Isle of Iona

On the Hebridean Isle of Iona with Erica (Atlanta), Hanna & John (Darby and Cambridge-ish). Fabulous, fantastic folk. Thanks to John & Hanna, I now know that bananas always, always have 5 sides. Thanks to Erica, I remember gists and theme songs of amazing '80s kid's TV shows, was converted to shell-based sand (screw rock-based sand!), and can put my finger on why I didn't like the movie Running With Scissors; it was also good to meet someone else who's never broken a bone.

Staffa is a wee, unpopulated island about 5 nautical miles from Iona.

Crazy rocks on Staffa.

With Erica at Port Bahn on Iona. We dropped our stuff on the shell-based beach and climbed a hill. Fine and wonderful idea. Oceans have tides, though. Didn't think that one through carefully enough and ended up with some wet stuff. But we ended up with more fun times than soggy books, so I figure the gravitational pull of the moon lost that battle.

On Iona looking towards Mull.

Another bit of Staffa.

Music Festivals

Things are busy these days. I'm having kittens over my dissertation, my cousin Eirik visits from Norway on Wednesday, and then I'm off to Iona on Saturday to do some research. Nevertheless, I managed to squeeze in a couple of music fests.

Wilco put on a lovely show at Indian Summer in Glasgow's lovely Victoria Park.

Here's our Indian Summer crew (from left): Jordan (Winnipeg, medical anthropology), a guy I'd just met, almost-Dr Mark (Ireland/Scotland, Smaller than Jesus), Jen (don't know much about this wonderful person, besides the fact that her and Mark are dating), Dr Matt (East Coast Canuck, Zoey van Goey)

This is T in the Park, another, substantially more crowded, music festival that I went to last weekend.

A nice photo of the last time us three flatmates will be together for a while (from left: me, Alison, Mary).

battered, deepfried & mysterious

Chris & Erin came to visit. Yay! Here we are partying at my flat.

Chris and I played some rock 'n' roll at the party.

Here we are playing at Whistle Binkies.

More of the Whistle Binkies performance.

Battered, deepfried, and mysterious: Scottish cuisine at its finest.

Here I am on the Firth of Forth in North Berwick, probably thinking profound thoughts.

We went Highland hillwalking and found the Black Spout waterfall.

We also went to the wee-est whisky distillery in Scotland.

Chris, our hero, wards off cattle.

Still hillwalking. Chris is trying to push Erin into the thistles.

Chris and I frolicking in the Highlands.

Erin and I slaving away in my kitchen, while Chris (ever the helpful one) takes photos of all the hard work.