Downpour

After five days of absolutely glorious weather, warm sunshine and clear blue skies, I awoke to the Scotland I know. Right now, the rain is pelting the windows, organic rhythms on the glass coming in and out of existence, ebbing as soon hints of its pattern can be detected. It is as if the rain is trying to hide some secret, whispering something it doesn’t want heard with the passing of each cloud. The rain is rarely a consistent tempo here. The clouds tend to move quickly overhead, and so, even in a downpour, there are alternating waves of rainfall that may last twenty to thirty seconds. A rare treat in this storm, there is thunder and lightning over the face of the Salisbury Crags, making the warmth and dryness of my room all the more comfortable. Equipped with a water kettle, plenty of tea and biscuits, I am prepared to weather the storm. I love it.

So much for the glorious summer week. Luckily, I had some time to enjoy it. On Thursday night I took a walk about the city with the intent of going to Sandy Bells, a famous folk pub. I took a few wrong turns and ended up walking the long way around Edinburgh castle in the fading twilight. I didn’t want to look like a tourist, so I brought along my iphone instead, which is only good as a camera and listening to music. This city is full of memories, but I’m not sure I’m making any new ones. I walk past places that I’ve been before, now with an odd sense of comfort, where before there had been wide-eyed wonder. I saw so much of the city last time I was here, and while I have by no means exhausted its depth, I’m viewing it with different eyes this time around. More than anything, there is something missing. I knew what it was as I walked through Grassmarket: my friends. Stepping along the cobbled pathways around the Royal Mile, I’m constantly thinking of Courtney, Frankie, Jenn, Phil, Rachel, Francesca and Nora, along with the all of the other great friends I made in SUISS 2008. There is where they made fun of me for wanting haggis pizza. That is the print shop that Jenn dragged me into for two hours. There is Armstrong and Sons where Phil and I bought our kilts. Memories of friends are fuller than those without, filling my mind most in the moments where I’m alone, walking the Meadows on a night like tonight. Sandy Bells was too busy, but I listened for a while before moving on to the Royal Oak, where a young Scottish woman was playing Joni Mitchell on her guitar. The night was perfect. At ten o’clock it was still very light out, the sun casting purple streamers across the sky and making the texture of the buildings suddenly appear in a more intense contrast.

Friday, I was busy again, preparing for the Ceilidh this time. I’ve posted many of the photos on the photo reel. It was a huge success. I had a ton of fun, and looked dashing in my kilt, of course; and yes, I did wear it traditionally, stop asking.

There is something very wholesome about a Ceilidh dance. I love that it is group dancing, and hands are held together creating an immediate sense of community. It feels rustic, simple, and pure. Of course, most of the songs and dances are reconstructions, created in the 70’s, but that doesn’t keep them from evoking the feeling.

Today, I went to see Harry Potter with a few of the other students. It was a very good movie, and far more entertaining than I thought it would be. The rest of the day, I’ll be doing a little school work, since the rain is a bit too intense for a walk about tonight.