scotland, the canada of the uk

Today's soundtrack:
Northern Exposure

So, you may be asking yourself just what I'm looking forward to in Scotland. Deep-fried Mars bars aside (far, far aside), the prospect of living in Scotland is undeniably exciting. Understanding that everything I know about Scotland I learned from Trainspotting, Braveheart, Scott's Bride of Lammermoor, Hogg's Confessions of a Justified Sinner, and Robbie Burns, there are clearly gaps in my knowledge. Also, the fact that not all Scottish men look like Ewan McGregor or James McAvoy has come as something of a disappointment.

If we are particularly lucky, we'll find housing in St. Andrews. I'm working to get past the fact that many of the ancestors of the students at St. Andrews oppressed my ancestors, focusing instead on the beautiful ruins of the Cathedral. Apparently I won't be able to swing a cat without hitting some historical building that's been around longer than my country. This is not a new feeling. When Miguel and I are in Spain, we regularly end up in cafes that have been around since the early 19th century. I've never lived that close to history, however. Well, not since those five weeks in Florence. And even with all those weeks, I never felt like I had managed to take it all in. Maybe with 5 years instead of 5 weeks, I'll be able to really experience St. Andrews.

Beyond the ruins, although, what I'm looking forward in Scotland is really what I love doing here in Canada, but in a new, more exotic (snicker all you want) locations. Hiking in the Rockies was amazing, but hiking the Highlands? And Fife apparently has half-decent cycle paths, which means that Miguel and I can jump on our bikes, ride for a few hours, have lunch beside the ruins of a castle, and be home in time for dinner. Or tea. Well, whatever it's called.

And although everyone keeps warning me about the damp and the cold, I'm really not all that concerned. I just spent six years living on the Canadian prairie. I walked from the University to Grosvenor Park in the blizzard. I've survived -50ºC. The cold? Bah! No danger of frostbite, no concern from this canuck. And the damp? Well, that's what has me quite excited about moving to St. Andrews. I spent the first seven years of my life on the north end of Vancouver Island, in a little logging town on the edge of the Strait of Georgia. Yet there were weeks where no one saw the islands just off the shore on account of the fog. The foghorn doubled as my alarm clock most days. And the rain. The wind would come howling in and the rain would fall at a 45º angle. Umbrellas were useless. Industrial rain gear was the only thing that worked. We'd have one or two warmish days in the summer, the dads would set up a PVC drainage pipe (sawn in half) into a wading pool. Our waterslide. In the winters, heavy snow would fall, our neighbour would bring out his machete and make igloo blocks. And in the spring and fall, simply because they could, bears and the occasional cougar would wander through the village.

Even though St. Andrews has no cougars or bears, I still feel like the climate will be all too familiar. The big shock will be the culture. The food, the people, the language, the customs. All that driving on the other side of the road business.

And the deep-fried Mars bars.