Oh the weather outside is…

30 Nov

…delightful? Yes, I think that is the right word. There is snow. Everywhere. It’s been snowing off-and-on since Friday night, and it is really delightful. Here, see for yourself:

The Bell Tower With Snow:

Snow on Campus:

Snow in the West Quad:

Kelvingrove Museum:

In other news, I’m almost finished with the semester. In fact, I should be working on some final projects right now, but instead I am doing a much needed update to my blog. Things have been going swimmingly well here recently. I got to have not just one, but two Thanksgiving parties while I was here, one in Glasgow and one in Edinburgh. They were really neat because a lot of my friends who are not American came, most of whom had never tasted pumpkin pie! I used Paula Dean’s the Secret Kent Family Pumpkin Pie Recipe. SPOILER ALERT: the secret ingredient is pumpkin. We even went around the table and said what we are all thankful for, which the New Zealanders thought was a bit silly but participated in anyways.

I had a stall at my church’s Christmas fair last weekend, trying to hawk some  of my photographs to unsuspecting strangers. I even surpassed my expectations and sold one! You can see it here. There was actually a lot of very complimentary interest in my work, just not many buyers. The Christmas craft fair circuit is probably not the best market for moody B&W prints of western Scotland, especially since my main competition at these fairs are things like this. That only leaves me with about $200 worth of unsold stock to get rid of before my return to the US next year. Did I mention that I ship internationally [suggestive clearing of the throat]? I think I will try to do a few more Christmas fairs here in Glasgow and see if I can sell a few more.

It is 4:11 PM as I am writing this sentence, and the sun is almost set. I am counting down the days (24, to be exact) until my family and my super-awesome-girlfriend arrive. They are all pretty much amazing, I love them all very much, and am pretty excited about seeing them. Not sure how to end this post, so I’m just going to end it…here.


Don’ no go dae tha!

12 Oct

That’s some Glaswegian slang for ya. It says “Don’t go no do that!” As in, “Johnny, don’no go dae that! I tol’ ya oonce, I tell ya’ a thousan’ times!” I picked up that little gem a few weekends back at the Rotary District Conference. The conference was a big get together of all the Rotary clubs of Southwest Scotland, where we all went to this really nice hotel in the southern highlands for the weekend to pow-wow about Rotary and the upcoming year. It was such a great weekend! I got to meet so many Scots, all of whom were so friendly and eager to share with me all about Scottish culture. On Saturday night we had a “Ceilidh,” which is Scottish folk dancing. All of the men were dressed in their formal highland wear,which meant kilts, sporrans (the little bag made of fur hanging from the man’s belt), and a small dagger called a sgian-dubh. I can’t wait to wear one myself!

Me Trying to Dance at the Ceilidh

Alice (another Ambassadorial Scholar), The District Governor, and I

I spent most of my time just chatting with Rotarians and learning about what it means to be a Scot. I’m so glad I’m here with Rotary, because it means that I get to spend lots of time with Scots. I’ve had numerous conversations with other international students over here who have said, “I don’t really know any Scots, I only hang out with Americans.” I can understand the sentiment. The University has a really strong International Society, which has events almost every night of the week, making it pretty easy to spend all your time with gringos if you want.

You definitely have to make an effort to be friends with people who are from a different background, because it’s simply easier to talk to people who have the same cultural background as you. A few weekends back I was in Oxford for another Rotary conference with all of the Ambassadorial Scholars from Great Britain and Ireland. The group was about 40% American, 40% Asian, and 20% from elsewhere. I noticed pretty quickly that the Americans were all grouped together chatting in English, and the Asians were all together chatting in their various languages, and then the other 20% were in a kind of cultural no-man’s land.

I’ve found for me that it’s easiest to start conversation with people who speak English as their fist language, particularly Americans and Canadians. The language barrier is surprisingly difficult to overcome, because unless you understand all the slang and cultural references, the conversation tends to stay pretty surface-level and formal. I’m really trying to make an effort to develop friendships with people who are of completely different backgrounds than me, people from outside North America and Europe. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know my friend Ali from Pakistan. He and I went to a hookah lounge the other night with another friend of ours, and I learned so much about life in Pakistan and what it means to be a Muslim. It have been frankly surprised by finding all of the ways that Ali and I are similar.

In other news, I’ve moved into my new flat, which is great. It’s in this beautiful Victorian tenement building (tenement over here doesn’t have the same negative connotation that we were taught in high school history). I met my roommates through a website called “Gumtree,” which is essentially Craigslist for the UK. I repainted my room, put some furniture in it, and it’s feeling quite homey now. I’ll try to get a video tour of the place up on YouTube sometime soon. Oh! I can’t forget to mention that I found a MEXICAN/AMERICAN GROCERY STORE. They sell tortilla chips and root beer and pico de gallo! I am becoming quite the Mexican chef!

Three Anecdotes

28 Sep

First off, let me preface this post by saying that British people are nice. They are. Really. Now let me also say this: when at work, Brits seems to derive some kind of pleasure by making things as difficult as possible for the customer, e.g., me. It’s as if they have never heard of the concept of customer service, much less the radical notion that the customer is right. Three examples:

1. The Mobile Phone: I brought my iPhone here with the intention of setting up a 12-month contract on O2, one of the local mobile networks. I went in to the store, and they ran me through the application process, but got an error message when their computer was checking out my bank details. They politely told me that I needed to confirm with my bank that my address was correct. I said “no problem,” and headed down to my bank, who confirmed with me that my bank details were indeed correct. I trotted back up the street, and tried again with O2. Again, same problem, but this time the O2 attendant suggests that there may be a problem with my UK credit history, and tells me to consult my bank. I ask if she can provide me with any details, and she replies that I would have to email their company headquarters to get more details. I ask about a phone number to call, and she says there isn’t one.

So, I gamely trot back down the street to my bank to check one more time. The teller at the bank gives me a deadpan expression and says, “I’m sorry, but we really can’t help unless we have more details from O2 about the specific nature of the problem.” I am starting to get irritated. I decide to go downtown to O2’s main location, and see if they can help. I go through the application process yet again, and again the same problem. As politely as I can, I tell the O2 saleswoman “I am trying to spend my money with you. There has got to be some way around this! Is there anything you can do?” Very sincerely, she tells me that I could visit the O2 headquarters…in Leeds. That’s right, Leeds! That’s over 200 miles away! I can hardly believe my ears. The ridiculousness of her suggestion slowly washes over her, and she then says, “Er, well, you could write them a letter if you wanted.” A letter?! What year is this, 1952?! She finally gives me an email address for customer complaints. I practically beg her for a phone number to call, but she says that their office only responds to letters and email (and probably carrier pigeons too), but not phone calls. It’s not like they are a phone company or anything…

2. “Do you have a _____?” British workers take questions very literally. If you are at a restaurant and ask the waiter, “Do you have a bathroom?” they will simply reply “Yes,” and look at you expectantly, and then wander away unless you ask the necessary follow-up questions, “Where is said bathroom, and may I use it?” My first week in Glasgow, I was in a local café ordering lunch and had a paper bag I wished to dispose of. I approached the counter and asked the waitress, “Do you have a trashcan?” to which she replied “Yes” in her best no-DUH-voice while pointing behind her to something beneath the counter which I can only assume was the rubbish bin. I held my fistful of garbage a bit closer to her face and quietly asked, “May I throw this away in it?” It dawned on her what I was asking, and we both shared an embarrassed  laugh. It’s like they don’t get implied questions, or like getting wishes granted by a genie—you have to be very specific with what you want!

3. The Battle of the Youth Rail Pass: This is perhaps the most egregious case of how the British completely disregard customer satisfaction. The National Rail sells a discount card to students that grants them the right to purchase train tickets at a lower price, typically 1/3 off. The card costs £26, but in my case it paid for itself in my first trip. The trick is that you have to present your student rail card along with the tickets while on board. I ordered my rail card and tickets about a little over a week before I was planning on traveling to Oxford. As my travel day got closer, I still hadn’t received my rail card yet in the mail, and without the rail card my discount tickets would be no good and I would have to purchase a full-price ticket. I called National Rail, and they told me that there was nothing they could do, and that I would have to purchase a second rail card from the station directly. I could not believe my ears. I asked, “So, you are telling me that I need to purchase the rail card twice so that I can use it once?”

I went to the station, and after speaking with four different people it became clear to me that there was no winning. Everyone kept saying that it was out of their hands, their computer systems were different from the National Rail system and they couldn’t access my records, that I should talk to National Rail directly, blah, blah, blah. Since I didn’t want to re-purchase my very expensive ticket at the regular rate, I had no choice but to purchase a second rail card. As of yet, my first rail card still has not arrived in the mail. I am now doing battle with the National Rail customer service team via email (surpise! they also DO NOT HAVE A PHONE), politely requesting a refund for one of the two cards that I have now purchased from them. We have only fired our opening salvos, with me requesting a refund, and them saying that it is not their policy to issue refunds, but the battle has only just begun. Mark my words, I will emerge victorious from this with my £26, even if it kills me.

It’s common to see posters in train stations, banks, the underground, warning that  “this company has a zero tolerance policy for verbal or physical abuse of our staff.” I mean, when it seems like every employee is out to make you the customer’s experience with their business as difficult as possible, it’s no surprise that people lose their tempers. I bet that companies would have a lot less problems with customers assaulting their staff if they trained their staff in how to look after the customer’s needs.

Here’s thing I just don’t get: how do the British live like this? How can they stand it? In America, if customers were routinely treated like this, then that company would simply go under. And when I tell people over here these stories, they understand my frustration yet show no idea that there could be a better way. I want to take them all to America, to the promised land of the empty “How can I help you?” and “Please listen carefully as our choices have changed. Press one for….”

Last Day of Summer

20 Sep

When I wrote that title, I was thinking “last day of summer vacation,” but then I realized that it is also the last day of the summer season, since tomorrow is the autumnal equinox and thus by definition fall starts tomorrow. Wait, scratch that. I just looked it up on Wikipedia, and the autumnal equinox is actually on September 23. Whatever, the point is that autumn is almost here. And while I am using the word “autumn” can we all agree that is quite a nice word and much prettier than “fall”? The equinox also means that the days will be shorter than the nights, or to quote Mr. Arda, “Now is the time where we meet the night.”

It’s hard for me to believe, but I left Dallas a month ago today. It feels like I have been gone only a few days really, and I certainly don’t feel particularly settled here yet either. Part of the problem is that I am not really settled yet. Last week I moved out of my dorm room, but the flat that I will be moving into isn’t ready until October 1. For a while I thought I might end up being homeless for a two weeks (just kidding…sorta) until at the last minute my local Rotary host here called me and said that I could stay in one of his relative’s flats while they were on vacation. It has really worked out perfectly so far, it was definitely an answered prayer. But I will certainly feel more at home once I actually have a home. The flat that I will be moving into in October is really nice actually, in a beautiful old Victorian building, literally across the street from the library. I am thrilled about it!

Isn’t Hipstamatic the greatest? Look at how it makes my new place seem so moody!

I’ve spent the past week exploring the city and the West End. Last week was what they call “fresher’s week,” which I would describe as “Baylor Welcome Week Minus Jesus Plus Booze,” and as you may guess from the title is geared towards freshmen, or “freshers” as they are called here. I’ve been really surprised at how few post-graduates I have met during the past few weeks. Most international students seem to be third-year exchange students. I guess all the other post-grads are already holed up in their study caves, getting prepared for the long winter of reading ahead of them.

I’m only enrolled in three courses this semester, and only three next semester. It seems a bit odd to me that somehow six courses and a thesis somehow equals a master’s degree, but I ain’t complaining. I tell you what though, this whole one-year-master’s thing is the deal of the century!

The air is getting cool now, but I wouldn’t really describe any of the days as “crisp” in that way that some falls day are. I really can’t even put my finger on what makes one day “crisp” and another not. We have had plenty of sunny and cool weather, but the air hasn’t really had the crisp, autumn, feel to it. I have a suspicion that crisp days also have low humidity, and since we get a lot of rain here in Glasgow, even when it’s sunny it’s still damp.

Well, it’s getting about supper time here. Wish me luck tomorrow for my first day of class!