Land of the Mad, Passionate Scots
I have become jaded. Travelling Great Britain is not all it was cracked up to be. I'm not done yet; Ireland is my next stop. But I'm tired. I'm tired of cities. I'm tired of shops sucking the money right out of your pockets. I'm tired of trains full of crazy people and open (but reserved) seats. I'm tired of rock-hard beds and sleep sacks. I'm tired of hostels from hell. Every major city is beginning to look the same, and every hill, highland and mountain is beginning to slope into one big mass of heather and rock. Don't get me wrong, I am trying to soak this all up and savor every amazing moment, but another part of me just wants to go home. And I don't be back to London. I mean back to good old, down home, red-white-and-blue, corn-fed, football-crazed Nebraska. This semester keeps dragging out, and although I am making enough memories to last a lifetime, I'm feeling the urge to pack up my suitcases and jump on the next flight to Omaha. At the same time, though, I really don't want to go home. There are things going on that make me want to be anywhere but there. And although I'm exhausted from bus and train hopping, I have loved everything I've seen. The three-day Haggis tour through the Highlands was incredible. I took a cruise on Loch Ness and went monster hunting. I drank crystal clear water on the Isle of Skye. I walked in Glen Coe, and saw the battlefields of Bannockburn and Culloden- places that are etched in my mind as vital, heart-breaking and unforgettable moments in the history of my family. So, it's not all creaky beds and bumpy bus rides. However, I understand the phrase "there's no place like home" more than ever now that I've gotten as far away from home as I can.