You know, we’ve met some really lovely Scots.
People with whom we’ve actually become friends have been very kind to us in general, and last night was no exception. A classmate of D’s and his wife, B., came to take us to dinner. We had a great time — B. is a midwife, so that was completely intriguing to T., who, up until she discovered she neither liked blood, sweat nor tears thought being a midwife would be kind of cool — and the husband is a soft-spoken and earnest philosophy student and it was obvious that he and his wife think each other are really fun – not in a googly-eyed, lovey-dovey way, but each thinks the other is intelligent and worth listening to. It’s always really fun to hang out with married people like that.
Anyway, during the course of chatting, a couple of times they asked us what our plans were for the New Year. The first time we shrugged, a little leery of answering since quite a few people become alarmed at any hint that we may just be staying home. The second time they asked, we said, “Oh, well, there are fireworks in St. George Square…”
“NO!” they said in unison. “Don’t go there!” B. added worriedly. “Everyone’s drunk, it’s cold, it’s dark, it rains, and there are fights.” T. laughed that she hadn’t thought of that last one. “You should. Glasgow is the knifing capitol of the world,” B. explained seriously. “They fly doctors here from all over the world to learn how to to stitch up wounds.” She elaborated(!!!!), but we won’t go into detail. Suffice it to say that we’re just as pleased to be staying home tonight to catch what fireworks we can in the heavy fog and rain. According to the BBC, in Glasgow alone there will be fifty thousand in the streets, and fifteen thousand tickets have been sold to the St. George Square bash alone. Wow. Since ‘our Rabbie Burns’ wrote Auld Lang Syne in this very country, we expect to hear it until 2 A.M., sung at full volume, heaven help us. Ah, Glasgow, land of the singing drunk guys on the sidewalk beneath our building… though you’re not letting us sleep this week, we still (sorta) love you.
People have asked us repeatedly if we’re picking up the Scots burr. In a word, no. It’s like picking up a German accent if you don’t speak German. The burr comes from the guttural Gaelic words, some of which have no translation in English, which are still part of the Scottish vocabulary. So, the accent is just not something we’re going to suddenly discover we have one day. What’s weird, though? Is hearing the people who do have that burr… who grew up here, but who don’t look like it.
An Asian grocer opening his mouth to say, “Aye, and that’ll be four and six,” or a dark-skinned African child on his way home, poking his mates in their shoulders and screeching something about “footy” — is disconcerting. We’re used to hearing British Commonwealth accents from South Asian/Indian peoples, so that’s not quite as surprising, but hearing a Chinese or Thai person who sounds Scottish just makes us blink. Last night, B.’s accent gave us pause. She was born… in Seville, but spending her teen years here have given her the slightest Scottish sound.
We tend to think the United States is a melting pot, but in this city there seem to be bunches of small countries, ethnic neighborhoods, and all four kingdoms melting, remelting, and creating new tribes. It’s an interesting thing to see.
We have so, so, so very much for which to be thankful. During this break, a big thing has been books — books T’s been privileged to read and review that have entertained us and given us somewhere else to be when it was a little too lonely to be here, away from home. Friends from all over who arrived providentially with a bit of advice, a laugh, a suggestion of a health food store, a yarn shop, a hardware store, and a Mexican restaurant (with actual pinto beans). How funny that it all comes to mind at the closing of the year. We’ve survived, and so many hands have reached out to steady us on our way, and encourage us when we faltered. Friends, we’re truly grateful.
– D & T
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Really? The knifing capitol of the world?? Stay inside.
Glad that you found a source of Mexican food!
Until tomorrow, happy burning sticks…
I’ve heard about that knifing claim, too, and catch me going out on New Years Night in the Big City here. NO WAY.
Our first evening in Scotland, we went into an Indian restaurant and were served by the owner, a Pakistani with a beautiful Edinburgh accent. I tried to get him to say ‘Certainly’ more than once without asking him to repeat himself outright, just because the way he said it was pure poetry — and so incongruous.
In Japan, I used to pass the university complex in Sendai and watch the kids in the international student complex as they played. All different races, squabbling away in Japanese — it never failed to crack me up.
It’s great to hear that the hobbits are settling into their new home. Even if there are some surprises to be had on occasion ( the knifing thing comes to mind!)