Did you ever wonder what Cheers would be like if it took place in Scotland? All of your friends can still be found in the local pub. Everyone always knows your name. And even if they don't, one round of scotch is all it takes before you feel like one of the clan! The main difference would be that in Scotland you trade the buffalo wings and nachos for a little haggis and fish and chips. And no...that whiskey did not inhibit your ability to hear consonants. Those words you hear flying out of your newly found friends' mouths are indeed English. At least, that’s what they tell me…
So it is, that for my first vacation after moving to Bermuda, Mark and I decide to trade one tiny island for a slightly larger one. One of the benefits of living in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean (on a few meters of rock that barely rise above the surface of the ocean) is its somewhat close proximity to Europe. After a quick 7-hour hop over the pond, a 5-hour layover in Gatwick, and another short flight to Glasgow, we find ourselves in the land of the Scots. The Mecca of distilleries for all those who love scotch. The homeland of great writers like Robert Burns (think...New Year's Eve) and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And more plaid than you can shake some bagpipes at.
Surrounded by no less than 790 islands, the mainland of Scotland is a lush and fertile land bursting of crisp air, cold-water lakes, and green highlands. Don't forget your raincoat...and rain pants, gloves, hat, and a personal heater. There is a reason it is so green! And if the summer wardrobe includes wool sweaters, you can only imagine what a Scottish winter requires! Even the local wildlife is prepared. As you cruise along the dual carriageways (two lane roads are cause for excitement in Scotland), you can see the long shaggy brown haired highland cows (pronounced hee-lind coos). Seriously...hee-lind coos. Think...small wooly mammoth. These mountain acclimated, cold weathered, water logged cows navigate a land covered in what was once used as a main protection against enemies. Scottish thistle, appropriately deemed the national emblem of Scotland, is spiky, resilient and fiercely protective of its native land (much like its fellow Scotsmen). Whether it was the striking beauty of the mountains, the intangible free spirit of the people, or the wide variety of scotches, the Scotsmen found themselves in a never-ending battle against intruders.
Our journey started just outside the bustling city of Glasgow in the tiny town of Uddingston. I know what you are thinking, and no...it is not famous for dairy products! For over one hundred years, Uddingston has been the home of the internationally recognized household brand of sweets, Tunnocks. From teacakes to caramel wafers, snowballs to biscuits, this Scottish heritage provides plenty of business for the local dentists. Trading sweets for clothes, Mark and I headed into downtown Glasgow straight to H&M, Marks and Spencers, and anywhere else that had a selection of clothes without shells and fish designs. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Instead, spend that $200 and more as you run past frightened store employees ecstatic to find socks that don’t cost $59.99 a pair.
After doing thorough damage to our wallets in Glasgow (and entirely missing any of the historical value of the city), Mark and I hopped on my favorite mode of transportation and trained through the green countryside of Scotland. Emerging into a scene from Trainspotters (literally), we came out into the dark back alley of the train station, under the bridge, and past the garbage and stepped into the beautiful medieval city of Edinburgh. The visual opposite of Glasgow, Edinburgh oozed tradition, castles, and old stonewalls. When you stop for a moment and take in the whole city, it looks like the entire place was constructed from one gigantic red/grey brick. Every wall, every roof, every street matched perfectly.
With the assistance of the hop on/hop off bus (yes…Mark’s broken knee resisted my usual walk-the-whole-city-at-a-slow-run kind of pace), and a wee bit of strolling, we navigated our way through the streets as Edinburgh introduced herself to us. From the top of the castle on the hill, we took on a bird’s eye view (or more accurately…a king’s view) of the city and the surrounding water. Leaving the castle walls, we found ourselves in front of the local pub “The Last Drop,” famous not for the last drop of Scotch but for its close proximity to the gallows in the adjacent square. Being careful to avoid such a dire ending, we continued down the Royal mile in search of Mark’s favorite local delicacy….a Scottish pie. Ahh the Scottish pie. There are no veggies. There is no creamy broth. Just meat. And pastry. Simple and to the point. These Scotsmen don’t mess around.
With a stomach full of Scottish pie, Mark and I made our way back to Glasgow to team up with a bubbly, energetic, highly organized, and sassy blond girl, (essentially me but with a cooler accent) Mark’s cousin Lesley! Besides being our GPS, our ride, our guide, and our entertainment (just ask her to sing her rendition of Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies….Wuh oh ho…..”), Lesley was a great companion on our trip into the Highlands. We barbequed venison in a mountain cabin. We hunted for muscles at Loch Goilhead. And we drank our way through Oban. Well…Lesley and her “wee big cousin” drank, and I ate the best Haggis Nips and Tatties of my life! Ok…to be fair…it was my first time, and I had nothing to compare it to…but it was still mouth wateringly delicious! What is this tasty Scottish delight you wonder? Imagine a layer of haggis sitting atop a mound of potatoes and turnips, and you have yourself a taste of Scottish tradition. Oh…you mean…what is haggis?! I made the mistake of asking that question once. It’s better not to ask. Just chew. Swallow. And enjoy. :)
After nine days of eating every meal we could from Mark and Spencers, dodging sheep on the narrow highland roads, and single handedly supporting Glasgow’s economy, it was time to say goodbye. Our nine-day Scottish adventure had come to an end all too soon. I met Mark’s dad’s family. I met Mark’s mom’s family. I walked on every red cobblestone in Edinburgh (almost). I hiked through every raindrop in the highlands. And I left no socks unturned in Glasgow. To answer Robert Burn’s question…no, old acquaintances will not be forgot. They shall be brought to mind every time I pass a pub…every time I eat liver and think it’s tasty…and every time I pass a cow that looks like it is in serious need of a haircut.
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
sin auld lang syne.
Exactly. I couldn’t agree more…
Kristyn
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