On Wednesday May 9, Katrina and I hopped on a 7:17am train to Schipol, hoping and praying we wouldn't hear the dreadful words "Schipol niet" on the way, knowing that we really didn't ourselves much wiggle room in case of delays. We arrived at the airport at 8:38am, leaving us what normally would be plenty of time to join the other travelers in the chaos of security, finding your gate, and hiding your slightly over-sized carry on from the attendants as you push your through the doors to the outdoor stairway to the plane with the bright orange letters of "EasyJet.com" plastered on each side.
Unfortunately for us, we were traveling to the UK, which means passport checks. Since we now had our visas, we didn't think this would be an issue-- that is, until we realized there were 4 lines open for EU passports and 1 for non-EU passports. Naturally, the bulk of the travelers that Wednesday morning were non-EU residence and also had flights around 10am to catch. So, we waited patiently until we were called to the next available passport check desk. Katrina went first. There I sat, watching Katrina thumb through her wallet for the proper identification documents. Suddenly, I saw the color disappear from her face and the check pick up the phone. He then waved me up and Katrina explained the situation-- she had never picked up her actual visa, just had the letter that said "Hey you, come pick up this little pink card for your last month in Europe. Sincerely, you're screwed if you don't." Somehow Katrina overlooked that part of the letter and figured the very official looking envelope with the official-type letter was our visa. The man asked to see my visa, so I handed him the pink card, complete with yet another unflattering mug shot to identify me by. Another official passport check guy arrived and took us to the backroom where they looked in the system to see if Katrina was actually studying here. Twenty-minutes later, he arrived back bearing good news: Katrina had indeed been studying here since January! I wished the man a nice day and we proceeded to our gate. Pause: where did security go? Well, the Netherlands has this all figured out-- you separate security so that not all of your travelers for all of your flights are fed through one security check point (I suggest they consider doing this for their passport checks as well). So, our gate had its own security and we made it just in time to wait for 10 minutes to board our flight. And then we were officially off to see Scotland!
We arrived in Scotland just before 11am, traded our now seemingly worthless euros for pounds and pents, and hopped on a double-decker shuttle to the center of Edinburgh. When we arrived, we walked down the Royal Mile and down a side street to our hostile. Yes, that's right, I sucked it up and stayed in another hostile. It's really the only way to go when traveling in a pair, because hotels are too expensive and sleeping in an airport just didn't cut it for LaRae and I earlier in the semester.
It was a beautiful day to walk around the city and see what Scotland was all about. And that we did, finding kilts, bagpipes, Harry Potter's birthplace, Greyfriar's, and haggis all in the first day. This country was perfect in every way. We were told the weather would be horrible, but it was perfect for a stroll through the city of Edinburgh. For dinner, we met up with a childhood friend of Katrina's for a good old-fashioned Scottish meal: haggis, tattes, and something else I can't spell or remember. Now, what is this meal? I asked Katrina the same thing earlier that evening but all she managed to "remember" was that it was cooked in sheep intestines. Alright, I can deal with that. I've consumed stranger things, and besides, it's not like I was actually eating the sheep intestine, right? False. The truth is, I had just consumed sheep intestines that were cooked in a sheep's stomach (don't worry, they reassured me the sheep was not living when they used its stomach as a cooking cauldron), mashed potatoes, and mashed turnips. Strange as it may seem, it was probably my favorite "traditional" meal of the countries I traveled to this semester. It was really good, and you know what made it better: half price, because we got the "beautiful American who knows music" discount (namely Katrina was able to name the band playing in the pub and the waiter gave us our meals half price). Nothing like BOGO sheep intestines to woo a couple of American beauties.
Thursday we woke up to what Scotland is actually all about: rain. That day we had intended to climb Arthur's Seat and do a ton of walking, which we did, but it mostly included walking in and out of cafes, H&M, and souvenir shops. This would have been a bit more upsetting if I wouldn't have already seen most of the city the day before and known that the next day I would be heading up to Loch Ness and the Highlands. Besides, I was prepared for the rain-- umbrella, boots (no heels, learned my lesson in London), and a rain jacket. We ate dinner in the birthplace of Harry Potter and then headed back to our hostile to get ready for the pub crawl later that evening. Around 7:30pm we headed to the lounge and met our fellow crawlees and our leader-- most of which (including our leader) were Australians. We headed off to a "sister" hostile, met up with some more crawlees and their leader (a Frenchman) and then hit up the pubs. I always wonder what locals think when they see large groups of clueless tourists waltzing around their hometowns. I know if I saw a bunch rookies running around Nampa, jay-walking, and shouting in foreign languages (OK, the Scottish people speak English, but it sounds funny--very attractive but funny-- and pretend they don't for the sake of my visual), I would be shaking my head for days. With all the fun we were having (especially at the karaoke bar!) the night flew by and an 8am tour departure would roll around just as rapidly, so we departed and hit the hay.
Sure enough, 8am came very, very quickly, when we were greeted by our loud-mouthed, hilarious but occasionally inappropriate (but overlooked due to that killer accent), kilt-wearing tour guide. Naturally, I spent the first hour and a half (plus a few other much-needed cat naps throughout the day) sleeping as the tour guide explained bits of information about the scenery my beloved companion, Katrina, would fill me in on when I awoke. We arrived in a small village, grabbed some coffee, and made our way to Loch Ness. There we were given the option to hop on a boat and get a "full" tour of Loch Ness or spend an hour and a half exploring the city. Now, tell me, if a person really believed there was a monster in this Loch, what would possess them to hop on a boat to venture into its territory? No thanks, I'll stick to the land and if the monster decides to pay us a visit, I can witness it from the safety of the land. Katrina and I instead chose to eat fish and chips by the lochs of loch ness and bask in the misty glory of the Scottish highlands. We then continued our tour out west to see the beautiful mountains of the highlands (see my facebook to see for yourself-- incredible!).
On our final night in Edinburgh we decided we had to try some Scottish whiskey. After all, our tour guide only spent about half of the tour debriefing us on proper whiskey consumption. So, we headed to a pub just down the street, where we stumbled upon a very generous businessman from the States who wanted to share his 30lb tab with us. We asked the bartender for a suggestion, and he handed us a whole menu of whiskey. These people sure do know and love their whiskey!
Now, the answer to my blog title: What does good scotch have in common with blue cheese and men?
Well, the older the better, the first taste wasn't the best (we had a "young-ish" one), but it takes time to find one you love.
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