A wee post about our grand adventure

Something strange has happened.

No -- it's not just that I wake up every morning in St. Andrews in the Kingdom of Fife (although that does strike me as peculiar). It's that the voices in my head have started sounding Scottish. You, know, the voices you hear when you play potential conversations through in your mind . . . they're starting to skip the final "t" at the end of words like "that" or "what," refer to "you" as "ye," and "yes" is sounding more and more like "ay." I used to dream in Spanish periodically, but this is far more invasive.

So JFG and I have landed in St. Andrews. Let me tell you a little about the town. Founded around the 12th century by monks, it comprises about 15,000 people and is virtually overrun by the university (or "uni," as the Scottish voices in my head say), which has made what seem to be strenuous efforts to fit contemporary facilities into 14-18th century buildings. Streets, paved with cobblestones and large pavers, twist and turn down narrow allies and pathways, which open suddenly into bustling streets (or into someone's garden, if you're not watching where you're going). And while there's a Tesco (a Safeway-like place where they leave the eggs on the shelf and sell unusual foods like stringless beans, canned potatoes and sqeezeable cheese) there are also small butchers shops, bakeries and cheesemongers.

You can hear every possible accent here, but the one I hear most frequently is American -- annoying, because it's ruining my medieval Scottish fantasy. Yes, for about $20,000 a year, American students can get an education at the third-best university in the UK after Oxbridge (and a B.S. in just three years) while drinking at age 18 and living in a residence hall built while Mad King George was still in charge. Oh -- and until recently, girls, the great education came with a chance to date the next king, although it appears he's now spoken for.

Anyway, the voices in my head go by the UK clock, and they tell me that it's time to get away from the computer. More later. Off to watch something called the X Factor, which seems to be American Idol with a smaller talent pool and stranger hair.