The Land of the Scots

Metro, bus, customs, security, we had made it. We, 3 young Americans, were sitting on an airplane about to leave France for the rolling green hills of Scotland. Suddenly, a voice begins speaking over the intercom. We looked at each other and immediately began laughing. The moment we realized we were going to have a harder time understanding the Scottish than we do the French was the moment the laughter started, and it didn't stop for 2 straight days.

Brian, Scott, and I were a mess.
Anytime we were unsure where we were going or what to do, we'd look at each other anxiously. "Somebody should ask somebody"....The only problem was, we'd ask, get an answer, nod our heads, and walk away just as ignorant as we walked up, seeing as how none of us understood the response. "Which track for Edinburgh?" "querlkjsann stroiuseet stlakjdin" "Oh. aaaaaalright."

The worst part of it all was our inability to refrain from laughing every time this happened. Brian trying to get out an "Excuse me?" without giggling in the train conductor's face was priceless.

But we finally did arrive in Edinburgh. A lovely, comfortable, clean train drove us past lush fields and quaint towns until we arrived in one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. A friendly, helpful taxi driver took us our hotel where the kindly man at the receptionist desk told us he had a hotel full of Americans thanks to some Texan wedding and he was all the happier for it. (Please take note of all the adjectives I use to describe the various Scotsmen we met. Friendly, helpul, kindly, etc.)

We were starving.

The Pub Hunt began.

Up and down the streets of Edinburgh we traipsed, begging Brian to settle on a pub. He had his idea of a "true Scottish pub" so deeply ingrained in his psyche, he would settle on nothing less. We finally settled on "Dirty Dick's," one of the first pubs we passed, came back to, passed, came back to. It turned out to be the perfect pub. Unique, quaint, good food, good drinks, aaaand, they were playing Belle & Sebastian, which delighted me to no end.

Pub hopping commenced, the highlight being stumbling upon a live musician and a pub full of people clapping and singing along (we, of course, didn't understand a word). We jumped in with the clapping and did our best to mumble with the best of 'em.

After another sweet taxi driver took us to the hotel (with a momentary detour at a chip shop. chipshopchipshopchipshop) and we crashed.

We rose very early, an hour earlier than we planned or realized, thanks to Scott forgetting we weren't on France time. That was fine however, because it gave us the opportunity to eat a true Scottish breakfast, black pudding included. Scott, ignorant to the ingredients in black pudding, ate away in ignorant bliss. Brian and I didn't feel the need to spoil Scott's breakfast, but avoided our black pudding as if it were the black plague.

Initially, our plan was to try and book a bus tour up to Loch Ness, but everything was booked, so instead we took in the sights of Edinburgh. Edinurgh Castle, J.K. Rowling themed-landmarks, the Queen's retired yacht 'The Britannia', it was all magical. Brian and Scott did a special whiskey tour while I treated myself to a 3-course Thai meal. The boys bought kilts, I bought boxers with a dragon on the front/back, and we met Tom. Tom will be 90 years old next year, May 12th exactly. For thirty years he has stood on the streets of Edinburgh in his full Scottish regalia, kilt and all, raising money for sick children. Love him.

Busy busy day.

Time to head to our "hostel" near the airport. Train to Glasgow, dinner at T.G.I. Friday's, and a train out to the airport. We found the Free Phone (labeled as such) which was a direct line to our "hostel" and a woman in a Range Rover came to pick us up. As we drove through a suburban neighborhood, we started to feel a little bit confused. I was just waiting for her to pull into a driveway and declare us there. Somewhere amidst all the houses though, there was a hotel. "The Manor Park Hotel," is NOT a hostel. It is a beautiful hotel with a giant bar and lovely accomodations. As we pulled up, walked inside, and looked around, we were so confused. We thought we had to be in the wrong place. Then we started to worry we'd been brought out into the middle of nowhere to this nice hotel only to have something horrible happen to us. How Scott managed to book us a room in this sweet hotel for the price of a hostel room, I still don't know, but after we finally accepted that it was legitimate and we weren't going to be murdered in our sleep, we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Storytime in Kilts was the highlight of that night, without a doubt.

The next morning it was back to France, where we at least have the excuse of not knowing the language when we don't comprehend. We were quite sad to leave though. The people in Scotland were some of the nicest, friendliest people. I felt quite bad in fact, that half the time I couldn't understand the help they were trying to give me.......