Scotland Calls!

DAY 1 -- 2 September 2017

It's my 55th birthday and we're going to Scotland!  I deliberately picked this day to travel because Craig HATES all the security hassles when traveling and I figure he'll have to be nice since it's my birthday. We've travelled more than usual already this year, and have been lucky enough to go through the TSA Precheck lines, which is slightly less annoying but we're told Iceland Air doesn't participate in the program so here we go with shoes off and all the usual.  As is typical, they strip search Craig, I'd think it was because he looks dangerous with that TSA Scowl he is wearing, except that they're doing the same thing to the tiny Asian lady in a wheelchair who looks to be about 100 years old and can barely stand. Every time I go through this, I think of my sister's friend- who is black- saying, "It's like they suddenly forgot how to profile or something. They've had hundreds of years of practice on us."

We make it through security and enjoy waiting in the Iceland Air Lounge, a privilege for traveling business class. Sated with tomato soup and hummus and cookies, we finally head to the gate. The plane is scheduled to leave at 4:30 and they start boarding at 3:45. At 4:00 we show up and are hustled right aboard. The flight crew showed up early, we are told, and they want to get an early start. We are the last to board. We act properly chastened but are secretly delighted. To be last aboard is always a worthy goal to aspire to.

Business Class on Icelandic Air is quite a bit cheaper than other lines and you get to break up your flight ⅔ way through with a layover in Iceland. They feed you well, too but...it's still an airplane ride. The seats are bigger but they don't lie flat and it's still difficult to sleep. Whatever, it's a lot better than the poor folks in cattle car behind us. 

We arrive in London and stand in the long long lines to go through immigration. When we finally get to the desk and the officer finds out we're veterinarians, our interview turns into a long discussion of his labrador's allergies and possible remedies. He writes down our suggestion (Cytopoint) and sends us off so see this corner of the world. Just listening to the accents all around us is fun. We have some time to kill until we need to find our train to Inverness.

"This is the Piccadilly Line to Cockfosters."

DAY 2 -- 3 September 2017

We arrive in London Sunday, September 3; it’s no longer my birthday. We are tired but we have about 6 hours before it’s time to take the sleeper train to Scotland. We get to try riding the tube! It is really hot overground/underground train and we have about 15 stops (and 1 transfer) until we get off at Euston train station. I am holding my rolling suitcase and my bag in my lap but I keep falling asleep. When I do, my suitcase goes rolling into the passenger across the way. I’ve read so much fiction that talks about the London Underground or the tube. I keep expecting something interesting to happen - monsters, murder, mayhem but, alas, it’s just hot. “Mind the gap.” “This is the Piccadilly line to Cockfosters.”  I fall back to sleep, lulled by the repeated recorded messages until my bag rolls away again…

Arriving Euston, we pay to store our luggage and, vastly unburdened, set off to walk to the Sherlock Holmes museum at 221 Baker Street. Me being me, this trek is hampered by my need to seek restroom facilities annoyingly often.  Toilets are hard to find in London. Only some tube stations have them and sometimes it costs 30 pence to use. (Not that I mind that, it’s the fact that no stores and only some restaurants even have them available to the public. I am super ticked when we spend over 30 pounds for a ticket to the Holmes museum and, not only is it rather boring- with mostly period pieces that don’t particularly relate to Holmes or Doyle, but they also fail to have a working restroom. Really? So, the museum is a bust we still have a great time seeing parks and monuments. The monument to the Animals in War is particularly impressive. If I’m walking, at least I can stay awake, but it’s getting harder and harder to fight the jet lag. When I’m past walking, we head back to the train station, where I put my head down on the table and snooze until we can finally board our train shortly after 8 pm. The little train cubbies with their narrow cots are the prettiest sight we’ve seen all day. We gratefully shuck our clothes and enjoy sleeping as the train rumbles northward through England on its way to Inverness.

Closed!!

The cars come from the OTHER direction here

Not sure I want to eat here...

Always with the Villain Selfies.

Terminology is EVERYTHING

Neither was it blue, nor bigger on the inside.

Gotta find the Sleeper Train.

Craig barely fits in the sleeper berth, but he cares not at all.

DAY 3 -- 4 September 2017

Near the Inverness Railway Station.

All too soon it is 6:30 am and time to get up.They feed us porridge with honey and a bacon roll. (Bacon here is more like Canadian bacon or ham.) Craig and I both remark that we wish we could just stay in the sleeper cabins another day as we wander the quiet streets near the Inverness Rail Station to locate our Car Rental company.  The laconic young Scotsman hands Craig the keys to a Nissan and says, “It’s a manual. That’s nae a problem, is it?” “No”, responds Craig bravely, “Standard 4 speed?” “Ach Noo, it’s a 6 speed. They’re all the rage.” So, okay, I’m glad I’m not going to be the one driving on the left side and shifting a 6 speed with my left hand. Craig, however, looks like someone has just handed him a brand new, fully loaded Apple computer. He is clearly excited and trying to act nonchalant. “Is there somewhere around here I can practice, get the feel of the car?” He asks. “Nah, yoo just drive.”

Last minute instructions before the Great Driving Adventure.

And, just like that we are driving in downtown Inverness traffic. Craig has brought his dashcam and I’m sure the audio captures all of our tense gasps as we hit our first roundabout (right away) and subsequently clip the mirror on a parked van as another van (lorry) crowds us into it. Even on 2 lane roads, the lanes here in the UK are narrower than in the US (and the parking spaces tiny!) A lot of the roads are one lane with little spots to pull over and let the other fellow pass - sort of an ongoing but mostly very polite game of chicken. Driving is complicated by the presence of the bravest people in the world: The Bicycle Riders. There is no shoulder here on the UK roads. None. We have become accustomed to that comforting few feet of road, paved or unpaved, on either side of the highway in America. That little cushion of safety, an extra margin of comfort. No such grace is accorded us here. Over that white line and you’re straight off a cliff or into a wall. And drivers go FAST. I though speed limits would be in KPH and, at first, we were driving ridiculously slowly for traffic until we figured out the metric system has not got the quite the hold on the country that we were all taught. Little one lane winding roads that might be 35 at home are 60 here - and that’s just for people who are keeping to the speed limit. Into this narrow, shoulderless, fast paced world we add.. the cyclists. These spandex-clad intrepid souls ride double and triple file in packs or pairs, their mighty thews straining as they eschew the polluting fumes of deceased dinosaurs in favor of their own carb-loaded muscle fibers. They sneer at the weaklings who resort to the metal and leather carriages and rely on horsepower not their own. With contemptuous bravery, they pit their own self righteous strength against the impatient UK drivers and the uncertain tourist drivers, not to mention the lorries and tour buses and parked cars already competing for the very limited lane space. If it’s true that one only has so many heartbeats in a lifetime, I’ve used up a lot of them already on the roads of the Old Country. 

We stop by Culloden Field, its museum teeming with Outlander fans, and spend some time learning about the battle and events leading up to it. When we go out to tour the field, the guide wearily points out the location of the Fraser gravestone, after which a hoard of (mostly female) tourists leave the party. I am so sleepy at this point I can hardly stand - jet lag has really set in - so I go back to sit (sleep) inside while Craig finishes the tour.

The idea for tourism here is over 100 years old.

Neither Leader fared well after it was all over, typical; only the Scots suffered longer.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Then we are off to our B and B - which has the musical name of Balaichladoch. It is a lovely large house right on the eastern shore of Loch Ness. After a nap to restore my energy we headed to Cameron’s Tea Room for lunch/dinner. A herd of Scottish Highland cattle (hairy coos) grazed right outside the window as we ate our hearty, if a bit bland, lunch of soup and sandwiches. Still groggy, we went to bed early after more time driving through the green sheep-dotted hills.