Loch Ness

"I see her! I see her!" I squeak from my lookout. The wind masks my weak voice as I struggle to call down to the guards below. Quickly I climb down from my watch, leaving my post abandoned. But for good reason, I tell myself. As I gather my wits in a heap of panic, I make my way towards my captain. My words are weak against his callous presence, like tiny drops of rain fighting a monsoon. But they find their way to untangle themselves from my tongue and he hears the pleading base behind them. Every man is called to leave his station, every soldier discards his responsibilities and in turn craves the curious monster at sea. We wait until the Highland winds have burned through our armor and into our flesh, chilling our bones without hesitation. The anticipation strings between us like a steady bargain and soon our hopeful thoughts become weary. Slowly I rock back and forth, waiting for the Loch's monster to show itself once more. And then nothing. The crowd slowly dwindles down until I stand alone on the castle's wall, still believing in something that never was. Just as my eyes' final protests pound against my strained lids, a flicker of hope sparks. This time, I'm silent. The wind blows past me rather than through and I can feel my voice growing stronger within. It builds and builds as I watch the monster cascade through broken waves, slinking through the open waters. Just as I open my mouth, a second thought, she's gone. And I stay there with the Loch's numbing cold bitting at my skin, never to see her again.

Tartan Kilts and Gaelic Handbags

St. Andrews

Due to England's bleak weather, I itched to get back into Scotland. Little did I know of the torrential rain, freezing temperatures, and high speed winds that awaited me. Just as the entire coach became motion sickness, the Contiki bus rounded its last nauseous bend and pulled into Edinburgh, the capital city of Scotland (I don't know if it's actually the capital, it just sounds better that way). Here we indulged in both the local talent and food. Cam, a third generation bagpiper who was more than willing to answer any kilt related questions, played song after song and dazzled us all with his musical talents.

The day that followed the festivities was one of exploration. A small group of Contikiers formed and together we stormed the castle of Edinburgh and took in all that the stronghold had to offer. Michelle, our tour guide had spoken, on more than one occasion, of the "Crown Jewels" and "Stone of Destiny" which resided in the castle. With a name like "Stone of Destiny," you're bound to attract a few suckers. And we fit the profile. So we paid the 14 pounds entrance fee and waited the hour and a half to be led into a dark room with a glass case perched on a mahogany alter. We crept our way towards the sparkling glass, suspension building in our chests, and stood dumbfounded when the image behind the glass focused and then we realized, the "Stone of Destiny" was really a piece of concrete. Stone of Destiny: 1...Meghan: 0

So, I collected what was left of my dignity from Edinburgh Castle and joined the group for a stop over in St.Andrews..the home of....GOLF. I've only ever golfed a handful of times, all within a two week stretch. The reason for my initial interest in the sport and sudden retrieval from it: 1. It was the cool thing to do at the time and I was subject to peer pressure 2. I couldn't handle the constant nagging from my fellow golfers "Hurry up already!", "Just pick the damn ball up and throw it", or my personal favorite "You're tee-ing off in the wrong direction..." 3. I sucked. Needless to say, St.Andrews wasn't my greatest wow moment, but the cupcakes I bought there sure were :)

"Do you know where we are? We're at the river!"

The first friend I made while on Contiki was Jackie. She took me by surprise with her choppy Australian accent and I soon realized that we would make a great team. The first stop of the tour was Bath, the British town best known for its Roman Baths. Every time the bus stopped, we were given a strict time limit and told that if we were to neglect the allowed time, we would be left behind. Jackie and I decided this rule, like all others, needed to be tested. With 5 minutes left until the bus would be pulling out of Bath, Jackie and I were running through the busy streets of Bath...in the wrong direction. Lucky for us Michelle has a caring nature about her (psych) and held the bus and the rest of the crew up while we made our way to the back of the bus, thankful and completely doused in sweat.

Next stop was Liverpool; home of the Beatles. It wasn't as exciting as I had imagined, but England rarely was. It was defintely a cool place to stop, but I enjoyed York the most. We were led through the city of York under cover of night by a local ghost walking guide. He took us through the city telling horror stories from years before and of legends that still held true even now. One story in particular that stuck with me was the story of Alice. Our guide led us through one of the many dark alleys of York and as our group pushed in closer, he began his story. Madalice Lane was named after a young girl, Alice, who suffered from a severe mental illness. Unfortunately for Alice, the people of her time understood the mentally ill to be inhabited by evil and were therefore casted out from society. The alley that Alice's family lived along was not only their place of residence, but their place of business as well. This caused problems for the family because when Alice went off on one of her fits, customers would flee from the family's shop and so the business struggled. This continued until one day, Alice was mysteriously pronounced dead and buried in the city's cemetary. The family believed their prayers had been answered until Alice began appearing in the shop window's reflections, haunting those that had failed to understand her. Alice never left the house, and to this day, as decidedby the local people of York, the owner of Alice's house must have every window covered to keep Alice from haunting the people of today's York.

One thing I leared fairly quickly about Contiki was that there was never enough time in some places, and too much in others. One town that this held true for was Weatherby, a small, Whitecourt-like place just outside of York. Here we integrated with the locals at the small pubs and eventually found ourselves some local guides. Paul, our tramp stamped looker, and Jim, our pink sock wearing guide showed us all Weatherby had to offer, which wasn't much. It was one of my favorite nights in England and I regret having not been able to spend more time there.

The next day we visitied the Lake District. Here is where I fell in love with the scenery I had been waiting 2 weeks for. Contiki drove us through the rolling hills of the Lake District and stopped at a small outdoor activities centre. We were given the opportunity to try out the high ropes course, zip lining, and of course, to watch Jackie eat shit while working her way through one of the courses. After the acitivities ended, we took a walk to Castle Rigg, a small collection of rocks completed by a back drop of wooden fences, roaming sheep, and never ending hills. As Ashley, Phil, and I stood there taking in the view, we glanced over at eachother, and without words began singing...The hills are alive with the sound of music.

As the rain continued, the Contiki coach pulled into Gretna Green, the world renouned hot spot for run away marriages. Here we set up our own "marriage"...the lucky couple; Coco and Alex, the previously mentioned Asian couple that was such a hit with the group. After the couple said their vows, and after a long make out session, the entire group tossed their cookies.

England was concluded by a 45 minute stop over at Hadrian's wall. Phil, Jackie, Ashley, and myself trudged through the torrential downpour, pushed past the growing winds, and struggled against our aching thighs so be greeted by a meter high wall..just a wall...that's it. With deep breaths and fists clentched in anger, we managed to keep our cool as we made the 20 minute hike back to the coach. And no, it wasn't photo worthy. But on the plus side, I now have buns of steel :)

The Stonehenge

We worked and fought against the protests of our weary bodies. Sweat blazing trails down the lines of our backs were forgotten as we struggled on. Heave! Heave! They yelled from afar. Their pleas for faster labour had attached themselves into our broken bodies like phantom limbs. I could feel the mud slide between my bare toes as I begged my feet for levereage while sinking deeper and deeper into the hillside.The stone beneath my hands was cold, calm in contrast with the heat that welled from my face and its touch numbed my worried soul. There would soon be peace.

We moved together as one, uniformed members of an alliance; one heart beat, pounding against the doubts that crept across our faces. We pulled the stone up the steep mound. I clentched my teeth with recognition as we crested the green and sighed in triumph. With the weight gone, the burden as well. Too long had we suffered for this day. Our struggles would not be lost to the future, our triumphs not forgotten. This was our mark on the world and even time can not deny us this.

Contiki Time

I figured that if I had mainly relied on my own sense of curiosity to see the sights in Europe, then I never would. I was all too willing to just meander through the streets of the UK for weeks on end. I might as well get my money's worth. So, before I left Canada, I signed up for Contiki.

From what I've heard and read about, Contiki is a company that takes "younger" travelers on tours around the world for very unreasonable prices. To me this meant a bus load of 20 year olds traveling around the UK and Ireland drinking Guinness and having fun. Not so much.

After finally finding the meeting place for my Contiki group, I was disappointed. Starring back at me where the solemn faces of about ten couples, clutching to each other as if they were each other's life vests. If the nasea of that sight didn't kill me, the age of everyone else in the room sure would. I was quite easily the only traveler in the group who had yet to sprout a grey hair. Great, I'd be changing diapers and assembling walkers for the next two weeks. I took my place in the group, trying to blend in with my new surroundings. I had literally just paid $2,500 to stare at pot bellies and repeat myself for the sake of the hearing impaired.

Just as Michelle, the tour guide concluded her speach, I stood up. I tried to shake the disappointment from my body but it clung to the walls of my mind, burrowing deeper and deeper. I closed my eyes and let myself breathe in a few quick breaths. Don't judge a book by its cover, I kept reminding myself. Just as I found a temporary place of zen, a continuous smooching sound snapped me back to the present. Directly infront of me was a Chinese couple from my group wrapped in a tight embrace. The woman nuzzled closer into her boyfriend, completely oblivious of my gawking stares. I looked away, but not before the image of her pecking his entire face was burned into the back of my retinas. A wave of nasea washed over me and I raced for the door. I could feel the couple's giggles chasing after me as I pushed open the gates to freedom, the street's air brushed passed me. This was going to be a long two weeks.

To be or not to be

My time in London was spent exactly as you would suspect it to be spent in any other city around the world. Coughing through the smog, dodging traffic, squeezing past people on the sidewalk, and frustrated beyond reason. London wasn't my favorite place in the world..but I had expected this.

Instead of wasting my time visiting countless tourist traps, I chose to instead get to know some of the people from my hostel and meet up with a girl I used to work with. It was nice to have lost all sense of time. Everyday I woke up when I wanted to (which was usually before 10am so I could indulge in free breakfast), went where my feet took me, and ate when I was hungry. It was an empowering feeling to know that I was in control. There were no time constraints, no meetings, no places I had to be.

But thanks to good ol' Tube stikes, I found myself with limited transportation. Lucky for me the London Eye, Parliament, and The Globe were all within walking distance. My second day at the hostel I befriended a 21 year old Aussie who had been traveling for the last 2 years. Treffyn was an amazing tour guide, and an ever better friend. Together we saw The Merry Wives of Windsor at The Globe Theatre. Wow! It wasn't like the plays I'd seen back home at The Citadel. The Globe's atmosphere reached out to you when you entered the thick wooden doors and enveloped you in Shakespeare's story immediately. I was fully entranced. My body was drawn to the stage like a magnet, my eyes following the same pattern. The hours escaped effortlessly, and by the end of the show I knew that even if I did not see anything else in this huge city, I would be happy.

The wheels on the bus go...

The bus ride to London was, well, interesting to say the least. My nine hour, over night journey was kick started when I found myself boarding the wrong bus. Easily fixed. Once I found the bus I was supposed to be on, I was greeted by a socially challenged gentleman who would, for the rest of the trip, read his book with the over head light on. Sleeping in darkness was overrated, anyways. So after getting settled into my little box of a seat, we were off.

It wasn't until I had fallen into a deep sleep when the door's alarm started blarring. Imagine my state at the time; eyes closed, mouth open, drool pooling on my headrest, sitting upright because the recliner was broken, and then suddenly I'm jarred awake by this obnoxious alarm. Peachy. The buzzing continued as the spare driver made attempts to quiet it, and I happily hummed along with its ever appealing rythm.

Nine hours later, the buzzer is still ringing, my knees are still jammed into my chest, and I resemble a contortionist more than my own self. To top things off, I am using my one jacket as both a blanket for the -40 temperature and a pillow. Apparently, I was the only one who felt the discomfort settle throughout the bus upon boarding. I looked over at the gentleman beside me and see his smiling face still focused on his self help book. All I could say when I stepped off the bus into the London rain was, never again.

Schnitzel, Kiwi, and Maple Syrup

When I finally reached my hostel in Glasgow, I was disappointed with finding it empty. Apparently the industrial city wasn't the world's greatest tourist attraction. I spent the rest of my day walking aimlessly around the University until the jet lag finally took its toll, and then I fell asleep on a park bench. Classy, I think so.

I was upset to say the least. I had expected to enter the hostel's lounge to find it buzzing with foreign accents, instead I was greeted by an empty couch looking for the 70's and a Swiss couple who didn't speak any English.

Day two in Glasgow was a different story. People began pouring into the hostel and I soon found the bunk beds around me occupied by some of the most amazing people. Directly under my bunk was Hanna: the blonde haired, blue eyed German exchange student. She is quite easily one of the nicest souls I have ever met. Next came the Aussies. Jack and Nicole brought the party, Mr. Tokyo, Steffan the German student/world tour guide, Mumbai, and some friendly faces from Home; Sean and Nickole.

The next couple days in Glasgow were a blur. My time was slipping through my fingers. Nights out at the Scotish clubs, pitchers of shooters, cards on the patio, and £3 bottles of wine pretty much describe my Scotish experience. I was sad to see Nicole and Jack leave...it felt like I had just hollowed out my place in this dreary city and suddenly it was filled back in. I wasn't sure that I'd have the same luck in London; lightning never strikes twice. But then I remembered that Glasgow supposdely only sees about 2 days of sun a month and 300 days of rain a year. The sun came out every day I spent in that city, and it was drier than a bone. Miracles do happen.

Jay walking in the UK

When I first started juggling the idea to drop everything and take off to Europe, there were a few factors that weighted my decision. One: My parents weren't so keen on the idea. Two: I was broke. Three: Even though I despised the thought of taking one more Japanese class, I knew a part of me would miss going back to school in the fall.

It was easy to sit back and imagine myself overseas, choking down Guinness in the pouring rain as my Prince Charming whispered words I couldn't understand in an accent I loved. But when the time came to take action, I froze. I was paralyzed with the thought of leaving this comfortable life. What was I running from? I had a job I loved, people who cared about me, and most importantly, a dad who knew how to cook. But a part of me wasn't ready to settle for this ordinary lifestyle. I just wasn't ready to settle.

There were great things waiting for me and I had to stop being such a pansy and get out there. Albert Einstein once said, "I must be willing to give up what I am in order to become what I will be." This trip was going to change me in so many inconceivable ways that all I had to do was sit back and let it happen.

And that is exactly how my first day in Glasgow, Scotland went. I found myself alone in the centre of the city in an underground subway station, completely stripped of any sense of direction. It was liberting, to say the least, thrusting myself into the middle of a foreign country, unprepared, and overwhelmed.

But the two things that really blew my mullet back were the drivers and the thick accent. Stepping off the airport shuttle was kind of like throwing myself head first off a second story balcony into a pool of grunts, slurs, and newfies. Not to mention a pool completely inhabited by reckless drivers.

I've been to Japan before where they as well drive on the left side of the road, but something about the Scotish scare me to death. No crosswalks, speed limits that say "twenty is plenty", and distracted drivers were going to make for an interesting trip. I nearly replastered some of the old buildings with my own body after having spent a solid hour dodging traffic. It was after the fourth consecutive angry honk that I remembered, "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." This doesn't mean I was going to strap on a kilt and forget how to properly annunciate my words, it just meant that if everyone around me was as tough as leather, then I would have to be too. I survived day one. Just like I would the next 3, 6, 12 months.

I would miss home like crazy, but when I thought of those waiting for me, I would "love them when I loved them, miss them when I missed them, and send them light and happiness when I thought of them, and then drop it."-Elizabeth Gilbert