God Help Me, I’m Going to Miss Haggis
I don’t know when it happened, but they got me. Those Scots finally got me. I now officially enjoy a meal that consists of various sheep innards wrapped in other various sheep innards. I see haggis on my plate and think, “Oh, yum. Let’s eat that first.” I have tried hamburgers with haggis as a topping and found it delicious. I’m sitting here writing this in the morning before breakfast, and my stomach is growling at me to go find and eat some haggis.
I’m also starting to notice patches of my skin turning plaid and an overwhelming urge to sing Loch Lomond. Well, I guess the singing thing was there before, but I’m almost certain the patches of plaid weren’t. Please send help, before it’s too late.
And now, in the words of Monty Python, for something completely different.
Went to Galway, Ireland over the weekend, just to visit my friend who came up earlier. The weather was gorgeous, and then horrendous, in that order. On Saturday, we visited the Cliffs of Moher. The Cliffs of Moher are steep. Very steep. Completely steep, actually. One might even say that the Cliffs of Moher are so steep as to meet the dictionary definition for a cliff. On the one side of the range, the edge is blocked off by a chest-high wall, and on the other, it’s blocked off by absolutely nothing. As in, you can just walk up and stroll merrily over the edge and into the jagged rocks below, listening to the screams of tourists and the contemptuous chuckling of seagulls. They were lots of those, actually. Which, I suppose, would have been a more striking sight, if we didn’t have flocks of them congregating in McDonald’s parking lots back in Virginia.
But no, the Cliffs were amazing. Really, really stunning. And the weather was warm, sunny, and gave a perfect view of the deadly fall that was only ever a few feet away. Awesome.
On Sunday, the weather gods didn’t so much rest as throw a giant party to celebrate the end of their workweek, and they invited everyone on the Arran Islands. My friend and I went to Inis Mor (which is one of the Arran Islands, and which I’ve heard pronounced “Inish Moor”), and the wind was ridiculous. As in, jump-straight-up-and-it-moves-you ridiculous. To be fair, I have felt wind like that before, but it was by some cliffs in Australia, and as we all know, everything in Australia tries to kill you. So climbing a rock-strewn, rain-slick path to Dún Aonghas (pronounced “Dune Angus”) while the wind laid into you from any random direction it felt like, was tricky. There was actually one poor girl who hurt her leg quite badly on the ascent. Might have broken it, I’m not sure, but she had to be helped back down the path.
For all that, though, islands–and sheer cliffs to the oceans surrounding islands–are probably one of the few kinds of places that look even better in a good storm. We were absolutely soaked, and laughing our heads off the whole time. For those of you who know him, Brian Burns should have some pictures of this on Facebook (I think). My phone kept running out of storage space, because I’m a Creative Writing major and don’t know how to technology or Apple.
Anyway, that’s what I’ve got for today, or at least for this morning. Now it’s time for breakfast, so I’m gonna leave it there and go have some haggis.
…dear God, what’s happening to me.