First Day in Scotland

Well, as cool London was, I think Edinburgh might oust it in several areas, primarily though, in its scenery. The city appears to be split down the middle, on one side, a large hill that hosts Edinburgh Castle, as well as many other stately buildings of postcard quality. On the other side, buildings that are probably only a couple hundred years old, most of which are shopping centers now. My hostel is kind of in between both, and is massive! It's like a hotel for backpackers, which you're probably thinking is what all hostels are, but I'm talking scale here, not function. My room requires navigating through countless halls, stairwells, and sets of doors, all festooned with modernistic paintings and murals. I believe, and could be wrong on this, that my room is on the fifth floor above ground level, but I'd be lying if I could tell you with any certainty that from where I'm typing this, within the hostel, I could find my room with confidence. With a huge open area on or around the third floor, this place is a nice kickback after a day of hiking, and they even have a bean bag cinema (yep, bean bags, dark room, surround sound, big screen) where I watched about half of Reservoir Dogs tonight.

But my primary adventure today was getting to Edinburgh. It started off fairly simply enough, hop on the first tube leaving Hendon Central, head to Euston, where I could swear I'd read just yesterday that trains departed regularly for Edinburgh. Not the case, I needed to be at King's Cross station, which, luckily is only about a mile away from Euston, if even. Unluckily, I wore a short sleeve shirt today, to keep from sweating, and of course, as fate would have it, today would be a pretty chilly day. So, at King's Cross with time to kill, I look over my options: I can take the 7:00 train to Glasgow which calls on both Edinburgh stations along the way, or I can wait an hour and get on the 8:00 to Edinburgh, where it terminates. I opt for the 7:00, as King's Cross is a pretty small and boring station, and I figured I'd get to Edinburgh an hour earlier.

Wellll......my good friend Murphy, (you know him, the one who has that law written after him?) I guess he decided he'd let me have a pretty easy trip to this point, and he was just hankering to tag along on the train ride. The English and Scottish countryside is magnificent by the way...Newcastle and Berwick-upon-Tweed are both probably worth visits based on what i could see passing through them. As we call on the first Edinburgh station, Waverly, I opt not to get off, because, according to the hostel's directions, the next one, Haymarket, which we were also set to call on, was the closer of the two. No big, right? So we're rolling through Edinburgh, the sites are gorgeous, and I feel the train start to slow, so I hop up, with my bag, and make my way to the nearest exit. The problem comes in here: generally a member of the crew announces each stop over the intercom as the train is approaching and then as it is coming to a complete stop. Then, before the train departs the station, said crew member announces that the train is ready to depart, please clear the doors and take your seats. Well, apparently at Waverly we got a new crew, which we were told we would, and this crew skipped the announcements for Haymarket. As I stand at the door and the train comes to a stop, I don't see much that looks like a station, and I reason that the train might be waiting for another train to clear the platform before we pull in. After a couple minutes, I believe this less and less and believe more and more we are at Haymarket (by the time a train has stood still for a couple minutes, by the way, you are on borrowed time) so I see a platform outside the door, and decide oh Hell, if I'm wrong, I'll play the dumb American standing on some platform in between stations, and I'll get a cool rescue mission that will be embarrassing but a fun story. But alas, my door won't open, even after I press and hold the open button for a good five seconds (normally these things open if you so much as breathe on them as long as the train isn't moving). And then, we start moving again...alright, makes sense, we're probably getting to the station now, that's why the doors wouldn't open. And then, we speed up...alot. Bye bye Edinburgh...talk about embarrassing, now I, the dumb American, have to make the walk of shame back through the coach, my backpack rubbing against cheeks and with straps dipping into peoples' mid day coffee. Is he getting back to his seat? Did he take his pack to the lavoratory? Oh, no, he's just cool enough to have missed his stop, one that we were stopped at for a good FOUR MINUTES! Nothing like being cool, plopping down in your seat, resigned that you are now heading o the same town you just a day ago cancelled all bookings for...neato!

After another thirty minutes, we call on a station somewhere between Edinburgh and Glasgow, and, thinking completely logically, I hop off here. Motherwell, Scotland....the train pulls away, and now, where in the love of the motherland am I? Good call Bryan, abandon the train taking you to the other large city to try your luck in Small town Scotland...don't get me wrong, aspects of small towns are appealing, but when you are in a transportation squeeze, not always the best place to get stuck. I ask one of the platform employees when I'll possibly be able to hop back to Edinburgh, and he looks down at his watch, chuckles and says ''Not till 5 past 2 I'm afraid, miss your stop did you?'' or, in an attempt to make this sound like he actually put it, ''Nawht tell fehyve pasttuh ahm'freed, ye'mis yehr stohp did ye?'' well, yes, funny story about that... ''well ye shohdntve gohten off here, neh, ye shohdve gohntuh Glasgow'n coht a natex (short for national express train) bahk tuh Edinburgh.'' So helpful, stating the facts for me. So now, with two hours to kill, I ask a couple other employees where I can get a spot of lunch around here. The first, excited to help, and probably very proud of her offering, tells me about the McDonalds in town...just what I was looking for...I thank her, but tell her that McDonald's proudly serves Americans approximately 2.5 million burgers per day, and I was hoping for something a little more ''cultured.''

I'm sent to Scoff's, a small town cafe just off the shopping center, where there are two waitresses, one who proudly proclaims to me that I'm at the best cafe in all of the motherland...sounds good to me! I look over the menu, and voila! there is my beast of burden, something I have to try before I leave, and where better than a non-touristed village (though one with not just a McDonalds, but also a Pizza Hut I notice sadly) to get a good fresh serving of Hagis. To be exact, I order Hagis, Neeps (pronounced Naypes) and Tattis (tah-tees). I ask if it's any good, to which the girl makes a face and tells me that ay, if ye care for Hagis, then ay, but she herself, doesn't think so. Obviously this leaves me feeling good about my choice, but when she brings it out, it looks pretty darn good to me. A big heaping mound of grey meat, with oats differentiating it slightly from the look of a meatloaf without ketchup slathered over it, the tattis are of course potatoes, mashed, and the neeps, I'm still not sure what they are, but they look like carrots, mashed, with more the flavor of brussel sprouts and the aroma of broccoli (obviously these were not my favorite). Wait, wikipedia tells me that they might be mashed turnips...hmm...that would explain their look, but I've roasted turnips before without that kind of flavor or smell. Also, let me give you their definition of Hagis: ''Scotland’s best-known regional dish. It is made from lamb’s offal (lungs, liver and heart) mixed with suet, onions, herbs and spices, all packed into a skin, traditionally made of a sheep’s stomach'' Hungry yet? Honestly, it was good! The initial bite was well, different, I was expecting the texture of meatloaf, and was greeted with more of a gruel or even a warm, mushy pate, but the taste was excellent, and I cleaned everything on my plate, except for a small offering of Neeps, which I really hope made it to my dear friend Murphy, wherever he may be.

After eating, I plodded back over to the train station and waited, and at the appropriate time, hopped on, heading back towards Edinburgh....please, don't let me miss is this time, I'm going on 9 hours of travel for the day at the point, and as I've made a habit of not sleeping the night before to make sure I don't oversleep, I'm getting pretty tired. If I miss Edinburgh going the other way, its over an hour until the next station, so this really isn't an option. But I make it, and after some walking and initial confusion at the layout of the city (I'm just going to say it, Europeans are very lax on maps and street names...I guess they just expect us to know everything inherently by instinct.) I make it to my hostel. After dropping my stuff off at my bed, I walk around the town, entertained by a group of men dressed in traditional highlander garb and playing giant drums and bagpipes, and eventually making my way into one of Scotland's national galleries, where there were some absolutely incredible paintings and sculptures. Unfortunately, because of the time, I only got about thirty minutes in there, not enough to find the Renoir and Van Gogh pieces that are hiding there, so I'll be going back tomorrow after the Castle to try again.

Dinner was Cullen Skink, a traditional white wine chowder of baby potatoes and fresh Haddock, and a pint of Belhaven, as smooth and creamy as ever, maybe even more so.

That was my day, what did you do with yours?

Cocky, lost, and found in Edinburgh,
Bryan, the Lonely Traveler