England and Scotland -- July 8

July 8
10 PM, GMT

Was so tired (and tipsy) last night I didn’t have a chance to catch up on the journal until now.

Yesterday morning we left Rugby and drove to Old Warden in Bedfordshire to see
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the Shuttleworth Collection – a museum of vintage airplanes collected by Richard Ormonde Shuttleworth, a supposed ancestor of Gary’s (according to his mother). He was a pretty interesting guy, even if it turns out he isn’t related to Gary. He was an RAF pilot and a race car driver who won the very first British Grand Prix in 1935 at Donnington Park, driving an Alfa Romeo Monoposto. (Now I know from which side of the family Gary inherited his mechanical aptitude.) He was killed in 1940 at the age of 31 during a training flight. His mother turned his 4600-acre estate and collection of airplanes into a charitable trust for educational purposes in his memory.

It was a little awe-inspiring seeing the Shuttleworth ancestral mansion. Gary sure comes from a more distinguished background than me (if by “distinguished” you actually mean “rich”). The little village of Old Warden that we drove through on the way was a real English country village, complete with little cottages with bona fide thatched roofs. I’ve always read about thatched roofs, but have never actually seen one until now. That’s one of the advantages of driving yourself when traveling. You would never see anything like that on a commercial guided tour.

Then we were on the road for almost 6 hours driving to Edinburgh. We stopped every 2 hours to stretch and take a break. We grabbed sandwiches from Marks & Spencer and ate on the road. The north part of the island is more rugged with rolling hills; more sheep than cows; and stone walls instead of wooden fences.



Although we had the usual trouble finding a parking space in Edinburgh, our hotel was at least easy to find this time since it was a Ramada on one of the main highways through town, Princes Street, and right across from the Sir Walter Scott Memorial.


Edinburgh is an awesome place – a good-sized city, but not overwhelmingly so, with a nice mix of the old and the new. The thoroughly contemporary downtown area is interspersed with lots of old buildings, monuments, and cobblestone streets, with Edinburgh Castle growing out of the rock of the mountain above, overlooking it all. A lot of the buildings were actually here back in Mary Queen of Scots’ time.

We had drinks at several different places: The Elephant House, a neat little café where JK Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter book; Grayfriars Bobby’s Bar (named after the famous Skye Terrier dog named Bobby who kept guard for 14 years over the grave of his master in Grayfriars Kirkyard); and Dropkick Murphys, in an alley underneath the bridge, where we had an interesting conversation with the Irish barman. He said he was studying actuarial math in Boston for a while and would still be there if he hadn’t flunked his exams. He was sorry he never got over to Chicago because he heard there was a large Irish population there too.

Later on, we had a nightcap of Highland Park Scotch whiskey at our hotel bar, and that finished us for the night.




This morning, after we checked out, we got to our car and found one of the city Parking Attendants writing out a ticket for not displaying our parking sticker clearly. We had parked at a meter overnight, and Gary had made a point of getting up early to put more money in the meter. But apparently, he hadn’t looked at the sticker closely enough and had placed it face-down on the dashboard, instead of on the windshield like you’re supposed to. The attendant said he couldn’t cancel the ticket once it had been issued (just like back home), but he said we could appeal it in writing within 14 days, which I will definitely do once I get home.

Then we visited Edinburgh Castle for several hours (great views over the city) before driving to the Jurys Inn in Glasgow, where we’re booked for the next 2 nights.

We checked in, then drove to Gourock and took the ferry over to Dunoon, the little town on Holy Loch that housed the Navy base where Gary was stationed 20 years ago. The base was closed down in the ‘90s, but we drove out to the pier so he could point out to me where everything used to be and reminisce. (He also climbed down and took a piss on the rocks because he really had to go, although it was kind of symbolic in a way, too, I guess. “Here, take that for everything you put me through!”)

It was raining when we visited the pier, appropriately enough as it turns out since Gary said it was raining every single time he ever got off the sub and went into Dunoon. Apparently, it was originally chosen as a U. S. Navy base because it’s under cloud cover for much of the year and couldn’t be penetrated by Russian satellites. But it cleared up for the rest of our visit there. Gary said he’d never seen Dunoon in the sunshine before.

We drank (of course) at a place called the Crown Café Bar, where I tried haggis for the first time (not bad, not too much different from a sausage) and we got into a really fun conversation with 2 old Scottish guys who live in a retirement home in England now, but come back to Dunoon often to visit.

Gary told them about his time in the Navy here and about how there was a large Scottish community at the Navy base in Charleston, South Carolina where he was also stationed. One of the guys said he used to carve walking sticks for Scottish men living in South Carolina. When he asked me how I liked Scotland, I told him it was lovely and that I already knew I wanted to come back. I wasn’t just saying that to be polite; I really do love it here and want to come back. It’s got a more rugged kind of beauty than the south part of the island, which appeals to me for some reason. It’s also less populated, which I also like, and the people seem friendlier here.

We also drank at a place in Dunoon called Sinbad’s and did some shopping at a store called Bell’s of Dunoon for woolen sweaters for the kids back home. Then we drove back to our hotel in Glasgow, ate dinner in the restaurant there (good food, but the Eastern European waitress couldn’t understand our order and had to send over one of the Scots waiters to make sure they got it right), and now we’re watching TV in bed. We’re booked here for another night, but I liked Edinburgh so much (in spite of the parking ticket) that we’re going to make a day trip back there tomorrow -- it’s only an hour away -- and explore it some more . . .