Now closer to 23 than 22, I finally take on the United Kingdom! Join me as I spend 10 days galavanting my way through Scotland's pubs.
The last couple days spent in Scotland were busy ones, as I tried to pack in as much as I could before my flight back to the states. I visited the Old Course of St. Andrew's, one of the oldest golf courses in the world, and walked THROUGH it. I was fully expecting the entire course to be blocked off to visitors because of its notoriety, but to my surprise it was completely open. What a beautiful course it was. Set near the beach, the course itself is nestled in the university town of St. Andrew's. It was a bustling little town, and a lot chillier than Leith because of the ocean being so close. Despite having an almost constant runny nose while exploring this town, I quickly fell in love with the old stone buildings, the fall colors, and the overall feel of the town. I couldn't even imagine being a student here. I'd be too distracted by the scenery to go to class. On my last day in Scotland, my cousin's in-laws took the babies and together Erin and I ventured into Edinburgh for a day of bonding. We started the day with almost missing the bus, having to sprint after it, waving our hands and shouting like crazy folk. Luckily there was a sweet elderly woman who seemed to purposely take her time boarding so that we could make it in time. Once aboard the bus, we made our way to Edinburgh to climb Arthur's Seat, a large hill (I would even venture to say mountain) about a mile from the Edinburgh Castle. We made it to the top in a timely manner, removing a layer of clothing every 10 minutes or so. The view from the top is stunning. You can see almost every corner of the city. We spent a good while admiring this scene. By the time we made it back to the bottom of the Seat, we both had built up quite an appetite (and quite a sweat), so we headed into town for a hearty meal and some good conversation. After our tummies were satisfied, my cousin and I embarked on one of the most notable bars crawls I've been a part of to date. We visited countless pubs, including the one where she met her husband, shared lots of stories, and made lots of memories. It was definitely one of my favorite parts of my trip. As my journey came to an end, I wasn't sad like I usually am at the end of a trip. I think it's because I know I'll be back to Scotland someday. It's one of those countries I know I won't be able to stay away from for long.
*** SPOILER ALERT *** I visit Scotland again in September of 2017.
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Once we got into the city, Ewan dropped me off at my hostel (the lovey dovey couple went to a ritzy hotel) and I headed inside. I got to my room and cheerily introduced myself to my roommates- a blonde girl from Norway and a boy from France. After settling in, I invited them to go out for drinks. Ewan had given me a few pub recommendations and I was excited to finally consume some alcohol (I mean this in the healthiest way possible). We navigated our way to a pub about 5 minutes from the hostel and settled down with a round of scotch. I was in a Clifton mindset and drank it very quickly, but the other two didn't seem too keen on the idea of rapid consumption, so I used my self control and just ordered a beer after that. Almost immediately after we sat down at the large wooden table, I began telling my new friends about the haggis. Neither one of them seemed too convinced of its existence and soon used their smart phones to prove me wrong. I was pretty disappointed in the fictional creature, and began to question all of the stories Ewan had told me. We stayed at the bar into the wee hours of the night, talking about each other's countries and our thoughts on Scotland. We all agreed that it's a little too dreary at times, but nonetheless, beautiful and rich with history. The next morning Ewan picked me up bright and early outside of my hostel. As soon as I took my seat in the bus, I told him all about my haggis findings. Amidst fits of laughter he said, "Usually only the Chinese believe that." On our trek back to Edinburgh we stopped at Loch Ness and met the world renowned 'Loch Ness Man.' He's been searching for the Loch Ness Monster for far too many years and lives in a van down by the loch. He disguised said van to look like the edge of the loch (basically dirt) to increase his chances of spotting the mythical beast. In his free time he makes and sells small Loch Ness Monster figurines and has gotten a fair share of attention from the media due to his steadfastness as a Nessie believer. He hasn't seemed to falter in his faith. We also journeyed to the other side of the loch and embarked on a boat tour in search of Nessie. Unfortunately, no such luck, but it was a beautiful tour nonetheless. As we continued our journey to Edinburgh, we stopped at a whiskey/scotch distillery a little off the beaten path. Dalwhinnie, as it was called, was founded by a Buchanan some years ago. It looked like an old, white farm house and was tucked away in the hills. As we approached the entrance, I had to stop and take in the scenery. The white picket fence almost twinkled against the mist enveloping it and the warm, orange light shining through Dalwhinnie's windows shone even brighter against the stark, gray sky.
Once inside the distillery, the German boy and I ordered a shot of scotch. Not because I enjoy it, but because I felt obligated to try something made by my ancestors. The tiny glass was accompanied by a small cup of melted milk chocolate and a tiny wooden spoon. I took small, delicate sips of the scotch this time, trying to taste the flavor. To avoid coughing/spitting it out, I immediately chased my sips with four or five gulps of chocolate. I wouldn't go as far as saying I made the Buchanan name proud, but I at least saved myself from embarrassment. (Thank you, chocolate!) This trip to the Highlands was quite an adventure and one I'll definitely remember for years to come. A couple nights ago I found pictures of the Highlands (like the picture above) in one of Erin's travel books and within seconds of studying the landscapes, had booked a tour with Rabbie's Tour Group. This morning I made my way back to downtown Edinburgh to meet my group at a little café. It was a small gathering of people- four to be exact. Myself, a young German couple, and Ewan McLeod, our hairy Highland hero. Mr. McLeod was quite a character and possibly the most Scottish man I've seen outside of googling 'Scottish men.' He was a middle aged man, I'd say somewhere in the mid 50's, with chest length dirty blond hair and a gray speckled beard that flowed seamlessly into his dirty neck beard. He wore an oversized gray sweater over his kilt and stockings and spoke in a deep, thick Scottish accent. Our bus trip took about seven hours, with various stops throughout to take pictures, eat lunch, etc. During our ride Ewan spoke into his microphone headset, telling us just about every story that has ever been told about Scotland. He started with the history from the 1st century and ended with present day Scotland. As you can imagine, there was rarely a moment of silence. After discovering my last name, he lingered on war stories involving the Buchanans. He made a point to slow down the bus and jab his large, hairy finger in the direction of each Buchanan casualty, always saying something along the lines of, "All the Buchanans were slaughtered here... a few escaped, but then they were killed too." I began to wonder how I even existed. Throughout the bus ride, Mr. McLeod would transition from telling these violent, bloody war stories to playing either electronic bagpipe music or 2004's Top Hits over the radio. The music was always a nice break and helped clear my mind of all the torment the Scots experienced throughout history.
As we neared our destination for the night- Inverness - Ewan began to tell a new, less grotesque tale that kept me interested. (I'll admit, I almost fell asleep a few stories prior). We were driving between large, green rolling hills as he pointed out the window and said in his thick Scottish accent, "This is where the haggis live." The German boy and I looked at each other from across the aisle. This was the first contact we had made since introducing ourselves (he was pretty into his girlfriend, if you know what I mean). Ewan continued, "This creature has legs of different lengths, long stringy hair that often covers its eyes, and it runs sideways down the mountains. During mating season, the locals will hit them with wooden spoons to chase them away." At this point in the story I have my face pressed against the glass, trying not to blink in case I would see one of these magical creatures tumble sideways down the hills. I didn't know what to look for. It was the strangest description of an animal I've ever heard. By the time I had an image painted in my head, we were out of the hills and into the city. Today started like most days here in Scotland; a morning filled with Peppa Pig and porridge covered onesies. But as I buttoned the last button on Bonnie's (one of the baby cousins) soft gray coat, I knew that it would be much different. You see, today was the day that Erin, the babies, and I were to head into the heart of Edinburgh and experience the big city life. This had been a highly anticipated day since the moment I found out we would be visiting a castle. After the typical morning routine, Erin piled the kids into their respective exploring seats and we went on our way to the city. Our first stop was the Scott Monument, a large, Victorian Gothic monument dedicated to the Scottish author, Sir Walter Scott. As told by my close friend, Google, it is also the largest monument dedicated to a writer in the world. I don't know much, if anything, about this Sir Walter guy, but I guess he was pretty important. The air was crisp, the wind was sharp, and the babies were content as we approached the castle. As its ominous structure drew closer, my excitement continued to grow. I was so excited that I almost didn't notice the seemingly endless flight of stairs that lay in our path. I stared up at the mountain of steps in front of me, wondering how in the world we would make it to the top with our oversized stroller for two. Erin, however, was not daunted and flawlessly took command. She lifted the front of the baby mobile, I lifted the back, and together we carried it up the stair mountain. Besides regretting the five layers of clothing I chose to wear that day, the olympic journey was going pretty well. About 50 steps into our trek (this could be an exaggeration), a gust of wind grabbed baby Euan's coat, which flew over my head and landed a few steps below me. We were not the only people on the stairs, so not wanting to clog traffic, I continued moving forward, but reached my hand backwards in an attempt to save the wee jacket. No dice. On the other side of the stairs, a kind man grabbed the coat and began running backwards toward my outstretched hand. It was like a very lousy baton handoff in a track and field event; my one hand holding up the end of a stroller, my other reaching behind me as I continued walking up a mountain of steps, while a man on the other side of the stairs simultaneously ran backwards, his hand reaching for mine. Eventually our hands met. I grabbed the coat and snugly tucked it into the stroller, ensuring this situation would not unfold twice. The man and I exchanged smiles and I thanked him, all the while a round of applause was playing in my head. After this escapade, we finally made it to the castle. I felt like I was entering Hogwarts (Harry Potter reference) as I walked under a large stone arch leading to the castle. Its beautiful construction sat amidst gaggles of tourists and old, stone buildings.
We spent a sufficient amount of time admiring its beauty and the view of the city beneath before we headed out to lunch. It was a quick meal, as the babies' nap time was approaching. Erin and the kids went home and set me loose in the city. I visited the art museum (classic Ellen pit stop) and ventured down random streets and alleys to capture the best pictures. As I wandered down the lovely cobblestone streets of Edinburgh, I passed a tiki bar with a chalkboard sign that read, 'Play beer pong here. Get your balls wet!' After passing it three times, I simply couldn't resist anymore and opened the large wooden doors to the bar. I sat down next to two Irish folk and quickly hit it off with the large, dark haired bartender. She gave me a quick run down of the Scottish beers and after shamefully turning down a Coors Light, I took a Tennants. I soon came to find out that Tennants is not much better than a Coors, or even Keystone, for that matter. But I was so pleased to find something of minimum taste that the bartender let me keep my glass. Not only did I reach my FitBit step goal today, but I also learned some Scottish slang that seemed pretty useful. Fag- a cigarette. ex: "Will you light my fag?" Barry- [bar-/e/] great. ex: "I've had a barry time." Muckle- large. ex: "I'll have a muckle beer." It's been a couple days since that fateful flight to Scotland, and today I embarked on my first solo journey in Leith. After an extensive explanation and detailed drawing of the city, my cousin (Erin) set me off to buy a meat pie. I don't think any other act could have made me feel more Scottish. If it wasn't for my giant tourist camera, I might have even passed for a local. Surprisingly I found the butcher without a problem and even journeyed off the beaten path without getting lost. If you know me at all, this is a huge deal. Leith is, to put it lightly, breathtaking. As I walked through the streets I could almost smell the rich history of the people who were here before me (but I could've been mistaking it for the piles of trodden leaves lining the sidewalks). I never ventured too far from the main road that led to my cousin's place, but even so I stumbled upon some beautiful constructions. I lingered outside of an old, castle-like building that turned out to be a Gaelic elementary school. It was a dark stone tower, surrounded by a black wrought iron fence and signs engraved with mysterious Gaelic words. I walked past numerous pubs, subconsciously committing their location to memory, and many little shops and restaurants. It was definitely one of my more memorable walks.
Upon my heroic return, Erin threw my trophy (the meat pie) into the oven and I played with the kids while it cooked. Despite my leeriness to eat a meat pie (you have to admit, it sounds extremely unappetizing) I wanted to be a good house guest and didn't voice my concerns. And I must say, my tummy approved. I don't know if it was because my body knew I had gone through all that effort to get it, but that pie was DELICIOUS. I definitely ate at least two servings, which if you know me, is a rarity. So the lesson learned today: no matter how gross something (specifically, if not exclusively, food) may sound, EAT IT ANYWAY. There's a 50/50 chance you won't regret it. Today I woke up bright and early for my flight to Scotland with my cousin and her two children, both under the age of two (they live in Scotland). Our 14 hour journey can be best summed up in one sentence: the two year old cried so hard that she threw up. That's basically how the entire journey went. However, the hellish nightmare was well worth it because Scotland is a thing of beauty. After we arrived, lugged our suitcases up a couple flights of stairs, and threw ourselves onto a bed for a much needed nap, I set out with the family to explore their town, Leith. We spent an hour or so perusing the streets, stopping at the touristy sites, and marveling at the old buildings and cobblestone streets. It all felt so surreal as we strolled through town, surrounded by Scottish accents, fall leaves, and crisp October air. Upon returning to their quaint, little apartment, my cousin successfully put the children to bed after many, many minutes (or was it hours?) of crying, screaming, etc. and we all sat down for a well deserved beer(s). It wasn't long before my eyes began to droop, and I was soon falling asleep on my makeshift bed. I do remember my last thought right before I fell into a deep slumber, 'I'm never having kids.'
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