spending the holidays abroad

spending the holidays in Scotland was a wonderful and unique experience. but let me back up a little. 

when i was living in Glasgow, i remember being a bit homesick for my friends and family (and all things American) as November showed up on the calendar. for the average American, the holidays start with Halloween at the end of October...move into Thanksgiving towards the end of November...settle into Christmas at the end of December...and end with a bang at New Years.

THANKGIVING DAY:

over the years, i had never really cared much how i spent the Thanksgiving holiday. sometimes i was able to be with my family for a big turkey dinner and watch the Lions football game on TV. sometimes i spent it with my friends and their families and assimilated into whatever their traditions would be. sometimes i spent it alone watching the Macy's parade on TV and eating leftovers. i've even had to work on that day in the past when i worked certain retail jobs. so i didn't think that i'd miss it much when i found myself in Scotland and unable to travel "home" for the holiday.

until it hit me and i realized that Thanksgiving Day is an American holiday....not a British one. silly me. the 4th Thursday of November was just another day in Scotland....just another day for the rest of the world. all of a sudden it became very important to me. 

as i looked around for anything that would help me to connect with that warm and thankful atmosphere that emanates from every nook and cranny of the American lifestyle around the Thanksgiving holiday...i became more and more frustrated. there was no cornucopia of harvest yummies lining supermarket aisles with mounds of pumpkins and goards, squash and corn. there were no images of pilgrims or indians or turkeys or pumpkins adorning every shop window. there were no there were no charities giving turkey dinners to the homeless. there were no pumpkin pies being baked or cans of cranberry jelly to open. there were no high school bands and football teams gearing up for the big day. and there certainly was no parade down main street with fanfare and anticipation of the full holiday season to come.

the year before, a very dear uncle of mine had suddenly and tragically died in the early hours on Thanksgiving Day. and having moved to Glasgow an exact week after the devastating terrorist attacks of 9.11...i found myself 1/2 way around the world lonely for family and friends who knew the depth of my mourning, i couldn't help the longing in my heart to be 'understood'....as an American. thankful for the life and freedom that i have. 

i was lucky enough to live with some people who wanted to 'try' to understand. they chose to honor the American tradition and take the day off (from our ministry-leadership college lectures and work) to enjoy a traditional Thanksgiving meal together in our flat. this blessed my heart and gave me something new to be thankful for. so together we planned and prepped and cooked and baked and took time out to sit down together and be thankful. 

we did our best to gather the ingredients that would go into a traditional American Thanksgiving meal. we invited others to join us  and we gave thanks. they had me speak a little about the history of the first Thanksgiving and we all gave thanks to God for the many blessings and provisions in our lives. we all spoke out thanks for our families and our friends (along with our new friends) and we spent the day in leisure together. 

it's a memory i will cherish forever. 

CHRISTMAS SEASON:

this is another big holiday time that i found myself missing "home" when i lived in Glasgow. Christmas is celebrated all over the world...but every country, every community, every family, every person has their own unique and special ways that they "keep Christmas". 

a friend of mine back in the States gave me some great counsel...she told me not to dwell too much on what my heart was missing back home...but to focus on the fact that i had a great opportunity to experience the season in a different country and learn about their customs and traditions . she encouraged me to make new memories and gain new insight on the holiday by what i opened my heart up to. 

i am grateful for that advice. so i made a conscious choice...though i would miss my family and friends and all the holiday activities back home in the States...i would do my best to come to Christmas in the UK, in Scotland, in Glasgow...like a child. 

Christmas in Glasgow seemed in many ways like Christmas in any other large metropolis city that I've lived in in the States. the decorations and the consumerism were everywhere. there was also the presence of Christmas trees and carolers and charities and Santa and musical cantatas at cathedrals and festive foods and parties and everyone bustling about shopping. so in many ways i wasn't lacking for what i might already experience back home.

i want to write about some new things i did experience while living in Glasgow at Christmas time. 

one of those things was getting the opportunity to join a group from the church i was serving with to do some street busking. what's that you ask? well, in many huge cities around the globe (doesn't matter the season) musicians and artists, actors and speakers have the ability to pull up a bit of sidewalk or stand on a soapbox and peddle their talents or thoughts to the crowds that flows around them in hopes of some spare change or to gain a follower. Glasgow is no exception. on any given weekend you can listen to a bagpiper, watch a juggling act, hear a preacher, or gaze at a human statue. 

we decided to things a bit "upside down kingdom" and instead of doing something FOR money or FOR gaining followers...we decided to GIVE AWAY something so others could gain. we chose a freezing cold evening in December. we had some of our musicians play some festive music...and we gave away free coffee and tea and biscuits to known homeless & drug addicts & really anyone who took a risk and approached us. no preaching. no sales pitch. no pressure. if someone chose to stop and talk to us, we listened. if someone asked us what we were there for, we smiled and let them know that God loved them and we were there to express that love to them by sharing a cup of coffee and a biscuit and some lovely music. that's all. no cost. no catch. no agenda. just love.

i also had the opportunity to do a bit of travel during the winter season. one day in particular i remember piling into a small car with 3 other friends and driving from Glasgow to St. Andrews on the east coast of Scotland. there we enjoyed a rainy day running on the famous beach, eating fish n chips, and sharing laughs together. 

CHRISTMAS EVE & CHRISTMAS DAY:

living in Glasgow gave me a wonderful chance to meet new people from all over the world (not just Scotland). it's a very large city that has several universities and attracts artists and musicians too. i lived with 7 others in a flat while i was attending a small ministry/leadership college together with them. we were able to get 2 weeks off during the winter holidays. those who were from Glasgow went home to stay with family. and the rest of us who were 'foreigners' decided it would be fun to hang out with friends and experience things in a new way. i stayed with a friend in her flat over the Christmas and New Years holiday that year. She too was not originally from Scotland but was from New Zealand. we enjoyed experiencing the holidays through fresh eyes together. 

she was working on Christmas Eve, but when she got off of work we met each other at the corner shop near her flat where they had one small lonely Charlie Brown real pine tree left. we purchased it for 8 pounds and then we also found a tree stand for 5 pounds. we carried our treasures back to her flat and set to decorating the tree with what meager decorations we had. it was beautiful! 

after our dinner we joined some other friends and went to a Christmas party at another friends' house, where we ate lots of yummy goodies and shared tons of laughter. later that evening all of us piled into a van and headed into city center...all the way we were singing Christmas carols at the top of our voices and laughing hysterically. they let my friend and i out at the footbridge by the river, as they all had other places to go. my friend and i enjoyed a lovely walk across the Clyde as we took in the city the lights and the stars gleaming in the sky. we had made it just in time to attend a midnight mass at the Catholic Cathedral that was right there at the rivers edge. it was a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve.

the next day on Christmas Day we had a leisurely morning together while we exchanged gifts and spoke of our own families & friends and holiday traditions in our own countries. then we did a very Scottish tradition and set out for the day to visit friends and enjoy the day with others. i think we visited 3 different flats that day...enjoying new friends, delicious meals, exchanging gifts, drinking toasts, and playing games. i had such a great time. 

that evening we made our way back to my friends flat and then we enjoyed a traditional British Christmas meal together...cornish game hen, veg, roasted potatoes, wine and Christmas pudding. we topped our day off with some phonecalls to our family and friends back home. it was a wonderful way to spend Christmas.

NEW YEARS EVE:

New Years celebrations in Scotland is called "Hogmanay". That year I got to experience Hogmanay in downtown Glasgow...it was a wild all city street party! my friend and i had fun in the midst of the city revelers and then we kept with the tradition and went to visit some friends to ring in the new year.

Here is some info as to what Hogmanay is: (taken from an article at Wikipedia.com)

Scottish Gaelic Og-Mhadainn/h' og maidne ('new morning').

The roots of Hogmanay perhaps reach back to the celebration of the winter solstice among Norse, as well as incorporating customs from the Gaelic New Year's celebration of Samhain. In Europe, winter solstice evolved into the ancient celebration of Saturnalia, a great Roman winter festival, where people celebrated completely free of restraint and inhibition. The Vikings celebrated Yule, which later contributed to the Twelve Days of Christmas, or the "Daft Days" as they were sometimes called in Scotland. The winter festival went underground with the Protestant Reformation and ensuing years, but re-emerged near the end of the 17th century.

There are many customs, both national and local, associated with Hogmanay. The most widespread national custom is the practice of 'first-footing' which starts immediately after midnight. This involves being the first person to cross the threshold of a friend or neighbour and often involves the giving of symbolic gifts such as salt (less common today), coal, shortbread,whisky, and black bun (a rich fruit cake) intended to bring different kinds of luck to the householder. Food and drink (as the gifts) are then given to the guests. This may go on throughout the early hours of the morning and well into the next day (although modern days see people visiting houses until 3 January). The first-foot is supposed to set the luck for the rest of the year.

The Hogmanay custom of singing "Auld Lang Syne" has become common in many countries. "Auld Lang Syne" is a traditional poem reinterpreted by Robert Burns, which was later set to music. It is now common for this to be sung in a circle of linked arms that are crossed over one another as the clock strikes midnight for New Year's Day, although in Scotland the traditional practice is to cross arms only for the last verse.

So despite being away from home (my country, my community, my family, my friends, my traditions)... i did take the wise counsel of my friend back home and embrace the customs and celebrations of the holiday season in Scotland while i lived in Glasgow that year. i made new friends, enjoyed new experiences, and made some great memories. i enjoyed many of them that i do try to incorporate some into my American way of life even now. my memories of that holiday season in Scotland are near and dear to me and will always be held close to my heart. 

fish n chips

there is nothing in the world like eating fresh FISH-N-CHIPS in Scotland!

i don't know exactly why...perhaps it's the type of fish, perhaps it's the type of batter they use, perhaps it's the type of oil they use, perhaps it's the size of the chips...perhaps it's the paper or the styrofoam container they use for you to eat them in? i don't know.

it might be the fact that yer actually in Scotland...and it just seems BETTER.

but i have fond memories of the chip shops in Glasgow. most were open late into the night. so if you felt peckish you could slip out of your flat, take a short walk down the street to the nearest chippy (every neighborhood had several) and order a fish supper or a bag of chips and an Irn Bru or a Fanta for a few quid and in a matter of moments you'd have a steaming hot container in your hands full of greasy goodness and something cold to wash it down with.

there are 2 chip shops in particular that stand out to me in my memory as being my favorites. in the Crosshill/Govan area i liked to go to Ramsey's Supper Shop, and in the Pollockshaws area i liked to go to the Blue Lagoon. there were many many others that i enjoyed, but those are the 2 that i can still remember.

one thing i know...i miss eating fish n chips.

this year on my birthday i decided that even though i wasn't anywhere near Scotland, i was feeling nostalgic and wanted to eat some. luckily we have a mobile chip shop in Boise, Idaho called "The Kilted Cod" http://www.kiltedcod.com/ Aye we do! the owners pride themselves on making fish n chips as authentic as they can...and i couldn't wait to try it out! so i put the word out to tons of my friends to come and join me for my birthday for some Scottish fish n chips. and that's exactly what we did. over 30 of my friends showed up. we queued up to the mobile chippy and ordered our fish suppers. and i gotta tell you...the taste was pretty darn close! if you click on that link in this paragraph it will take you to their website and you can see some photos of me and my friends.

it was really good and it helped to satisfy my craving. i know i'll go back to the Kilted Cod whenever i need a fish n chip fix. but there truly is nothing like eating the real thing IN Scotland.

Remember, Remember the 5th of November...

"Remember, remember the fifth of November, Gunpowder treason and plot. We see no reason Why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot! Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent To blow up king and parliament. Three score barrels were laid below To prove old England's overthrow. By god's mercy he was catch'd With a darkened lantern and burning match. So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring. Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.And what shall we do with him? Burn him!" -an old British nursery rhyme

Today is Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire Night in the UK.

The day is celebrated with bonfires and fireworks throughout, in remembrance of the infamous failed treason plot on Nov. 5, 1605 to blow up Parliament and kill King James I.

A mercenary named Guy Fawkes joined with 12 other men, who wanted to protest against the Catholic persecution that had been going on due to the Protestant Crown, so they planned to blow up Parliament to overthrow King James I (successor to Elizabeth I). They set up 36 barrels of gunpowder underneath the House of Lords. The attempt was just that...an attempt (someone betrayed the plot) and Guy (who was stationed with the barrels) was found, tortured, and executed. That night bonfires were set throughout London to show that the King was safe. To this day all of Britain celebrates Nov. 5th with bonfires and fireworks (and many burn effigies of Guy Fawkes). "Some of the English have been known to wonder, in a tongue in cheek kind of way, whether they are celebrating Fawkes' execution or honoring his attempt to do away with the government."

I'm thinking back on the time I got to celebrate Bonfire Night in Glasgow (Nov 2001). I had no idea what was being celebrated that night, but it was announced at church that Sunday, that we were planning a gathering on the 5th with fireworks (the kind you purchase from a firework stand) in a nearby park to join in on the city-wide and Nation-wide celebration.

So the night of the 5th, myself and my flatmates joined countless others who gathered throughout the city to light off fireworks and set small bonfires. The light show in the night sky was spectacular! And the noise throughout the streets reminded me of our 4th of July Independence Day celebrations in the States. But Bonfire Night...this was not a holiday I was familiar with.

I leaned over to one of my friends (who was from Glasgow) and asked about what we were celebrating. My friend (realizing I was a clueless foreigner) very dramatically educated me on the events of the original Bonfire Night in 1605. You can read about what happened and why and how the UK still celebrates: http://www.bonfirenight.net

I remember voicing outloud, kind of making fun of the explanation, "so were celebrating that a guy hundreds of years ago almost blew up Parliament but was caught and executed." "AYE!" was the loud response. "And we're celebrating by setting things on fire?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm..."AYE!" came back at me once again with dramatic fervor. We both burst into laughter.

Oh...by the way...I was just told by a friend in Glasgow that this year Bonfire Night is moved to Thursday November 6th because tonight there is a Celtic game. The Scots love their football! So they get 2 nights in a row to party.

And for you movie buffs...the movie, "V for Vendetta", produced by the guys who did the Matrix trilogy, is set in London and has the Guy Fawkes Bonfire Night theme throughout.

in the wake of 9-11

like most Americans, i will never forget the morning of September 11, 2001. it was exactly a week before i was to fly to Scotland to live. exactly a week before.

i was living in Boise, Idaho and i was staying with some friends for a couple of weeks, after I had vacated my apartment and put my belongings in storage. i was excited to fly out in a week to spend my time, talents, and efforts and give of my heart to serve doing ministry and missions on the streets of Glasgow for 9 months.

that morning i was sleeping soundly on the couch when my friends came rushing into the livingroom at 7:00am and turned on the TV. they had just been wakened by a phonecall by a family member informing them about what was going on in New York at that moment.

the live images coming from the television had our mouths agape with horror as we watched in silence. right before our eyes the second plane hit the World Trade Center. we were stunned. and within an hour and a half from that time we watched both towers collapse as tens of thousands of people died (including emergency response crews). throughout the morning we were also informed of the third plane hitting the Pentagon and the fourth plane crashing in a field.

all air traffic was halted over the United States for a week. people were stranded everywhere across our nation and abroad...trying to get home.

the unthinkable had happened to the United States. we vowed as a country that we would never forget and we together we would fight for our freedoms and honor the innocent lives lost that day.

today marks the 7th year anniversary of 9-11. tonight, i just finished watching a documentary on the History Channel completely made of real video footage from citizens of New York who were right there in the midst of what was happening as it happened. it left me speechless. it left me in tears.

when the planes began flying again it was utter chaos. airlines hustled to catch up from being shut down for a week and the government cracked down on security procedures for passengers. hundreds of flights were cancelled as countless Americans scrambled to be airbound again. but many were too afraid to fly. the dark cloud that loomed over Manhattan from the collapse of the towers lingered like an oppressive cloud over the entire nation.

it was in the midst of this chaos, exactly a week after the terrorist attacks on US soil, that i entered the fray. after a 10 hour drive up to the Seattle area from Boise, i phoned my airline to check on the status of my flight out of the States. it had been cancelled. i was instructed to immediately get to the airport to inquire with other airlines. it was an hour drive to the airport from where i was. once at Sea-Tac, i was overwhelmed at the sea of people packed in like sardines all trying to find their way.

i stood in one line forever. then i was told to join another line forever. finally after much waiting, i was able to obtain a flight out that morning but it would land in Calgary, Canada and i would need to catch another plane from there to Toronto in order to meet up with my original flight that would head to Glasgow, Scotland. after getting my boarding pass i then had to stand in line forever to go through all the new security procedures.

i won't document each leg of the trip...but i will say, it was a very very long day (actually 2 days) by the time i was able to find my feet on Scottish soil. and i know that my family and friends were on the edge waiting for my phone call that i was safe.

this was the beginning of my 9 month stay in Scotland. needless to say, i was up against tons of fears as i traveled in the wake of 9-11 (and not just my own...but also my family & friends & my church-who were sending me over). there were many prayers and many tears and hugs and words of love shared between us all before i left. it's a time i will never forget. it's a time that is hard for me to talk about

*read the post: "a knock on the door" to learn more about that first week in Glasgow facing my fears

and because just a week after 9-11 i was living in a different country, i didn't really get the opportunity, like most Americans, to fully mourn and get angry and come to terms with how i felt in the weeks and months that proceeded. it turned out that due to circumstances beyond my control, i was unable to own a television to watch news programs. the only news that i was able to get on a consistant basis (of what was happening the US) were from UK newspapers and what i could read on-line each week as i checked my email at internet cafes. and though the UK is our biggest political ally...the news is reported differently than in one's own home country. eventually there wasn't much news at all regarding 9-11 and i ended up out of touch with how things were going in the US.

though i had the fortune of making some great friends in Scotland, there were only a handful of Americans that i knew in Glasgow....and i was there to serve and learn about the Scottish people and their culture and how best to meet their needs. so in many ways, my needs of mourning and getting angry at the attacks on my own country, were pushed aside for the more immediate needs of others.

when i arrived back in Idaho in May of 2002, i came home to a different nation. i was told that Americans were saturated by the images and issues and commentary and politics of the media regarding our governments' response to the terrorist attacks. my friends and family didn't really care to discuss it with me because they were tired of it and from their point of view they had already talked it out a hundred times. i was left empty and depressed and i found myself once again pushing my feelings aside to get on with life.

tonight i allowed myself to mourn. that's why i'm writing this blog. it's the first time i've written about that day and how i felt afterwards.

for a timeline of what happened on the day of September 11, 2001 click here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/September_11,_2001_timeline_for_the_day_of_the_attacks

scrubbing scottish basement bricks

manky. mingen. boggen.

the bricks in the 100+ yr old basement of the KOG building on Parnie St. in Merchant City (an artsy district of Glasgow) were covered in layers of old plaster, paint, dirt, grime, mold & mildew. it took tons of muscle power scrubbing with metal brushes, chipping away with hammers and chisels to clear it all away.

my first trip to Glasgow i had the opportunity to be a part of a team from Boise, Idaho that would travel over to join up with an international crew of dedicated and devoted students & believers in Christ with a common purpose to help out in the demolition and restoration process. it would eventually take 3 years for the coffee house to be renovated enough to be opened for the public...but during those first few months of clean up, those of us who could be there to lend a hand worked with enthusiasm and anticipation for what the old building would someday become.

one particular day many of us were assigned the task of cleaning up the brick walls in the basement. it was dark and damp and musty down there. we were required to wear face masks, goggles, and gloves for protection. the scrubbing was hard work and at times became quite frustrating. years of stuff caked on the bricks just didn't want to come off. many of us struggled with a heaviness in our thoughts & hearts and we became discouraged and quickly tired from the strenuous work.

at our tea break, as we gathered upstairs in the light, we began to share about how we were all feeling as we scrubbed in vain in the damp darkness of the basement. we talked about how the building was being prepared to be utilized for God's Kingdom...a coffee house/art gallery/bookstore/meeting place for worship, where Christian and non-Christian alike could come together to build relationship...a place where rich and poor could share a cup of coffee and reach out to each other....and how the crap we were trying to clean away from the bricks seemed like a metaphor for something deeper, something spiritual. we realized that the enemy of our souls probably didn't like what we were doing. we knew that at one time in history there had been a Christian revival in this same building...but the darkness had crept in and eventually the street that the building was on had become a place of poverty, immorality, drugs, and even witchcraft. we decided to pray together against the powers of darkness, for God's help to lift the heavy oppression we were experiencing downstairs. we gave over our fatigue to God, and asked Him to come and cleanse the place as we worked....that with each scrubbing stroke the darkness would flee. that we could take back the territory the enemy had stolen.

we returned to the confinement of the basement to continue working...but this time we began to sing together. with joy, we sang songs of worship and praise to God and you know what...the heaviness we had felt earlier was no longer there. some of us danced, others laughed. it became a party down there. and the scrubbing became easier. and fun.

i will never forget that experience. scrubbing scottish basement bricks.

Culloden

when i was a senior in high school i took a class called "War & Peace" from a teacher with the last name of Campbell. years later i would find this point ironic.

at the time i really had no understanding of the termultuous history of the wee isle across the ocean but it was in that class with that teacher that i fell in love with Scotland.

as part of the class he showed an old BBC film* made in the 1960s directed by Peter Watkins that depicted the brutal battle of Culloden (fought on April 16, 1746 on the highland moors of Culloden east of Inverness). Scottish highland clans led by Bonnie Prince Charlie (the said rightful heir to the Scottish throne) for their freedom against the English army standing for their then reigning King George II (and a few Scottish clans that they had in their pockets, like the Campbells).

i had always been intrigued with the country of Scotland. i liked the 80s pop music that came out of it, and found the Scottish brogue of "Scotty" on Star Trek rather fun to imitate. but for some reason, watching that old black and white film took me beyond the parodies and glam of Hollywood and the music industry and gave me a deeper understanding of the Scottish people. it would be 13 years till i actually stepped foot on Scottish soil, but that film of the battle of Culloden broke my heart and pulled me across the sea to Scotland's shores.

later i was able to find out that i have Scottish blood in my family...and that i have heritage with the Scottish Clan MacLeod (a highland clan mostly settled west in the isles of the Hebrides). i read books about the battle and what events led up to it. and in 2005 i was able to actually visit the battle site of Culloden in the highlands of Scotland. it was an extremely profound and moving experience for me. to actually stand where that film depicted, to actually stand where my ancestors fought on the side of the Jacobites and Bonnie Prince Charlie. where freedom was fought for...and lost. it brought tears to my eyes.

recently i found that someone has put the Peter Watkins 1960s film on YouTube. i have provided the links to part 1, part 2, and part 3 for you on the sidebar of this blog.

thank you Mr. Campbell (my history teacher from high school) for helping to awaken my love for the Scottish people and opening my eyes to realize that much of what happens in this world, though it may all be much bigger than me, though i am small...i can help to make a difference.

slideshow of my time in Scotland

a knock on the door

I was startled by a loud knock on the door.

Being that I was the only one in the flat, it was up to me to answer. My heart pounded as I slowly crept to the door. This was only my second night in the urban industrial metropolis of Glasgow. I was temporarily staying with some friends in a ground floor flat that faced a busy street. I had no familiarity with the neighborhood or the culture and I was thousands of miles away from my comfy home in Boise, Idaho. To add even more emotional upheaval for me, this was only one week after all Americans were forced to face the fear of immanent danger due to the devastating terrorist attacks of 9-11.

On my way to the door, I could see through a window in the front room, that it was quite dark outside for being only around 6pm. I was waiting for my friends who leased the flat to come home from work. Rain crashed loudly against the pavement outside and I could hear the sound of cars sloshing through it as they drove by on the street in front of the building. The door to the flat was actually located in a hallway (called a close) that led to several other flats. Whoever was knocking was not visible to me from the front room window. I craned my neck to look through the peep hole in the door.

My heart jumped a second time and I gasped for air as the little bit of glass warped an image of a bearded man in a black suit staring back at me. He was dark skinned and wore a turban on his head. I could only guess he was from a Middle Eastern country. I had heard that there were large populations of Muslims living in the UK, and here I was staring at the distorted image of one on my 2nd night in this unfamiliar country. Fear rose up in me like a wall as my thoughts conjured up all sorts of horrific terrorist images I had seen on American television, supposedly done by those who claimed to be Muslim.

I carefully unlatched the deadbolt, slowly opened the door, and meekly said Hello. To my relief the man standing there introduced himself as a member of the British Muslim Police. “At least he was a good guy, right?” I thought to myself. He explained to me that he was looking for a man who had been a former tenant of the flat and wanted to know if I knew where he was. Showing my ignorance right away, I explained to him that I was an American and had only just arrived from the States and was staying with friends who were leasing the flat. He wrote some things down on a clipboard he was carrying and asked me if I knew how long my friends had been leasing the flat. I answered as best I could and he wrote something else down on his clip board.

After meticulously putting his pen away, he looked up at me and with the sincerest of smiles he said, “I am truly sorry for what has happened in your country with the bombings. It is a terrible thing. Please accept my apology on behalf of my people, and I hope your stay here in Scotland is a positive one.”

I thanked him. And with that he turned and walked out of the building and back into the wet night. I was left standing for a moment in shock as I pondered what had just taken place at this foreign doorway. In that moment, I had no concept that I would come to learn how prophetic that distorted image through the peep hole really was. For over the next 9 months, I would face my own fears and prejudice while living in Scotland.

THE HAGGIS HUNT

The Haggis Hunt of 2001
by Lisa Marten

This is a true story it must be told. It was a brisk autumn morning in Scotland when the students and leaders of the Harvest Ministry College set out with wild abandon towards the north.They headed through the concrete streets and bustling traffic of downtown Glasgow and out into the country up to the Trossach hills in search of the ferocious legendary Highland Haggis.

The vivid autumn colors of the trees and the rolling green and fiery red hills of the Trossachs were a bonny landscape to the days adventure. The group of dreamy students rode in the infamous big blue bus with hopes of capturing a glimpse of the delicious beast.

Along the journey they were entertained by stories of the legendary Scottish Haggis Hunter, Jimmy McGregor who wrestled with the deadly beastie (a 3 legged, one eyed monster) who had barely escaped with his life. Some of the students made fun of the stories, they were strenuously warned against this behaviour.

Upon arriving at their hunting destination at Loch Katrine, they were let loose to wander the Scottish woods and hillsides on their much anticipated Haggis Hunt. The student who came out alive with the best hunting story would win a tasty prize. Needless to say, it was a mad dash into the trees and the students scattered like billiard balls after a break.

What sounds the leaders heard deep within the woods soon after were so gruesome they sent shivers up their spines. It was enough to remind them that it was foolish for any man to mock the beast. The students would soon find out the horrid truth.

So you too, consider yerself warned mate. Hark and heed the warnings of this true tale. The writer was one of the ignorant students who barely escaped out of the deep Scottish woods with her life! The Highland Haggis is a beastie not to be reckoned with.

Aye!

Cessnock: my move to the Scottish ghettos

this is a wee story based on my Scottish journals from living in Glasgow Sept 2001 to May 2002. i tried to think back to how it looked, felt, smelled & my initial impressions of this mid-winter move Dec. 2001 from one flat to another due to circumstances out of my control.

"Rose opened the cupboard and to her surprise, discovered a filthy syringe and a dirty spoon; remnants of some former tenants’ drug paraphernalia. The cupboard was located in what would be one of our bedrooms. This was the day we were inspecting a flat in Cessnock (one of the worst neighborhoods in the inner city of Glasgow) in order to move into it.

There were 8 of us from different countries who had come to live together in hopes of learning how to minister to those in the inner city of Glasgow. We barely knew each other, and we barely knew what we had signed on for.

It was easy to distinguish the flat from the rest in the look-a-like row houses…we were the entrance with the smashed television on the sidewalk. It never moved from its’ resting place, probably dropped there by some thief in a hasty exit or thrown there by some rageful spouse in a domestic dispute. Regardless, it was the first thing one saw before entering the stairwell to the 6 flats in our building.

The stench in the old entryway (called a close) was a combination of urine, vomit, spilled beer, garbage, and the moldy-mustiness of years of water seepage. The close was dark except for the glow of a small fluorescent light at the entrance that seemed to cast eery green and yellow shadows upon the walls.

The flat we were to move into shared the ground floor with another flat. There was a concrete staircase with metal railings in a circular fashion that led up to the other floors. The sound of your shoes scuffing on the tiled flooring and any tinkling sound your keys made as you unlocked the door or any voices spoken out echoed up the stairwell and bounced off the concrete walls for all to hear.

The staircase also led down from the ground floor through an old wooden door to a very small dark graffitied passage way with a dirt floor. The narrow passageway got smaller as it led to an outside courtyard behind the building where we were to take out our garbage. The smell and littered trash that you experienced up in the close was even worse below in the damp darkness of the passageway with the added odor of reeking sewage. There was no light except what was visible through a crack underneath another wooden door at the end of the narrow tunnel.

Upon entering what would be our flat, we were halted by a rather large mound of junk and trash that was piled in the middle of the room. Evidence of past drug addicted tenants was everywhere. There were remnants of old carpets, pieces of wood, old stained mattresses and trash scattered throughout the flat. The walls were dingy and defaced with slanderous words and symbols. The paint was peeling off the walls and that familiar smell seemed to waft everywhere.The landlord assured us that by the time we were to move in (in a fortnight) he would have all of the mess cleaned up and would repaint the flat for us.

I was told that Glasgow was named Europe’s heroine capitol (they even made a movie called “Trainspotting” graphically depicting Glasgow’s drug culture). I knew all of this going in, but to find myself actually standing in a run-down, trashed & graffitied flat on the southwest side of Glasgow, knowing that this was to be my home in bonnie Scotland, was quite a wake up call. Somehow I didn't feel very much like the braveheart I thought I was."

my heart calls from across the sea...

oh to step foot once again on Celtic lands.
och bheith ceim coise aris eile ar Ceilteach thailte.

"The roll of the wind. As we sail across the water. The roll of the sea. As we're taken through the night. The dimming lamp of day. Leaves the crimson foam and spray. Across the face of the mighty Atlantic. In this cradle we found love. In our lifetimes we were broken. By the spirit we were turned. Here we touched the hope divine. And in the rapture and the charm. Came the tranquil and the calm. On the rage of the mighty Atlantic." -The Mighty Atlantic by Runrig

"On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days In the wave beneath him shining; Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over; Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long faded glories they cover."-Thomas Moore

"We Irish pride ourselves as patriots and tell the beadroll of the valiant ones since Clontarf's sunset saw the Norsemen broken...Aye, and before that too we had our heroes but they were might fighters and victorious. The later men got nothing save defeat, hard transatlantic sidewalks or the scaffold...We Irish, vainer than tense Lucifer, are yet content with half-a-dozen turf, and cry our adoration for a bog, rejoicing in the rain that never ceases, and happy to stride over the sterile acres, or stony hills that scarcely feed a sheep. But we are fools, I say, are ignorant fools to waste the spirit's warmth in this cold air, to spend our wit and love and poetry on half-a-dozen peat and a black bog. We are not native here or anywhere. We were the keltic wave that broke over Europe, and ran up this bleak beach among these stones: but when the tide ebbed, were left stranded here in crevices, and ledge-protected pools that have grown salter with the drying up of the great common flow that kept us sweet with fresh cold draughts from deep down in the ocean. So we are bitter, and are dying out in terrible harshness in this lonely place, and what we think is love for usual rock, or old affection for our customary ledge, is but forgotten longing for the sea that cries far out and calls us to partake in his great tidal movements round the earth." -John Hewitt

"Air sgiath a' seoladh nan neoil. 'S an domhain liath. Mar dhealbh a' tighinn beo tro na sgothan. 'S mi a' tilleadh gu tir. Alba nam beanntan ard. Nan acraichean lom. Thairis air na lochan mointich. Nan coilltean 's nan gleann. Alba.

This flight is sailing through the clouds. And the blue heavens. The homeland appears like a developing photograph. Through the mists as I return to land. I see Scotland of the high mountains. And the empty acres. Flying low across the moorland lochs. The forests and the glens. Scotland."-Alba by Runrig

"Icham of Irlaunde. Ant of the holy londe of irlande. Gode sir pray ich ye. For of saynte charite. Come ant daunce wyt me in irlaunde.

I am of Ireland. Out of the holy land of Ireland. I pray you good sir. For the sake of holy charity. Come and dance with me in Ireland." -14th Century anonymous