When I mentioned to friends I was traveling to Edinburgh, they immediately assumed I would compose a travelogue to share my experiences. My rule had been firm; only driving trips in my Jeep constituted cause for these exposés. However, having pent up words to type for so long, I succumbed.
I had been invited to speak at the Annual Scientific Meeting of the British Branch of the International League Against Epilepsy by my gracious host, Dr. Tim Betts. Arrangements were made for me to stay at the Ibis hotel off the Royal Mile. I'd not a clue about any of this so I made a visit to Barnes & Nobles bookstore. The Fodor's book and Mobil travel guides didn't have that hotel listed. But Rick Steve's Great Britain & Ireland 2000 did. He recommended this hotel as it is in the middle of the Royal Mile behind the Tron Church, 97 rooms and American charm. The Royal Mile is one of Europe's most interesting historic walks. At the top of the "Mile" is Edinburgh Castle (with the crown jewels) and the bottom is Holyrood Palace (where the Queen spends a week/yr).
Subsequently, I went to the public library and checked out the 1999 edition. I also read a travel book on Scotland and picked up some history. The present is interesting as well, with Scotland getting it's own Parliament next year (being housed in Edinburgh). The seamier side of the city are the claims to street drugs and the AIDS capitol of Europe. Of course good scotch, the home of golf, and hearty foods are mitigating.
Edinburgh is 56 degrees North, which is more north than any city in the continental U.S. or any of the major Canadian cities. A tad below Juneau, Alaska. If it doesn't snow I should be ok. [it did snow at higher altitudes the day I left]
Since I am posting this on my website, it seems in vogue to provide some hyperlinks to supplement my story. Yet this is lazy and unbefitting an author who should strive with his own words to convey the images and ideas directly to the reader. I will allow a few links when I feel they do justice to the tale. As being technically competent, please note that I will create an additional browser window for a link which takes you to another website so the reader isn't lost from my travelogue or have password problems re-entering. [This does not include pictures, they are on my server and will appear on your original page.] Delete the new window (unless it's just a picture - use the back arrow for pictures) and the travelogue will still be there for your enjoyment.
A month before the trip I re-discovery some works of Ben Franklin. I advanced to read his biography "Franklin" by David Freeman Hawke. This is well worth the read. Hawke makes you live Franklin's life, mostly in the first person, with a bit of commentary, up to 1776. Yet since Ben lived till 1790, I also read "Franklin of Philadelphia" by Esmond Wright which covers his whole life. However it isn't as a good a read, being disjointed and mostly commentary. Franklin spent considerable time in Britain and had many Scottish friends, preeminent was William Strahan who he corresponded with all his life. In 1759, during a visit to Scotland, he stayed in Milne Court off Canongate [Road] in Edinburgh and met David Hume and Lord Kames (among many other notables). I should mention this was mere walking distance from my hotel. He also traveled to St. Andrews (a city a bit north of Edinburgh), which The Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews claims to be the home of golf. Franklin received memberships and honors throughout his life, and whilst there was bestowed an honorary LL.D degree from the University of St. Andrews, the oldest university in Scotland (founded 1411) and the third oldest in all of Britain. Franklin wrote of his 6 week stay "...did not strong connexions draw me elsewhere, I believe Scotland would be the country I should choose to spend the remainder of my days in."
Reading's Franklin's biographies, one must conclude he ranks as one of the fathers of our country. Born 1706 in Boston, he wrote his own epitaph quite early at age 22, before dying in Philadelphia at the age of 84.
The body of
B Franklin Printer
(Like the Cover of an Old Book
Its Contents torn out
And Stript of its Lettering & Gilding)
Lies here, Food for Worms.
But the Work shall not be lost;
For it will, (as he believ'd) appear once more,
In a new and more elegant Edition
Revised and corrected
By the Author.
Preparing for a long trip involves putting things in a pile as you think of them. Even so, you're sure to forget something. In fact I did good. And although I had to scrape a bit on hair shampoo (this hotel was a bit barebones - was this what Rick Steve meant by American charm?), I had everything I needed, even the adaptor plugs and convertor for the electricity.
The weekend before I left, I went to Lubbock, so was traveling twice in only a few days. Pack, unpack, pack. The next night I was cruising the channels and chanced on the Travel Channel. It was on Belgium and I saw a little of Brussels. One of our neurology residents is from there and I thought of him. I would see him next day in clinic right before I left for the airport.
I checked into the Will Rogers World Airport (which is deceptive as there are no international flights out of here). The American Airline agent said "uh oh". As a doctor, that always has a bad ring. In this case it meant my flight from Chicago to London had been cancelled 3 days ago and because I was in Lubbock I was unavailable to their phone calls (a total of eight they said). This was to be on a 777, and the agent was surprised as they "never cancel this flight." Over the next half-hour I talked with the agent, whose brother has a sleep disorder and offered my business card. She managed to book me on a flight from O'Hare to Brussels, then on to Edinburgh. A bit later than I excepted, but at least I'd be there Wednesday as planned.
The silver lining was I recovered (in theory) bonus miles I might have lost by not going on to London, and the agent upgraded me from coach to business class. The lining tarnished quickly when we taxied to the runway and sat in sunny weather. Seems Chicago was a little rainy, and to prevent our circling O'Hare, we were remanded to sit on the tarmac for 40 minutes. Although my bag was checked straight though to Edinburgh, my connecting flight might just leave without me.
Another premonition. They had asked at the gate for my wife's phone number in case of emergency. I don't keep it in my head, and have it written down in my addressbook which I left in the Jeep at the airport. I didn't think I'd need to carry it around Europe. I gave my old Lubbock number instead. However, on the plane I realized that too many months had gone by, and the number would not 'rollover'. Since Sandy was expecting me to call when I got to Scotland, I saw purgatory a coming. I raced to my Chicago flight, and while they were boarding, I used my phone card to call Lubbock information for Sandy's number. Typical husband move. As it turned out, the same phone card wouldn't work in Europe (despite it appearing to be an international MCI card, and me calling a MCI operator). So I paid through the nose on the hotel's phone.
The 767 flight is designed to fly all night and you sleep. First class has 5 seats across, business 6, coach 7. The business seats where big, reclined, had foot support, and a broad armrest between the seats. Even fat folks could be comfortable, but I still found it impossible to sleep. Instead I ate well, drank well, and used the personal Sony Video Walkman available to business class to see the 3 hour movie "Nixon".
The woman next to me was half Dutch, half English. A tour guide for Americans and just coming back from several western countries on personal vacation. She was obviously full of interesting and useful information. Travels to eastern block countries were insightful. And she told me about my connecting flight on Brussels' national airline - Sabena (which stands for Such A Bloody Experience, Never Again). Were that it not be true.
Clouds cover only part of the world at any given time. But on both legs of my trip they all seemed to be under my plane. Thus I saw nothing of Europe from the air, and on the ground it was rainy and overcast. Signage in European airports is inferior to American, and I missed the escalator and went through customs, out to the main area and then back through customs to get to my connections. Then signs for gate B97 disappeared and I needed to backtrack 1/4 mile to find the stairs, escalator, etc. Once there, and for once in plenty of time, they announced in English, Flemish, German and French that the flight was delayed and was leaving from gate B27. A group of us got up and went across half the airport to our new gate. That gate was assigned to a flight leaving Brussels for Manchester. Five minutes and four languages later we were told the Manchester flight was delayed and was leaving from yet another gate. Different people then got up and crossed the airport. And on it went.
Another thing, passports. They're like drivers licenses in Europe. Every and any airport has customs, and everyone has a passport. It's only in the special international terminals that you'd see them in the States.
I don't want you to think my entire trip was one bad plane flight, but considering I left 5 p.m. Tuesday and arrived 5 p.m. Wednesday, this constituted a significant portion. Throw in that Europe turned the clocks ahead for daylight saving time this weekend, whereas America waited until the following weekend when I traveled back, and my jet lag got worser and worser.
The flight from Brussels went over the Channel and along the east coast of England. I saw clouds. Finally within 100 miles of Edinburgh, the clouds broke and I saw unpopulated, brown, almost mountainous terrain. Some snow topped crags, and grass fires on parched hills. Closer to Edinburgh were farms, sheep herds and eventually a metropolis.
The Edinburgh airport was not too big. We sat and were put on buses to take us to the international arrival area. The ride was 200 feet. People queued in two lines: Euros and Others (me being an other). The Euros had their lingua franca, i.e. passports out and were through in a shot. We had to fill out a form and suffer a bit more interrogation. Things generally went quick. We collected our luggage and were out.
An ATM machine was next to a money exchange window, and everyone was using their cards for electronic transactions. I used my US card and got £100 in 20 pound notes. (The rate was $1.60 per pound.) Then got a cab and went through the city, on the left side.
Want to know the pulse of a city. Speak with a Scottish cabbie. We covered the economy, the national rugby match, politicians and the national health care service. Oh yeah, the weather, which is unpredictable, and road construction, which is predictable.
From cabbies to physicians the Scots are fine people. Americans are more directly descended from the English, especially our mercantile ways. The Scots and English differ in traditions, culture and history. A common people divided by centuries of war, and language. I quickly developed a liking, and could see what Ben Franklin saw in them 230 years ago. I got some advanced information from my host (which I share with the reader) but admit it makes more sense now that I'm back in the States.
FACTS OF LIFE FOR OUR AMERICAN COUSINS by Dr Tim BettsEngland, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland are all part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: when speaking of belonging to that tribe we call ourselves Citizens of the United Kingdom (on our passports) or British. When it comes to tribes within tribes we call ourselves English, Welsh, Northern Irish (unless with Republican leanings in which case its just Irish) or Scots - although the English have the irritating habit of using British and English interchangeably.
English, with regional differences and dialects, is spoken throughout the UK. Scottish English (the language of Robert Burns) is actually a variant Anglo Saxon dialect via Old English and is, in fact, closer to Old English than English English now is - but be careful who you say that to in Scotland! Scotland, of course, is two tribes: the lowland scots who you will meet in Edinburgh (who are largely of Anglo-Norman descent like the English are with a smattering of celtic genes - but for your own safety don't tell them that whilst you are in Edinburgh: they have romantic illusions about their ancestry just like Americans and Australians). The other Scottish tribe, to which I in part belong - which is why I call myself British when asked - is the Highland scot, a genetic mix of Irish and scots celt, Pict and scandinavian (the Scots celts moved to Ireland and the Irish celts moved to Scotland, but not at the same time). Picts were a tribe who were defeated by the Romans and then vanished but have left their genes behind. Northern Scotland was largely Viking until the early middle ages (neither tribe likes to be reminded of that, by the way). The highlander was destroyed by both English and lowland scot but is now romanticised by both. Clan tartans, upon which the Scottish tourist industry largely depends were largely the invention of George IV - one of our German Kings - and Walter Scott, a novelist in a fit of remorse when the Highland way of life had been destroyed forever.
So, in Edinburgh you will be speaking English to a British audience; the local scots dialect is easy to understand if you venture into the city and the locals have a romantic view of Americans (that is Scots for "have plenty of money"). There is a move (which I support) for increased Scots independence within the UK umbrella - (we share the same monarch by the way) and Edinburgh is the seat of the newly created Scottish Parliament - even more dull and flatulent than its UK counterpart. The chances of you meeting a scotsman who can only speak Gaelic (the real Scots Tongue) is very small. The pound is UK currency; there is no such thing as the Scots Pound - but Scots Banks have different style notes and it is sometimes difficult to use a scottish pound note in England although perfectly legal - there is no problem the other way! During the Highland Clearances (that was Scot on Scot - nothing to do with the English although they get blamed for it) most Highlanders went to America; so you will be welcome providing they don't think you are English. The Scots like the French, by the way, the English don't; neither like the Germans. I hope that makes it all perfectly clear - the rest will have to be explained over a beer!
Scots wae hae!
With that as an introduction, I also learned that Edinburgh can be a bit "dreich" (cold and wet) in March, and was not disappointed. I didn't see the sun till my last day, nor did I see umbrellas. The frequent precipitation was just ignored, not worthy of notice, and called miszle (for mist and drizzle). The city occupies 100 sq miles with a population of half a million, the Lothian Region includes another quarter million, and Scotland, which is the northern 274 miles of Great Britain, has five million.
My hotel, the Ibis, was more like a U.S. dorm room, and to keep accommodations affordable, rooms were available at the University of Edinburgh as well. The location was excellent, on the Royal Mile. I immediately walked about and then freshened up for a speaker's dinner on Broughton St about a mile from my hotel. On the way I passed the Conan Doyle Pub. Doyle wrote the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, and was himself a Neurologist. Here I will really break with my tradition and include an occasional picture. All pictures presented here are my own, and for your pleasure, The Conan Doyle.
I came to the Smoke Stack restaurant, which seemed prototypical for a Scottish establishment. Englishmen and Scots at the table exchanged pleasantries, and not so pleasant exchanges. January 25th had recently passed, and the event celebrating the birthday of Robert Burns with reading poetry, drinking scotch and eating haggis served a focal point of what Scots love and English despise.
I sought the advise of my host and started with a very peaty Scotch, Lagavulin, neat. I moved on to Cullen Skink, a traditional Scottish smoked fish soup. And a main course of salmon. All very good. I had prepared myself for mutton, but it is too expensive in Scotland, and also considered English. I never saw it on any menu during my trip and might as well go to New Zealand as get it here.
Since I'll not be telling you about golf, I might take this opportunity to explain Scotch whisky.
Note that Scotch whisky has no "e". The Irish and Americans put the "e" in. I have grown up imbued with the sense that scotch was the true whisky. My grandfather enjoyed Johnny Walker, Ballantine and Chivas Regal, all blended whiskies (meaning whisky from many casks were blended together for a particular taste). My father followed suit, as did I when I took the occasional drink. But even before I glimmered I'd be in Scotland, I started to think of single malt, where the whisky is aged in a wooden cask and bottled directly from that one cask.
The trip was my chance to try it at the source, and my first drink, Lagavulin, is from the western island of Islay. A strong peaty-smokey drink with a bite of sea salt. I was advised to drink it neat (i.e. straight without water). I did, but whisky books say that although it's fine to sample spirit neat, whiskies need water like flowers do. A good nosing and tasting should be done without and with water.
A recent trend among the distilleries is 'double maturing', where the spirit is first aged in plain oak for a number of years and then transferred to casks of differing sherry types, or even port, to produce the final malt. I was bitten by this single malt and brought home several samples, as well as a good supply of Caol Ila (one bottle is a good supply for me). This particular malt hails from the northern tip of Islay, as opposed to Lagavulin from the southern part of the island. Geography makes a difference in the taste, smell, mouthfeel, and finish.
Nothing, I think, can substitute for drinking scotch in Scotland.
It is on this topic I will make the greatest allowance for leading you
away via the web to sites which help convey this delicious experience.
Jet lag had no real affect on me on the front end of the trip. Too excited. Thursday morning I got up early to walk over to the University of Edinburgh before the conference started.
Edinburgh University, Heriot-Watt University (strong in the fields of offshore and petroleum engineering, physics and information technology) and Napier University form a triumvirate of Edinburgh's educational establishments. Edinburgh University was founded in 1583 and presently enrolls 12,000 graduate and undergraduate students. The medical school was started in 1726. Despite it's old bricks and mortar, it established the UK's first Department of Artificial Intelligence. Former students of the University are James Boswell, Arthur Conan Doyle, Charles Darwin, James Simpson and Robert Louis Stevenson.
The town was overcast and grey, the streets wet with mist and rain, and my leather soles slipped on the cobblestone pavements and streets. The buildings, new and old, are gray and brown, stone or brick. A splash of colour is rare. Nor does it stand out much in the grey overcast. Even at a height, say on a bridge or Castle, one can make out neither the river nor the Firth of Forth.
Mornings and evenings are a mass of people coming and going to work, with extensive use of the doubledeck buses seen everywhere. As the whole country is on a crag, an old volcanic island, it is hilly to the extreme. The city is often two-layered, with streets winding down and going underneath themselves as in an Escher drawing. Bridges span other roads as well as rivers.
If the ground is ancient, and the buildings nearly so, the people are hearty and robust. A day when the sun peaks out, the populace is in shirtsleeves despite 8 degree C temperatures. The youth walk about with button earplugs, nearly invisible, while listening to music on MP3 players, not taking second to any youth in the States. It may be no coincidence that I felt a little like I was back in Pittsburgh, home to the Scottish born Carnegie Mellon.
I only traveled on foot, and walked many a mile while trying to fit in sightseeing with business. The heel of my left foot became tender to the point of real pain. I have had the gout before, but this should be in the big toe. Maybe it was a bone spur. But it hobbled me for the duration of the trip despite indomethacin. My solace was in the knowledge that another American suffered the gout and could barely walk about Scotland - Ben Franklin. I had not the luxury to nurse the ailment and so persisted to use my feet for this short stay in Edinburgh.
The Meeting was well attended by over 300 nurses, general practice, pediatric, neurologic and psychiatric physicians. We dined for lunch in the student cafeteria. Tea time was excellent in the late afternoon. A simple but mechanized dispenser, each attended by a woman, brought forth all types of beverages. The usual question: "Tea, black or white?" I had milk in my tea once but subsequently took it black. Cookies and biscuits rounded out the event.
Our first official dinner was held at the Stratosphere, The Dynamic Earth. A Millennium 2000 project by the city which tried to capitalize on the new year with small success. London created a bigger project, with bigger losses. The actual exhibits were off limits this night, but the huge space we mingled and ate in was impressive. Open bar, multi-course dinner (salmon again) and an American ragtime band called Fat Sam's. As writers are oft times paid by the word, I believe they were paid by the decibel. The music was authentic and good, just too loud. Difficult in the extreme to talk over, and painful to the ear. A hearty few took to the dance floor. I walked back to the Ibis rather than wait on the complimentary bus.
Friday morning. Another continental breakfast at the hotel. Hardboiled brown egg, cheeses and crackers, tea - black, ham sliced paper thin and melt in your mouth, fresh breads, jams and marmalades. In the odd hours between business activities I made use of the local shops to gather the trinkets I'd need for home. Salt & pepper shaker with the Loch Ness monster, ornamental spoons, stuffed animals, chocolates and candy, scotch.
A particularly unusual request, which I took seriously, was to find a Celtic styled Star of David for a pendant. The gift shops had plenty of Crosses and Celtic weapons and symbols. No six pointed star, and one shop owner made me feel a bit uncomfortable just asking. I walked over to the only Edinburgh Hebrew Congregation, on Salisbury Street. Empty that time of day, so a phone call in the evening revealed they had no Judaica shop except for candles and yarmulkes. (And I thought it was tough to be Jewish in Lubbock.)
For Jews, enlightened Edinburgh can be traced to 1691, the year in which the minutes of Edinburgh Town Council recorded the application of David Brown, a professing Jew, to reside and trade in the city. Whilst it appears that there was an organised Jewish Community by 1780, the first Jew to buy a burial plot in Edinburgh was Herman Lyon. He came to Edinburgh from Germany in 1788 and described himself as a dentist and corn operator. The term corn operator has no agricultural significance: Herman Lyon was in fact a chiropodist and wrote a remarkable book on corns. In 1795 he petitioned Edinburgh Town Council to purchase a plot of land on Calton Hill for a burying place for himself and his family. There is no trace of the burial plot on Calton Hill today, but it is marked on the Ordnance Survey map of 1852 as "Jew's Burial vault".The Edinburgh Jewish community in 1816 consisted of 20 families. In 1825, the community acquired a tenement in Richmond Court and converted and equipped it for use as a Synagogue with 67 seats. This served the needs of the Community for 43 years. By the turn of the century, the community numbered 500 and had acquired a chapel in Graham Street for conversion into a Synagogue. The Synagogue on Salisbury Road, built in 1932 to accommodate 2000 people, is a tribute to the efforts of Dr Salis Daiches.
This walk through town allowed me to see the streets and people up close. I went through a roll of film quickly, capturing faces of Scots walking about their business or on buses. As we're about half way with the travelogue, perhaps I'll let you look at a few pictures.
Back at the conference I frequently was questioned how I was enjoying my stay. Always enthusiastic, my answer might be short or long. The long ones often induced a glazed look over my subject. Since most of the attendees were British, I finally realized that they were not really interested in hearing how much I liked Scotland! As the naive American, I still couldn't tell a Brit from a Scot (by looks or sound). There were exceptions though as I'll tell later. But so many Europeans are a mixture of many countries and races, almost everyone will say "I'm half this and half that". Clearly they have a favorite half.
Friday evening was another gala dinner, this time set within the Playfair Library Hall of the Old College of the University of Edinburgh. Buses took us a short distant to the courtyard where we climbed steps to the sounds of a Scot in full regalia: bagpipes, kilts, tammy and all. The building was old huge stonecut, and the books were in aisles 30 feet high, locked from inquisitive fingers behind wire mesh panels. Tables were set along the entire room, attended by servers.
The Scot in bagpipes lead a chef in a hightop white hat carrying the biggest haggis I've ever seen (this being my first). The size of a rugby ball on a silver platter. The Scot addressed the haggis in Burnsian style, reciting from memory the Gaelic poem which went on for quite a bit and unintelligible to me and all at my table. He finished in a drama of wielding a huge butcher knife and splitting the haggis so it's contents could swell forth and over (to the delight of other Scots and foreign guests, and neglect at best from the Brits).
Haggis is an ugly food, just cheap peasant fare in its day, made of sheep's pluck (chopped heart, liver and lungs) which was stuffed in a stomach skin with two types of oatmeal and a heady concoction of spices. We were served it with traditional bashed neeps (turnips), tatties (mashed potato), and a light whisky sauce. I enjoyed every bit. In fact, this fare is typical of many cultures. My Jewish heritage revels in eating stuff kiska in dermis (corn starch in intestine) and brisket with kasha (buckwheat), onions and salt.
Next we were served Cullen Skink (which I had the other night as well) followed by prime Aberdeen Angus, fillet of Scottish beef on a bed of spiced red cabbage. Red and white wine. Dessert was fruits of forest tartlet, an assortment of Scottish berries set on creme patisserie in a sweet pastry cup. Handmade truffles - pure chocolate sweet. And coffee, served in a doll's size cup, and filled only half way. Coffee is expensive and you're not expected to drink much, much less ask for seconds.
Elegant as dinner was, we then walked in the mist across campus to the Debating Halls, Teviot Row for the Ceilidh. This was above the student union and bar, for which many a folk visited during the evening. As our group assembled in the Hall, the Bobby More Band was playing - three old Scots ramblerousing native music. Like deer in headlights we all sat and stared, waiting for a leader to take charge. Many a foot were crushed this night as instructions to standard Scottish folk dance were parlayed from the band leader to the dearly assembled. The band laughed hard and long and had at least as good a time as we.
A few Scots were in the group and their frustration showed as the few bravehearted Brits did miserably. A solidly built mature woman, who had spoken with me at the meeting, took me by the arm (did my feet leave the air?) and lead me to the dance floor. The first dance was a bit like the Texas two-step, but not quite. The second, a simple yet overly complicated cross your arms and doe-she-doe, swing about. I concentrated and learned the whole pattern, but with less inclined couples in the group, chaos rode legion. A muttering, 'the American is better than the Brits', secured my place of honour. Then I was on to a drawn dark cool Guiness beer in the student bar. After midnight I walked back to the hotel in Scottish miszle, feeling a growing kinship with Edinburgh.
Saturday morning I looked in the mirror and saw some serious dieting ahead, but later. I was invited to a real Scottish breakfast at another hotel where we were to prepare for the afternoon session on ethics. Cereals, fruit, coffee or tea, breads and cheese were on the buffet. More serious fare included sausage and ham, scrambled eggs and toast, jellies and jams. Beans (like Boston baked) were also standard fare, and I partook of black pudding. This is something of the size, color and shape of a black hockey puck, fried crisp on the outside, softer in the center. Tasted ok, even after learning it was only and purely blood (I knew that). But I did decline "white" pudding (you don't want to know).
The conference ended at one, and lunch took us to two. I made my farewells with many new colleagues and friends. I had but scant hours to do some earnest sightseeing yet still needed to complete my shopping. The Waverley Shopping Centre provided for my last liquor needs, and the thirsty reader can order for yourself at The Whiskey Shop of Edinburgh.
I then went across Princes Street to a premier department store - Marks and Spencer. M & S sells everything, and has a supermarket in the basement where I came across haggis in the refrigerated section (although I was told it could stay out for days without ill effects, apparently true as it stayed with me 2 days before next refrigeration). I despaired on my task of getting something for an English colleague who was in my department and had been kind enough to give me some UK coins and explain the currency. When I asked him what I could bring him back from Scotland, he turned his nose up and said "Nothing from Scotland". Was this then the perfect gag gift - haggis? He'd surely be pissed if my previous experiences here were any fair reflection of the two cultures. Instead I picked up a few assorted cans of curried chicken and beef by StMichael. He loves hot Indian food, but in Oklahoma this isn't easy to get. When I brought it home to him, he instantly recognized the brand and knew where I bought it. He was thrilled and delighted with the gift. The haggis I gave to another friend who is of Scottish ancestry and she likewise was overwhelmed, eating it the next night with husband and friends.
I was down to the wire. Tourist attractions close at 5-6 p.m. There was time for only one, and it required no thought - Edinburgh Castle, the symbol of Scotland itself. I could discourse on many attractions at the Castle and throughout Edinburgh, even Scotland, but travelogues must confine themselves to personal experiences. You may start your own journey with this government site Historic Scotland, but don't click now, do it after you finish the story. [Note, websites in general, and government sites in particular, may be unavailable day to day.]
The castle rock and the Royal Mile is the result of geologic events which started 340 million years ago (no, I wasn't there). Hot lava erupted through the seabed and formed a volcano. After it became extinct, the weathering from ice and rain eroded the softer sedimentary rocks, and the last ice age 20,000 yrs ago cleaned it down to the basaltic feeder pipe. The ice, moving west to east, flowed around the pipe and gouged out areas now known as Princes Street Gardens and The Grassmarket. But the hard basalt protected the softer sediments to its east, and diverted the ice to the site of Holyrood Palace, leaving the "crag-and-tail" - the castle rock and Edinburgh's Royal Mile.
The seven hills of Edinburgh (yes, Rome had seven as well) became a habitat for people 5-3,000 years ago. The Romans invaded these peoples in 78 CE during their northward expansion. When they left in the second century, the people faced repeated invasions by Angles, Britons, Vikings and eventually the Scots from Western Ireland. Around 600 AD, the war band of the Gododdin was gathered with their king, Mynyddog Mwynfawr, in Din Eidyn (the stronghold of Eidyn). The 300 men pledged their allegiance to fight and die, which they did following a raid by the Angles. Din Eidyn was besieged and captured in 638 AD, where it was subsequently known as Edinburgh.
In 1018 King Macolm II defeated the English at the Battle of Carham (no, I wasn't there either), thus securing for Scotland the territory between the Firth of Forth and the River Tweed. The Royal Castle developed afterwards, and St. Margaret's Chapel, built by King David I (1124-53) is the oldest building still standing. The Gatehouse, built in 1886, is flanked by bronze statues of King Robert the Bruce (who fought and defeated the English in the early 1300's) and Sir William Wallace (a.k.a. Mel Gibson in Braveheart). History is mostly chronicled by wars and politics, and Scotland has too much.
By 1483, Edinburgh was undisputed capital of Scotland, a medieval city crowded on a hill within a defensive wall. The Old Town stretches along a ridge from the Castle to the Palace of Holyrood down the Royal Mile. In the late seventeen hundreds it expanded to the north, known as Georgian New Town. As a circumspect city, old and young, rich and poor co-habitated. Buildings were packed tightly, and alley ways were called 'close'. Shop fronts on the first level, homes, offices above. All classes shared the same buildings and walked the same streets. Edinburgh's winding closes and dark lanes witnessed all of Scotland's history, and not a few buckets of refuse from the upper windows.
Edinburgh is reputed to be UK's second financial center, after London. Of the top 25 companies in Scotland, 14 have their headquarters in Edinburgh. The industries of brewing, printing and pharmaceuticals are modern Edinburgh's hallmarks, and these stand beside a dynamic growth in the tourist industry and newer technologies of computing, medical lasers and semiconductors.
As I walked up the Mile and onto the esplanade my heel was still sore. But the sun had come out for the first (and as to be the case) the only time while I was away from Oklahoma. This large courtyard in front of the castle has several monuments and is the yearly site for the Tattoo, a military display of marching and pipes since 1947. Guards stand outside the castle, brandishing mean looking weapons while wearing traditional kilts. The guide explained that the Castle has never been taken by direct force, and modern tactics now employ a cover charge of £7 to keep the English out (but unfortunately the Scots as well).
Everyone picks up an audio CD with earphones. Twenty-six plaques are displayed throughout the Castle for which you enter the code into the CD for a piece of history. I put in some random 3-digit numbers and almost always got more information. Someone needs to hack the software and publish the secret codes!
Between the free 25 minute tour, and the audio CD guide, I was immersed in history for hours. This isn't Disneyland where you look over the parking lot and see modern buildings and conveniences. This is the actual accumulation of a 1000 years of buildings, history and people, and looking over the gun batteries to the city below doesn't bring you back to 21st century America.
The Palace courtyard has a number of impressive buildings and exhibits, the Scottish National War Memorial being an example. The Royal Palace reached it's height of importance during the reign of Mary Queen of Scots (1527-67). Her son, James, became King of Scotland, and latter, King James of England, uniting the two countries without a war. A light side to the Castle was the little garden used since 1840 as burial place for officer's dogs and regimental mascots.
Displayed in the palace are the Honors of Scotland - the crown, sword and sceptre, first used at the enthronement of Queen Mary in 1543, and represent the oldest regalia in the UK. In the same well guarded room is the Stone of Destiny. Everything has a fascinating (and long) story, usually with intrigue, war and politics (maybe some sex when they make the movie). I'll give the briefest of examples.
On St. Andrew's Day, 1996, Edinburgh Castle saw the return of one of Scotland's most powerful symbols - the Stone of Destiny. Until its removal from Scone Abbey to London in 1926, the Stone had served as the seat on which the Scottish Kings had been inaugurated for over 400 years. For nearly 700 years, monarchs of England and later rulers of Great Britain and Ireland were crowned on the Stone in Westminster Abbey, London. [Is it any wonder Americans are viewed as merely adolescents on the world scene?]
That evening I had my last dinner. My host invited me to share dinner in a Pub which was part of a fine old hotel, corner of Princes Street and North Bridge. It was far more elegant than the word pub connotes. Tim is a neuropsychiatrist, president of the League, a world traveler, veteran, part Scot, part Brit, all UK. Between conversation I had a fine single malt whisky, an appetizer of stovies, and then the main course. Wishing to skip another meal of salmon, and finding not mutton, I inquired whether the calves liver would be acceptable. I was assured that BSE was no longer a concern (bovine spongiform encephalitis, a.k.a. mad cow's disease). Let the reader note that should future travelogues deteriorate in style or content, we may need to re-visit this issue. The liver, however, was excellent as was a light white wine from New Zealand - Cloudy Bay. The after dinner drink of Glayva completed my Scottish dining experience. Tim completed my British education.
My memory of the conversation is not exact, nor should I indiscriminately divulge details either boring or personal. Whether I adequately represented the State's side on world events and history I don't know. But as sole representative I did my best, and remained open-minded and humble. As for Tim, I have no doubts as to his personal and academic qualifications. He lectured Scot and Brit alike in my presence on the origins of peoples and languages throughout Great Britain, and none challenged him directly nor in his absence. Americans - private citizens and National leaders, have a lot to learn from Britain. But like a teenage son, our father could not possible know anything worth listening to. As Mark Twain commented, perhaps we'll appreciate the hard earned wisdom from our seniors when we're 21. But as opposed to calculating in dog years, 'world years' would translate the intervening four years (of the proverbial 17 to 21) to four centuries.
Again my feet took me home. I had only covered New Town, Old Town and South Edinburgh during my brief stay. I never saw the suburbs, but then they don't exist as American cities have them. Most British cities are compact, and there is a surprising amount of open space between them. Sixty million people live in the UK, but most are in the south, a fifth in London alone. Services aren't cheap by American standards. Prices seemed similar until one was reminded that 3.99 for a hamburger meal was pounds (£) not dollars ($). Even electricity is inflated, 230 volts. I was proud that my collection of socket adapters and convertors enabled me to use my hairdryer in the hotel. But the heating coils glowed red. The halving of 230 to 115 is still higher than the usual 105 volts we actually get in the States.
It seemed necessary for me to acquaint myself with a historical figure for whom I knew nothing about to fully embrace my Scottish experience. I chose Burns. Robert Burns is Scotland's best-loved bard and Burns Suppers have been held in his honor for over 200 years. I had no trouble checking out a biography on him at the Oklahoma City library, by Robert T. Fitzhugh. Born 1759 into a struggling farm family, Burns suffered a difficult life his first two decades and then lived more fully till his death at 37.
His father, who barely stayed above subsistence, move to a farm in Mt. Oliphant when Robert was 9. "The cottage, 'with it's walls of stone or rammed clay, its earthen floor and thatched roof, and with the fire seldom built up except for cooking, had a winter chill and dampness that bred tuberculosis in the young, and rheumatism in the old....The stable was usually under the same roof, and its reek mingled with the dampness and the smell of unwashed humanity....Outside the door was the...glaur hole, manure heap of man and beast alike.' Oatmeal porridge supported the human inhabitants, each resident dipping at meals with his spoon from a common bowl. Barley soup, cabbage, bread, cheese, and occasional potatoes filled out the menu. Animals that died were eaten if possible."
Burns wrote songs as well as poems. Both gave him fame among his countrymen. His song Man Was Made to Mourn, reflects his own suffering as well as the people he saw around him. Two lines excerpted:
In a letter to a friend he wrote "I was born a poor dog; and however I may occasionally pick a better bone than I used to do, I know that a poor dog I must live & die." Burns wrote best when his passions were inflamed. He was a Scottish patriot, and typical of his class, had great sympathy for any event which might emancipate the poor, such as the French revolution's promise of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. He was typical Scot in his delight of his country's independence from England, won through Robert Bruce's March at the battle of Bannockburn (some 5 centuries earlier). In 1793 he composed a Scots Ode on the subject, the first stanza being:
Americans know the song Auld Lang Syne, but may not know the author was Robert Burns. Scots, on the other hand, know him well, use Burnsian phrases in their language, and revere poems such as Tam o' Shanter. He singularly elevated a lowly meal through his Address to a Haggis. This poem was written shortly after he arrived in Edinburgh, the closing stanza composed extempore during a dinner at the home of John Morrison, a cabinet-maker who lived in Mauchline. It appeared in the Caledonian Mercury on 19 December 1786 and in the Scots Magazine the next month - the first of Burn's poems to be published in any periodical. The earliest recipe for Haggis appeared the same year, in Cookery and Pastry by Susanna Maciver. Coincidence?.
Selkirt Grace for Haggis is a widely published example, but hardly does him justice to think this alone represents the man.
Burns met many an influential man, great in wealth or power. They, to a man considered him a genius, or at least gifted. But as he was a ploughman and beneath their station, held him off as an equal, and suffered him only for display and pleasure. The irony, and lesson, is that through the distillation of time and circumstances, this era and locale is viewed as bereft of historical figures with the exception of Burns himself (the philosopher David Hume preceded him, and Sir Walter Scott followed later). The men who patronized him then are remembered now only for having made his acquaintance.
More on the Bard, his poems and travels, haggis and whisky, can be found in the usual places. If you hope to enjoy an authentic Burns Supper, you may wish to follow this format, but good luck getting the ingredients. And finally, can you believe that Alamo Community College District, San Antonio, TX has his portrait and poems on their website?
Sunday morning came too quickly at 5 a.m., and I took a cab to the airport. A number of items needed tending. Had any flight been canceled? No. Mailed in my VAT receipts. Value Added Tax is theoretically refundable to visitors if the goods are taken out of the country, the paper work jives, and there is anything left after they subtract a processing fee. Breakfast. No eggs or pancakes here. The food court issues you a magnetic card on entry. You hand it to any vendor who records your purchase with a swipe of the card. You pay on exit from the court.
The Edinburgh to Birmingham flight left on time, but clouds occluded my view of either city or the intervening countryside. Budgeting my cash tightly, I spent all but a few pennies at the airport, and these I gave to my daughter. The Birmingham to Chicago flight was delayed for a minor technical problem. When we were allowed to board a hour latter we were informed it was because the toilets didn't work. For an eight hour flight that's not minor!
Coming over in business class next to a 300 lb woman was no problem. Returning coach next to a 350 man, draped over the seat, and I next to the window and emergency exit at that, not as pleasant. We were immediately served coke and cold peanuts (compared to the warm bowl of nuts and unlimited drinks, alcoholic and regular, in business class). A simple chicken and veggie lunch was followed by Courvoisier in a plastic cup. Luckily the goats and live stock were below.
My companion was an engineer for Caterpillar in Peoira, IL, and we had a pleasant exchange near the end of the flight. Our hour delay made for a harried experience in O'Hare. The walk from the flight to customs was a mile, seriously. Then claim bags, customs, check bags. I was told my connecting flight was on time and that I was expected to get there, through the main terminal, through the long line at the metal detectors, and on to the gate. Of course this still beats 30 days by ship that Ben Franklin endured.
I give credit to the airlines. My luggage followed me around the globe and appeared at the Will Rogers airport with me. So did a few extra pounds of body weight. The last thing I brought with me was jet lag. Monday was a regular work day in which I had to travel 60 miles each way by Jeep to a clinic in Pauls Valley. I went to Punkins for lunch. As you know, I've never had anything really good to say about Oklahoma BBQ, but that day it tasted real good.
A few more pictures of Edinburgh.
Epilogue
Two weeks, almost to the day after I got home from Edinburgh, I cooked
my haggis. A pound of pork offal (lung, liver & heart), pork fat, pork
rind, rusk (with wheatflour), oatmeal, onion & spices. Preparation for
the meal included spending the afternoon reading Burns' biography. A tag
on the haggis declared it ready to cook, made in Scotland, and use by
Apr08 (it being Apr15). I first tried to steam it, but the meager
utensils I had in my bachelor's apt turned a steaming to a boiling. I
envisioned corn would suffice rather then the standard neeps and tatters
as my accompaniment. But I was at least prepared to wash it down with a
good single malt: Caol Ila.
StMichael doesn't stuff it in a sheep (or pig) stomach. The container is a brown plastic bag, tied and fixed tightly. After I cooked it an hour, I punctured the bag with a sharp knife. The contents exploded out, it was offal. A rich mixture of dark brown with white sprinkling of oatmeal. The sweetness of the corn and the peatiness of the whisky mixed well. As fate so deemed, I was at the start of Tam o' Shanter in the book, and read Burns' famous poem during my feast.
Organ meat is exceedingly rich, and I decided not to finish the entire
portion. I put away a third in the refrigerator despite the label warning
'do not reheat'. After all, if it had gone bad already, I'd be dead by
morning. And if not, my stomach and urges would decide for me. I skipped
desert, partly because there's a limit to what I might endure,
but mostly because they don't make Typsy Laird (sherry trifle) here in OKC.
Plus, the supper was already non-traditional, being as I did forgo
the Cock-a-leekie soup and substituted kerneled corn for Champit Tatties &
Bashed Neeps. The Tassie o' Coffee I could still imbibe. Maybe an after
dinner mint, Maalox.
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