BFFs or Best Friends in Travel

After two long weeks of "backpacking" (or should I say roller bagging?) across France and Italy, all I can say is this: thank god for new best friends. I mean seriously, you meet the most random assortment of people traveling. So while the sights and scenery in France and Italy may have been epic . . . I think the people were the best part of the trip.

At my third hostel, I met a girl named Amy who is also in Europe studying abroad and who goes to school near my hometown. I met two boys on a bus who are studying abroad in Coppenhagen and go to Vandy. Turns out they were essentially on the same trip as me, right down to the hostels where unbeknown to us we had been neighbors for two stops. Soulmates? I think yes. Then there were the super friendly and helpful (also protective) Brazilian boys studying in Ireland. They helped us get on the right bus to our hostel in Venice and kept any sketchy people away from us. Oh the Brazilian boys. They also had really nice balance standing on the bus. So helpful. On one train, I met a really nice Swiss girl who is going to med school and who translated the Italian train announcements into English for us! In Florence, I met a cute couple from NY in the hostel who gave us tips about the city and shared funny travel stories about Rome with us. The guy looked JUST like Kurt from Glee. So much that I think I stared a bit. At the same hostel, I met the professional American football player in a Spanish league who was from Boston, went to Harvard, and is visiting my hometown this summer for a music festival. Turns out we know some of the same people at my college. Again, like all the others, he was so friendly and funny and had some great tips about things to go and places to stay.

I mean literally everywhere I went on spring break there was some fascinating person to talk to whether it was the Nigerian man who sat next to me in the airport coming home and then on the plane who is getting is masters in Glasgow to the girl studying in Stirling who is planning a visit to St A's. People. . . they make travel fun! They also make sure I get off the right bus, on the correct train, and avoid the bad parts of town.

What Do You Mean ... Budget?

When traveling on a college student's budget, you learn many important life lessons like how to plan on public transportation, how to avoid attraction fees, and hiw to economize your shopping. You also learn that with budget travels... three meals a day? First thing to go. In fact, meals period are considered unnecessary expenses. So today after a whirlwind of touring and walking, I eagerly await my one meal of the day and look back at all the hood ole days when $5 was not my meal cap.

Lizzie's trips for a 10 euro day budget:
1. Breakfast? Lunch? Brunch? No way! Grab some bread from the place down the road and get to walking. Croissant: 2 euro

2. Instead of going to that famous person's house and taking a boring tour of replicas of what their furniture may have looked like when they lived there, walk by the house instead! The gardens: free! Plus, be honest with yourself...you don't really care. Historical moment: 0 euros

3. Walk everywhere! Taking a cab can be $$$$ and a bus misses wonderful unplannedness...like the awesome farmers market in the square. Strawberries: 1 euro

4. Postcards are not only fun for family at home, but they make great momentos of your trip. Instead of that pricey shot glass, do yourself a favor and go with something less bulky and cluttering. 2 postcards: 1 euro

5. Splurge on dinner. You only live once so take that 6 euro in your pocket and go wild. Eat inside. At a table. With a fork or spoon (plastic of course). You deserve it!

So there you have it folks! My advice on how to make your day the 10 euro way. May you heed this sage advice and remember that is you don't like or care about art, don't waste your precious money on a museum!

Oh la la!

So while Paris does not technically hold the key to my heart, it is quite nice. Very much a city, but a nice and beautiful city. However, what I have enjoyed the most about Paris is the fact that people look to me with my oh so limited French for guidance. My go to phrase? Je veux aller (fill in blank).

So panda fell ill with a virus and there I found myself, lizzie the mediocre French stundent trying to translate in a French doctors office. If my high school
French teacher could see me now! He would so be laughing. Thankfully panda is allgood now, but Lordy bee! Seriously Paris? Is this a test????

Saturday Adventure Series: Argyll

Oh. Kay. What can I say about this weekend? In a few adjective? Exhausting. Funny. Embarrassing. Crazy. Outside-y. As part of orientation my abroad program took us all on a lovely trip west and north to Argyll Forest National Park where they forced us to engage in physical activity in nature.

Now before I left for the trip, the program sent me an email asking about any physical limitations that would influence what events we could participate in. After reading my reply, I am sure the coordinators were like "WTF is this girl even doing coming on the trip?!?" Why such a strong reaction you ask? Probably because my response went like this:

hmm any physical conditions? I am not a fan of heights or small, cramped, hard to maneuver spaces. I am also really bike retarded (as in I have been known to run into trees while on paved paths). I am decent with mild hiking and water though!

Needless to say, after that email, I got hiking and kayaking, which was the leisure activities on a trip that featured gorge climbing, mountain biking, and caving. We luck souls in Group 10, only had to hike up a snowy and beautiful mountain, and laugh as Lizzie ran to shore time and time again in her kayak.

But the trip was beautiful, if filled with minor muscle aches afterwards. We stayed in this old Victorian manor house. Beautiful. Surrounded by mountains and waterfalls and nature. Beautiful. So even I looked like an idiot in my pale blue and silver WET SUIT and could not manage to steer my boat across a flat loch, it was worth it.

Plus we got to watch Braveheart. A real crowd pleaser.

Saturday Adventure Series: Stirling

Saturdays are the perfect time for a Scottish adventure . . . or even a misadventure. Why waste the day sitting around your flat in the pj's watching online TV and eating biscuits? I mean, yes, biscuits are quite nice and chocolatey, but really, time is of the essence and what is Sunday for if not restful contemplation on the newest episode of The Mentalist?

So here begins my new posts about my fateful Saturday outings.

Last Saturday, I took a crazy trip to Stirling with a group of friends, two Americans and our token Scottish friend. It was epic. Just like the movie Braveheart. . . coincidence? I think not. For those of you who thought Mel Gibson's character William Wallace was all fiction, you are only half right or maybe 3/4 right. Cause while Braveheart may be so historically inaccurate that it causes historians to tear their hair out, the character and the inspirational battle (of Stirling) are both real.

In fact, Stirling is where the Wallance Monument is located. This lovely, odd tower dedicated to this Scottish hero was our first stop on the trip.

So for those of you who know me, you know that I am an awkward person. Like really awkward. Scotland has not changed that about me at all. I am still really, really, really awkward and so was this trip.

We get to the top of the hill where the monument is located and see that there will be a historical retelling of the Battle of Stirling. Oh yeah. So we wait, and we wait, and we wait some more. At about 5 till we head to the tour area where (behind the monument) where we see people gathering. Oh good! The retelling must be starting! So the three American girls and one Scottish girl all hurry over to the side. As I round the corner, I see something that makes me stop. Ashes. Not like, “there was a fire here” ashes, but like “we gather here today to mourn” ashes. Then I see people crying. Then I see one of my friends blindly continuing on. We walked in on the middle of a funeral. Well, more like we walked in on the middle of some dead person being spread all over the Wallace Monument. It was terrible. As soon as I realized what was going on I turned and fled, unable to control my spontaneous giggles. I mean, it was SO funny in a dark, we crashed a funeral way.

Image: Three tourist Americans blindly walking towards a group of mourners thinking it is the historical retelling of an epic battle. It could have been a movie.

Thankfully, the rest of the tour went smoothly. We climbed some stairs, we took some pictures, I almost lost my hat due to winds, we visited a castle where all those famous, dead, royal Scottish people lived. You know. Average tour stuff, but man, did that day start with a bang.

Drama Queen, Young and Sweet, Only Lizzie

Hello, my name is Lizzie, and I am addicted to drama. Actually it is more like I am a magnate for drama. It follows me like a special stalker, taking my pictures as I walk down the street and then stirring up trouble.

What did I do this time you ask?

Absolutely nothing. This time it was NOT my fault at all. I just kinda fell into the drama here.

Let me tell you about it.

So I live in DRA a large series of separate buildings housing around 12 or so flats in each one. I live in Lindsay with my 5 flatmates who are all first-year full time students. My flatmates are really nice and friendly and I enjoy going out and hanging in with them, but I also decided to make some friends of my own. Just across the mini, half empty puddle/pond, another study abroad girl lives, K.

K is from Vandy. She has been here a year. She is loud and friendly and funny and has invited me to do several things with her . . . like go to the DRA ball with her and her flatmates. So I did. It was fun. It was dramatic. unbeknownst to me, THERE IS A FEUD BETWEEN K AND MY FLATMATES. Yes. A Feud. It all involves a boy C and my flatmate Z and K in a warped "he said" and "she said" love triangle of misunderstanding.

So here I am . . . Lizzie stuck abroad blindly trying to make my way through the social world at St. A's, and BAM I am caught in the middle of the drama. Luckily, I have not been blamed for anything yet, and my flatmates seem to be okay with me hanging with K, but they can never be in the same space. It gets catty.

Oh Drama, my old friend, I thought to take a brief break from our relationship, but I underestimated the strength of our love. Welcome back into my life.

Lizzie's 3 Easy Tips on How to Have a Ball at the Ball

Friday night was DRA Ball (David Russell Apartments) which was basically a free dance for all the DRA kids involving free ice cream, dj, live music, etc. Basically a chance for people to dress up, drink champagne, dance, and socialize with their neighbors. But Balls can be hard work. Here are some things Cinderella forgot to mention:

1. Always remember to bring a cell phone and cash to a ball. Although the ball may be free and feature free ice cream and free champagne, the champagne will go fast, the ice cream melts, and you will need that money by the end of the night. Cash is useful for coat checks, ca-ching, cash bars, ca-ching, and taxi home when you cannot wait in the bus queue any longer. So unless you want to spend the night parched, hot, and impatient a few quid will be helpful.

2. Cinderella may have danced all night in her glass slippers, but you will not be able to, so ladies, always were some sort of hose to the ball. There will come a time (around the second hour) when you feet feel like they have been smashed with a hammer in your high heels. Solution? Take off those blasted shoes. However, if you ball happens to be in an old barn with iffy wood and cement floors, then you will need some sort of hose to protect those dainty feet. Barefooting it is not an option. Take my advice, wear flats or wear hosiery so you don't end up crippled and hobbling around the dance floor on your broken feet.

3. Do not make eye contact with the drunk people. Yes, it can be fun to people watch, and I advise you to do so, but do not accidently meet their eyes. Say you are in a crowd looking for your friend, make sure to keep your eyes lowered so you do not draw the drunk attention. Cinderella only made eye contact with Prince Charming, but at a ball not all men are princes. I accidently made eye contact with a very inebriated young man who then decided to introduce himself, although he was so drunk I did not catch his name as he was shaking my hand. The same guy then approached me on the dance floor. It was awkward and your friends will tease you with the "he likes you" comments.

So if you follow this advise you will have a ball at your ball. You will be able to dance until that clock strikes 2 with your Prince Charming and not some random drunk person while you cannot feel your feel and long for a bottle of water. See, success is yours for the taking if you listen to your Fairy Godmother Lizzie.

Home Sweet Home . . . if you like llamas

For my Homestay, they sent us to the small village, Glenfarg. It was literally a village. Stone houses, friendly people, one store, one hotel where the one pub is located, and one church. It was cute. Surrounded by mountains and sheep and llama. So fun!

Wendy, my host, lives in an old Barley Mill, which she rebuilt and revamped all by herself with her ex-hubby. Like the two of them (and then their children) lived in a camper on the land, using the stream to mix the cement and longs to roll stones. They even lived off what the land grew--chickens, eggs, veggies, and goat milk. Yeah. Wendy still has chickens who gave us eggs for our breakfast. It was intense. Hard core. Very cold. The house was heated using wood burning stoves. brrrrrrr! Yay nature!

Getting to Glenfarg was an experience all on its own. So my abroad group sent three girls from America out on our own to travel there by public bus. None of us were very familiar with the bus system. All we had was the bus time, money for tickets, and one line of instructions saying to get off at "Milnathorp, south street, opp the RBS." THAT WAS ALL. And I was the group coordinator. Great. So we blunder our way through buying the bus tickets. Then we are on the bus, cruising along. Everything is fine, until we realize that we should be getting OFF the bus soon. So the other girls and I are looking around us at the dark, snowy, unfamiliar Scottish country side. We see a sign: Milnathorp.

Okay. But the bus is speeding through. We see a town. We are literally on the edge of our seats looking for our only landmark the RBS. We see one, but it is not OPP the bus stop but next to one. Is that our stop? Are we there? How do we get the bus to stop?

We passed it. One of the girls I am with goes and asks the bus driver, tells him where we want to go. He has no idea what we are saying. She comes back then tries again the next time he stops. He finally figures out where we want to go and is like "get off my bus. we passed that." So the three American girls get off the bus. We manage to get on another bus, and finally end up where we were supposed to be. YAY! It was a disaster.

Not fun. Then we were coming back--again Bus drama. The bus was late. The stops mismarked. The town was a bit on the iffy side. Luckily, this time Wendy was there to help! So yeah . . . public transportation was not so much fun :)

So yeah--I experienced rural Scottish life. I bonded with some LLamas. I am a llama magnate. Walked the hills. Froze in my sleep. Not something I would want full time. . . I mean I feel self-sufficient when I manage to go to the grocery store. Growing my own food . . . a little too extreme for me : )

Hallelujah! Part 2

It is a commonly acknowledged fact that I cannot cook. It usually ends in disaster, fire, and smoke. However, tonight. . . tonight I became a functioning member of society. I had three friends over--I use "friend" in the loose casual--and made dinner. I cooked very tasty chicken on the stove with salt and pepper, put it on top of a pesto cheese sauce (made by combining pesto sauce with cheese sauce), added my own steamed broccoli (that I made ON THE STOVE NOT THE MICROWAVE), and served over pasta.

It was epic.

It was genius.

It was edible.

My associates applauded my work, blissfully crediting me with the ability to cook.

So today, dear friends and family, today is a momentous occasion. Mark TODAY in on the calendar as the day Lizzie learned to survive on her own.

I would like a medal please.

Hallelujah!

I. TOOK. PUBLIC. TRANSPORTATION. . . to get to class. I can now commute using something besides my feet.