Studying abroad Junior year in college has become a right of passage for most American students. The world, especially in today's day and age of technology, seems infinitely smaller and as a result open to every possibility imaginable. Where to go?
This is the question I found myself my Freshman year of college, did I want something completely new or something with a more familiar feeling? Anywhere the temperature exceeds 70 degrees was immediately out of the question as I transform into a raging ball of glum, just picture if angry cat and a dementor had a child- yep that's me. Not to even mention that my hair explodes to 200 percent larger than is normally is- no anything tropical or warm was out of the question.
I ended up choosing to study in the UK, specifically Scotland. The weather is abysmal (so I have been informed again and again), rainy and cloudy with a stiff cold breeze; this is my favorite kind of weather. It encourages the practice of cuddling into an over sized chair, swaddled in a downy blanket with either a really good book or Netflix and a hot cup of tea. As you can probably gleam from the title of this blog- I am an American student with very strong Scottish roots, and I am fiercely proud of that fact. I hope to share my process of preparing to study abroad, as well as my experience as I study half a year across the pond.
I am beyond excited.
My list of things to do thus far consists of:
+ Gather all legal documents
+ Fill out paperwork
+ Figure out what to pack
+ Start planning where I'm going to travel to while I'm abroad
+ Figure out my classes
+ Get the scoop on all of the best places
+ Buy a really good pair of hiking boots (because how can you go to Scotland and not be drawn to the mysterious beauty of the highlands?)
And perhaps most important of all..... MEMORIZE ROBBIE BURNS' ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS.
In case you don't know what it is, Address to a Haggis is a poem written by the poet laureate of Scotland, and in my opinion one of the best poets of all time.. OF ALL TIME- in homage of the dish haggis. If you don't know what that is.... well.... it's probably for the best.
For now that's all I have, so I leave you with the poem and a promise to write again soon!
(So MANY options!)
This is the question I found myself my Freshman year of college, did I want something completely new or something with a more familiar feeling? Anywhere the temperature exceeds 70 degrees was immediately out of the question as I transform into a raging ball of glum, just picture if angry cat and a dementor had a child- yep that's me. Not to even mention that my hair explodes to 200 percent larger than is normally is- no anything tropical or warm was out of the question.
I ended up choosing to study in the UK, specifically Scotland. The weather is abysmal (so I have been informed again and again), rainy and cloudy with a stiff cold breeze; this is my favorite kind of weather. It encourages the practice of cuddling into an over sized chair, swaddled in a downy blanket with either a really good book or Netflix and a hot cup of tea. As you can probably gleam from the title of this blog- I am an American student with very strong Scottish roots, and I am fiercely proud of that fact. I hope to share my process of preparing to study abroad, as well as my experience as I study half a year across the pond.
I am beyond excited.
My list of things to do thus far consists of:
+ Gather all legal documents
+ Fill out paperwork
+ Figure out what to pack
+ Start planning where I'm going to travel to while I'm abroad
+ Figure out my classes
+ Get the scoop on all of the best places
+ Buy a really good pair of hiking boots (because how can you go to Scotland and not be drawn to the mysterious beauty of the highlands?)
And perhaps most important of all..... MEMORIZE ROBBIE BURNS' ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS.
In case you don't know what it is, Address to a Haggis is a poem written by the poet laureate of Scotland, and in my opinion one of the best poets of all time.. OF ALL TIME- in homage of the dish haggis. If you don't know what that is.... well.... it's probably for the best.
(om nom nom)
xxoo,
E
Address to a Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit!' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o 'fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit!' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o 'fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
- Robert Burns
