Hamish the Highland Bull: Scotland

I never know quite where to leap into a thing. The beginning is too predictable, but anywhere else is disorienting. And the end, well, the end is usually King’s Cross Station.

Anyways, there we were on a train racing through the British countryside in a manner not at all unlike the Hogwarts Express. The scenery was lovely but only so entertaining for so long before some manner of diversion was called for. Thus: Degrees. A game tentatively based over Six Degree of Kevin Bacon, but since none of us (the group being comprised of Chloe, Sarah from Belgravia, and I) knew enough about Kevin Bacon films (Footloose! Dirty Dancing? The one where the… Midwestern kids fight… the Commies?) or cared that much about how many links it took to get to our destination, we ended up with things like Pontius Pilot to Martha Stewart and Anne Boleyn to Matthew Fox. Great fun.

Then we arrived in Edinburgh, navigated to our hostel and grabbed something to eat: I ordered a “Cheeseburger” which was actually ground beef mixed with cheese and grilled into a sort of patty but not that bad. We then stumbled upon a Ghost Tour led by a charismatic graduate student and signed up.

Which means I can now add “Gone on a Tour of Haunted Edinburgh” to the list of things I have done accidentally, which so far includes rock climbing (It was Emily’s fault, as if you had to ask) and how to make successful nachos.

The tour was neat and more historical than terrifying. Saturday we got up early for our tour of the Highlands. I am privileged to have seen a lot of really beautiful places in the last two decades, but none compare to the Scottish highlands. They’re just beyond gorgeous. And they have sheep and little lambs and great furry beasts called Highland cattle, one of which we got to meet and pet at a tourist trap (his name is Hamish, hence the title).

Our guide Steve (who was kilt-less but assured us that he usually had traditional Scottish garb and had only the other night sat in a bowl of guacamole but assured us that it was a great party nonetheless [side side note: I have never gotten the deal with kilts. I wore one for five years at Agnes Irwin as find them thoroughly uninteresting]) started off the tour with “And here you have Edinburgh castle, built in1985 out of match sticks for a school project. Good, are you awake?”

The weekend was outlandishly gorgeous, like some of the best weather since I’ve been in the UK, which was terrific except when we got to Loch Ness. It looked like a lake on a sunny day. Which it was. People were canoeing and everything. It was not at all mysterious and did not look liable to harbor a monster of any sort.

That night we ate at the Conan Doyle pub of Sherlock Holmes fame and meandered the city a bit before retiring. Sunday morning we toured Edinburgh Castle and shopped a bit before catching the six hour train back. At no point did I eat Haggis, but I don’t feel that bad because tour guide Steve said it’s not a real local dish anyways.