Scotland - Day 1

My trip began with an unplanned ten hour layover at Charles DeGaulle International Airport and an additional two hour delay before I finally arrived in Edinburgh. I lost an entire day as a result. The only saving grace of being stranded in Paris was that I was able to have my favorite fromage and jambone on baguette sandwich and a beer while I was waiting. I was supposed to be the first of the group to arrive and wound up being second to last. Worked out fine, in a way, because I was able to greet my mom, sister, and god-mother at the airport. They had been stranded in Amsterdam for eight hours due to a delay. My brother and his family had arrived on time earlier and Tracey was already at the B&B awaiting my arrival.

I picked up my hired car, a VW Golf, and quickly got acquainted with the backward nature of UK autos. I rented a stick. Everyone thought I was nuts, but I'll be damned if it wasn't the most fun I have had driving. Everything is backward except for the clutch and brake pedal. Really, it wasn't difficult. After a week of driving, I figured out where the left side of the car was and stopped ricocheting off of curbs. I noticed after a day or two that the hubcaps were attached to the wheel rims with thick plastic ties. The secondary roads were a whole lot of fun to drive. Narrow and windy and fast. The tertiary roads, the ridiculously narrow one lane roads in much of the back country were an absolute blast.

My brother drove in an hour and half from Duns to pick up my mom and Janie and their luggage. My car was too small to fit everyone. Sarah, my sister, took the harrowing ride with me to Duns. It was dark. I was driving on the wrong side of the road and reaching for the gear shift with my right hand. The roads were really narrow. Fun. Fun. Fun. Sarah, courageous lass that she is, only reached for the "oh shit" handle a half dozen times. I bounced off two curbs and almost ran into the wall of a one lane stone bridge on a 90 degree turn. Things come up fast in the dark. There is something special about driving down a darkened country lane bordered on both sides by high stone walls. After a couple missed turns, we arrived at the Wheatsheaf in Swinton, Scotland at 11pm.

Tracey was waiting and frantic, thinking I had driven into a tree. She looked beautiful, more so after not having seen her since the first week of July. After a long hug and a brief unpacking, I dragged her down to the bar so I could have a well-deserved beer. A Deuchars IPA.