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| Edinburgh Castle |
Day Two in Scotland ~ October 19, 2016
Some days are better imagined than
lived but in the end you are glad you lived them. They are days of
disappointment and frustration and fear and faking no fear and
praying that you just survive and who cares about the view. Today
was one such day. With a world famous castle taunting us up on the
hill, we checked out of #24 Queen Street and lugged our luggage 16
blocks to the Waverly Station Euro Car Rental.
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| 24 Queen Street, Edinburgh |
Our wheels nearly
fell off from the rough cobbles as we bumped along through the
throngs of work-a-day people, past age-blackened monuments and
extremely awesome looking, very old buildings.
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| Traipsing through Edinburgh with our luggage |
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| Boer War Memorial ~ Princes Street, Edinburgh |
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| Looking up into the Sir Walter Scott Memorial |
We only hauled our
bags up elevators and off-limits escalators ten times trying to
follow signage and followed as many people's strongly-accented
instructions before finally getting to the rental place.
It was there that I think God
intervened on our behalf in the form of an elderly gent and a rather
posh Mercedes-Benz. You see, we had reserved only the cheapest
automatic transmission car available (triple the price of a manual,
mind you!). I was told to request GPS on my arrival. The two men
renting from the agent to our left requested one, only to be told
that there were none available. My heart quaked but I quietly asked
our elderly (okay, maybe he was about my age) gentleman agent for a
GPS. I'm sure that he took one look at us and thought, “those
girls will wander like the Israelites in the wilderness, and they'll
not make it out of Edinburgh in forty years!” He quietly leaned
forward and said, “I'll just add in the cost of GPS but I'll give
you a nice Mercedes-Benz.” Okay. Many thanks.
The whole steering wheel on the right,
driving on the left has had my heart pounding through the night for
weeks but there was no way out now. Our agent high-lighted the route
out of the city on a tiny map with microscopic letters. He said it
would take 20-30 minutes to get out of the city, depending on
traffic. Ironically, he traced the exact roads that I had told
Alyssa yesterday that I absolutely would not drive on. They were
full of jay-walkers, round abouts and odd middle-of-the-intersection
merges. But we didn't fly all the way to Scotland to sit in a
parking garage, so eventually I put my clammy hands on the wheel and
nudged the car into drive. Left out of the garage, left on the first
street (don't forget to head-check to the right or you'll be dead),
Third exit out of the second round-about, look for M8, and then take
it to M9 and never mind, you just missed it. And so it went. For 2
hours. Every time we got on a wrong road, we took another five
before we found our way back or a sensible place to turn around.
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| Stopping to read the map |
Were we having fun yet? Yes. Because one thing I've learned. I
don't go places to get there or to see a certain thing or check
another item off my bucket list. Life is about experiences, about
learning, about growing and about grace. Lots of grace. Grace when
we accidentally cross someone's lane in the middle of the ninetieth
round-about for the day, grace when I get a glimpse of fuzzy white
sheep scattered across a verdant pasture and a sliver of vermilion
sunset under heavy clouds.
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| One of the many little towns we drove through |
After endless miles on narrow, darkened
roads with headlights in my face and lots more behind me, we finally
pulled into the town of Helensburgh, near Loch Lomond. Here was our
our second Airbnb. Thankfully I'd had the presence of mind to write
a whole booklet of instructions for these places because we wouldn't
have wifi in many places and only a cheap “text and call only”
pocket cell phone that we picked up yesterday for 20 British pounds.
I'd checked out this place (35 E. King Street) on my computer at home
by way of 3d google earth, I knew that it looked like a place I'd
never go and certainly never bring my daughter. I hoped that somehow
it would look better in person. It didn't. And it didn't look
better under the light of the weak streetlights, on the next block
from the police station. But before we could check it out, we had to
park. Parallel parking, in the dark, on the left (while seated on
the right), in a very short space (by someone who failed geometry in
high school), was a very long, tedious task. But. I did it, with
lots of guidance from Alyssa, who was standing on the sidewalk. Then
to get into our house. First, we were to find the lock box beside
the door, next to “Hair by Norma”. Next, we were to use the code
we received by email 4 hours prior to our check-in. Well, it
was 4 hours past check-in and we couldn't access email anyway.
We used our little pocket phone to call them and while we were being
told the code, Alyssa discovered the lock box yawning wide open with
a handful of keys hanging out. How comforting. Three doors down, we
confirmed we had the correct “street door” by the number
stenciled on the garbage can. One of the keys opened this door.
Next we found our correct inside door. Alyssa put a little key in
one of the locks and opened it. Then a long, old-fashioned skeleton
key fit another lock. It turned, but the door wouldn't open. We
pushed and pushed while I called the office back. As they tried to
trouble-shoot over the phone, Alyssa gave one last push and the door
sprang open; the deadbolt hanging by its 2” screws and a long split
running down the painted wood frame. Oops. Maintenance may need to
bring some wood glue and post some lock-opening instructions for the
next tenant.
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| Alyssa, gaining access to our apartment |
Finally in, we checked all the cupboards and under beds
for bad guys that may have let themselves in with those handy keys.
Then we settled in to enjoy our supper of “Sensations” potato
chips and cheese wedges that we'd picked up at a petrol station on
the way. I'm hoping that tomorrow we can see a castle or a lake or
something.
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