An American in Edinburgh Scotland

Years ago, my husband went on vacation with his father to England and Scotland. One thing he marveled at was how civilized, orderly and polite everybody was in public in all parts of the U.K. Nobody honked their horns at other drivers, people created neat, single-file lines, or queues, whenever there was a group waiting for entrance to something, including the bus. There was no huddle of mankind moving  en masse towards a door like we do here in the States. 

Typically, we Americans are polite about not crowding our way to the front (I said typically - there is always an exception), but can you picture us getting ready to get on a plane, for instance, creating one long, snaking line rather than the group exodus from the terminal onto the entrance ramp? Doesn't happen. We move as one squirming, disorganized organism until each person is eventually dumped into the opening and disappears. Unless there are ropes denoting a single-file line, you rarely see Americans voluntarily lining up, one behind the other. It works for us and usually it's not a problem. We don't think anything of it. But, try that technique in the U.K. and you end up looking ill-bred, rude and greedy, to the point where your mother's reputation could be called into question (although nobody would voice this opinion out loud).

My husband and I have traveled to Scotland twice, the last time just this past May. Our first trip in 2009, we either cabbed around town or walked, but this last trip we decided that riding the City's bus would be almost as convenient as cabbing, and a lot less money. We were right. It was very convenient and it was also a lot of fun riding the bus with locals including school children and a number of senior citizens running their errands. Unlike Sacramento, where I live, buses in Edinburgh run routes frequently and take you practically anywhere you want to go.

One of our first forays into the world of Edinburgh public transit found us at a busy bus stop. While waiting for a bus to arrive, the locals look and act just like anyone else: some people were sitting on the bench in the little sheltered area, others leaning on the sign posts, and some, like us,  just standing in the general vicinity of the bus stop. But when the bus pulled up, just like a well choreographed skit, everybody turned or stood up where they were and, voila! They formed a queue. 

If my husband and I had attended rehearsal instead of going out for haggis, we would have known what to do at the stop when our bus pulled up. I mean, if you're already standing and you just happen to be smack in front of where the bus doors open (accidentally, I might add) even though you arrived at the stop much later than the others, what's the protocol? Do you fold into the line behind people, or go to the very end, or decide that this is your lucky day and you're first? I was stumped, but I passively decided to just stay put (mistake #1) and turned to face the bus's open door rather than wandering down the line. A sturdy little woman with a head scarf and a folded umbrella standing next to me, the "real" first person in line, was obviously a local and knew the score. I decided I would try to offset mistake #1 by following her lead and not crowding my way onto the bus. I tried to act nonchalant.

As the bus unloaded, I stood back far enough to make room so people could pass by unimpeded. I certainly didn't want to play the role of Ugly American. At a break in the exiting stream of people, My Local Lady and the bus driver exchanged meaningful looks. I waited. The bus driver then said, "Now?" Slowly shaking her head she said firmly, "Not yet." Obviously, this was a little game they shared. I was intrigued. A few more passengers were then deposited onto the sidewalk. The trickle of riders coming out of the bus seemed to have dried up, but still nobody on the street moved toward the door. I was becoming confused. 

A fleeting thought that maybe I had misread the entire scene and all these people standing so orderly on the street were not even going to get on the bus after all, caused me to make mistake #2. In my anxious mood (I tend to get overly panicky in foreign countries), I pictured the bus closing its doors and rumbling down the street without us. I then committed the Big Faux Pas: I boldly made a move to get on the bus. My Local Lady said loudly and with certainty, "Not yet." Knowing that she had been speaking to me, I turned to face her and she said with her thick Scottish accent, "We don't get on till everyone has gotten off." (She could've added "you idiot", but she didn't.) I looked back up into the bus and sure enough a few more people made their way down the aisle and plopped out onto the sidewalk. The woman was psychic.

I decided that I had embarrassed myself enough, as well as reflecting poorly on American etiquette, and just waited, trying to look humble. I had been chastised and figured I would pay my penance by boarding last. However, a lovely man, third in line, gallantly stepped back a bit before entering the bus, gesturing with his hand that I was to go ahead of him. Blushing and relieved, I smiled and tried to sound as grateful as I felt as I thanked him.

So what, you may ask, was my husband doing this whole time rather than saving me from myself? Probably standing back, laughing. I've never had the nerve to ask. Since then, I have pretended that the incident never happened. 

Bus? What bus?

Do not attempt to board a bus with this woman!

That Which We Promise: Renewing Wedding Vows in Edinburgh, Scotland

Months ago, my husband and I decided we wanted to renew our wedding vows this year for our fifteenth wedding anniversary. I thought, Sure, why not. (Romantic, aren't I?) Where will we have the ceremony? When? Who will preside? Who will we invite? Will I wear my wedding dress? (It still fit if I didn't move my arms too much.) Will my husband rent a tux? Wear his suit? Photographer? Reception? How far are we going to take this thing?

Overwhelmed by lack of decisiveness, as is our way, we pretty much let the idea go, but every now and then would revisit the topic, only we would ask the questions in a different order just to keep things interesting. But still, only squishy resolution to come to some sort of decision would result.

Time goes by and it's now just a few weeks away from our anniversary. By this time, we had reduced the whole plan to just going out to dinner somewhere in town. We felt like cowards, losers. We had to have some sort of inspiration, didn't we? We weren't that burned out, were we?

Then, on a Friday evening, both of us exhausted from our week, I said something like, You know, we really should go somewhere out of town for our anniversary. Carmel? (We'd spent our honeymoon there.) Washington? (We'd been wanting to make a trip north.) My husband said, Scotland? And I said, why not?

We managed to make arrangements ahead of time for a vow renewal ceremony to take place at St. Giles' Cathedral in Old Town Edinburgh, after Sunday services (which also happened to be my husband's birthday),  with one of the church Ministers presiding. We invited no one (how are you going to bring a crowd all the way to Scotland?), wore "regular" clothes, brought our little point-and-shoot camera and had someone snap a few photos. The reception was high tea with a couple we know that lives in Edinburgh that we hadn't seen since our last trip in 2009.

But the ceremony! The ceremony was 15 minutes of tears and high emotions that we were both unable to contain and, I think, a bit surprised by. Speaking for myself, I hadn't realized how much I needed and wanted to hear my husband recommit himself to me and our marriage. Although we have had a great marriage, I found myself thinking, He really does want to stay with me! It's not just because he feels he has to. (Sorry, Honey....)

We sort of floated out of the cathedral when it was over, feeling lighter somehow. I keep going back to that day in my mind, remembering one of the best days of my life, my new touchstone.

Our 'little' wedding chapel in Edinburgh: St. Giles' Cathedral

St. Andrews, Scotland

The Royal & Ancient Golf Clubhouse at St. Andrews

I'm slowly working my way through video taken during our recent trip to Scotland. I don't have much in the way of editing tools so I find myself stuck with the raw video. Ah well. I'm learning a lot about what I should and shouldn't do next time.

This little movie of St. Andrews was taken after a harrowing drive from Edinburgh in a rental car. Thankfully, my husband was driving because we wouldn't have made it alive if I had been behind the wheel. Even though I began to get used to seeing people drive on the left side of the road, there is something forever cemented in my brain that kept screaming, "LOOK OUT! You're going to die because you're on the wrong side of the road!" I wish I was just being dramatic, but I'm not. I was a complete wreck by the time we got back to our flat that evening. My husband and I had a little heart-to-heart about avoiding rental cars as much as possible for the rest of our vacation. I had to voice my concerns tactfully so as not to insult his driving techniques. Being the wonderful man that he is, he took it all in stride.

On this particular day we ended up driving a little more than necessary because we kept missing turns that were clearly marked on our map, but not on the streets. Scotland's street signage is a little skimpy. We ended up winding around and going back and forth over the same roads until we finally got it right, only to find that the road didn't lead us to the place we were aiming for (we were looking for a particular hotel bar so we could stop and have a drink). We settled on second choice, the Rusack's Hotel, which is where you can hear silverware tinkling in the background (mine, as we were the only people in the bar at the time). We ordered a "full tea" for the equivalent of about $16 per person that consisted of ham and grated cheddar cheese on buttered white bread, cucumber and tuna fish salad on wheat bread, potato chips, various desserts that provided me with my first taste of clotted cream (yum!), and of course, tea. If our priority hadn't been the cultural experience we might've been a little annoyed at the price. You can just imagine that they saw us Yanks coming from a mile away and somebody said, "Quick! Get the tourists' menu out!"

The weather was windy and cold (you can hear the wind howling around us in the outdoor shots) with a few sprinkles thrown in for added effect. We shopped a little while there and bought some authentic St. Andrew's Golf Course paraphernalia as well as some Scottish tartan woolen throws. It is almost as difficult to find "made in Scotland" items as it is to find things "made in USA".

The town of St. Andrews is, to put it mildly, quaint. It reminded us of Carmel, California, which is one of our favorite places, although the median age of the buildings in St. Andrews has many hundreds of years on the buildings in Carmel. The sense of history in Scotland is just awe-inspiring. It was my first exposure to such a collection of ancient buildings, although I understand that that is the norm in  many countries. In California, we speak with pride about a building in Old Sacramento that was built in the 1850's. A contemporary build compared to what we saw in Scotland.

Downtown St. Andrews

Once again, I apologize for the amateur-level video, but I hope it gives you a taste of St. Andrews. Except for the car ride, I thoroughly enjoyed the day.

One Hour on a Bus in Edinburgh

Edinburgh City Bus Tour

I'm not very good with my video camera yet, but I thought I'd post the video I made during a city bus tour my husband and I took while in Edinburgh last month. It was a good introduction to the city and a good way to see some sights while still recovering from jetlag and our nightmarish experience on the plane. Our tour guide was a very friendly woman named Gwen, who we found typified most of the Scottish people we met while there. I highly recommend vacationing there.

Pop a dramamine and enjoy!

International Travel Nightmares: Come Fly With Me, Come Fly, Come Fly Away....

Recently, I boarded a plane with my husband to fly from San Francisco to Amsterdam, on our way to Edinburgh. We flew KLM, Royal Dutch Airlines. Do not let the name fool you. Royal Pain in the A-- Airlines would be more accurate. We flew Economy Class. Again, a misnomer. It's really Serf Class. But then, we were flying to Edinburgh so what could be more appropriate than to pretend we were serfs. The problem was that nobody checked first to find out if we were game. I, as it turned out, was not.

When it was time, we went to our gate and waited to be called for boarding. I was feeling more than a little apprehensive about the 10 hour flight and the 11 hour layover in Amsterdam before we would proceed to Edinburgh.  I asked my husband if the plane we’d be on was bigger than the planes I was familiar with (I admit I am a novice when it comes to flying). The most I'd done recently was a two hour flight to Tucson in a 737. He assured me it would be much bigger, but warned that it would also be a lot more crowded. I had no idea. It went something like this:

Our row is called. We shuffle down the long, narrow, stuffy ramp to the plane. A flight attendant at the door checks our boarding passes. We go thru a narrow opening into the Serf Class section of the plane. Another attendant is flagging people to their appropriate side of the plane to find their seat. Down we go, passing row after row of full seats that are incredibly close to an adjacent wall with small openings to kitchens and lavatories. Our seat numbers are in row 42. Way down, over the wings. Oh good, I naively think. Sitting up here across from this wall would feel so claustrophobic. Glad I'm not up here.

Row 42. Doesn’t look too bad, but wait. Our seats are not on the window side of the plane. They are in the middle, where the wall used to be; four seats all in a row. As I study how close the seat backs are from the seats in front of them, I figure I must be hallucinating. I’m flabbergasted. Before climbing in I start thinking about how it’s going to feel to have my head in that tiny space. After my husband wrestles our bags into the upper compartments, I take the bags I want handy and start stuffing them under the seat in front of me by drop-kicking them into place. I sink into my chair, start doing some deep breathing exercises, and whisper, “Oh God...” the sincerest prayer I’ve ever prayed. Once seated, I found that I couldn’t lean over far enough to touch my fingers to my ankles, and even to get this far my face smashes into the seat in front of me. The flight is 10 hours long, and I am literally wedged into a space designed to comfortably hold my 20 lb granddaughter. To make the flight even more enjoyable both of the people in the seats in front of us elect to immediately, and permanently, push their seat backs out of the upright position so that, if I wanted to, I could count the hairs on their heads to pass the time.

Eventually, a couple of hours into the flight, dinner was served. I was optimistic that we'd at least have something to do to pass the time for a little while and take my mind off my space problem. Not to be. To get the full effect of what we experienced during our meal here’s what you can do at home. Strap yourself into a dining room chair with another chair within 6 inches of your nose. Then put your arms at your sides and have someone tie them down at your elbows. Now have your helper put a small, flimsy plastic tray full of food on your knees. The challenge here is to actually get food on a tiny picnic-size utensil and lift it all the way to your mouth without flipping the food over your shoulder. Trust me. This is fun for the whole family.

After a few hours I realized what a joke it was thinking I was going to whip out my knitting and while away the hours working on a cap. In fact, I had put enough yarn in my carry-on for two caps. I didn’t even crack a book, let alone knit. How could I? I couldn’t reach the floor to pull out my bag, and even if we did somehow manage that, I didn’t have any extra space in my lap for my knitting needles.

Finally, it was time to attempt sleep. We were jumping ahead 9 hours from San Francisco to Amsterdam, so suddenly it was 2:00 in the morning. Time to pop an Ambien and whisper another prayer for at least semi-consciousness for a few hours. I managed to wiggle my eye mask out of my purse, and then in a complete act of defiance, I too tilted my seat back out of the upright position and tucked my 4 inch pillow behind my head. Well, God is indeed good, and I think my husband and I both managed to doze for a few hours. Enough to make the time go by quicker, but not nearly enough to meet the minimum FDA requirement.

At long last we land in Amsterdam. How odd we humans are. The people all around us were noticeably quiet during the flight (probably couldn't inhale enough oxygen to produce a sentence), but as soon as the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign was off and people began standing, there was a flurry of conversation. I overheard several people who had just spent the past 10 hours sitting next to each other, discussing what they were going to do in Amsterdam, who they were going to see, who they worked for, etc., as if it was suddenly safe to open up because the conversation could only last for the few minutes they had before leaving the plane. I, however, uttered only a few necessary words to my husband, thinking that if I could just hold on another few minutes, I could have my panic attack in the comfort of the airport terminal.

Well, we made it to Edinburgh and have been enjoying our visit. Two nights after we got here we called KLM. We've upgraded our seats on the way home to Business Class. It only cost us $5,000. Some things you just can't put a price on -- well, I guess you can. In this case, it's $5,000. When I get on the plane, I will still whisper a little prayer for all the serfs, but fortunately for me I will not be one of them.