Wednesday 23 Nov: A little brush with history in the making

Breakfast on this, our final full day in Scotland, is the standard buffet fare at the Holiday Inn City Centre, but today will be anything but a standard day.

At our final group meeting, I turn the cats loose for a full day on their own, handing out a day pass for transit by bus or trolley for each person. Until our farewell feast at 5, I say, enjoy what Edinburgh has to offer.

I have my own plan for things I haven’t done or seen on previous trips to the city. I’ve been to the Modern Art museums (there are 2), but I haven’t been to the Scottish National Gallery or the nearby Royal Scottish Academy, so they are on my list. I also want to get to the National Museum of Scotland, as I’m keen to see Viking and Pictish artifacts there. Afterward, I’ll indulge in some souvenir hunting, then enjoy a sunset at Calton Hill, which I’ve never climbed. Our hotel is quite nearby the Hill, so that’s a good last stop before freshening up for our last dinner.

Gallery hopping

The National Gallery is small but the collection is nothing to sneeze at. It features a range of works from Botticelli to Vermeer, hung salon-style on its red walls, though not in an overcrowded fashion. I’m always on the lookout for the bizarre in museums, and I’m not disappointed with these two strange discoveries:

I turn to the Royal Academy, and it turns out to be a royal mistake. I haven’t done my homework: the exhibitions are being changed out and there’s nothing open in the main galleries. In the lower galleries, however, is a Christmas Show, which appears to be works on sale by the Academicians. There’s a lot of dry humor in these contemporary works, so this isn’t a total loss, after all.

Since I have to pass by the Royal Mile to get to the National Museum, I decide to stop for souvenirs first. I have in mind some knitwear for Maria and some British gummies for Alyson to supplement the coconuts I got for Cas at Doune Castle. I also want to get jewelry for everyone: a brooch for Maria, a kilt pin for Cas, a Celtic triquetra for Aly, and something for my sister Paige (which I can’t divulge here as a spoiler because I know she will read this before Christmas!). For myself? I’m hoping there’s enough time to stop by duty-free for a bottle of whisky…

Tourist trapping

This takes much longer than I have anticipated. The Royal Mile is a royal pain for actual shopping. Everything at the top of the hill is generally low-quality tourist-trappy pre-packaged landfill. When it is high quality, the stock is identical, the very same Harris Tweed jackets and Lochcarron stoles from shop to shop to shop. I decide this is a terrible mistake and I move down the hill toward Holyrood, where the stores are less overtly touristy.

Thankfully, I find Ragamuffin. It’s a store where I can’t go wrong for Maria. One proprietor is behind the counter, knitting, while the other assists me in choosing. In fact, there’s too much choice, and I have a hard time settling on one item. Everything here is knit by hand or one-off pieces from a hand-controlled machine knitter. The prices reflect this quality, but they are no more pricier than the run-of-the-mill stuff up the hill. I settle on a sweater with a unique collar and buttons.

I decide to continue down the hill for the jewelry and it’s a productive move. Since I’m passing by, I stop by Gordon Nicolson to say hello to Helen, the woman who fit me out for my kilt the last time I was here. Sadly, Helen is not there, but I ask the folks who are there to send her my good wishes and gratitude for the beautiful work. While I’m there I do find some of the jewelry I’m looking for, and in a store adjacent to it, I find the last things I need. On my final purchase, I have a bit of trouble with my debit card but we manage to seal the deal.

Late lunching

By now it’s quite later than I though it would be, shopping has taken forever, and I haven’t lunched. Side by side, I spy a Starbucks and a smaller Brazilian coffee shop, Santu Coffee. I give Santu my business, of course. I get a croissant and coffee, nothing extravagant as I don’t want to spoil the farewell feast. My card won’t work again, and this time it really gives up the ghost. The proprietor gives me the food outright, but I tell them I’m going to knock heads with my bank.

I sit with my food and whip out my phone. Before we traveled, I had contacted the bank to let them know I’m traveling abroad, and the customer service representative said, “Oh, you don’t need to inform us anymore.” Well… OK. I notice a text from an unknown number, and sure enough, it’s the bank warning me that spending is outside of normal patterns. I guess all the purchases in women’s stores looked fishy. So I confirm the purchases are mine, and the card is re-activated.

It occurs to me at that moment that I’ve gone the entire trip without touching a single pound note. I’m glad I’m able to settle up with the coffee shop, and then I’m on my way, but not before learning that the U.K. Supreme court has ruled against the Scottish Parliament’s authority to run an independence referendum. I’m not surprised. Supreme courts turn out to be supremely disappointing regardless which side of the Atlantic they occupy. The law lords have made their choice.

Sunset

And it’s clear I have a choice to make, as I’m fighting daylight now: should I go to the National Museum or Calton Hill? The weather decides for me, as it is nice and sunny this afternoon. There will be a sunset at the Hill. I make a mental note to prioritize the National Museum for another trip.

On the way to Calton Hill I realize I’ve forgotten the gummies for Aly! Fortunately, I run into a candy store along the way, so all is good as I approach the hill. Unlike Arthur’s Seat, Calton is a quite easy climb, with stairs and paved walkways. I’m at the top within minutes. This is a popular time of day at the summit, as the view of Edinburgh is pretty breathtaking. I inspect the various monuments that dot the landscape, and I explore the expansive views as I await the final sunset of this trip.

Farewell dinner

It’s a very quick return to the hotel nearby, and I meet up with our group in the lobby. For our feast, we are headed to the Doric Tavern on Market Street.

Our dinner starts with deep fried haggis, served with straw potatoes in a creamed turnip and mustard sauce. Following this is a main of baked Hake fillet, spinach in a white wine cream sauce, new potatoes, green beans, and roasted cherry tomatoes. Dessert is a very sweet sticky toffee pudding. Adult beverages are purchased on our own, and I indulge in a Kelpie Seaweed Ale, a dark stout that smells of sea salt and tastes like chocolate.

Independence (?)

We hear a demonstration protesting the Supreme Court decision has developed by Holyrood, so after dinner I head over hoping for a peek at history in the making. I don’t want to butt in — this is their protest — but I do want to witness it. I end up near an encampment of a couple of news reporters and a small group of counterprotestors largely ignored by the pro-indy crowd, whose backs are turned to the Tories because they are facing a stage. I’ve walked down Holyrood Road, passing the hotel we last stayed at last time we were in Edinburgh, and I end up on the side of Parliament near the distinctive tensile structure of Dynamic Earth.

I’ve missed the important event: Sturgeon’s speech. Right now there’s another woman’s voice addressing the crowd, which maybe numbers in the hundreds, not as many as I expected but at least enough that I can’t get close, so it’s hard to hear from my vantage. Blue and white Saltires, many with “Yes” emblazoned across them, sway back and forth in the cold. The crowd is peaceful but not in a pleasant mood.

Terrible picture — sorry! — of the demonstration. I can’t see much from where I stand.

Pipes and drums break out. People start singing “Flower of Scotland” an unofficial national anthem with lyrics that contain a stinging, not-so-subtle metonym for the rejection of English rule, referencing the victory of Robert the Bruce over “Proud Edward” and his army. The song was written by the Corries in the 1960’s, a time when the Scottish folk music revival coincided with a movement advocating home rule.

Turning in

It really is hard to see or understand what’s going on, and it is not a night I should be out. I don’t know how much longer this demonstration will last, so I reluctantly head back to the hotel. At the very least, I’ve been something of a witness to history. I don’t have a dog in this fight, but objectively I feel that an independence run for Scotland will now be inevitable, after the unfortunate ruling made it clear the United Kingdom is no longer a voluntary union of nations — if, indeed, it ever was.

Back at the Holiday Inn, I’m already late for bed. Tomorrow we get up at 4 AM, which, orienting back to U.S. time, will really be 11 PM at night! Before I turn in, though, I check in with the management to ensure that our early continental breakfast has been confirmed. Not to my surprise, the travel agent has dropped another ball! I arrange this myself with the management, and they agree to have something simple set up for us at an ungodly hour. Glad I checked!

Thursday 24 Nov: Happy Thanksgiving!

Our breakfast is unusually subdued and under cover of relative darkness. Afterward, we meet our trusted guide Tony in the lobby for one last journey, and we are off by 5. As we travel to the airport, I realize the travel agent has given us no information regarding how to meet our coach upon our arrival in Newark, so I shoot off a note through their app requesting this before I’m forced into airplane mode.

The flight is a domestic one from Edinburgh to Heathrow, so the security line is less of a big deal. In fact, there is enough time for a breeze through duty free, though not as much time as I’d wish for. I like to spend time looking for a whisky that might be rare to find back home, but there’s not really time to do research. However, I do spy a Lagavulin 16 year at the crazy price of £60. This is a whisky that sets you back $120 at home, and with the exchange rate, I’m looking at it here for less than $75, so I count this as a big win. I’ve left just enough room in my carry on for this bad boy.

Goodbye to Edinburgh

We say goodbye to Edinburgh, and a puddle-jump later we are in London. Heathrow is not the nightmare it was ten days ago, mostly because we don’t cross a border here, therefore we don’t exit the security perimeter. We have a little time to kill, in fact. Annoyingly, though, I remember that Heathrow doesn’t announce actual gate assignments until the very last minute, so we’re all staring at the departure board anxious about repeating another missed flight.

A10, finally. I realize — damn it — this has got to be another one of those multi-gate bus departures. We get there, and sadly, I’m right. For a bonus, I get randomly called for additional security screening at the gate, and I’m practically strip-searched. I wind up being the very last one on the crowded bus. I really, really hate this airport.

After a serpentine ride to our jet somewhere in the hinterlands, we climb the stairs, stow our luggage, and settle in. As happened with our flight ten days ago, I’m stuck in the middle seat — but I expected that. And I don’t really care at this point, because we are on our way home, and heading west is much easier. It’s like time travel, in fact. The plane leaves at 9:30 AM U.K. time (4:30 AM U.S.), and we are set to arrive at 1:30 PM U.S. time (6:30 PM U.K.). It’s always a little longer trip going west because of jet stream headwinds, but 9 hours of flight time seems to magically compress into 4 hours of time transpired.

A Thanksgiving surprise

There’s a functional breakfast served. I take a light catnap. Later, for our lunch/dinner or whatever it is, a nice surprise: a Thanksgiving meal! British Airways provides complementary wine. And: it’s not day-drinking, depending on which time zone you choose to follow.

Is this what the Pilgrims had in mind?

Upon arrival, my ploy for getting information about the coach worked, and I receive a text to meet at the HOV pull-in at the terminal. At baggage, I thank the baggage gods there is no lost luggage this time, and at passport control, I thank the passport gods there are no delays. But I have no idea where the HOV pull-in is and I don’t want to look like an idiot dragging our group around, so I ask a uniformed individual who points me the way. Imagine my lack of shock to find —yep, you guessed it — yet another over-scaled, probably overpriced 50-seat coach. I’m giving the travel agent a real earful about this when we debrief. No matter, it will get us home. We board the coach about 2:30, less than an hour after our arrival. This has been as smooth as our first flight was rough.

We run into traffic leaving Newark — this is Thanksgiving, after all! — but people have generally gotten where they want to go by the time we’re down the road a bit on the Turnpike. The coach arrives at our campus as the sun approaches the horizon, about 4:30. My family is having Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house in Philadelphia, so I drive directly there.

Welcome home

We have a belated birthday cake — really a celebration for two, as one of our friends has a birthday close to Thanksgiving as well. After the cake, it’s about 9:00 PM, and I realize I’ve been up since 4 AM U.K. time, so this means I’ve really been up for about 22 hours with just a brief doze on the plane. I’m fading fast, but I manage to make it home, 23 hours after our departure in Edinburgh.

We certainly had our share of hiccups along the way — record breaking rain, a travel agency that created as many problems as it solved, students behaving as students will behave — but the amazing experiences have eclipsed the challenges — our presentation in Dundee, the ancient monuments, the castles, the culture, closing the circle for my family at Aboyne, and watching a country valiantly attempt to come into its own once again. It’s been like a miracle.

In fact, a century ago, when Christiana Robb Cromar was traveling on a transatlantic ocean liner to visit her former home, this 10 day trip would have been a miracle. Knowing how the future played out for her children and her adopted land, I can’t help but ponder: what future miracles await my own family, my own country, and my beloved Scotland?

Alba gu bràth!