To the refugees, I welcome you. To the marginalized, you belong. And to scientists, both current and aspiring, I trust you not those who attempt to invalidate your research with falsehoods and business agendas. You are not alone, and you are not forgotten.
Monday, January 30, 2017
Briefly, in America . . .
I didn't want to do this, and I hoped it wouldn't be necessary. But, given the political turmoil that the United States has found itself in recently, I just wanted to make a quick comment - especially to Sr. S and her class:
Week 3: Islands in the Sky
"Nor less, I trust, / To them I may have owed another gift, / Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, / In which the burthen of the mystery, / In which the heavy and the weary weight / Of all this unintelligible world / Is lightened:- that serene and blessed mood, / In which the affections gently lead us on, / Until, the breath of this corporeal frame, / And even the motion of our human blood / Almost suspended, we are laid asleep and become a living soul: / While with an eye made quiet by the power / Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, / We see into the life of things." -- William Wordsworth, "Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey"
Hey everyone! I apologize it's been so long since my last post. Life has gotten incredibly busy this past week / week and a half. So, without further ado, here goes week 3 and a little extra.
I had, along with school, two big trips that I went on. The first one, Loch Lomond, was incredible. Easily, Loch Lomond was my favorite thing I have done so far. Loch Lomond is a national park here in Scotland, comparable to Yellowstone or the Adirondacks. The park itself protects a collection of "Lochs" (lakes) that were formed when the glaciers retreated north from continental England. The glaciers, upon making their slow crawl back up North, gouged the land creating deep lakes, and steep hills. While the park itself is technically in the Lowlands of Scotland, the park does cross the boundary into the Scottish Highlands, though it is certainly not considered as such. Regardless, the average height of the mountains (hills, if you've ever been out west), are around 3,000 feet. 3,000 feet of steep, steep climbing. Unlike the Adirondacks, which have been theorized to have been around (in one form or another) since the dawn of time, constantly going through cycles of growth and decay due to tectonic plate movement (our current Adirondacks are about 1,000 million years old and slowly shrinking back into the ocean) - the Lomonds are around 13,000 years old. They are steep and prominent as opposed to the old slopes we're used to in the North Eastern United States.
And it was these young, steep mountains I decided to climb on a foggy Friday morning. I and my two flatmates, Tim and Ryan, woke up around 7am to catch a train and arrived at the town of Arrochar, a sleepy little tourist town with about one main street and a population of around 50 (I'm guessing). The entire town was nestled between arches of green and grey mountain. As I said, it was foggy out, and the fog covered the tops of the mountains giving the impression that someone had put a fluffy gray lid over the sky, and the lid was being held up by the mounds of earth all around. Again, its is no mystery to me why such fantasy epics like The Lord of the Rings were born in land like this. It is seeped with magic.
We passed through the town on its one main street, taking a large half-circle around a clear and reflective Loch. There was a dilapidated dock in the center of it, and served as a rotting reminder that, at one point, this had been a bustling town with a port and all.
The climb was steady and steep. And it was rocky. When glaciers retreat, they don't do so gently. They churn the earth, dragging with them rocks and dumping them off wherever they see fit. And so, the landscape of the mountain we were climbing, Ben Arthur, bore the scars in the form of boulders everywhere. Some (as pictured above) were mild in size and could be easily jumped up on. However, others were about as large as a camper. We weaved in and out of a field of boulders for about an hour and a half, consistently climbing up.
For those who don't know, hiking, being in the woods, is probably my favorite thing in the world to do. Not only are the views spectacular, but the stillness and the peace that surrounds you and becomes part of you just amazes me. Humanity, despite popular belief, actually relies on the natural world. Sure, we get our food and water from the earth. But there's a deeper connection there. Humanity (as in Homo Sapiens) is about 1.8 million years old. As I said, the Adirondacks are about 1,000 million years old, and before that the Lomonds were under sheets and sheets of ice, but still there. We are young, and hiking in the mountains, seeing rocks that have weathered more winters already than I ever will, and will continue to weather more after I am gone, is a humbling experience. Along with the healthy does of humility, however, comes something else. I don't know how many of you hike, or go adventuring or such, but nature, according to Richard Louv, the author of The Last Child in the Woods, nature actually decreases stress, increases creative thinking, and the air is good for physical well-being. Nature, notably mountains, have always stood over us, watching us, for as long as our DNA has been coded as it has. I am a firm believer that, in nature, we can slowly reforge the largely broken evolutionary line that connects us right back into the natural world.
Back on the ground, the hiking was hard. The rocks were smaller, more exposed to extreme weather the higher we got. The grasses were tough, and visibility was nil as the fog billowed around us. It was so thick that, if one were to concentrate at a certain area, then they could actually see the physical droplets of water dance in the wind. Despite being robbed of the undoubtedly breathtaking views of the sleepy town we left behind, the fog gave the landscape an other-worldly feel. And it dimmed the noise of cars from the freeway. We felt as a lone trio, surrounded only by wilderness, and I was happy. We took our lunch about 2000 feet up the face of the mountain. We couldn't see more than 25 feet in front of us, so the only marker for increased elevation was the cold. The wind was beginning to grow ice-teeth and the breeze that had playfully tousled hair suddenly began to dive down the back of our necks and chill our spines. Coats zipped up quickly and we pushed on.
I'm not sure when it happened, but after a while I noticed a change in the gray of the fog. When you're in the thick of it, fog is a monotonous color and depth, like swimming to the bottom of a lake and looking, there's only so much you can see before darkness envelopes everything. However, and ever so slightly, I began to notice the gray receding to a whitish color, and visibility began to increase by inches, then feet, then yards.
As suddenly as we stepped into the fog, we stepped out. And the change was dramatic. One second I was looking into a film of white, then next I looked out behind me and saw a distinct border between cloud and sky. I yelled back down to Tim and Ryan something along the lines of "the fog broke!" and sprinted up the rest of the mountain. I was not disappointed.
Fortunately for us, the fog was low hanging enough to give the illusion that each peak was an island jutting out of a flowing gray sea. This picture is why Wordsworth was the quote of choice to begin this blog post. To grace the peak of a mountain is to see the world in a different perspective. It is hard, and that's why not everyone does it. It is dangerous, as hikers are killed yearly in every country for various reasons. This land is not owned by or pandered towards human comfort, and that's the joy if it all. To walk in a place that has no sidewalks, where there's no McDonald's around the corner, were you are not walled in by people, is one of the greatest joys in life. I have never felt more clarity, nor more purpose, than in the wild. Maybe it has something to do with the archaic mountains. Maybe it has something to do with me being a bit more Neanderthal than I'd like to believe. Who can say. I've found no better balm for the soul or psyche, though.
After an hour or so, we left the peak, thus ending our day's adventure. And my goodness, was it ever needed. Mountains, for me, always put me back into place, and give me a healthy measure of perspective. In a world this beautiful, it can't be all bad.
Hey everyone! I apologize it's been so long since my last post. Life has gotten incredibly busy this past week / week and a half. So, without further ado, here goes week 3 and a little extra.
I had, along with school, two big trips that I went on. The first one, Loch Lomond, was incredible. Easily, Loch Lomond was my favorite thing I have done so far. Loch Lomond is a national park here in Scotland, comparable to Yellowstone or the Adirondacks. The park itself protects a collection of "Lochs" (lakes) that were formed when the glaciers retreated north from continental England. The glaciers, upon making their slow crawl back up North, gouged the land creating deep lakes, and steep hills. While the park itself is technically in the Lowlands of Scotland, the park does cross the boundary into the Scottish Highlands, though it is certainly not considered as such. Regardless, the average height of the mountains (hills, if you've ever been out west), are around 3,000 feet. 3,000 feet of steep, steep climbing. Unlike the Adirondacks, which have been theorized to have been around (in one form or another) since the dawn of time, constantly going through cycles of growth and decay due to tectonic plate movement (our current Adirondacks are about 1,000 million years old and slowly shrinking back into the ocean) - the Lomonds are around 13,000 years old. They are steep and prominent as opposed to the old slopes we're used to in the North Eastern United States.
And it was these young, steep mountains I decided to climb on a foggy Friday morning. I and my two flatmates, Tim and Ryan, woke up around 7am to catch a train and arrived at the town of Arrochar, a sleepy little tourist town with about one main street and a population of around 50 (I'm guessing). The entire town was nestled between arches of green and grey mountain. As I said, it was foggy out, and the fog covered the tops of the mountains giving the impression that someone had put a fluffy gray lid over the sky, and the lid was being held up by the mounds of earth all around. Again, its is no mystery to me why such fantasy epics like The Lord of the Rings were born in land like this. It is seeped with magic.
We passed through the town on its one main street, taking a large half-circle around a clear and reflective Loch. There was a dilapidated dock in the center of it, and served as a rotting reminder that, at one point, this had been a bustling town with a port and all.
The climb was steady and steep. And it was rocky. When glaciers retreat, they don't do so gently. They churn the earth, dragging with them rocks and dumping them off wherever they see fit. And so, the landscape of the mountain we were climbing, Ben Arthur, bore the scars in the form of boulders everywhere. Some (as pictured above) were mild in size and could be easily jumped up on. However, others were about as large as a camper. We weaved in and out of a field of boulders for about an hour and a half, consistently climbing up.
For those who don't know, hiking, being in the woods, is probably my favorite thing in the world to do. Not only are the views spectacular, but the stillness and the peace that surrounds you and becomes part of you just amazes me. Humanity, despite popular belief, actually relies on the natural world. Sure, we get our food and water from the earth. But there's a deeper connection there. Humanity (as in Homo Sapiens) is about 1.8 million years old. As I said, the Adirondacks are about 1,000 million years old, and before that the Lomonds were under sheets and sheets of ice, but still there. We are young, and hiking in the mountains, seeing rocks that have weathered more winters already than I ever will, and will continue to weather more after I am gone, is a humbling experience. Along with the healthy does of humility, however, comes something else. I don't know how many of you hike, or go adventuring or such, but nature, according to Richard Louv, the author of The Last Child in the Woods, nature actually decreases stress, increases creative thinking, and the air is good for physical well-being. Nature, notably mountains, have always stood over us, watching us, for as long as our DNA has been coded as it has. I am a firm believer that, in nature, we can slowly reforge the largely broken evolutionary line that connects us right back into the natural world.
Back on the ground, the hiking was hard. The rocks were smaller, more exposed to extreme weather the higher we got. The grasses were tough, and visibility was nil as the fog billowed around us. It was so thick that, if one were to concentrate at a certain area, then they could actually see the physical droplets of water dance in the wind. Despite being robbed of the undoubtedly breathtaking views of the sleepy town we left behind, the fog gave the landscape an other-worldly feel. And it dimmed the noise of cars from the freeway. We felt as a lone trio, surrounded only by wilderness, and I was happy. We took our lunch about 2000 feet up the face of the mountain. We couldn't see more than 25 feet in front of us, so the only marker for increased elevation was the cold. The wind was beginning to grow ice-teeth and the breeze that had playfully tousled hair suddenly began to dive down the back of our necks and chill our spines. Coats zipped up quickly and we pushed on.
I'm not sure when it happened, but after a while I noticed a change in the gray of the fog. When you're in the thick of it, fog is a monotonous color and depth, like swimming to the bottom of a lake and looking, there's only so much you can see before darkness envelopes everything. However, and ever so slightly, I began to notice the gray receding to a whitish color, and visibility began to increase by inches, then feet, then yards.
As suddenly as we stepped into the fog, we stepped out. And the change was dramatic. One second I was looking into a film of white, then next I looked out behind me and saw a distinct border between cloud and sky. I yelled back down to Tim and Ryan something along the lines of "the fog broke!" and sprinted up the rest of the mountain. I was not disappointed.
Fortunately for us, the fog was low hanging enough to give the illusion that each peak was an island jutting out of a flowing gray sea. This picture is why Wordsworth was the quote of choice to begin this blog post. To grace the peak of a mountain is to see the world in a different perspective. It is hard, and that's why not everyone does it. It is dangerous, as hikers are killed yearly in every country for various reasons. This land is not owned by or pandered towards human comfort, and that's the joy if it all. To walk in a place that has no sidewalks, where there's no McDonald's around the corner, were you are not walled in by people, is one of the greatest joys in life. I have never felt more clarity, nor more purpose, than in the wild. Maybe it has something to do with the archaic mountains. Maybe it has something to do with me being a bit more Neanderthal than I'd like to believe. Who can say. I've found no better balm for the soul or psyche, though.
After an hour or so, we left the peak, thus ending our day's adventure. And my goodness, was it ever needed. Mountains, for me, always put me back into place, and give me a healthy measure of perspective. In a world this beautiful, it can't be all bad.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Week 2: Capital Tours and the City of Music
“Half a capital and half a country town, the whole city leads a double existence; it has long trances of the one and flashes of the other; like the king of the Black Isles, it is half alive and half a monumental marble.” -- Robert Louis Stevenson
Scotland is a unique country to say the least. For starters, they have this spunk about them - a give no, take no attitude that's somewhat undermined by their own sarcastic and mildly self-deprecating humor. Glasgow, especially. Though, nothing summed up Scotland so far, to me anyway, then touring the capital city and hearing the story of their national animal. The national animal of Scotland is the unicorn, a mythical creature that, unlike those found in My Little Pony or some other such show, would skewer people to their deaths with their long horn. They were incredibly violent and proud beasts - Scotland. I learned about all of this standing on the incredibly cold and incredibly clear morning tour of Edinburgh (pronounced "Edin-burough"). The tour of about 25 students, mostly from the United States, stood surrounding a tall brick pillar with a bronze unicorn on top. The tour guide, Gary, explained to us a bit of the history of the national animal. Vikings used to hack the horns of Narwhals, he explained, and sell them to the royal house of Scotland claiming to have killed unicorns. Thus, the royal house would pay good money for the horns believing that not only they came from the dangerous and hated unicorns, but also because they were believed to have magical properties and shaving bits of the horns into a drink would make them function as a powerful aphrodisiac. Upon realizing that they were tricked, the royal house made the Unicorn the national animal of Scotland. Fast-forwarding a few hundred years, the royal house decided that, well, perhaps having a mythical animal as their national animal is a bit embarrassing. To solve this, the government set out a poll saying something along the lines of "what should the new national animal of Scotland be?" The winner? None other than the Loch Ness Monster, of course so the government decided to keep the national animal as the unicorn to save the embarrassment of having to change it and have it still be a mythical creature.
No other story, so far, has summed up Scotland for me. Scottish people are quite funny, friendly, and very very sarcastic. They will turn a joke so fast, it'll make your head spin.
Back to Edinburgh, though, on this bitterly cold walking tour, our tour guide continued to describe the city. Edinburgh, and Scotland as a whole, has a dark history - as do most places given a little digging. Gary took us to a street corner that walled us in with an impressive wall on our left and to our right the "new city" of Edinburgh. The wall, he explained, was designed to prevent invasion from the British people (who never did invade), but was used for more sinister purposes. The street we were standing in used to be underwater in an impressive moat that surrounded the old city. Instead of working as its designed purpose, the moat was used as a test for "witches."
Just like the Salem Witch Trials in the Americas, every country in the Western World seem to be under the presupposition that being a women is a heinous crime punishable by death. King James at the time, was terrified of witches so whenever a women in passing was accused of witchcraft he would ensure that she was tried to the fairest extent of the law, meaning not at all.
Witchcraft, unlike in the Harry Potter series, was not people accused of casting magical spells or transforming into animals (although that was undoubtedly a part of it), but had more to do with keeping women submissive. Women could be charged with witchcraft under the most absurd accounts, such as sneezing when a man talked or burning dinner. Since magic is a difficult thing to prove, the court (King James) found a foolproof way to test for witchcraft, he would through the supposed witch into the moat, and if she drowned then she was a non-witch, and if she survived then she was a witch. Upon making it back to the wall (had she not drowned) she would be hung for witchcraft.
If, perhaps, she had a loyal husband who decided to jump in and rescue her, then both people would be hung for witchcraft. The die were loaded from the beginning against these hypothetical "witches," which makes the various women's marches around the United States all the more important.
All of these murders-by-drowning or murders-by-hanging means one thing, this city is incredibly haunted. Scotland as a whole tends to be an incredibly haunted area, it's the old world Celtic tradition creeping up behind the modern glass-and-steel buildings reminding us that the past is and will always have a grip on our present and future.
The scariest ghost by far is that of a little girl, she lives down in the necropolis below the city, and wears an old fashioned dress of black and a sack-cloth hood. She haunts a small circle of the necropolis, and tradition states to bring her a doll when visiting her haunting site and she will leave the travelers alone. I, fortunately, did not encounter any spectral beings on my walking tour, but many members of the various "ghost tours" swear that they have seen her, felt her behind them, and felt hands on their shoulders during them.
The tour ended with a hike up a mountain of sorts that overlooked the entire city. It is a vast sprawl and a beautiful city to say the least. On the ground, the old architecture is stunning and above the city was a perfect way to see the entirety of the place that we just spent our day walking.
Back to Glasgow, Scotland - the city that I actually study in, I also had the chance to see The Lafontaines, a Scottish band that formed in Motherwell, North Lanarkshire. They're a blend of rock, pop, and hip hop so if you're interested I would highly recommend giving them a listen. Glasgow, as a whole, is also known as the "city of music" and there is at least one live performance every single night. The music influences range from everything from rap to rock, country to traditional folk music, American and U.K. influences.
Music is such an important part of the fabric of life here in Glasgow, so unlike Albany, NY or my hometown of Southbury. Glasgow pulls musicians of all calibers, from underground alternative bands and no-name cover bands to musicians such as The Weekend and Drake. While Saratoga and Long Island's Jones Beach can pull acts of similar calibers, the entirety of Glasgow seems to center itself on music. Even just in the city center, there is usually a bagpiper playing traditional Scottish music.
Music is so prevalent in Glasgow that the city was even named a UNESCO Creative City for music. It is the musical capital of Scotland.
That's all I got for now, so until next time. Cheers!
Stephen Pendergast
Scotland is a unique country to say the least. For starters, they have this spunk about them - a give no, take no attitude that's somewhat undermined by their own sarcastic and mildly self-deprecating humor. Glasgow, especially. Though, nothing summed up Scotland so far, to me anyway, then touring the capital city and hearing the story of their national animal. The national animal of Scotland is the unicorn, a mythical creature that, unlike those found in My Little Pony or some other such show, would skewer people to their deaths with their long horn. They were incredibly violent and proud beasts - Scotland. I learned about all of this standing on the incredibly cold and incredibly clear morning tour of Edinburgh (pronounced "Edin-burough"). The tour of about 25 students, mostly from the United States, stood surrounding a tall brick pillar with a bronze unicorn on top. The tour guide, Gary, explained to us a bit of the history of the national animal. Vikings used to hack the horns of Narwhals, he explained, and sell them to the royal house of Scotland claiming to have killed unicorns. Thus, the royal house would pay good money for the horns believing that not only they came from the dangerous and hated unicorns, but also because they were believed to have magical properties and shaving bits of the horns into a drink would make them function as a powerful aphrodisiac. Upon realizing that they were tricked, the royal house made the Unicorn the national animal of Scotland. Fast-forwarding a few hundred years, the royal house decided that, well, perhaps having a mythical animal as their national animal is a bit embarrassing. To solve this, the government set out a poll saying something along the lines of "what should the new national animal of Scotland be?" The winner? None other than the Loch Ness Monster, of course so the government decided to keep the national animal as the unicorn to save the embarrassment of having to change it and have it still be a mythical creature.
No other story, so far, has summed up Scotland for me. Scottish people are quite funny, friendly, and very very sarcastic. They will turn a joke so fast, it'll make your head spin.
Back to Edinburgh, though, on this bitterly cold walking tour, our tour guide continued to describe the city. Edinburgh, and Scotland as a whole, has a dark history - as do most places given a little digging. Gary took us to a street corner that walled us in with an impressive wall on our left and to our right the "new city" of Edinburgh. The wall, he explained, was designed to prevent invasion from the British people (who never did invade), but was used for more sinister purposes. The street we were standing in used to be underwater in an impressive moat that surrounded the old city. Instead of working as its designed purpose, the moat was used as a test for "witches."
Just like the Salem Witch Trials in the Americas, every country in the Western World seem to be under the presupposition that being a women is a heinous crime punishable by death. King James at the time, was terrified of witches so whenever a women in passing was accused of witchcraft he would ensure that she was tried to the fairest extent of the law, meaning not at all.
Witchcraft, unlike in the Harry Potter series, was not people accused of casting magical spells or transforming into animals (although that was undoubtedly a part of it), but had more to do with keeping women submissive. Women could be charged with witchcraft under the most absurd accounts, such as sneezing when a man talked or burning dinner. Since magic is a difficult thing to prove, the court (King James) found a foolproof way to test for witchcraft, he would through the supposed witch into the moat, and if she drowned then she was a non-witch, and if she survived then she was a witch. Upon making it back to the wall (had she not drowned) she would be hung for witchcraft.
If, perhaps, she had a loyal husband who decided to jump in and rescue her, then both people would be hung for witchcraft. The die were loaded from the beginning against these hypothetical "witches," which makes the various women's marches around the United States all the more important.
All of these murders-by-drowning or murders-by-hanging means one thing, this city is incredibly haunted. Scotland as a whole tends to be an incredibly haunted area, it's the old world Celtic tradition creeping up behind the modern glass-and-steel buildings reminding us that the past is and will always have a grip on our present and future.
The scariest ghost by far is that of a little girl, she lives down in the necropolis below the city, and wears an old fashioned dress of black and a sack-cloth hood. She haunts a small circle of the necropolis, and tradition states to bring her a doll when visiting her haunting site and she will leave the travelers alone. I, fortunately, did not encounter any spectral beings on my walking tour, but many members of the various "ghost tours" swear that they have seen her, felt her behind them, and felt hands on their shoulders during them.
The tour ended with a hike up a mountain of sorts that overlooked the entire city. It is a vast sprawl and a beautiful city to say the least. On the ground, the old architecture is stunning and above the city was a perfect way to see the entirety of the place that we just spent our day walking.
Back to Glasgow, Scotland - the city that I actually study in, I also had the chance to see The Lafontaines, a Scottish band that formed in Motherwell, North Lanarkshire. They're a blend of rock, pop, and hip hop so if you're interested I would highly recommend giving them a listen. Glasgow, as a whole, is also known as the "city of music" and there is at least one live performance every single night. The music influences range from everything from rap to rock, country to traditional folk music, American and U.K. influences.
Music is such an important part of the fabric of life here in Glasgow, so unlike Albany, NY or my hometown of Southbury. Glasgow pulls musicians of all calibers, from underground alternative bands and no-name cover bands to musicians such as The Weekend and Drake. While Saratoga and Long Island's Jones Beach can pull acts of similar calibers, the entirety of Glasgow seems to center itself on music. Even just in the city center, there is usually a bagpiper playing traditional Scottish music.
Music is so prevalent in Glasgow that the city was even named a UNESCO Creative City for music. It is the musical capital of Scotland.
That's all I got for now, so until next time. Cheers!
Stephen Pendergast
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Week 1: An American Abroad
"To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float" -- Alan Watts
It is currently 12pm on an uncommonly sunny Thursday here in Glasgow. It took a lot, but I've made it and have been struggling to normalize some for of existence for about a week. I apologize for my tardiness with this post, but I'm still working on scheduling everything I have to do. I've basically been moving in, teaching myself how to cook, and frantically emailing the administration of the University of Glasgow and Siena to try to straighten out how my life will function for the next four months.
But Scotland though. Oh, my goodness Glasgow, Scotland is easily the most beautiful city I have ever been in. It is much less crowded than New York City, much more friendly than Albany, and older than anything I have ever seen. To place this in some perspective, the University of Glasgow (pictured below) was founded in 1451. Christopher Columbus sailed across the ocean blue in 1492. Glasgow was in its mid twenties by the time America was born in the minds of Europe. Speeding through history a few hundred years, American Scholar was not presented until August 31, 1837. Therefore, true "Americanness" is only about 200 years old. Glasgow University stood through all of that - and has remained fundamentally unchanged.
The question of Americanness was very much so on my mind here, as I can't help but look for subtle signs to see if, in fact, we are different. Every time I jog to class, my eyes, when not focusing on the brown stone buildings that house everything from Student Accommodations to cafes and pubs of all kinds, focus back towards the people. On a typical walk, I pass hundreds of people, joggers through the green Kelvin Park, fellow students who turtle under jackets and under the weight of book-laden packs and worry-laden minds. In classes I have spoken to people from Sweden and Ireland. The Irish girl, let's call her Sam, spoke with me about the differences between The United States and Scotland. She was intrigued with New York City.
"How's New York compared to Glasgow? My dad went last year, and he really liked it. He said it was quite modern." She had a light Irish accent that I cannot even begin to replicate in type.
"Well, yes it is quite modern. I mean, its all so new. Everything in New York feels like its made of steel or glass - all modern and tall and imposing. It's grided too, it wasn't born and allowed to grow, but it was designed all to maximize land."
Glasgow grew though. There are streets that lead to nowhere and randomly swerve and join up with other streets that appear to be in a grid, but aren't quite. These lines follow something more of a natural pattern of growth rather than a forced pattern.
We spoke, too, briefly about the cultures surrounding our homes. Glasgow is very connected to Northern Ireland and the Scottish heritage of the Picts and the Celts both pre-Roman civilizations. The people were eventually Christianized, Westernized, and they became the modern day Scots and Irish. Sam couldn't necessarily trace her lineage back to her Celtic roots, but she was aware of the presence in the city. There's even an upcoming cultural festival called Celtic Connections celebrating the ties back to the Celtic Roots.
"That just fascinates me," I said to her. "We just don't have that back home."
I can say for myself, that I'm French, Irish, Polish, Scandinavian, and a handful of other nationalities. But I have no real tie to any of those countries other than the vague notion that my Great-Great Grandparents came over to American from those places. For all intents and purposes, I am American - but that raises another more complicated question of what actually is an American.
When I met Sam, she was able to confidently say "I am Irish" with a subtle knowledge of what it means to be an Irish Woman. I can say "I am American" with the confidence that it is true, but with no real idea of what that sentence actually means. Is it enough that I grew up in the Suburbs of Connecticut? Did I have to ride my bike down dirt roads and fall and scrape knees on American soil so that I shed a bit of me onto the ground, and rubbed some American dirt on the cut to heal it - is that American? Or is it enough that I have a picture from a government I don't really trust and a number in a complicated system that I know nothing about that makes me American? Does my Americanness hold up to scrutiny if I suddenly move to Midwestern United States? I have no idea.
But Scotland though. Oh, my goodness Glasgow, Scotland is easily the most beautiful city I have ever been in. It is much less crowded than New York City, much more friendly than Albany, and older than anything I have ever seen. To place this in some perspective, the University of Glasgow (pictured below) was founded in 1451. Christopher Columbus sailed across the ocean blue in 1492. Glasgow was in its mid twenties by the time America was born in the minds of Europe. Speeding through history a few hundred years, American Scholar was not presented until August 31, 1837. Therefore, true "Americanness" is only about 200 years old. Glasgow University stood through all of that - and has remained fundamentally unchanged.
The question of Americanness was very much so on my mind here, as I can't help but look for subtle signs to see if, in fact, we are different. Every time I jog to class, my eyes, when not focusing on the brown stone buildings that house everything from Student Accommodations to cafes and pubs of all kinds, focus back towards the people. On a typical walk, I pass hundreds of people, joggers through the green Kelvin Park, fellow students who turtle under jackets and under the weight of book-laden packs and worry-laden minds. In classes I have spoken to people from Sweden and Ireland. The Irish girl, let's call her Sam, spoke with me about the differences between The United States and Scotland. She was intrigued with New York City.
"How's New York compared to Glasgow? My dad went last year, and he really liked it. He said it was quite modern." She had a light Irish accent that I cannot even begin to replicate in type.
"Well, yes it is quite modern. I mean, its all so new. Everything in New York feels like its made of steel or glass - all modern and tall and imposing. It's grided too, it wasn't born and allowed to grow, but it was designed all to maximize land."
Glasgow grew though. There are streets that lead to nowhere and randomly swerve and join up with other streets that appear to be in a grid, but aren't quite. These lines follow something more of a natural pattern of growth rather than a forced pattern.
We spoke, too, briefly about the cultures surrounding our homes. Glasgow is very connected to Northern Ireland and the Scottish heritage of the Picts and the Celts both pre-Roman civilizations. The people were eventually Christianized, Westernized, and they became the modern day Scots and Irish. Sam couldn't necessarily trace her lineage back to her Celtic roots, but she was aware of the presence in the city. There's even an upcoming cultural festival called Celtic Connections celebrating the ties back to the Celtic Roots.
"That just fascinates me," I said to her. "We just don't have that back home."
I can say for myself, that I'm French, Irish, Polish, Scandinavian, and a handful of other nationalities. But I have no real tie to any of those countries other than the vague notion that my Great-Great Grandparents came over to American from those places. For all intents and purposes, I am American - but that raises another more complicated question of what actually is an American.
When I met Sam, she was able to confidently say "I am Irish" with a subtle knowledge of what it means to be an Irish Woman. I can say "I am American" with the confidence that it is true, but with no real idea of what that sentence actually means. Is it enough that I grew up in the Suburbs of Connecticut? Did I have to ride my bike down dirt roads and fall and scrape knees on American soil so that I shed a bit of me onto the ground, and rubbed some American dirt on the cut to heal it - is that American? Or is it enough that I have a picture from a government I don't really trust and a number in a complicated system that I know nothing about that makes me American? Does my Americanness hold up to scrutiny if I suddenly move to Midwestern United States? I have no idea.
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