Back From Scotland!

Hi! I'm back. As it turns out, I DIDN'T have wireless access at the hotel and so I DIDN'T get to post for three days. But that doesn't mean I didn't write anything DOWN...

Day 1-Edinburgh

Well, finally made it here, after 8 HOURS of riding the bus to get here (it was supposed to take 6, but a lorry (truck) tipped over and stopped us up in traffic for about an hour, then the wind was lashing so hard against the bus that the driver couldn’t go any faster than a crawl.)

But we are here, in Edinburgh. Lovely city from what I’ve seen of it; it’s dark and rainy tonight. Saw the North Sea out of the bus window today, lots of sheep, really high hills, and yes, we watched Braveheart on the way up here (doesn’t that just FIT?)

No, I don’t have Internet access but that doesn’t mean I can’t post these when I get back on Sunday. Had a sandwich for dinner when nobody could decide what they wanted to eat. We went to what seems to be Britain’s answer for Starbucks-Costa’s. I’ve been in two already now. The food was okay; enough to get me to breakfast tomorrow.

The rooms are tinier than back home, but the carpet (ha ha) is plaid. There’s a nice view of the street below the window here.

So, that’s about it. I’m in Edinburgh and don’t know what I’ll be doing tomorrow, but I will let you all know as soon as I can.

LATER: Me and Erin went to a real Scottish pub, and guess what the wimp (that would be me) ordered. A PEPSI. I ordered a galdarn soda from a Scottish pub…but then again, she ordered hard cider and one of us had to be less than buzzed coming back or we’d have wound up lost someplace.

Also, they had really good garlic bread. They make it way more garlicky than the Americans do. Their Kit-Kats are sweeter, too.

Cheers,
Bec

Day 2: Tour Day
We had one day to see the sights…and boy, did I see them.

Starting off bright and early at a quarter to 9 this morning, I (meaning JUST little old me: I traveled alone today) trekked along the Royal Mile (they lied. It’s more like 3) all the way past the Queen’s residence and the Scottish Parliament and up to the big mountain at the end-Arthur’s Mantle.

I’m still not sure what portion of it I climbed but I can tell you it nearly killed me. I ran out of breath three times on the way up and wouldn’t you know it, the wind was blowing like hell and there were NO GUARDRAILS.

So there I am, standing up there high above Edinburgh, bracing my little feet against the angry, violent poofs of wind, and hoping to God that this is not the end of me, alone on Arthur’s Mantle and then promptly thrown off the top by a stupid gust.

But alas, it wasn’t and I came down the other side unscathed. But lost. I had come down on the other end of it and was at least 10 blocks away from where I had started. So, instead of panicking, I walked and walked and walked until I found myself on my helpful map again. It took 20 minutes, but hey! I actually READ A MAP. HEE.

Wandering around I found the Writer’s Museum-not what I was expecting. They had Robert Louis Stevenson’s boots, his books, the bedstead from the bed he was born in, his first lock of cut hair. It would have all been terribly creepy if I hadn’t seen that they’d done it with Sir Walter Scott, too. So, mutual creepies. They wouldn't let me take pictures of anything in there.

I ducked under an archway and came out on the Royal Mile, bought a hat, realized I couldn’t wear it in public here without looking like a tourist (has the Scottish thistle on it and it says Scotland. It’s a nice hat, and I paid too much for it. But you only go to Edinburgh once.)

I went to the National Museum, where I spent about an hour just looking at all the stuff (I didn’t get to all of it. Skipped the rock exhibit and went onto the Iranian tapestry part instead.) Saw a great big sword and thumbscrews, some really old Scottish jewelry and the Egyptian exhibit (you should have seen my double take when I saw THAT one.) They had several mummies up there, but nobody to get excited about. Just mummies.

I then decided to go find Greyfriars Bobby because I know Mom would kill me if I didn’t at least get A PICTURE of the dog statue. If you don’t know the story, here it is in brief: A constable in the 1800’s had a dog and its name was Bobby. The master died and was buried in the Greyfriars churchyard. The dog followed the coffin to the graveyard… then proceeded to guard his master’s grave-for the next 14 years. The townspeople took the pooch’s care up, gave it food and lodging when necessary, and when the dog died they buried him in the churchyard, too.

This story has never failed to make my mother glow, weep, or something in between and I knew darn well she’d hurt me if I didn’t make a pilgrimage there.

The statue of the dog is on the end of the street leading up to the church (or kirk as it’s known here.) The graveyard and the church itself were a bit hard to find, but eventually I did. The dog was buried right out in front so that people could find him, and I also got shots of the master’s grave and the sexton who was running the church at the time and was responsible for the dog being buried in the churchyard. I also left a pence for Bobby, the ever-loyal poochie (I was feeling guilty because someone else had had the presence of mind to leave a dog toy there for him)

Then, after wiping a tear from my eye (or was that rain?) I proceeded up the Royal Mile to the big event…Edinburgh Castle.

Now, me being an experienced traveler, I figured castle, faugh. It’ll be a half-hour in, half-hour out (this experience all deriving from having seen ONE castle.)

Oh, boy, was I ever wrong. Edinburgh Castle is a dizzying, looping, twisting maze of knowledge and Scottish history. Tons of Scottish history. Full-haggis and scones and bannocks and all- helpings of it. I should have done it first today. By the time I found the National Scottish War Museum tucked in a back corner I hadn’t noticed, I was so wiped out I could barely admire the full Scottish regalia in the exhibits.

But I saw the Scottish crown jewels, a big cannon, a couple dungeons, several nice paintings, the Queen’s key into the castle (big key. Huge.), some prison stuff…all amazing, all wonderful, all contained in a castle built on an extinct volcano. Them Scots sure could build ‘em (high and large and damned defendable, but a real problem to traverse with increasingly sore feet.)

Two hours after entering the castle area, I stumbled down the road, grabbed a sandwich at the first place I saw, and stumped back to the hotel where I am currently writing this entry.

The only thing that may have suffered permanent damage here is my hair, which has decided gravity is for others to obey and is standing on end (or would be, if not for the lovely hat I’m wearing)

I suspect everyone else will be back soon-darkness should be falling within the hour and most places around here close at about 4. We’ll probably go out tonight someplace; I don’t know where.

Check in with you soon,
Bec

Day 3: Coming Back

Day 3 was a long, long day. We started out at 8 something from Edinburgh, and made it to the border a couple of hours later. We stayed about 10 minutes, then off we went to Hadrian's Wall/Houstead's Fort, where we all nearly got blown away AGAIN because of the wind. I had to hold hat, wallet, AND camera near my person in order not to lose them (trying to hold all three at once was a bit of a chore). I slipped and got my butt wet on the grass (no harm done) and then we let ourselves be blown back down the hill to the bus.

Then it was on to Durham. We had a huge lunch in one of the local shops, then proceeded to the cathedral, where we weren't allowed to take pictures inside. Too bad-it was lovely. I got to see the Venerable Bede's tomb, which if you don't who he is, he wrote a couple of hymns in the Lutheran hymnbook my church uses and he wrote the first histories of Britain, therefore making himself "Father of the English Language." Venerable, indeed.

Then we left, unfortunately not getting to see the castle, but as I claimed before we got there, "We SAW Edinburgh Castle yesterday. TWO castles in TWO days is too much for anyone."

Then it was 3 hours back here. We watched Ice Age on the way back. I have spent the rest of this night trying to catch up on things...including finding out that yet another dang blasted IDIOT has smoked the overhead Davenport bridge.

I wrote a story on this the first time it happened after the repair work was done...

There is a bridge that goes past the paper mill in Rhinelander. It has seen many accidents in its time; so much that it was legendary among city residents.

Six months ago, the railroad company and the federal transportation guys decided after yet another accident involving semis and this bridge, that they would fix it, as it was now deemed to be unsafe.

So they reinforced it with steel beams. They painted it with stripes. They put up signs every 5 feet. They even decorated it with little flashing lights.

When it was all finished, we citizens thought, “Yes. This bridge is perfect. No one will ever hit it again, not with stripes and lights and signs aplenty…”

But ah, just yesterday, August 16th, 2006, somebody did. Somebody hit the bridge that was supposed to be un-hittable. How the semi driver blew through the signs, the stripes, AND the flashing lights…well, the spokesman said it must have been negligence.

The bridge survived the smack, but one of the little flashing lights was broken. The steel beams were a little scratched.

One can only wonder what happens to the semi driver from here: laughed at by city officials and railroad technicians because how in heaven’s name could he have hit THAT bridge, the one decorated with doodads to prevent exactly this kind of accident occurring. His boss laughing him right out to the Unemployment office, because any boss who’d let him drive after this is insane. And everyone in the city of Rhinelander laughing at him because boy, he must have been missing a few bolts in HIS bridge…

Personally, I wouldn’t let this guy drive a go-kart. How BLIND would you have to be to knock into the one bridge in Rhinelander that was recently made impossible to hit?

Apparently, I underestimated the idiocy of truck drivers going through Rhinelander, because it's happened AGAIN. 4 days ago, some genius trucker hit the bridge.

Some residents propose lowering it. Can't. Trains go through there to the paper mill, and the fact that the street is probably inches above the water line that close to the river (which IS about 100 feet away) would mean you can't lower the sucker anyway or risk having it underwater. You can't close it down-people on the west side of town use it as a main artery, and anyway, the paper mill's front doors are RIGHT THERE.

And if lowering the darn thing would help, don't you think after 16 accidents happening there that they WOULD HAVE? Lowering it will not stop them smacking into it-it will only give them cause to blaze through there with BIGGER trucks and smoke it again.

Either the truckers are going to have to get smarter or we're going to have to send out memos.

Well, this blog entry has gotten long in the tooth, so I will say bye to the Scotland portion of things.

Cheers,
Bec