People have been asking about "Haggis" -- the real thing, that is. So in the name of fostering love and knowledge between the two greatest civilizations of the world (the U.S. and Scotland), I'll tell you a little bit more about my much-loved, much-missed homeland.
This brief portrait is also in honor of Burns Night, one of Scotland's most revered annual celebrations, when all over the world people gather to celebrate the birthday of Robbie Burns -- our country's greatest poet. The man behind "Auld Lang Syne" and many other poems now deeply embedded in the global consciousness, Burns is a source of great national pride.
So every year, on Jan. 25, we Scots get dressed up in kilts, eat haggis, sing, dance and drink whiskey. It makes for a great night out.
I'm from a tribe called MacDonald. Unfortunately, for my bank balance, this has nothing to do with the owners of the hamburger chain (in fact, we believe those McDonalds are usurpers). No, the MacDonalds of Scotland are a proud clan with brains like rat traps and hair on their knees, whose glorious history stretches back for centuries.
Most famed for fighting the English (or "lily-livered Sasenachs"), we weren't above turning our swords against the Scottish Campbells either, our arch enemies. That bloody rivalry culminated in 1692, when the Campbells massacred 38 MacDonalds in their beds for insubordination to the newly appointed king.
What can I say? We've always been a wild bunch. It's no mistake that the "great" Roman empire considered us untamable enough to build a wall across the top of England to keep us out.
Scotland's a wee bit more civilized these days, but just as cold. The winters are as bitter as an old boot soaked in lemon, and summer lasts about 4 1/2 hours some time in mid-July. People stay wrapped up the rest of the time. In fact, Scotland's the only place where premature ejaculation is a point of pride for men -- everyone can get their clothes back on that much sooner (I kid, of course. Scottish men are very sexy and fully functioning).
The weather may be cold, but the Scots are a kind folk. People say we're like pomegranates -- rough and wrinkly on the outside but soft-hearted deep down. We say what we mean -- no faffing, and we like others to do the same. And contrary to common belief, we're very generous with money. We just don't like giving it away.
We're not mean, but all that cold has made us tough. Think about the olden days -- the way the men running around the hills, battling through thistles and snake-infested heather, wearing nothing but kilts and animal hide -- you'll get the general idea.
In this day and age, our muscle-bound resilience is suggested by one of our favorite national sports: holding a tree trunk between our legs and throwing it as far as we can. I'm not talking about a delicate "branch" of any sort -- it's an actual tree trunk, thick as two men and 30 feet long.
But to steer away from the shameful stereotypes for a moment, let me tell you what Scotland really means to me.
Filled with misty hills, with lochs and forests, rivers and glens, my home country is truly beautiful. It's the land of wonderful, golden whiskey that leaves a trail of heat all the way down your throat when you swallow. Land of snow and little gray houses, of kindness and candor -- that's my Scotland.
But why should all this matter to a principally American readership?
Well, apart from offering vacation ideas, it's always good to know where other people are coming from -- physically and emotionally. Foreign students at Penn are a wealth of experience, knowledge and even anecdote that's often left untapped.
It's hard to describe the alteration of your mind when you uproot yourself and move to a totally different place in the world. It's a dramatic journey that's both enlightening and painful.
You'll find that most non-Americans are enthusiastic to share their stories because there's no better way to recapture a distant homeland than to tell others all about it.
I'm out of space, and I haven't even talked about haggis. Well, it's the Scottish national food, and I recommend you taste it before I tell you what it is.
That way, you might just like it.
Hilary Moore is a third-year Ethnomusicology graduate student from Perth, Scotland.
