The inflight radio was playing “Party in the USA,” and I felt like crying.

This, of course, is not so unusual: Miley Cyrus’ music usually leaves me in tears of frustration and rage anyway. Yet as I waited for the captain to finally turn off the “Fasten Seatbelts” sign so I could step outside of North America for the first time in six years, I found Miley’s characteristically inane lyrics relatable if not reassuring. I had about 16 hours of straight flying to endure, a complicated move-in process to complete upon my arrival, and an entirely new country to live in–all by myself.

I too flew into LAX, where I stopped to switch from a 3×3 seater to a full-on jet. Instead of taking the familiar L.A. to Ithaca flight, however, I arrived at the London Heathrow Airport after ten more hours of attempting to sleep while dazedly watching two dapper metrosexuals play a game of what I only can assume was  ”smash-eggs-on-your-head-roulette” on the airplane’s TV.

Before my trip, Cornell Abroad provided me with a rather stern description of the immigration process, and I feared that even though all my papers were in order, the officer in England would take one look at my sleepy face and kick me back to America. Fortunately, my customs agent was extraordinarily friendly, and stamped my passport (!!!) without incident.

Luck was on my side for the rest of the trip as well. The university’s web site said I couldn’t pick up my key directly at my residence, but that information turned out to be (to put it eloquently) SUPER TOTALLY FALSE. Thank goodness my two lovely friends from Cornell (and a delightfully helpful taxi driver) came to my rescue and helped me move in!

LIES, LIES, LIES.

My Mileyesque homesickness vanished this morning when I woke up in a nest of blankets on my eerily wide bed (it’s not a double, but rather a one-and-three-quarters twin) and remembered that yes, I was actually in Scotland! After some unpacking and a pitiful lunch of Arthur-shaped macaroni and cheese (good use of luggage space, to be sure) I reunited with my companions and we set off to the “stationer”, a.k.a. the more quaint U.K. version of an Office-Max-like supplies store, and Tesco, one of many grocery stores in the area.

But, my friends, you don’t really want to hear about all of veg (as locals call it) I purchased, do you–nor about how the cashier at the mini-mart the night before looked like a scruffier version of David Tennant? In that case, I will proceed to our evening journey through the Centre of Edinburgh, and the gorgeous university that looks too majestic to really be my new school.

I always orient myself in a new city by finding its local theatre–and this lovely building, in fact, appears to be U. o’ Edinburgh’s equivalent of Bailey Hall.

The university’s library, home to the “Library Bar”: an establishment lined with books and, therefore, probably the only bar that stands a chance of attracting my business.

The view from a bridge crossing the central area of Edinburgh–including a greenhouse-like structure that I believe forms a mall.

Photographing while walking in near-darkness (remember, the sun sets at 4PM–oops, I mean 16:00!) was less successful than I’d hoped, though, so I’m excited to spend tomorrow visiting Edinburgh’s most impressive “tourist” sites before classes start on Monday and I transform from visitor to student resident.

(I’m already working on darkening my vowels, speaking quietly while walking, and remembering that I need to order “still” water in restaurants to avoid receiving dreaded sparkling water. I think I can pass for a local soon…maybe give me twenty years?)