A Castle, a Clan, a City and a Song

On Friday night, my roommates Eileen, Claire, and Lauren and our hallmates John and Sunil set out to find Aldgate Station, from whence we hoped to travel on an overnight bus to Edinburgh. I packed up my backpack, brushed my teeth and put in my retainer, ready to take on the world and my first real college-backpacking-adventure. It was only for a day (night bus back Saturday night) but it had the makings of an adventure the likes of which I have only dreamt.

Background: I am 25%ish Scottish. My mother has oft expatulated about Clan Baird, and how one of our own invented TV. I never really understood/cared until, of course, I found myself in Scotland desperately seeking to claim heritage.

Second, earlier that week I had heard that my second favorite currently-active band Carbon Leaf (Favorites in Order: The Police [inactive]; Nightwish [active]; Carbon Leaf [active]) was performing at Notre Dame, which means of course I would miss it. I. Was. CRUSHED. (grr irony grr.) BUT! In an act of unparalleled chutzpah I found a general email for them on their website and emailed them that they HAD to play a song for me, because the timing in this world is too cruel.

Third, when I am tired/smelly/gross looking I don't anticipate guys hitting on me. When it's 12:30am at a bus pit stop, I don't anticipate guys hitting on me. And when I am tired/smelly/gross and stretching my legs at a bus pit stop at 12:30am, I figure I'm just about as attractive as a mouldy beetroot.

But back to Aldgate. Now, I'm of the opinion that this "bus station" (as it calls itself) doesn't exist. I've never seen it. I spent an hour and a half running around central London looking for it Friday night, and it never appeared. The pre-bus travel was one of those situations in life when you know too many chiefs won't bode well for travel bonding, so I lemminged my way around and let everyone else decided where we were going. I tried not to be bothered when our departure time came and went, and so when Aldgate inconveniently disaparrated to Tahiti, I was down for taking a taxi to Victoria Station and meeting the bus there for its second leg.

We met the bus, boarded, and attempted to sleep. I say attempted with a bit of sarcasm. 50+ week-weary people packed into your average coach bus for 10 hours isn't EXACTLY the greatest place to hit REM. Especially not when the guy in charge of the bus tries to tell you your ticket isn't for this bus (har har har) and then explains that your armrest is what we would call "CAH-PUTT!" I'll leave the rest of the drive up to interpretation.

About 5am I awoke, looked out the window, and said, "Yak." I was heartily confused because 1) I was on a bus 2) I had no idea where I was 3) about 63% of my body had fallen asleep and 4) I was staring at animals I though didn't exist in Europe. Maybe I HAD gotten on the wrong bus.

Turns out my morning greeters were "Scottish highlands cows."


Fig. 1

Strange. When we finally reached the station, the six of us piled out and onto the streets of Edinburgh - AND THE WORLD!! We walked around for a good bit, looking for a place to eat. The first thing I noticed was a very castley-looking thing on a hill above everything else. Precision deduction led me to believe this was, in fact, the Edinburgh Castle. It's in the opening pic, but I love this shot below because of the juxtaposition of old and new.



Our first stop was a restaurant called The Filling Station, which we learned after the fact is a route-66 Americana themed diner. We were so hungry/tired, though, we didn't really care. I had Classic Scottish Porridge. It was lovely.



After breakfast we scaled the cliffs and toured the Castle. I bought an audio guide to go along with my entry ticket (these one-way information radios are really starting to grow on me).



Thus began the most amazing oh-my-God-I-can't-believe-it's-a-real-castle experience of my life. The whole no royal history in America thing plus my time-tested obsession with Lord of the Rings culminated in me walking around with my mouth literally hanging open, muttering to myself about kings and queens actually living here once upon a time, in a bit of a shock that something like this exists and is real and isn't just a model built by Weta Workshop.







The views were jaw-dropping







My favorite part was St. Margaret's Chapel. It was built by King David I in order to honour (britspell) his mother, who was Catholic. (I'm always a sucker for anything old and Catholic). It was later converted into a magazine when Cromwell took over, and is now used for christenings and weddings for members of the Scottish military. We actually saw a bride and groom going in when we were leaving. Cool note: since we were there on a Saturday, there were a number of weddings going on, and most of the grooms and male attendees were wearing kilts.







I got to see the "Honours," or crown jewels of Scotland. I also got to see this guy talk about Scotland in 1822. His talk was in the "Great Hall."







Edinburgh Castle: One of the top-five coolest places I've ever been. After the castle we walked down High Street and ran into about 58 statues and dedications to Sir Walter Scott. Do I have any idea what he did? No. But I appreciate that in Scotland he's a PBD. I dragged everyone into a Tartan-weaving store, where I found a scarf knit with the plaid of Clad Baird! Arr! The store itself was cool, and you could see how they weave the tartan!





Baird Tartan! ARR! (I don't know why the Bairds suddenly sound like pirates. But they do.)





We walked around the city, enjoying the sights and soaking up the ehm-bee-ence.





For mid-afternoon tea we went the The Elephant Room, a cafe. Now, a certain writer made this cafe famous for writing large chunks of her novels here. Cue Amanda gasping.





We sat in the back were Rowling would sit and write, with a great view of the Castle out the window. Visions of Hogwarts?







Early evening Eileen decided we should go on a ghost tour. Now, I don't do scary movies. They do, in fact, scare me. They don't gross me out or make me laugh or entertain me, they just scare me. I think there's enough evil in this world without us using it as entertainment or to freak ourselves out for kicks. But I decided, since I'm abroad and "trying new things," I'd go on the ghost tour.



There were about twenty in the group. We paid our 7lbs and were ushered into a stone hallway in the back of an old building, supposedly a remnant of an old bridge. There were no lights save the tourguide's flashlight, which she shone on her face. She began, "Now, one of the scary things that can happen is that during a tour you will hear loud, even footsteps," which she demonstrated. "They never slow down or stop, they just keep moving. People call the owner of these steps The Watcher. Now, I will tell you as a tour guide, when you are standing up here and talking, and you know no one is moving, and you can hear the footsteps behind the crowd but can't see anyone coming up, it's quite unnerving."

That was it. "Can I go?" I asked as my hand shot up. "Can I just...go now?" I swiftly moved through the crowd and out of the door back the way we came as the tourguide shouted "You can get a refund at the office!" I ran onto the street, into the sunlight...and burst into tears. I. Hate. Scary. Things. I decided to walk up and down High Street while I waited for my doomed comrades. I went into about every touristy highlandian shop there was, and bought a CD of Scottish fiddle music for 3lbs. Way better way to spend my money, as far as I'm concerned.

After the troops returned from the dungeons, we decided to go to "The Monument." I still don't know what The Monument is for/to, but it is a bunch of classic pillars on a hill in the corner of the city. At first glance I was a little skeptical of walking all through the city just to get to a monument dedicated to something we didn't even know, but as we came up on it, all worry was lost. It was, in fact, the perfect way to close the day. The six of us sat around the pillars, staring out over Edinburgh, recouting tales of our adventures during the day, and being, literally, on top of the world.















We were running short on time so instead of gamely seeking out some authentic Scottish foodstuffs, we went back to The Filling Station, which we knew the directions to the bus station from and knew wouldn't break the bank. I had fish & chips. Again, delicious.



We made our way back to the bus station as I resigned myself to another night of 2 hours of shotty sleep. When we hit our first pitstop I got out and used the bathroom. Before I walked back I looked in the mirror and had one of those Mia Thermopolis "Well, this is as good as it's gonna get" moments, taking in my greasy hair and remnants of the make-up I put on 24 hours ago. On my way back to the bus a guy looking a few years older, nice eyes, with a think accent asked, "Are you American?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Where are you from?"
"Denver, Colorado."
"What are you doing here?"
"Studying abroad in London..."
And we both sorta looked around...
"You are...a singer?" I then occured to me that I had been telling John on the bus all about being a voice major. I realized at that moment I probably had not been talking as quitely as I had supposed. (You may all now roll your eyes.)
"Yeah...where are YOU from?"
"Guess."
"I dunno...eastern Europe?"
"*mumble*"
"Turkey?"
"Italy."
"ITALY! Cool."
and then it happened.
"Do you have a phone number?"
"I...what?...OH NO SORRY HAVE TO GO BYE."

And then I realized I had been sleep flirting in front of the bus with this guy for about two minutes. I ran back into the bus, thoroughly embarassed, and fell asleep.

We returned to Victoria Station at 7:30am. After a series of Tube-related disasters (does EVERYTHING have to close on Sunday?) we returned to the flats and I opened my email. I found one titled thus: "CARBON LEAF READ YOUR EMAIL AND DEDICATED A SONG TO YOU." My eyes pretty much popped out of my scull as I read my friend's recount of how the lead singer read my email to the crowd and then dedicated the song "Block of Wood" to me. And then I realized it really HAS been the greatest weekend ever. I got an email reply from Barry, Carbon Leaf's esteemed vocalist, thanking me for my note and wishing me luck in London. HOW DO THESE THINGS HAPPEN? HOW'D I GET SO GORRAM BLESSED??

And a good time was had by all!