Subject: from Caledonia

 

"Brave Caledonia, faire are thy mountains..." With the words of the poet on my lips I embark once again upon the road. This time my journey takes me not to the land of the Outback and poisonous creatures, but to the world of lochs and glens, the Highlands and the Islands, the home of William Wallace and Robert Burns. A land whose history is both bloody and romantic, whose sons include James Watt and Alexander Graham Bell giving us the steam engine and the telephone; the sailors of seas and of stars (the words of Scotty echo in my head "Captain, the engines canna take the strrrrain!").

The flight over was uneventful. No lost days, no strain in the space/time continuum. However, I did experience one phenomenon. Every time I would fall asleep, someone's snoring would awaken me. When I awoke, the snoring would stop! I was never able to find the culprit. (However, I think he may have the room next to mine as the same thing continues to happen.)

Day One

The first day we met our host, Alex, at the airport in Glasgow. Once described to me as the "most beautiful man I've ever met", he is certainly a handsome fellow with a way about him. More on Alex as we go along. He introduced us to our coach driver, one Barry Austin. Mr. Austin is reputed to know his way around the country as well as any. I do not hold out much hope that he is of the musical prowess as Des from my previous adventure.

The first day consisted of transferring from Glasgow to Edinburgh followed by a quick coach tour of the old town before retiring to our hotel. As expected, Alex showed his extensive knowledge of the city punctuated with his wit and Barry got lost not one time.

Once we checked into the room we were on our own until the dinner hour. Thinking, as always, of my next meal I went in search of some notable fare. I passed on the oysters as I had done that whilst in Australia. Instead I opted for Indian tandori. A very wise choice as I dined on delicacies that are almost indescribable. Let me just say, the curried lamb (medium hot) with nan bread for "sopping" up the sauce chased by two pints of Cobra lager (an Indian brew of some renown) soon had my appetite appeased and I was on my way. The day ended with a most excellent repast furnished by Alex himself and after a pint of the local lager with my new best friends, I retired for the night.

I should take the time here to relate that the entire European continent has been engulfed in a serious heat wave for the past several weeks. Edinburgh has not escaped the effects. When I repaired to my room, which I dub the "tower room" because the last flight must be negotiated as a narrow winding staircase the likes of which I have seen only in ancient castles, I discovered that I did not have windows but, instead, two skylights in my sloping ceilings. As air conditioning is practically non-existent in Scotland, I had no choice but to open them as wide as possible. With a respectable breeze, I was able to fall into a sound sleep even with the street sounds that welled up outside my fourth floor room.

Unfortunately, Alex did not warn us of the canon fire that accompanies the "Tattoo" held in Edinburgh Castle and I was unceremoniously awakened a few hours later. I went back to sleep only to be awakened with the culminating fireworks. Oh well, I knew that the trip would have it's moments. Fortunately, the power of a sleepless transatlantic flight will overcome all distractions.

Day Two

Day two began with a most excellent breakfast of kippers and poached eggs accompanied by stewed figs and dried apricots. (After four figs I became somewhat concerned that they would have the same effect as prunes but was, fortunately, mistaken.)

After breakfast, Barry took us to Calton Hill, also the home of the Edinburgh Observatory. From here we had an excellent view of the Castle. I should state that the Edinburgh Castle sits on a high volcanic promontory overlooking the entire city where it dominates both the Old and the New Cities (the New City was built 250 years ago. I do believe the very rock of this place is older than ours.) From the Hill I was able to expend a large portion of the memory possessed by my camera.

From there, we meandered to the Holyrood Palace and rode the Royal Mile to the Castle. Here I wiled away much of the day wandering amongst the battlements and armories. I was able to spend time in only two of the many military museums in the castle proper. There are museums on such as the Royal Dragoons and the Highland Battalions. (The raising of the Highland Battalions was but a ploy by England to rid the Highlands of fighting men that had been a part of the Jacobite rebellion of earlier years. More of this later.) I could have spent the week without leaving the Castle, especially as the fish and chips were as good as I have eaten in five countries (and three continents). But finally I had to take leave of this bastion of Scottish history. For ahead of me was supper and THE TATOO.

The Tattoo

Ah, there are tattoos and there is ... the Edinburgh Tattoo. There were no less than five Highland Regimental bands, one from Oman (if you can believe folk in turbans and long white robes playing the pipes) and one from Canada, the Secret Drummers from Switzerland, military bands from around the world and a steel drummer from Bermuda. One of the most stirring moments was the members of the Black Watch Regiment, just returned from Iraq, marching in their kakis playing "Will Ye No Come Back Again". The songs we heard, "A 'Undred Pipers and A' and A'", "The Black Bear", "Westering Home" and, of course, "Scotland the Brave". Motor Cycle mounted platoons weaving intricate patterns on high speed mounts, sword dancers, the U.S. "Old Guard" precision drill team, canons, guns and pipers, pipers, pipers. I had at least one religious experience and possibly a second! A night not to be forgotten and, hopefully, to be repeated.

 A brisk walk down the hill to my hotel, a couple of pints quaffed leisurely in the company of some lovely single ladies left me quite depleted. And so ended day two.

Day three.

This day we visited a crystal factory where we observed the most highly skilled artisans blowing, cutting and etching fine lead crystal. Alex spent the day back in Glasgow at the annual piping contest. He invited me to join him, but the promise of lunch with no less than four of the single ladies on our tour was not to be rejected. The end of that luncheon brings me to the present.

Here, as is my wont, I would like to relate a local tale. Unlike the Nevil man and his three lovely daughters, this story is true, both sad and uplifting.

Greyfriars Bobby

In the last century there lived a policeman in Edinburgh named Jock Gray. As one of Edinburgh's finest and needing a companion, he obtained a Sky terrier, a small but fierce breed of dogs such as my Dusty. Since policemen in Scotland are called "bobbies" after Sir Robert Peel, it seemed only fitting that the small terrier be named Bobby.

Bobby worked beside his master, often keeping one rogue at bay whilst Jock fought the other. Neither went anywhere without the other. However, the work of a policeman in those days being extremely taxing, Jock became ill and, after a hard fight, passed away.

Jock was buried in the churchyard of Greyfriars Abbey where a sign on the gate read "No Dogs". Bobby, not being able to read and desiring above all else to be with his master, managed to find a way into the churchyard. At first the caretaker chased him away, but after his persistence, was finally allowed to stay. He would lie vigilantly beside his master's grave each day, leaving only on the sound of the one o'clock gun from the Castle to eat at a nearby market frequented by he and Jock.

Bobby kept up his daily vigil for almost thirteen years until, in 1872 at the ripe old age of 16, he rejoined his master. To this day, at the busy intersection of George IV Bridge and Candlemaker's Row just outside of Greyfriars churchyard stands a most curious drinking fountain. For it has two distinct elevations, one for people and one ... for dogs. And atop it sits the black figure of a small Skye terrier known to all in Edinburgh and throughout the world as Greyfriars Bobby.

Upon our return to the Roxburgh, we gathered in the bar for a quick quaff before dinner. One of our party brought some bags of the local crisps (we would call them chips) of the oddest flavors. From that day, it became a nightly contest to see who could find the most unique flavors. Click here for a sample of our finds.

Tonight we take the Witch Tour of Edinburgh. It promises to be both frightening and wearisome (many stairs to be negotiated). Tomorrow we must take leave of this fairest of cities for we journey north to Royal Deeside. Along the way, a visit to The Royal and Ancient St. Andrews is in store. I can say but "Fore"!

With this, the dinner hour approaches and I must repair to the butteries. I will post when and if I can.

Until then, I remain ever eager for more and leave you with my new found name,

Geordie