Writing Across the Modes CollectionECI 509, Integrating Writing and Technology

Student Name: Instructions: Throughout the course, students should insert their various pieces of writing into this template, until all of the required pieces of writing are complete. Students may embed any images onto the template that go with a given piece of writing. At the beginning of the course, students will create an Issuu account, upload this document into their account, then embed the Issuu document on their Weebly portfolio page. Throughout the course as new pieces of writing are added to the template (in Word), students will need to reload this Word doc into their Issuu account, then the updates will automatically be reflected on their Weebly page.

Part I. Expository Writing

My 1-2 Page Reflection about Expository Writing

Coming Soon

My Scribe Report

On Tuesday, July 30th, grey skies and a light drizzle greeted us in the courtyard at quarter past ten. My classmates huddled under brightly patterned umbrellas and several individuals brave enough to venture outside without any such shield took advantage of the tardy transportation to dash back inside and change into warmer clothing. I didn’t take an official poll, but I gathered that the group as a whole was ready for this traditional English weather. Personally, it was both a welcome relief from the heat and provided the opportunity to pull out and wear some of the only clean clothes left in my closet: long sleeves and jeans. 

The Busy Bee bus arrived and we cheered to see that Colin once again sat behind the wheel. (Why do we love Colin so much? Well, if you belt Olivia Newton John songs with your bus driver, you might become attached. Also, he’s cheery, patient, and dropped us off at Tesco.) Kevin explained that we were traveling to Chawton Village, where we would visit a large estate called Chawton House, and a small cottage in the same village, which was once home to Jane Austen. 

The drive to Chawton was subdued compared to others we’ve taken in the past weeks. Colleagues participating in Morale Monday were on several classmates’ minds and we discussed expectations of how things will be when we return to NC. 

I sat next to Justin C on the bus. Justin made the mistake on the way to Chawton of revealing that he hadn’t read any Austen. I took it upon myself to enlighten him and read one and a half chapters of Pride and Prejudice aloud. Justin kindly tolerated my blathering, as the Bennet sisters tolerated Mr. Collins. 

Part of our conversation stayed with me. Justin is passionate about American literature and before this class didn’t feel a strong desire to read much British literature.  Being here in England, however, and hearing others speak passionately about their favorite British authors has inspired him to branch out. He’s excited about the prospect of teaching twelfth grade a few years down the road and will draw upon his experience here when he teaches. There’s just something about walking the same paths these authors walked and being immersed in the history of this place that is restorative and inspiring. Upon arriving in Chawton, the group split like an atom in a particle accelerator. Eleven walked to Austen’s house and ten stopped at Cassandra’s Cup to wait for the next tour. 

A woman named Anna Holmes met the group of eleven near the gift shop and welcomed us to Jane’s home. Lisa, possibly scarred by her admonishment in the white tower last week, politely asked if she could take pictures in the house. Several faces brightened when Mrs. Holmes granted permission. It’s not essential to take pictures, and some might argue that putting away the camera allows us better experience an exhibit like the Austen House. Let’s be real, though: we want pictures to show our friends, family and students. I can imagine the high school teachers in our group showing pictures of Jane’s desk, or the gardens at the cottage where Jane and Cassandra walked to introduce their students to this groundbreaking author. 

We watched a movie about Austen’s life, projected on a simple, white wall. The movie left us with the thought that THIS PLACE was where Austen wrote and had published most of her major works. 

The cottage was small, but comfortable, and memories of Jane lined the walls. A first edition Pride and Prejudice safely slept behind glass near a lock of her hair. Her blue dress stands in a room next to a letter (http://www.pemberley.com/janeinfo/brablt17.html#letter95) written by Cassandra to her niece, Fanny, after Jane’s death. Jane’s relationship with her sister was remarkable and Cassandra’s devastation at the loss of her sister was palpable. “I have lost a treasure. Such a sister, such a friend, as never can have been surpassed, --She was the sun of my life, the guilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow. I had not a thought

concealed from her and it is as if I had lost a part of myself. Several members of our group commented on the closeness of these sisters and were touched by Cassandra’s words. 

Reading Cassandra’s letter, seeing Jane’s house, imagining the girls taking a turn about the garden, it all paints a picture of Austen’s influences in her writing. She wrote what she knew. I could so clearly see her relationship with Cassandra mirrored in Elizabeth’s relationship with Jane, or Marianne’s with Eleanor. I could picture the walks in the garden and the social dynamics of the country gentry she details in her books. 

After the tour of Chawton Cottage, the group boarded the bus and drove to Chawton House where we feasted on quiche, potato salad, rocket salad, and the best damn lemon cake this world has ever known. Any volunteers to hunt down the recipe and make it for our weekend class in September? 

I'll now leave you to hear Elizabeth's account of our afternoon at Chawton House. 

One-Sentence Summary

Beginning with a hot shower, an apologetic note, and a cab ride to Snax Café, my last day in Edinburg consisted of a tour of the castle, street musicians, a declined credit card, a solitary hike up the crags, and a Harry Potter enthusiast and ended with admonishment from a train attendant for talking in the quiet zone.

Summary Paragraph“Lucy Locket lost her pocket and Kitty Fisher found it” is part of a children’s song but as Jane, our tour guide at Chawton Estate explained, the song alludes to an affair far too tawdry for a childish tune. It just goes to show you that there’s history to be found everywhere in England.

2nd Expository Writing: Dickens in the 21st Century

My fingers hover over the keys and I furtively glance around. I’ll take my chances. I have a

confession to make: I never liked Charles Dickens… Phew! I half expected a professor wearing a

tweed jacket and horn-rimmed glasses to jump out from behind my couch and revoke my teaching

license. How could any self-respecting English teacher admit to not liking Dickens? Well, usually I

don’t admit it, but in my defense, I’m akin to Dr. Engel’s freshmen who are not familiar with the

best of Dickens, but the “least:” his shorter works, for which he is most famous (118). Perhaps if

I’d read his greater works, or the fascinating story of his life at an earlier time, I wouldn’t have

formed this opinion.

My first experience reading Dickens was when my high school freshman English teacher

added Great Expectations to the summer reading list. While I did read it, I read it half-heartedly

and resentfully. Most likely because it prevented me from reading whichever Harry Potter book

had just been released. When school resumed, my teacher spent just a few days discussing the

novel. She didn’t seem to be particularly excited about Dickens, and didn’t provide any

background on his life. I didn’t mind at the time; on the contrary, I rejoiced that Pip and the creepy

Miss Havisham would no longer be a part of my life. I don’t blame my teacher for her lack of

Dickensian enthusiasm. She was a dedicated educator and was passionate about many other

authors. However, it’s clear from Dr. Engel’s essay that Dickens was done a disservice. Had I

known Charles Dickens’ fascinating life story, I would have been much more interested in his

work. After reading Dr. Engel’s essay, and hearing a passion for Dickens in every sentence he

wrote, I’m even slightly tempted to pick up a copy of The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit.

Slightly.

If anything stayed with me after reading Dr. Engle’s essay on Dickens, it’s that his life is far

more interesting than any book he ever wrote. It’s a rags to riches tale that was initially

contingent on circumstance (his Sketches by Boz book just so happened to catch the publishers’

eyes), and later on Dickens's dogged pursuit of success. Bearing the burden of sole breadwinner

for his family developed an entrepreneurial spirit in Dickens. His work as an author earned him

$68 million and he is now the “top-grossing author that we study in school” (120). His success

wasn’t due to dumb luck, although dumb luck certainly helped; Dickens was clever, and I’d like to

think that even if he were displaced into another century, he would again become a successful,

wealthy author.

Why was Dickens such a success in his own time? He was a brilliant businessman who took

advantage of current marketing trends and created opportunities for himself. Dickens

conceptualized the paperback, introduced the reader to procrastinated suspense, and he conned

the consumer into buying not one edition of The Pickwick Papers, but three! Dickens did this by

ensuring that his books were wildly popular, but he also made the purchasing process somewhat

exclusive with his leather bound and first editions. I love the irony in the reader returning his

original copy of the Pickwick Papers to a salesman and then buying it back again in the form of a

costly and rare collector’s edition. Dickens took advantage of situations, created a desirable

product, and kept the reader wanting more. These tactics, though they will take different form,

will absolutely prevail in the 21st century.

First off, assuming that Dickens is still fond of drawing in the 21st century, I can imagine

him using Instagram and Twitter to share his art. Perhaps one night on his way home from work,

he might depict a person or commonplace item on his Sketchpad App. Then, he’ll tweet the

picture, (his initial Twitter name will be @_theBoz of course) #wearywillowwoman,

#sketchesbyboz, #nofilter, #can’tsleep. and will include a link to a blog post about the odd sight.

Wanting to get his work out there, Dickens will tweet publishing houses daily, sending them his

#sketchesbyboz pictures and a link to his blog. His witty writing and frequent hashtagging will

undoubtedly result in many followers and a steadfastly loyal fan base.

19th Century Dickens seemed to possess self-confidence in abundance. Knowing that he

will one day be a successful writer and businessman, 21st Century Dickens will be just as self-

assured. He will pursue avenues through which to raise funds to publish his own books, most

likely by using Kickstarter or a similar “Donors Choose” style site. He might offer signed sketches,

graphic-tees, or @-theBoz mugs to his highest donors. Because of his large fan base, he will quickly

reach his goal and start publishing under his real name.

21st Century Dickens will first release an ebook and then later, a hardcover edition. An

ebook is essentially today’s version of the paperback. It’s cheaper than the regular book, easy to

tote around, and if the reader enjoys Dickens’s novel or is especially proud to have read it, he will

buy a hard cover for his shelf. Trusting that his loyal fans will purchase his “first” published story,

Dickens will want to ensure that they will invest in his future stories. He will therefore incorporate

“procrastinated suspense,” or a cliffhanger at the end of his tale. Before the next book is

published, Dickens will release a special edition ebook with hypertext linking the reader to author

interviews, character backstories in the form of video, fan fiction, new illustrations and the first

chapter of the next book, which will also be full of suspense. This pattern will carry on until

Dickens develops a loyal group of readers, far beyond what anyone could have anticipated.

This takes us to Dickens’s next move. Wanting to engage his readers in a different mode of

storytelling, and also in an attempt to gain new readers, Dickens will next explore storytelling via

social media. Taking a cue from Bernie Sue and Hank Green, creators of the Lizzie Bennet Diaries,

Dickens will create an online presence for his characters and then retell a published story in real

time over the course of a year using video blogs, interactions on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and

Tumblr in a social media series. Because no one pays to see vlogs, tweets, or blogs, Dickens will

use product placement in the vlogs. (It ‘s not just any meal that Scrooge presents to the Cratchits

on Christmas Day, it’s a Butterball turkey and gravy made with Swanson broth!)

Though I admitted to not being Dickens’s biggest fan, I greatly admire his tenacity and

creativity. How could a resourceful, determined fellow like Charles Dickens not succeed in the 21st

Century? The technology and online community available to us today offers plenty of avenues

through which to promote his work. Furthermore, Dickens’s clever and suspenseful writing will

ensure loyalty in his readers. Dickens was born to be a literary pioneer and transporting him to

the 21st century would not change that.

My time at the British Library is one I will cherish for many years.  I tend to feel at home in any library, but this one was special. Our excellent tour guide and teacher, Julian Walker enthralled us. His stories captivated, facts sparked interest, and British accent melted hearts (just kidding... maybe.) 

We learned that George III was a dedicated collector

of books and his library can now be found behind a massive, glass bookcase in the centre of the building. See picture below.

Remarkably, with only a reader’s card, one can actually handle books that are as old as 1500 AD when doing research! (Documents in the rare books collection are the exception to the rule, of course.)  

I entered the rare books collection and was surrounded by first editions of books and manuscripts that I’d never dreamed of seeing in person. The ONLY surviving copy of Beowulf was feet away from me. I stared at Shakespeare’s first folios and quartos. I saw Austen’s writing desk and Milton’s “commonplace book.” Julian urged us to think about the authority of language and, more specifically who has the authority to change language. There were even some envelopes with Beatles lyrics scribbled on them! Seeing Lady Jane Grey’s prayer book brought me back to my time

2nd Additional Expository Writing

at the Tower and as Julian described her death, a few of my classmates turned to look at me and grin.  I didn’t plug my ears or grow queasy this time because Julian spared us the gory details.

I saw the earliest old testament translated to English and learned that in the late 14th century, individuals caught reading an English Bible could be burned for daring to read it in English. On the other hand, wealthy lords and ladies could get away with having a copy. William Tyndale (I took a picture of his statue on Sunday. It’s in the Westminster Abbey Blog.) was burned at the stake for translating the Bible into English. His last words were “May God open the eyes of the King!” It was three years later that it was legal to read the Bible in English in England.

       

 

I saw the Codex Sinaticus, the Codex Alexandrinus, and THE Magna Carta!

We broke for lunch and afterwards learned that our digital research class had been cancelled. The brilliant Julian Walker came to the rescue and offered to teach a lesson about the history of the English language on the fly. What a champ! The class was divided into two groups and when the professors suggested switching groups so we would have different librarians, several of Julian’s fans (myself included) persuaded the teachers to keep things as they were. Julian asked for a few minutes to gather materials for the impromptu class and the “Walker Group” went off to peruse the gift shop with what time we had to spare.

Julian met us by the information desk in the front of the library and  started off by posing some questions.

What do you think of the English language?

Does it do what you want it to?

How does it change?

Who has the authority to make those changes?

What is “correct” and who determines that?

As a follow up to the second question, Julian asked for an adjective to describe the entrance of the museum. We amazed him with our immense vocabularies and said, “big.”

“Now turn that into a noun,” he prompted. 

“Immensity? Vastness? Greatness?” we tried, not understanding his directions.

“You need to use the word big  in your new word,” he reminded us.

“Bigness?” someone guessed.

“Is bigness a word?” he replied. Which really made us think. Its meaning was clear, and isn’t that the point of words, to convey meaning?

“Bigness,” Julian Walker stated, “is not now commonly used, but if you read Treasure Island, you’ll see Stevenson employ it to describe the size of the ship’s mast. Jim was able to escape because of the bigness of the mast.”

So why then do we shy away from words like bigness? Because it doesn’t sound right? Who determines what “sounds right?” Who determines the rules, what comes and what goes?

Another question that Julian posed was whether or not all things have a word or a name. He asked us to describe bumping into another person on the sidewalk and the slight confusion that ensues when both parties try to get out of the other’s way, but end up blocking the path just the same.

We ended up jokingly calling it a “shall we dance?” but Julian gave us a much more proper name for it. In North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell, it’s called a “street courtesy.” That’s a great name for that awkward moment. Why has the phrase fallen out of use? I’m going to bring it back.

Why do we use certain words and phrases with some, while we avoid those words and phrases with others? Do the words determine the relationship or does the relationship determine the words?

Other miscellaneous facts:

ye should be pronounced “the.” In old English there was a character that looked like a Y, but was pronounced “th.” Knowing this, why do we continue to say “ye olde shoppe?”

The word gravy was actually “grany.” A typo changed the word.

Pwned = owned, typo once again!

“Language change is fine,” Julian paused here, “but who manages it?”

We suggest that Julian be in charge of all future changes to the English language, but he politely informed us that he’s just too busy. We finally said goodbye to Julian and moved on to our next seminar.

Part II. Poetic Writing

My 1-2 Page Reflection About Poetics Writing

Coming Soon

Where I’m From Poem

Where I’m From I am from twin guardians:Two proud maple trees, keeping watch over our house.

I am from an attic bedroom with Round spy windows and a sister shadow.From a treacherous, steep staircaseThat kept out our brother.From Tempera on cardboard proclaiming “No boys allowed!”

I am from go play outside and Use your imagination.I am from a backyard garden(Or action figure burial ground, as Obi-Wan discovered).I’m from prehistoric painters and dandelions smeared on white siding. From accomplished artists to carriers of soapy sponges and buckets.I am from phrases like Just wait until your father gets home!

I am from rusty swing sets and broken arms. From raw snow peas you had to pick in secretAnd then blame the weak crop on the “deer” you saw in the backyard.

I am from Dad’s silly faces when Mom served us “garbage soup.” From spice racks with cayenne pepper-not red cinnamon!

From clean your plate or you won’t get dessert.

I am from family camping trips Where Jake-the-Snake and Manda-Panda Helped make forts under pine trees And each wild animal we saw we named after food. (Pancake the Crow, Cookie the Coyote, Peanut the Moose)

I am from fishing trips, fish fries, and fish tanks,From bike rides to the library.I am from hills and skinned knees,From Band-Aids and reading on my mother’s lap.

I’m from a cool, concrete basement wherePictures of soccer games, first days of schoolAnd second cousins’ birthdaysCover a whole wall.

I’m from rock collections And postcards, andFrom maps dotted with color That tell where I’ve been andWhere I’ll go Trails of pushpins at their center that showWhere I’m from.

Poems Created in Class with Dr. Buckner

MandyIf I were to see her a mile away, I’d know so quickly that it would be her:The Goodwill sandals,The blur of freckles,The bright eyes and smirking smile. If I were to feel her arms around me I’d know that they were her arms Squeezing me, tight and comforting Like only a sister can. If I heard her voice coming from a rock I’d pick up that rock and look for a tunnelTo see if she’d figured out a way To dig to me from China.

Bio Poem about SelfJill Jet-lagged, excited and eager, Sibling of Mandy and JakeDaughter of Sandy and Jeff who are always far away but are often on my mindLover of Austen, Harry Potter and the cool English weather (when is that going to show up?!) Who feels content when immersed in a novel, renewed when exploring a new place and overwhelmed by London bus schedulesWho needs caffeine, new adventures and conversations with new friendsWho provides encouragement, well-intentioned directions, and Harry Potter referencesWho fears getting lost in a foreign country without a phone, weak-soled shoes, and laundry cardsWho would like to see the Tower of London, Oxford and Benedict CumberbatchResident of 65 Surrey Court, near the Harry Potter KitchenZappia

Historic Character Bio Poem JaneWitty, ironic, proper, Beloved sister of Cassandra, George, Edward, James, and CharlesLover of Steventon, the rules of society, and writingWho feels comfort when in the presence of her sister, motivated when secretly writing and devastated by the loss of her fatherWho cherishes the adoration of her niece, her friendship with Martha Lloyd, and long walks in the gardenWho provides unparalleled prose, the plot structure for modern romantic comedies, and hours of contentment with a cup of tea and a novel Who fears change, loss of status, and being discoveredWho would like to see her writing publishedResident of Chawton CottageAusten

1st Additional Poetic Writing Carol Busy, energetic, grandmother, friend to all, Sister of Jeanne

Lover of sewing, singing, and books, Who feels joy when helping others, power when going hiking, and alive when reading to her grandkids, Who needs laughter, friends, and family, Who fears spiders, darkness, and death, Who would like to see the mountains, her grandkids go to college, and a cure for cancer, Resident of the little white house on Green Meadows Blvd, Westman

2nd Additional Poetic Writing

A hunterAnd his dogBehind a brush of wild weedsOne patiently waits while the other bristles for the bird

What I Don’t Know*What color a triceratops wasThe name of the royal princeThe airspeed velocity of an unladen swallowThe square root of piIf I were an octopus life would be greatThe inside joke about slaps and Fanta orange flavorWhat the royal family does How fanny packs became so popularWhere all of the cowboys went The country that has the most hospitals How many pents are in a pound How to spell penceWhat the royal baby’s name is How much wood a wood chuck chucksThe gender of the royal babyRussiaWhy the chicken crossed the roadWhy people do what they do Why I’m here What’s my purpose?Diddley-squatSadly, I don’t know what I don’t’ knowI don’t know how to drive on the left hand side of the roadWho does that?*Written by the students of ECI 509 on the bus to Wisley Gardens on 7/22/13 in my notebook. Each of us was allowed ten seconds to add a line to go along with the title “Things I Don’t Know.”

Part III. Expressive Writing

My 1-2 Page Reflection About Expressive Writing

Coming Soon

All About Me

http://millsparkms.edu.glogster.com/who-am-i-template/

Design A Room

Thunder rumbles in the distance and my true surroundings appear as the world I temporarily inhabited begins to blur. I ensure my hero’s safety before folding over the thin page of my novel, sigh contentedly and relish the feeling of the cool, mountain air filling my lungs.  There are no bugs, but a Citronella candle flickers a few feet away. Coming up to my cabin in Asheville is just what the doctor ordered after the first week back at school.

The cabin is simple: sensible pine boards, two cozy bedrooms, and a living room with a large hearth. The porch spans the length of the house and the roof juts out to protect the rocking chairs below. Three sturdy posts anchor the cabin to the bluff. They support the roof overhead and provide something for my Eno hammock to hang between.

Gazing up at the oaken rafters of my porch, the orange nylon of my hammock in my peripheral vision, I notice a spider traveling in the direction of the open window of the cabin. I lose sight of the weaver for a moment until the rippled glass in the pane reflects the creature’s strokes across her web. She treads purposefully across the lanes of her net and dives for the entrance to my dry dwelling.

I briefly ponder following the spider inside, but ultimately decide against it. Bundled in my hammock with blankets, a handful of G.O.R.P., a thermos of tea, and a book, I watch the storm roll in.

Impressions of England http://jzappia123.edu.glogster.com/winchester-cathedral

See Pinterest Boards: http://pinterest.com/kevoliver/eci-509-appreciation-for-another-culture/http://pinterest.com/kevoliver/eci-509-new-or-renewed-appreciation-for-our-own-cu/http://pinterest.com/kevoliver/eci-509-our-best-imagery/

Post Cards Home

Cool, damp air greeted me as I sunk into the crypt, in

Rapture, I listened to the tour guide’s impassioned tale of

Yore, of unofficial burials and an offended queen.

Pillars and arches rose up to support the cathedral as did the men who were there

Translated. 

A Day in the Life

Busy Bee Bus Shuttle on the way to WinchesterWide, tinted windows, slid slightly open Carpet, smoky gray, on my left arm makes me sweatMy knees are braced against orange, serpentine poles while we Rock, sway, overtake a carStay between the lines and Keep to the leftSunscreen, exhaust and body odor assault my nose And my classmates’ conversation hums to fill the hiveThe familiar taste of beans and toast creeps onto my tongue as I try to ignore the motion sickness.Quick, think of something else: the royal baby, Chancellor’s pub, Jane Austen! My sweaty fingers slide off my notebook paper, my eyelids start to droop“Be back at the bus at 4:00,” the teacher cries. We have arrived, safe and sound.

1st Additional Expressive Writing See Go Animate

2nd Additional Expressive Writing Wearing all of my clothes and covered with two towels and part of a blue and white checkered tablecloth, I rested my head on my lumpy backpack and attempted to sleep.  The biting cold, the evil birds that congregated vindictively close to the tent and a screaming toddler made it impossible to do so for more than one hour at a time.  Laura, Spencer, Rachel and I were also surprised to find that the sun stays out very late in Scotland. Finally at five in the morning, I threw in the towel (or rather threw off the towel that had acted as my blanket) and found the bathhouse to take a shower.

I have never appreciated hot water more. It was glorious! I’ve included a picture of the shower at Morton Hall Camping Grounds in Edinburgh because it is quite possibly my favorite place in the UK. It saved me. Showers were free, so I stood under the steamy torrent for a good hour before I felt completely thawed and prepared to face the day.Back at the campsite, I found that my traveling companions were up and about so I took the opportunity to covertly return the towels and tablecloth to the laundry room. As penance for my crime, I wiped down the tablecloth and tried to remove as much of the caked on food remnants that had accumulated there. I was both grateful that it had been dark when I borrowed it or else I might have shied away from the insulator, and disgusted that I slept underneath it.

The towels demanded a grander apology so I left this note and some coins behind. I was nearly out of currency at that point, so I left a pound and some American coins on top of the folded towels. I regret that now as it must have been a dead giveaway who stole them in the first place and I’m sure I perpetuated some negative American stereotypes in the process. 1- Americans do not know how to pitch tents. 2- Americans are stupid and do not bring sleeping bags to use in said tents during frigid weather. 3- Americans steal. 4- Americans think their money is superior and leave it as restitution after stealing, another slap in the face! I would really love to return to Edinburgh someday and camp the proper way. Perhaps I’ll even bring an extra sleeping bag and offer it up to a young, foolish traveler who arrives unprepared.

Spencer called the cab driver we’d had the night before and in no time, we were on our way back into Oldtown. At this point, I should really tell you about our cab driver. The night before when we hopped in his cab he seemed tired, and actually a bit surly. After hearing our plans for the night (4 Americans who couldn’t get a hostel going camping for the night with tents but no sleeping bags) he started to warm up to us and peppered us with questions. I think he thought it was quite comical and was probably trying to store up enough details to turn it into a good story to tell at the pub. In any case, he was kind and let us take pictures of us driving his cab, and told us about a local breakfast place called Snax that we should visit the

next morning. He introduced himself as Tony, or Antonio, because he was Italian, and left us his number in case we needed a ride in the morning, which it turns out we did.

Tony brought us to Snax Café, but we had a half-hour to wait before it would open. As we prepared to hop out of the cab and wait on the sidewalk, Tony offered to drive us around for a bit, saying, “The meter is off, guys.” He drove us around Edinburgh, giving us a local’s perspective. We drove by the Sheep’s Heid Inn, which he claimed is the oldest pub in Scotland, took us by the castle, and stopped by a school. 

We all fantasized about teaching there and Tony jokingly agreed to drive us to Snax and then work each day. It was nearing eight, so Tony drove us back to Snax and said farewell. If you ever go to Edinburgh and need a cab, I highly recommend him.

I packed a few pb&j sandwiches for the trip and had devoured one at the campsite so I ordered a pot of tea and surfed the web (hooray for free wifi!) while my classmates ate.

One of the gents working there poked fun of us for all having our faces suck in our screens rather than spending the time talking to one another, but we didn’t care. Wifi isn’t as common of a thing over here and we needed that temporary fix. Also, keep in mind that none of us had gotten much

sleep the night before and were only just starting to feel the caffeine flow through our veins.

The next item on the agenda was Edinburgh Castle. Here are a few pictures capturing my time there.

The four of us were tired after walking so much and sleeping so little, so we decided to hunker down at a café or restaurant before the 3:00 free Harry Potter tour that a student told us about the day before. On our way to Frankenstein’s, the place we chose for lunch, I got a second wind and decided to go to the museum. I walked up to the rooftop terrace and was met with yet another beautiful view of the city. I pivoted around and took in the sea, the city, and the Salisbury Crags, which I had partially climbed the day before.  The view from half-way up the crags was breath-taking, I reasoned, so wouldn’t the view from the top be all the better? It didn’t take much before I talked myself into giving the hike another go.

Without a tent in my backpack, I was able to hike at a much quicker pace than I had the day before. I took a shortcut here.

See the trail that leads up through the bushes? It was terrifying. When I started out, I reasoned that this steep trail would save me a great deal of time. There were bushes half-way up, so if I fell after that point, they would surely help break my fall, or at least provide me with something to grab onto. Well, it turns out that the bushes were some kind of prickly weed and did not make good safety ropes. I put on my raincoat and was mostly shielded from their weaponized branches. 

It wasn’t long before I arrived at the spot where I turned around the day before. “You’re getting close!” I told myself. Then, the trail sloped downward. I looked frantically for a trail that would lead me to the top of the crags but had no luck. An intimidating wall of rock rose up to my left and grew taller and taller as I climbed back down. The trail twisted around the crag and I arrived at the bottom of its opposite side. I looked up and saw a path that would lead me to the top. I looked at my phone for the time and decided I could make it so I began climbing. As you can see, I made it to the top.

The crag climbing adventure left me with about an hour to return to the meeting place, so I walked through Edinburgh and ended up on the royal mile. I stopped occasionally to watch street artists and found a cathedral that was having a concert.

   

As much as I enjoyed the company of my classmates, it was refreshing to walk through Edinburg alone. It provided time to reflect and

rekindled a sense of confidence and independence in me.  I had no phone, no money

(Thanks, Wells Fargo – incorrect pin, whaaaat?) but I felt a wonderful sense of peace and just enjoyed the experience. 

After leaving the cathedral, I turned down St. George’s Bridge and made my way back to the Greyfriar’s Bobby to meet up with my fellow travelers and begin the Harry Potter Tour. We met Will, our tour guide, and a huge Potter fan. Will wore a long, somewhat tattered cloak, and wore his disheveled black hair swept to the side. He brandished a wand and before beginning his tour, pulled out a pair of Harry’s iconic round spectacles to wear. All in all, he provided some great information about JK Rowling’s life in Edinburgh and I could really imagine her writing in the city and where she might have gathered inspiration. Will even provided us with wands, with which we cast spells to turn traffic lights

red so we could cross the street. The trick worked perfectly the first time we shouted “Roccio lumus!” and swished and flicked our wands at an intersection.

 

After the HP tour, the four of us trod wearily to the train station, traveled back to Guilford and then to the university. Thus ends Sunday.