Edinburgh, Buses, Brown Turtles and Feminism

The United Kingdom is a breathtaking experience, and I am so thrilled that I have the chance to visit its fair hills and particularily the grand city of York.

Holy flatulent cow on a pogo stick, this country rocks. Since me and my class arrived we have been treated to exquisite architecture and awesome language and beer made by people who obviously loves the stuff. I am stunned, and not even a pirate riding a pegasus could persuade me to leave just yet.

Although you might be able, Captain Chimp-Chimp.

However, I have also visited Edinburgh this weekend, and MAN did that city show me how it's done. When the new day rose grumpily from its bed, scratched its fresh arse and peered over the horizon, we strutted out from our hostel to see the Scottish marvel of our dreams. It was much more. The first thing we witnessed was the incredible phallic marvel of gothic architecture known as the Scott Monument. Wikipedia tells me that it was completed in 1844 and is approximately 6o meters tall. In any case it had nearly 300 steps and it was a delight to skip and hop to the very top so we could witness the imperial elegance that is Edinburgh, and the sturdy and resiliant hills and crags that penetrate and look over the city. Then, to top it all, a street-musician started to play "Amazing Grace" on his bagpipes. The moment was complete.

Aye, certainly nothing penile about this.

While in Edinburgh, we made use of the excellent Princes Street for our shopping needs, and bought enough 360 games to make your eyes bleed. For the cute little sum of £ 50. Yes, for the price of one cheap game in Norway, you can get 5 in Scotland. Guess where I want to go. The HMV Store on Princes Street was also a gamer-haven like you would not believe. I tried Microsoft's new Kinect there, and it actually works. My wish-list for Santa this year just got a helluva lot more expensive. (And if you followed that link, you'll see why that concerns me.) I also bought a scarf with the tartan-pattern of Edinburgh on it, and has added a new life-quest to my list. Collect all of the major cities in Scotland.

Even this one, so help me Obi-Wan

While in Rome, do like the Romans. But when in Edinburgh, hike up the Salisbury Crags! At least, that is what I and my fine compatriots set out to do. Armed with good faith and tickets for the bus, we ventured towards the Crags. At least for the first 10 minutes. After we had arrived at the third town over, we started to be a bit uncertain about wheter or not we would ever start going back to the mighty hills. A quick query with the driver asserted our positions as complete tossers. Still prideful, we strode out of the bus and over to the other side to spend another HOUR backtracking into town. Alas, time well spent; we can boast about having seen the Queen Margaret's University. It was ok. This reminded me only too well about this summer's adventure to the Hove-festival, where I managed to board the train going in the wrong direction and sleeping outside on the bus-station until I could catch a ride to Drammen.

A fair desription of the relationship between me
and collective transport

This whole trip has also led me down the scary and dark and horrid and unspeakable path of thinking a bit. Now I know why many Scandinavians are uneasy around our new countrymen from the middle east: TV-shows for kids.

Say whaaat?

I am genuinely not kidding. Most Norwegians of my generation and a couple of the previous ones sat down each day at 6 and marveled at the adventures of a certain character called Mummitrollet. (The Moomintroll.) This show also aired in numerous other countries, but since its origin is close to Scandinavia, I'll go with what I experienced.

Now, I am under no circumstance trying to endorse racism, or some people's fear of ethnic people. It is silly and unneccesary and as helpful as a Hobbit-basketballer. However, I can now clearly see how some unfortunate people are jarred for life. You see, Mummitrollet is a happy little chubby lad that lives in the Moomin-valley.

In da Hood

Everything is mostly palatable for the spherical little fellow, except when a Hufsa, or "The Groke" steps by to look ominous, sad and infineately scary at the same time. As I said, with no intention of insensitivity, feminist and religious aspects aside: Would you really be unaffected when you see a woman dressed like this:

"Zup?"

After seeing this:

My guess is no, and you might want to lock your door tonight, because Hufsa might be right outside your door, lonely, sad, and terrifying.