Argh... it's HOT!

Not the weather, mind you, but our hotel room. Although I'd like to claim there was some good reason for it being this way (like us doing jumping jacks... get your dirty little minds out of the gutter), it was just that dang radiator. I can barely stand to pull a sweater on, even for the few seconds it takes to grab my key and get out of the room to breakfast. Yuck.

Fortunately, we made it down to the dining room (the hotel rate included a full Scottish breakfast-yummy!), and then headed outdoors where it was safe. The bad news, f you can call it that, is that the weather is chilly and kind of damp. But we expected that-it is Scotland, after all-and so we jumped into the car, determined to find a nearby geocache and swap out a couple of travel bugs. The cache was located near the Glasgow airport (not to be confused with the Prestwick airport, which is where we arrived), and it took a little hunting around to find the right road-I've got to get into the habit of printing out cache pages again. But we finally found the correct road and followed it-first by car and then on foot-out toward a beacon next to the river. Once we got there we hunted around in the mud and thistles to no avail-it seemed this cache was nowhere to be found. Scratched (a part of a retaining wall collapsed under my foot), muddy, and a little disappointed, we headed back to the car, cleaned up as best we could, and headed for a local pub for a sandwich. Afterward we turned toward Edinburgh, driving about an hour in mild traffic toward the city.

At first glance, Edinburgh seemed like nothing special. We parked in a very run-of-the-mill neighborhood and set out on foot, looking for the Edinburgh castle (I should point out that we had no guidebook for Scotland and no time to get one, so we were really "winging it" on this trip), which seemed to be somewhere on the other side of town. Our first stop-only a few blocks away-was the Gorgi Community Farm, which was a tiny, honest-to-goodness farm right smack dab in the middle of the city. The farm comes complete with friendly piglets, friendly calves and goats, and friendly staff members who patiently answered my questions about the state of agricultural exports and general economics of farming in Scotland. It seems that this place is supported mostly by donations and staffed by a few regular paid hands and a number of volunteers, and it exists, apparently, as an educational resource for the community. It was both weird and neat to see this little haven in the middle of the city, and after taking a few pictures and scratching a few heads, we got back on the sidewalk and headed east toward the city center.

Our destination now (courtesy of the lady at the postcard shop, who did her best to give us directions) was the "Royal Mile," which was supposed to be in the middle-more or less-of the city. Nothing that fit the description was showing itself, and after a while we began wondering if we had either missed it or if the place simply didn't live up to its billing. Then, we turned a corner, and were suddenly greeted by a stunning view of the castle from Prince Street. It was breathtaking-the castle sits atop a hill, and is separated from Prince Street by a gorge that has been turned into a city park. We turned on the next street--I don't remember the name, but it's the site of the Scottish Gallery--and the crossed the bridge toward the Royal Mile and the castle itself. Although the site was closed to visitors for the day, we got a nice look around the Scotch Whiskey gallery (gotta love a country that has a gallery like that for one of its most important exports) before heading east again.

Turning south again, across the bridge that crosses over the train station, we stopped and watched the most spectacular sunset I've seen in many months. The sky turned bright gold, and then shades of pink while we took pictures and watched the sun disappear. We continued back on Prince Street, but the fireworks hadn't ended just yet; soon, scattered orange and red clouds lit up the evening sky. It was a great evening to cap off a fun day.


Getting hungry by this time, we turned our attention toward the restaurant menus, and Harry convinced me to give a Nepalese place a try. It was really, really good-a lot like Indian food, with a slightly different (and somewhat more potent) mix of spices. Despite my initial trepidation, I ended up enjoying the meal, and we'll definitely have to stop in again the next time we get out to Edinburgh. Walked back to the car-about 2 1/2 miles by this time-stopping into an internet café along the way to check e-mail. Arrived back at the hotel in one piece ("driving on the LEFT!") and found that the housekeeping folks were able to shut down the radiator. Awesome.


Cheers,
Leanne

And we're off!

So Monday, we have no weekend plans. Tuesday, we've got tickets to Glasgow, Scotland, and on Thursday we're on a plane to the land of rainbows and Nessie, the Loch Ness monster. How cool.

The flight was about 2 1/2 hours on Ryanair, one of Europe's most popular no-frills low cost airlines. The flight was actually kind of interesting-I had heard a lot of horror stories about Ryanair being bad, and not having any specifics I didn't quite know what to expect. What we got was exactly what they promised-no frills service and a trip to an out-of-the-way airport, but we arrived in Scotland for just a few pounds, to a windy Prestwick airport with scattered clouds blowing across the sky. Not bad at all.

Prestwick is about 25 miles from the city of Glasgow, and after getting our rental car (another Nissan Micra-the same car we end up with every time we rent a car in Europe, and EVERY time we've ended up returning the car with a missing hubcap), we were on our way into town. Since Scotland is part of the U.K. you drive on the left here, and it's always a little terrifying the first time we get on the road. It's also easy to forget, and every morning (or at various points throughout the day, like when we pull away from a restaurant onto a two-way road with no median), our mantra-left over from the trip to Ireland-is "we're... driving on the LEFT!!!" Chanting it-especially when the driver has forgotten and oncoming traffic is looming ever closer-seems to keep us out of mischief.

The hotel-the Devoncove Hotel-was located in a very working-class neighborhood, which is almost always more interesting than the sterilized realms of the tourist resorts. Once we checked in we went for a short walk, stopping in for a burger and some really good tomato basil soup at a local pub. Indian restaurants abound-they're very popular throughout the U.K. and Ireland-but we'll save that for tomorrow night.

Dropping off to sleep-and the room is roasting. How on earth do we turn off the heat? There's a radiator in the room, but no switch or dial that we've been able to find seems to help matters. Ugh.

G'night!
-Leanne

A day in the life of an American in Florence

It seems that, after international trips, I usually come home and find—to my regret—I didn’t take as many photos as I would have liked that show what everyday life is like in that country. Part of the problem is that as a tourist, you never get all that clear a sense of what life really *is* for the locals; we usually tend to get a sterile view of what it means to be a resident of any particular place until we’ve lived there a while. With this in mind, I offer up this little photo-documentary of a typical morning in my little world. Apologies in advance to those who will undoubtedly be bored stiff by this blog entry, and thanks for allowing me this brief self-indulgence. Clicking on any image will get you a large version.

Every day begins in the shower. Here’s another shot of the bathroom; to better imagine what I couldn’t show you in this picture, keep in mind that I shot it from a semi-prone position on my bed.










On to the dining room, which is where I work and write blogs. My laptop is visible in the picture, as well as my Flashtrax and a few assorted foodstuffs. The doorway to the left leads to the bedroom, and the infamous bathroom is immediately to the left after that door.


Here's our living room, viewed from the front door. In the foreground at the very top of the picture are ceiling beams that just barely clear my head. On the left you'll see my laundry-I was drying sheets. Just after I took this, I moved the laundry outside to dry, as it was sunny this morning.



Once I've completed the morning routine and am ready to head out, I begin descending the 68 stairs. Here's the first landing, complete with a bench that can be used in case of a heart attack.









And here's the second landing... to the right is our landlord's apartment.











The third landing; there's a chair lift visible at the bottom of these stairs. It's too slow and noisy to be of much practical use to the able-bodied, but we do use it to move heavy suitcases up to the third floor.










Here's the fourth landing. To the left is the apartment where Houdini the Cat lives between escape attempts.









And here's the fifth landing...











...and the sixth. Not visible to the left is a marker that shows how high the Arno rose when it overflowed its banks in 1966.










Here's the seventh landing...











... and finally, we're at ground level. It's a lot easier going down than up!











Down this hallway, and then out the door to the street.











Here's the outside of our building door, photographed from across the street.










On most days, I turn left and head up toward the river. Here's the scene this morning from about fifty yards away from our apartment.










And here's a close-up of what they were rolling up the road. Hope a bus doesn't hit them.










A right turn at the end of our block points me north. This particular block takes a while to warm up in the mornings.






And finally, I get to the Arno river. Here's a look to the east.







And here's a peek to the west. The Ponte Vecchio is in the background, maybe a quarter-mile away.






Here's a candid shot of some residents of the Arno bank. I've enlarged the highlighted area to give you a close-up look at my little warrior friends.







Turning north, here's a look down our bridge, the ponte alle Grazie.






Here's where the local drivers wait while the pedestrians get into the best position to be run over.






I think these little electric buses are cute; they're tiny and very quiet. I'm also glad they have beepers to warn you when they're coming. It's a little like putting a bell on a cat; it gives the pedestrians a sporting chance.




A delivery van, European-style.








It looked like these guys were racing up the hill.









This piazza has about three clubs that get over-run by college students nearly every night. I'm glad I'm a few blocks away.






Parking is notoriously difficult here in Florence, and when drivers can't find a space, they often create one. This is the only city I've been in where you are not only -NOT- safe in the crosswalks-you're at risk even on the sidewalks.





Here's the Internet Train, where most of my e-mails and blogs get transmitted.








Tour groups are a fact of life in the middle of Florence, and most of the guides carry some sort of tall stick (or sometimes an umbrella) that they hold up for their ducklings to follow. This one seems to be calculating the life expectancy of her group should they cross at that particular corner.




Here's Café Mario, where I get breakfast most mornings.







Here's one of the staff members at Mario's.











And here's the cappuccino guy. He's Mario's grandson.








Finally, we have Mario himself. He's a fixture in the café most mornings.











Postal vehicles are a bit on the smallish side here in Italy.









They've installed these so the American kids can call our mothers when we get homesick. Most are designed with calling cards in mind, it seems-even though they're supposed to take coins, that function is usually broken.









Here's the lady at the orologeria up the street who fixed my watch. She's also quite a talented painter, and watercolors of her cats adorn the shop.










Moving on to the CAPA office, we'll take a peek up the stairs.








Nothing interesting is happening at CAPA this morning (everyone besides me is working), so we'll move on to the piazza around the corner. Visiting American faculty have dubbed this spot the "Drunken Tunnel," in honor of the ne'er-do-wells that usually inhabit it. You can spot them drinking beers here beginning at about 9am.






Here's Standa, our local supermarket. Although many things are more expensive here in Europe, tomatoes are not. This morning, they sold at €1.69 per kg, which comes to a little over four pounds for less than two dollars. This place rocks.




Here's the Laundromat, where you can spend insane amounts of money to run a couple of loads. Needless to say, I've gotten very good at washing and hanging my own at home.









Right up the street, we see a local chef taking a smoke break. It seems smoking has recently been banned inside restaurants within the city limits. Four hours later, we walked by again and found him in almost exactly the same place. Must be one hell of a cigarette.




Back on my (the south) side of the Arno, I managed to catch this bell tower at the stroke of noon. This is about a block and a half away from the apartment.









Just around the corner from the bell tower, we see a typical Florentinian street.










My favorite little deli/convenience store. This is where most our bottles of wine are purchased.






For €10, you can get a GREAT buffet lunch here, complete with wine. Best of all, it's less than a block from home.










Heading back to the apartment, we peek in at a local woodshop, where these two gents are busy restoring antique furniture.






Finally, we go in the building door, climb the 68 steps, and we're home!











So that's a spin around the neighborhood, with more to come at some later date. I'll also recap the Siena/San Gimignano trip shortly. Meanwhile...

Ciao!
-Leanne