Amazing Grace, bagpipes, Nessie, a kilt, and a van.

What I am about to write will be about mostly my positive views and experiences in Scotland, with a touch of psychological musings on my girlfriend’s family, who I traveled with. Most are also positive, I might add. The first being I don’t know what the hell “Scotts from Scotts” means. They said it probably a hundred times in three days. I Googled it: found no results. I chose this name for the post just to amuse them. Her family has dozens of made-up sayings that they apply liberally to any situation, often regardless of, or even forsaking context. They are a lovable, eccentric, and lively bunch, but I’m going to try and stay on track here. I mention them because they were an integral part of the experience, as is the case with anyone you travel with.

Scotland was the first leg of a multi-week journey through Paris, London, Budapest, and Albania. In total one of the least relaxing travels I have ever had for many small reasons and one big one. But those tales can be told another day. I was accompanied on my journey to Edinburgh by Monika’s dad and brother. Monika, her mom, and grandmother were already there after spending a few days in London. We stayed in a hotel near old town Edinburgh. The hotel was nice but also old and artsy. The rooms and hallways were all differing in size and shape but everything was well renovated. The interior felt like a Wes Anderson movie.

As fun as the hotel was, the neighborhood was more charming. In a Medieval way. Steep, curved, cobblestone streets all led to a castle on top of a hill. All the buildings were stone as well, either well preserved or well disguised from another age. Many had sharp spires poking holes in the clouds. Most had ornate facades with sculpted stone and gargoyles (or grotesques, depending on the existence of water drainage). Effort had clearly been made to retain some of the old magic, with bagpipes playing Amazing Grace, actors dressed as William Wallace type warriors, plaid kilts, all the way down to wooden doors crafted in the traditional medieval design. Furthermore, this Disney-esque romanticization was without the horrible smells and diseases of the time, which was fine by me.

Edinburgh is a delight to walk around. That is, if you are able. Monika’s grandmother unfortunately cannot walk more than short distances, so she spent most of the time in a wheelchair. The 12th century was much less accommodating to those with disabilities. When wheeling her around, the cobblestones seemed larger and the gaps between them wider. There are virtually no ramps into any store or restaurant. However, there were some benefits having her as a travel companion (besides her lovely company of course). Things like exclusive tours, favorable parking, and discounted tickets. For the most part these benefits were sparse, and pale in comparison to what the United States have done for disability services under the ADA. For all the negativity we see about America, it is something to appreciate.

Nevertheless, we all enjoyed strolling around town. Our stroll eventually took us up the hill to the Edinburgh castle. It was scenically perched on the highest hill of the city offering a perfect panoramic view. The castle was only approachable from one side, with steep drop-offs on all others. More so than the Instagram friendly location, the placement was brilliant strategically. I imagine the castle was very difficult to overthrow in the Dark Ages. Like most castles you’ve heard of and everything else in town, it was made entirely of stone. Every wall, floor and ceiling. Old cannons peeked through slits aimed at advancing tourists. There was a dungeon and a church and a throne room. Really it was the whole package. The castle is over 1,000 years old and has undergone 26 sieges. Wikipedia says this makes it the most besieged place in Great Britain and one of the most attacked in all the world.

After the tour we were sucked into the gift shops outside the castle. Notably the wool and cashmere store. I think Monika’s mom filled an entire extra suitcase with what she bought in that store. But who could blame her? The scarves were terrific. For lunch we had excellent fish and chips nearby. After, we regrouped at the hotel, where we had espresso martinis in one of the bars (there were a few in the hotel). Outside, the cobblestone street we were on bent down and to the left, showcasing the brightly colored shops, cafes, and restaurants in the afternoon sun. But on the inside of the bend was an Irish pub, subtly tucked away. Me an Irish pubs are like a moth to a flame, so Monika and I had a pint. Most of the family took naps at this point, but Monika and I continued to indulge celebrate our vacation.

Evening descended as we crossed town for dinner. The streets were just as enchanting at night under the gentle glow of scattered street lights. Being in no hurry with no direct path, we wandered through narrow alleys and under ancient archways. Long stone steps angling and twisting curiously around and under buildings. A bridge over the river was greeted by large Gothic spires of intricate design. All this, just to get to an Indian restaurant. Of course, grandma had to take some alternate routes, but I think we all enjoyed the journey.

We waited in line for Dishoom, a very popular and tasty Indian restaurant in the U.K. Also maybe had a few more drinks at the bar area while we waited. The place was packed, the waiters all busy, the room was hot and stuffy, our table was tiny, but the food was quite good. Some of the more responsible adults made their way home after dinner, while the less responsible ones looked to keep the night going. We wandered back the way we came, with no intentions or goals of any kind. Just looking for the next pint, however it may find us. Suddenly walking up around a bended street, I heard the sweet sounds of live music. I felt like a cartoon character floating towards the aromas of a freshly baked pie on a window sill. Irish pubs and live music are my two weaknesses. If you combine them both then you know where to find me the rest of the night.

This establishment was called ‘The Malt Shovel’. While maybe not traditionally Irish, it checked enough boxes. Small and compact, wood paneling, fun décor, plenty of beer on tap, and a man alone in a corner with a microphone and a guitar. Monika, her brother and I sat in a booth on the far side of the room, with the bar in between us and the performer. The bar was about half-full, but the guitarist kept trying to engage the crowd. He was a tall, thin man about 40 years old. He played some pop hits and Irish folk songs through his guitar and harmonica. At one point he asked the room if there were any Americans. I had crossed the threshold of beer consumption where I was willing to shout across a room, so I identified ourselves. He asked which state, I said Colorado. This excited him because he was a huge John Denver fan. After a few songs he played ‘Take Me Home Country Roads’ and we all sang along. On our way out we gave him a big tip and he gave us a copy of his book, which I have yet to read.

Naturally we went to another bar after that, one more than we needed to. The following day we woke up early for our big drive up to Inverness. Our van was enormous, able to fit nine people. I sat in the far back, feeling the full whiplash of every roundabout. And every intersection was a roundabout. This was unsurprisingly detrimental to my hangover. It got so bad that at our first stop in St. Andrews I picked up some anti-nausea medicine at the pharmacy. This is not a pity party, but rather a cautionary tale of driving with a hangover in Scotland. The roads are not very straight.

The town of St Andrews is a great stop, however. The houses are old, many built with stone like Edinburgh. Some churches, plenty of walking space and a variety of restaurants. The real draw is the golf course, which is well-known among golfers for being the oldest in the world. It looked like a pretty normal course to me, but I can appreciate the historical significance. The cap on the end of the town is a decrepit, crumbling cathedral by the ocean. Before it collapsed it must have been the largest building in the county for hundreds of years. Now only one wall remains, along with the sounds of crashing waves on the cliffs and murmurs of ghosts under the tombstones around us.

Much of the remaining road was driven at night. The stress in that van was palpable. Monika’s dad did an admirable job holding it together, but everyone else was having a meltdown on the narrow roads with no street lights. Every car that wizzed by made them suck through their teeth. My arm was bruised from Monika clenching it. Everyone had tips and advice for how they thought the car should be driven. Everyone, except for grandma, who was in a seat facing the opposite direction. She was unburdened by seeing the road ahead and sat peacefully the entire time.

Another thing you learn to appreciate about America is infrastructure for road trips. Great, big highways, plenty of gas stations, and cities with as many parking garages as regular buildings. Of course, this makes many American cities an urban hell and miserable to walk through. But traveling by car to them is much easier. Inverness was similar to other European cities due to the complete lack of parking spaces. We drove through town for a while, turned around several times, argued about whether we could fit into a space, then eventually squeezed our jumbo van into a fun-sized parking lot and ad-infinitum-point-turned to back into a parking space.

Then we were tasked with finding a restaurant fulfilling all of our specific and demanding dietary needs. We wandered hangrily for a while. I rattled grandma in her wheelchair over more cobblestone streets. At one point the wheelchair got jammed on a curb while a line of cars waited for me to get her up on to the side walk. One of the cars honked, and all I could do was laugh. Who honks at an old lady crossing the street? Soon after we found a suitable restaurant where we had a quiet dinner. No festivities were had that night, just straight to the hotel and into a warm, cozy bed.

The next day was our best in Scotland. We took the scenic route back on a narrow, twisting road. Trees with vibrant autumn colors bent over the road, enclosing us in a brilliant tunnel of crimson, amber, and gold. The beginning of the road hugged the side of Loch Ness. Everything around us was saturated in a dense fog. When we stopped to walk up to the water, one could be forgiven for seeing a prehistoric creature in the lake. On a sunny day, the loch is probably just like any other regular body of water. But in the mist, it is shrouded in mystery and fantasy. Maybe I could tell you that we all spotted Nessie that day in a shared delusion. What are you going to do, fact-check me?

The stress levels in the van were a bit lower than last night, but sitting in the far back on the serpentine roads still wasn’t great for any of our car sickness. But even still, I felt like Grandma and I were the only ones that could enjoy the scenery while driving, because everyone else gripped the sides of the car like they were certain of an oncoming collision. While the driver kept his cool, I can’t imagine it was relaxing for him. I tried to ask questions and start games to get everyone’s minds off of our apparent impending death. The anxiety in the car was thick like the mist in the morning air.

Ok, that’s probably enough of my anxiety rants.

That isn’t to say the drive wasn’t enjoyable, because it was wonderful. We made several stops along the way to walk around in the trees and hills. It was the perfect time of year. We inhaled the aroma of decaying leaves and morning dew. The air had enough chill for a cozy sweater. Every surface was damp from a midnight rain. On top of the tallest hill, we pulled over just to marvel at the road behind us weaving and diving over the sheep-laden hills. We took pictures in the middle of the road just because we had it to ourselves. Monika’s dad had bought an authentic kilt earlier, and it was perfect for the Highlands photoshoot.

For lunch we stopped in Fort Augustus, a town on the tip of Loch Ness. It is a modest and beautiful village, where the old loch system ran straight through. We ate at an old pub overlooking the canal that fed into Loch Ness. I had a venison curry that was easily the best meal of the road trip. The drive continued higher into the hills. There were many opportunities to maximize our photography prowess. The treeless hills had a colorful, tundra look about them, without the bitter cold. Sheep posed for us. Low hanging clouds formed a crest around stoic barns and castles. The sun would peek out just to sparkle some rays off the water in our pictures. The Scottish Highlands can make anyone a pro photographer. (That being said please forgive my iPhone photography skills)

Glencoe is I suppose the Scottish equivalent of a mountain town. We stopped at a coffee shop here and walked around the neighborhood. Apparently a destination for climbers and hikers, but you wouldn’t know it from walking through. There were no REIs or Patagonia stores. Just small houses in a quiet neighborhood. All tucked away in the mouth of a valley narrowing into a mountain pass. Monika and I walked for a while just watching the falling leaves twirling in the wind.

At this point we had travelled far north into Scotland with many stops along the way. One thing I was curious about before the trip was would I be able to understand the Scottish accent the farther north we went. The answer was usually yes, but the truth is that I didn’t have to talk to many people. That’s because Monika’s mom did that for us. She is so friendly and outgoing. She found a way to converse with someone at nearly every stop on the road. I was amazed after coming back to the car after fifteen minutes of walking around and she was still talking to a stranger she just met. It really is an admirable trait that I don’t possess. So based on my observations, she had no problems understanding anyone. Take that as you will.

Glencoe Pass was my favorite of the entire drive. The scenery reminded me a lot of Iceland. The mountains were stark and barren, but the ground was spotted with spongy, colorful moss. We pulled over to the side of the road and scrambled up a hill to observe the mountain lake and the road ahead plunging into the horizon. An icy wind stung our cheeks while we smiled at the magnificence of it all. In the old frontier, all roads led West. The West was the wild unknown. These days maybe the North is some tamer version of that. The cold is really the only thing keeping our last frontier on Earth wild and free. Scotland I think has some small slice of that. It echoes some of the feelings of Iceland or Alaska.

We wove over the pass and away from the hills. The highlands became lowlands and the scenery became regular once again. We did have one last stop for the day at Dourne castle. This castle you may know from the first episode of Game of Thrones. However it made its first big screen appearance in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Who’s to say which had the larger cultural impact?

We had many more multi-lane roundabouts and wrong turns before we arrived back at our hotel near Edinburgh. We all were sick of the van, the driver most of all. We were so sick of it, that we ate dinner in the hotel lobby instead of trying to find parking in the city again. Sometimes you just need a simple, easy meal when traveling. Sure going to McDonald’s or a hotel lobby isn’t really “experiencing new cultures” or “satisfying your wanderlust”. Some days you are just too damn tired and that’s ok. We had drinks and laughed and reminisced on the last two days. All of us were immensely relieved to not be driving any more.

In the interest of brevity I’ll stop here. We left the following day, and I do have a story of nightmarish travel combined with the kindness of humanity. I can write that as a bonus post. I had a lot of fun and am grateful Monika’s family let me tag along. If you’ve read this far, thank you and hope you got something out of it. And if literally no one is reading these words, then that’s fine too because I just enjoyed writing them.