To a blogger, followers are everything. Fucking everything. I’ve yet to meet a writer or online content creator who is just doing it all for the sake of doing it. We love, we need and we appreciate our readers.
If followers are important to bloggers, their fellow bloggers/followers are their life blood.
The people who are doing the same damn crazy thing I’m doing- writing, editing for daaaaays, creating, compiling, and otherwise making damn word magic- give me life.
They are me.
I am them.
For some oddly awesome reason, the majority of the bloggers I’ve connected with are either from the U.K. (also Ireland) or they are expats living there. Jealous af.
(This just further fuels my crazy British obsession.)
It was an absolute necessity that on my trip to the British Isles that I’d meet as many of my Blogily* as humanly possible.
It was actually them (well, the Annual Bloggers Bash Awards) that was the reason for the trip. As if anyone needed another reason to visit the most beautiful corner of the world EVER, but, yeah, meeting my favorite bloggers inspired my trip this past summer.
In the end, I didn’t get to meet up with quite as many bloggers as I had hoped I would, because life always seems to find a way to ruin the fun (and trying to arrange specific meet up locations and times when you are constantly traveling and you aren’t the only one it affects is hard af). All this means is that there will have to be another trip.
Now, let’s get on with it. Here are the lovelies I met during the great Clampetts Do Europe 2018:
The One Who Writes Things That Make Me Ugly Cry
Lorna from Gin & Lemonade is one of my favorite blogging writers. She has a unique writing style that I could recognize in my sleep. All of her posts are gold, but this one gave me goosebumps, granted me a supreme reader’s high and made me cry all at the same time.
I got to meet Lorna at her house on the Isle of Skye on her daughter’s fourth birthday party day. If you don’t know Lorna, you’re also missing out on knowing her adorable, precocious daughter, Isla (that we get to know through Lorna’s posts about her).
It was such fun meeting this penguin-loving girl who will for-absolute-sure grow up to rule the world.
It was so, so amazing to laugh, gossip and plan (Reno 2019, baby) with Lorna. It wasn’t enough time. Not even. Hence the part about something amazing going down in my neck of the woods in 2019.
Here are the pictures we almost forgot to take, because every minute we were together, we were trying to cram in as much nice-to-meet-you-finally-I’m-only-in-this-corner-of-the-world-for-a-short-time-but-I-have-so-much-to-say-and-ask-so-let’s-not-waste-our-time-mmmkay.
The immensely talented Lorna and yours truly
Lorna’s hubby, Neil AKA The Car Packing Ninja and Isla
The One Who Fucking Hates Scooters, But is Just Lovely AF
Hayley is the kind of blogger you instantly want to be best friends with. Her posts are:
A. Well-written
B. Relatable AF
C. Funny/thought-provoking/important
D. ALL OF THE ABOVE DUH
When I read her post about her hatred for scooters, I knew we were destined to be friends.
To someone obsessed with anything British, Hayley is every beloved British chick lit heroine I’ve ever wanted to know IRL. She’s the girl you want to have a drink with after work. She’s the girl who’s funny smart and real smart. She’s the girl you can be real with, because she probably also has ruined a table by ironing on it and not, like, on an ironing board. She’s real and genuine and lovable.
Hayley picked out a gorgeous location-Angelica, a super posh restaurant on the sixth floor of a shopping center- to meet in Leeds. While eating the best fucking ravioli that have ever passed my lips, we (my mom and I) were treated to breathtaking views of downtown Leeds and to, of course, Hayley.
One evening was not enough to get to know her and listen to her quintessentially English accent at all. As we said our goodbyes, I realized how grateful I was to have a friend who was so hard to say goodbye to.
I LOVE this lady!
How gorgeous is this place AND THAT RAVIOLI?
The One Who, I SWEAR, Is My Real Sister Somehow
You know how once in a great while you meet someone who just gets you, someone you just completely and utterly click with?
Well, that is Cinzia.
Awhile back, I started a secret Facebook group for my lady friends, because sometimes we need a safe place to ask about period panties and WHY IN THE FUCK CAN’T HE PUT HIS SOCKS IN THE HAMPER, and that’s when I first started seeing comments from this just-like-me crazy funny girl invited by one of my blogger buds.
She would respond to threads and posts with gifs that are my absolute favorite gifs of all time and sometimes I’d have to do a double check, because I’d think something she said was something I’d said or vice versa.
When she found out I was coming to England to meet her friend and workmate who is a blogger friend of mine, we agreed she’d absolutely have to join in on the fun.
The day we met, we had drinks at a bar called The Magna Carta in Lincoln. See:
She walked up Steep Hill in the 85-degree heat to meet me. And, Steep Hill is literally what it’s called- a really fucking steep hill.
She rode the train for two hours to get to Lincoln from Nottingham.
She bought me our first drink even after trucking it uphill in the freakishly hot weather.
She took the Clampett Clan on a personal tour of the Lincoln Cathedral.
We laughed and talked like we had known each other for years. It was easy and fun and the hours felt literally like minutes.
I figured I’d only get one day with Cinzia, but she made the two hour train trip a second time and we took a boat ride on the Lincoln Canal and had lunch as we talked and laughed like old friends.
At the end of the day, my mom and I had to take a bus back to our house stay. Being total bus newbs, she figured out what bus we needed to take, told us to ask the driver to yell out the stop for us (that’s a hilarious story I’ll have to tell another time, btw), and saw us onto the bus (I secretly think she was worried we were learning disabled in public transportation and was genuinely concerned we’d end up in Wales or something).
As the bus drove out of the station, we waved and waved like two little girls and I couldn’t help but feel like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend or beloved family member.
She’s totally my Sicilian sister from another mister from across the sea (I don’t care if that doesn’t make sense).
Cinzia is now a blogger! Check out her work here.
The One Who Sent Me Tunnock’s Tea Cakes (AKA My Most Favorite Person Ever)
While in Lincoln, I also got to meet Frédérique, another blogger and follower of mine. It was pretty exciting to meet my Québécois package pal in person (that means we have sent each other packages with special sweet treats in Fatty McCupcakes language).
The funniest part of this whole meet up is that this girl is literally half my size and when taking pictures together, I was squatting down to appear not quite so gargantuan in comparison and she kept squatting down like it was a fun game I was trying to play. It was hilarious.
In case you haven’t met my massive nose yet, here it is. It says, “Nose to meet ya.”
So, I think it’s pretty safe to say that my trip across the pond was a monumental one and I had many memorable moments, but it was and will always be defined by the short, but influential moments I had with these wonderful women.
*Blogily:
blog•i•ly
noun
1. a group consisting of writer types from all walks of life, background, sexuality, ethnicity, and what have you, who band together to support one another in all manner of ways, including but not limited to blogging.
synonyms: blog family, tribe, sister/misterhood,
Tag: scotland
Missing Proper Scones With Clotted Cream and Jam Something Fierce
I can’t believe my little trip down food memory lane is almost over. What was your best travel meal or treat? Let me know in the comments!
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The Isle of Skye: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly
The Isle of Skye is legit an otherworldly realm straight out of a Tolkien novel. One moment, you’re bumping along on a lovely one lane road riddled with potholes, surrounded by strangely-shaped mountains carpeted completely in a soft green and then, you round a bend and you’re somehow in a rough, craggy atmosphere, where a purpley-brown growth is springing out of a mist-covered ground and you are convinced you somehow landed on a planet not in our solar system.
(That was the longest fucking sentence I’ve ever written. It’s probably not even grammatically correct, but we’re just gonna roll with it.)
This is not a homage to Skye. In fact, my favorite part of Skye really had nothing to do with the actual place, as I could have met one of my favorite bloggers (more on that later) in Timbuktu if that was where she lived (and I happened to be traveling to Timbuktu).
This is going to be a post that fully prepares anyone wishing to go to Skye for the good, the bad, and the ugly.
So, let’s just get on with it, eh?
The Good
Really, the best way to show the good side of Skye would be with the pictures I took. So, I’m going to show and not tell. Besides, even my amateur photography would better serve to express its raw beauty than any vocabulary I possess.
This was 10 PM on the Isle of Skye.
That water, though…
Every conceivable shade of green can be found on Skye.
The coolest coffee shop that served me the best latte I’ve ever had.
The best latte I’ve ever had and my first time trying oat milk = OBSESSED.
Beauty around every bend
The skies really made that green pop.
An old cemetery by the sea
Too beautiful for words
The sheep. OMG the sheep. I loved them so much. I miss those wooly butts so bad.
A stretch of road with no one on it is how I hoped it’d be.
It was so quiet and peaceful at this spot. Right here. Right here is Scotland to me.
It legit looks fake.
What planet is this even?
Out of this freaking world!
Being introspective af
I really hoped we’d see a hobbit at the Fairy Glen.
This is Skye.
This is the Skye I want to never forget.
A tiny Old Man of Storr
Hehehehehe
Portree
We got to this one before the hordes invaded.
The Bad
The Roads
Holy shit, the roads. Probably 90% of the roads on Skye are one lane. I don’t even know if that figure is at all accurate, but numbers don’t matter here. You’re gonna feel those one-laners and that’s all that matters.
Not only are the majority of the roads one lane, they are full of locals who don’t have time for tourists and their inept driving. One thing can be said about those locals: they have a system and they all religiously abide by it (You pull over if the pullout is on your side. If it’s on the other side DO NOT, FOR FUCKS SAKE, PULL OVER ON THE OTHER SIDE OR YOU MESS UP THE WHOLE SYSTEM, JANET.)
So, yeah, the actual Skye residents drive like bats out of hell and literally everyone else has no idea what they’re doing.
As if that ain’t bad enough, after every other sheep in the road (that’s not a figure of speech, btw, they are literally in the road) is a pothole the size of any one of the Kardashians’ massive fake asses, and considering the entire island is only 639 square miles, that’s a lot of freaking potholes.
Our rental car probably needed all new suspension after a week of those roads, and my chiropractor is rolling in the dough (literally and figuratively).
The Tourists
So, yeah, we were tourists, but we weren’t those tourists. We weren’t touristy tourists. We weren’t literally-push-like-we’re-in-Kindergarten-tourists.
Actually, I encountered pushy, rude tourists the most in really crowded touristy places like Edinburgh Castle and the like.
I don’t recall any one tourist from the Isle of Skye, but that is probably because we encountered 8,565,723 of them. To be fucking precise.
I get it, people want to see beautiful places. We all want to see The Old Man of Storr, the Fairy Pools, the Quiraing. Realizing that doesn’t make it any less annoying that you and literally everyone’s brother are trampling along to see a famous rock structure and not one bit of it feels like it should.
When you look at pictures of Skye, it looks so unspoiled, unpopulated, “unruined”. Unless you’re visiting during the off season, those remote-looking images are straight up false advertisement. It’s hard to take in and truly appreciate the raw natural beauty of the Quiraing when you’re fighting with hordes of tourists with their selfie sticks.
There were quite a few times we drove by beautiful waterfalls or odd-shaped alien formations and didn’t stop because the area would be literally crawling with people.
My favorite waterfall was this one…
…because strangely, we were alone on the road, and there was not a single person for as far as the eye could see. We barely caught a glimpse of the waterfall as we passed, so we stopped so I could run back to take a picture. As I was heading back towards the waterfall, the only sound I could hear was the sound of rushing water and just the wildness that Skye is when it isn’t overrun by people. It was my favorite moment, hands down.
Alone on the road with this made me feel so completely in Scotland.
The Ugly
The Lack of Amenities
The bladder is a sympathetic organ. It feels bad for you when there are no bathrooms anywhere to be found. So, to show how sorry it is, it makes you need to go to the bathroom far more often than is even humanly possible. The bladder is also a stupid asshole.
You know who else is a stupid asshole? The Isle of Skye.
Ya’ll, there are literally no public toilets on the entirety of the whole damn island. Maybe that’s an exaggeration as we didn’t explore every square inch, but where we did go, we didn’t see one. Not a one.
What is the result when a council/area/agency fails to provide public restrooms at popular tourist sites?
Well, let me fucking tell you.
TOILET PAPER EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE.
You have no idea the amount of stress I had knowing the bathrooms would be few and far between. And, that wherever I’d find to “wee” behind a bush, there’d already be toilet paper and I DON’T EVEN WANT TO THINK WHAT ELSE.
It was gross. Inexcusable. And, exactly what happens when a place is perfectly happy taking tourists’ money but can’t be bothered to provide sanitary ways to relieve oneself.
I’m just glad that one of my fears- having an attack of the travel trickle in the middle of nowhere- was never realized, because I really didn’t want that to be the highlight of my time on Skye.
The Locals Who Are Jerks
When we arrived in Portree on our first night, it was a really busy Saturday evening. The tiny Co-Op grocery store was a happening place, as everyone was trying to get their provisions for the evening. There is next to no parking in Portree, but we somehow lucked out with a spot directly in front of the store. In case we needed to move the car for some reason, my aunt and uncle stayed in the car and my mom and I went into the store.
As we were looking for a handful of basic groceries, my aunt was approached by a woman who ever so nicely (that’s sarcasm) told her she couldn’t park in the spot we were in all night. My aunt said something like, “We weren’t planning on staying in the grocery store all night, but thanks…”
This woman then proceeded to tell her how annoying tourists are and how she can’t stand them.
She said this to a person who is obviously not a Skye local, but a fucking tourist.
Our first introduction to the Isle of Skye was a woman who told us how much she hated us.
Awesome.
There were a few people who were kind and accommodating, but for the most part, the people we encountered on the Isle of Skye weren’t especially nice.
Even worse, we were told that the general consensus is that tourists suck and that fixing the roads or the lack of amenities is totally not worth it, but the money they get from the hated tourists? They’re cool with that.
Look, I get it. Tourists can suck. Especially the ones who push you out of the way so they can take 18 different selfies in front of whatever isn’t quite as cool as they are. If you live in a touristy town, hordes of tourists invading your area can get old pretty fast, but being rude isn’t going to make them go away.
What took away some of the sting of being treated like an invasive species was getting to meet one of my favorite bloggers, Lorna, from Gin & Lemonade.
Her and her hubby and darling daughter were so accommodating, kind, and an immense treat to spend time with. Because of them, I’ll always love Skye and when I think of my time there, I’ll feel a connection that can’t just be made by merely seeing and visiting, but by experiencing and truly getting to know the good that exists there.
MASSIVE love to these people.
If you’re reading this and you’re a Skye local and you take offense, take it up with the lady who stands outside the Bank Street Co-Op-the one who warmly welcomes your guests.
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Travel Tuesday Update on a…Monday?
In case you’re new here or have been on a blogging hiatus like me, you know I went on a pretty epic trip this summer.
I’m sure you’re all thinking, “Yes, bitch, we know. Shut up about it already.”
Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but ya’ll are gonna be hearing a lot about it in the coming months. Sorry not sorry.
I went to Amsterdam, Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland. In that order. It was amazing and I’m still coming down from the cherry Bakewell tart high.
I have a journal *almost* filled to the brink with what we did every day and a page in my Notes with random observations, delicious food I didn’t want to forget I ate (as if) and funny tales of tonight-we-aren’t-gonna-drink-wine-again fails.
I’m not going to post in order of what event happened first. Whatever I’m inspired to write about will be written about first. I’m not a very organized writer at all. So, bear with me.
First up, hopefully arriving in your inbox and/or reader on Tuesday or Thursday, is a post about my experience on the Isle of Skye. Prepare yourselves, this won’t be just another sunshine and unicorn farts Pinterest post on Skye that just skims over what to expect. It’s about to get real up in here (Toilet paper and goats in the road and people everywhere, OH MY).
You thought this would be a real post, didn’t you? I’m such a fucking disappointment. Or, a tease. Sorry.
Before I leave, here’s my favorite picture I took while on Skye. I don’t want you thinking I didn’t like it or anything…
The Quiraing. Impossibly beautiful.
See ya’ll on Tuesday…or Thursday!
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Global Warming Ruined My Trip to The British Isles
OK. So, global warming didn’t really ruin my trip, but it definitely whooped my ass pretty good and hard.
Hiding from the sun at Roche Abbey.
I got back from my five-week-long trip last Friday and my brain is just now starting to function again. I felt pretty discombobulated and spacey for several days after being awake for 24+ hours as I crossed four time zones on my long trip home.
I completely blanked on my dentist appointment the other day that I had rescheduled twice (currently looking for a new dentist, because I can’t show my face there now) and I’ve woken up every morning at 3 AM ready to rock and roll. Jet lag is real.
Or, maybe I had heat stroke and it’s still affecting my brain?
Yes, heat stroke.
You might not be aware, but the U.K. (and Ireland and probably most of Europe) is having a heat wave of epic proportions right now. We touched down right in the middle of this insanity.
I was not fully prepared.
I packed layers. I packed sweaters. A knit hat. Scarves. Long sleeves. A fucking coat.
We had a few glorious days in Scotland where a sweater and a coat was necessary. After that, Mother Nature said a big “Eff you” to my plans of having a lovely, cool, “typical” British summer.
The kind of summer where I get to wear layers to cover my never-ready-for-summer-body is precisely the kind of summer I want to have. (Edinburgh Castle)
There were a couple of days on the Isle of Skye when it was so chilly, I couldn’t get warm and it was everything I hoped it’d be.
(The Skye Museum of Island Life)
Crazily, it never reached higher than 85 degrees, but it felt like it was way hotter. Way.
WANT TO KNOW WHY?
1. It was pretty humid and humidity makes things that much more awesome.
Where I live, it’s not uncommon for temperatures to reach triple digits in the summer. It blows. I hate the heat. I hate the heat even more than I hate low carb diets. It’s that serious. However, if I had to choose my heat, I’d choose dry heat a million times over humidity. 77 and humid feels like dying a slow death on the surface of the sun.
2. There was no AC in most places. I repeat: NO AIR CONDITIONING (this included no trace of a fan anywhere).
When the weather normally only gets uncomfortable for a couple times a year, it’s not smart to invest in an air conditioning system. I get it. I was prepared for the no AC thing, because it wasn’t my first time in the U.K. I could have handled the odd couple of days of uncomfortable heat, but it was hot LIKE EVERYDAY.
It wouldn’t have been too horrible, but the places we lived in for up to a week had nothing to move the hot air around with. When you only have three pairs of pants that you plan on wearing more than once, it kind of sucks that you have swamp ass from sun up to sun down.
3. HEAVY DUVETS EVERYWHERE
So, it was hot. It wasn’t the end of the world. We were on a dream trip and we enjoyed every sweaty moment of it. I soon got used to feeling damp on every inch of my body, but what I never got used to was the lack of a certain essential element of American bedding- the top sheet (also referred to as a flat sheet).
Had it not been hot and muggy most nights, a heavy duvet wouldn’t have been a problem at all. However, when you’re a freak about your bedding and you have to be covered with something, the lack of a thin, cool flat sheet was really fucking terrible.
I’m sorry to every owner of every bed we slept in. The smell will probably never come out.
The one night my mom and I thought we were smart and took the cover off the duvets and just slept with the covers, it got really cold. Of-fucking-course.
So, that’s how global warming ruined my ideal British summer. Is there somewhere I can send my complaint to?
I am so excited to be back (well, actually, I’m really missing proper scones with clotted cream and jam, British pints, Mr. Kipling Bakewell Tarts, M&S Percy gum, and English mustard and ham crisps, but I’m dealing) and I’m ready to share all about our trip of a lifetime.
Check back each week for another travel satire post!
This is a satirical post, but global warming is real and it’s happening, ya’ll. When we were in Dublin, the server at a pub we went to said Ireland was on a 40-day no rain streak and he had never seen so many days without rain. This broke my heart, because what makes Ireland beautiful is the presence of rain-lots of it.
I know I’ll get some comments about global warming. I’m really not up for a debate on something that has tons of scientific evidence backing it up. If you do want to leave me a comment, please let me know what you think about this warm (hot) weather in Britain and elsewhere (if it applies). Or, tell me about a time you had some surprise weather on a trip.
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A Trip Down Memory Lane
Eight years ago, I took my first trip to the British Isles. It was a graduation gift from my parents (More like a graduation incentive–my mom begged me to finally graduate and going on an-all-expenses-paid trip was my motivation. You can bet your ass I made school my bitch after hearing I’d be sent across the pond after receiving my Bachelor’s).
The fact that my parents literally wrote me a $5000 check (that I had to pry out of my dad’s hands) to have the trip of a lifetime is something I can never adequately thank them enough for. It was a life-altering experience that I relive in my heart time and time again.
Now, forty five years after my mother went to England, herself, for the first time, she gets to go again. We get to go together.
I’m fully expecting a lot of laughs, maybe some tears, and for sure, some annoyances, but I only wish for this trip to be an experience we recall fondly for years to come.
In honor of my last trip, and in excitement and anticipation for the one coming up, I’m sharing some of my favorite pictures from The British Isles 2010.
Be aware that I’m not a photographer in the least, and my photos were taken with a $100 pink Samsung digital camera.
Some will be terrible. A few will be blurry. More than a couple will have random people or strange angles. None have filters. I also took these from my Facebook, so they’ll be terrible quality. But, aren’t semi-terrible photos all part of the fun?
Buckle your seatbelts, baby! Here we go!
Hands down, the coolest plane picture I’ve ever taken. I think this is the southern-most tip of Greenland.
A view of London from the window (that didn’t have a screen) of our hotel room. We stayed in Earl’s Court, which is a gorgeous district in Kensington.
Our hotel in London. It was definitely not a Marriott, but it was perfection.
Our London neighborhood. Those row houses, though. 
I still crave Nando’s, and who knew you needed sunscreen in England??
This Maida Vale pub just screamed England to me. It was here we found out what Russel Brand meant when he sang, “Will you come for my bangers, my beans and mash”. Or, maybe he means something else.
I distinctly remember this was the moment I almost pooped my pants. I also recall thinking, “This is how we die.”
We took the train from Birmingham to Coventry, because driving was a big “NOPE” (I eventually got brave and became one of the most proficient American drivers the British Isles has ever had the good fortune to host). This is Coventry Cathedral. It was hauntingly beautiful.
Did ya’ll know Lady Godiva is one of my ancestors? It’s true. I was so excited to visit her statue, but, sadly…
…it’s not quite as grand as Primark.
Wait, y’all have dollar stores too, but everything is a pound (which is like a dollar, but not)? Mind blown.
British motorway rest stops are like freaking palaces!
The Conwy Castle ruins in Wales was my favorite castle. We were there, exploring, for hours.
The flowers growing out of the castle walls were almost too quaint.
I mean, just look at this!
Who knew one could find palm trees in Britain? Llandudno was exquisite.
I.did.not.want.to.leave.
WTF? I ate one. That’ll show them.
This was our one splurge stay. This is the Radisson Blu in Dublin. The grounds were my favorite part. This is where we discovered that Ireland’s air conditioning is not like “our” air conditioning. Hot.as.balls.
Kilkenny was quaint af. We wanted to stay at this hotel. It was way out of our budget, so the Pembroke Hotel was the lucky winner of hosting us for our barf-tastic wild Irish night.
TOO MUCH PRETTY
Y’all think this person likes Elvis?
It’s almost just as romantic as Italy. Except they were laying on the concrete in a pretty sketchy part of town outside an apartment building. Young love.
But, someone left kegs there. I found this way funnier than it really was.
Blarney Castle was awesome. I didn’t kiss the Blarney Stone, because Rick Steves said I’d get the herp if I did.
Eeeeeeeeeeeee
Seriously, I felt like I was on another planet while walking the grounds at Blarney Castle. It was otherworldly GORGEOUS.
The drive to Dingle Town, while poop-your-pants-scary was stunningly beautiful at the same time. It was a conflicting feeling.
Dingle Town! I couldn’t even with the adorableness!
I’ve never seen so much green.
Galway was a lively city full of sounds, smells and so many people. The energy was palpable.
Galway also has weird af people who put their gum on a public railing, that is literally right next people playing Scrabble, to eat their chips. She then just left it there.
Kinlay Hostel in Galway was our first dorm-style hostel and the entire night I was literally sweating profusely from the fear that people would come into our room and I’d have to share a room with…STRANGERS. No one came. THANK GOD.
Some ruins and a rainbow effect. No big
Some more ruins and some dark, foreboding clouds. This is like travel picture porn to me.
Ever been to Newgrange? They are prehistoric mounds that are older than the pyramids. Anyone else use the Egyptian pyramids as a gauge for how old something is?
A super narrow alley in Edinburgh we named “Stab Alley”. Not exactly sure why.
Edinburgh was my favorite. I have this one in black and white on my wall. Love.
Edinburgh Castle was too much. Too.much.
The views from the castle are AMAZING AF. Scotland is just the absolute best.
You never know who you’ll find on the streets of Edinburgh.
Loch Ness, my love. TOO BEAUTIFUL. Too.freaking.beautiful.
This path cutting through these delicate wildflowers led to the banks of Loch Ness. It was MAGICAL.
No words needed. Those are words, but, you know what I mean.
I could have stayed on the banks of this river in Inverness FOREVER.
This was taken somewhere between Inverness and Edinburgh. I didn’t realize Scotland was so green.
This was taken from Oxford Castle. Oh, England. You hurt my heart. You’re just too beautiful
Here I am in the haunted Oxford Castle. What haunts me to this day is how I thought I was fat. I wish I were as fat as I was when I thought I was fat, cuz, honey, now I’m fat.
The winding streets of Oxford. I felt studious and smart af in Oxford.
Oh my (said in a George Takei voice).
The River Thames. Le sigh.
The River Hotel was, bar none, the most *interesting* hotels we stayed at. There was the case of the stubborn pube (it was sitting there, on the bathroom floor waiting for us when we checked in and still there after the bathroom was “cleaned”). Then there was the fact every surface in the room had, at least, an inch of dust. Of course, I can’t forget the old lady receptionist who was meaner than a dog shitting tacks. And, of course that we were put in the Annexe, where all of the Americans and other unfavorables get a room. What a trip.
I was speechless the entire time we toured Westminster Abbey. If walls could talk.
When I first saw Big Ben, I knew I was finally in London (This is confusing as my pictures go in order, and I, obviously, was already in London. We started and ended in London. My second set of Big Ben pictures was much better than the ones I took three weeks prior, when I was still a London newbie).
Rick Steves told us not to waste our money on the London Eye, so we didn’t. I’m still not sure if I’m mad at Rick or not.
The only picture I got of the London Bridge.
I think this is Covent Garden. What I do know is we ate at a tiny Italian restaurant in this neighborhood. I had Chicken Carbonara. I never forget food.
One of my London “must dos” was to see a play at Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. That was before a full day of walking. Also, before we realized that why our tickets were so cheap was because our “seats” were in the pit and we had to stand for all three hours of the play. Spoiler alert: we didn’t stay for the whole play.
Now I’m so excited for my trip and ya’ll are probably bored after looking through some random’s pictures.
So, tell me, what’s your favorite “take away” from a trip? Is it a souvenir, new knowledge, pictures, or something else? Tell me in the comments!
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WTF Wednesdays: Travel Tag Edition
The lovely An Historian About Town nominated me for the travel tag. I was so excited to be nominated, because I love to travel and I love An Historian. Not only are her posts well-written, interesting, and positively filled with gorgeous photos of beautiful places and things, the girl behind it all is just fabulous. Go check out her blog-you’ll love it!
Now, without further ado, my responses to some fun travel-themed questions:
What is your favorite place that you have visited?
Hands down, the U.K. and Ireland. My trip was seven freaking years ago, but I still think about it everyday, and I have tried to get back to the U.K. on several different occasions.
I also loved NYC and have always dreamed of living it up a la every.single.chick.flick in all creation, as a Big Apple girl.
(All of my NYC pics are stored away on my external hard drive. Sad face.)
Large cities, with tons of energy and culture, are definitely my favorite places to visit, but I loved being in the middle of nowhere, amidst rolling green hills in England. I also adored driving through the otherworldly terrain of the Scottish Highlands, and even though the road to Dingle, Ireland is crap-your-pants scary, the beauty of the Dingle Peninsula is unmatched.
If you could visit anywhere tomorrow where would you go?
100% the U.K.! But, I mean, if someone wanted to take me to Japan or Italy or Brazil, I’d not argue one bit. *spastic winking*
Would you rather go on a city holiday or a beach holiday?
I’m such a city girl-the energy, the eclectic culture, the myriad languages, the food, the history… Also, I’m not a huge fan of sunburnt fat that turns into one big, ugly rash, because too much of my skin was exposed and rubbing together. Give me chilly weather, layered clothing, a coffee, and a walking trip around an historic city ANY DAY.
Buuuut, I won’t say ‘no’ to a beach holiday!
My top three travel essentials are:
- Obviously, my phone/camera is my number one travel must have. The best souvenirs I’ve ever gotten on a trip are the insane amount of pictures of every noteworthy (and, not so noteworthy-I have been known to photograph a random bench or ugly pigeon, because it’s a foreign bench and a foreign pigeon) sight and experience.
- Hand sanitizer, wet wipes, and a travel-size hand soap are essential. I’ve never traveled somewhere exotic enough to encounter squatty potties or lack of running water, but you just never know what kind of facilities or amenities a restroom will have. Also, the very first hostel I ever stayed at did not provide hand soap or even paper towels. You just never know what horrors you’ll encounter. You.never.know.
- A versatile scarf and a pair of Wayfarers. I know these sound like lame “essentials”, but when I’m feeling ugly as hell on the 6th day of crap hair, because my flat iron refuses to work with the expensive adapter I bought, a scarf makes me feel a little more put together.
Can you even tell my hair is greasy and I’m wearing zero makeup? See what I mean?
Are you an over packer or an under packer?
Literally, I used to bring three full suitcases for a weekend trip back home when I lived in Elko. The pressure that exists when you have to decide what you want to wear before the day(s) in question is just too much. I can’t even. Also, sometimes my favorite piece of clothing looks hideous on me for various reasons. You just never know.
Before the trip I took to the U.K., I obsessively researched light packing tips and practiced packing the one bag I took. It was a real trial, and it took a huge leap of faith to know I’d survive if I wore the same jeans two days in a row.
So, I lied. I took three bags…
What is your favorite thing about going on vacations?
When I’m on vacation, I feel whole. It’s an indescribable feeling of just being. When you’re on vacation, you get to live a life that would exist if daily stressors, like bills and other lame adult responsibilities didn’t exist.
Would you rather go on vacation with family or friends?
Yeesh.
Either choice has its share of positives and negatives. Traveling with family means that there’s a pretty good chance your mom might pay for some of the travel expenses. There’s also a fairly good chance she might forget you’re a grown adult and remind you to thank “the nice travel guide”. Or, she might feel the need to chastise you about your frivolous waste of money on name brand deodorant.
Traveling with friends has its benefits in that your friends are usually more in tune with your level of fun. That might mean an adventurous competition to see how many museums at the Smithsonian you can visit in one day.
This was the day after our Smithsonian challenge. Someone had a museum hangover #8thgradeugly.
Or, maybe, that means buying every kind of foreign candy in the convenience store and then going back to your hotel room to see who can get diabetes first.
Whether traveling with a friend or family member, just drink. Their mouth breathing won’t matter near as much.
Either way, memories are made and that’s all that matters. Right?
What is the most adventurous dish you have ever tried from another country?
Abso-freaking-lutely that would be haggis with ‘neeps and ‘tatties that my friend and her Scottish husband made for us while we stayed with them in Edinburgh.
It was actually amazingly delicious. No shit, I crave that dish on the regular.
My amazing Scottish friends!
I’d like to nominate the following bloggers (please don’t feel obligated to participate):
The Wandering Flamingo
This girl is an amazing photographer, writer and blogger friend. She also lives in my favorite country, so I always feel I get to live vicariously through her photos and posts. Also, she is an avid traveler, so I’d love to know more about her envy-worthy travels. Please go check out her blog and beautiful photography-you won’t be disappointed!
A Walk and a Lark
Here’s another blogger bud who lives in one of my favorite cities-London! She’s become an amazing blogging supporter and friend, and I simply adore reading her blog! She is well-traveled, so I’d love the inside scoop on some of her favorite places! Check out Josy’s blog! I promise you’ll love it and her!
All Thoughts Work
This chick cracks me up. Every time I get a comment from her, I know I’ll end up practically peeing myself from laughter. I’ve gleaned that she’s an avid outdoors-woman and talented writer, but that’s all I know. I need to know more! Head on over to the funny lady’s blog-you won’t regret it!
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U.K. or (Literally) Bust
Friends, I hardly ever ask for help. OK, that is a boldfaced lie. I ask for it all the time in the form of comments over at Shopper Lottie. However, this is different. For some time (like, 10 years), I have wanted to move abroad (get in line, sister). I have always had a crazy love affair with the U.K. and since visiting way back in 2010, I have never been able to forget about my one, true love.
For those who don’t know, I am at teacher in the U.S. I teach 3rd grade. I would love to be able to do something similar somewhere, anywhere in the U.K. I have friends in Scotland, so that would probably be preferable. I have heard that the education system is really very different when comparing England with Scotland, so one may be possible and the other out of my reach. I really don’t know.
I have contacted a couple of agencies, but the wait to hear a response is making me certifiably insane. I am not even sure they are legit or the correct way to go about this. HELP.
Long story short, can someone familiar with these parts give me any information they have that could help me in my endeavor? Even better, does anyone have connections that would better enable me to have even the slightest chance to attempt to live one of my dreams?
My loving thanks in advance.
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Inverness
This is a post I wrote years ago about a beautiful spot I discovered in Inverness, Scotland. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of that trip. I yearn to go back. I left a piece of my heart in the British Isles, that’s for sure.
Continue reading “Inverness”
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Inverness
The sun was lazily peeking around the steeple of a church and through the turrets on the top of a century old building. There was no breeze and just a hint of coolness ticked my sun-drenched arms and face. The air smelled of fresh cut grass and fried fish and on top of that was a hint of something different, something foreign and strange. The ample sized river cutting through the village was dotted with specks of sun and there was a clear reflection of the cloud dotted sky. The green grass aside the gentle river looked so inviting, but there was no time for rest, no stopping the adventure. There were places to see, new and exiting things to eat and different people to meet. I snapped a picture of the perfect scene so that I would never forget that moment. I fondly look at the picture I took of that beautiful river and village in Inverness, Scotland all the time. Looking at that scene makes me feel an intense longing to relive every moment that took my breath away on that trip. That village scene, along with so many others, will forever be stamped on my heart, to never, ever forget. Ever.
In honor of my upcoming trip, I thought to share a little ditty I wrote years ago about a distinct memory of a trip to Scotland.
I yearn to return to the British Isles. How does one feel an intense longing and homesickness for a place that’s not their home? Maybe in a past life I lived in England, or Scotland, in a quaint village, or up in the otherworldly Scottish Highlands? Maybe.
“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other places, other lives, other souls” -Anais Nin
