The Fresher’s Week Pub Crawl (organized by the Student Union, believe it or not) was the first time that we really “went out.” Based on a few trips to the Golf Tavern, we realized that drinks are pretty dang expensive here when you factor in the exchange rate, so we naturally hit up Tesco, the grocery store, earlier in the day. It’s weird to have a liquor isle in the grocery store, but it’s definitely convenient. Even if the cheap whisky that I bought there isn’t likely to make mother proud, the fact that it’s Tesco-brand probably will. Yes, you heard right, I bought store brand alcohol; mama trained me well when it comes to generics. Surprisingly, my Tesco-whisky + Tesco-cola didn’t turn out half bad
Somehow I managed to get us to the starting point of the crawl, without a map and only a general idea of its location. At the Three Sisters, we paid our 10 gbp and donned our super-stylish purple t-shirts. Before I knew it, I had made friends with a large group of Swedish girls- they were all incredibly nice and loved to chat! They each kindly sent me a text with their name typed in it else I NEVER would’ve figured it out. I have to say the Swedes are some of the nicest people that I’ve met here. Unfortunately, my new friends were in a different group that started crawling a little bit later, but I was still very happy to be with my flatmates and other American cronies.
Stop #2 specialized in Vodka so there were lots of fruity things on the menu. A little expensive, so not my favorite stop. Next place of interest: Malone’s, an awesome Irish pub that I’m sure will become a favorite. I had a lovely time there with the girls and Katie’s Germans. The next stop was a pub in Grassmarket where I drank what tasted like a Christmas tree in liquid form- so gross!
Stop #5…sigh…was the Chanter, the site of what will surely be one of the most discussed/remembered/joked about encounters of the semester. The Chanter was where I met none other than Sean “with the sweater,” attractive Scottish man. As I paid for my “Tennessee Twist,” a drink I had to try on principle, I surveyed the other patrons packed around the bar and my eye landed on Sean. Having been in bonny Scotland for almost a week and having met practically no Scottish people (and no cute men at all), I decided what the hell and struck up conversation. What followed in the next five minutes has been engraved, bookmarked, and tabbed in the annals of my own personal history. It was just simple, inane small talk with Mr. Sean from-Glasgow-and-in-town-(and-wearing-a-sweater)-for-an-interview. That’s about the only solid information I know about him, but he was perfect: cute, but not too cute, tall, Scottish, and freakin’ wearing a navy blue sweater (which, apparently, I have a thing for). The conversation drew to an end as it became clear he’s been sent to the bar to get drinks for all his friends, but we parted with a slightly hopeful and quite vague “I hope I see you later” on his part. No line from a Shakespearean romance, but, under the circumstances, good enough for me.
Alas, love at the pub was not to be and within a few minutes our pub crawling forced me to abandon all hopes of Sean “in the sweater.” It’s probably better this way; now he’s become a legend (among 28/3 flatmates anyway). There are no photos of him and no one else witnessed our magical few moments, so he will just exist in my memory (insert melodramatic sigh here).
The rest of the night was not nearly as exciting and I’m sure my flatmates wanted to smack me for my repeated, “Guuuyyysss, but he was wearing a SWEATER!” However, we did find a place that puts eggs on burgers, go clubbing in rainboots, play twister in the corner of a dance floor, speculate about the shady happenings in the ball pit, and stop by the home of the Scottish 4th meal: the chippy (where they fry EVERYTHING, making them some of the best places on earth). I feel like the epic-ness of chippies means they deserve their own post, but let me leave you with one thought: deep. fried. pizza.
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| Flatmates (+Cailyn & Chelsea) and Swedes |
Stop #2 specialized in Vodka so there were lots of fruity things on the menu. A little expensive, so not my favorite stop. Next place of interest: Malone’s, an awesome Irish pub that I’m sure will become a favorite. I had a lovely time there with the girls and Katie’s Germans. The next stop was a pub in Grassmarket where I drank what tasted like a Christmas tree in liquid form- so gross!
Stop #5…sigh…was the Chanter, the site of what will surely be one of the most discussed/remembered/joked about encounters of the semester. The Chanter was where I met none other than Sean “with the sweater,” attractive Scottish man. As I paid for my “Tennessee Twist,” a drink I had to try on principle, I surveyed the other patrons packed around the bar and my eye landed on Sean. Having been in bonny Scotland for almost a week and having met practically no Scottish people (and no cute men at all), I decided what the hell and struck up conversation. What followed in the next five minutes has been engraved, bookmarked, and tabbed in the annals of my own personal history. It was just simple, inane small talk with Mr. Sean from-Glasgow-and-in-town-(and-wearing-a-sweater)-for-an-interview. That’s about the only solid information I know about him, but he was perfect: cute, but not too cute, tall, Scottish, and freakin’ wearing a navy blue sweater (which, apparently, I have a thing for). The conversation drew to an end as it became clear he’s been sent to the bar to get drinks for all his friends, but we parted with a slightly hopeful and quite vague “I hope I see you later” on his part. No line from a Shakespearean romance, but, under the circumstances, good enough for me.
Alas, love at the pub was not to be and within a few minutes our pub crawling forced me to abandon all hopes of Sean “in the sweater.” It’s probably better this way; now he’s become a legend (among 28/3 flatmates anyway). There are no photos of him and no one else witnessed our magical few moments, so he will just exist in my memory (insert melodramatic sigh here).
The rest of the night was not nearly as exciting and I’m sure my flatmates wanted to smack me for my repeated, “Guuuyyysss, but he was wearing a SWEATER!” However, we did find a place that puts eggs on burgers, go clubbing in rainboots, play twister in the corner of a dance floor, speculate about the shady happenings in the ball pit, and stop by the home of the Scottish 4th meal: the chippy (where they fry EVERYTHING, making them some of the best places on earth). I feel like the epic-ness of chippies means they deserve their own post, but let me leave you with one thought: deep. fried. pizza.