Sprinting Cripples, Brisk Winds, and a Russian Cafe

It's funny how people and cultures stubbornly defy any attempt to reductionistically characterize their idiosyncrasies. For example, you might say of Scots that they do things more slowly than we do in East Texas, like signing leases and turning on utilities. But take that statement any further and you would be inaccurate, because there are things that Scots do a great deal more rapidly than East Texans. Talking, for instance, appears to be done with the thought in mind that this could be one's very last breath and it is therefore imperative to squeeze every bit of important (or unimportant) communication out by the time this breath ends. This also seems to become more true the thicker the Scottish accent. Apparently, those whose accents are the least discernible by non-natives are the ones most in touch with their own mortality.

Similarly, walking is done here at slightly over 175% of the capacity of one's musculo-skeletal structure. I walk quickly for an East Texan, even for an American, generally speaking. Obviously, I have had to slow down some for my pregnant wife, but we have been maintaining what I consider to be an acceptable pace in our meanderings. Over here, though, we always seem to be in the way. As early as last Friday we were noticing the conspicuously frenzied pace of walking in Old Town. At first we thought this must be because of the large percentage of University students with whom we were sharing the sidewalks. Then, in a phenomenon strangely reminiscent of the opening scenes of Office Space, we were passed by a man with a cane. He wasn't really using the cane (though he hobbled as if he needed to), so much as he held it out in front of him slightly, and set it down every now and then when it wouldn't be too much in his way. To complete the surreality of this situation, Lara and I immediately began to perform the “My Little Buttercup” scene from The Three Amigos (keyword here is surreal, and yes, I am lying about the musical number).

Scottish weather, too, defies any attempt to reduce it to some governing principle. Basically, there is weather, and it happens frequently. We are learning that you never leave the house without an umbrella, because yesterday it rained on us without clouds. I don't know how that's possible, but the only rain clouds I saw were way off in the distance. Then again, we were also experiencing what felt like hurricane force winds, so maybe the rain was coming the rain cloud 25 miles away. Sideways rain appears so far to be the main kind of rain in Scotland. I mentioned always having an umbrella, but I've had to use it differently, more like a shield in combat than a mobile pavilion. Sometimes, the rain is more like ether, existing everywhere and coming at you from every direction at once. In that case, using an umbrella just makes you feel like an idiot because you get wet no matter which way you point it. Perhaps if I have a giant inflatable plastic globe which we could role around in like hamsters...

Speaking of the wind yesterday, it was very impressive, reminding me of Tulsa, and Lara of Hurricane Andrew. Yesterday also was the day we chose to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens, which are directly in front of the place we are staying. The wind was strong all day, but it was stronger in the afternoon than the morning, so we were able to see most of the Botanic Gardens before standing upright became impractical. On the way back to our residence, the wind (which did not come from one direction exclusively, but whichever way was most inconvenient at the time) resisted our approach to St. Colms such that we were actually leaning forward as we walked. At one point, I tucked my head and leaned forward while taking a few steps, only to look up and be sure I was three steps behind my starting place.

Despite the capricious weather, walking around has actually gotten a great deal easier for both of us. I was perhaps more accustomed to daily walking than Lara because of our work environments in Tyler, but even I was tired and sore the first few days. Lara has managed to strike out on her own a couple of times as I spent a few hours in a library, and like a boomerang she always came back. One thing that has helped some is learning the bus system. I can do a PhD, but this bus schedule is intimidating, particularly when they are referring to places you won't find on most maps, because they aren't street names but district names. Finally, we found a bus route number that took us from near St. Colms all the way to the main part of the University (it actually goes by New College, too). With trepidation we got on that first bus, paid our fares and climbed some stairs to the top of a double decker bus, sitting close to the front. Miraculously, we got off at the right place.

Actually, that first bus experience was loads of fun. I'm still not quite certain how the whole center of gravity thing works with double deckers, but I recommend you try it at least once in your life. While we were on that first bus, a young man who turned out to be a student at the University asked us if he was on the right bus route to get to the University. I love irony. His name was Christoph (or Cristoff or Kristoff, I didn't ask him the spelling of it), and he was from Belgium. He didn't realize it, but he had the honor of being the first Belgian I ever met who wasn't a waffle. We exchanged the required student chitchat, like where are you from, what are you studying, etc. I explained that I was a PhD student in the Divinity school and my project was a comprehensive study of spirit in the Old Testament. He looked at me without understanding, but in a completely neutral way, indicating he had no idea what I was talking about. This is not the sort of blank, dismissive look you might get from someone in the US in such circumstances which basically means, “I'm glad you care about that because I sure don't.” Rather, I honestly think he was completely unfamiliar with the Bible and what the study of it might possibly entail. I knew that there were young people in Western civilization who were so unfamiliar with Christianity as to at times never even have heard who Jesus is, but he may very well have been my first actual encounter with that reality.

Despite tackling the bus routes, we still enjoy walking. Today we walked to church, a local one called Stockbridge Parish Church, which is part of the Church of Scotland. Just as last week we had a very pleasant experience with another COS at Palmerston Place, Lara and I were warmly welcomed despite the heat being out in the building. Church of Scotland services are actually very similar to what you might experience at a Methodist church, including a section toward the beginning of the gathering which is aimed at children and young people. The sermon happens about two thirds of the way through, and there is singing both before and after. Communion is not taken every week, but appears to be a monthly occurrence. The minister at Stockbridge Parish Church is actually a woman (today was her birthday), and her sermon today was very well prepared and delivered. We were able to talk to her afterward, and she is very nice, unassuming, and mild-mannered to the point of being a bit bashful. So far, our experiences with the Church of Scotland have revealed an organization characterized by smaller congregations with vibrantly friendly and mission-minded Christians. This is not to say that missionary efforts are not needed. On the contrary, the majority of Scots are quite clearly not Christians. They don't even pretend to be, like many Americans do (I'm convinced that the statistics of Christianity's prevalence in the USA is swelled by the presence within much of the country of a cultural faith, ethnic Christianity, if you will). Therefore, whatever help the Scottish Christians can get to reach their people is vitally needed. I'm just saying that I think the Church of Scotland is playing and will continue to play an important role in that outreach.

Today after church, we ate lunch at this Russian cafe run by Russian immigrants on the corner of Brandon Terrace and Huntley St (or Inverleith Row, or Canonmills; roads often have two or three names here). We each had soup and a Piroshky (Russian for pie) for half of what we would have paid elsewhere, and the food was really good. If you've never had Russian food, it apparently depends heavily on mushrooms, but don't let that stop you if you're not a mushroom fan (as I am not). I will likely eat there again, whether we live in this area or not.