Present Joys

Part of a series.

We awoke in our Glencoe B&B feeling much more optimistic. At 8:30 we had a fabulous breakfast of bacon, sausage, fried egg, tomato, and toast with home-made orange marmalade and a tiny glass of sparkling elderflower juice. Ann, our hostess, bustled in and out of the dining room. “It’s a beautiful morning!” she exclaimed at one point, and I realized she’d opened the windows. It couldn’t have been above 60° F. “Quaint” doesn’t begin to describe how cute this couple was—probably in their upper 70s, living in this adorable, cluttered little house on the misty edge of big mountains, with their windows open to enjoy the morning air, and their kitchen radio blaring a Glasgow radio program which feels like it’s coming from a planet a million lightyears away.

We left the car at our B&B and took a walk to Glencoe Lochan (apparently lochan means “a small loch”), a beautiful place for a morning excursion. Sadly, the Glencoe Folk Museum had just closed for the season, so after our walk we said goodbye to the village and hit the road to head north toward Fort William. The West Highland Museum there had some cool Jacobite artifacts and some examples of highland dress. I was parked illegally the whole time, though, so I had a hard time fully enjoying myself. (Have I mentioned I really hate driving here?) Oh—but the museum also had one particularly neat display about St Kilda, a remote Hebridean archipelago whose 36 inhabitants were evacuated to the Scottish mainland in 1930. It’s an interesting story.

From Fort William we headed east to Steall Waterfall in Glen Nevis, a park which Karen had wanted to visit. As I write this I see Ben Nevis, a mountain at the base of the park, is the British Isles’ tallest mountain, and Steall Waterfall its second-longest waterfall. No wonder it was so busy with visitors. It truly was a jaw-droppingly majestic place. We spent most of the afternoon there, just enjoying the massive scenery and the bleak Scottish weather. This sort of thing is Karen’s version of going to art galleries—she could hardly tear herself away.

We have only one night and one day left to explore the highlands before heading to Glasgow—in hindsight, I wish we’d left ourselves a few more days. Daylight is scarcer than I’d anticipated, and we hate to waste four or five hours daylight hours in the car. So instead of going north, we decided to head south toward Oban, to see some new parts of the country and to maximize our time out of the car. We’d called B&Bs this morning in Glencoe, so there was no drama there. Oban is a port city on the west coast, with a shipping and fishing heritage that make it feel different from any of the other places we’ve visited yet. The waterfront and harbor area, with shops, restaurants, and lots of boats, felt carnival-like with colored string lights reflecting in the dark water and McCaig’s Tower looking festive perched on the hill above the water.

This B&B was totally different from our last one. In Glencoe we’d been in somebody’s guest room, sharing a bathroom, and enjoying a made-for-us breakfast the next morning served in our hosts’ dining room. This place was a lot more like a hotel: six private rooms, each with en-suite bathrooms, and a breakfast buffet served in a dedicated space filled with 2-top restaurant-style tables.

After dropping off our bags, we walked around the harbor and enjoyed the new sights. For dinner, we ended up in a fish and chip shop on the waterfront. I finally broke down asked the lady at the next table what “Irn-Bru” was, after seeing it on restaurant menus for the past few days. She eagerly bragged that it was a Scottish soft drink—a phenomenon whose taste “could not be described”—turns out, it tastes like someone dissolved baby aspirin into cream soda. That’s not to say it was unpleasant. I liked it a lot! According to the internet, Irn-Bru outsells Coke in Scotland, which is an impressive feat. It’s imported into the US (I’ve never noticed it) but with a slightly different formula due to FDA restrictions. So I’m glad to have enjoyed the real thing in its home country.

Our next-table friend nodded approvingly as I consumed my Irn-Bru and mushy peas. “You’re an honorary Scot!” She also asked us what we planned to do in Oban, and when we told her we weren’t totally sure, she suggested taking the pedestrian ferry to the isle of Mull for the day. It sounded like a good plan to us, so tomorrow that’s what we’ll do.

Part of a series.

Today we bid farewell to Edinburgh and embark for the highlands. We got up at 6:30 with not nearly enough sleep and checked out of our Airbnb right away in order to pick up a rental car at Waverley Station. We’d originally planned to take a train to Stirling and pick up a car there, but it didn’t cost any more money to get the car in Edinburgh, and we figured if we did that, we could stop and see some more stuff on our way to Stirling. This immediately proved a wretched idea—I don’t know what in the world we were thinking when we decided to pick up a car in downtown Edinburgh during rush hour. Oh, and of course, the car has a manual transmission, and even though I knew that would be the case and did some meager preparation for it, I’m literally barely able to drive the thing.

While still within wifi, Karen had downloaded 200 mb of Google Maps data to her phone for offline viewing. We put in the address for Dunfermline and hit the road. This trip was certainly the worst 45 minutes of our trip, and a top contender for the worst 45 minutes of my life. Gear-shifting with my left hand sucks. Driving on the left side of the road sucks. Driving fast on roads with literally no shoulder sucks. Starting and stopping on hilly, incoherently-laid-out streets in rush hour traffic sucks. This was not a good time.

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Dunfermline Abbey, when we finally got there after much weeping and gnashing of teeth, was absolutely lovely. After seeing the slick and refurbished historical sights of Edinburgh, it was refreshing to see ruins. Dunfermline Abbey is just so old there isn’t enough to restore or reconstruct—all you can do is make the ruins easily walkable and provide lots of interpretive information. The overall effect was very peaceful, natural, and meditative. A good break from driving. Then, back in the car to Stirling! This second attempt at Scottish driving went much better than the first, and we got to the castle without too much additional frustration.

Stirling Castle was cool. Okay but not spectacular. Especially in contrast to the untouched beauty of Dunfermline, Stirling Castle seemed over-modernized. Interiors of buildings were painted to look brand new, with brand-new-looking furnishings and even fake food. And the costumed interpreters were just too much for me.

By far the best part of the castle was seeing the Hunt of the Unicorn, a set of fifteenth-century tapestries painstakingly recreated as period-accurate furnishings for the palace. The finished pieces took 14 years to create and are only half the detail of the original tapestries. There’s an anachronistically modern building tucked just inside the castle wall which serves as an exhibition about the creation of these tapestries. Amazing, and makes me want to try my hand at weaving like this.

From Stirling, we decided to drive to Glencoe for the night. As we drove northwest, the roads got less busy, except for the occasional semi truck that was too wide for its lane. We were absolutely certain we’d be able to find a B&B in Glencoe for the night, and since it was still early afternoon, we didn’t think we had anything to worry about. But then it started raining, and the sun started setting at about 4:30, and everything began feeling ominous. Our 5:30 arrival in Glencoe felt like 11 pm due to the drizzling rain and utterly black darkness. We stopped at one of the B&Bs recommended in the Rick Steves book (they had a “vacancy” sign outside) but were turned away.

So we sorta drove around in circles. Not having cell service made all of it much harder. After a half hour of various difficulties, getting lost, making a few desperate phone calls, we finally ended up at a B&B just down the road from the first place we tried (go figure). I guess there’s just really one road in Glencoe village. Words cannot express how good it felt to know we’d found a place to sleep. In hindsight I guess it sounds melodramatic, but ahh what a night.

We were famished. On our host’s recommendation, we drove about 2.5 miles up a crazy narrow single-lane forest road to the Clahaig Inn (this whole episode felt like something from Twin Peaks) and had a hardy meal there. They had free wifi (the first time we’d had any connectivity all day), so we were able to do some research on our next day’s travels. Back at our B&B, the humble room was adorable and our hosts were lovely. Ann, the lady of the house, asked us whether we’d like “Would you like the Scottish breakfast tomorrow morning? Bacon, sausage, egg, toast, tomato?” And when we nodded her eyes sparked and she remarked, accurately, “Oh! You’d like that a lot!“ Phew. I had a good sleep that night.

• Before this trip, I had many people tell me it wouldn’t be a problem to drive around and find a B&B to stay in! Be spontaneous!, they said. But it turns out most B&Bs don’t actually want you staying there after the summer busy season. We drove past tons of B&Bs on our travels, but they almost all had “no vacancy” signs.
• Man, Glencoe village is really a tiny, remote place. I feel like I’m at the edge of the world—and I know I’m barely into Scotland’s highlands. There must be something about arriving in a place under cover of night that makes it feel remote and lonely…
• After seeing approximately 1000 more people wearing I finally broke down and looked up the Scottish poppy thing. Okay, so it’s a veterans’ charity donation (I gathered that much) with an annual promotion that ramps up for the weeks leading up to Remembrance Sunday in november. Now I understand why so many people are wearing poppies now. It certainly makes more sense as a seasonal trend than a permanent style thing.

Part of a series.

Saturday was our second day in Edinburgh. I slept nearly 11 hours—until about 9 am, and woke up feeling clammy. That was almost assuredly because our bed had no top sheet—just a fitted sheet and a duvet. Is not using top sheets a thing here?

Anyway, we got moving and by 10 we’d entered St. Giles’ Cathedral, another notable building situated on the Royal Mile (noticing a theme?). Of course, I went there for Knox, who presided over the Scottish Reformation as pastor there and who I am currently reading a new biography about. The building is a gorgeous hodgepodge of medieval and victorian architecture with some stunning neoclassical, art nouveau, and modernist plaques and memorials inside. All in all, the interior was more ornate and busy than I was expecting, and it was difficult to imagine the iconoclasic Knox preaching in a nave full of decorations and doodads. Great job, Church of Scotland!

Next we made our way to Greyfriars Kirk, which is where the National Covenant was signed. How unpleasant it was to find a “DIY craft fair” happening in the sanctuary of the church, where people at tables were selling things like dreamcatchers and chakra stones. Made me want to flip over some tables. After wandering through the Greyfriars Kirkyard, which was beautiful and peaceful in the hazy mist, Karen and I ate lunch of cheese and bread on the Grassmarket, sitting on a marker commemorating the spot where over 100 Covenanters were executed. This place is dripping with history, and so much of that is Scottish Reformation history.

We saw Edinburgh Castle after lunch. We didn’t buy tickets ahead of time, which meant waiting in a long but quick line full of tourists from all over the world, a majority of whom were using selfie sticks at any given time. There were a lot of different things to see in the Castle, including the Scottish crown jewels and Edinburgh’s oldest structure, a chapel built in 1092.

Next we decided to check out the National Museum of Scotland (the “Scottish Smithsonian”), which was crawling with kids and parents. (Not tourists, though. I think this is a place where local families go.) The place is a combined science museum and natural history museum with things for all ages. Daunting to imagine looking at half of what’s inside. We spent all the time we had (about two hours) looking through the seven floors (!) of Scottish history. I particularly enjoyed seeing artifacts from—you guessed it—the Scottish Reformation, including some beautiful handmade Covenanter flags, a printed metrical psalter, a stool that may have been Jenny Geddes’, and an old pew that converted into a table with bench seats for partaking in the Supper.

Once the museum closed, we walked over to Captains Bar where there was some music on, which was cool—and it did not feel like a TGI Friday’s, which was great—then we had dinner at a nearby “comfort food” place. The vibe was certainly very comfortable and the food was suitably cozy and greasy, but it tasted foreign. I think I’m starting to pick up on a trend: all the food here is less flavorful than I’m expecting it to be, and the British idea of “meat seasoning” is not my idea of “meat seasoning”—seasoned meat tastes like a Christmas spice cake. It’s good. Just not what I’m used to.

We picked that dinner place because it was right across the street from Sandy Bell’s, another pub with a big reputation for trad music. The place was crowded, but we got seats in the back room where there were three old guys (“Freddie and the Boys”) singing and playing very leisurely. Every 10 minutes two of them would roll a cig and step outside. The social dynamic of this is not something I’m accustomed to: you’re sitting in a pub listening to people play music, but you’re really all there to drink and hang out, and it’s not a concert or anything, because nobody feels any pressure to do anything in particular. But it was a great experience. Lots of fun.

It gets dark around here about 4:30 pm, so it’s hard to stay out late, especially when you’re drained from a long day of walking. But we did better tonight than last night. Here’s to tomorrow!

I haven’t blogged in ages. In the intervening time, I got married, bought a house, and quit my day job. More on all that later. For now, I’m jumping back in to recount my adventures during a 12-day trip to Scotland and Ireland. I’ll be posting daily updates about my trip time-shifted 2 weeks.

So, friday. After almost a day of flying and layovers (and the time zone change), we finally arrived in Edinburgh at about 9 am friday morning. And after a bus ride and a few miles of schlepping bags through downtown, we arrived at our Airbnb at 10 am. Our host, Gill, was still getting the place ready for us, but she kindly let us drop off our bags and gave us a little map rundown. We had brunch at a cute little shop called Art and Vintage just around the corner. There was no sleeping on the plane, so at this point we’d been awake for almost 20 hours. We figured the best course of action would be to power through. That’s the way to combat jet lag, right?

After brunch, we took a short walk toward Holyrood Palace, the monarch’s official Scottish residence. This palace is still used by the Queen when she visits Scotland. It was a lovely building on lovely ground. The only lame part of that tour was the lack of any human tour guides! We paid for a “tour” (which we had to do to see inside), but the “tour” consisted of being handed a little pocket audio player with headphones. I’d choose an inarticulate, real tour guide over a prerecorded thing any day. Too bad about that.

We also popped into the Parliament building, which is just next door to the palace. It’s got a much warmer on the interior than I expected from the outside. It felt very pleasant in there—especially the debating chamber with its many windows and bright wood.

Continuing up the royal mile, we turned off at Dunbar’s Close, which a sort of hole-in-the-wall 17th century-style garden just off the main drag. We listened to a bit of an organ concert in the next-door Canongate Kirk, and visited Adam Smith’s grave, which is in the churchyard. Just up the street from that, the “Edinburgh Museum” has the original parchment copy of the National Covenant, which I didn’t even know when I wandered in. Very moving. We also visited the John Knox house, which was an odd little museum. It’s unclear whether Knox lived exactly there or not, but it was neat to see an old residence with its many stories, windy stairs, and drafty windows looking out onto the medieval street below. After the Knox house, Karen and I finally admitted to ourselves that we were too tired to really appreciate what we were looking at. Instead of continuing on up the Royal Mile and seeing things that cost money, we decided to try out the Royal Gallery, which is free and seemed like a good place to chill. The Gallery was wonderful—lusciously decorated (so much chroma on the walls!) and a very manageable size—but my favorite part of the museum was its layout. Each room led into the next very clearly, and I never felt like I was accidentally missing something. Karen dozed on a soft gallery bench while I wandered.

After the gallery, we walked the mile and a half back to our Airbnb and then a little farther, in order to pick up some groceries at a Sainsbury’s. We had a dinner of crackers and cheese and spent an hour completely zonked on the couch before rallying. We only have three days in this city. No time for jet lag. So we climbed Calton Hill as the sun set. Basically, it’s this majestic hill full of otherworldly monuments and buildings. The monuments are all way bigger and cooler than what I’d expect to find in the states. Our only other goal for the evening was finding a not-super-touristy pub with a trad music session going. Everything on the Royal Mile is so commercialized, but without any cell service, it was difficult to figure out where else to walk. In desperation, we ended up at a place back on the Royal Mile that was a lot like a TGI Friday’s. No music. Very cheesy. Better luck tomorrow night. I’d say we did pretty good for day one.

• British money is gorgeous. I remember people griping online about these new bills with transparent plastic bits, and I guess they are a little cheesy. But being used to American money, I think I’m color-starved.
• What is the thing with red poppies? I know it’s some sort of military veteran thing. But why are red poppies on people’s lapels everywhere? It’s kinda fun to stay in the dark about this. I’m going to just keep wondering.
• I’ve already heard so many languages spoken here, especially French. Is this the way Europe is in general? Or just because we are in a prime tourist zone on the weekend? I suspect a little of both. Amazing.
• We opted not to pay the ridiculous upcharge to use our cell phone internationally, which means we have no service except for the occasional wifi. I think the hardest thing about it is trying to navigate in a strange place.