England and Scotland for fun
Day 9 - Sunday, May 1 -
Scotland
May Day in the Highlands, baby!
Sunday morning - May Day - rain. And LOTS of
it. Of course, it's Scotland, so we could see sun in seconds,
followed by a monsoon, and then sun.
This will be a shorter day in the highlands, as
we'll be heading back to Edinburgh in time to have dinner with Chris --
and I still had no idea what plans Rhona had up her sleeve. I'd
just been coming along on this whole trip and been happy all
along.
Breakfast was earlier, as everyone was better rested
than the morning before, and Rod and Rhona each took showers while
trading kitchen breakfast duties for what turned out to be a really
nice (and rather large) breakfast. Rod made his customary
porridge (this time properly stirred with a spurgle) and set out tea,
apple juice and toast, and as we were finishing that, Rhona set out
plates of scrambled eggs and black pudding -- my first black
pudding! I've seen a variety of things called pudding in the UK
(none of which come close to anything Bill Cosby pitches), and this one
was new as well. It was a round slice (like when you slice canned
hash, but this was clearly freshly packed in something else to make it
round), a dark sort of finely ground meat (mostly seasoned liver) that
Rhona had cooked in a fry pan and was very tasty. Rhona assured
me that this was a really good black pudding from the really good
butcher of the day before, and don't assume eating it elsewhere would
be a good experience, because it might not be. Rod heartily
agreed.
After breakfast, I jumped in the shower (no washing
our face in the dew this day, as it looks like the dew will be raining
on us instead) while Rod and Rhona sorted out what would be going back
to Edinburgh with them (although we'd be coming back to the cottage
before leaving for home), and Rod made sandwiches for lunch.
Rhona was getting nervous listening to Rod go on about things he
wouldn't need until later, or he'd need it in town, while she knew
things that he didn't know about their return visit for his birthday in
two weeks. Two weeks before a surprise party were all ready
getting to her.
Then, off to explore the highlands, day 2!
Our first stop was some place called The Landmark
Heritage, or something like that, a place I saw in my UK penny smasher
listings for having a penny smasher. Rod had rolled his eyes, but
Rhona was supportive as always, and I was thinking it was probably some
highland historic display. We pulled up into a parking lot more
full of SUVs than I'd seen anywhere in the UK, with lots of children
being pushed in strollers or prams or holding hands and walking or
running. And signs about play areas and amusement areas and I
realized I'd just drug Rod to a family amusement place. Rhona
happily led the way to "coffee," and on our way, the first building we
had to walk through (with huge counters lining the room and hostesses
and loads of tourist pamphlets of the surrounding area) had the fabled
penny smasher right next to the door as we entered. Yea!!!
Except THIS one wanted TWO 20 pence coins instead of the 50p coin or
pound coin I'd been stocking up on. Aigh!!!! Of course, I
only had one 20p coin. Rod dug one up from his pocket, then told
me we'd get it on the way back, as Rhona was moving toward coffee.
So they got in line for their coffee, and I roamed
the gift store in search of water color prints of the area (hadn't seen
anything very interesting so far), and saw that their Cairn o' Mohr was
cheaper than the bottle I bought. I went back and sat with them,
telling them about the better buy for Cairn o' Mohr, and Rod was almost
distraught, apologizing for me spending more than I needed to at the
other place they had taken me, despite me assuring him it's not THAT
big a difference and I was happy to have it. More roaming around
the giftshop (where Rod brought me some sort of hiker's book or
something he'd picked up and opened to a page that had on the "Got any
grapes?" joke of Dad's that I'd told them last night after dinner --
A duck walks into a bar and goes up to the bartender
and says enthusiastically, "GOT ANY GRAPESsss?" The bartender
says, "No, I don't have any grapes." So the duck shook his head,
ah well, and walked out of the bar. The next day, the duck walks
into the bar and asks the bartender enthusiastically, "GOT ANY
GRAPESsss?" The bartender says, "No, I don't have any grapes. I
told you yesterday!" So the duck shakes his head, ah well, and
walked out of the bar. The next day, the duck walks into the bar and
asks the bartender enthusiastically, "GOT ANY GRAPESsss?" The
bartender says, "Look, I told you I don't have any grapes! And the next
time you come in asking for them, I'm going to nail your feet to the
bar! Get outta here!" So the duck shook his head, ah well, and
walked out of the bar. The next day the duck walked into the bar
and asked the bartender, "Got any nails?" The bartender, all
confused, said, "Uh, no, no I don't have any nails..." Then the
duck asked enthusiastically, "GOT ANY GRAPESsss?"
-- except in the book, it's "A man walks into
a bar..." I told Rod that I preferred the duck version, and he
and Rhona agreed.
Onto Brodie Castle!
After we stopped by the penny smashing machine, of
course. Rhona also picked up some brochures to have at their
cottage when friends stayed there and were looking for something to do.
So we drive through more beautiful woodsy scenery
and by pastures with long-haired long-horned highland cattle and ewes
and baby lambs and - a new one on me - gorgeous pheasants walking by
the side of the road - and arrive at Brodie Castle, where we break out
lunch. We sat at one of the picnic tables near their parking area
and munched on smoked salmon sandwiches and crisps (original plain -
nothing like the "lamb and mint sauce flavored" ones I had on the train
up - the UK potato chips are insane) and, of course, the Ribena
blackcurrant juice. It began raining as we were eating, but it
wasn't enough to interrupt us, so we finished up, and headed toward the
castle.
Rod and Rhona's close friends are named Brodie, and
they're forever teasing each other -- Brodie being such a popular name
that it appears a lot in Scotland -- so Rhona was getting a kick out of
finally visiting Brodie Castle and teasing them about visiting their
castle the next time she saw them. The daffodil walk had ended -
a path to the castle that was lined with daffodils, maybe leading to a
larger area of them - as they had peaked, but there were still a lot of
daffodils around. (Reminding me of a lovely yard of one of the
cottages we'd driven by a few times during the weekend - the front yard
was just grass, except for daffodils lining both sides of an imaginary
walkway leading from the road to the front door, and then the front of
the house.)
The previous man of the castle, who'd died fairly
recently, lived there and even hosted a number of tours that came
through, as he was very enthusiastic about the place. The current
successor, however, "owns a bookshop and lives in France," the tour
lady told us, almost hissing it with disgust. (Rhona also picked
up on the tone and we laughed about it later - "Didn't it sound like
she was less than pleased with the current heir?") However, she
also pointed out at that the castle actually belongs to the Scottish
Trust Fund (probably because the family couldn't afford the upkeep
anymore), so there.
Regardless, it was quiet beautiful -- the dining
room alone had hugely ornate plaster ceiling that looked like heavy
planks of carved wood (the sort of thing that Rod and I agreed would
make you nervous whilst sitting under it to have dinner). Other
rooms were cheerier with that Wedgwood china look -- light colors,
brighter patterned cloth wrapped around the furniture. The guide
in the drawing room said they'd recently had a wedding there -- just
move the furniture around, and the guests could basically relax there
as if they lived there. Another room, of course, had walls packed
with paintings - one being a Van Dyke, among many other well known
artists. (There were also a couple of paintings by Edwin Landseer
of the Gallery exhibit I'd been to in Edinburgh as well.)
Enough castle, we hit the road for our last highland
fling -- visiting the Broomhill train station where Monarch of the Glen films its train
station scenes. Rod, naturally, teased and guffawed at mine and
Rhona's "touristy" enthusiasm, which didn't keep me from dragging him
to the platform and impatiently (it was beginning to rain more) shoving
my disposable camera in his hand to take a picture of me and Rhona
waiting on a train. He guffawed again at the sight of the
"Glenbogle" sign plastered above a shed at the end of the platform
(Glenbogle being the fictional estate of Monarch), which, for all I know,
they used during their years of filming scenes there. The station
itself was one of those cute little station stops, with just a platform
and a small building for the stationmaster and ticket holders.
When we stepped back through, Rod pointed out the Monarch trinkets they had for sale
(post cards of "the big house" that we didn't have time to see, etc),
and said I HAD to get a Glenbogle platform ticket for 50p. I
thought again that he was teasing me -- although I defiantly got the
postcard -- and he insisted that, no, seriously, I needed to get that.
So the nice stationmaster behind the counter who'd just pleasantly sold
me the postcards offered to show me one so I could decide, and it
looked like a small movie admission ticket. They explained that
you used to have to have a platform ticket before you could stand out
on a platform and wait for someone. It did, indeed, have
Glenbogle printed on it, so I said of course I'd take one, and as I was
putting it away, the stationmaster said "Do you want me to stamp the
date on it for you? Make it official?" Well, oh,
yeah!
So we got back in the car, Rhona just starting up
the engine, and she said, "You want a photo in FRONT of it, don't
you?" And I quickly admitted yes (she must have noticed me
looking somewhat longingly at something so conveniently right in front
of me that I was about to drive away from), so Rod and I jumped out
again (with Rod again guffawing), and another picture before we pulled
away -- leaving behind what looked like a huge tour bus I'm thrilled we
beat. On the way back, Rhona explained that the station wasn't in
use during the beginning of the show's run, and the train people had
restored it and got it back on the line since then -- Rod thought the
bus was probably going to meet people coming off the train.
Minutes later, he pointed out the steam engine in the distance (there
were other trains, but that one had recently begun running), which may
have be bringing tourists.
Back to Edinburgh!
We went back to cottage and loaded up the car (after
tea, of course), and the lambs were making their little lamb baying or
mewing sounds -- so heartbreaking. (Rod said they were telling me
goodbye.) Then we headed out for two hours of scenery and Chinese
takeout.
When we got to the house, Chris was there, smiling
and asking if we were going to have pizza for dinner? Chinese, I
told him (having happily dodged Rod's vote for Indian food), and he
kept smiling but said he had Chinese food the night before. I
said, well, we could have pizza, and Rhona voiced dissent to that plan
-- "If you were in China, you'd have Chinese food every night!" she
told him. I added to the pot by saying, "If a beautiful American
woman bought you Chinese food, you'd be fine with that, right?"
And Rhona pointed out that it was Marilyn's treat, and Chris was all,
oh, he'd be happy to eat anything we're having, don't worry about him.
So Rod and I walked down the street and around the
corner to another corner where the Chinese takeout (literally, no
tables) was. I ordered the dinner for four (sweet and sour pork,
crispy beef, lemon chicken, lots of other basic dishes), plus another
order of spring rolls (thank heavens Rod was there to interpret the
Chinese woman's English for me, or we would have had LOTS of spring
rolls), and we sat and waited. It wasn't long before the burly
Scottish owner-type stepped up and started talking to me (could have SO
used Rod's translating skills, if I could have frozen the guy so he
wouldn't know how lost I was - and Rod told me later that it was an
Edinburgh accent, which was the thickest Scot accent I'd heard
yet). Then a guy waiting at the counter for his food joined into
the conversation, listing all the places he'd been in America as well
(the first guy was in Honolulu, the second guy had been everywhere and
stayed in Decatur, Georgia during the Olympics while working for his
company). The second guy was also railing against the politicians
and their high taxes (17.5% sales tax - quite a hit, I thought, until
Rhona told me that that paid for their college education and medicine,
AND they didn't have a federal income tax, either). In the middle
of all that, two little Scottish girls came in with just enough change
for "Prawn crackers, please," and they left with a large bag of
something Rod had said their family likes and we'd probably get
included in our meal.
Fortunately, our food was ready soon (I was
exhausted trying to make it through both men's accents and slang and
act like I knew what they were talking about, although Rod commended me
for keeping up with quite a lot of it), and Rod and I carried the bags
(including a bag of prawn crackers) back to the house.
Dinner was swell, as we packed away the food (using
authentic chopsticks Rhona had brought back from somewhere - Rod put
the kibosh on me asking for them at the takeout place), and chatted
about everything from the upcoming election (it wasn't just a Labour
with Blair versus the conservative Tories, there were also the Liberal
Democrats and the Scottish National Party to consider) to penny
smashers. (Rod asked Chris if he knew about them, which he
didn't, and when we described them, he said, "What, you mean for
tourists?" which sent Rod into much anticipated laughter.)
After dinner, we became zombies in the sitting room
that had the TV with Indiana Jones
and the Temple of Doom, working in an occasional bit of
conversation. Rhona pulled out the wedding album so I could point
out the photo that was my favorite, and I realized that it wasn't one
with the bride (the "new Else family") as I'd said, but one of the
original family (because it was a full shot, so you could see everyone
in their full attire, the boys in their kilts, Rod in tartan slacks,
and Rhona in her practically Ascot attire).
Tomorrow, last day in town, and Rhona taking me out
to the kiltmakers'.
England and
Scotland for fun
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