So it has been two and a half weeks and two days since I left LA, at the time having a nasty heat wave. I was wearing my uggs, UCLA sweatshirt, and sweats--everything that couldn't fit in any of my luggage--and was sweltering. But they kept telling me it was worth it, knowing where I would be coming out on the other end to, and it would be worth it when I arrived in Edinburgh. And it was, in a way. The plane ride wasn't very cold but sweatshirts are a very handy substitute for those wrap around neck pillow things that everyone on the plane seemed to have. In the terminal waiting for luggage it wasn't very cold either, but once I waited the half hour for my two pieces of luggage to show and walked out the front doors, I was finally glad for wearing so much. The taxi driver, who I eventually found thanks to direction by the owner of the particular taxi company who I am sure was just trying to promote his own business instead of helping the "lost sheep"--as he called me--find a ride, even said that there had been reports of snow in the highlands of Scotland for that weekend. Let me just say though, when I say it was cold, it was maybe Los Osos cold, or just beach on a foggy and dreary day--meaning that a coat and jeans were fine.
Twenty pounds later (money wise, not weight), I made it to the hostel where I was spending the night before the UC orientation, which was the whole purpose of arriving in Edinburgh before Durham actually started. The drive there was spectacular, by the way. Edinburgh is a very dirty city--not trash wise or anything like that, but there is a blackness in all of the Old Town, and much of the New Town (built 200 years ago) too, that just seems to permeate every little crack in the buildings. It adds an Industrial Revolution feeling to what otherwise would simply be another old European city. I personally liked it as soon as I got used to seeing the black on the beige and grey-browns of the stone buildings.
The Hostel, and hotel when I found it the next day, were on side streets off The Royal Mile, which stretches from the castle at the high end of the sloping walk, to the new Parliament building at the low end and is filled with lots of touristy shops selling lots and LOTS of tartar and plaid and very Scottish things. Lining this is also the old historical buildings, like the cathedrals (or maybe just called churches, after comparing it to Durham's cathedral) and other very black and gothic looking, pointed and church-like structures. Looking from the height of the castle later, you could almost trace a straight line following these structures to the castle and past.
But that all happened later. First I arrived, carrying my 60 pound piece of luggage, which tripped me on the cement stairs inside the (admittedly modern) hostel and I still have the nasty bruise from it. Thank God no one was watching. I went up and found my 4 bed room, which surprisingly enough no one else ever came into and played with the computer, emailing the parents and all that. Then I went out to scout out the area and how far the hotel that the orientation provided for us was from the hostel and how far I would have to drag my luggage again. It was about two very small blocks over (remembered from Google Map-stalking the city)
and I felt fine about getting there the next day (the Monday). Went back and fell asleep around 5. Woke up sometime around midnight wide awake, but wanted to get oriented so went back to sleep until 8 or 9 the next day. Best jet-lag fighting plan ever: just sleep until you're back on schedule. But, that comfortable feeling was mitigated when I decided to kill time by climbing a hill in Holyrood Park, at the bottom of the Royal Mile. It was rainy and I was keeping my backpack with me in case of emergency and as I kept climbing, I began to realize that the clouds had cut off the hill halfway up and it was actually about twice as tall, and incredibly steep, than it originally looked. Nice pictures, but worst idea everr.
After coming back down, then walking back up to the hotel, I checked in and met for orientation. It was fun: had a room to myself and the other two girls (only 3 of us, from UCLA, UCSB, and UCSD) shared a room. Our lady in charge was Hilary, who was extremely nice and took us around and had lots of answers for our questions. Went on a tame ghost tour, and then a scary one the next night (for fun). On the Wednesday, all three of us trundled (in the real rain) to the train station and waited for our buses. Their tickets ended up not working and they had to pay for new ones, which was terrible. Mine worked but there was no actual signs for a Durham train, so after asking about, I came to realize that it was a train to Kings Cross that I had to get on, and then just stay awake in order to get off at Durham. That was fine, despite being tired, and having my seat stolen by two random Frenchies was fine because there was enough seats, all because the free wifi on the train made up for it. I spent the hour and 45 minute trip cruising emails and facebook and everything else in the world I had been out of touch with.
Finally then, four days after leaving LA (though it felt like a good month), I arrived at Durham, off the train barely in time because everyone had piled their own heavy luggage on top of my big suitcase in a gravity-defying balancing act, which required lots of tugging and maneuvering that took up the entire two minutes (read less than) that they give everyone to get on and off the train.
But despite the adrenaline rush (what if the doors had closed and I was taken to LEEDS???), I was finally to Durham and was so, so close to the desperate dream of the past three days of ditching my luggage and not having to wear a twenty pound backpack constantly. First, though, came the scary small bus/van ride with a very old English man, whose skill in stick-shift and transmission I sadly must say was rusty, if not non-existent. This made driving over the cobble stone streets (yes, Durham Town in cobble-stone) that at some points are very steep, extremely intimidating (read: petrifying). And, on top of that, it was pouring. Not a nice, English dreary day with drizzle; no, it was a small monsoon. But colder. Anyways, after getting dropped off at the MAIN GATE OF THE CASTLE (ha ha, take that, all other colleges here), I went to the porter's lodge (the gate house) to check in. One thing I came to realize is that they weren't very prepared for the international kids, who got there the Wednesday/Thursday before the Sunday when the real first years arrived. So I was just having to ask lots of questions and make certain that I was going to get to where I wanted/needed to be...until one of the freshers (not freshman, lord forbid) reps walked in behind me, who also happened to be my college "dad." Side not of explanation: there's the University of Durham, comprised of 16 (give or take, not sure) colleges, of which I am in University College, rarely referred to as such, but rather in fact known as Castle. And never The Castle. Just Castle, and there is the debate of it being called Cawstle or Castle (like cat). I am clearly on the cat sounding side, but I blame the accent, not an actual conscious choice of one over the other. However, beyond this, there are the places you live (the Castle itself (in the old keep), in Bailey's Court (across the green center), in Owensgate (at the bottom of the keep), or Moatside (on the road (small tiny street) at the base of the backside of the keep). I live in Moatside (sadly not the castle), but it is still great. There is S block, which is very similar to Hedrick Hall at UCLA, except on the miniature of course, and there is also the smaller R, P, and Q blocks. I am in Q, on the top floor (there's only 3 floors and there is a secret door leading to the second floor that make it also ground level) and it overlooks the street mentioned before, which is fine except the ridiculous construction of the cobblestone that is going on. There are 9 rooms in our block, everyone with a single. Three boys (Tim, Charlie with the big room, and Luke) on the bottom floor, two girls (Annabel and Amy) and a small kitchen area (lacking oven or stove) and a water closet/tiny shower and toilet on the second floor, and four girls (myself, Katie (from Cornell), Georgie, and Beth), a toilet and bathtub (yes! not that I will ever use it) on the third floor. It's basically like living in a town house/apartment except we don't have a common room area, so we sit in the steps and hallway.
But this would all happen later, when they all arrived. But at that point, I was meeting my college dad, Karim from Egypt who doesn't like it and prefers Bahrain and the amenities that come with living in such a fabulous place. Having parents is kind of like the sorority system of having bigs and littles, but clearly with inter-gender dynamics. My mom wasn't coming until that Saturday, so I spent the day with Karim, touring around Durham in the pouring rain and procrastinating in my unpacking as much as possible, waiting for the next day (Thursday), when all of the other international kids would be arriving and our Durham orientation would begin.

That is all of an intro for now (it's long enough!), but sneak peak of stories to come: international orientation people, apartment parties, real Fresher move in day (decided to rain again for them, at least the weather is equal minded), matriculation (wearing gowns--aka robes--in the cathedral), Fresher's Week (like week of welcome, party and hit up the pubs and free clubbing, and pub golf, most amazing idea ever), their version of dining hall food, sports (field hockey is not quite the same here) and then finally classes and nastily long reading lists. And no rain since that Sunday!

Plllleease comment, if you got this far in the reading :)