Routines

Whenever I am on vacation or even travelling I am losing it. My routine I mean.

Back in the old days in Princeton I would get up early, do some kind of exercise like running, swimming or aerobics (ok, not every day obviously), and have the whole day before me. After work, I would go to the green grocer or supermarket to get some veggies and cook dinner. Naturally, I would be tired by 9 or 10 pm and go to bed early. I do not really enjoy getting up early, but I do very much enjoy being up early. The early hours when the streets are not busy yet but the first people are getting up in search for a coffee and a newspaper are the best hours of the day in my opinion.

Planning my travels, I thought once I am in the right mindset of travelling without the distraction of work and deadlines, I would automatically fall into a new, optimized routine, a better version of myself so to speak, which would involve getting up early for the daily run, do some meditation and yoga before breakfast, and write a new blog before bed. I would eat and live frugally, therefore losing a few extra kilograms without even thinking about it, and have some great experiences and encounters during the days. I would stroll through parks, look at pretty buildings and discover hidden alleys with cute boutiques of local designers and hat shops. My skin would clear up due to my new healthy lifestyle. I would make friends with the locals in a pub who would know me by name ("That German girl").

But of course, no matter where I go I am still my lazy self (isn't there a saying about this?) who is struggling to get up early if there is no real need to do so. Who has been running only once in 2 months and has not meditated at all or done any yoga. Who has neither walked a lot nor eaten healthily. Who has had more cake and chocolate during the last month than in the whole year before that. Who is still the worst procrastinator and has not finished her final fellowship report which is due ... today.

Travelling is not as I expected it to be. It reminds me more of the summer break during high school. It's just hanging out and losing the routines that I had worked so hard for to include them in my days to make the most of life. Remember summer breaks? For me, it meant going swimming, reading comics, and after a few weeks, getting a bit bored. I realize that my expectations were ridiculous, but then, it is hard to have realistic expectations of something that I have never done before such as being unemployed and homeless - or travelling. And don't get me wrong, I am having a great time. I just need to stop lazing around, because travelling is not summer break, and it is not about stopping doing stuff. It is about doing only stuff I enjoy doing - even if that means a bit of inconvenience such as getting up early.

Glasgow

To me, travelling is more about making experiences and meeting locals than checking off a list of sights. Having spent three weeks in Glasgow now I don't think I've seen a lot, but I've sure had a good time.

• We went to a theatre play in Oran Mor, a converted church, which is now a pub and an event venue. First time I went there was last year after walking the West Highland Way with Kat and Ella, when a friendly Scot we had met on the trail showed us around Glasgow. Turns out he had ulterior motives and eventually succeeded in making me his lady... Anyway, we went to A Play, A Pie And A Pint, where we saw Ubu Roi - freaky but entertaining, had a pint of beer and a pie, pastry filled with meat. A good concept I think.
• We also went to another play, Whatever Gets You Through The Night, in The Arches, a venue below Glasgow Central Station, so that we heard the rattling of the trains during the play. Very atmospheric. The performance was great. One of the best things I've ever seen on stage. Very musical, great setting, awesome acting and dancing, moving stories. As a bonus, we got the script as a book and the soundtrack for download.
• I've played cards with Paul and roomie Pete A LOT. And watched a lot of soccerfootball. One night, we watched a Germany game in a pub with a few guys, which is the only way I don't mind watching football: In a pub, with a reasonable beer supply, and fun people to get drunk with. Well, we did, went to our place, and played cards until 4.30 am. One of my best nights here.
• Last weekend, I went out to Glasgow's Mela festival with Paul and a bunch of his lady-friends. The Mela was a multi-culti outdoor event with food stands, a few dance and musical performances and a beer garden. We ere quite lucky with the weather, considering that it has been shitty lately. Paul had to leave early and I, having a good time, decided to stay with the lovely ladies who got increasingly drunk, were very sweet and took good care of me, but refused to reveal any embarrassing anecdotes about Paul.

Next week, I'm going to leave Scotland for Sweden.

Highland Swing

Last weekend, I went up to Loch Lomond to spend a few days dancing with men in skirts. Apart from dancing there was whisky, haggis, kilts and Highland games to satisfy every single stereotypical expectation. Good times!

This one passed out on the dancefloor.

The guy on the right is wearing a picnic blanket.

Highland games: Limbo Swing-out

Limbo Swing-Out

Limbo Swing-out

Youth Hostel Loch Lomond

Youth Hostel Loch Lomond

Youth Hostel Loch Lomond

View towards Loch Lomond

Highland games: Tug of war - My team destroyed the other teams.

South Queensferry and Edinburgh pics

South Queensferry is the place where my man grew up. Forth Road Bridge on the left, Forth Rail Bridge on the right.

South Queensferry

Edinburgh Castle

Glasgow pics

Pollok Park 

Pollok Park

Necropolis

Glasgow University

Glasgow University

Kelvingrove Museum and Gallery

About a Welshman

In Wales we met a gentleman who gave us a great example of British politeness. He was walking through the mountains and came across a British couple. They exchanged their hellos and discussed possible routes as is apparently customary in the mountains, or rather on the mountaintops. He was about to continue his walk when the lady asked where he was from. But before he could answer, she added: "You're from Norway, aren't you? I've heard that accent before!" He was baffled by that idea, and speechless for a moment. But after regaining his composure he said: "Yes, indeed, that's exactly right, I'm Norwegian." He figured that he and that couple would never meet again, so this little white lie would be preferable to the truth, which was that he had been living in Milton Keynes, which is between Cambridge and Oxford, for most of his life, but that he was born and raised in Wales. He was as British as that couple, but as a Britishman too polite to possibly make her feel foolish about her completely wrong assumption.

London Pics

I applied for a job here.

South Bank

About a guy from Manchester

Englishmen from Manchester are pretty hard to understand because of their peculiar accent. At least that's what people say, and that's why I think that the guy was from Manchester: we were having a hard time trying to understand him when he was chatting me and Kat up in the hostel in Grasmere. But he was friendly enough and better entertainment than none.

He was a serious hiker - that's what he tried to make us believe. At some point however, he had to admit that he and his pals had their stuff transported, so no wonder that they were able to make more distance per day than we did. To be honest, that made me feel very superior, even though I didn't even carry all of my stuff myself, having put some of the stuff that I didn't need for hiking (such as dancing shoes...) in Ella's transported bag.

The guy from Manchester and his pals were walking the whole coast-to-coast path, and not all of them were entirely well prepared or informed. They stayed in hostels that usually provided bedding. At one point, though, they had to stay in cabins, and one of the pals didn't bring a sleeping bag. Have I mentioned that it gets quite chilly in May at night in the Lake District? So neither did he have a sleeping bag nor a blanket. What he did to survive the cold night is empty his backpack, wearing as many clothes as possible, including old socks on the hands as gloves, and crawl into his backpack which probably only covered parts of his legs. At this point of the story, with this image in mind, the guy from Manchester finally succeeded in making us laugh.

Cambridge Pics

Cam

Punting

Cornwall Pics

Hello, Rosamunde Pilcher!

A pagan worshipping the highest mountain Cornwall's with a dance ceremony

Wales Pics

Llyn Ogwen

Tryfal

Glyder Fach

This reminded me of Manhattan...

Royal Navy helicopter practicing getting really close to a mountain

Llyn Ogwen