A Rant About Vehicles

I really hope that this blog does not become just a ranting arena. However, I really felt the need to address this issue.

I hate cars in the UK. I mean, I hated them in Toronto as well, but this is a worse, deeper, more abiding hatred.

Let me give you the background on this: In Calgary, if you are a car (and indeed, a driver) and if a pedestrian steps on the road as if to cross it, you stop for them. If a pedestrian even sort of slows down on the side of the highway, all cars would probably stop just in case they wanted to cross. Of course, this does have largely to do with the fact that if you do not stop for a person walking, or if you are start driving before the person has finished crossing the road then you will be charged a rather hefty fine. But I think it is more than that, I think it is more ingrained in us Canadians (or perhaps more in Albertans) to respect pedestrians. When I moved to Toronto I was a little bit shocked at the treatment that drivers had for walkers. Sometimes, cars would even *gasp* honk at pedestrians. What the fuck!?!? In fact, one of the moments I realized I had turned into one of the Toronto crazies was when a car loudly honked at me while I was crossing the road (when the little man sign was lit up!) and I just absolutely lost it. I stood there, in front of the car, in the middle of the crosswalk, in a huge Serpico moment screaming, “Fuck you! I am walking on this sidewalk! YOU ARE A CAR AND I AM A PERSON!!” and then I noticed people staring and angrily strode away. Anyway, even in Toronto you could obnoxiously walk in front of a car and they would begrudgingly stop for you. They would signal when turning and would stop at stop signs at the end of every corner and would sometimes even be nice enough to wait for you to cross before barreling their huge SUVs through (yes I am looking at you Rosedale! Who the hell needs an SUV in the middle of downtown Toronto anyway? Where are you even off-roading!?). Never would I imagine that one day I would long for the respect that Toronto drivers had towards pedestrians (Nina, I know you are shaking your head in disbelief!).

Now. In Aberdeen (and I’m pretty certain all of Scotland and further to that pretty much the whole of the UK…and probably the continent of Europe) every time you cross the road, walk near the road, think about walking across or near a road—you feel like you are taking your life into your own hands. Actually, it is the scariest goddamn thing you have ever encountered. And cars will honk at you, loudly and get all pissy when you decide to cross the road because for some reason you didn’t notice the speeding car that you couldn’t have possibly seen whizzing around a corner and not signally to turn for some unfathomable reason. Why in god’s name wouldn’t you know that that car was coming and that it wanted to go first? You stupid Canadian woman!

Anyway, basically my rant is thus:
Why, Scottish Drivers?? WHY DON’T YOU STOP FOR PEDESTRIANS? Nay! Why does it seem like you purposely try to HIT THEM at every turn?!? You honk, speed, don’t signal, seemingly drive faster when you see that someone is crossing, alarmingly veer into side streets and grocery stores with no warning whatsoever, as if you just offhandedly thought, oh yes, I probably should turn in there—pulling a hard left now! And, perhaps worst of all, you think you are in the right. You get comically appalled when I forget that there isn’t a stop sign at the end of every corner and just blithely amble on. You don’t even think about stopping, because, well why would you need to? After all, you are a car and I am a person and it’s not as if you would be hurt by the collision.

Can you tell I walk to work every morning and every afternoon for an hour each way? I dread, absolutely dread getting to a corner and having to make the decision—should I go? Should I not go? Will I be killed right now?
It’s all very disconcerting.

A minor aside, just so this isn’t all about a rant…although the word ‘rant’ is in the title…

There is this one part of my walk that crosses a bridge (the Bridge of Don maybe? Who knows…I’ve just asked my coworkers and yes, it is the Bridge of Don) and it really makes the whole ‘death defying’ walk thing worth it, especially in the morning. It goes over the river Don, but it opens up to this inlet (or outlet? Is that the right term?) which goes right into the North Sea. So after a long and agitating walk I get here and look out onto the waves crashing into the Scottish shore and I am kind of reminded why I am here and not at home, being respected on the road by Canadian vehicles. Just a little bit.

A Month in Review

Wow. I have been here a month. It's hard to believe really, but at the same time it feels like I've been here forever. Every time I use words like 'flat', 'takeaway' and 'wee' I feel like a jackass. I haven't adopted the accent yet (the use of the word yet is extremely important) and I hope to god I never EVER sound like a true Aberdonian. Good god. I mean it's all well and good but most of the time it just sounds like they are vomiting up their nose. Anyway. Besides all that I have had an excellent, difficult and surprising month. A month of friends, moving, parties, Marks and Spencer, men, battling the north sea winds and rain, job hunting till I went cross eyed and sausage rolls. Ahhhh the sausage rolls.

And at the end of it, what do I have? A job. That's right people, I am officially a working woman in Scotland--making an income if only to further my Marks and Spencer addiction and my worryingly increasing tolerance to alcohol (used to be 2 pints and I was good and gone...now it takes a bit of work. A bit depressing, that). Next on the list, an apartment. Now that I am a part of the world of pay checks I am looking for a new flat (see, I STILL feel like a jackass even typing it!) come January so I can stop living out of a suitcase and start putting things into proper drawers. Ha. My drawers will have drawers. Oh shut up Emily.

After that: a proper gym pass that lets me go whenever I want, and none of this 'peak' or 'off peak' nonsense. Honestly! Why can't I go to the gym past 4 pm? What is wrong with this system!?

Then, I am determined to find a proper yoga studio, one that does not practice group orgies with old people wearing white tighty whities. Did I tell you about that? Wandered into the studio off the street expecting to find a yoga studio and instead found a group of half naked people laying on the ground (not a one younger than about 75) with this old man standing at the front of the room in the smallest pair of white undies I have ever seen, demonstrating something. What he was demonstrating I will never truly know. And what a sad loss for me.
Anyway, after I got over the initial stuttering and apologises and choking on the foul incense clouding the air, I ran for the hills in shock, with my friend Cat following close behind me. Note to self--never wander into a random yoga studio when you don't have an appointment. You never know what the room could be being used for. At least I hope that wasn't the yoga I witnessed. Dear god.

I've found that people see yoga here as some sort of kitschy, hippie nonsense, and those that do it incredibly new age and incredibly fit. Not quite the same in Canada where everyone and their dog (their downward dog! Ohhhhh I am on fire!) seems to do yoga. Here it seems an intense calling. And there are NEVER, EVER any classes on the weekend. WTF?!? just like most things are not really open on the weekend, or are not open past 3 anyway, there are no yoga/gym classes, and nothing really to do. Apparently everyone is just sleeping off the alcohol from the night before. Oh how a part of me longs for the days of being able to go to a coffee shop at whatever time you wanted and just chill there for hours, meeting up with people and hanging out. Well, tough shit, because that is decidedly not going to happen in Scotland.

I sound quite bitter in this post, which, believe me, is not intended. Soon I will write one about how amazing everything is. Well, I suppose I amazed about my job. I can actually visualize a life here now. And that, my friends, is a wonderful thing.

Now excuse me while I get back to my sausage rolls.

British Sex Education

My friend Paul sent me this article from the Calgary Herald and it disturbed me greatly so I decided to post it here. From doing all the Sex 101 talks with SHEC (Student Health Education Centre) at McMaster I couldn't even believe what this article was saying. One in ten Brits believe that having sex standing up is a form of contraception? Dear god. For some reason this is the part that disturbs me most:

More than a quarter--27 per cent --admit to being too embarrassed to ask the questions they would really like, while 47 per cent never discuss their sex lives with their friends.

Well, where's the fun in that? Although, I would be really interested in knowing what Canada's general knowledge about sex is. I think that on the whole, no really talks about sex and sexual health as they should--especially from what I've seen of university students' sex knowledge. Either way, it's interesting that the Brits even did a study like that, and that it ends up in a Canadian paper that seems to be judging it. I wonder what Alberta's propensity to discuss sex and sexual health is? Probably not much better.

Although the implications that that study presents are kind of terrifying. Wow. I am decidedly keeping it in my pants....

Spending the Day with Jen!

For those of you who don't know, Jen is the girl I met on the plane to Ireland last may, we became friends and then both randomly decided to move to Scotland at the same time, but for different reasons. She lives in Dundee, which is extremely close (in a Canadian's sense of the word) to Aberdeen and today she is coming out to visit! She is just here for the day, but it is going to be awesome to talk to someone going through a very similar experience to me, on the jobhunt and experiencing life as a weird pseudo-Canadian immigrant in Scotland. I say pseudo, simply because we are both UK citizens, so technically not immigrants, but nevertheless setting up a new life in a different country is still an extremely difficult process. I will never claim to say I know the hardships of being a complete immigrant in another country, but I can definitely understand to some extent. In fact, the amount of times I have been asked the question "Where were you born?" in regards to setting up some NI number or doing something governmental has been shocking. Also the fact that when the answer is "The UK." they get all relieved and say things like "Oh, that's alright then, you'll be fine." Like just being a citizen wasn't enough for them.
I wasn't born in Canada. And you know what? No one ever asked me about it. I received all the luxuries of being a citizen there when I was only a permanent resident (which I later rectified), maybe that was a grand mistake. But I'm thinking not. I guess I am just vastly surprised at the amount of anti-immigrant sentiment here--I expected it, but not the level that I see it.

Anyway, it will be nice to spend the day with someone else trying to make it in Scotland while being in some sort of odd UK-Canadian citizenship limbo.

Jen is my people.

Why did I move to Scotland?

One of my favorite blogs, I Dream of Haggis had this article from the Globe and Mail posted on it, and I liked it so much I decided to stick it on my blog too. It is a woman describing her experience of moving to England from Canada and having to deal with the things you really wouldn't think you'd have to deal with. My favorite part (the woman dealing with the job centre plus person...ugh):

“No, it's just that we don't get many people coming here from Canada, so that tells me it must be a pretty nice place. Why would you move here?”

As if “here” was hell on Earth, and not my fairy-tale land of rolling green patchwork fields dotted with sheep and sleepy Cotswold villages. I don't recall my reply on that occasion. It might have been any number of the stock responses I developed over the course of my four years living there. It was a complicated question, and a complicated answer was not always appropriate.

Seriously, the amount of times I've gotten, 'Why did you move here??' over the past two weeks and I've no idea what to respond with at all. I don't even think I have a stock answer. I would venture to guess I've probably made a few people uncomfortable with an inappropriate complicated answer that couldn't be summed up with 'I had a job offer' or 'My friend lives here and I came for a visit, never to go back'. Ohhhh that last was a good one.

I can't really explain it without going into detail that makes me sound like some sort of new-age-hippy-weirdo or a flighty idiot. "Oh, I just felt like it was the right thing to do. I just needed a change. I needed to find meaning in my life. I needed to shake things up. I had a mid-life (ish) crisis and packed all my shit into two suitcases dropping in on my incredibly generous best friend and gave up what might have been a great career for no job, and no prospects, no friends and no home. Just a dream. Oops."

Why did I move here? I honestly don't know. Just that I had to.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

People dressed as reindeer peeing on people? Eight-foot Santa causing small babies to cry? Bagpiping bands introducing the smallest and most pathetic parade in history??? Yep, it's Christmas in Scotland baby, and it's never been so beautiful.

Christmas is huge here. And I guess it is everywhere else too--but here I have noticed it particularly. People go all out, pubs go all out and the bloody street vendors go all out--and it is only the middle of November. Oh dear.

Besides this being only my second week in Aberdeen (and the start of my third) what is adding to the homesickness feeling has been the incredible amount of Christmas nonesense that has gone on. Don't get me wrong. I adore Christmas. The fanfare, the lights, the tacky decorations, the mockery of religious intent--it's all good to me.

But it really does, in all it's disgusting good-hearted-consumerist glory, make you think of family and your loved ones. And let's face it--most of my loved ones are miles away. Across an ocean really. So while I am thinking of loved ones, walking down the Christmas gagged Union street, I had a bit of a break down. Actually I had to go into a bookstore (Waterstones) to calm down. After stroking a few uncracked spines and lovingly nuzzling some untreated 100lb high bulk paper of a Marian Keyes novel, I got a better grip on reality. My last Christmas I stayed in Toronto (and didn't go back to the fam in Calgary) and I worked at a bookstore over the holidays. This probably saved my life. That, and my friend Diane coming to stay for the holidays. So I figured, as long as I have books and a good friend (in this case Joanna) I can remain sane.
Anyway, after averting the crisis of bawling on a public street and narrowly avoiding curling up into the fetal position in the middle of the road, I began to relax and enjoy the Christmas fanfare.
That day, Joanna and I had managed to get up early (11am) and run just in time to make it to the 5 minute children's parade that was happening down Union. I wasn't too disapointed because I did get to see Santa and a reindeer (Just one, but it was real!) I then had a sausage (Bratwurst. Amazing) and Jo had a delicious looking crepe and we walked down to the sea to meet up with friends Cat and Amy. I know, I actually live in a place where I can say 'we walked down to the sea'. Definitely not in land-locked Alberta anymore!
Anyway, we had a fabulous American style lunch at TGI Fridays (the last time I ate here was with the Prince of Swaziland in Niagra falls, so it brought back fond memories. This is a long story, which you will probably never hear....or you just might because I have very few stories which just circulate over and over....), our waiter even channeled America through his very demeanour. Katie Blue, you wouldda been proud. Anyway, I ended up walking back from the beach by myself, wandering through town and inevitable break down ensued. I guess it was because my mind finally figured out that this was not a vacation after all. I couldn't just call up my usual peeps and discuss the day/latest boy drama/listen to their highly entertaining woes. I couldn't just meet up with someone and complain about publishing. That was it folks, it was just me. So I went into these cemetary grounds (St. Nicholas's Kirk) and wandered around the eerie gravestones thinking that I may one day be one of them. To test my luck I sat down on one of the gravestones and whipped out my mini-digital photo album given to me by Kelly, my good friend and work colleague. I figured if I was going to die here, I was going to die looking at pictures of my friends. I have no idea why I am being so drastically melodramatic. Anyway, when it got kind of dark (aka it was about 4pm in the afternoon and it was pitch black) and they locked me inside the cemetary (I actually had to chase down the city council man and get him to unlock the gate and let me out. So I suppose I might have actually died. Or in any case had a very cold night in a graveyard). Anyway, I did get out. And made it to the christmas light turning on ceremony which was kind of amazing (where Joanna got peed on by a person dressed as a reindeer--and by pee I mean water squirting out of the reindeer penis. Classy). And then we all went to Ma Cameron's where I proceeded to be incredibly uncool and get a nice cup of raspberry tea at the pub. All in all, I felt decidedly better with the addition of the tea, santa claus and a peeing reindeer.

I guess recounting my day-to-day progress is kind of cathartic when it comes to homesickness. It is the equivalent of calling up a friend and bitching about my day. I just hope my friends are actually reading this.

That was a hint guys.

A Shot in the Dark

BTW - for all ya'll who still inhabit Toronto (and even those that don't), check out my friend's blog called 'A Shot in the Dark' which is on my blog link list (and that was a link to it, in case you missed it). It is awesome and filled with music/book reviews and just about anything you can imagine. Why is blogging so addicting??

Enjoy!

The Week in Review

It does not feel like I have been here for a week already.

So far, I have had terrible jetlag for about 4 days, got amazingly drunk on 75p vodka mixers which in my mind definitely helped me get over my horrible jetlag, revamped my resume to make it more British and less Canadian (it broke my heart), attended a Guy Fawkes fireworks display on the beach, and stayed 3 fabulous days in Findochtry (pronounced Fin-echty) a small fishing village north of Aberdeen with only one pub. All in all, time well spent.

On Thursday we went to the Guy Fawkes firworks display on the beach in Aberdeen. It was fantastic--thousands of people watching this amazing fireworks display, eating chips and running around with sparklers. We bought sparklers too, and after having incredible difficulties lighting them we did so and stood there happily waving them around. Then we walked back to Jo's friend Mark's place and he made us fabulous hot chocolate. All in all, a good night. Then, on Friday we headed down to Cat's mum's house in Findochtry which is right on the North Sea. Actually. Right on it. You wake up, look out the window and the sea is about ten feet away from you. Anyway, so it was a fabulous girls weekend, just the four of us playing with my deck of 'Man' cards (half naked 80's men on playing cards--never was money so well spent) with 8 bottles of wine at 2pm in the afternoon. We went to the one and only pub in Findochtry, got drunk, played many a song on their jukebox (amazing) and Joanna drunkenly challenged an old man local to a game of pool (which she won). Then we ended up going back, drinking more wine, eating chocolate and watching The Boat that Rocked (for you Nikita!) which was actually so amazing and my love for Richard Curtis has increased. The next day included a hiking trip up to see the old war memorial and when we got to the top of the cliff the view was so fantastic that I had this overwhelming urge to start doing yoga. So I did and only had trouble maintaining my balance when Joanna called me a loser and I was attempting to giver her the middle finger while remaining in Dancer's pose. Very zen. Then we watched Love Actually, had a fantastic dinner with Cat's mum, and played some more intense card games. Sunday was very chill and involved a giant Scots brunch, then Andrea and I went for a hike along the coast which was actually life changing. I guess this weekend for me was an affirmation that I made the right decision. I had never felt so lucky in all my life to be experiencing what I am experiencing.

Now, onto the hard stuff. It has come to my attention that a lot of things here are really not that different from Canada. Mind you, what is different is very different, but I haven't noticed anything that has put me out too much. When I was jetlagged and sick and feeling altogether miserable I did stroll through the grocery store proclaiming 'What is wrong with these people?? Why can't they have normal bacon?' And shuddering whenever I saw some creepy and Scottish food that I didn't know what to make of. But mostly, people are people, drinks are drinks, and job searching is job searching. What is different, and what has changed are my day to day conversations and interactions. Obviously, I don't see and hang out with my friends in Canada, nor call them up or go out for coffee whenever I need to tell them something. However, Joanna and her friends have been fantastic, so that's been good so far. What I have begun to miss, but most likely because of the habit I had formed, is talking about publishing to people who work in and understand books. The people I hang out with here are fantastic, but they are also mostly all in med school. There is nothing wrong with that, nor with the fact that they talk about medicine so much, but it makes me long for the days where I sat in a group mostly populated by people who worked in my industry discussing things that I felt I had an authority to speak on. It really makes you realize what kind of bubble you lived in, what kind of limitations you set on yourself--but it also makes you crave being in the bubble again.

I also miss having an established routine. Walking to work, going for lunch, chatting with my awesome work colleagues, then walking home, going to the gym and watching some trashy but fantastically entertaining television with my roomie. There you go, that's my Toronto life in a nutshell. Fabulous. Fabulous? Well, it may have started to get a little bit static, and had the beginnings of feeling too comfortable. I could happily go about that existence for awhile, then wake up at 35 and wonder what the fuck went wrong. Hopefully that wont happen here.

And anyway, it has only been a week.

Arrived!

Okay, so sorry this is a few days late, but definitely had to get my bearings and get over (almost!) my jetlag before I felt like I could possibly write a post about all this. But, now that I do feel a bit more like a human being again...I am here!! Seriously, I ACTUALLY LIVE IN SCOTLAND!

I guess the main thing that I can say about this whole moving experience so far is that it doesn't seem weird. Like, at all. Flying into Aberdeen, chilling at the airport in Heathrow (and by chilling I mean desperately trying to stay awake and not miss my flight to Aberdeen), just the whole journey in general wasn't sad, or life changing or really emotional. It just felt normal. And I don't mean like I felt like I was 'coming home' or some bullshit like that because obviously my home still feels very much like Toronto and Calgary, but it just felt like I was expecting this. I think I had got all of my emotions out of my system and dealt with them mostly when I made the decision to move. After that, I became practical, decision-making Emily, and was pretty much chill with the whole thing. It was all extremely relieving.

I wont bore you with describing the long and tedious plane ride (although I DID have A Clamato Juice with Ice and a Wedge of Lemon (but they only had extra spicy :( even so I had to do it...) the man beside me did NOT know the meaning of personal space and for some reason I decided to watch the film 'Food Inc' while eating my beef plane dinner and that was really not a good decision. Great film, but don't eat anything while watching it...), so I will skip ahead. The best part ever was arriving in the little Aberdeen airport (think of the Hamilton airport but just a bit bigger) and Jo screamed and I screamed and we ran at each other hugging and screaming and shouting 'Oh my God! Oh my GOD!! IM SO GLAD TO BE HERE/I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE HERE!' and it was brilliant. People were definitely looking at us and laughing at how outrageous we were--amazing.

Anyway, so it just felt so normal right away, being in the cab with Joanna, getting to her flat, talking about things, walking down to the pub and trying haggis (which was sooooo amazingly good! I actually can't believe why people don't like it! It tastes like Shepherd's pie but 1000 times better!!) and then passing out. We both seemed to wake up at like 4 am and talked some more and it was just wonderfully easy. I have never felt so at home! Of course at one point we went and had tea in her living room and ended up having a semi-racist conversation with her flatmate and flatmate's friend (though I feel like a lot of conversations that take place in the UK are all a little bit racist...). Also, people seem to be obsessed with the singer Cheryl Cole and if you don't know who she is I have linked it to the wiki site of her. She is famous from Girls Aloud (another brilliant rendition of the all girls brit band), though I knew her then as Cheryl Tweedy. Basically you just need to know that she is freakishly thin, can't really sing, but does have good hair. Yep, that pretty much sums up brit pop culture....

Anyway, much more to tell, but I think I am going to do this in stages.
I will leave you now with a portion of an email from my mother (she sent me some really frantic ones for the first two days when I was too out of it/had no internet access to contact her when I arrived...). Just read it while imagining a terrible, thick Yorkshire accent:

"I keep checking on skype and e-mail from you. where are you . i keep eating halloween candy left over from saturday. Im so happy that you are trying to do something with your life. We are very proud of you. Never forget that."

Love you Mum!

Moving Today!

So today is the day! I am in sort of a daze. From moving out of my apartment, to packing up alll my shit to repacking and repacking and saying goodbye to my friends (tear!) it doesn't feel like it's real. I am doing laundry at the moment at Ilana's house (my home away from home in Toronto--basically my adopted Jewish Toronto family) and watching the movie Jumanji amidst more packing. Oh dear. I have always wanted to become one of those people who packs everything at least a month in advance and arrives with everything neatly pressed and colour coded, with no extra luggage fees (I should think not!) and looking glossy and impossibly fresh looking even after a 36 hour journey of hell. Who are those people? Because they definitely exist.

So what am I doing on my last day in this lovely, beautiful, wonderful country? Eating bagels. And gettin' Timmies. And chocolate babka. And packing packing packing. I am glad I have had these two months to do everything I have wanted to do in Toronto--I probably wouldn't have done nearly as much if I didn't know I had a deadline. Which is kind of sad. Why is it that a deadline puts things into perspective so much? I normally would never want this to happen--but if we all knew exactly when we were going to die, I think we would live our lives very differently. That deadline works like no other. In the past two months I have seen all the people that I haven't really seen at all in the past year and a half I have been living here. Why as soon as you are leaving with the possibility of never seeing that person again is it all of a sudden imperative that you see that person? In theory you could just never get together your whole lives, you would just have the comfort of knowing that you could.

Anyway, back to the packing I suppose. And the bagels. There is definitely a deadline on good bagels. Therefore I plan to eat them in abundance--even though I have had about two in the past year....

A funny story about Ireland

Okay, so I need to tell you this story because it is amazing and wonderful and really really creepy at the same time.

Back in May of 09 my friend Maureen and I took a little trip across the water to visit my friend Nikita in Ireland. I hadn't actually had a huge desire to go to Ireland (my mother is staunchly British and would often wail about the barbaric and unsafeness that was 'the isle' as well as the fact that I specifically was in danger with my 'ethnic airs' as they are also a land of racists apparently. Oh mother. You are the whitest woman alive....), but, I thought that I should go and visit Niki at Trinity while I could. It's always better to see how the locals do it. This was also before I knew I was going to Scotland a few months later and could have saved a considerable amount of money on airfare.
Anyway, so off we went and got on a plane from Toronto to Dublin for the great Irish adventure. Now, our plane for some reason seemed to be filled with old people. I am not being ageist here, it was just a fact that everyone else around us seemed to be over 75. However, happenstance dictated that another twenty-something girl was also on the plane and she happened to be sitting right next to me. This girl's name was Jennifer and we began to chat (if you know me, you know that I cannot go 7 hours without talking to the person sitting beside me and because luck had it that she was born in the same cenutry as I, I couldn't very well not talk to her, now could I?). Turns out that Jen is from Hamilton, the same city that I lived in for 4 years while at McMaster. While chatting, our stewardess came by to offer us drinks (as they do) and I ordered my usual: A Clamato Juice with Ice and a Wedge of Lemon. I know, I am disgusting. But for some reason, maybe it was since I was a child or something, I have had this need to always order this drink while on a plane. And usually only while on a plane. We all have strange neuroses.

So anyway, I turn to the stewardess and say "Ah, yes, I will have A Clamato Juice with Ice and a Wedge of Lemon." The stewardess gives me a look (as they do) so I feel the need to apologise to everyone around me: "I know, it's gross, but I only ever order this drink when--" and here Jen interrupts me (or finishes my sentence, same thing) and says "WHEN I FLY!?! ME TOO!"

And there you have it. Jen from Hamilton also orders the exact same drink but ONLY ON PLANES. It was fate. It was serendipitous. It was kind of gross but to me we were basically soul mates. Bosom buddies. Whatever. That sealed it. Sooooooo, Jen traveled around all of Ireland with us for the next two weeks and we had a blast. But that isn't even the beginning of the weird freaky serendipity iceberg. Not even the tip. Not even just to see how it feels.

We go back home, while Jen stays in Europe for the whole summer. She goes to Scotland and ends up reuniting with an old flame from days gone by and decides that she is going to move to Scotland to be with him. Yes, you heard right. So last month, Jen and I have coffee (2nd Cup, in Hamilton, right in Westdale--my favorite....) and she tells me the sordid tale (not really sordid I just like to throw that word in whenever I can) and that she is moving to Scotland at the end of October. Yes people, she is moving to Scotland 5 days before me and that's not all! What you say?!? What could be crazier?!? She is moving to Dundee! This probably means nothing to you. However, Dundee is like a 45 minute bus ride away from Aberdeen! CRAZINESS!

So, to recap, this random girl I met on the plane going to Ireland and we became friends and toured the country, randomly happens to be moving to basically the same RANDOM place in Scotland as me just a few days before!?!?! Unreal.
So really, this story was not really about Ireland at all but about something that happened on the way there, and ultimately, about Scotland. As all good stories are.

I've done it now...

Okay, so handed in my notice at work. Check.
Bought all my last minute purchases I will need for the big move. Mostly check. (I have also bought a few things that I will definitely NOT need for the move and will probably in fact hinder my move. Like clothes. And shoes. And books...)
Said goodbye to everyone. Or planned to at least. Check (ish). Check.
Cried like a baby screaming "WHY!?! Why have you done this to yourself you idiot woman?!" Double check.

Basically I just have to sit back and wait now. It was so surreal to hand in the notice at work and to read the annoncement which told everyone in the company I was leaving because, well, up until then I hadn't actually thought that I was. I mean sure I told people that I was but that could have been the ravings of a lunatic woman who would one day end up on a street corner muttering to herself about Scotland and kilts. I'm not saying that that is off the cards yet. BUT, having booked the ticket and quit the job it IS real and it is happening and it is just a matter of time before everything crashes spectacularily down. Shit.

Things I will miss about Toronto/Canada part deux

Some of these things are very Toronto specific while some, Canada as a whole. I've been thinking a lot more about all this as the date for leaving gets closer and closer. And on my ever expanding list are not just things I do every day, but things I do enough that I would miss desperately when taken away from them. I guess I wouldn't really be appreciating this much about Toronto if I didn't have one way ticket booked. But that's the beauty of it all I guess. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, as the cliche goes.

1. Yonge street (again).
I know, I know, I've already said this once. But seriously. Where else would you see someone biking down the road with a tabby cat sitting calmly on one shoulder? Or such an odd collection of people who would never be seen walking beside each other suddenly crammed up shoulder to shoulder? I guess I just love it so much because it changes so vastly from block to block. You can be in the (gay) village and then suddenly be at Yorkvilly bloor street only to move to the foody-fitness concious forest-hill and collide into more than your fair share of hipsters along the way. The street is an absolute treasure trove.

2. Toronto's many festivals.
From Caribana, to Octoberfest to TIFF to whatever else you wander into the middle of and exclaim "what the fuck is going on right now?" I love the festivals of this city. Most recently I spent the weekend volunteering at Word on the Street and then randomly walking over to Kensington where some sort of street performing/drumming fest was occurring (I think it was Octoberfest??). This weekend I am sooo excited for Nuit Blanche--twenty four hours of free art while drunkenly wandering the city? priceless.

3. Hamilton. In general, but specifically McMaster.

I had the magnificent opportunity of spending 4 magical (as Ilana would say) years at McMaster University. Unfortunately, the university was located in a sketchy as hell city called Hamilton. Now, however, I have an appreciation for the lovable polluted-crack-den known as Hamilton and I am desperately going to miss my frequent visits. From Locke street, to the Snooty Fox to Gore park, Hamilton is a beautiful little gem of a city. Thanks for all the memories Ham-town!

5. Brunch at Mitzi's sister.

I anticipate this next section being mostly about food. Mitzi's sister brunch is amazing and I love it. I am not a vegetarian, but if I were I bet I would love Mitzi's even more. Although they do have an amazing side of English bangers that I feel obligated to get every time I am there. Bangers! you are the bain of my existence.

6. The smell of Wanda's Waffles.

We've only stopped to get them once (and what an earth shattering occasion it was!) but the smell. The smell of Wanda's Waffles will haunt and tempt me until the day I die. It is this lovely mixture of baking things with vanilla and love and home that greets you every morning on yonge and dundas. My day will not be the same with out you Wanda!

5. Roasted Marshmallow ice cream at Greg's and Lemon ice cream at Choco Cava.

First of all, the roasted marshmallow ice cream is unreal--it is the most delicious and amazing thing you have ever tasted (it is right at Spadina and bloor beside the JCC--GO THERE!). But I just want to take a moment to talk about my new favorite place, and point out that it is probably better for my health that I did not really discover this place until a month ago. The Choco Cava is this little out of the way place in Delisle Court that is the greatest discovery I have ever made in my life. I am obsessed with their lemon ice cream. I am also obsessed with everything they do--their truffles are the most unreal combinations of random things that you wouldn't think work together but go so well. They have little chocolate concoctions that have things like 'salted Earl Grey chips' and candied ginger and everything is just so good.

6. My gym.
I figure with all this discussion of decadent foods I should bring up the fact that I also love my gym. I could live there. I wouldn't say that the exercises is my favorite part, but definitely the amenities--I probably spend more time in the whirlpool, change room, steam room and sauna than I do actually exercising. And it is all worth it...

7. The availability of romance novels.
I will be absolutely honest: I love romance novels. Anyone who knows me is not surprised by this. I am not a publishing snob, though I do appreciate good literary fiction and am obsessed with CanLit, there is something about spending an evening with a cup of tea and a good historical romance novel (inevitably involving a hero who is some sort of dashing duke named 'Rafe' ['F' included so 'Ralph' is not mistakenly pronounced] with a cover depicting some sort of shirtless Fabio-like man clad in only leather pants and possibly a fur vest). That to me is the perfect night in. However, as per my previous experience with overseas travel (I had a frantic backpacking bookstore rampage for any romance novel resembling the ones we get here) they are not as abundantly easy to come by. This thought is severely distressing to me. But, I have a plan--which basically just involves forcing my mother to mail me vast quantities of fabio covered romance novels overseas. She knows how much this means to me.

On Buying a One-Way Ticket

So I can honestly say that the most insane, the most gloriously freeing and the most terrifying thing I have done to date has been to buy my one way plane ticket to Scotland. I don't really have a plan, that much money saved or a job when I get there. I do have a very good friend willing to put up with me while I get on my feet but that's all. It feels so crazy, but at the same time I can't help but feeling that I should have done it long before this. Why didn't I do it after my degree? Why didn't I do it after high school? What was I waiting for? Instead I finished university, and in the same insane mad rush that everyone else was in at Mac, I decided that I needed a direction. I don't regret my choice--far from it. But after a year of doing a postgraduate, working my ass off in free labour in publishing, and then getting hired on to a job doing nearly free labour I decided that I didn't need to rush into my 'direction' anymore. I needed to actually take a minute and think about things, and get into a different head space. I love living in Toronto, but for some reason my life was beginning to feel so static.

I am lucky in that I have UK citizenship (I know! I don't have to deal with the dreaded visa requirements....) and can just up and leave. I used to live in England (when I was little) so I also have tons of family there that I could have prevailed upon as well. But I didn't do it before. Why?

The truth is that I was afraid. I was afraid to leave the little safety net that I had created for myself in Toronto, in Canada. I was terrified that once I did leave, I could never come back to it--that I would be homeless or shunned or something because I left the path of having a 'career' and 'settling down' that is the ultimate direction everyone seems to want you to go in.

It then dawned on me that I was more terrified of ending up 30 and married, popping out a few kids, living in the suburbs and working for a sub-par salary for the rest of my life than I was to move away to a different country and into the unknown. And thus, an idea was hatched. And then it became more than an idea, it became a plan (as planned as a 'non-plan' can be). And then, when my stable little bubble was threatened and I suddenly found myself without an apartment and living buddy, I actually had to think about what I was going to do. And I didn't want to move to another apartment in Toronto, or sub-let, or sleep on friends couches until I found somewhere again. If I was going to do that, I might as well just do that in the UK, right? And so I booked my flight, my one-way ticket that day. I felt like vomiting when I did it and I actually cried when the travel agent told me the payment went through (probably because I was so shocked I could afford it....), but I did it. I just decided to let go and actually try something. So what if I don't have my purpose, or my career, or my husband and 2 white kids (I don't know how my kids will be white, but they will in my nightmarish vision of the future...) and white picket fence and suburbian lifestyle. To be honest I am not sure that I ever want that. What I have now is the ability and freedom to choose what I want to do with my life. Maybe that is publishing, maybe not. Maybe that is two white kids, maybe not. But the next part of it is decided: it is happening in Scotland.

So if there is one piece of advice I can give? Buy a one-way ticket, anywhere. And just go.

I think I am going to start a running list of everything I think I am going to miss about Canada/Toronto/Calgary.

I already have a list of things I need to do before I leave Toronto, and (not) surprisingly my friends have been with me completing a lot of these 'tasks'. On this was of course going to Toronto Island, inhabiting Queen west as much as possible, trying almost everything on the menu at Fresh, seeing a movie at TIFF, etc. etc. But then I started to realize that these are definitely not the things I will be missing while living abroad. The things I take for granted and do everyday will be (shockingly obvious I know....).

And so....

1. Hot Yoga.

I am an addict for Hot yoga. I love it--though it is like excercising in hell, it is a hell that you want to keep coming back to over and over and over. You just feel so accomplished when you leave, and you've sweated your entire body weight in sweat out of your skin. I know it sounds gross, and it is, but it is soooooo good at the same time. And I've checked. No hot yoga studio in Aberdeen :(

2. Walking down Yonge street

Every morning, I wake up unnecessarily early, strap on my hiking boots no matter what dress I am wearing (yes, I am one of those women) and trek the one hour trek from St. Clair and Avenue to Yonge and Adelaide. Yes, it is far, but so amazingly entertaining. The amount of crazies that collect on yonge street in the early hours of the morning is brilliant. Throw in some random stops at pastry shops along the way (Petite Thuet! Oh how your chocolate croissant envelops the senses!) with my walking buddy Nina (yep there is a coworker who joins me in this madness...) and you get an amazing morning walk that I truly will miss.

3. The Prairies

I definitely took this for granted when I move from Alberta to Ontario, but I think I will get a chance to see them even less when I leave the country. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there is anything near Aberdeen that is even remotely like the large, vast expanses of prairie land in Alberta that seems to go on for miles and miles--and then springs up into gigantic Rocky Mountains.

4. Chicken Shawarma from Mashu Mashu in the (Forest Hill) Village

Brilliant, excellent and all around amazing. The best is loading it up with baba ganoush and this awesome tomatoey eggplant sauce that I'm sure has a name but I am not privy to it. Their fries are delightful as well. The only thing off-putting is the amount of people that give you very pointed stares as soon as you enter the restaurant, as if you don't belong. Don't worry Forest Hill, I know I don't have the income bracket to belong. You don't have to tell me twice....

5. Gossiping about the Canadian publishing industry

Though I am sure this can still be done abroad (especially with you Katie!) it just wont be the same. Being at the forefront of CanPublishing (as lame as that may sound) and reading the latest on The Quill and Quire and then dashing off for postwork drinks to discuss all the scandals (Oh the horror! Random House axed it's International Rights department!?!) will never get old. Plus, does anyone else love the fact that the Quill has an anonymous tip line??
Why Canada? Why?

This list will expand as I think about it more. . .

A Note on the Title

Okay, I do realize that my blog title implies that I am a woman looking for her lost kilt, when women do not generally wear kilts....or do they? I mean, the thousands of uniform-clad Toronto girls I see walking around (especially in my neighbourhood of Forest Hill) in a kilt would prove that tradition wrong--unless they are just called tartan skirts. But the title "Where's my tartan skirt?" really does not have the same ring to it. And really just because women traditionally do not wear kilts should not mean we are restricted. Traditionally speaking we shouldn't wear pants either and you don't see any laws against that...well, in Canada anyway. And if my Women's Studies degree did anything, it was to teach me to degenderize (not sure if that's a word, but Women's Studies [and English lit] also taught me that I can make up words when needed...) the world around us. But I digress. Really, this whole post was to pre-empt the naysayers against my choice of title.
And anyway, maybe I did lose my kilt in Scotland...

My first post! It's all becoming real now...

So I decided to move to Scotland after a bit of upheaval in my living situation in Toronto and some deep deep reflection on where I was in my life. And when I say deep reflection I mean pure blind panic and seemingly irrational decision making.
But after deciding to just up and move to Scotland I felt truly happy and content for the first time in a while. And the more I let the decision marinate the more it sounded like the right one. It felt so perfect and glittering--just like when I chose to go to school out of province to McMaster University. And that was one of the best decisions of my life. Oh, I'm very much prepared for this all to be a perfect failure and having to fly home to Calgary with my tail between my legs. But if that's the worst case scenario, then I think I'm pretty set.