Surviving Air Travel that Includes Heathrow

The trip over to Scotland went about as planned.  We were scheduled to fly to Rejkavik then to Heathrow and on to Edinburgh where we would be picked up by a driver to take us to our hotel.

My plan for the first leg, which left at 7:30 pm CDT, was to don the sleeping mask, pop in the earplugs and snooze my way to Iceland.  Out of this huge 757 the only vacant seat on the plane was right next to me.  So I was able to stretch out, a real luxury. We were all set.

But I couldn’t sleep.  There were a couple little kids on the flight and I wanted to go play with them.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.  With the earplugs in all the sounds were, of course, muffled.  And the flight attendants were all from Iceland, which would make sense because we were flying, ahem, Icelandair.

If you haven’t heard anyone from Iceland speak, especially the women, they sound like fluent songbirds, interesting to the point of distraction because the language is like nothing I have ever heard.  I think I nodded off somewhere over Greenland and got a good, full half hour of sleep.

After a couple cups of coffee in the Rejkavich terminal amongst 300 middle school age kids, we hopped aboard another plane bound for Heathrow (Motto: “Welcome to Hell.”)

What a mess.  We walked for miles.  And this place where we had lunch was pure bedlam.

The living room (click on any image to enlarge)

But we made it to Edinburgh on schedule and have a simply beautiful setup at The Chester Residence, a series of apartments--original high ceilings, updated furnishings and an incredible staff.  And while the location is what is known as The West End, it was only a few blocks from the greatest milepost ever-the Edinburgh Castle.

Around the corner

We were hungry so we showered and wandered the streets until we found a fish and chips place a block from 'home' called La Campagnola.

In what we hoped was not a portend, we had a waitress that was barely understandable, a befuddling menu (anyone ever heard of a donner kebab?). When the food arrived, it was good, and when we got the bill for 21 pounds (I don't know how to do the symbol for pounds sterling), it seemed very reasonable.

So we paid and asked for directions back home (it was dark and we perhaps wandered a bit too far).

Suddenly the owner/cook discovered that the bill was incorrect (to our advantage), so we gladly paid the difference only to witness a dressing down of the waitress.

That was the last time we went to that place despite passing it every day at least once and seeing no further sign of the unfortunate young server.

Tomorrow--Plans

Plans

From something I just read:"We are constantly under the impression that life choices we made after careful planning should bring us expected results—happiness, security, contentment—and that with better choices, traumatic feelings that we have when dealing with loss, risk and uncertainty can be avoided."

To which I say, poppycock and balderdash.

Pith looked forward to this trip ever since the booking, focusing on details, well, except for details about the travel connections.  He is here to tell you that focusing on details, while sounding productive and being deeply, intensely involved, doesn’t always turn out positively.  Or at least that’s his rationale for not paying as much attention to them in the future.

One such detail is footwear.

The backstory.

But whither Bjork?

He has been having difficulty with his feet, in particular, his right foot, for the last three months or so. He didn't want this to negatively impact the trip which centered on St. Andrews, and of course, Bjork.
 

An ingrown toenail on the big toe combined with a sharp pain in the ball of the right foot made walking normally a challenge.

So here’s what he did.

He went to podiatry, a new experience.  There they performed the most amazing and unexpected thing.  (I wished that I had taken pictures for you, but here are the gory details.)

They prepared the toe by first applying lidocaine.  Then they forced a nerve blocking needle well into (through?) the toe.  They then stuck this huge needle down the length of the offending nail.  They bent, yes bent, the nail upwards and snapped off the ‘ingrown’ portion of the nail about the size of half a toothpick.

And then.

They took this long Q-tip dipped in some kind of acid and daubed it waaaay down in the ‘matrix’ of the nail, where the growth occurs.

After tidying up they then turned to the other foot issue, the ball of the foot.  They said this was caused by the second toe being a hammer toe.  They provided a little spongy toe ring to support the toe as well as some shoe inserts for supporting high arches.

When the nerve block wore off the pain was worse than before and no appreciable difference was discernible with the support of the second toe.

Limping around was the mode of operation for a couple of weeks before this trip and concern crept in as it was assumed correctly that the Pith's would be doing much walking.  But gradually, VERY gradually, things improved and made grand plans for footwear.

Not wanting to walk the sacred grounds of St. Andrews when it was squishy, Muck boots were in order.  These things are incredible at keeping out water.  However, they are likewise incredible when it comes to weight and lack of support.  They are like walking on steel planks.

One bit of advice was to wear all one’s heavy garments on the plane so as not to weigh down one’s luggage.  So these boots were worn on the plane.

The problem was that there was no need for keeping feet dry on the plane or in airports and we trekked at least 24 miles through Heathrow airport.  Also because walking was not foremost on my mind during the travel day, I didn’t wear the toe support.

By the time we reached Edinburgh, the 'pups' were 'barking'.

For walking I brought these wonderful highly recommended shoes called Hoka One One (on the left above).  I love these shoes!  They are not, however, made for wet weather.

If there is any place that has wet weather, it is Scotland. In November.

So despite all this forethought and detailed planning, the shoe wear selections were correct, but the application exactly backwards--waterproof boots when it is dry; walking shoes when it is wet.

The best laid plans . . .

Next: In Search of our Bearings

In Search of our Bearings

Arriving in a place after an absence of, oh, 25 years, can be disorienting.  Doing so at night even more so and our little sojourn to the take out fish and chips place the evening before made us want to get our perspectives straightened out.

When daylight made its presence felt, defined in Scotland as a murky, gloomy, hazy, dim luminosity, we set out.  One would think that having the Edinburgh Castle as a milepost which can be seen for miles would help but we struggled with directions as there was no sun to guide us and we couldn’t figure out which way to hold the map.  So we surely looked like a couple of lost souls masquerading as hayseeds.

So instead we decided to stop for breakfast at this lively place.  This was a small place near one of the main drags of the city and it was packed with Scots.  Some appeared to be friends just catching up with one another mid-morning; some business meetings; one weird collection of a formally dressed family meeting for the first time apparently.

One thing they all had in common?  The Scots are animated, lively and loud in their conversations.

And then we pressed on to the castle.

Where we saw this cute car. As it was parked on the huge lot in front of the castle we presumed its owner, while probably not the Queen, was associated with the enterprise.

And, yes, the castle is imposing, imbued with a rich and bloody history.  But we were intrigued with the plethora and diversity of visitors--every age, language, ethnicity, seemed to be represented.

And the views, oh the views!

And tour groups were everywhere.  There is one down by the phone booths.  Phone booths?  How quaint!

We strolled down the Royal Mile, stopping to tickle David Hume's big toe.  He remained unamused.

We sauntered further down the Royal Mile, stumbling in to a lunch spot called Whiski.

As this pic was purloined from their website our visit did not include a Scottish band, however, we sat next to a couple of Bostonian entrepreneurs who were finalizing a Board of Directors for an invention of theirs that, get this, is a hand-held device that can detect molecular changes in the body.  One of them lost a sister to ovarian cancer, which gave birth to this idea.

While they were on business, they were not immune to the pleasures of Scotland, namely haggis.

And their research led them to Whiski because it was reputed to be the best place for this delicacy.  After tasting it, they kept exclaiming, "It tastes just like Bob Evans sausage" no doubt making the proprietors cringe.

 Our bellies full, we schlepped out way back 'home.'  And promptly fell asleep.  While we did not encounter anything Bjork-related, Pith had this nagging feeling that we were getting closer to this dream.

Next:  A Memorable Anniversary

A Memorable Anniversary (Part I)

120 months.  10 years.  However it is measured, the time since our wedding has gone by so very fast.

We took a road trip to celebrate.  The trip was pitched as a tour of the Highlands with stops in a couple of little towns, a waterfall, the Queen's View and concluded with a stop at a scotch whiskey distillery for a tour and a ‘wee dram’.

And so we went all in.

Our point of demarcation was a small, hectic filled little coffee shop chock full of folks waiting for their tour bus. The opportunity for coffee and pasties was too tempting to pass up.

The first stop was in Dunkeld where we explored a beautiful little cathedral located near the River Tay.  As with most Scottish history, it had more than a tinge of the madness of war and slaughter in the name of greed and power.  It seemed so out of place and possibility in this bucolic setting.

The next stop was the Hermitage and its spectacular waterfall.  It was at this point that we remarked to each other that things were beginning to look a lot like home.

This particular waterfall could easily have been located on the Black River in the Upper Peninsula.

We then stopped at little place called Pitlochery (‘pit’ and ‘loch’ have their own special history) for lunch and then further on in to the Highlands, which were SPECTACULARLY BEAUTIFUL.  (We want to go back and spend more time there.)

On the return we visited a whisky distillery in Aberfeldy, that included (ahem) a tasting.  We are bringing home a whole bottle’s worth of tastings, a fair amount of knowledge about distilling scotch, and even a piece of a barrel stave to turn in to pens.

Our guide for the distillery tour, Dennis, used his ample brogue as well as his long term experience with the spirits to make the tour fascinating.  Here he is near the end of the tour at a special tasting of 24 year old scotch.

Tomorrow:  An Anniversary to Remember (Part 2), The Angels' Share.

A Memorable Anniversary (Part II)

When last we left this rambling description of our 2015 trip to Scotland and Iceland (in search of Bjork, by way of reminder), we were at the Abernatthhhhhhhy Distillery, a subsidiary of DeWar’s Scotch Whiskey emporium.

Specifically we referred to the Angels' Share.  Following is the Pith version of it.  For those of you nodding off at the mere thought of such a discourse, I understand.

Scotch has just three ingredients--water, yeast, and barley.  After the distilling process a clear liquid with about a 70% alcoholic level.  It is then placed in oak, or sometimes other wood casks to age.  It is there that scotch whiskey obtains its color.

Here’s the rub.  While in the cask, it begins to evaporate at the rate of about 2% per year.  The pic to the left demonstrates this aging and evaporation process. As I recall the cask on the left has aged 12 years and the one on the right has aged 24 years.

The increased cost of 24 year old scotch is caused by 1) the supply is reduced through evaporation; 2) the storage costs, and 3) the flavor absorbed by additional time in the cask.

The Scots have dubbed the evaporated portion of the cask as The Angels' Share. Some clever lads made a movie out of this process and, like scotch, it's pretty good.

Two things about this charming little story:

1. An actual biological phenomenon occurs as a result of the process of distilling, fermenting, and the evaporation of whisky--in addition to the actual whiskey of course.  One can smell it in the immediate vicinity of the distillery--a distinctly pungent, not unpleasant, aroma.  But also interesting, at least to us me was the fact that trees in the immediate vicinity form this black fungus as a result. 2. A wonderful little movie, of course available on Netflix was made about the distillery process and specifically about the Angels' Share.  The movie, cleverly, is called The Angels' Share.

Here is our guide, Dennis, who explains the cask opening.

We came away with some whiskey, which we have christened the Hodag’s Share.  Marketing it this way in Scotland will no doubt prove challenging.

It was a long, long ride back to Edinburgh and arrived well after dark, tired and not a little dirty. But still we stopped in the 'hood for a surprisingly delightful French dinner. Perhaps the best part was that the maitre d' kept apologizing for seating us in our own room. It made it even more special.

Halloween

We spend a quiet evening last night watching a movie, reviewing the fourth day, learning how to speak Scottish, and just generally relaxing.

I asked a local if Halloween was spent by children dressing up in costumes and trick or treating. He informed that indeed they did. When I asked him if they received candy he said, "Yes, but mostly money." I then reconsidered my plans for the evening.

Unfortunately several of our neighbors decided to have a Friday night Halloween party.  A Scottish party evidently involves HOURS of loud rambling incoherent discourse.  Simply closing the windows solved the problem.

The following morning our normally (except for the previous evening) quiet, little neighborhood turned into an impromptu (?) concert this morn.

About quarter ‘til nine we were in mid-coffee when the sound of a goose being throttled coursed through the rooms.

As Ms. Pith remarked,  the sound of bagpipes is so much more enjoyable when played outdoors.  Her conjecture is that the hotel provided this ‘entertainment’.

The day was yet another in a series of drizzly ones.  The plan was to scope out the Haymarket rail station for tomorrow’s trip to St. Andrews, check out the Farmer’s Market, check out Greenmarket Square and the the Scottish Historical Museum.

As we immediately set out my feet felt fine, but as we approached the station, a mere four or five blocks from the residence, my hips reminded me of my age and my walk turned in to a stroll which devolved into a lurching stumble punctuated by frequent bench stops.  By the time we hit Greenmarket I was balking at taking another step.

So we sauntered our way back through the Princes Street gardens, where much to our surprise the crocus was in bloom. Ultimately we found lunch at Harry’s near our temporary digs.

We hope to rest the hips in order to be ready for tomorrow’s jaunt around the Old Course and the continuing quest for Bjőrk. One may deduce that we are getting closer as the Pith has finally figured out how to properly key in the letter 'o' in her name, or rather the letter ő.

A Dream Fulfilled (HINT: It's not (yet) Bjőrk)

When morning broke, so did the clouds, as well as my foot difficulties.

My step was liltier; my hips were cooperative; the sky was gentle; the neighborhood was devoid of bagpipes and we were on our way.

The morning train to Leuchars swept through an array of scenery--pastoral, oceanic, suburban, and finally to our destination.  We were accompanied in our train car by numerous little boys dressed for what turned out to be rugby wear--bright colors, artful socks and full of tons of energy for an early Sunday morning.

Upon arrival at the train station in Leuchars the train cars disgorged about 50 of these athletes readying themselves for their respective contests. I suspect the train was powered, at least in part, by the energy fed to it from these teams. Their adult supervisors could barely keep up.

These same little guys caught the same bus to St. Andrews.  When we arrived, the boys got off one stop ahead of us.  At our stop, a few hundred yards down the road, we asked the driver for directions to the golf course and it was just around the corner to the left.  We walked 75 steps AND THERE WE WERE!

I have yet to figure out the feeling of arrival at, what for me is as close to a sacred place--the combination of history and golf--as can be.  The weather could not have been better--cool and calm.

As was mentioned in a previous post, a Scottish tradition (law?) of a 'right to roam' applies virtually everywhere. It also applies on this sacred ground. Each Sunday (when there is no tournament) the course 'rests' and no play is allowed. Instead visitors of all ages roam the fairways and greens and bunkers accompanied by dogs, strollers, tennis balls and anything else they deem necessary it seemed.

So we set off, taking pictures of each tee area, each view down the fairway, and each green along with anything else that caught our eye.  
Several others were doing the same, or just strolling, some with dogs, which of course we had to greet.

The course and the outer path were dotted with Sunday morning naturists--joggers, bikers, walkers.

By the time we made the loop and headed toward the clubhouse it was nearing noon and the place started to fill up, but still there couldn’t have been more than a hundred doing what we were doing.  We saw a dozen or so dogs and they were acting as if they were waiting all week for this.  I know the feeling.  I had been waiting more than 50 years.

We lingered near the 17th, the road hole and dawdled our way up the 18th.  We climbed the hill behind the clubhouse and ate lunch at Hotel du Vin (Motto:Stuffy and Pretentious but Good Food).

We took our time returning, made our way to the train station for the return and caught some returning rugby players who look none the worse for wear. Thinking back perhaps what struck me the most were the sounds. Not that I expected harps and violins to be accompanying us on the course, but the sounds we heard were normal Sunday sounds of people relaxing--chasing dogs, joggers, and yes, the nearby rugby games along with motocross racers in the distance.

When we arrived back 'home', Ms. Pith started feeling 'a wee bit dodgy' so I went out to find some relief in the form of ginger ale.

At the grocery store I had the following exchange with the cashier:

Scott (the Scot):  Are you visiting?

Pith: Yes

Scott: Where are you based?

Pith: Wisconsin

Scott smirks

Pith:  I see you have heard of Wisconsin.

Scott: Yes, I watch a lot of The Daily Show.

Thus endeth a very memorable day despite no sight of Bjőrk.

The Highlands Call Us Again

We loved our Rabbie’s trip to the highlands that we chose to take another on a last day in Scotland. Well, we were also tired from all the walking we had been doing so we sort of wanted to take it easy on this last full day, so we booked another excursion with Rabbie's. This one was to take us further in to the Highlands and would include yet another quest to conquer, the Loch Ness Monster, and promised to have us back in Edinburgh by 8 pm.

Our driver was Mike, a grandfatherly sort, as he informed us on the tail end of the journey that he was, indeed, a grandfather.  More on that later.

After an hour and a half our first stop was Kilcarneypitlochturniken, or something like that.  It was here that Mike advised us to pick up sandwiches instead of  selecting from subpar choices at Fort Augustus (where the Loch Ness cruise departs), or worse, on the boat itself.

The little sandwich shop he recommended could not have been better as the following images will

 
confirm.  We even picked up a chicken and leek pie for a morning snack. (Blood sugar spike here we come!)

Onward we preceded through mountainous scenery thought impossible to exist in Scotland.  Each turn was more breath taking than the last, accompanied by tales of wars and movies, and movies about wars, and clans and wars, warring clans and wars within clans. We stopped often enough to grab some photos and lingered to take in the views.

We then made our way north to St. Augustus and a chance to see the Monster of Loch Ness.  Should these rambling benedictions be Loch Pith?  Nessie Pith?

No longer had we left the dock when, miraculously, Nessie made an appearance! Shouts of joy and surprise could be heard echoing about the ship.  And I was able to snap an image of her/him/it..

I can confirm that the following image is straight from the camera, unretouched, unaltered and not enhanced in any way.  For proper validation, Ms. Pith can also confirm the same.

Actually one of the more interesting parts of the two hour cruise was the geology. The map to the left will help to explain the following. The coastline of Scotland is rugged and diverse. This feature, particularly on the North Sea side made the islands difficult to access by any means. The roads were non-existent save for some sheep paths. And ships would take days under dangerous, if not treacherous conditions, particularly in winter to make the trip to the other side of the country.

This kept the communities and islands virtually isolated.


Eventually it was determined that a particular geological feature, that of long, narrow lakes existed and that if they could be connected with a series of locks (not the lake) and dams it would save time money and lives.

The engineer who made this determination estimated that it would take 5 years and several million dollars (or their equivalent) to create this link.

You already guessed what happened. It took 40 years and billions of whatever they were to finish the project. Worse, by the time it was completed, so were the roads, which gave quicker and safer access to the little cities.

So what to do with this expensive project. The answer is tourism. River cruises flourish and Loch Ness (the circle on the map to the left) is along that chain of long, narrow lakes. And did I mention that it is deep? 85 feet deep.

The sonar to the right illustrates the depth and width of Loch Ness. The bold arrow on the upper left of the image is where our ship's location appears and is dwarfed by the walls of the waterway. Nessie was evidently still on the surface.


Having achieved two of our three goals (St. Andrews, and Loch Ness with only Bjork, I mean Bjőrk remaining) and having basked in the glory that is Nessie, we fairly levitated our way to our waiting coach and headed the four hours back to our base in Edinburgh.

After a stop in Pitlochry and a decaf coffee and a HUGE chocolate chip cooking (blood glucose approaching 150 (est.)), we set out for our home base.

As we approached Edinburgh someone asked a question about the September referendum in Scotland asking the citizens whether or not they would like Scotland to be independent of the UK.  In fact, the question was that simple.  Would you like Scotland to be independent of the United Kingdom?

Mike, a ‘No’ voter gave a clear, impartial recitation of both sides of the question including some of the background.

The question itself had to be approved by the Westminster Parliament.  The date the ‘Yes’ voters wanted was denied as being too controversial. (It was the anniversary of an historical uprising.)  16 and 17 year olds were approved to participate in the vote although barred from other elections.

This group included two of Mike’s grandsons who voted albeit with some concern on the part of their grandmother, Mike’s wife. The referendum failed, but there is some feeling in the country that it will come up again, Parliament permitting, and eventually pass.

We decided to spend our last night with a whisky nightcap, trundling to bed about midnight awaiting a 4:30 am wake up call for the airport, Iceland and Bjőrk.