Sass in Scotland

So why did I choose to go on exchange in Scotland again? Maybe it was the thrill of being in a country where nobody knew my name or maybe I just thought that with any luck, having a foreign accent would successfully land me my dream Scottish rugby lad and we would settle down and pop out a few kilted babies. Check on the first one, and I’m still working on the second, I’ll keep ya posted. What I can tell you is that I didn’t choose Scotland for it’s weather or for the (wrong) side of the road they drive on. I’ve spent a good portion of my year walking in puddles and narrowly missing getting flattened by buses and cab drivers alike. No, this year has been a year of cultural readjustments and wild self-discovery that I could never have expected. I’ve jumped naked into the North Sea off of Aberdeen’s sandy beaches, I’ve done a mad hunt for Nessie (a no-show) in Loch Ness, strutted Edinburgh’s Royal Mile in my finest tourist gear and managed a sunburn walking St. Andrews world-famous Old Course. I’ve challenged myself to some Haggis, Neeps and Tatties.* I’ve been drank under the table with whiskey and good ol’ Tennants by deceivingly sweet, old Scottish men and even given Irn Bru a go.** Above all, I’ve made fantastic friends that have welcomed me into their homes with pale, open arms and given me lovely banter over tea and toasties. Scotland has given me a base from which to mosey into Europe from, but never fails to pull me back in, the sound of bagpipes gently coaxing me all the way home. When abroad you have to immerse yourself in the culture and in Scotland I’ve learned to go fanatically scream on your local football team to victory (Come On You Reds!), to feast my stomach and drink my liver away on Robbie Burns Night and to always keep calm and ceilidh on.*** I always get asked, of all the places to go on exchange, why Scotland? I might not know why I chose it, but at the risk of being a total cheeseball, it definitely chose me.

Until next time, slightly sappy and somewhat sassy,
Sarah

* Definition: haggis, sweet potatoes, and mashed potatoes. Pure, unadulterated goodness assuming you plead ignorance to what haggis truly is.
** Note to reader: if, much like me, you suffered a traumatizing childhood-bubblegum-medicine-inducing-sugar-coma, you might want to skip this one.
***Because let’s face it, you haven’t truly called Scotland home until you have hipped and hopped the night away to the sound of fiddles and flutes.