Travel Pathology

I’m writing this post from inside a cozy stone cafe near Meadows Park, drinking a chai, listening to piano jazz. I’m currently nursing a bit of a cold, which I believe is a direct result of overdoing it this week with events and efforts to set up my new life here. It’s truly surreal to find myself in this situation, where my life doesn’t entirely feel like my own, but it also feels like I am destined for it all at once. Story time…

I dropped my overstuffed 68 kg luggage on the street.

“This is the place?” I asked my ever-so-generous traveling companion, who just helped me lug my entire life across an ocean and four airports. If he had decided to bill me for lugging my luggage across the globe, I’m certain it would have resulted in the forfeiture of my tuition.

“1 Buccleuch place lane? That’s what it says.” Troy confirmed the address as he fiddled with the downloaded maps on his phone.

When we stepped off the tram at St Andrews Square, burdened with 100 lbs of luggage, no wifi or SIM card, a dwindling bank account, and a skyline of buildings vaguely familiar due to my obsessive online research, we made the frugal choice to traverse the full mile from the station to where I was instructed to pick up the keys of my new flat. Even if I could justify spending twenty pounds on a taxi, we had no method to summon one without cellphone service.

Thus commenced my first impression of the United Kingdom as I navigated through Nicholson Street, burdened by my cumbersome baggage, amidst a lively and diverse population. The cobbled streets were littered with cigarette butts, but the air was fresh and the skies were uncharacteristically sunny. Passing by a window shop adorned with an array of pastries, it dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten anything all day and it was already two in the afternoon. My hunger prompted me to step inside and order a random square pastry, which resembled a hot pocket but was considerably more delectable with a crispy pastry-like crust stuffed with onion, cheese, and some sort of meat; a Scottish hot pocket:).

Our route led us to an unassuming door along a building of row houses. Uncertain, I dropped my luggage and stepped up the stone steps to the plain brown door. Initially, I opted for knocking, then I tried the doorbell and waited. And waited.

“Are you guys trying to check in?” a girl called out as she rushed from around the corner, carrying two sizable tote bags, seemingly in the process of moving in herself.

“Yes! Is this not the place?”

“You have to go all the way round the building, turn left, turn left again, and you will see a glass window, they have your keys there.” She explained in an American accent.

Troy and I thanked our rescuer profusely and in the “first day of school” spirit, I introduced myself. She introduced herself as ‘Meg,’ disclosing that she also lived in Ascham. As our conversation came to an end, she invited us to a pizza party that evening. I admitted that we couldn’t pass up free food and planned to attend.

Boom. First friend.

Following Meg’s instructions, I successfully checked in and received my new keys, which opened the door to my disappointingly untidy dorm room. Upon first glance, the room was in desperate need of a vacuum and an industrious carpet cleaner. Anime posters in Cantonese adorned the walls and window. The mattress was stained with what I hope was the result of a woman’s natural cycle rather than something that would haunt the room. The curtains and room furnishings had been chosen by frugal board members sometime in the 1960s. This isn’t the first time you were doubtful you could ever be comfortable in a new space. Recalling past experiences of entering new places I initially found unappealing, I summoned my optimism by reminding myself that I’ve never encountered a space that I wasn’t able to turn into a home I later became fond of.

“This has Tolman vibes.” I told Troy in reference to our old college dorm back in Colorado.

The rest of the week’s events tumbled into each other one by one. I met more and more students who then made more and more plans. Due to the anemic state of my flat, I had to scavenge every “free” student event and charity shop to acquire basic cutlery and cooking utensils. But on top of running errands for fabric softener, I also found time to walk around the campus and immediate area, eating free pizza almost every day. I even watched my first rugby game inside a classic pub drinking a pint of Tennents.

But the moment that solidified the beginning of this new journey for me was the Principal’s Welcome in McEwan Hall. I honestly wasn’t entirely confident I would even be able to attend the speech. When I arrived an hour early on Monday afternoon, the queue wrapped around the building and extended into the neighboring courtyard. However, the prospect of entering the ancient and regal building was sufficient motivation for me to wait in line, hoping I would make it in before every seat was taken.

As fate would have it, the building seats 1400 and I was number 306:)

Describing the experience of standing in that building for the first time is a challenge. Blinking seemed like a waste of precious seconds when there was so much awe-inspiring architecture and art to take in. The ceiling bore an inscription in golden letters: “Wisdom is the principal thing, therefore get wisdom, and with all thy getting, get understanding. Exalt her and she shall bring thee to honour.”

I was so captivated by the high ceiling and stained glass that I suddenly reached the end of the line and realized that the person in front of me had taken the last seat in the section. I glanced at the row of seats on my left, which was completely occupied, and then tried to move elsewhere.

Someone was already looking at me, observing my apparent predicament. We made eye contact and somehow her eyes communicated a foreknowledge of what I would request upon noticing the empty seat to her left. Before I could fully ask about sitting next to her, she has already made room for me and I was already situating myself on the wooden chair.

And this was the start of Zoe and I’s friendship (who incidentally is taking me “clubbing” tonight). A cheerful city girl from Berlin who is a talented conversationalist, and together we filled the time conversing about a vast of array of topics until the start of the ceremony.

They initiated the ceremony with bagpipes (I laugh thinking that I was actually surprised by that when, after all, I did intentionally pursue education here in Scotland) and the acoustics instrumentally distributed the patriotic music beautifully as a procession of robed professionals made their way to the stage.

The song concluded, and the ceremony officially began as the Vice Principal greeted the student audience with a traditional Scottish accent, completing of the moment for me.

“You are of a University created in the mid 1500s in this amazing city, for this city. It was not a university created of vanity or for ecclesiastical reasons, like others of the era, it was created for wisdom, for understanding, and for making the society of the day better. You join that now, a student of a great institution but a citizen of an amazing city. A living breathing, modern and vibrant place, sometimes wrapped in an ancient skin but never far from (that) wisdom.”

-Professor Colm Harmon

If I required any additional motivation, my longing to stand in that building again, this time in a robe of my own, strengthens my unwavering commitment to graduate from this University. At the very least, for the bagpipes.