Yesterday morning I had breakfast with a Polish guy named Kooba, who was a musicologist by trade. He was working on his PHD, studying the evolution of pop music. We had a really interesting conversation about the evolution of heavy metal, from it's start to what it is now.

Then I hung around the hostel until the afternoon, at which time Nick, the Canadian guy, suggested we all go to the British Beer Festival, downtown.

So we did!

There was me, Nick (Canadian, who worked in marketing), Michael (a Dutch guy), Tony (another Dutch guy, with round rosy cheeks and worked in a bakery), Mateas (German, who smoked like a chimney and rolled his own), Colin (Irish), and a French guy whose name I can't remember but won a very nice false beard in one of the pub games.

Yep. I was the only girl. I was pretty much the only girl at the beer festival, too. It was about one woman for every fifty men.

You had to rent a glass, and it had markings on it for a third, a half, and a full pint. I only drank thirds, because I wanted to try a bunch of different ones, and not get really drunk or poor. I had some good beers. There was a nice Dutch one, the name of which translated to something like 'Blood, Sweat, and Tears'. I think it was my favorite of the lot.

Then it started to get very crowded so we left and went to a pub, and had a couple more, before heading back to the hostel. Michael decided he wanted chicken, and bought SIX POUNDS of chicken, which he proceeded to cook, and then try to make everyone eat. I tried to eat it, but he slathered it in chili powder, and I'm not keen on spicy food.

It was a really fun night, though. I really needed a not-really-touristy kind of hanging out night.

This morning I was up at the crack of horrible, because one of the girls' alarms went off. It was the one with the terrible dreads. I kind of felt sorry for her, because she didn't really talk to anybody and looked really unhappy. She didn't even talk when everyone else was talking. even though we all didn't know each other. Also, she rarely smiled, and spent large parts of her day laying in her bed and staring at the wall.

But there's only so many times you can extend the olive branch before you have to accept the fact that they don't want it.

Oh well. She left this morning, hopefully to happier pastures. And hopefully to somewhere with a clipper, so she can shave off those terrible dreads. She had a really pretty face, which made it even more terrible.

Anyway, I'm in an internet cafe, printing out my bus ticket to Scotland. Tomorrow morning I will be in Scotland again, and Amber, Kelly and I will do some proper Canadian terrorizing of the poor Scottish men.

By the way, there is nothing funnier than a Dutch man who doesn't speak English very well trying to understand an Irishman whose just spent a year in Australia. That was almost as good as the French cheese seller who had a French and a Scottish accent, all in one.