First of all, for your classic teenage girl (still 19, suckers) rant, I am here to say I quite dislike men. Seriously. I was in the kitchen minding my own sweet business without a care in the world (besides money, but let’s pretend that doesn’t count), and likely whistling off key (Yes, the Kill Bill song!) when some guy comes in. This is not at all uncommon as the kitchen is public, however, I am in the small out of the way kitchen that few people frequent, so, I do what anyone would do in my half-starved situation grunt something that may or may not have resembled ‘Hello’ and carry on my merry little way. He starts conversation and I reply in monosyllables which I am known to do when tired, hungry or both. A few minutes later a couple come in, I’m stuffing my face gracelessly, and so I give my introduction as I’m feeling a bit less half-starved and deranged. Turns out they are from Quebec, and the first guy is from Brazil (and before anyone gets these visions of some tanned football player, no, pasty white geek) the four of us chat, before a fifth, an American joins our little party, thus finishing the ‘other side of the pond’ gang. We talk for ages about whatever strikes our fancy, until about 1 o’clock (in the AM) when the French Canadians go to sleep as they have an early departure. Ryan, our American friend also floats off to get some sleep, and I decide to walk down to the castle that evening, just because it is awe inspiring at night. Brazil asks to come with, I size him up and determine in a fight that I would win, and therefore agree.

Once we get to the castle I show him one of the best views of the city as well as the armed guard, he, as expected gets very… in my face. I give him an elegant shove and just say ‘No thank you.’ and think ‘I will sic Andrew on you SO BAD!’ because even if we aren’t dating Andrew will still crush people for me. I’m sure. So, I storm back to the hostel and he follows me apologizing. No dice thinks I. I know he is leaving the next day, so I lock my doors and sleep easy. The next morning I am due to move downstairs to a six bed all girl’s dorm, which is made of win, because it isn’t so awkward going to sleep and wondering which guy in your room is going to attack you. After my move I talk to dad on the phone for awhile, and decide in due time to go get some groceries because for the past few days I had been eating ‘anything I had in the fridge that was about to expire’ I really am a student eater now. Anyways, who is in my kitchen but Brazil guy, he tries to talk to me, but anyone who knows what it’s like talking to me when I’m feeling obstinate knows that was akin to talking to a brick wall with a frowning face painted upon it. I return to my room, my new room, and at this point have met a few room mates, one answers the door, and guess who it is.

He needs to check out and wants to leave his iPod in here rather than in storage with the rest of his luggage, and then asks beyond the room mate at the door if I can show him where Cowgate is. Knowing Cowgate is a crowded street at the best of times and if he tries anything funny all the hungover Uni kids will jump him I agree. I walk him down to Cowgate and turn to leave and he asks if I’ll stick with him for awhile because he doesn’t know where anything is in the city. Feeling safer during the day and having no real excuse to speak of I miserably agree. By the time we have reached the castle (for the second time and during the day) I have had enough (I have this unnatural thing against guys being gentlemen and asking to hold my coat and paying for me and stuff, which is really stupid…) and make the usual ‘feeling really sick’ excuse and jog back to the hostel and lock myself in my room. Only to remember his iPod is still there. Exuse the language but this was all I could think “Ah, fuck.”

Fortunately, I was saved by my room mate Jill from Ottawa! (Billowing cape not included) Who invited me to go on a ghost walk with her. I quickly agreed and off we went, I unceremoniously dropped the iPod off at reception saying some guy from Brazil had left it in my room. I would never see Brazil Guy again, he seemed so upset when I left him up at the castle part 2 but by that time my Care-O-Metre was down in the negative numbers.

The ghost walk was amazingly awesome though! Well, it was a bit short, but I got to go into the Covenanter’s Prison which was cool. For those who like to have a bit of background, the Covenanters emerged around the time, I think, of Charles II though you probably shouldn’t quote me on that. Essentially what happened was they were not happy about the idea of the King being the head of their religion so they signed a pact with god (I will avoid making atheistic references here about gods and holding pens). The King was none-too-happy as you can imagine, so the covenanters were put into a prison which is credited as the world’s first concentration camp by the Scots. The prison was overseen by the King’s Advocate George Mackenzie — Bloody, or, to be really Scottish about it, Bluidy Mackenzie. Any ways, apparently Mackenzie still haunts the prison, and there have been ‘no fewer than 300 attacks’ says the brochure. I saw no paranormal activity, however I did throughly enjoy seeing the inside of the prison. I’m such a nonbeliever it hurts, I’d love to be able to do more research there and see it during the day. Alas, it is locked to everyone except the tour I was on.

The next day, after being assured the iPod was gone, I was moved back into a mixed dorm where I am right now. (Not something I am happy about) Jill invited me on a free walking tour, it being a bank holiday and having nothing better to do I go with her, the free tour is three hours which is amazing (the one I paid for being 1.5 hours) it gave me a good once over of the main sights of the city. On the tour we met a guy from Toronto who was studying in Paris but in Scotland for the 3 day weekend. After the tour, and wandering the Prince’s Street Gardens, followed by Prince’s Street, then the very same hill where I witnessed my first pagan festival the ‘bad idea’ was borne. We left the hill on the wrong side and came upon Holyrood House (The Queen’s Residence in Scotland) which is very close to Arthur’s Seat. I had to meet someone (Mrs. Ross the great aunt of the Lindsay kids) at 5. At a leisurely pace I imagine walking Arthur’s Seat would have been lovely, but, as I said to my companions who were throwing themselves up the hill ‘This reminds me of Gym Class!’ The view was stunning at the top, but I was too busy staring at my watch in horror.

After gracelessly making our way down the hill and me all but flying back to the hostel to change and get ready to visit Mrs. Ross. That that it mattered. I was pointed in the wrong direction leaving the hostel and pretty much saw all there is to see of South Edinburgh. Dinner with Mrs. Ross was nice, but I felt very uninteresting. ‘Yes, uhm, so, I’m Caitlin, and I’m from Canada. Nice, uhm, country you have here.’ Regardless she lent me a beautiful copy of one of Sartre’s earlier writings which I am salivating over.

So that was my eventful weekend in all of it’s glory. I did not slow down the whole time, I hardly remember my name anymore. Of course, the next question is what I am going to do next. You see, I am now at a crossroads at this trip.

It should be blatantly obvious by now that I have had heaps of trouble finding a job here for whatever reason. Everyone seems to be ignoring me, which makes me pretty much furious, and the money is (as expected) running low. My original return ticket is set for something in the middle of June, I had orginally planned to push that back into July, however, I have a few reasons why it would make sense for me to keep it where it is, and now I’m not quite sure what to do. So far the plan is looking like this, if I get a solid job to fill my next three months until the end of July then I will stay here, if, by the end of the week I don’t have a job I will take every cent that I have fly to somewhere in northern Europe and travel my way down to Italy, have no money left in the bank and start working as soon as I get back. I would also get my G2 and take my grade 12 math credit if I came back.

While about 96% of me wants to stay here and find a way to just never leave this country that I have fallen in love with. (Yes, despite everything I am still not turned off of living here, in fact, if anything it has made me want to live on this batty little island all the more) The mature, adult part of me, which seems to have been birthed quite suddenly and quite recently knows that for practicality’s sake maybe going back to Canada earlier rather than later is a good idea. I have to get ready for school, I have to think about all of the important stuff which is going to be coming up in the next few years, and even if I want to stay here so much it has the potential to drive me completely mad, I have things I have to do at home and I have to keep myself thinking about the future, and if I want to end up here I need to have some sort of way to generate the pounds. The whiny petulant side of me doesn’t like this at all, let me tell you. If I clean out my account, and get back midJune I can probably accumulate maybe 2 thousand dollars, plus getting a loan and a job on campus, I should be able to actually get my act together for school.

Pros and Cons, blah. Grown up, or not. I never want to grow up, but nature is forcing me. We’ll see what happens this week and then I’ll know for sure.

To my commenters:

Amber, done <3 Sorry it took so long Word Press was giving me a rough time. I got Sakaki back, apparently they mixed up my removal or something?

Crystal, it is crazy like that sadly. I feel your heartings from here though.

Mom, it might as well have been a rave. Mrs. Ross was quite nice.

Ange, my Texan friend XD. If you want me to call, say, 8AM my time I wouldn’t have too much of a problem with that, I’m sure you wouldn’t either.

HOWEVER. I am going to KILL my only room mate this week. KILL HER WITH KNIVES. Call my BFF Jack, teh rippxxorzxcorelollerskates.

But seriously.

This woman is probablyyyy about 60 something or 70 something. Therefore lulling you into a false sense of security. You’d THINK it would be me pissing her off, after all, I am a strapping teenager full of vitality and life.

But no. Not at all in fact, night one, I politely introduce myself and say ‘I have to sleep now, I need to work tomorrow’ Does she shut up? No! Is it general chatter? Nope! Specific questions that I feel obliged to answer in the interest of peace in the hostel? Abso-bloody-lutely!

Now, generally speaking, talking too much is forgiveable in a hostel, last night is why I want to kill her.

I go to bed nice and early after talking to Stacey on the phone, I notice her bags and stuff are still around but she’s not in yet, I figure I should sleep any ways ‘Hostel Law number five hundred and twenty four states if thou gets to thy hostel after thy first person in the room falls asleep thou shallt get thy shit together silently in the dark, in the mercy of our lord, the manager’ Which I assume she does, because I didn’t wake up when she came in.

It’s not until she turns her radio on at 3:55AM that I wake up. A talk show. First assumption is it’s a mistake, or some kind of seriously funked up alarm system, as the topic of discussion seems to be rice. Then I hear the volume and station being adjusted slightly, to eliminate static.

I am floored by this. As I try to decide if it is quiet enough to sleep through I decide I am too indignant to even try. I try to subtly get across the fact that I am no longer sleeping, by conciously tossing, and sighing. No avail. So I growl over my shoulder, ‘You mind turning that down a bit?’ She offers a gloomy half-arsed apology and turns it off. As though I am putting her out. Hello? It’s 4 AM, don’t funking mess with me.

YHA, Youth Hostel Association my…

Anyways! Ireland!

I was surprised at how ‘hardcore’ Dublin was. I imagine it has a much ‘younger’ population in London. I arrived after about 45 minutes on a plane and met up with Marilyn. Every sign is in Gaelic and English! My room at Marilyn’s was preeetty much like a hotel room (needless to say I was pleased)

Our day around Dublin was awesome, I managed to get all my touristy stuff down. The Book of Kells, Trinity Collage, and of course I am physically unable to enter a city and not see the official museum. And NOTHING makes you feel like a bad person for being English like an Irish museum. You know, every atrocity EVER was committed by the British. EVER. Nazi Rule? The Royal Family is German! You kind of feel like putting on an Irish accent just in case. The surname… uhm… O’Bagg… yes, that’s me, Caitlin O’Bagg, and of COURSE Caitlin spelt with a C and an I what do you think I am? British?

The worst part is I am Irish and I still felt bad.

After doing Dublin Marilyn took me out to the countryside to see the lambs. I nearly died of adorable overload. Especially the little black one, I relate to the little black sheep. I am the little black sheep.

Sunday was… amazing.

We went to this castle ruin. Only it wasn’t a ‘popular’ castle ruin, so I had the whole castle to myself. It was breathtaking, and to be the only one there. On the way down Marilyn and I met up with a local. I think he said he was going to be doing an archaeological dig there, but I didn’t understand a word with his thick accent and the speed he was talking.

We also went to a monastery and cemetery which I would have appreciated so much more if I wasn’t still in awe of the castle.

To my commenters:

Ange, some of the Hardcore Irish boys were pretty swoonable. My joke was most amazingly amusing! My jokes always are! You said so! You have to stop hanging out with me if my jokes stop being funny! You are ultra fabby (my Britishism) Huzzah!

Daniel, Do comment more, or I’ll set… Dana on you!

From the last entry:

Emmadawn, I needed you and your ‘le 1337 (un-trois-trois-sept) skillz francais’ in Paris. I was so happy getting to see Jim <3

If you want to send me le mail de escargot you can send it here:

16 Bowling Green Lane,
London,
EC1R 0QH

And I will get it <3

Bwahahah on the evil Yellow faces which I’m still trying to figure out how to disable.

To Crystal, I know D= I misses real internets

To Amber, I have a few pages for you to start with, how many do you want at once?

To Mah, no only dead people I hero worship get that sort of love. Syd’s next.