England and Scotland for Dad's 70th
Day 12 - Monday - Scotland
What a shock -- both Dad and I oversleep this
morning. We promised
Rhona we'd be downstairs for breakfast at 9 a.m., and neither of us
were up before 8:41. No hair washing for me! I rush
downstairs to find Rhona isn't in the kitchen -- she overslept, too,
and is finishing her shower downstairs. We all three sit together
for a breakfast of cereal, toast and jam, Rhona telling us Rod tried to
wake her for work, forgetting she switched holiday weekends. She
ignored him. Dad gives her his and Mom's address before he
forgets, she gives me a big jar of her raspberry jam before she
forgets. (Yea!) She reminds us to gather up exact change
for the bus since they don't make change, an uncivilized nightmare for
such a groovy city.
The three of us walk to the bus stop together.
She's off on the
#11 Midlothian bus for an adventure of errand-running in town for her
big ceilidh (pronounced "kay-lee" -- big Scottish party). Dad and
I are off for a casual day of knocking around Edinburgh and doing
whatever we feel like, starting with Edinburgh Castle and taking it
from there. She tells us we can take the #C-3 on the green and
yellow bus, or the #7 on the red Midlothian bus, which we take, to the
Royal Mile, the center of Edinburgh.
After a few stops, I ask the
driver to let me know when we're there, he nods and says something
indecipherable. I tell Dad this is the part that unnerves me
about riding buses, missing your stop (not well marked like subway
stops). A nice elderly Scottish lady sitting behind us asks
"Where are you going? Oh, I'll let you know. Are you going
to the Princes Garden? Ooo, that's lovely."
We get off the bus and cross the North Street Bridge
to the Tourist
Centre, check out Jenners Department Store for a little shopping, and
hit the Thomas Cooke exchange place for a little more cash to get us
home. The Thomas Cooke travelers checks have MasterCard logos on
them, and the salesclerk at the Atlanta airport told Dad he could use
his MasterCard for a cash advance if we needed to. The salesclerk
at the Edinburgh exchange office said we couldn't.
Was she
sure?
The flat unhelpful unpleasant eyes remained.
Yes, we
can't.
"But we were told -- "
Finally she says you can buy the
checks, but not get cash.
"Can you buy checks here with the credit
card and then cash them here?" I ask.
"Yes".
Well, duh, let's
do that, I say, not believing the teeth-pulling mentality.
She
asks for Dad's passport (which you need to buy travelers' checks
here).
And check mate.
We don't have our passports on
us. She tells us there's a bank machine outside.
Fine.
Dad doesn't believe in ATM cards, so he doesn't have
a
card, and I think I left mine in California to be near its ailing
bank account. I fish in the coin purse and lo, I did bring it in
case
of dire emergencies. Will it work? I punch in my code, Dad
standing away thinking I'm completely wasting my time, and out comes 30
Scottish pounds. Kinda cool to see my little Pasadena bankcard
get Scottish money, even though I dread what's going on in my account
on the near-other side of the world. Dad nervously says we'll
have to conserve what cash we have and use credit credits whenever we
can. I smile and tell him he's with the right person.
Onto Edinburgh Castle!
We trek up the Royal Mile to the majestic castle
that rests on a
volcanic cliff overlooking the city. I immediately bag the
complimentary tape tour for a hit at the gift shop. Lots of cool
stuff, from post cards to my favorite and way-expensive
thistle-patterned Edinburgh Crystal (the glasses and stems are shaped
like thistle flowers). My other favorite thing was the black
bottle of "Cairn o' Moor" elderberry wine, its label written in broken
tree limb script (it would have been too perfect to compliment the
Dragon's Breath mustard from Hampton Court and Chamber of Horrors
strawberry preserves). Sadly, I leave it, and we tour the various
parts of the castle.
The highlight here, since they have no ravens, is
the crown jewels
collection. The Scottish crown jewels, basically a golden crown,
a gorgeous sword and jeweled scepter, are especially cool since they're
so old! They haven't been used for centuries, and this crown is
supposed to have in it gold from the original crown of Robert the Bruce
(the Scottish king who succeeded in acquiring Scottish independence
after Braveheart's death). The collection also includes the Stone
of Scone, the stone seat on which Scottish kings sat during their
coronation, recently returned to Scotland from Westminster Abbey (and a
sticking point to people like Rhona who thinks it should be returned to
Scone Palace, but Edinburgh is the government seat of Scotland, so it
sort of went there by default)(and Rhona and her mother don't think
it's the real stone anyway -- they say it's way too small).
A quick visit to the chapel, and a return to the
gift shop, where they
are having a tasting of Drumgray Highland Cream. And my GOD it's
incredible! It's sort of the basic idea of Bailey's Irish Cream,
except this has 8 (or 10) year-old single malt whiskey in it.
It's so smooth and sweet and tasty and creamy -- and the price is even
reasonable. If Dad wasn't there, I would have snapped up a bottle
without a doubt. Sadly, I leave it with the Cairn o' Moor
elderberry wine.
Lunch!
We wander down the Royal Mile hill through
Edinburgh, in
search of eats. I'm originally planning for lunch at The Witchery
restaurant, but their fare was too froo-froo (what were they
thinking with that cool name?), and we eventually land at a nice little
sandwich shop for
ham-stuffed rolls, scones and tea. More knocking about downhill,
we stop at the Writers' Museum to see their rooms (tributes and little
possession collections) on Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert
Louis Stevens, except the Robert Louis Stevens room was closed due to
lack of help.
Quick stop by the High Kirk (Church) of St. Giles,
then looking over
the map to see what's left and where we are. Dad says "Edinburgh
has a Hard Rock Cafe." No they don't, I tell him, that being the
silliest thing I ever heard. He points to the great big huge ad
on the map, and what do you know! We check it out, Dad wants a
picture of me in front of it, and we go in for some pins (the salesguy
tells me the place has only been opened for 2 months).
A couple of more shops, we stop by an antique place
so Dad can see a
real collection of old coins these people keep in a cigar box, and back
on the bus to Rod and Rhona's. On the bus, I comment on the
incredible tastiness of the Highland Cream, and Dad says "Yeah!
That was good! I nearly bought a bottle." What?
What?! Turn the bus around!
We get back to the house to find Rhona in the front
talking with her
neighbor, owner of Abby the "daft cat." I tell him how sweet she
is, and he pleasantly counters "She's noht so sweet at 6 a.m.!
Meow! Meow!" We go inside with Rhona, who tells us of her
tiring day -- beginning with the shop not having the balloons she
wanted. When it came time for her to return home by bus, she
didn't have proper change, so she considered going into some shop to
buy some gum she didn't want to make change -- then realized she was
standing next to the big Midlothian bus office. She walked in and
asked them to make change for her so she could ride their buses that
don't give change. The befuddled clerk told her, ah, they don't
give change, you can't get change on the bus, and she said she knew
that, that's why she wanted them to give her change so she could ride
their bus! She got it.
After a lovely lamb dinner followed by fruit salad
and ice cream
dessert, Rod, Dad and I drove Rhona to her friend's house for their
girl's night in. Then Rod toured us around Leith, the area just
between their neighborhood and the firth -- and setting of the novel
and movie Trainspotting.
It's a dock sort of area that's being
refurbished with young urbanites and trendy restaurants. Back to
the house, where I spend the evening copying some of Rhona's recipes,
and Dad reads Rod's dad's R.A.F. log. This was especially cool,
as
Rod's dad flew the legendary Spitfire, and wrote entries telling how he
attacked enemy aircraft, was shot from behind and had to abandon the
plane by parachute.
After Rod spent an evening of fielding calls from
women whom Rhona
invited to the ceilidh but didn't respond in time ("Yes... yes... well,
you should speak to Rhona tomorrow... yes... um-hum... yes... I'll have
her
call you tomorrow... Yes... yes... uh-hum... You really should speak to
her. Tomorrow.... yes... yes... well, you should really tell this
to Rhona..."), he left to pick her up from her friend's house. I
begin the daunting task of trying to pack my delicate sea shells with a
big shell-smashing jam jar. Eventually, they returned with a
blushing Rhona, carrying a plant for her garden, announcing they had
thrown her a surprise birthday party! I asked Rod if he knew
about it, and he said of course he didn't, was I joking?
Our trip is almost over. (Booooo!)
England and
Scotland for Dad's 70th
Travel Journals
The
Marilyn Website home
Copyright Marilyn Estes
1997-2004