Happy Hogmanay!

If you are Scottish you will know what I am talking about.  If not, then let me explain: Hogmanay is what us Scots call New Years Eve.  It is arguably the biggest party night of the year.  In fact, we tend to party so hard, that we have two days to recover.  That’s right:  January 1^st and 2^nd are Scottish bank holidays.  My Hogmanay celebrations have tended to vary from awesome to utterly disappointing over the past decade depending on where I was celebrating the New Year.  My first US New Years experience was such a letdown.  But before I get into that, I should explain what it is that makes a Scottish New Years Eve the event of the year.

We have odd traditions…

It is not enough that we like to party into the wee hours of the morning.  There are some set customs that are typically followed.  For example, steak pie is usually served a little before midnight (or “the bells” as it is also known).   People eat, mingle, bleather, drink copious amounts of alcohol and generally have a good time.  Usually the TV is playing on the background with dedicated Hogmanay TV shows.  (Rikki Fulton’s the Reverend I.M.  Jolly is hands down my favorite!  I was lucky enough to be in the studio to see him film this segment one year.  RIP Rikki – you were a comedy genius).  Anyway, I digress.  As it approaches midnight some of the guests may be flung outside in the cold to ring in the New Year outside. Why do we do that you may ask?  Well, it’s a Scottish tradition known as “first-footing”:  it is good luck for the first person to cross your door to be tall, dark and handsome.  They are supposed to bring a gift to bring good luck suck as coal, shortbread or whiskey.  More often, they drunkenly stumble over the door shouting “Happy New Year!!” and hugging everyone in sight.  It is also customary to sing Auld Lange Syne.   This is a more widespread tradition is several countries now, but the song is originally based on a poem by Scottish poet Robert Burns (who actually has his own day on January 25^th known as Burns Night – note: this is the only day of the year that you will find Scottish people willingly eating haggis).  The Hogmanay festivities continue until the wee hours of the morning, and then people finally crash and sleep until noon.  

If you haven’t ever tried steak pie, it is beef and gravy incrusted in puff pastry and is typically served with mashed potatoes and veggies.  It is delicious!

Some alternative Hogmanay celebrations….

If you are not celebrating at a party in a friend’s house, then perhaps you are being hardy and braving the cold to celebrate the New Year in the city center.  In Glasgow, people crowd into George Square to listen to live music and watch the fireworks go off at midnight.  I did this one year, but it was so incredibly cold, that I’ve never been compelled to repeat this experience! 

Fortunately, being packed in like sardines helps to keep it a little bit warmer!

Another alternative Hogmanay celebration involves a good old fashioned céilidh (pronounced “kay-lee”).  This is a traditional Scottish dance set to Gaelic folk music.  There are several traditional dances.  There are couple dances, “set” dances (with four couples dancing together in a square formation) and progressive couple dances performed in a ring around the dance floor.  If you ever have the opportunity to attend a céilidh then you will have one of the most fun evenings of your life!  

How to people know how to do these dances?  Well, aside from the band giving the crowd a refresher on all of the dance moves, most Scottish people have been taught these dances at some stage in their life.  For example, during the wintertime, gym classes in Scottish high schools teach “Social Dance” AKA every teenager’s worst nightmare.  While I would love to have these lessons again now, at the time I hated social dance.  The boys would have to ask the girls to dance and vice versa each week throughout the winter months.  Being a socially awkward kinda geeky teen (this was a time prior to nerds being “cool”) I never got asked to dance by anyone that I actually wanted to dance with.  Instead I got the guys with two left feet, and the ones that smelt funny.  But anyway, now I have an appreciation of having a glimmer of memory of how to dance to the “Gay Gordons” or any of the other oddly named dances.  

Last Hogmanay I got to go to a céilidh with my parents and my Gran.  It was the most fun night of 2009 for me hands down.  I don’t think I sat down all night – I literally danced the night away!  Now THAT is how you are supposed to celebrate New Year’s Eve! 

Me and my Mum having a blast!  I forget the name of this dance, but it was so much fun!

An American New Years Eve by comparison…

As I noted earlier, my first US New Year’s Eve was a huge letdown.  Sitting up watching the ball drop on TV in NYC while sipping a cup of tea is not what I am accustomed to.  Even when I transplant family over here in the hopes of livening things up, it just isn’t the same.  I remember the year that my parents and brother came over for the holidays and we went to the festivities in downtown Burlington, Vermont.  “First Night” promised us fun, fireworks and more.  In reality it was colder than Siberia, boring as all could be, and a bitter disappointment.  As summed up by my little brother: “First Night?  Load of shite.”  

This Hogmanay I’m doing something a little different:  I’m heading to the OC Fairgrounds to see a variety of cover bands and a demolition derby!  Unfortunately, my jet-lag is seriously getting in the way of my Hogmanay plans.  At this rate I will be lucky to stay awake until midnight.  The prospect of sitting at home with a big mug of tea watching the glittery ball drop in New York is suddenly very appealing.  How very unpatriotic of me!  I’d better caffeine up and go celebrate the end of 2010 with a bang!  

Wishing you all a very happy and healthy 2011.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! 

Why it’s never a good idea to insult the check in lady and other useful travel tips…

Having family that lives 5000 miles away I get to rack up the frequent flier miles.  I also unfortunately have more air travel mishap stories than I can count!  I get to travel home again this year for the holidays, and I’m going to try to learn from previous travel mistakes in the hope that things run smoothly.

Tip #1:  Travel with someone that you get along with (or alternatively go by yourself)

As much as this may seem like a good idea at the time, your significant other may not agree with you.

My ex-hubby and I typically got along great unless you stuck us both in an airport, gave us a ticket, and told us to get somewhere.  In which case, World War 3 was typically on the brink of occurring.  At the root of the problem was the fact that he hated airports and the actual process of traveling from A to B.  That combined with the fact that there was a direct correlation between the last time he ate anything and his crabbiness index (and mine too for that matter).  Also, in my case, while I usually have the patience of a saint, when sleep deprived that is not the case.  Let’s just say that we could have been a highly entertaining couple to have on the Amazing Race!!    So, it’s always a useful plan of action to travel with someone that you won’t want to strangle two hours into the flight!  Of course, even if your travel partner is charming and doesn’t drive you crazy, there is no guarantee that your fellow passengers will follow suit.  Odds are that you will be seated next to the morbidly obese man with hellish B.O. and breath that would make Shrek proud.   Chances are there will also be an overly stressed out Mom behind you with a screaming baby and a four year old who really enjoys kicking your seat repeatedly.   But just every so often, say once every decade or so, you may encounter a flight attendant who takes pity on you and moves you up the business class.  Even better, once or twice in a lifetime you may be lucky enough for a free upgrade to first class.  The last time that happened I didn’t bother with sleeping.  Why would you when you have gourmet food and wine to consume?!?  Now that was the life.  How the other half live… I’m jealous! 

Tip #2:  When you really don’t want your bags to go missing, that is exactly when they will end up in Outer Mongolia

The cartoon says it all...

Ah, lost luggage.  Yes I’ve been there many times around.  I learned my lesson that you should always have spare clothes in your carry-on luggage while on a trip to Paris.  When selecting joggy bottoms, a jumper, and trainers to travel in (American translation: sweatpants, a sweater, and sneakers) I thought I was being sensible.  Who doesn’t want to travel in comfortable clothing?  I discovered that wandering about Paris in comfortable clothing leaves you feeling (and looking) like a slob.  It took three days for the cases to materialize.  Needless to say that after one day of slobbiness I had had enough!  I hit the shops and got myself some Parisian fashions (and yes, I felt quite a bit better about myself after that). 

But what if you are bringing gifts and they won’t fit into your carry-on?  Ah well, then in that case you are just S.O.L.  One year I was arriving home on Christmas Eve.  I arrived safe and sound and on time, having made all of my connections (a rare occurrence indeed).  But my suitcases?  Nowhere to be found.  Lamenting the fact that all of my presents where somewhere in limbo, I didn’t have much hope that I would see them anytime soon.  So, imagine my surprise when they got delivered on Christmas morning.  “It’s a bloody miracle!!” I proclaimed.    “Just call me Santa Claus” chuckled the delivery driver.    

Tip #3:  The weather has a way of buggering up your travel plans - you just need to learn to accept that

What you DON'T want to see when you look at the departures screen

Two years in a row while living in Vermont I arrived home a day later than planned for Christmas.  The reason?  Snow.  Copious amounts of the white fluffy stuff raging outside.  I arrived at the airport to be told “your flight is leaving New York on time.  But we have no way of getting you there.  Come back tomorrow.”  No amount of begging and pleading can make a difference against Mother Nature.  So you just need to learn to accept that.  Like the time I was grounded at Bristol airport for 6 hours because of fog.  This was after a long transatlantic flight, and I had a separate connection to make heading to Switzerland with my family.  I was tired, hungry, cranky, stressing out big time about missing my next flight, and just done with traveling.  It didn’t make for a pleasant journey.  But it got much worse before it got better.  The bags didn’t show up (of course), so I had some crazed last minute shopping to do.  And then I arrived in Italy a day late only to come down with a nasty bug.  If you were to do one of those psychological association tests on me and say “Lugano” I would tell you “stomach flu”.  Not a pleasant association.  I don’t care if it’s just a placebo effect – I now take a hefty dose of vitamins before stepping foot on a plane.  Hello and thank you Airborne.  Another useful tip is to always have extra snacks stashed away.  It helps to keep the crabbiness at bay during those inevitable delays!

Tip #4:  No matter how much they may push your buttons and provoke you, never insult the check-in lady

Perhaps I should get this printed on a t-shirt especially for traveling? 

As I’ve mentioned, I’m not a happy camper when sleep deprived.  So last year when I found myself at the airport at 3am having had 2 hours sleep, I was already not starting from a good place.  Anyone with any sense should know NOT to push my buttons when I’m operating on a total lack of sleep.  This particular check-in lady though, didn’t appear to have received that memo.  So there I was at the airport at 3am – 3 hours prior to the flight departure as stated on the airline website. The check in desk did not open until 4:30am – 90 minutes later than expected.  So there I was, first in line of course because I had arrived so freakin’ early.  I gather all my bags and go up to the check in desk only to be greeted by this sour faced woman who clearly wasn’t a morning person.  I proceeded to go through the motions of handing over my details and passport etc.  “You’re in the wrong line” she barked.  I gave a look of confusion, because this was the only line.  “This is only for people who are already checked in online” she stated, looking at me as if I was daft.  I explained that I had tried to check in online and that the website wasn’t working properly.  She didn’t care for my explanation.  “Well you’re still in the wrong line” she snipped, “and I’m not going to help you.  You can get to the end of the queue.”  I looked at the line of fifty or so people that had formed and thought aye right.  At that point my stubborn streak kicked in and I proceeded to launch into my I-have-been-in-this-freakin-airport-for almost-two-hours-because-of-your-stupid-airline-misinformation-and-you-will-check-me-in speech.    It didn’t work.  She insisted that I get back in line, to wait to be helped by the lady standing right next to her (literally right next to her).  Letting out a furious sigh, I muttered “you don’t need to be such a bitch about it” and took my place next in line (I wasn’t about to go wait at the end of it).  Unfortunately she heard my mutterings and glowered at me with an evil eye.  Despite the fact that I was perfectly civil to the next lady that helped me, I still ended up with the worse seat on the plane.  That’s right.  The one right next to the smelly loo, with the seats that don’t recline.  Thankfully that was only for a two hour flight and I got much better seats for the transatlantic portion. But boy did I learn my lesson.  So no matter how sleep deprived you may be.  Or how unhelpful and sour faced the check in lady may be, it is NEVER a good idea to insult her.  Even if it is 100% justified.  That is a situation where you should use your “inside voice”.  It’s a wonder my luggage arrived at all that time! 

So for my trip back to Scotland next week I am expecting the following to occur:

1)      My flights will be delayed or canceled 

2)      My bags will go AWOL and arrive four days later than me

3)      I will be seated next to a contestant on the Biggest Loser with Octomom and her kids in the row behind me

4)      The check-in lady will be the most unhelpful person on the face of the planet and will do everything in her powers to push my buttons so that I have a tantrum that would make a 2 year old proud

But at the end of the day, as long as I make it safe and sound then that is okay with me.  I can handle the rest of the drama and misery!  At least it makes for entertaining stories after the fact…

I'm From Another Planet Evidently....

“You’re going to study where?!?!”  That was the initial reaction I got from most people upon telling them that I was going to be leaving my native Scotland and spending a semester at Northern Kentucky University.  To be honest, I had no idea what was in Kentucky other than horses and more than a few hillbilly type folks (or "plinky plinky plonk plonks" as my mother refers to them), but I was eager to find out!  So at the young age of 18 I squeezed the contents of my life into two suitcases and boarded a plane for Kentucky. 

Upon arrival I discovered that I was sadly mistaken that we spoke the same language.  Yes, technically we both spoke English, but Glaswegian and the Kentucky drawl are two very different species.   Scottish people talk fast.  Like, really fast.  Especially if we get excited about something – then all the words just blur together into a big incoherent rambling.  Becausewhenwearereallyexcitedwetalklikethis!!  In a way I discovered that the Kentucky folks are the yin to the Scots yang.  We talk real fast.  They talk real   s   l   o  w.   I couldn’t understand the locals, and they sure as heck couldn’t understand me!   Think the cast of Trainspotting meets Larry The Cable Guy and you’ll have an idea of the predicament.  After an initial adjustment period I learned so slow down the rate of my speech, but darn it, I was not going to change how I pronounced my vowels!   It’s a toe-MAH-toe not a toe-MAY-toe.  And certain words required major adjustment.  Like if someone asked me what pants I was planning on wearing that night.  “Excuse me?!?!?  Oh, you mean TROUSERS!” 

Some of the more awkward moments occurred when someone tried to complement me on how well I spoke English.  I mean, how are you supposed to act in that situation?!?  You really only have three options:  1) Thank them and allow them to remain blissfully ignorant of world geography and languages; 2) Call them out on being a big eedjit; or 3) Swiftly redirect the conversation onto another topic.  The cringe inducing moment of all time happened when I was asked “what age were you when you learned English?”  What I really wanted to say was “well, I pretty much had it mastered by age two”.  What I actually said was a mumbled explanation that English was my native language.  Which was followed up with a confused “but you’re Scottish”.  At that point I went into conversation redirection mode and just a swiftly got the hell out of there. 

Trying to order in restaurants was almost always guaranteed to be frustrating as hell (but the source of so many amusing stories afterward).  Case in point:  I had a hilarious run in once while trying to order a “pink cow” at UDF (it’s a mix of ice cream and red cream soda for those of you currently scratching your heads and wondering).  Just so you know, Scottish people have a very unique way of pronouncing the word cow.  And for the life of me I cannot pronounce it in an American twang.  (Just ask the kid that I was working on animal sounds with - I asked him “what does a cow say?“ and gave me a puzzled expression and asked “ What’s a cow?“)  So there I was trying my hardest to get my point across, while this spotty teenager looks at my with this confused open mouthed “huh?” expression.  Meanwhile my Ex was cracking up in the background and refusing to translate for me, as it would spoil the comedy of the situation.  That happened a lot.  Especially in the Mid-West where people generally looked at me as if I had two heads while ordering something. 

The one thing that would drive me CRAZY while trying to order in restaurants was trying to get a simple glass of water.  Should be easy.  Should be.  I mean, how many drink options are there?  It’s not like I was ordering an Irn Bru!   (For you Yankees’ that’s Scotland’s national soft drink - it’s fizzy, bright orange, and heaven in a glass!) 

Irn Bru has the best adverts!  Case in point :) 

Here’s an example of a typical scenario: 

Waiter:  “What y’all like to drink?”
Me: “Can I have some water please”
Waiter: “Excuse me?”
Me: “A glass of water please”
Waiter: “A glass of what?” 
Me: (letting out a big sigh) “A glass of wad-der”
Waiter:  “Oh, a glass of wad-der!  No problem!”

This would invariably be followed up with me having a wee rant to whoever I was eating with about the fact that water has the letter T in it, not the letter D.  Curiously, I only had this issue on the East Coast and Midwest.   West Coast folks know how to pronounce “water” with a T.   Thank goodness for that. 

The best story about confusion when ordering comes from a Scottish friend who was on vacation in Chicago: he informed the waiter that he was “still deciding” what he wanted to drink while perusing the menu.   Two minutes later a glass of cider was placed in front of him.  Evidently “still deciding” in Glaswegian dialect translates as “a glass of cider please” to Chicagoans. 

My all time best lost in translation moment happened while living in Vermont.  I was working in a preschool at the time, and we had to change classroom locations prior to the school year starting. In the classroom there was this awesome wooden play house. It was far too big to fit through the door, so a coworker and I were trying (and failing miserably) to dismantle it.  My coworker was trying to unscrew the roof, and couldn’t really see what she was doing.  Trying to be helpful I asked “do you want me to go get you a torch?”  Only to be met with a big grin as she replied “why?  Do you want me to burn it down?!”  That was the day that I committed to memory that a torch was no longer a torch - it was a flashlight! 

It was at the same preschool that I learned that American words for body parts are quite different from some slang British words.  The first time that I heard a teacher tell a little girl to “sit on your fanny” I just stood open mouthed gaping “what did you just say?!?!”  I think this may have been the same day that I found out that bum bags were called fanny packs.  Even now, 7 ½ years later as a US transplant, that just seems so WRONG!  I mean some things I can adjust to, like spelling color without a U, or accepting that I no longer park in a car park, it’s a parking lot .  And I walk on the side walk not the pavement.  And I don’t eat sweeties anymore - it’s candy.  And, I should never ever refer to sweatpants as joggy bottoms!  Nowadays, some American words have become so ingrained in my brain that I forget what the Scottish equivalent is when I go home.  And, I subsequently get in trouble as a result!  

Working with little kids, I get told on a frequent basis that I “talk funny” - and that‘s with my now Americanized accent.  I’ve also taught more than a few kids to pronounce words in a perfect Scottish accent!  (Hey a quirky accent is better than no words - right?)  One little guy that I work with went so far as to announce that he was off to visit “Nicola’s people” on his vacation to the U.K.  Ah yes, my importance level is right up there with the Queen from the perspective of a 5 year old!

My favorite kid quote regarding sounding different came from another 5 year old - this time in a kindergarten class  in Vermont.  I was working with a little guy when some of his classmates starting asking about my accent.  One of the little girls got very excited about this new foreign person in the room and while pointing at me, shouted to her teacher - “Miss!  Miss!  She’s from another world!”  I always had an inkling I was from another planet… One where we all say “cow” funny, and we are all short and pale and talk a million miles a minute.  Yup, I’m a Scottish import living in So Cal and I wouldn’t have it any other way.