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.