The signage in the United Kingdom is wee bit more polite than here in the States. I particularly liked this first sign, which was at the soup bar at the Royal Aberdeen Golf Club. I thought this reflected the idea of living in the moment quite well. Anybody can plan for a soup of the day, but this sign tells me that things can change anytime. How exciting!
Then there are confusing, weird signs. I did not see any pelicans, humped or otherwise as we walked the streets of Inverness, Scotland, but I’m told this is just a pedestrian crossing with a light where you can push the button to gain right-of-way and cross the street. By the time we made it to the actual crossing, I wanted to cross the street like a pelican, but that wasn’t the correct direction for us, and besides, I can’t fly. That brings the question of why pelicans would need a crosswalk at all.
Yield! That’s so abrupt it’s borderline rude. How about we give way to each other instead.
I don’t think the US would use signage like this. Somebody would get offended, and an exact definition of elderly would be debated to death. Then again, there would be those who want to take advantage of a crossing area if it were exclusively for the elderly, and they aren’t really old enough to be considered elderly yet – like asking for a senior discount when you’re not quite there yet. But this sign on a street in Aberdeen, Scotland, is not just a crosswalk. It puts you on alert that the elderly are around, and you better watch out for them. Take that to mean what you will. Be observant of elderly people as they may not move quickly or hear well. Or, watch out for the crotchety old person who may hit you with a cane.
Contrast these interesting signs with a recycled (reused) one in my neighborhood. The primary election is over, so why not put a difficult to read sign along the road to make people slow down and possibly rear-end each other. I asked Bob to pull over so I could snap a photo.
Kitten Crossing – Drive Slowly!
I read the sign to Bob. “Kitten crossing. Drive slowly!”
Bob – “If they’re worried, they should leash the kittens.”
Me – “They don’t lease kittens. You have to buy them or get one free somewhere.”
Bob – no words. Just the sound of me laughing hysterically.
In one fast-paced moment of banter with my grown son, I have lost my opportunity to become the poster child for American Ambassador to Scotland. In the category, I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth, on one fine, Sunday evening in June, I proved to waiting diners on the streets of Edinburgh that Americans are full of themselves.
My fellow Americans, I’m sorry. I did not represent you well.
In my defense, I have been fielding set-ups from my son, Jesse, for most of his 45 years – at least the last 30. So, the fact we were surrounded by strangers in a foreign land didn’t stop my brain, which has been programmed to instruct my mouth to play along with my adult children’s comments, from issuing a quick, snide remark. Evidently, there is no stopping it.
Allow me to set the scene for you. It was the final day of our two-week Scotland trip, which was mostly a golf trip for my husband, son, and two grandsons. Not that my daughter-in-law, Dacia, and I didn’t have a good time. We did, in spite of the fact that I not only contracted food poisoning from the supposed healthiest choice of dinner that I made the entire trip, but also came down with COVID. The latter was unbeknownst to me. I figured I was taking my typically long time to recover from jet lag combined with a head cold. The day I slept until 6 PM should have been a clue, but I think the drizzly, cold Scottish weather literally put a damper on my thinking skills and made it easy to sleep the day away.
When I finally emerged from my room, the kind waitress had the chef make me a scone and tea, which is always good for what ails you.
But I digress. Sorry.
Somehow on that last evening, my husband and I were in the front of our six-person pack of Americans as we walked to our chosen restaurant for dinner. Our grandsons were behind us and Jesse and Dacia a bit behind them. As we approached the restaurant, we could see a gathering of people at the door. We weren’t sure if they were waiting to get in, reading the posted menu, or what; but we were happy we had made a reservation.
Noticing nobody standing at the podium inside the door, Bob and I excused ourselves as we parted the Red Sea of people and opened the door to go inside. That’s when I heard my son’s voice yell out, “Hey, no cuts.”
With no regard to the public place that we inhabited, I answered, “We’re Americans. It’s okay if we cut in lines.”
I whispered to the man closest to us that it was my son back there and we had reservations, but he didn’t appear to hear me. In hindsight, he was probably a wee bit appalled by my wry statement.
Meanwhile, Bob didn’t hear what was going on between Jesse and me as he was already getting us checked in. He turned and hurried me through the door.
This left Jesse in the midst of a group of flabbergasted people fielding comments such as, “Do you think she really meant that?” “Is this a joke?”
At this I think Jesse just shook his head and refused to come to my, or for that matter America’s, rescue. He may have even joined them in their dismay of my retort before he joined us inside. This was likely one of the highlights of our trip for him.
So, if you go to Scotland, particularly Edinburgh, please try to make up for the goodwill damage which I caused in one playful moment with my son. The people of Scotland are some of the friendliest I have ever met, so I think they’ll forgive me. I bet I gave them a good story about a stupid, privileged American though! I know my son enjoyed it.
After we toured Edinburgh Castle, we strolled down the bustling Royal Mile, popping into a shop or two while listening to a bagpipe being played on the corner. The Royal Mile is the much-traveled cobblestone street that connects Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace, Scotland’s official residence of the British monarch. It was on the chaotic side, which may have been due to the warmness of the day – a balmy 60 degrees, the highest temperature of our trip. Everyone was out soaking in the sun.
Bagpipes sound charming for a little while.
Bob wondering how he will cross the sea of people to get to the other side of the Royal Mile.
The iconic British buses winding up and down the streets – I wondered how nobody got hit by one as people seem to share the streets with them without a second thought to their safety. Perhaps it’s because they are more polite to pedestrians in the UK.
Along the streets there are alleyways leading to closes. The openings are so narrow and lined by tall buildings on either side that it’s easy to miss seeing these passageways, which lead to off-the-beaten-path courtyards (closes). As we walked by Lady Stair’s Close, I noticed a sign stating something to the effect that this was the way to life in Old Edinburgh. I almost didn’t notice the beckoning sign but was glad I did! It made me realize that I probably miss a lot when I travel because there is so much sensory overload.
Bob relaxed on a bench, and I wandered down with anticipation of stepping back into history. To my delight it opened to Makars’ Court, a literary monument to Scottish writers. There are quotes from great Scottish writers inscribed in the courtyard flagstones and a lovely museum dedicated to the works of Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Burns.
The museum inhabits Lady Stair’s House. Built in 1622 and renovated at the turn of the century (1897-1907), it is a grand mansion in the Old Town portion of Edinburgh and such a fitting place to honor the three above-mentioned literary legends.
This building celebrates my favorite 2 of the 3Rs. I leave the ‘rithmetic to Bob.
My golf-weary husband whose body was rebelling against any further walking was willing to come on down, especially since there was comfortable seating inside.
This type of stairway was common in the 1600s. It served as a type of alarm system as they would construct the stairway with one step that was extra tall (notice the white step). This would prompt intruders to trip and make noise thereby alarming the sleeping residents of impending trouble.
I inquired about my favorite author, the recently knighted Sir Alexander McCall Smith. He resides in Edinburgh and has a huge volume of work, but I guess he is too current to be included in the museum, at this point anyway. This was a lovely interlude of quiet in the midst of an active day in Edinburgh.
There are more celebrated authors who are not yet included in this Edinburgh museum. Harry Potter is not in a genre that I typically read, but I do admire J.K. Rowling. My understanding is that she also currently resides in Edinburgh. The Elephant House is a “magical café” where she wrote some of the Harry Potter novels. It is known as the birthplace of Harry Potter.
Unfortunately, the original location, which was a gathering place for local writers, burned in 2021. It was located on George IV Bridge not terribly far from the current location, which was just a few doors down from our hotel. I was thrilled to literally stumble upon it as we were looking for a place to lunch – a perfect, dare I say magical, find!
Hoping some of Ms. Rowling’s writing magic will rub off on me.
The re-creation of J.K. Rowling’s writing nook was impressive. A niche in an upstairs room with a desk and guest book and the actual chair which she used set the mood, but the mural through the window depicting the scene from the George IV Bridge made it feel authentic. I sat in the chair, signed the guest book, and wondered why she didn’t choose a more comfortable chair. To each their own, I guess.
One last stop before we left the restaurant because one must never miss a free toilet opportunity, and besides you know I’m fascinated by toilets in Europe.
I chose not to go that way. We all have our own path!
When we travel overseas, we like to get outside, breathe in some fresh air, and take a little walk as soon as possible to help us get on the time zone. This trip had us landing in Edinburgh and then driving a little more than an hour to St Andrews on our first day. Since we flew overnight, that meant that it felt like six in the morning when we dragged our sleepy bodies off the plane.
But, it was 11 am on a Saturday morning and that was the perfect time to take a walk and find lunch in Edinburgh before getting in the car for a drive. We ate along The Royal Mile at a barbeque place called Oink Hog Roast, which had been featured in a travel show Dacia had seen.
It was here that a kind young lady behind the counter allowed me to have a wee taste of haggis – my first and last. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and by that I mean how much I would dislike haggis. It took one bite for me to know I disliked it completely. Maybe if they had come up with a more beckoning name, but a rose by any other name would smell so sweet, or taste so gross. I wasn’t very hungry, so I opted out of the grunter and oink portion sizes and just ordered the piglet. Warning: they don’t believe in sauces like we do here, so it was dry but edible. Thus went our first Scottish meal.
Piglets and crisps
Now it was time to walk it off and what better place to do that than Arthur’s Seat? It’s part of an ancient volcanic area near the city center. As we were approaching the hiking trails, following a short distance behind our son and his family, I was reminded that I was not in Florida anymore. These were proper hills.
We saw our son ask which trail they should take and up they headed. When we reached the person of whom they had inquired, I said, “I saw you point our son in that direction. Look at us. Which way should we go?”
“You may want to take that route over there. They all end up in the same place, so you’re good,” he kindly replied. I love the Scottish people!
Bob and I set out on what by now we realized was not a walk but a hike. That was our first mistake of the trip. Bob had days of golfing ahead of him and I am not exactly in fighting shape, but off we went up the hill. It was a lesser incline than the one our son took, but it would do me in.
That didn’t register with me while walking because I was so taken in by the spectacular views. Plus, when I travel, I get this weird energy/adrenaline which will circumvent my otherwise extremely logical mind, and I will push myself without even knowing that I am. Later I will realize it, and it will be too late, but most of the time, it will have been worth it.
Winston loves to find a high spot and enjoy the view.
Every time I’d think we were near the top, up we’d go again. It was so pretty I barely noticed my knees shaking.
A summer day in Scotland
As we drove out of Edinburgh, we passed the castle up on the hill. We also spotted groups of crazed Swifties dressed in pink and other regalia in anticipation of her concert which would be that evening. We got out of there just in time!
St Andrews was sleepy compared to Edinburgh, and that was fine with us.
We dined that Saturday night at Hams Hame across from the Old Course. The food was good, but the names of the dishes were even better. Where else can you find Tex Mex nachos and haggis bon-bons on the same menu?
After dinner we strolled around the town enjoying the beautiful ruins of St Andrews Cathedral and St Andrews Castle. St Andrews was the center of religious power in Scotland in the 1500s. At that time religious leaders Martin Luther, John Calvin, and John Knox were challenging the way people worshipped. This was the change from Catholic to Protestant beliefs, so this area is a part of the Reformation history. Scotland became a protestant country in 1560.
Cathedral ruins
Castle ruins
A violent and sobering part of Christian church history
On Sunday while the guys were golfing, Dacia, my daughter-in-law, and I trekked along the edge of the North Sea at St Andrews Bay.
I love the walls in the UK. On the right is a golf course. On the left is the North Sea.
After golf, we all enjoyed a traditional Sunday pub roast in downtown St Andrews at a restaurant called Forgan’s.
That was a highlight, but it is overshadowed by Jannettas Gelateria. St Andrews is a small town so all roads could lead to Jannettas, which they did for us two or three times. This was the best gelato west of Siena – better than some I had in Tuscany and that is really saying something considering we were just there in April!
They had the oft difficult to find banana gelato – my favorite. Slainte Mhath (cheers)!
St Andrews sunset from our hotel – approximately 9:45 PM. Good night sun.
Life on the Lighter Side 