Alright. So begins my rapid-fire posting spree. I’ve got six trips to describe to you, and I hope to do them all justice. Without further ado, I give you… The Time My Grandparents Visited Me in England.

So my grandparents, upon learning that I’d be studying abroad this year, decided to make their European trip to England. I first got to see them as they stepped out of a taxi in Cambridge, and it was one of the best moments of my life. I’d already been in Cambridge for about three months at this point, so seeing such familiar faces felt like a breath of fresh air. I got to help them get settled into their bed n breakfast, and then show them around the town I now fondly call ‘mine.’ We had tea at the Patisserie, and cake at Cafe Nero, and explored the Fitz and Kettle’s Yard. We even went to an Evensong at King’s College (a definite must if you ever end up here, by the way, they were phenomenal) and a full-on classical concert at Queen’s. Saying goodbye to them that Saturday was pretty hard, but I knew that in two weeks, I’d be seeing them again.

You see, my gracious grandmother had offered to get me up to the Isle of Mull so that I could see Scotland with them. I, of course, accepted, and it was one of the best decision’s I’ve made thus far. Getting up to the Isle was semi-pain-free, if you consider pulling an all-nighter after watching the midnight premiere of Catching Fire to walk to the train station at 4am pain-free. The travel itself consisted of the 4am train to London, a tube ride to another train station, a six hour train ride to Glasgow, and a three hour bus ride to Oban, where our ferry was departing from. Thankfully, because I was nearly comatose with travel exhaustion, my lovely grandmother met me at the bus station and ushered me onto the ferry. Forty-five minutes later, the three of us were standing on the Isle of Mull. I wish I could say that the first sight was breathtaking, but it was pretty dark outside and I was 75% asleep. Plus, the bus ride to Tobermorey, where our (very nice) hotel was took another 2 hours.

The next morning, we woke up rather early to catch the bus that would get us to Craignure, to catch the bus that would get us to the ferry that would get us to Iona (this was a rather complicated venture, as I’m sure you can tell). This ride across the island at 8am, though early and long, did give us a chance to see some absolutely incredible views. This was the point where I decided that Scotland, and this place in particular, was one of the most visually underrated places I’ve ever been. Why were millions of people not here to see the sun rise over the mountains, to see the waves crash on the rocks, to see the rivers flowing from the crags? Everywhere I turned, another breathtaking view presented itself, and my camera was probably exhausted from all the pointing and shooting I was forcing it into. I was also excited because in late November, it turns out that most of the UK does not have snow, and I was missing it quite a lot. But the tips of these mountains were glistening with white snow, glaringly obvious against the dark of the forests and the yellow of the grasslands. It was actually really interesting to see that most of this land was made up of grasslands and mountains, with the forests being few and far between. Rivers and ponds, however, were absolutely everywhere. Unfortunately, this was probably a large percentage of the reason that our bus ride took so long–a good chunk of it involved hugging the shoreline. I didn’t mind too much, I got some great pictures out of it, but that bit of me that occasionally gets carsick was not happy with the twisty-turny-ness of that particular ride. Waiting for the ferry, once we finally got to the end of the bus line, was fun because I got to talk with a couple other visitors, who told us that we had actually picked a really great time to visit because the tourists weren’t around right then. Apparently the Isle is a rather popular destination in the summer months.

Iona is the small island on the edge of the Isle of Mull where the first monastery on the Scotland/England/Wales

mainland was created by St. Columba in the mid-sixth century. Seeing the old nunnery and the abbey itself was amazing, especially with my grandparents, who are particularly interested and knowledgeable about ecclesiastical history. The history nut in me was, of course, suitably excited, and very happy to share this excitement with people who understood and shared it. We ate lunch at what we’re pretty sure was the only open restaurant on the entire island–a small inn on the shoreline. The tea was very good, as were the scones we had. Getting back to Tobermory was another adventure, but thankfully it went just as smoothly as the morning’s journey had. Of course, as the ferry pulled into the dock from Iona, a seal was chilling on the wharf waiting for scraps of fish from the fishing boat that was also moored there. That was pretty cool, and we laughed about him for a while on the bus ride back across the island. That night we had dinner at a traditional pub called the Mish Nish, and upon arrival my grandma realized that it was the same pub she had eaten at years and years ago with her mother and sister. Personal family history is always really fun for me to see and hear and be a part of, so that was one of the coolest things that happened on this trip. The food was also fabulous, of course, and then we trekked back up the hill to our hotel.

The next morning we got to sleep in a bit more, and then we took a nice long hike along th

e shoreline over to Aros Park. This walk was incredibly lovely, the landscapes were amazing and there was more than one gorgeous waterfall to see. It also cured us of our antsy-ness, seeing as we had spent at least four hours on buses on the previous day. And, of course, the weather was wonderful, much better than we’d been told to expect. We had a great time laughing and talking and exploring, finding a pier made out of stone, a few outbuildings from the estate that used to be on Aros Park, and an informational sign detailing the history of that part of the island.

We tried to recreate the experience later that day by taking a hike toward the

lighthouse, but we were not expecting the extremely high levels of muddiness that greeted us. We struggled on for a good hour or so, when we had been told the walk was only supposed to last 30 minutes, and eventually turned back. We met a lady on the trail who told us we had turned back maybe five minutes before getting to the light house, which was minorly disappointing, but we decided to follow a different trail up the hill in hopes of finding our way back to town without getting any muddier. This bit was a bit scary, because we honestly had no idea where we were going, minus the fact that we needed to follow the shoreline back to Tobermorey. Thankfully, we ended up on a golf course, and then in a neighborhood, where we were able to ask for directions back to town. I was definitely ready for a shower and rest after that, as were the grandparents. We got Chinese that night, and I got back to the hotel early to watch the 50th Anniversary Episode of Doctor Who, because I’m a nerd and I’m okay with that.

The next morning, we headed back to Oban on the ferry from Craignure. We even got to ride the same bus back to Glasgow. I did, however, have to say goodbye rather quickly because my train left a short half hour from our arrival in Glasgow. I needn’t have hurried, though, because this is where my travelling horror-story starts. My train was delayed 45 minutes originally because of signalling errors, and then delayed further at the first stop because of signalling errors again. At our second stop, we were informed that the train was being held because a rail south of the station had broken. A half hour into this wait, we were told that our train was terminating at this random station, and that we had to get off and find a new way back to London. There, a bunch of us waited together for two hours for the train heading to King’s Cross. One thing can be said for unexpected delays–you make new friends. That train, however, was so packed that I ended up sitting in between compartments on the floor with at least four other people. Those of us heading for Cambridge were told to get off at Peterborough instead of going all the way to London, which made sense, except that by the time we finally arrived at Peterborough, there were no more trains for Cambridge. Instead, the train people had to call the eight of us a taxi. So I eventually got back to Cambridge, about four hours after I was supposed to. On the bright side, I survived.

With apologies, survival stories, and love,

Bryn