A café called Northpoint sits between my hall and (all of) my classes and happens to have a 1-pound any-style coffee special from 8-10 am and from 3:30-5 pm. There is also coconut syrup (= coconut lattes = oh, yes).
There is a language called Scots. I understand that this is a revelation of probably unforgivable ignorance. The alphabet is the same as English, but words are spelled and pronounced differently. And it includes exciting new and different words.
Guinness is better and on draft everywhere.
Shrubs line highways, and the sea is wild and just outside when you want it, and even now there are fields speckled with round bales, which is somehow like home, only greener.
Half of Aikman’s (bar) is in the basement. The owner, Malcolm, often works that half of the bar and even though I don’t think he remembers my name, we have had one long conversation about sociopolitical cultures, which I intend to take up with him again soon.
The creative writing culture of Scotland is immense and invigorating. Maybe it is not different from anywhere else, but I think that it might be, the way that Montana is. I wonder if it’s because it is escapist and agricultural at the same time, and also simultaneously wild and quiet.
And of course, there are cobblestones. And everything is old and real, like a story your grandmother tells you.