated chorus line reads "this is my day, this is my song! I am alive what can go wrong?" The song came up as two days ago as I was walking from my flat down to Holyrood Park. The goal was to climb Arthur's Seat for the second time, the giant hill (calling it mountain might be a little too bold) which, like many other such formations in Edinburgh, is an extinct volcano. Not only do I find it hard to sit still most days--just doing nothing really bugs me--but I needed some time to reflect on the past trip, the next few weeks, and most importantly, what my life would be like when I got back to Maine. While stresses are multiple at this point--planning another trip, anticipating exams, moving houses, finding and internship, thesis, etc.--I quickly realized that what really mattered was me, not the things going on with me involved. Carbon Leaf's lyrics provided the inspiration I needed at that time. I'm alive. I'm healthy, both physically and mentally. I'm in Edinburgh. I've been successful in most of my endeavors. What else did I need?

Another inspiration came from the daily United Church of Christ devotional that I (try to) read every day. Psalm 118 states "This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!" Reflecting on this passage, Christina Villa writes, "We don't have to be glad for every day just because God made it. God made it to give us things to be glad about. But it's up to us to recognize them." This is indeed my point. Walking through the streets of Edinburgh you often look at people's expressions. Most likely, people are expressionless, sullen, mad, or determined. Yet when you see a person who's genuinely smiling; looking happy to be alive, you assume that they're either drunk, high, or mentally unstable. Why? Why do we have to be so determined or unhappy? Why is being joyful simply for being in one's own position in life something that has to be so out of the ordinary? Well as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't have to be. The next few weeks that I have here in Edinburgh are completely unstructured--the schedule determined by me and me alone. No exams to study for--that will come in good time. No appointments or lectures or anything else. So instead of being bored and upset of lack of things to do, I plan to enjoy the small things. Take today for instance. I just got back from a nice workout at the gym. I stopped by Tesco on the way home to buy eggs, bacon, and orange juice (Tropicana actually, because it was on sale). I'm going to eat this wonderful meal and then walk down to Prince's Street to enjoy the miraculous spring weather. After that, I might just sit in Prince's Street Gardens, listening to my iPod and reflecting on all the small blessings that God has graced me with. Oh, and then Barcelona v. Real Madrid is on TV tonight--might as well watch that.

To the old me, that would be a rather boring day, but can't being alive be enough? Can't the blessing of free time, money to buy quality food, and the ability to walk miles to enjoy oneself be enough to celebrate? I think it can be, and I hope that I can do my part by enjoying the small things, to bring about good change in this world. I am alive, what can go wrong? As for now, just about nothing.

Rome: Irony, Stress, Hordes of People, and Memories to Last a Lifetime

Where to begin? Obviously, due to the lack of activity over the past few days, I haven't had a chance to update the blog while I was in Rome. So, whether successful or not, I'm going to attempt to recap five ridiculous days in one blog post. Like most of my pictures for this trip--which numbered more than 1,000--my words can't really do this story justice, but they will have to suffice.

Rome was planned to be the highlight of my trip. We had intentionally planned four full days--as opposed to our customary 2 1/2--because it was agreed that Rome in general, and more importantly Rome over Easter, was something that warranted more time. What we did not expect was how tired we would be. Barcelona and Madrid drained nearly all the energy we had. This was not to say that the days did not delivered what we had expected, we had six of the most amazing days ever, in two gorgeous locations, seeing pretty much every sight we had set out to see. Yet, the combination of eight or more hours of walking, one or two meals a day, and not enough water added up to three very tired boys come April 2.

So we departed Madrid at about 5, getting to the airport in about an hour, sitting through the long check-in lines for Ryanair. Once on the plane, the tiredness seemed to not affect us at all. The constant mantra of, "guys, we're going to..." resurfaced, and we just couldn't wait to hit the ground. Without a hitch, we found our way from the airport, to the shuttle bus, to the train station, to the right metro line, and to the hostel. That's where things started to go downhill. After searching the street to find the hostel (house numbers in Rome do not alternate sides of the street) we rang the bell..."I'll be right down" said the voice. Weird, we thought, usually we can go right up. Turns out there was a "toilet explosion" in the hostel and we needed to be moved. Well great, it's 1:00 in the morning, we're tired and the guy is telling us that we can't stay where we were planning on staying. Well we get into a cab and drive for what seems like miles and miles, until we get to the hood--graffiti everywhere, creepy looking people, the whole bit. We go into an old building and walk up tons of stairs until we get to this guy's "apartment." To call it that would be being kind. There was only a fridge, no sink or stove. There was one bathroom and a bunch of bedrooms. The place reeked of cigarettes and pot. He showed us to a room that had three beds and dresser in it, no lockers. He proceeded to be "nice" and give us a 33% discount on the stay, but he didn't have change, meaning that I gave him 10 euro less than I should have. Yes, it was as sketchy and creepy as it sounds, but I was in Rome?!

For one reason or another, this experience didn't phase me as much as my two travelling buddies. Yes, I wasn't completely comfortable. Yes, this wasn't what we were expecting. Maybe it was my tiredness and willingness to accept just about anything, but I just wanted to enjoy Rome, especially on that holiest of weekends, and not worry about anything else.

Now on to the sightseeing. We mastered the public transportation in Rome very quickly. Because of our precarious location, we had to take a a streetcar to the major train station to take the Metro anywhere, but we were able to buy a unlimited travel card for 16 euro--a deal we definitely made the most out of. The first thing that struck me about Rome was how the old and the new are so seamlessly woven together. On the trip to the station, we passed under aquaducts built thousands of years ago, saw statues to past emperors, but also saw the makings of a modern city. However, Rome is definitely not the cleanest of towns. There's dirt and other not-so-pleasant stuff everywhere you walk. Graffiti pollutes most views, and you get the sense that Rome has just run out of the money it needs to keep up with the necessary upkeep. But all that aside...

The first day was Vatican day. Knowing that the museum would be closed on Sunday and Monday, we decided to brave the crowds and go to the Musei Vaticani to see what the Catholics had to show up. Now about the crowds...Saturday wasn't that bad, but as the weekend progressed Rome became more and more like Disney World. Not only were the lines beyond belief, but the crowds spread to the Metro, to the restaurants, to everything. We agreed early on that while Rome was amazing to see, it was more like a contest to see to who could get to every sight first--making the experience more of checking things off the list than getting to stop and savor what it was that you were seeing. But back to the Museum...

After waiting for a good two hours, we finally made it in, and boy did it live up to expectations. The Vatican Museum is not like any other museums that you'd ever see. It's a series of rooms all exquisetly painted and decorated, from floor to ceiling, which house some of the world's greatest pieces of religious art. From Rafael's famous painting of Aristotle and the forum to amazing depictions of Jesus and the entire Bible, to busts and statues of every Pope.

Of course the crown jewel of the collection is the Sistene Chapel. Being the Pope's private chapel, it's understandable why the guards make sure--rather unsuccessfully so I may add--that people don't take pictures, videos, or speak much at all. Even so, the room is magnificent, and was something that we stopped and stared at for a good 20 minutes. Michaelangelo definitely did a good job.

As good as start as Saturday proved to be, Sunday outdid it 20 to 1, and easily was the best day of the entire trip. It was Easter and was a day that I was both looking forward to and dreading at the same time. Being a devout Christian, it's the holiest day of the year. The end of Lent and the marking of the miraculous resurrection of Jesus, as well as the recognition of the potential for rebirth. Because of this, being in Rome made the day special automatically. Despite my not being Catholic, Rome is definitely a holy city, and whether or not you agree with what the Catholic church stands for, there is a divine power in its buildings and monuments, but more importantly there is power in the hundreds of thousands of people that flock to Rome to share in the celebration. That was the joy of being in Rome for Easter. The dread was having to be away from family. Being a very family centered holiday it seemed like not being with mine would severely detract from the situation, but I wasn't completely right on that.

I had wanted to go to Mass on Easter morning, but because we were situated in the ghetto, and going to church would mean getting up at an amazingly early hour and going to a church where I would not feel at home did not seem like a fair tradeoff. So instead we got up a bit later and made it to the Pantheon, because it was closing at 1PM that Easter Sunday. Like many other attactions, the Pantheon was packed to the gills with tourists, but was definitely worth the wait and the time. While we only spent a couple minutes in there, it was worth it to see such an ancient and beautiful building, not to mention something that I had made a sand and glue model of for a 9th grade history project.

But then we went to St. Peter's Basilica. It had apparently been the wish of both Jonathan and Cliff that we do this, so naturally I concurred.

Words cannot describe the emotions of those hours. First it was the train ride, cars packed with pilgrims speaking every language imaginable. Then it was waiting in a line which stretched the full circumference of the Piazza San Pietro at least once, seeing where the Pope had said mass only a few short hours before. Then it was walking up the steps and into the cavernous sanctuary. At that moment emotion gripped me. I don't know whether it was more the lack of food, water and sleep, or the tiredness of my legs, but I felt carried away to a more spiritual and holy place. We walked slowly around the storied church, where I touched holy relics, saw the famed Pieta, and was able to pray along side hundreds of other Christians. No, it was not my tradition, but feeling the history and the sacredness of the place blessed my Easter in ways that words cannot describe.

Oh and then we went inside and toured the Colosseum...no big deal. That building is also a wonder and a marvel, of a much different sort of course. I had almost thought that the 12 euro entrance fee wasn't worth it, but I was completely wrong. Like the Camp Nou, we just took our time and walked around its massive interior, marveling at the architecture and the history...quite an experience.

Then the last two days were all about seeing the ancient Roman sites. From the Forum, to all the archaelogical excavation on Palatine Hill, to the hundreds of blocks of granite and marble strewn about the city. Again, words can't really describe all of that. Being the brother of someone who as a PhD in this kind of thing, and being someone who grew up soaking in every possible detail about the ancient world, getting to see these things was beyond amazing. However, after a while we found that it all bascially looked the same (you should see the hundreds of pictures that I have of such things) and that our fatigue outweighed our need to go on.

Lastly, a note about the food in Rome...unbelievable. I don't think that I can eat a pizza or pasta for some time, so I can let my tastebuds recover. Because of the lack of hostel advice, we had to go by the guidebook and ended up eating at four restaurants over the course of the four days. The first was dal Papa, a lovely little sandwich shop right outside the Vatican. Good sandwiches are hard to come by in Rome, especially because all of the tourist sites are dominated by these carts which sell the same premade, mass manufactured food at riculous prices. dar Papa was quite the opposite. For 4 euro I bough the San Proschutio, a sandwich made on a warm, fresh piece of bread with fresh sliced Parma ham, buffola mozzerlla cheese which the owner told me was brought in fresh and still warm twice a week, and the freshest lettuce and tomato ever. Bottom line, best sandwich I'd ever tasted, even better than those of Bo de B in Barca. My tastebuds were so happy that we came back again for a second round yesterday.

Then there was Luzzi's a popular restaurant right near the Colosseum...yes, we were able to walk past the Colosseum to get to dinner, a fact that we were always amazed at. During two nights there I got two pasta dishes that would blow anyone's mind. The pasta was fresh and amazingly prepared, the price (5,50) was unbelievable, and the atmosphere was very very Italian, making for an amazing meal. Oh, and they also charged 4 euro for a liter of Italian wine...enough said.

And finally, everyone's favorite, Dar Poeta. Tucked into a tiny side alley in a gorgeous Tiber-side neighborhood, this place was something that we found in the guidebook, but which took us nearly an hour to find. It was initially the capstone to our Easter Sunday travels, but was so good that Jonathan and I decided to make it our last meal in Italy. It only serves pizza, but the pizza aint your farm variety Pizza Hut pizza, this stuff just makes you want more and more, and shames any other pizza that I've ever had--condolences to Flatbread, Ricetta's, SoPoHoPo and many others. I ordered the Vicoletto, which is pesto with cherry tomatoes and sliced roasted potatoes. It was unreal. I can only imagine what the thing would cost in the US (it only cost me 7 euro). The flavors exploded in your mouth, the freshness blew you away, and you had to eat slowly in order to savor it all. I can only wish that I can have it again some day.

Oh, and gelatto is to die for. Yes, to put it crudely it's Italian ice cream, but it's so much more. The fruit flavors taste hand picked, the chocolates are so rich that you think that that's just straight chocolate with no filler--maybe so--and the best part is that it's relatively cheap and you can get two or three flavors per serving. That was desert every day.

So that's Rome. As I said initially, this is a very brief and rough rendering of my days there. They were hectic, they were stressful, but they were still some of the best days of my life. I am truly a blessed person to have been able to experience all of this. For that I am truly thankful.

Adios España.

Here it is, my last Spanish blog post. It´s not as if I´ve spent a semester here, but a week can be a long time--or at least feel like a long time--when you´re constantly travelling in unfamiliar surroundings. To say that I´m exhasuted would be a major understatement. We´ve walked an average of eight hours a day and have eaten a lot less food than we should have. Yet despite all of this, Spain has blown my mind. I know that my perception of the country would change even more--most likely in a postive direction--if I was able to spend more time here, and visit more cities than I have. Yet Barcelona and Madrid have definitely shown us all a good time.

The cities have both been gorgeous, in very different ways. We´ve seen as many sights as we possibly could over teh course of a week. We´ve sampled some wonderful local food. From the paella that we had at El Volcano last night, to the amazing tapas at El Tigre, to the baguette and strawberries at the market in Barça, to the maximo sandwichthat we had at Bó de B on the beach. Spain was everything that I wanted it to be, and then some.

I´m not saying that I regret my decision to study in Edinburgh--that has been amazing. But I now see the charm, the sparkle, and the magic that Spain has to offer. Not only has my desire to go the distance in learning Spanish been invigorated, but I know that some of the best experiences of my life have been forged here on the Iberian peninsula.

But as for now the book as to be closed. In a few short hours, we´ll board a plane for Rome. Rome must be the city that I most want to visit in the entire world. Not only for the Christian aspects but the Roman aspects. However, it´s also a very dirty, busy town--characteristics which will be accentuated by it being Easter weekend. But we´ll see. For now I only need to savor the times that I´ve had, and pray that the goodness keeps on coming.

Madrid: Most Beautiful City Ever?

It´s no secret that I don´t care too much for France or Paris, and I obviously haven´t been to Paris yet, so this opinion has to be taken with a grain of salt. I think that Madrid might just be the most beautiful city on earth. Of course I haven´t been all over the world, and I´m sure that many will dispute my claim, but having seen what I have, I feel rather confident in my conclusion.

Madrid and Barcelona are indeed two ends of a specturm. Barcelona was gorgeous in its own right, but its claims to fame are based on unique architecture, art, and culture. Yet when you switch the warm winds of the beach for the drier and cooler central Spain, the landscape changes in more ways than one. To be honest, I was so blown away by Barcelona, especially because it was my first experience in Europe, that I set my expecatations for Madrid much lower. Yet, Madrid has done anyting by dissapoint.

First off, Madrid is much more ornate. It´s an emperial capital, and that distinction speaks in every single building. Just walking a few blocks from our hostel to Plaza Mayor, Plaza del Sol, and Plaza de la Independencia, you are immediately struck by how no one building is less magnificant than the next. All the edifices are intraciately carved and grand. Unlike Barça, Madrid has a lot of tall buildings and thus it feels a lot more like New York than a city like San Diego. Also unlike Barça, which seems to be very spread out--not in the sense of sprawl, but more in a sense of the attractions being all over the city--Madrid packs most of its sights into the Districto Central. We walked up the Gran Vía and around the lavish plazas. Ironically, although one is struck by Madrid´s grandeur, it´s pace seems to be slow and methoidcal. People walk at a slower pace, especially in the Botanical Gardens and the Prado, where we spent most of our time. People seem to be enjoying life. You don´t see a lot of stressed or tired faces, only people trying to make the most out of their day.

Overall the first day here in Madrid has been one of, if not our best. It was relaxing and gorgeous. Taking walks down the streets and seeing amazing buildings. Seeing all the amazing works of art in the Prado. Walking through the Royal Botanic Gardens as well as the Bosque de Reterio and just savouring the smells and sights and simply being in Madrid. Finally going to Estadio Santiago Bernabeu and buying a Real Madrid scarf, and now going to El Tigre, Madrid´s most famous, and one of it´s cheapest tapas bars. Today was anything bust rushed, and maybe that´s the way it should be done in Madrid.

¡Desde Barcelona a Madrid!

It´s rather hard, when you´re travelling at a breakneck pace through Spain, to take mental notes about everything you´re doing in order to blog about it when you get the few necessary minutes-so keeping all of that in mind, here´s a brief recap of the last day in BarÇa and the beginning of our adventures in Madrid.

So the second day we tackled Montjüic, a wonderful hilly region on the outskirts of the city. On the top of the hill stands an old military battery. While it would be a stretch to guess the relevant time period, I would say it dates at least back to the late 1600s if not before, and was retired shortly after WWII. It not only offers a nice little piece of history, but a wonderful vista of Barcelona´s Mediteranean coast. Yet the best part of our visit was probably avoiding the major tourist trap, a gondola which takes you up the mountain-only a 20 minute walk other wise-which costs 9 euro (I found it ironic also that I can´t seem to find the euro symbol on this Spanish keyboard).

After descending the mountain we walked along the road until we reached the old Olympic Stadium used in the 1992 summer games. The stadium is still fully operational, used by FC Espanyol of Barcelona, as well as a past life in NFL Europe (big joke). There wasn´t that much to see but it was free to get in and having a picture of me in front of another football pitch is always nice. We kept walking down the hill, past a gorgeous old art museum and then down a steep plaza filled with fountains and monuments until we reached the literal center of town. Great pictures and time were had by all.

The next stop was the Mercat de Boqueria-a real live farmer´s market, sporting the best of local food. It did not dissapoint to say the least. For one euro we got a fresh, hot baguette which was devoured in no time-followed by a kilo and a half of the best strawberries we had ever tasted. It was one of those experiences which words or photos cannot adequately describe.

The last major stop of the day was the Camp Nou, home of FC Barcelona. It was a highlight for all three of us, because we had all grown up loving the club, especially when we were playing FIFA and subsequently destroying our opposition. After a short time in the shop, where I added to my already growing collection of football scarves, we decided to pay the fee and take the stadium tour. While we were originally quite pissed that we didn´t get a tour guide, the lack of structure allowed us to take our time. We took tons of pictures of the pitch, saw the dressingrooms and all that, but then we were able to just sit in the stands and talk for almost an hour. Not only was this a real break for our legs, but it was an experience that I will definitely never forget.

So Day 3 involved just a couple of things. First we set out to explore the Barceloneta section of town, which feels a lot like Miami Beach, with its high rises and palm trees. The main reason though, besides the beautiful secenery, was the huge cheap sandwiches of Be ó B, as adverteised by our hostel guide. They definitely lived up to their expectation. 3 euro for fresh tuna, tons of veggies, and homemade pesto made it one of the best pieces of food that we´d ever gotten, let alone in Spain. The we merely sat on the beach and enjoyed the warm sun, wasting away the last couple hours before disembarking for Madrid.

Y, ahora estamos en el Hostel de Las Musas en Madrid. Yep, we made it. After a 3 hour train ride (averaging around 250 km/hour) we made it to Madrid. The first reaction was wow, this looks a lot more Spanish than Barcelona. It´s true. While Barcelona definitely has that Mediteanean flair, Madrid is located well inland in central Spain and thus reflects a lot more of the quitensential Spanish architecture and attitude. The hostel is defintely better than its counterpart in Barça. It´s cleaner, brighter, has a better shower, a better breakfast, and best of all, it has more Americans and staff who take you on tours. Despite our aversion to standing out as gringos and only hanging with Americans, we decided to take the hostel´s Tapas Tour last night. We already wanted to get tapas for dinner, but the late hour and our lack of knowledge about the surrounding area made it an obvious choice. It was a blast to say the least. Our Argentinian tour guide took us to three bars, each representing a different section of Spain. We sampled homemade beer, local hard cider, as well as sangría and some of the greatest tapas ever. And while we were surrounded by Americans, getting a brief chance to socialize and just enjoy the food (provided at a very low price) without having to struggle with a relative language barrier was very nice.

So after a good night´s sleep we´re off for our first day in Madrid. Most likely we´ll hit the Prado, El Museo de Reina Sofia, and a couple other choice spots...updates to follow!

The Gringos Take on Barca

So yes, we're the Gringos, no two ways about it. No matter how hard I try to add an accent to my Spanish the person inevitably answers in English. Obviously we're Americans. If it isn't our words its the constancy of our hands in our pockets--a maneuver we've come to refer to as our gang symbol. Whenever we get to a place like the Metro or a crowded sidewalk, one of us wil calmly say gang symbol time and into our front pockets our hands fly.

Anyway, day one in Barca. Up at 9.30 and out by 11. Having only had a cup of instant coffee, and being in dire nee of water--the tap water is off limits--we staggered out into the warm sunlight. The first stop was Park Guell, a wonder dedicated to Gaudi and his knack for amazing architecture. It's at the top of a massive hill, so to assist the swarms of tourists there are escalators running all the way up it. The once you've reached the bottom you have to traverse long winding paths up the hill, lined with beautiful trees and flowers, as well as street musicians and people selling various souveneirs. Each step brings an even better vista over the whole of the city and at the top is a single stone cross rests wth a platform around it from which hundredsof people take pictures. At the center of the park is Gaudi's former house which of course has now been turned into a museum. It being Palm Sunday today, the park was packed by after church goers carrying dried palms made into a variety of shapes and tied with colorul ribbons--far more extensive than South Portland.

Next, it was off to argubaly the pinnacle of the Barcelona tourist scene, La Sagrada Familia. This still to be completed cathedral, designed by Gaudi is really a sight to behold, something that pictures ca't do justice to. The outside is carved with figures depicting various biblical stories and verses, designed with immaculate precision and skill. The inside is just as spectacular, wit ornate ceilings and amazing stained glass windows. 2,50 euros was enough to bring us to the top of the spire and see an even more amazing view of the city. The cathedral just took my breath away. From its design to the awe with which people behold it, it seems to be one of those places that although rather recent in its construction, is very sacred still during its completion.

Last on the agenda for day one was the Museu de Picasso, situated in the southern ditrict of the city. We thought it would be easy to find, having already asked for the apropriate stop on the Metro, but after 45 or so minutes of searching throughout the neighberhood, still no museum. Finally we found it in a gorgeous multistory open building, tucked away in an alley. Luckily for us, not only was the museum free to enter after 3PM on Sundays, but having not found it right away we were able to explore and see what must be one of the most gorgeous discticts in the city. The museum itself wasn't as amazing as I had hoped--considering that Picasso is easily my favorite artist. I guess it's because the majority of his great works are situated in other cities across the world. But the pleasant ending to a tireless search proved to be far more of the pleasure than the museum itself.

Finally we just took a lesiurely walk down by the shore, seeing all thealrge boats and the sundrenched people. An amazing sunet and a great end to a tireing day. Of course, dinner has yet to come-a meal which will hopefully consist of San Miguel and some local pallella, if I can have anything to say about it.

So, day one has been great so far. I'm sure that rest will come at a premium over the next days, but I am indeed forging friendships and memories that will last a lifetime.

But before I go...a few general oberservations about Barcelona and Spain. I like the look of Spaniards a lot more than Brits. That's just in regards to the women. People here not only seem to be a lot more laid back, but they seem a lot more genuine and funky. Yes, that's the general nature of Barcelona as a city, but it seems to be the nature of Spain as a nation as well. People don't spike their hair everywhich way, dreads seem to be more the style. People move at a much more lesiurely pace and have a lot more fun.

I've also noticed the ways in which a preexisting empire can influence the makeup of a country. There are of course the more white Spanairds, the ones who are far more caucasuian, though more tan than those found farther North. But there are also those who you can't help but idenity as Central American in complexion. Those who most likely emigrated from what used to be Spanish colonies. There are also those who moved from former colonies in African like Angola. The bottom line is that I've been surprised many a time by those who speak Spanish like a Spanaiard but don't necessarily look the part. I guess that's the beauty of a cosmopolitan city.

Anyway, that's it for now. Gelatto has been the only food that I've had today, so I guess it's time for some proper dinner. Hasta luego!

¡Yo Soy en Barcelona!

So we made it, it was rather rough, but we made it.

Step 1: Walk to Prince´s Street and pay 6 quid to take a shuttle to the airport
Step 2: Wait in line for an hour or so to get bag checked.
Step 3: Get through security-unless you´re Jonathan and forget that you´ve left a bottle of Irn Bru in your bag.
Step 4: Wait for plane
Step 5: Wait in queue that is supposed to be for boarding until you realize that Ryanair sucks and the plane hasn´t even arrived yet.
Step 6 : Ride on plane where they try and have you buy each and every thing imaginable.
Step 7: Arrive in Gerona and wait in line for another 20 or so minutes while you realize that passport control is only screening the EU citizens and you have to wait until they´re all done.
Step 8: Get bag and board bus bound for Barcelona-sit in the back right in front of two couples making out like the world is about to end.
Step 9: Get to the train station and get on the commuter train as opposed to the Metro and go in the wrong direction.
Step 10: Remember enough Spanish to ask directions and find the right train.
Step 11: Get off of Metro train and realize how beautiful Barcelona really is.

Needless to say, yesterday was quite of an experience, and all of the above steps were just for getting to the hostel. Thankfully, using Ryanair didn´t turn out to be as bad as forecasted. Only a bit of delay getting on the plane, which was erased by arriving a half hour early in Geron-although I suspect that like any other "discount" airline, they post a much longer flight time so they can take pride in getting you there early. (It´s also not that encouraging when they play Revelry when you get on the ground, as if doing so was more of a rarity than it should be.

After we manged to sort out the train thing we were able to really savor the city. After droppin our stuff off at the hostel we patroled Las Ramblas-one of the most gorgeous and notororiously squeezy parts of town. We got really crappy pizza at a really crappy pizza place because it was nearly 1AM before we got going and that was about our only option. So after being kicked out of the retaurant (so they could close) we sat on a park bench and just watched gaggles and gaggles of people go by on their way out for the night. Then we decieded we wanted a glass of wine to finish off the night. In the process of finding this glass of wine we were offered sex from a not so pretty prostitute, and drugs from abotu 5 different guys-ranging from pot to coke. Needless to say, Barça was quite interesting. But we found out wine, chatted with a Swede who was stranded in the city for the night, and was able to take it all in slowly.

It´s so weird thinking that I´m actually in Spain. This seemed like such a far off dream, a mirage that would always be planned but never realized. Yet here I am. Despite getting just a coupel of hours of sleep last night-because of people buzzing in at 6 in the morning, the rock hard pillow and the lack of blanket-Jonathan, Cliff, and I are about to get dressed and take on the town. Today, Parc Guell, the Picasso Museum, and maybe the beach. While it still does feel like a dream to a certain extent it certainly has been an amazing one so far!

End of Classes

So I can't really concentrate any more. Classes end on Friday and then it's off for a one month vacation. I feel like I'm about to embark on what going abroad is really all about. On Saturday it's off to Barcelona, then Madrid, then Rome. Over 6 weeks ago, when we booked this trip, it all seemed like a joke. Not only was the end of March never going to come but going to Spain and Italy seemed like a dream. Now it's all becoming a reality. Just going through the Lonely Planet guides today made me jump out of my skin. A lot of the excitement stems from the anticipation. This is my first trip outside of Britain. Most of the people I know over here have at least made it to France, if not all over the place. But now it's my turn. It's my turn to see Europe, to relax and just worry about getting to and from the hostels and airports. Spain will be a nice yet exciting break and then Rome will be the fulfillment of so much desire. To be able to not only trace Roman but also Christian history is something that I've always wanted to do, and something that I know I will never forget.

For better or for worse, I'm not bringing my computer a long. I guess I just figure that it will relieve a lot more headaches and stress than having to lug it around and worry about it being stolen. Yet as a result I won't be able to update this as much. I hope that if the hostels don't have adequate computers that I will at least be able to pop into an internet cafe to reflect on my experiences. If not, then it will all have to wait until April 7.

So here we go. It seems as if the first huge part of my experience is about to end. The coursework is all done and with the exception of taking 3 exams, my university life is over. It's weird to think that I won't have to go to lectures anymore, or worry about readings, or go through the daily and weekly routine that has become so second-nature. Now I have almost six weeks to both explore and just sit and do nothing. Unlike some, I won't be travelling for the whole time, but instead I'll have some good time to just sit and do nothing or explore Edinburgh without any constraint. I doubt the allure of such time will be so great once I get to mid-April and am bored out of my skin. But hey, I could be slaving away at Bates.

For now, I'm just content to let life go by one day at a time and savor the moments. I hope that this upcoming trip will not only allow my to widen my horizons but to explore, learn and grow and just experience and enjoy all that life has to offer.

Restless

The title pretty much describes my emotion. I feel really unsettled. Maybe it's because I'm almost done with classes. Maybe it's because the weather is warming up. Maybe it's because I'm starting to get homesick again. Regardless of the reason, I feel stuck between two worlds. For over two months now, it was easy enough to just go about the normal academic day without thinking much about it. Go to class, do your readings, relax a bit and go to bed. While this wasn't the most exicting progression in the world it was simple and calming. I'm a person who likes routine, and regardless of what that routine proves to be, I like to stick to it. Now I'm getting towards the end of that routine. I have two weeks of classes left, which in this country only mean that I have to keep up with the reading. There's no last-minute flurry of assignments or preparation for finals--those are weeks off. Instead, the emotions of the nearing of spring break and those of the end of the semester are mixed into one--something which I'm not familiar, nor comfortable with.

In two weeks I'll go to Barcelona, Madrid, and Rome. This time will be amazing, I'm sure. But then I'll be back here, alone, for the majority of the rest. There will be another trip to Ireland in there, and the normal mingling with one or two friends. But the flat will almost be cleared out, and I will be left to ponder. I would normally study in these circumstances, but that's saved for the beginning of May, yes May, which is still over two weeks before my first exam. I don't know how people do this on a year-in-year-out basis. Maybe it's just because it's what they're used to, but it really makes me uncomfortable. It's as if exams are an afterthought, which strikes me as bizarre and disconcerting.

What all of this leads me to want is home. A psychoanalysis could yield some really interesting conclusions, I'm sure. But the way I see it is that I'm looking 2 months of uncertainty and constant change in the face, and what I want most to combat that is home--a place which at least in my mind is unchanging. The irony of this is, of course, that my current house is up for sale, meaning that home is also changing. This says to me that "home" in the context is more a state of mind, or a collection of people, rather than a physical address. Yet, for right now this is home, Edinburgh is home. Yes, the routine may have grown a bit drab, but there are fun things to come. I spent the past weekend in Bridge of Allan with the Blackburns. Their hospitality amazes me. Without blinking they welcome me as another son. This may be just the way the operate, but it constantly humbles me. The weekend was fun and relaxing. Good food, good movies, good sleep and a good run up to the Wallace Monument. Yet I felt a longing for home as well. The comfort of that house and the closeness of people that care for you is something that can never be discounted.

But enough with that. This week will be just like any other week, but it's a week in Edinburgh. Despite how comfortable I feel in this city, I know that a time will soon come where the mundane of Scotland will be swapped for the mundane of Maine, and I will be wishing to return to the former. So I plan to try and love each day, despite the constant clutter and nastiness of my flat, or my wanting to go home. This is an adventure that will soon be over, never to be repeated. And while I may want that day to come sooner rather than later, I know that deep down I want it to last forever. The task, thus, is to balance the two, in a mutually beneficial equilibrium.

When You Lose Perspective

It's easy to lose your perspective when you're living in a big city. You walk out your front door and are immediately bombarded by tall buildings and the constant sound of car horns and bikes and screaming babies. Then you walk to where you're going, do whatever business you may need to do there, and walk back to where you live. Of course I'm oversimplifying the process a bit, but this has essentially been my daily life for the last two months. I wake up. I go to class. I might go to the gym, but besides that and the bi or tri-weekly trips to Tesco, I go from my flat to campus and back again.

Needless to say this progression can get rather tiresome and annoying. Why do I waste so much of my day inside? Why do I feel trapped in such an amazing place? While it's impossible to dispel all of these feelings, I have found that walking is the best way to get rid of them. So I woke up today and saw the beautiful weather outside (sunny and about 50 degrees) and thought that it would be nice after my lone class was over at 1PM to just go for a walk. Yet my attempts to find someone else to go with me proved fruitless--apparently I got my essays done a lot earlier than most and most of my friends are now locked inside weathering the impending academic storm. This got me rather discouraged, because along with feeling trapped in the flat, I often feel like I have no one to talk to.

But with all of that aside I decided to be brave. As 1:00 struck I left the Chrystal MacMillan Building and found the weather to be much colder and grayer than I had expected. But this didn't hold me back. I proceeded to walk to the Royal Mile and all the way down to its foot, where you can find the Scottish Parliament Building and Holyrood Palace. I got there, and just sat for a moment, contemplating the week so far and the rest of the week to come. I felt like this might be enough to quench my philosophical thirst, but thankfully I decided to press on.

Salisbury Crags are a set of hills on the Southwest side of Edinburgh. Among them is Arthur's Seat, an ancient chunk of volcanic rock which when climbed gives one spectacular 360 degree views of Edinburgh and everything around it. However, were still a bit tired from running yesterday, so I decided to hike a smaller crag whose walking path goes from Holyrood Palace back to the West. Am I ever glad that I did this.

It was during this walk that I began to think about perspective. I've had a hard time as of late keeping my mind here in Edinburgh--due to the recent sale of my childhood home, the need to find an internship for the summer, as well as the huge mixed bag of emotions that comes with the nearing completion of college. But taking a solitary walk can change your perspective a lot. The Bible is filled with instances of people doing just that. Whether it be Jesus' time in the wilderness, the Transfiguration or even Moses going up Mount Sinai to receive the 10 commandments, there is something very profound about climbing and thinking. For me, it gave me the chance to see how little I really was, and how trivial a lot of my worries really were. Just climbing a few minutes gave me a huge view of Scotland. I was able to see all of the landmarks across the city, but more importantly I could see the snowcapped mountains in the distance, the North Sea, as well as small towns and villages for miles and miles and miles. I was able to appreciate the beauty of the place that I'm in, and also get a better grip of the vast amount emotion that I'm currently dealing with.

Perspective is an important thing, especially when you lose it. You can feel like you're the only one that matters; that the world is just comprised of you. You can feel like no one else cares what you're thinking, or that you're trapped in the place that you are. But sometimes all you need to do is stretch your legs and challenge your soul to think more deeply and broadly. Sometimes all you need to do is escape the hustle and bustle of your life and your surroundings and let your mind do the talking. It may not solve everything in the end, but being able to see yourself as just one small piece of a cosmic puzzle is both terrifying and liberating. Sometimes all you need to do to find perspective is climb.

The Beginning of the End?

I know it's weird for me to be talking about the end of my time here, considering I still have a little under three months left in Scotland. However, for some weird reason, today seems to be the beginning of the end. I can't really explain why, but I have few ideas.

Firstly, the exam schedule came out today. It's really weird how this happens. When you start the semester you have no idea when your exams will be, except for the fact that they will be sometime between the 26th of April and the 28th of May. Yes, an entire month-long exam period. People complain all the time if they have two exams in one week, let alone four like most Americans are used to. So, for better or for worse, I had no idea what fate would hand me. Luckily enough, I found out today that my three exams are back-to-back-to-back. From the 18th to the 20th of May. This is great for many reasons--primarily because I have five full weeks off. Not time where I actually have to study, but five full weeks between the end of classes (26 March) until I need to think about studying (sometime at the beginning of May).

For one reason or another, being able to plan out the rest of my time here, since I now know when I have to take my exams, is very liberating, but it also tells me how little time I have left. Before I know it classes will be over. Then it's off to Spain and Italy. Then I'm back here for a while. Then I'm off to Ireland. Then I study. Then I take my exams, and then it's the end of May. Yes, maybe that's oversimplifying things a bit, but considering how fast time has been going whilst I'm in classes and going through the boring academic drudgery, I can only imagine that more unstructured, vacation-esque time will go ever faster.

Then there's the weather. I mentioned earlier how it smells like Spring is in the air. That trend has definitely continued. Ironically it's still 10 or so degrees colder than Maine--mostly the mid 40s during the day--but the seasons are definitely shifting. The grass is green, the sun is much warmer, and you just get that sense that things are going to start exploding into blossom any day now. This change in mindset also makes you really excited. Despite the lack of snow in Scotland, you still get cabin fever. You get tired of walking in the cold--having the wind whip your face. But now the breeze is lighter and more refreshing. People are starting to shed the old winter jackets for fleeces; some even wear shorts around here. Seeing the end classes near and having the change in the season is really a deadly combination if you're trying to stay calm.

The bottom line is that I feel as if the best part of the experience is about to come. I feel that once classes are over that I can take off the chain and start being free. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but I feel that the opportunity to travel and relax will make the end of the journey that much sweeter.

Until then, I can just enjoy the flat. We went to a club last night--one on campus. It wasn't that special, and besides the great chance to go out with the guys I can't say that I'd want to do it again. It was like a college dance with booze and strobe lights and while it was a fun experience it's not something that I would want to do on a regular occasion. However, the weekend was capped off with a huge roast dinner: lamb, potatoes, peas, Yorkshire puddings, fudge cake, and Tom's amazing hot pot. Despite the fact that the lamb took a good six hours to cook (should have defrosted it first) the whole thing turned out really well and it seemed to be a great bonding experience for all of us. While I definitely feel that there is a significant amount of difference between me and the rest of the guys, I genuinely enjoy being around them, just hanging, sharing laughs, even going out to the club or the pub. It's those sorts of friendships that you hope you'll be able to bring away from all of this.

Anyway, three weeks of classes to go. I laughed in February when someone told me that it would be March before you knew it. I guess they were right. And while I do yearn for home many a time--especially because my house is about to be sold and I have no idea where I'll be living once I return--I hope that I'll be able to savor every minute that I have left. I have definitely hit my stride, I can only hope that I keep a good pace and am able to smell the roses as I pass by.

The Value of Time

My mom sent me an email today, one sent to her by my dear friend and former Professor Bill Hiss. The body of the email contained an excerpt of the inaugural address from Bates' current President Elaine Tuttle Hansen. The subject was time. More importantly, it highlighted the fact that education--like so many things in this modern age--moves so quickly, without thinking about what is being missed as we whiz by. I was intrigued, because higher education seems to be all about how much we can cram into four years: distribution requirements, thesis, extracurricular activities and the like. It's all about quantity at times, rather than quality. Don't get me wrong, college is a time when you want to experience as much as you possibly can. At no other time will you be so free yet so involved; so learned yet so ignorant. The point is that we need to take it all in, but we also need to take the time to process what it is that we've experienced and more importantly take time to do absolutely nothing.

I read the excerpt of the speech and then moved down the thread to find the current edition of the Awanadjo Almanack, the publication put out by my Uncle Rob. Uncle Rob is a sage, to say the least. It was clear from the progression of the email, that my professor had sent this excerpt to my Uncle in response to a piece he wrote on the subject of time. In words that struck me as so simple, yet so profound and meaningful, Rob says this:

Therapists and clergy are busy treating stress-related diseases of the mind and soul. To relax, we rush off to the airport to fly at 400 miles per hour to hectic vacation spots, and then we rush back exhausted. We have no time for timelessness.

Meanwhile, the seasons still change at the same slow pace they have always kept. The sun still rises and sets no faster than ever. The planets ponderously move as they always did. And the length of our lives is still three-score and ten or four-score years as it was when the Psalms were set down three thousand years ago. So what’s the big hurry?

That’s why it’s so blissful to lose all track of time in simply daydreaming or reading or just sitting by the stove thinking on a blustery night. No stress, no pressure, no hurry. I like to take my own sweet time, and won’t easily let someone else take it from me. (Rob McCall, Awanadjo Almanack, Full Snow Moon, 26 Feb.-5 Mar. 2010).

What indeed is the big hurry? That's what I've been struggling with as of late. My life at Bates moves at a breakneck pace. It's up at 8:30 (yes, that's early for college kids), off to breakfast for 20 minutes, classes all day with reading time in the library crammed in. Then it's dinner, library for the rest of the night, maybe a solitary half hour then bed. Oh, and maybe some gym time or time with friends mixed in. One can see easily how that constant pace can be exhausting.

So when one gets the opportunity to take a semester abroad it seems as if the options are boundless. You can travel, you can sightsee, you can go out and party. I plan to do--and have done--all of these things. Yet on a day like this where I have one class and some reading to do, but plan to just sit and relax afterwards, I constantly struggle with a sense that I'm not doing enough. I see people travelling every weekend, going out every night, and having a great time while doing it. I wonder whether they found the right balance and I've come up short. Yet reading words like my Uncle Rob's seem to set me straight. This experience is something different to every person. It need not fit a cookie-cutter mold. You don't have to travel and party every waking minute in order to say that your time away was well spent.

As far as I'm concerned this is a sabbatical. The frantic pace of Bates will consume me in due course and while I hope to temper its speed and intensity a bit, there are some things which will have to remain stressful and time consuming. But as for now, I have the chance to just live. In the two short months that I've already spent in Scotland I have learned so many lessons--not only about Social Policy, but about me. I've learned to cook. I've learned to shop. I've learned to survive in an unfamiliar city. But I've also learned what makes me satisfied. I feel that if sitting with my flatmates and watching The Sopranos or Scrubs most nights did not make me happy then I would have changed my tune and done something different. But this isn't the case. While I plan to go out and explore--more than I already have--I also plan to take time for me. Study abroad for me is not just about a change of scenery, it's about a change of pace. I get to go slower. I get to take time for impromptu emails and instant messages in the middle of readings. I get time to write this blog. But I also get time to really interact with people. To forge friendships and to really experience what life is all about.

Yes, my lack of travel so far is in part due to lack of funds, or at least a desire to not go completely broke. But I'm also beginning to become very content with the path that I'm taking. I'm getting to take a step back from the rat race, to really pause and consider what means the most to me. It definitely wasn't the experience that I was expecting when I first set out for Scotland, but I'm a fervent believer that life gives you wonderful surprises along the way, especially when you think you want the opposite. I may not want to live life as slowly and methodically as Uncle Rob, but it is an important reminder that when you move too quickly; when you want to cram your time with every possible detail, you lose perspective of all the small things that make life worth living, and in my case what makes my experience in Edinburgh so fulfilling.