The bonny, bonny banks

I am addicted to impulse travel.
Wednesday night in our apartment:
Katie: Come to Glasgow with me this weekend.
Me: I don't really want to.
Katie: Come to Glasgow with me this weekend.
Me: No, I shouldn't.
Katie: Come to Glasgow with me this weekend.
Me: I'll go order tickets.
Refusal to indecision to flights booked in under 5 minutes. I don't know whether to be proud or ashamed.
For the record, Edinburgh is the city to visit in Scotland. Glasgow is mainly a Victorian industrial city, which means some nice old buildings but not necessarily a whole lot to do. Except listen to new accents, bum around, get rained on, and hole up in pubs (and watch Wales destroy Ireland in rugby). All of which we did.
We also got into a fight with a Scotsman one night. And by got in a fight I mean we had a heated political argument. And by a heated political argument I mean he was hitting the table and yelling that we all need to vote for Obama because 52% of Americans are racist (his sources were, I'm sure, just as sound as his reasoning). And then he hugged us and bought us beer. And then he was kicked out of the pub.
From around the city:



George Square (plus raindrop). We had a picnic here between rainclouds:

We also went to the modern art museum and the Lighthouse, a center for architecture, design, and urban studies. Which maybe doesn't sound all that exciting, but it was brilliant. The whole thing was very innovative, interactive, and witty. They had the best WC signs ever:


The Lighthouse tower also had a lovely viewing deck:



Glasgow's night sky:

Monday before our flight we took a train up to Crianlarich, a small town a couple hours north in the highlands. It was incredibly beautiful, but once again you're going to have to trust me, as my pictures from the train don't do the mountains anything close to justice. And once again, it was raining. All day long. Dear Scotland, you are far worse than Ireland.


Loch Long:

And unfortunately these pictures are the worst of all, but we did see Loch Lomond. I promised Katie that I wouldn't sing, but it was a struggle. I believe the mountain on the far side is Ben Lomond.


There wasn't much to do in Crianlarich. Despite the fact that it was raining quite hard, there was a fair amount of snow and slush on the ground, so hiking was out, which is really the only activity the town has to offer. So we staked out a table at the town's one pub, eavesdropped on a bunch of old Scottish women, and enjoyed a 3-hour-long lunch. My sense of adventure won out over my sense of taste, so I ordered the haggis, neeps, and tatties:

It actually wasn't nearly as disgusting as I expected. I found haggis to be along the lines of black pudding: as long as you can more or less forget what you're eating, and as long as you don't focus on the texture or the strange, rich, somewhat bloody flavor that starts to cling to the back of your throat after the first few bites, it's really quite decent.
How's that for convincing?
From around town:



The lesson I learned from Scotland: go to Edinburgh, and go in summer. Not that I have any regrets from this trip; I'm very glad in this instance that I succumb so easily to peer pressure.
The next adventure is, of course, St. Patrick's Day. Celebrations are starting already; this is going to be a fantastic week. My dad, Terese, Lisa, and Alice are all coming on St. Patrick's Day itself, so next week as well will be filled with all sorts of shenanigans (and all the tourist attractions I haven't managed to make it to yet; Guinness Storehouse, anyone?).
I'm shocked to find myself with just slightly more than a month here, but there's still so much to look forward to. This semester has been and continues to be so amazing that it sometimes scares me.