I’m a Rocket (Wo)man…

Saturday 12:00 p.m.

So I’ve landed in Newark for a nine hour layover. Wish I could get some sleep, but there’s no way I’m falling asleep in the airport when I’m by myself.

Newark…

Newark…

Even in my head I can’t get it right. I want to turn it into a one syllable word, pronouncing it with no “e” and doing weird things with the “w.” And then because the “w” is weird, I get a craving for Wheat Thins with Wil Wheaton. And then I think about Sheldon. Now I want a tiara. And if you followed that—kudos.

So I figure, what better way to spend the long layover than explaining the purpose of this blog? I won’t be able to post this until I arrive in the U.K. because this airport charges for WiFi. (Like I’m going to pay.)

“So Vicky, why are you going to Scotland?”

Thanks for asking! This fall I’ll be attending Stirling University in Stirling, Scotland. It’s only for one semester and I’ll be taking three classes—two lit classes and a fiction course for a total of 15 credit hours. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m signed up for them or if someone else will push the paperwork. Lord knows I filled out form after form for course approval. It’s one more thing that needs to go on my mental to-do list.

However, I don’t have to be in Stirling until next week. So I’m spending this week with my very good friend, Sami, traveling the UK. The “plan” is to meet in Cardiff, Wales and take the train up to Edinburgh where we’ll part. We’ll see the sights and stay in hostels.

Sami is finishing an internship at the U.S. Embassy in London and has agreed to give me a crash course in how they do things in the U.K. She’s also studied in Scotland in the past, so I think she’s more than qualified to answer the plethora of questions I’m bound to have. When she asked what I want to do, I came up with a simple answer—I want to see castles.

It was, and still is, my belief that we don’t have any real castles in the U.S. My friend and old roommate, Melanie, informed me that there are a vast number of “castles” in the United States. I saw the list, saw the pictures, and remain in the opinion that we don’t have any castles. I’m talking about the kind kings, lairds, and royalty lived in, not some site for renaissance fairs. Nothing against eating turkey legs and learning to throw axes.

So, it’s Cardiff for me. Cardiff is at the very southern part of Wales, has its own legitimate castle, and is the location where they film Doctor Who. That’s right all my geek friends, Doctor Who! Of course I didn’t know that until Sami told me. I’ve seen a couple of episodes and don’t have anything negative to say about it. But fear not; I will go to the Doctor Who Experience and, you know, experience it for those of you who wish to live vicariously through me. (My friend, Anna, told me that she hated me and that I’m to document it.)

Will do, Anna.

My journey so far is pretty much a bunch of hurry up and waits. The flight attendant accidentally spilled water on me, and for some reason as we were taxiing out, I started thinking about the movie Alive and then sneaking shady glances at the people around me. That is not how I’m going out, folks.

I think that’s it for this stop, and it’s off to Dublin.

Yes, that is a pigeon, spending the layover with me.

~~~~~

Sunday 9:40

I find it interesting that people don’t know what I am. Mexican-American girl in Texas—nothing new, but yesterday morning I was approached at the airport and asked if I was going to Morocco. I actually looked behind me to see if the guy was addressing me.

Then today, a woman asked to guess where I’m from, so I said, “Sure, tell me where I’m from.”

She first guessed Canada to which I said was somewhat close. Then she guessed America and I told her she was right. She then told me her next guess would have been Australia.

Simply fascinating.

Total travel time was over 21 hours. That’s three stops. All the flights were as I expected them to be with the exception of my flight out of Dublin into Cardiff.

Ah… Dublin.

I was there for maybe 15 minutes. I had to clear customs there, so I now have a little, green, Irish stamp in my passport. I was one of three people going through their version of TSA. (I didn’t even have to take off my boots.)

Things were looking up until I took my seat in the dual propeller plane. I got to sit next to the propeller! That was sarcasm because you know I was staring at it, praying that a flock of geese wouldn’t be my demise.

But it was okay.

The loud buzz of the plane, the turbulence we hit, even the fact that I only understood half of what was being said over the P.A. system—it was okay.

Because I was in another country.

This is the first time I’ve been outside the U.S., and even the teenage girl who fell asleep on me during our flight couldn’t bring my spirits down.

After I collected my luggage, I looked for immigration. The official in Dublin had made it very clear that I was to apply for a Visa to stay in the country (which I was more than prepared for.) I had a letter and statements from the bank, proof that I had a place of residence in Scotland, an acceptance letter from the university, and the flight itinerary for my return to the States.

When I didn’t see any signs, I asked a person in an airport uniform. She took me to a guard and after telling him I was a student seeking a Student Visitor Visa, she exchanged a “look” with him. It was like they had never been asked that before. He took me to another guard that asked the typical questions: “Where are you coming from?” “Where are you going?” “What’s your reason?”

After answering him, I was taken to a closed off section of the terminal marked, “U.K. Border Agency.” He left after telling me someone would see me soon. A guard came to address me. The whole time she kept using terms of endearment that I can’t remember now.

She was very thorough in her questioning and somehow managed to get me to talk about Sami and what she was doing in the country. (Sorry, Sami.)

The end result was another stamp that says I’m legit.

I took the bus to city centre and made my way to the hostel. At this point, I was running on three staggered hours of sleep, and the last thing I had was a croissant roll for breakfast during the second flight.

I decided to eat and check out the museum. The restaurant was called Revolution and I chose the Revolution Vodka Burger.

A patty cooked in a vodka chili sauce, topped with jalapeños, cheese, and two onion rings. It was juicy and crispy and perfect. A little advice though, make sure you have plenty of water before tackling a bad boy like that. But once I got a refill, I dug right back in.

That’s all I can type tonight because I’m exhausted.

Adventure continues tomorrow.