Is it possible to journey somewhere without also journeying into a “someone”? Someone different and just as distanced from yourself as you are from wherever you find your home to be? Is it a good thing, or does the lack of an anchor in a sea of unfamiliarity signal an impending crisis within you? That’s the thing about unfamiliarity, there’s only so much that can be theorized about it, and about your interaction with it. And even though the idea can be daunting, it doesn’t stop you from venturing out into and exploring the world. It’s fun for a while, maybe for a while longer if you’ve got people with you but surely you hit a point where you begin to sense the disaffection of unfamiliarity. Disaffection only insofar as you continue to feel and perceive through the lens of the familiar, the known and all that you claim elemental to your sense of identity. Just as different seasons call for different ways of life, so do different journeys for different ways of self. That isn’t to say that you should abandon your sense of self when you choose to embark on a journey, but more so your ways. A journey that fails to change you is a failed journey, and so with every new expedition you make, you allow yourself to confront the potential of change that awaits you. If given up, it will remain unfulfilled for all eternity once that moment has passed and although you may return to the same place in the future, the opportunity for growth won’t. Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed some of these thoughts hovering around in my mind especially as I begin to take more time off university traveling, reading and writing, and I wanted to journal some of them down in this post as some sort of an intermissive reflection halfway through my semester.

Meditation Room at the Bath Abbey; Bath, Somerset.

Growth, much like happiness, isn’t much of a goal by itself and tends more towards being a consequence. A consequence of making informed decisions, of being mindful of your emotions and of being intentional with your actions. The biggest merit there is to any journey, is perhaps the chance it provides you with, to grow in reinventing yourself. To start from ground zero, nurture your most desired qualities, to shape your environment and choose your people. The very nature of this reinvention however, demands a breaking down of your previous constructs; physical, mental and emotional, which is why it is imperative on anyone who seeks to travel for the sake of their growth, to break the routine of being themselves and assume a shapeless identity up until their novel environment tailors them a new one. You don’t have to aim to become a particular ‘someone’ by the end of your journey, you just need to be open to the possibility of change, open to experience, and accepting of whatever comes your way. My journey so far has been an endless reminder of the very fact that change often occurs at the expense of comfort, which in my case stems from ascertaining what or how much I wish to change. It is only when I stop judging the quality and magnitude of “potential” that I’m facing, will any of it ever be realized within me. Judgment on my part is the deterrent of actual change, because in ascribing notions of sufficiency or likeability to these ‘possibilities’ of growth, I close myself to perceiving any effects they might have on me. To anyone else reading this, I would say that striving to harness the ability to temporarily suspend your judgment is a worthwhile pursuit because it allows you to immerse yourself in absolute experience enabling you to see beyond the constructs of your emotional and mental dispositions, and making the best out of any given situation.

The Prayer Hall at Bath Abbey; Bath, Somerset

My time here so far has been, to put an adjective to it; provocative because even though I’m doing all that I’ve always wanted to, I can’t shake the feeling of longing to experience more, which makes me turn inward to question my perspectives, and seek change outward. Balancing my course load with the want to travel has been a challenge and still proves to be, because I haven’t been able to prioritize either. I find myself stressing over not having explored enough whenever I’m working, and over not having studied enough when I’m exploring, which I feel has been the biggest challenge for me because it leaves me with a bitter feeling of inadequacy. I’m not certain what the rest of my time here will bring forth, but I’m trying to let go of the need to expect or desire what I want it to. As I’m writing this, I’m not bitter or upset, just merely curious as to what it is in me, that no distance, amount of people or number of experiences can even remotely satiate. I don’t intend to completely figure myself out in my time here, but a marker to a general direction wherein I can seek the answers might be good. 

Well, for a place with centuries of history and culture attached to it, Glasgow has a surprisingly modern feel to it. Situated almost on Scotland’s west coast, the city is about two and a half hours from St. Andrews, about forty-five minutes from Edinburgh and is well connected to the entire country and the isles by ferries and other rail services. When I say modern, I don’t mean the Seattle kind but the kind that comes with having a younger population by demographic in a town that is as old as any. If Edinburgh is a finely aged single malt whiskey, then Glasgow is a bold and effervescent craft beer, one with very delicate undertones of anything citrus. I would be willing to personify the place as somebody in their late sixties who communicates with memes and employs copious amounts of gen-z vocabulary terms in their sentences. In all seriousness though, Glasgow does slap and I’m willing to go so far as to say that presently, I do prefer it over Edinburgh. My introduction to the city and primary experiences over a few days were nothing short of interesting and form the bulk of this lore that I talk about, and it all started with a visit to The Gallery of Modern Art. 

Gallery of Modern Art

As I made my way down Buchanan street, I remember stopping every two minutes to take a shot to capture what I was hoping would be “The” Glasgow Shot. Something that captured the essence of the place as well as Cockburn street does Edinburgh. There is a case to be made about a sense of authority people recognize in you when you’ve got a professional camera. You can see a distinct change in their behavior, because not only do they stop and wait for you to finish taking your picture before they can pass by, they apologize if they can’t make the time to. I’d observe people observe me direct my camera towards something, and imitate it by taking out their phones and photographing the same thing. It makes for easy conversation starters too, tell someone you’re a photographer and granted you aren’t insufferable, most people will want to learn more about your areas of specialty, the camera equipment and how you got into photography. Almost certainly everyone knows at least one person who’s into photography and they’re always included in conversations with the “Oh yeah that’s great, one of my friend’s does photography as well…” This is precisely what I thought my conversation with a middle aged woman would be when she curiously gestured to me and started to walk in my direction. She had an accent that I would’ve placed somewhere in Turkey up until she informed me that she’s Bulgarian. She told me that she’s been looking for a portrait & events photographer for her sibling’s wedding because the arranged contractor got into a negotiation altercation with them at the very last moment and here is where I found myself running into a very unexpected opportunity. I was offered to be the photographer at one of her sister’s weddings by the side of town next weekend, because they were offering to cover the travel and a night’s stay, I wasn’t getting paid which was fine by me. We ended up exchanging contact details over a pint, and now I’m going to be photo-shooting someone’s wedding next weekend. Needless to say that I feel a wave of pressure building, I’d rather not mess up what is arguably the greatest day of someone’s adult life but then again, I do trust myself enough to put up a good performance. I spent the latter half of the day walking around the university district, exploring the Kelvingrove Museum and exploring the farthest reaches of town on the Glasgow subway at a particularly ungodly hour. 

Buchanan Street N-S

Buchanan Street Lane

Glasgow Square

Glasgow Train Station

Town Square

The University of Glasgow isn’t too far off from the town center, and by getting a Glasgow subway day pass for about 7 quid, you can make your way to Hillhead using the outer-circle. The subway uses the outer-circle for trains going clockwise and the inner-circle for the trains going counter-clockwise to hit the same stations and you could take either line if you’re not low on time. The walk from Hillhead to Gilbert Scott, which is the main and the most known building on campus is picturesque, especially in fall when the foliage covers the streets and stone cobbled paths all around the campus. The buildings, with their Gothic architecture are an endless reminder of the vast and rich educational legacy of the school whose establishment predates that of the printing-press and as you wander through the campus, you can’t help but be enchanted by the stately buildings, reminiscent of scenes straight from classic literature stories. The Gilbert Scott building, as you probably inferred, is named after Sir George Gilbert Scott, who was a renowned Gothic Revival architect in the latter half of the nineteenth-century. The building is characterized by its striking twin spires and intricate stone detailing and towers above the surrounding landscape, offering arguably the best view of Glasgow. Inside, the building houses the grand Bute Hall which is used for graduation ceremonies and other significant university events. The cloistered quadrangles, with their arches and stone corridors, provide serene spots for reflection and study, often reminding visitors of the building’s historic and academic significance, and for those die hard fans of the Harry Potter series, offer a sense of home and resemblance to the beloved Great Hall within the Hogwarts castle.

Gilbert Scott Building

Building Entrance

View of the Church from the Building

The Arches under the Hall

There was an unholy amount of pictures I took of the building’s exteriors and of those areas to which I had access, and then made my way down from the building towards what looked like a cathedral at first. The university district is separated from the townside by the River Kelvin which flows right by the campus and makes for a breathtakingly gorgeous walk around the early morning or late evening hours. The river originates in the uplands of East Dunbartonshire, specifically from the Kilsyth Hills where from it flows southwards, covering a journey of approximately twenty-two miles before reaching its confluence with the Clyde in the western part of Glasgow. What was supposed to be a mere ten-minute stroll turned out to be an hour-long period of quiet for me when I decided to do a bit of reading. The background was too serene to have missed out on an experience like that, and I decided to sit myself at the bench that overlooked the river which was by now gleaming golden under the waning sun. That hour, in every sense of the world felt like an eternity which is generally not the case when you’re immersed in something that you supposedly love, but that’s what I discovered about our experience of time, well, mine at least. I wasn’t reading something I loved, I was reading about something I loved. It was in a prose-poetry fashion which isn’t something I intrinsically enjoy owing to its general fragmented nature but it led me to discover that novelty and discomfort are the key to prolonging our experience of living, and stretching the notion of our subjective-time. Time, for us, passes quickly when we’re involved in the pursuit of something we love, and whenever we choose to momentarily suspend our self-awareness in mindlessly feeding on consumer data, but it passes painfully slowly when we’re being confronted by situations we deem uncomfortable or experiences we deem novel. Surely, the key then is to wrap those objects of affection in a layer of effort. Effort that is consequent of breaking that very layer down to achieve these objects and experiences we deem worthy. The idea is to still pursue the things you love, but in a way that is slightly different from when the last time you pursued the same muse. I did ruminate on the idea for a while before my photography instinct kicked in and urged me to get moving to capture the sunset.

The Church from the River

The Building and the River Kelvin

River Kelvin at Sunset

The Kelvingrove museum was another religious experience, because of which I’ll be keeping myself from writing about it on this particular post to avoid it from being unbearably long and descriptive. I will say however, that the place is absolutely stunning, and you’d be missing out on a defining Glasgow experience if you don’t pay it a visit. Moving on, by the time I was done with the Museum and a dinner that lasted over an hour, it was decently late, but my buzzed up self wanted to stay out past midnight and ride the subway at the unholy hour of twelve past which is when most Glasgow residents report paranormal sightings in the stations. Before we dive into this foolery however, it’s essential to understand the history of the Glasgow Subway. Opened in 1896, it is one of the oldest underground rail systems in the world. The subway consists of a circular loop with fifteen stations, connecting various parts of the city and over the years, it has witnessed countless passengers passing through its tunnels, but some stories suggest that not all of them have left…ooOOoOOooooooOOOOO. There have been numerous instances of people reporting phantom trains that pass right by the stations without ever stopping. They’re said to resemble the older, decommissioned rail cars and have been claimed to be driverless on numerous occasions. On other occasions still, people report meeting with a young lost child at a stop called Govan station who occasionally tugs on people’s clothing for comfort and guidance. I remember so vividly trying to convince myself that I won’t be caught lacking if some random ghost child tugs at me and that I’ll drop kick that donny right onto the tracks and leave the phantom train to deal with his abandonment issues. Maybe that’s why he never approached me. I went back disappointed after having waited for nearly forty minutes for both, that lil child and that train. 

The Kelvingrove Museum at Sunset

Auld Reekie, Scots for ‘Old Smokey’ is a nickname for Edinburgh originating from the days when smoke from open coal and peat fires hung over the city like a fog. A few hundred years later and the place still manages to captivate your attention with a character that has not only stood the test of time, but has refined over it. A two hour bus ride from the St. Andrews terminal into town, and I was greeted with the iconic Scottish overcast sky, a mildly inconvenient drizzle that seemed to eternally taunt a forthcoming downpour and a wind-chill that served as a not-so-gentle reminder of my geographic disposition on the planet. I however, was determined to not let the weather deter my ambitions to explore the magnificent capital and to capture whatever I could of its beauty on film. The bus terminal in Edinburgh, unironically called the St. Andrews Terminal is very conveniently located in the dead center of the city with both the Old-Town and the New Town being no more than fifteen walkable minutes from it. There’s a massive shopping center called St. James’ Quarter right by the terminal which was my first stop after I got out of the terminal, and it houses a commendable restaurant called The Botanist which I would implore anyone to check out. There’s no amount of hunger a good Kebab can’t cure, add to that your favorite beer or cider and you’ll be immune to the cold as well. I wasn’t unfortunately, I realized that I am “built-different” as I sneezed and shivered my way into Edinburgh old-town, past the Scott Monument which honors one of Scotland’s most reputable Novelists, Sir Walter Scott. The Gothic monument not only honors Scott but also symbolizes Edinburgh’s strong ties to literature, given its status as the world’s first UNESCO City of Literature. Right by the monument is the Waverly bridge that offers unobstructed views of the Old Town perfect for photography. 

Old Town as seen from Waverly Bridge

Scott Monument as seen from Deacon Brodies

Now there is a lot to the town, a lot more than my words will ever convey because of which I’ll try to focus on my time there instead of the place itself.  Edinburgh was important for me partly because of its photogenic nature, and partly because of my obsession with Scottish culture and having walked through most of Old-Town Edinburgh including the iconic Cockburn street, The Royal Mile and The Edinburgh Castle, I sought refuge at a tavern called Deacon Brodies. The Tavern had a long history to it, and is attached to one of Edinburgh’s most notorious tales of a well respected cabinet maker and town council member by the name of William Brodie who, by night, engaged in illicit activities including burglary and gambling. His downfall was the consequence of a botched burglary of the Excise Office in Chessels Court and following a series of escapes and captures, he was hanged at the Tollbooth Gallows, a part of  the Royal Mile. Seeing as to how he himself had a great part in the design and the construction of the gallows, his story led me to strike a conversation with an elderly man in his late sixties seated right by me at the Bar, who I presumed would know just enough about the city’s history to guide me to the lesser known areas of town. From what I had observed, he’d already downed a few glasses of Whiskey before I initiated our conversation, which I gathered would make the conversation flow all the more easy. It didn’t, nothing was easy about that conversation. To even call it a conversation would be a disservice to the act of conversing because a conversation with SOMEBODY implies some sort of a two-way dialogue. This, if anything, was a test of my character. The Donny was inebriated to the point of oblivion and when I inquired about whether he was a local, he responded by earnestly smiling into my face for a minute. Needless to say most of my efforts were wasted in trying to get him to understand why I even bothered bothering him. I, towards the end of my thought-provoking conversation, remember looking across the table to the bartender who had been overhearing us and seeing her laugh endearingly as a show of support, after which I directed my efforts toward her and got quite a lot to go off of, as I ventured into town again. 

Cockburn Street

Victoria Street

Along the Royal Mile

The Edinburgh Castle

The Edinburgh Castle – Atop an Extinct Volcano

Apart from the fact that traveling solo allows me as much spontaneity as I need, I prefer traveling solo because it leaves me to explore a place in whatever way I deem fit without being answerable for what drives my curiosity. That said, I don’t mind companionship if it’s the kind I found in Edinburgh. Basically there was this crow that followed me around from the Edinburgh castle to St. Cuthbert’s Kirkyard where I stopped to seek shelter from a rather rapid downpour on my way to Dean’s Village. The Kirkyard was connected to the Parish Church of St. Cuthbert which was hosting its regular dinner for Edinburgh’s homeless people. Me and Pablo, the crow that is, ended up in the kirkyard for different reasons, although his will remain beyond my comprehension but both of us were offered food. He accepted his share without hesitation and just decamped into the nether realm and although I turned the food down, I stayed back for shelter and ended up learning about the history of the parish and their cemetery by one of the elder priests. My stay was long enough to deter me from heading any further from Dean’s village so I made my way around the picturesque square and canals of the village and back towards the Old town for a two hour long Whiskey tasting experience. 

Pablo

The Church

The Kirkyard at St. Cuthbert’s

The Scotch Whiskey Experience is a must-visit for anyone even remotely curious about the process of manufacturing and crafting the nation’s third largest export after Oil and Gas. Even though I’ll admit to not knowing nearly half as much about Whiskey as I do about Winemaking or Cocktail crafting, the experience was enriching and if anything, inspired me to actually visit some of the distilleries scattered throughout the highlands and the Isles. Scotch Whisky can broadly be classified into two categories, Malt & Grain Whiskies the former of which can further be classified into five regional varieties; Lowland, Highland, Speyside, Islay & Campbeltown. The tour included an immersive experience about these different varieties, their distinctions and their manufacturing processes, followed by a tasting of these different types, followed by a gallery exhibition of some of the finest and oldest collections they had reserved. I chanced upon a group of friends visiting from Belgium and the Netherlands who were Graduate students, and was pleasantly surprised to hear that they’d heard of Walla Walla by some of their contacts in the Wine Industry. Drinking is an integral part of Scottish culture and Slàinte Mhath (Slanj-a-va) which is the Gaelic version of ‘Cheers’, stands literally for “Good Health” which in my opinion is somewhat symbolic of it’s integration within the society wherein it’s consumption is linked to the ideas of warmth, friendship and conviviality. Responding to “Slàinte Mhath,” one would say “Slàinte Mhor,” wishing even greater health to the toaster.

The Scotch Whisky Experience Store

The Gallery

About a mile and a half away from the old town, lies a park called Calton hill. Perched at the east end of Edinburgh’s Princes Street, Calton hill offers a splendid juxtaposition of historic architecture and panoramic views, making it in my opinion, a necessary experience in the heart of the city. I’ve strolled up the hill numerous times on different nights and each time I fall in admiration of its tranquility just a bit more. On these nights, the hill transforms into a tranquil haven, offering breathtaking views of Auld Reekie, where the city lights merge seamlessly with the starlit sky and create a tapestry of light and darkness that is nothing short of a religious experience. 

Calton Hill towards the Castle

Calton Hill towards the Town

As much as I wished to start exploring Scotland from the moment I got here, I had to come to terms with my limited mobility, of course that’s not much different from my situation in the Wallas, but having misplaced my driver’s license within a week of my arrival would have me quarantined for the foreseeable future, and in a way unbeknownst to me. Now localized to Saint Andrews, I thought it best to find other meaningful ways to keep myself entertained before classes took off because you know, there’s got to be more to life than walking half an hour every morning at eight for a Quantum Mechanics lecture, man’s got to make merry after all. The merry comes in pints, one after the other and at one pub after the other, you name it. St. Andrews has pretty a high density of pubs and bars and what seems to cut it for my mates here is a place called The Greyfriars Inn. That is where I met the best of Sallies & Gannochy. The place is a ten minutes walk from Sallies, right by the theater and offers a cozy ambience that is just loud enough that you can make conversation without having to torment your voice box. Gannochy, I’d like to elaborate, is my neighboring residence hall and is likely to be an aesthete’s worst nightmare. It’s just concrete and windows where people can hear you talk from the common kitchen. I’d give it a solid 2.7 on 10 but I prefer to not shade the place seeing as it’s self-catered. The Greyfriars lot are a bunch of six people not counting myself, and each one of them is just as much if not more interesting than I consider myself to be. There’s Simeon, Drew, Oli, Elise, Luke & Katie. In the coming weeks, I’ll introduce all of them properly, and those not included here, namely Jack, John, Redd & the other Jack but for now, all that you need to know about these people, is that they represent the top cream of the Saint. Andrews experience for me. I won’t include the godforsaken joke that we’ve come to think of ourselves as a family somehow, but that is essentially what seemed to have consolidated our identities within the group, I think.

L-R; Oli, Luke, Drew, Simeon, Me, Katie

L-R; Luke, Me, Drew, Redd, Oli

L-R; Katie, Elise, Oli

L-R; Me, Katie & Simeon

Attending a place like St. Andrews for an exchange program is bound to be different from attending other study abroad programs that are offered at Whitman, much due to it being an independent study. Since your experience here is a function of your willingness to be outgoing, I would say that I definitely do feel a responsibility to make the most out of it, and that means being able to manage all the school events alongside making time to travel and explore the country. Of course, not having a car at my disposal doesn’t help with the latter, but the buses here seem convenient enough for exploring closeby cities. Don’t get me wrong, there is enough going around town to keep you busy and entertained for the entire semester, but if your primary goal is to travel around Scotland, you’ll have to plan an easy coursework to facilitate it, very much unlike what I have done. If you were to ever come to St. Andrews though, you’ll find that the place has a very warm and inviting sense to it, and it’s a perfect example of a place steeped in tradition while growing ever more modern as time goes by. I was reminded of this a few days ago on my walk one evening through a cemetery at the edge of town, as I walked by the tombs of war heroes and families who walked the same streets centuries ago. The earliest inscription that I found was on a rugged granite monolith that seemed to bear an air of solemn dignity, commanding the attention of all who pass, and it said as I recollect, “1702 – 1776; In Eternal Peace May You Lie, Where The Gentle Embrace of Time Cradles Your Cherished Memory.” To be in the midst of something seemingly timeless that serves as nothing still, but a reminder of its own fragility, was nothing short of an existential trip for me, and I remember thinking that I could one day be buried beneath these very grounds, provided my adoration for this town doesn’t wither away. What I don’t remember however, is how that evening turned into a night which turned into a morning of a foul headache. 

The Cemetery

I’m a lightweight, big on beers, ciders and even bigger on cocktails but one thing that I can’t handle is the scent of vodka. Of course, a Caipiroska or Vesper Martini is a big yes, but plain undiluted Vodka is what my fever dreams are made of. It’s understandable if my preferences are alien to most, but I think everyone would agree on a universal limit beyond which your body just can’t tolerate Vodka. This wasn’t the case for Jack, not from whatever little I remember of that night. Jack is the perfect example of the wonders the human body is capable of, and before I get into it, I’d like to make it very clear that reckless consumption of alcohol is never a good idea, and I for one don’t condone it in the slightest. Moving forward with Jack however, he was born in Colchester, which is a town in Essex, and from what I make of him, he has had an unusually challenging upbringing. In a turn of events however, he’s managed to mold it into a surprisingly durable plot armor. Among being a great conversationalist and an exemplar of authenticity, Jack displays the shocking ability to be fully coherent after downing twenty-two shots of Vodka. On this night that I speak of, I lost my ability to coherently think after two pints of Guinness whereas Jack was not only able to coherently think, but phrase complex and profoundly insightful sentences when we got to talking. I admire Jack, but never has a display of alcohol tolerance ever impressed me to such an extent as did Jack’s on that night. When I woke up next morning, I remember going through my camera roll having forgotten most of our conversations but Jack, he remembers. What a lad.     

That Night@ The Pier

Blame my luck, I was supposed to arrive at St. Andrews on the 2nd of September just in time to take part in the Historic St. Andrews pier walk but things didn’t pan out in my favor. A series of delays from Seattle onwards had me traveling for a little more than forty-eight hours on less than six hours of sleep. Furthermore, not a single hour out of those six was even remotely comfortable. I arrived in London absolutely battered in spirit, only to be subject to another three hour delay at Heathrow for my connection to Edinburgh. Edinburgh to St. Andrews is another hour and a half by car, and so in the dead silence of the night, amidst nothing but the gentle sound of the high tide against the rugged coastline, I finally arrived. Sallies, or St. Salvators was my residence hall and although the building felt magnificent at first glance, my awe turned into angst rapidly when I realized the remote possibility of the wardens being asleep, which would consequently leave me, my two suitcases and my dead phone shivering against the cold of the Scottish seaside, for the rest of the night. Spoiler alert, I didn’t shiver to death that night and was let in by a girl that was returning from her friend’s birthday celebration. Things went quickly henceforth, Sallies turned out to be a freshman dorm full of wonderful people, all just as, if not more excited than I was to see what the semester brought forth. 

St. Andrews Cathedral at Sunset.

Cathedral Ruins

Sallies is very well connected to most of St. Andrews, and is very close to what I can only describe as downtown St. Andrews. Downtown, or the Town Square is a wonderful place for the sheer artistic quality of it, if not for the fact that it has every major restaurant, pub and retailer one would never expect in such a disconnected part of the country, but then again being the hometown of Golf, the place tends to a very high number of tourists and golf enthusiasts throughout the year. The days ensuing my arrival were a haze, because amidst completing the necessary matriculation procedures, I was juggling my advisor meetings, course corrections and figuring out ways to get around town. Not to mention, the dorm necessities I had to shop for because everything was like freshman year once again. The Matriculation is necessary for being able to attend the school, and generally requires you to complete a bunch of online training, along with getting your paperwork sorted which includes, getting your Matriculation Card (ID), meeting with your Advisor(s), and having your Passport reviewed. Although it goes on for three-to-four days, it’s best to get the procedures sorted out early so that you’re able to enjoy the orientation week better. Orientation is focused generally on the freshmen, but there are events for every class including those upper-classmen who are on exchange programs. Events include tour-walks of the campus, introductory lectures, pop-quizzes and trivias at local bars, raves and themed parties, event fairs, club-sports tryouts, scavenger hunts and the list is endless. The sheer variety of clubs and societies at St. Andrews is mind numbing. What’s even more mind numbing is the fact that each one of these societies manage to draw a large amount of people who follow up to the events that are arranged. The point being that the university offers enough to make you forget that you’re living in a small seaside town on the Eastern coast of Scotland. 

The Dock

United College School III

Pro-Tips; 

• Try uploading your ID picture to the website before arriving, it’ll save you a lot of hassle. 
• The university uses a system called WashStation for laundry, download the app and credit up because the Machines and Dryers are centralized to the system and it’s on a pay for use basis. 
• Don’t be shocked if you find your room in a slightly different state after having left it in the morning, the house service shows up at Noon on most days to clean the room. 
• If you’re here on exchange, you’re likely to forget that fact because the program is very synonymous to a regular university experience where YOU make it or break it. 
• The Uni uses outlook to communicate, and so you will be given an outlook account, use it before hand to familiarize yourself. Additionally, their equivalent to MyWhitman is MySaint, and Its advisable that you familiarize yourself with that as well.