Surprise! Rebecca really isn’t dead, she was only pretending …

Hello, blog friends! I realize, of course, that I may not have any left since I’ve been so horrible about keeping this updated – unfortunately this study abroad semester has included a bit more emphasis on the “study” than I originally hoped for. But I’ve still been able to go on a number of short, yet spectacular, side trips, all of which have left me with way too many memories and pictures to fit into my scrapbook. I had originally intended to summarize them all in one entry, but as I’ve gotten to writing, the stories absolutely refuse to whittle themselves down to a respectable blog length. Thus, this shall now be the first in a series of travel tales, riveting or otherwise. So without further ado, I invite you to sit back, relax, and be entertained by my various (mis)adventures!

Much earlier this spring I ventured to the rugged and mysterious coast of North Wales with my IFSA-Butler group. Prior to the trip, I fell victim to a temporary state of madness and signed up for hiking and mountain biking, all in the same day. I say temporary – twenty four hours later I found myself sitting in my room, very much aware of the fact that I’d never been mountain biking in my life and was now about to tackle the tallest peak in Wales. The situation didn’t appear to be improving any by the time I actually climbed onto my bike, but I tried to stay positive – after all, I thought, what’s so bad about a little wind, rain, and steep gradients? Never mind the fact that I’m standing in the middle of a group of guys who all look like they play professional rugby on the side and could probably cycle up the mountain without even breaking a sweat.

However, as is often the case with new things we don’t necessarily want to do, this particular challenge turned out to be one of my favorite times of the entire semester! Yes, the hills were steep, but I had no trouble keeping up, and the subsequent views more than made up for my burning muscles – which miraculously didn’t bother me with any soreness the next day. Clearly Wales possesses some sort of magic. As I stood looking out over the rocky hills and stone-gray lake below, I tried to savor the feeling of complete and silent solitude, save for the wind’s lonely whistling and blank stares of Welsh sheep, a number of whom enjoyed crossing the road in front of my bike. Over here in Britain, traffic jams aren’t caused by cars or ducks, but sheep; while the lambs create some positivity with their cuteness factor, their parents just stand there with a “why are you looking at me?” sort of expression. They also refuse to cooperate when it comes to taking pictures – as soon as you take a step towards them, they trot off in the opposite direction, and the resulting gap in the picture only makes it look like you’re scared of them, instead of the other way around.

Indifferent sheep aside, my short stay in Wales remains one of my favorite memories from this semester. Not only did I win a chocolate bunny with the rest of my team on Quiz Night, but the beautiful mountain views and lonely castles along the hillside presented me with a sort of natural beauty I’d never have found back home. And what’s more, as I’ve come to find, this only forms the tip of the iceberg when it comes to breathtaking European landscapes.