1 Haggis, Neeps & Tatties Haggis, the elder MacLeod told us in near undecipherable brogue, is a poor mans meal,

so I wont tell you whats in it until you try it. My travel companion, Laura, and I exchanged nervous glances. Two steak and ale pies and a piece of chocolate cake, combined with a helping of sudden trepidation didnt make us want to ingest the hairball-esque blob that now separated us. But not wanting to be rude guests in a foreign city, we swallowed our pride, and washed it down with mashed sheep stomach. Two days in Edinburgh, Scotland, brought us an abundance of ornate architecture, castles, hole-in-the-wall art galleries, and a visit to the coffeehouse where JK Rowling penned her first drafts of Harry Potter, but what we sought most continued to elude us. For all the unique things we experienced, we craved real conversation with people whose lives werent burdened with topics like fiscal cliff or the Ralph Smeed sign. After a long day perusing Edinburgh, we took refuge

from the flurry of snow at the Worlds End, a traditional Scottish pub at the end of the Royal Mile beside a

The Royal Mile, Edinburgh, Scotland

combination hostel/bakery. Wedged in a small space, we assessed our conversational options. To one side, a pair of American girls likes us, but they were preoccupied in silence, noses pressed to their iPads. On the other side of us, two Scotsmen casually made note of the snowy weather at least twice in our general direction. We offered simple, polite responses, ignorant to their social determination.

2 The barman arrived and told the Scots the cook had given the rest of the vegetables to the two of us, and offered them a substitute. Persistent in his attempts to further our conversation, the older looking, more talkative Scot commented with a mischievous grin, that Laura stole his vegetables. Sensing a challenge of wits, Laura apologized profusely for her crimes, and I playfully scolded her, Never come between a man and his peas. Having no better reply, the Scots introduced themselves as the brothers MacLeod, first names lost to us in their thick Glaswegian accents. The elder MacLeod asked where we were from. Boise, Idaho? we responded unsure if theyd have any idea what we were talking about. They didnt. Were closer to the West Coast? Laura said. That didnt ring any bells. I tried again, We border Washington, Oregon, and Canada, but only a little bit. Still nothing. Clearly, we werent studying for degrees in geography. So youre somewhere between Seattle and New York, the elder MacLeod figured. We gave up. Close enough. The elder MacLeod asked what business we had in Scotland. We told him wed just come from London, studying art, history, and literature, but deviated from the group to see Edinburgh, and maybe take a bus to Glasgow. The younger MacLeod, a fit, balding man somewhere in his mid-thirties, who hardly spoken at all, save a laugh or two, suggested we take the train to Glasgow instead. A lengthy conversation about the differences in political and economic states in Scotland and the US commenced followed by some fatherly advice to us impressionable students provided by the elder brother. As we came to pause, Laura asked, What do you think about haggis? We hadnt been brave enough to try it yet to which the elder MacLeod replied, Tell you what, if you

3 try it, Ill sort it out. Hesitant, but not enough to turn down a free dish, we accepted his challenge. The plate consisted of three questionably mushy dollops: haggis, or the lining of a sheeps stomach mixed with oats and spices, neeps or turnips, and tatties, mashed potatoes. We ate the dish without a single gag, genuinely enjoying the Scottish staple, much to the disappointment of our new friends, who wanted nothing more than to watch two American girls choke down the local dish. When I signed up for the College of Idaho London Experience, I expected to encounter a land of urban and inviting locals. From the second I touched ground at Heathrow Airport, I immediately accepted my ideas of London were nothing close to the reality. Though London is truly one of the most historically beautiful, dense, and intimidating places I have ever seen, what I really wanted couldnt be found in the city I thought had everything. Turns out the reality I was looking for happened to be a little closer to Worlds End.