Mary Queen of Scots – Wee Dram of Scotland

Lothian and The Borders: Castles, Abbeys, Best and Happiest Towns, Bruce’s Heart, Walter Scott’s Crib and Roadside Attractions

May 15, 2024May 15, 2024 by weedramofscotland, posted in Mary Queen of Scots and James VI, Scotland Travel, William Wallace

View from my abode at Eastside Cottages, Pentland Hills

On my way from Stirling to the Pentland Hills south of Edinburgh, I made a few stops to break up the brutally long 57 minute drive.

First was the picturesque little town of Falkland, a haven for Outlander film locations. Not only the town itself but also Falkland Palace, which was the Stuart Family’s Balmoral Castle in the 1600s.

First, let’s do Outlander so you can roll your eyes and get it over with. Falkland was the main shooting location for Inverness because it looks more like how one imagines Inverness than Inverness itself.

As many of you know, Claire and Frank, after the end of World War II, took a second honeymoon to Scotland and stayed at Mrs. Baird’s Bed & Breakfast, which was shot at the Covenanter Hotel. They display the sign used in the show inside. You will recognize other spots below.

The window where Claire saw the blue vase.

One of the most romantic scenes ever. And it was just a kilted Highlander from the 1700s watching a woman in the post-war 1940s brush her hair in an upstairs window. In the rain.

Claire and Murtagh walked down this street after visiting an ill Alexander Randall.

It’s a gorgeous little town, Falkland, Outlander aside.

And now to Falkland Palace, which is right in the center of town. Built in the thirteen century, James I (of Scotland) took possession of it for the crown two centuries later, after which it became a popular retreat for all the Stuart monarchs. This was one of Mary QOS’s favorite spots to get away from it all.

The palace is quite enchanting, and you’ll find the oldest tennis court in the UK on its grounds, built by James V in 1538 – and Mary, an accomplished athlete, often played here. Tennis was originally played by French monks before it became popular with nobility. The word comes from the French word tenez, or “hold on,” the warning that was shouted before every serve. (Let’s bring that back, shall we?) The game had different rules then, it was actually much more complicated – you can see a series of lines, numbers and crowns marked on the floor and walls, which were all used to calculate scores. All four walls and the roof of the spectator’s gallery were used (making it literally a dangerous spectator sport) plus players got extra points if they hit a ball through a hole in the wall. Also a servant would serve to avoid the fancy people having to bend their bodies in their ridiculous restrictive clothing. Mary QOS played in breeches for this reason – badass that she was.

A couple of lovely nooks inside the Palace.

There’s one minor Outlander shooting location inside the Palace. The apothecary scene where Claire sees Mary Hawkins buying laudanum for Alex Randall is there, and the castle has kept the location roughly as it was during filming because why wouldn’t you.

Next on our mini road trip is Dunfermline Abbey & Palace, which was given to Princess Anna of Denmark as a wedding present when she married James VI in 1589. The medieval Benedictine abbey still exists, even after being sacked by Cromwell, and it’s connected to a newer parish church still in use. You can also see ruins from numerous nearby structures, all built by Queen Anna. She turned Dunfermline into an incredible royal residence.

Many of the old kings of Scotland are buried here, including Malcom III and IV, Edgar I, Alexander I, and David I, Malcolm IV, Alexander III, although we don’t know the exact location of their graves, which is disappointing.

The ruins and abbey are stunning.

Dunfermline Abbey, the older section on the left.

The Old Abbey. It’s big, dark and cold. Very cool.

While we may not know exactly who is buried where inside this gorgeous abbey, one dude we do know about, and that is King Robert the Bruce (minus his heart, stay tuned). This is the very incongruous part. His remains were moved around a bit, but he’s now interred in the more recent section of the church (let me tell you its jarring to walk from the ruins of the beautiful stone cathedral into the parish church, like stepping through a portal and not in a good way). The Bruce, man of legend, is installed beneath the raised platform the current pastor sermonizes from, otherwise known as the pulpit. He shouldn’t be underneath this tacky wooden thing. The church is all white walls and blue carpeting and also the shiny gold leaf does not seem like the appropriate vibe. Personally I wouldn’t have planted him there, aesthetically speaking.

Having had my fill of old royalty, arriving at the beautiful Eastside Cottages was a balm for the soul. The owners of the farm have refurbished the outbuildings with a scandy vibe and it’s quite wonderful. During the pandemic they posted nature moments of Zen on instagram, several minutes of natural beauty, nothing more than a breeze, birdsong, hills and peace. I think I watched every one of them.

Here are a few photos from the lovely five days I spent here.

My first night, I walked up to the top of the two hills behind the farm, called West Kip and East Kip. A great walk with unbelievable views toward Edinburgh and the River Forth and across the Pentland Hills.

Frolicking sheepies.

My room is to the left of this magical passageway. Sadly the weather was too warm to use that wood in my fireplace.

Now listen. This is the part where I missed the most spectacular Northern Lights display in the history of the freaking UK. Why? Largely because my news sources are all eight hours in the past. I simply didn’t realize and it was super irritating to wake up and see my instagram feed the next day. And here I am out in the country with no light pollution and gorgeous hills.

I don’t want to hear any more about it, okay?

So we’ll not speak of it again but will simply move onto the following morning when I took a boat out to Loch Leven Castle.

The castle was built in 1300 and was likely captured from the Edward I’s forces by William Wallace. The man was everywhere. It was later visited by Robert the Bruce (also everywhere) and his son David II. Mary QOS (ditto) was a guest there on three occasions, but the castle is most famous for her fourth involuntary return. Her marriage to Lord Bothwell after Darnley’s murder was too much for some of her lords and lo, they became rebellious. Mary ultimately surrendered to them after a battle and was taken prisoner and sent to Loch Leven under the watchful eye of its owner, Sir William Douglas. She was pregnant at the time, and during her year-long imprisonment she miscarried twins. She was also forced to abdicate in favor of her infant son James – he was crowned at Stirling five days later. The original annus horribilis.

With the help of the illegitimate son of her captor, the guy who took care of the boats, she managed to escape, and quickly raised six thousand troops. Sadly she was defeated at the Battle of Langside just two weeks later, and fled to England, never to return.

It was a gorgeous day for a visit, although a little on the warm side for the things in my suitcase.

Douglas allowed Mary this oratory so she could attend Mass during her imprisonment

As I waited by the dock for the boat to arrive (yes they take twelve of us out there and then leave us all alone!), I had to appreciate this woman’s going-to-a-castle fashion. She deflected my compliment, as all women do, by telling me she bought it at H&M, and shrugged apologetically. Let’s stop doing that, shall we ladies?

When our boat arrived, a dad and his son appeared at the dock on a paddleboard, basically crashing the party without paying Historic Environment Scotland ten pounds for the privilege. Our boat captain explained they couldn’t land there and kindly asked whether the young boy needed to use the restroom. The dad assured her they were just hanging out for a moment. As soon as the boat launched, we looked back, and sure enough, dad was pulling the board onto the shore. Both the captain and the fashion lady were appalled and agreed this was “quite cheeky” behavior. I know I’m pathologically charmed by a British accent and all, but really what a lovely way to cast shade.

The next day I drove to the East Lothian coast to visit yet another castle and the best place to live in the UK.

The castle is a ruin called Tantallon. It’s stunningly huge. Built in the mid-1300s by the “Red Douglas family,” it’s considered to be the last truly great castle built in Scotland. Besides one recorded visit from Mary QOS, it most notably was besieged a lot. James IV in 1491, James V in 1528 and of course Oliver Cromwell, which explains why there are no windows, just embrasures for cannons. Cromwell’s attack caused such destruction that the fortress was abandoned afterward.

Honestly, wouldn’t you like to tell Cromwell that this whole venture of his doesn’t end well and so he should stop being a destructive dickhead?

The Douglas family was in fact feeling all schadenfreude when they heard the news that Cromwell’s body was exhumed from Westminster Abbey by Charles II after the Restoration, hung and beheaded, with his gnarly old head displayed on a pike for 30 years. Ah olden times. (See previous blog)

Some Tantallon photos:

And again with the sketchy spiral staircases and big open climbs to the tippy top, and also, cliffs. Even the warning signs around the property are comical when seen through American eyes where everything is so regulated and guard-railed. Half the ruins in Scotland would be shut down under our public safety rules.

I mean, at least these ancient decrepit steps were blocked off, as they basically constitute a technical climb.

At least the last thing you saw as you plummeted to your death would be Bass Rock. Known as “The Bass,” it is an island in the Firth of Forth that plays host to the world’s largest colony of Northern gannets, namely, 150,000 of them.

This is NOT a drone shot, it’s me at the tippy top.

Here’s my hair in the high altitude breezes to prove it.

Probably too many photos, but it’s cool, right? Anyway, back to the giant gannet colony! As you can imagine, 150,000 gannets leave droppings that off-gas 152 kg of ammonia per year, and the Bass looks white from above. And the smell would be amazing.

One would think that the island would not have been inhabited throughout history for these reasons, but no. It was settled by an early Christian hermit and later was the site of an important castle, now in ruins. James I of Scotland used to imprison his enemies there in the 15th century. The island belonged to the Lauder family (not those Lauders) for six centuries. In the 1600s it was seized by four Jacobites imprisoned there, which they held against government forces for nearly three years. One of the Stevenson lighthouses is perched on a ledge, built in 1902.

Since 1706 the island has been owned by the Dalrymple family.

Before we leave, let’s return to the gannets. Sadly, in 2022 avian influenza was detected on the Bass and more than 5,000 dead birds were counted on a single day. The disease remains a concern in seabird colonies around the world.

Now onto the delightful seaside town of North Berwick, which topped a list of 72 locations in the Sunday Times’ annual report of best places to live in the UK. It was selected for its combination of community spirit, connections to nearby Edinburgh, a thriving high street with independent shops and two pretty beaches. I have to say I felt the community spirit while I walked around the pretty streets.

The coast is lined with benches where people hang out.

Along the shore, families gather to play tiny games of golf.

Beautiful floral arrangements throughout town.

And if you ever find yourself in this beautiful part of Scotland, please have lunch at Drift, an awesome cafe on a cliff with views of the Bass.

The cafe design takes full advantage of the views.

As the next day dawned, I drove to the Scottish Borders, a beautiful, fertile region featuring green, gorgeous hills and a meandering River Tweed. I visited Sir Walter Scott’s home, Abbotsford, a magnificent castle-like abode with gorgeous gardens.

Since we’ve all only read Ivanhoe, it’s interesting to note that in fact Scott wrote 25 books and is considered to be the inventor of the historical novel. He was also a fine poet. In his spare time, he was also responsible for finding the Scottish Crown Jewels after they were lost for a wee while (see previous blog), and he stage-managed George IV’s trip to Scotland which helped rehabilitate and romanticize Highland culture. He wrote books and poems about the 1745 Jacobite rebellion, and our three lads and a lassie, Robert the Bruce, William Wallace, Rob Roy and Mary QOS.

After touring Abbotsford, I have the sense that he was a very cool guy with a cool wife and four successful kids and he’d be on my list of time machine meet-up people.

The nucleus of Abbotsford was 100 acres of farmland Scott purchased. He modestly, and then more aggressively expanded over the years, not only creating his large home but adding 900 acres along the River Tweed. Unfortunately, in 1825 a UK-wide banking crisis resulted in the collapse of the Ballantine printing business, of which Scott was the only partner with a financial interest. It had debts of 130,000 pounds (equivalent to 13.5 million today). He refused to accept financial help and instead placed Abbotsford into a trust in the name of his creditors and wrote his ass off. The debt was paid off shortly after he died.

The house is gorgeous, and his interest in Scottish history apparent, as he had a fascinating collection of artifacts on display, including items apparently belonging to Peepaw Roy, Mary QOS and the Bonnie Prince. The lower floors of the house are on the tour, nothing upstairs. The house was exactly as he left it at his direction.

My favorite room was his study with an upper library lining the ceiling. There is a staircase up, and a door in the opposite corner leading to his dressing room, so he could escape uninteresting guests.

All of the rooms were remarkable.

The gardens are dreamy and well tended.

I was surprised by the beauty and character of the Scottish Borders, largely because somehow I’ve turned into a Highlands snob. The Borders are a quaint small town showcase, with wonderful names like Upsettlington, Blyth Bridge, Teviothead, Innerleithen, Tweedbank, Peebles and Melrose.

Speaking of which, I had lunch in Galashiels, recently named the happiest place to live in Scotland, 15th overall in the UK. Called Gala, it’s the cheapest town on the list with average home price of 163,634 pounds, or just $205,000. In addition to a very reasonable cost of living, the town has a strong sense of belonging and community spirit. One resident referred to, “so many little acts of kindness that are carried out without fanfare.”

My last planned stop was the town of Melrose to visit the Abbey. As I walked into the gift shop to check in, a gallant gentleman staff member was capturing a yellow jacket between a map of the grounds and a plastic cup – ugh, those hateful bugs, they are a plague. He was adorable, congratulating me for being the 79th guest of the day and pretending to hand me his spoils as my prize.

The Abbey is undergoing a wee bit of rehabilitation.

Guess what is buried on the grounds of the Abbey? The heart of Robert the Bruce. Apparently Robert had always wanted to go on Crusade but he had a hard time leaving Scotland because it required ongoing protection. So, on his deathbed, he asked his friend James Douglas to take his heart on one. Sadly the Pope hadn’t called for a crusade for a while and so Douglas intended to take it to Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre before burying it at Melrose Abbey. The heart was given to him in an urn to be worn as a necklace, a questionable choice. Unfortunately Douglas and his knights were instead called to fight against the Moors who were attempting to take Spain, so that’s where Robert’s heart went as well. Douglas was killed in a surprise attack but as he was dying he threw the heart into the air and shouted, “Lead on brave heart, I’ll follow thee.” THAT, my friends, is where Braveheart came from. Bruce’s heart, along with Robert’s remains, were carried back to Scotland.

The heart was buried with Douglas near the Abbey. The heart was exhumed in 1920 and then buried again without a marker, why is beyond me. Luckily, in 1996 during excavations of abbey ruins a canister was discovered with the urn inside along with a note saying it had been found in 1920. Ultimately, this was mostly confirmed to be Bruce’s heart.

It was the right age, and nobody else had the idea to bury their heart there apparently. And thus here ya go:

The other best thing about the Abbey is a 14th century gargoyle of a pig playing the bagpipes. It seems an odd thing for a serious place like a church, as medieval churches aren’t generally known for their wit and whimsy. The sculptor is another member of my time machine meet-up list.

I topped off the day with an unexpected visit to a slightly sad roadside attraction. One thing about traveling alone is that you can stop whenever you want without consulting anyone, even for an adventure that might end up being dumb. When I was a kid and we were piled in the car driving across country to visit grandparents, we never got to stop at a roadside attraction. There was really no stopping for any reason unless you convinced my dad you had to pee and it had been a respectable amount of time since you last did so. So forget the Largest Ball of Twine or whatever. So in Dad’s honor, I impulsively stopped at the Great Polish Map of Scotland.

The map was the brainchild of Jan Tomasik, a sergeant in the 1st Polish Armoured Division who was stationed in Galashiels (the happiest town) in WWII. He married a Scottish nurse and became a successful hotelier after the war. He bought the Hotel Black Barony, near Peebles, in 1968 and a few years later had the idea to create a large physical relief map of Scotland on the grounds of his hotel. Out of sculpted concrete. It took six years to build. He told hotel patrons, “I shall die, but I shall leave my map as a gift to the Scottish people to thank them for the hospitality they showed the Poles when it was needed,” which is really nice.

Like the mirror box sculpture, though, it’s a little worse for wear, and you can’t really get high enough to appreciate the full impact of the piece. It’s also supposed to be surrounded by water with even some of the major rivers filled, but it’s just mucky with bits of trash.

View from the viewing platform which needs to be higher.

A sad state of affairs for Lewis and Harris.

The hotel closed in 1985 and the map became overgrown. In 2010 a group of volunteers decided to save and restore it and they secured funding for it in 2013, ten years ago now. Even though the hotel is back in action, I fear maintaining this might be a lost cause.

Even though it’s the largest outdoor relief map in the world! A few steps up from the largest ball of twine.

And with that, a most excellent day in the Scottish Borders came to a conclusion.

Rosslyn Chapel was on the next day’s agenda.

The chapel was designed and built (over a 40 year period) by Sir William St. Clair who had much grander plans than what you see, which is pretty freaking grand. His motivation was to attempt to secure his spot in heaven because that’s how you do it apparently.

The chapel is undeniably gorgeous – hands down the most incredible church-like situation I’ve ever seen. Yet interestingly, still, after all the time, 50% of visitors are there because of the DaVinci Code.

Tom Hanks makes his first appearance on the Wee Dram!

The chapel is the definition of Gothic with flying buttresses and whatnot, and so many gargoyles inside and out. As you aren’t allowed to snap photos inside, here are a couple of fantastic outdoor gargoyles.

Legend tells us that a vault as deep as the chapel is high is carved out beneath the building, and inside is the final resting place of the medieval St. Clair knights who are laid out in their full suits of armor. Rumors also abound that other cool stuff is down there too, including the Holy Grail (!!), the Ark of the Covenant (!!!) and the head of Christ (!!!!!!!). Alert Dr Jones.

Since I haven’t mentioned Henry VIII yet on this trip – now is the time. In 1544, the chapel was damaged during his so-called “rough wooing,” when he declared war on Scotland in an attempt to force the Scots to agree to a marriage between his son Edward (who died of tuberculosis at 15) and Mary QOS. Cromwell’s troops stabled their horses here while they ransacked nearby Rosslyn Castle (currently being restored), and, in 1842, Queen Victoria visited the Chapel and expressed the desire that it be preserved. Also, the adjacent Rosslyn Inn hosted Edward VII, Dr. Samuel Johnson, Robert Burns and Walter Scott as guests.

I returned to Eastside Farm, and had one last lovely walk. In my absence, they had moved the sheep around, and so now the males, which are separated from the females and their babies in the spring, were patrolling the road. I wasn’t entirely sure about this guy. We had to negotiate a few things.

And with that, dear readers, we are off to Shetland.

Three Lads and a Lassie: Rob Roy, William Wallace, Robert The Bruce and Mary

May 10, 2024May 12, 2024 by weedramofscotland, posted in Mary Queen of Scots and James VI, Scotland Travel, Solo Travel, Stirling Castle, William Wallace

Stirling, from the National Wallace Monument

It’s quite striking how much of Scotland’s notable history over thousands of years occurred in the Isles. Back in the day, coastal routes were the country’s express lane – much quicker and easier to travel by sea than slogging overland across boggy, mountainous roadless terrain.

The other area of concentrated history is the Central Belt, the geographic center of Scotland. It’s the the lowland strip between the Firth of Forth (Edinburgh) in the east and the Firth of Clyde (Glasgow) in the west. It’s a relatively small area, the girlishly slim waist of the country, with Glasgow, on the west coast, being only 41 miles from Edinburgh, on the east. The area has been Scotland’s major population center forevs. As a result, wherever you visit in the Central Belt, chances are it has been previously frequented by Robert the Bruce, William Wallace, and/or Mary Queen of Scots as well as other long, long-ago personages.

Rob Roy’s area of influence was pretty limited to the Highlands, but he’s included in this one-sided conversation of ours because he might be an ancestor (only in my mind and the invisibly slim fact that Gregory is a long-ago bastardization of MacGregor). Also because on my way to Stirling, today’s destination, I stopped to visit my great great great etc Peepaw’s grave at Balquhidder Parish Church and climb the hill behind it for one of my favorite views in Scotland, a drop dead vantage point overlooking Loch Voil. It’s a sweet, sweet spot and I’ll always check in when I’m passing, as you do with family.

Now, mind, Rob Roy was basically an outlaw who became a Robin Hood-esque folk hero during his lifetime thanks to a book written by Daniel Defoe and published in 1723 called The Highland Rogue. King George I pardoned him just as he was about to be involuntarily transported to the colonies, and the 1817 publication of Rob Roy by Walter Scott posthumously polished the sheen of his hero street cred.

Berlioz composed an overture in his name, Liam Neeson played him in a film and, the ultimate honor, in 1894 a bartender at the NYC Waldorf Hotel created a Rob Roy cocktail (whisky and vermouth garnished with a cherry which is a sad waste of whisky). He did fight in the 1689 Jacobite rising but like many other clan chiefs during the 17th and 18th centuries he also ran a protection racket, offering to safeguard cattle in exchange for cash he needed to feed his clan. This, along with cattle rustling, was common way to earn a living. He was declared an outlaw only when he defaulted on a loan because his chief herder absconded with the loan money.

This area was known by the Celts as being a “thin place” – where boundaries between earth and, shall we say, not-earth, however you define that, are especially narrow.

When you visit, you’ll understand why.

I also wanted to find a sculpture, one of many that have been installed throughout Trossachs National Park. The piece is a mirrored box called the Lookout, and it was designed, built and installed between two lochs by architecture students Angus Ritchie and Daniel Tyler. To say it’s a remote area is an understatement. Another drive down a curvy single track road on the edge of a loch, I am starting to specialize in them.

The sculpture was installed ten years ago, and I was sad to see that the elements have taken a toll over the years. But it’s still pretty cool.

Here’s what it looked like originally, so you know.

It’s gotten a wee bit rickety and downtrodden over time with many of the panels blown off. It may not be long for this world.

But still quite entertaining for those of us who are easily entertained.

So enough meandering, let’s go to Stirling, the Schiphol of the Central Belt.

There’s the teensiest bit of history around Stirling. Its earliest catalogued artifact is a stone cist containing 4,000 year old human bones. The earliest surviving structure is a fort built by denizens of days of yore, and by that I mean the Iron Age, over 2,000 years ago. Stirling was declared a royal burgh by King David I in 1130 – and ps he’s a fascinating character but I’ll say no more. Stirling has always been of strategic importance due to its central location and control of the River Forth. The town’s mascot is the wolf because back in the 9th century, while under Anglo-Saxon rule, it was attacked by “Danish Invaders” aka Vikings. The sound of a wolf’s howl, legend has it, raised a sentry who alerted the garrison and fought the Vikings into a retreat.

There are SO many other things which I’ll spare you as you are always so patient with all the history. In keeping with our theme, though, this fine town is the location of the 1297 Battle of Stirling Bridge where William Wallace’s outnumbered forces were defeated the English army. Nearby was the 1314 Battle of Bannockburn, where Robert the Bruce did the same and ultimately became king because of it.

Stirling’s skyline is dominated by Stirling Castle, a more manageable version of Edinburgh castle, and if that rings your Robert the Bruce, William Wallace and Mary Queen of Scots bells, well, I am, as they say, well-chuffed. I toured the castle in October 2022 with my travel buddy Trish, and would highly recommend – although if you can, go during deep shoulder season and hire a tour guide. We pretty much had the castle to ourselves and our guide really made it come to life.

Here are a few snaps from that trip so you can see what I mean.

Fun fact- the chair seats flip up to reveal a chamber pot below. Nobody has to know.

Our lovely guide, who grew up in Stirling.

On the other hand I walked up to the castle today and discovered that it was, in a word, a zoo.

The castle is that tiny building behind the sea of cars

So I wandered back down the hill and popped into the nearby Church of the Holy Rude (named after the Holy Rood, a relic of the true cross), and yay it was empty. The church was founded in 1129 and rebuilt in the 15th century after a fire, and is the second oldest building in Stirling after the castle.

Interesting thing – it’s the only surviving church in the UK besides Westminster Abbey to have held a coronation. On July 29, 1567 the thirteen month old James VI, born in nearby Stirling Castle and whisked away (permanently) from Mary Queen of Scots (Mom), was anointed King of Scots and John Knox gave the sermon to mark the occasion. Mom wasn’t in attendance because she was imprisoned in Loch Leven Castle and had been forced to abdicate. She was allegedly invited to attend and refused which I think is an unlikely historical tidbit written by a man to make her look petty and like a bad mother. Bringing Mary to Stirling from captivity to attend the coronation of her infant son who was basically her usurper – I mean, oy, the optics! She had thousands of troops at her command. Too risky.

In 1603 James VI was also crowned King of England and Ireland, succeeding Elizabeth I, the last Tudor, and becoming James I. Ruling for 57 years (easier to do if you were a coronated baby), his reign in Scotland was the longest of any Scottish monarch. He wasn’t a bad king, necessarily, and did some interesting things like sponsor the first English translation of the Bible and order the refurbishment of William Wallace’s sword.

However, I think you’ll agree that we can’t forgive him for his role in ramping up witch trials to a spectacular degree for delusional personal reasons.

James VI was the worm-brained Robert F. Kennedy Jr. of the Stuart family.

Here’s the lame story. In 1589 Anne of Denmark, James’s bride to whom he was married by proxy, planned to sail to Scotland to meet her new husband. She didn’t make it because fierce storms, common in the fall, forced her to anchor in Norway. She tried again, but her boat sprung a leak and so back to Norway she went. At this point she decided to postpone the trip until spring. James was having none of this business and decided to go to Norway to pick her up. He stayed several months and eventually brought her back to Scotland even though storms again made the journey sketchy. Denmark actually prosecuted a bunch of woman for causing these storms via witchcraft, and when I say prosecuted, I mean executed.

James hears of this when he gets back to Scotland with his bride and even though everything is now FINE, he couldn’t move on and decided to copy Denmark. He decreed that witches deliberately conjured up the storms for the purpose of killing him and his queen. Regicide – a bad crime – to be avoided. So suddenly a previously unenforced law forbidding witchcraft was called back into action. Which is a lesson we still haven’t learned – if you aren’t enforcing a law anymore, repeal the damn thing to keep it from reemerging from the muck of shifting political sands.

James became so witch-obsessed that in 1597 he wrote a book called Daemonologie which helpfully explained how to identify and punish a witch, using science, oh sorry I mean the Bible, as corroboration, e.g. “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” blah blah. Largely as a result of his efforts, thousands of women were prosecuted in Scotland and England over the next hundred years, with more than 1,500 executed.

Former Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, who probably would have been tried as a witch in those times herself, issued a formal apology to people accused of witchcraft, thus acknowledging an “egregious historic injustice.”

One wonders whether things would have been different if James had a maternal influence in his life. Would that have made him less dumb? Perhaps. James was 21 when his mother was executed and he had been raised to believe that she had arranged the murder of his father Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley so she could marry Lord Bothwell. What would that do to your head? What were his thoughts while his mother was imprisoned in the Tower and ultimately executed?

Speaking of which, he didn’t have a paternal influence either. Darnley’s parentage gave him a claim to both the English and Scottish thrones and so strengthened James’s ultimate ascension to both. And yet he was killed just eight months after James’s birth. What did James think of him, if anything, beyond thanks for the blood lines dad.

I know that royal kids not having much exposure to their parents is a long and proud UK tradition. But these are pretty extreme circumstances, James was presumably a person with feelings and one without a therapist or prescribing physician. These are the interesting what-if riddles of the human condition in history.

To mark this particular riddle, I had lunch in Stirling at a coffee shop located inside what has “traditionally” said to have been Darnley’s home. Which is a bougie word for “allegedly.”

The menu explains that not only was it the home of Lord
Darnley, but also baby James’s nursery which – maybe – but it’s outside the castle and his life was pretty much in danger from the jump. More realistically, it has also been a dairy, a brothel, and a tourist office.

I wondered what these historical figures would think if they could see their former homes, prisons, battlefields and such crawling with iPhone wielding tourists.

And now we sally forth to the National Wallace Monument. It was built between 1861 and 1869 and designed by Glasgow architect J.T. Rochead. It has to be one of the first examples of successful crowdsource fundraising, as it was entirely funded from contributions from the public totaling more than £15,000. This is largely due to the Victorians’ obsession with Highland culture and history.

The monument looms on a hill within view of the castle and it’s sited at the 1297 Battle of Stirling Bridge. It famously has 246 steps to the top, and I pictured a sort of Washington Monument situation, just a building filled with a relentless stuffy staircase and a killer view at the top.

But actually there are three galleries, each with a different theme. The first, called The Hall Of Arms, is devoted exclusively to Wallace with a cool film that looks like it was animated by the same artist who did the Tale Of The Three Brothers in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows film. The gallery also features Wallace’s actual sword which is 5 feet 5 inches tall. He was tall. This is the sword James VI ordered to be refurbished. It’s legit.

There’s also a sort of hilarious gallery of visual renderings of Wallace throughout the ages. Hilarious because it ends with a photo of Mel Gibson. I object.

The second gallery is the Hall of Heroes and features busts of famous Scots throughout the ages who have invented everything. Seriously we might all still be living in caves but for Scots. Read “How Scots Invented the Modern World” by Arthur Herman if you don’t believe me.

The last gallery, The Royal Chamber, is not a reconstruction of Wallace’s bedroom as I had hoped but rather is devoted to the battle.

But before we chat about the battle, in between each of these galleries are definitely 246 steps. Up a narrow stone spiral staircase. The staircase is “narrow and may feel cramped,” the website tells us. There are ten billion narrow stone spiral staircases in castles, abbeys and estates all over the UK. I mean it was a popular and likely necessary design element. The steps are narrow because they were built in days when people, and their feet, were smaller – plus there often just wasn’t that much available space. In the Wallace tower, even the widest part of the stair, next to the outer wall, is too small for my size 11 feet. I gotta shift ‘em sideways. Forget about closer to the newel (I had to look that up) where the stair ultimately disappears completely. So the rule is that the coming down people “yield” to the going up people. This means descenders flatten themselves against the wall and avert their faces because the ascenders have to lean forward with their hands on either side of the wall, framing the heads of the descenders like there might be some smooching, and shimmy up sideways trying to avoid full body contact whilst hoping they don’t run out of stair under their feet because it’s just a few inches of real estate.

At least that’s how I handled it as an ascender. (Apologies to the descenders I smushed.). After that first experience I made a shit ton of stomping noise when I entered each spiral to scare people from coming the other way. It’s all I could do to not yell, “Fire in the hole!” or Gandalf it up with “You…shall…not….pass!”

Why people don’t plunge to their deaths in that stairwell every single day is a mystery. Also, in addition to being impaired by monstrous feet there were so many unsteady older folks who were gasping for breath. Good on them, though, they persevered and arrived at the top sweaty, pale and inches away from a cardiac event. For history.

So speaking of history – the battle. First of all if you’ve seen Braveheart you have no idea what happened so just let that go. The nutshell version is that The Battle of Stirling Bridge was fought during the First War of Scottish Independence when Edward I was determined to squelch the pesky Scots and their insistence on owning their own vibe.

As the troops massed around Stirling, the Scots had around 6,000 men, which included 300 cavalry at most, the English had 9,000 including 2,000 cavalry. Lopsided.

The English sent emissaries to Wallace and his compatriot Andrew Moray before the battle to parley, and Wallace reportedly responded, “We are not here to make peace but to do battle to defend ourselves and liberate our kingdom. Let them come on and we shall prove this to their very beards.”

I am adopting this turn of phrase. About proving things to beards.

The Scottish army was camped on Abbey Craig, the location of the Wallace Monument, so had a great vantage point over the river toward the government forces.

The head of the English forces rejected sage advice to send troops upstream to outflank the Scots and instead ordered a direct attack over the narrow Stirling Bridge. It was broad enough to allow only two horsemen to cross abreast, so it would have taken several hours for the entire English army to cross. I don’t know what the English thought the Scots would do during this time, just watch them cross and wait for them all to assemble on their side of the river like they were playing an organized team sport and needed an even number of players per side. I mean, I’m admittedly no military strategist, but. All the Scots had to do was hang out on the other side of the river until as many troops they believed they could overcome had crossed.

To add to the fun, the wooden bridge collapsed, whether via sabotage or natural causes no one knows for sure.

At the end of the day the English forces suffered massive losses and retreated, and Wallace was appointed, “Guardian of the Kingdom of Scotland and Commander of its Army.” And now, Edward I was super pissed and wanted to know who this William Wallace person was anyway. In retaliation, he personally led the next invasion of Scotland which ultimately led to the Battle of Falkirk which didn’t end great.

Now, as I warned, those of you who have seen Braveheart are thinking, I don’t think she’s right about any of this. There was no bridge in the battle in the film. Correct. The movie is gobsmackingly historically inaccurate and this is just one example. The battle in the film is more akin to the Battle of Bannockburn starring Robert the Bruce, although probably without the mooning scene because soldiers were not actually wearing kilts at that time so accomplishing the moon with the flair depicted in the film would have been a lot more trouble.

Also the Scots’ blue face make-up was based on the Picts, who were around back in AD 200 to AD 900, so a wee bit earlier. And Braveheart actually is a reference to Robert The Bruce. I’ll stop.

So we’ve talked a bit about mothers in this one – well, one mother. Which is apropos since it’s Mother’s Day. So happy Mother’s Day to my awesome Mom, from me in The Bonnie Badger.

The Perfect Romance and Shield-Biting

December 24, 2023April 28, 2024 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

Made it. Back to Scotland. And you guys. You know how when you are flying alone there’s that thing where as people are boarding you are sending prayers and entreaties into the Universe about your incoming seat mate especially those qualities you absolutely do not want? I’m here to tell you that sometimes this works. On a ten hour transcontinental and transatlantic flight I somehow drew a tall gorgeous German physicist with dark hair, sleepy eyes and long eyelashes. I am not even kidding. I was so gobsmacked that I could barely speak to or look at him at first. Until, that is, I couldn’t open our introductory snack of artisanal cheese crackers. No really I couldn’t. He Sir Walter Raleigh’ed the situation and gallantly surrendered his open packet to me while he struggled with mine since it didn’t have the “notch” or whatever – at which point we started talking.

Dear Reader, I will not hold you in suspense but instead will answer your immediate question by breaking the devastating news that he has a girlfriend. Also I can’t remember his name because his mother is from Pasadena and his father is Bosnian and his father won naming rights.

He was born in Germany and moved to Zurich for his PhD (!) in quantum physics (!!) and he owns his own quantum computing company (!!!) that sells parts to, among others, the NSA. His ten minute presentation to me about quantum computing, complete with eloquent hand gestures, made me die a little on the inside. He had been in Portland and Seattle for a conference and meetings with Intel and Microsoft. He planned to disembark in Paris and hop on a private prop plane to a small town in France where he was meeting a friend for a sail around the English Channel. He also is about to take possession of a new catamaran which will feature prominently in his plan to take a year off with the dreaded partner – whom I immediately liked when he said he thought sailing was fun but his girlfriend really liked to arrive at places.

We had a great conversation wherein he said things like, “I usually don’t talk this much or share things like this.” To which I responded well that’s because we are soulmates (actually well that’s because I am a relentless question hamster). We both love the flight tracking thing and he reached over to my seatback screen and pinched and moved the map to show me various things like where his uncle lives and also the freaking Northwest Passage.

And obviously we slept together side by side after we ate our tiny portions of marginal food wrapped in foil. He had a very elaborate sleeping-on-a-plane system (he travels a lot) whereby he completely covered his head with his hoodie and put on weird sleep goggles but this charming quirkiness was easily forgiven.

In the morning he remarked about how well he had slept (because soulmates) and we embarked on a political discussion about the rise of white nationalism around the world and also how direct democracy works in Switzerland. While not in NATO because #neutrality he said their fighter jets were very old and this is the kind of national security thing that VOTERS DECIDE and they have refused to authorize modernization which seems risky since their defense is all on them and Russia is a two hour flight away. Also unsurprisingly the government has tons of excess tax money they’ve collected but can’t deploy because voters won’t greenlight anything.

He invited me to lean over and look out his window several times – and this was before we had brushed our teeth – once at a wind farm in the sea and once, in his sad words, at the “disappointing” English Channel which was like glass. While this would have been helpful during the Dunkirk evacuation, not so much when one has a sailing trip planned.

I also admittedly touched his shoe one time because he was wearing Tigers and I just got a pair and love that little flap over the heel, and also we both ordered our Starbucks airplane coffee black. I’m just saying.

Once we landed he helped me figure out my connecting gate because Charles de Gaulle is weird – as he described it the airport is organized in an unnecessarily complicated way for no reason except this is obviously a very French thing. Finally, I gave him a hug and we bid farewell forever.

I’m very sorry I don’t have a photo but I felt it would be a bridge too far and he was already, I could tell, being very Swiss/German about the hugging situation.

Travel, my friends, is the best.

And so I made it to Edinburgh in a very pleasant fashion, had a jet-lagged meal at Tom Kitchin’s new restaurant KORA, a lovely walk around parts of town I haven’t seen and spent some time at the Scottish National Museum.

The Museum is something. It’s like all the museums crammed into one. So you wander through quiet rooms devoted to fashion and design, through busy child-packed rooms featuring natural history, science and technology and finally through largely kid-free rooms devoted to Scottish history. So one minute there’s a dinosaur hanging from the ceiling or maybe an old airplane and the next you are looking at a silver box owned by Mary Queen of Scots and a sword allegedly carried by Robert the Bruce.

This silver box held the “casket letters” which implicated Mary in the murder of her husband Lord Darnley and resulted in her 19 year imprisonment which as we all know did not end well at all.

The coolest thing though is the Lewis Chessmen, 11th century hand-carved ivory chess pieces found in a Viking hoard on Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. The Scottish National Museum owns eleven of the pieces and the British Museum owns the remaining 82 (because that Museum has famously pilfered most of its collection from other countries’ stuff and I know that technically Scotland is part of the UK but still). Nobody knows the circumstances surrounding the find, the pieces just appeared one day in 1831 at a Society of Antiquaries of Scotland exhibit.

My favorites are these:

The Queen – who has apparently seen unimaginable horrors and has the same face as the King.

The Warder – aka the rook – who has seen so many horrors that he must bite his shield (Actually based, they think, on the berserkers of the Norse sagas)

Since this is Scotland, there is of course a Harry Potter connection. In Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry and Ron played their game of Wizard’s Chess with a replica of the Chessmen.

The People You Meet

May 31, 2022August 14, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

The best thing about traveling is chance encounters with fellow travelers, and meeting people lucky enough to live in the places where you have chosen to vacation. Interestingly, we’ve continued to encounter mostly other Brits, Norwegians and a few French. No Americans. Also the general age range has skewed older – many intrepid folks in their 70s and beyond, walking and biking through the Isles.

On our last day of adventure in Orkney we took the very early ferry north to Westray, known as the Queen of the Isles. Westray is eleven miles long and has 600 residents (down from over a thousand in the 1800s) and boasts the shortest scheduled flight in the world, the longest golf hole in the UK and a castle ruin steeped in history. More seabirds than anywhere I’ve ever been with a boggling range of species. Including – oh yes – the MIGHTY PUFFIN.

We were met at the ferry by Karen and Andy Penn, who run Westraak Tours. If you ever find yourself in Westray, book them. Karen was born in Orkney and Andy is an “incomer,” having moved to the island from Dumfries when they married six years ago. We swung by a local B&B and picked up Angela and Peter, a couple from Cornwall, and headed to “coffee,” which ended up being in Karen and Andy’s home, a lovely surprise. We sat around their table and got acquainted, also meeting Andy’s son Callum, who is in his twenties and has autism. It was lovely chatting with him and sharing our names and places of origin. It wasn’t long before Angela shared with the group that Peter, a retired physician, was struggling with early stages of Alzheimers. It was quite touching how he relied on Angela to fill in gaps. He looked to her and said, “do that thing you do,” and she riffed through words to help him find the right one. They were lovely and delightful, up for anything, and all-around excellent traveling companions.

We left Callum with a shopping list for lunch, which would also be at Karen and Andy’s, and set off across the Island. Our first stop was a bird-nesting area along the coastal cliffs.

Next we headed to Quoygrew, the ruins of a Viking settlement. One of its longhouses had been excavated between 1997 and 2005. On the way, we met the charismatic Miss Piggy and fed her dandelions.

Quoygrew was a settlement of farmers and fishermen first inhabited in the 10th century and lived in as late as the 1930s.

Our lunch at Karen and Andy’s was utterly delicious thanks to Callum’s successful shopping excursion. Karen made sweet potato soup, accompanied by egg salad from chickens just up the road, locally made cheese, locally caught and smoked mackerel, rhubarb compote and possibly the best sticky toffee pudding in the world. Lunch was accompanied by a very animated political discussion about Boris Johnson (“a dreadful buffoon”) the current Tory government (“corrupt to the bone”) anti-immigration British home secretary Priti Patel, whose family immigrated to the UK but would not be able to do so under current policy (“a terrible hypocrite” and also “appalling”) and of course Brexit (“a complete disaster”). Angela expressed admiration for the qualified and educated Labour Party leader, Keir Starmer, and wondered, “why wouldn’t people want this type of person to lead the country,” as opposed to Johnson, who won votes because he was “a laugh” and would be an entertaining pub date. Angela also talked of the ever-growing wealth discrepancy in the UK. It all sounded wearyingly familiar.

We next visited Noltland Castle which was the biggest surprise of the tour. On our way we drove by a golf course, which perked up Peter, an avid golfer. Andy said the course boasted the longest hole in the UK at 738 yards. It’s a par 6. Andy said he got a 7 once, but with the constant winds a 15 is more likely.

Noltland Castle was constructed in the 1500s, so a bit late in the game as far as castles go. It was built by Gilbert Balfour, who at the time owned Westray and Shapinsay, both given to him by his brother-in-law, the Bishop of Orkney. It’s odd because apparently he ran out of money or interest because he never finished the castle – the Great Hall remains open to the stars, even while Gilbert lived there. Maybe he blew his budget on the gorgeous spiral staircase, one of the UK’s grandest of the period. Roofs are kind of boring and expensive for sure – but handy to have in place nonetheless. The castle boasts an incredible 71 gun holes. There’s even one in the WC. Was Gilbert paranoid? Or were his fears justified because he moved through life cultivating mortal enemies wherever he went? You be the judge.

The acoustics are amazing, and the local Kirk holds concerts here.

Balfour was the self-appointed Sheriff of Orkney, constable of Kirkwall Castle and master of Mary Queen of Scots’ household. Sounds good so far. But. He was also implicated in the murder of Cardinal Beaton at St. Andrews (mutilating his body and hanging it outside the window), after which he was captured by the French and condemned to be a navy galley slave for a few years. Fully not rehabilitated by that experience, he next helped murder Lord Darnley, Mary’s second husband, in Edinburgh.

You might be wondering why Mary didn’t dump Gilbert after he murdered her husband. The thing is she might have married Darnley mostly because he was also a Stuart and so would have given her a stronger claim to the English throne. Their son James did become James I of England, so that worked pretty well. Also, she had fallen in love with the Earl of Bothwell by that time and, who knows, perhaps she was in on the murder plot, as it was the only way to get rid of husbands back then.

Before Mary’s ultimate arrest, she was urged to flee to Noltland and some say that Gilbert was sweet on her and actually built the castle with her in mind. Sadly, she did not take this advice and was ultimately captured. You know the rest.

Balfour’s incurable habitual plotting continued apace, and he was implicated in the Mornay murder plot against King John III of Sweden. Karma finally caught up to him and he was executed in Stockholm.

Next stop was Noup Head Lighthouse (one of over 200 built around the Scottish coastline). One family, the Stevensons, was responsible for designing all of Scotland’s lighthouses over a 150-year period – which explains why they all look alike. The lighthouses, not the Stephensons. The sole black sheep who rejected the family business in favor of a dodgy writing career was named Robert Louis Stevenson.

Here there were more dramatic cliffs and thousands of seabirds, transforming the cliffs into a layer cake of different types of birds, who clustered together by species in neat rows.

We next visited the Heritage Center, home of the Westray Wife, a small Neolithic figurine carved from sandstone, the first Neolithic carving of a human form to have been found in Scotland. It is also the earliest depiction of a face found in the UK.

The center also featured rare china made for Edward VIII’s coronation. As we know, he abdicated after his ascension but before his coronation, in favor of his love Wallis Simpson. The American divorcee may have done the world a favor by removing a Nazi sympathizer from the board in favor of George VI, the beloved “Bertie,” who, along with the Queen Mum, refused to leave London during the Blitz and was photographed wandering amongst the rubble.

As we were leaving the Center, we spotted a small plane flying overhead – the shortest scheduled flight in the world from Westray to a (very) nearby island called Papa Westray. It’s scheduled for 1.5 minutes with actual flying time closer to a minute. The record for the fastest flight is 53 seconds.

Nearing the end of the day, we dropped off Angela and Peter, bidding them a very fond farewell. Angela was worried about her husband, as he had apparently been struggling more than usual during their trip, and they were headed to Shetland for another week. I hope they find that the familiarity of being back home in Cornwall will return him to form. They traveled extensively during their marriage, having many adventures around the world. Peter would smile happily, looking into the middle distance with fond remembrance as he shared some of their experiences. I dearly hope they are able to continue traveling for a bit longer before Peter’s illness makes it too challenging.

Our last stop on our way back to the ferry was the main puffin colony on the island. You know all those photos of puffins where they appear to be frolicking right underfoot? Sadly, my friends, these photos are largely due to high-powered zoom lenses and a lot of patience. Puffins nest in cliffs like the other birds, only they burrow rather than nesting on ledges. So you must wait for them to fly in and land, or perhaps pop out of their burrow to have a wee, which we witnessed and was adorable. The best time to see them is at dusk. But we still saw a good handful, and it was incredibly thrilling, and this is the best I could do with my iPhone.

As consolation here’s a photo from an exhibit in the Heritage Center.

Next morning we ordered a cab for 5:15 am to catch the ferry to the mainland. Happy to see Dougal waiting patiently for us in the car park, we drove off across the North Coast. Despite the occasional flare of irritation at campers, we mostly traveled along the single track road in complete solitude through moody landscapes, farmland and villages. We stopped at some spectacular, almost deserted beaches and visited Smoo Cave.

Ceannabeine Beach – Caribbean blue waters.

Smoo Cave was interesting although I’m not really a cave person. We opted against the hard hat tour. Lovely waterfall though.

At long last, we left the beaches of the north coast behind and dropped down into the rugged and spectacular Western Highlands I remember so fondly from my last trip.

We stayed the night at Newton Lodge, which is situated in an impossibly gorgeous location on Loch Glencoul.

I’ll leave you with a chance encounter we had with a cyclist we met as we arrived at Newton Lodge, John Loughran. We met him as he pulled up on his bike and tried to sort out where he had booked a room. As we were headed to nearby Kylesku Hotel for lunch, he asked for a ride. Of course we were happy to oblige, and John joined us for a lovely lunch. He is 78 years old, a retired engineer, and a Scot, although he has lived in England these past fifty years. He was riding the North Coast 500 in the opposite direction as we had done, riding valiantly through rain and wind and up and down serious hills on roads with no shoulders, or margins or verges as they are called, somewhat more descriptively than “shoulders.” John didn’t complain about any of it, just nodded and smiled, saying, “oh, it’s quite alright actually.” He told of a time when a local cyclist pedaled by who could see he was running out of steam on a climb. The guy rode alongside offering words of encouragement, and John said softly with a smile, “he got me through.”

John had planned the trip for 2020 along with a fellow cyclist. Sadly his friend bailed on the rescheduled ride, as his wife, whom John sweetly described as “a bit neurotic,” didn’t want to lose her husband for two weeks. John said proudly that his own wife, who was “very busy” and active in their community, was fine without him. He was “a bit disappointed” without his friend and his friend was “gutted” not be alongside him. I am slightly peeved by the clingy wife but like John’s wife very much. John added that he and his busy wife have five very successful children and seven grandkids spread around Scotland, England, Spain, Japan and Australia.

He showed us how he created a page for every day of his journey, carefully planning stops to recharge his electrical-assist bike. He shared many tales of his life, and how on this ride he was visiting spots in his home country that had meant a lot to his family over the years. John might be the sweetest man ever.

I’ll share one of his stories about a business trip he took to Rio in the fall of 2001. He was about to give a presentation to thirty of his colleagues when he heard someone say something bad had happened in the States. They all gathered around a television in time to watch the second plane hit the south tower. As he was telling the story, his mouth trembled and he broke down. He said he could not ever talk about that day without getting emotional, even after all this time. He said quietly, “of course, we cancelled the presentation, we simply could not go on.” When he was able to find a flight home, he remembers stepping over sleeping, marooned Americans in Schipol Airport. A reminder that the horrific 9/11 attacks took a psychic toll on humanity, even though they occurred on American soil. And the residual impact of that terrible day reverberates still, especially in empathetic souls.

Godspeed, John.

The Nastiness Act, A Lock of Hair That Used to Be Attached to Mary, Haggis and Rob Brydon

September 26, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

Aye, it does rain in Scotland. Usually, I’m told, a wee bit of ongoing mist, but sometimes a freaking downpour. And yet I booked a private tour of the Royal Mile and Edinburgh Castle, and the show must go on. The Mile is very touristy, but, like many such places, with a little effort and intrepidity you can have your own singular experience in spite of it.

My guide, Gains, has a PhD in History, and he brought whisky. As we meandered up the mile, he had many colorful tales to tell. Best of all, he poured wee drams at 10:30 in the morning as we stood in front of The Writers Museum, devoted to the Scottish trifecta of 18th and 19th century writers, Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson. Over my drams he told me about Burns Night every January 25, when Scotland celebrates their Rabbie’s birthday with a bit of frivolity and drink. It was a very Scottish moment.

As romantic as the Mile is now, it used to be utterly disgusting. Its streets floated with raw sewage and it was massively overcrowded with people in tenement-style buildings up to 14 stories tall. More than 50,000 Scots were crammed within its walls and livestock roamed freely. There was no plumbing (ignoring Roman tech) and so once a day residents would dump buckets of waste into the streets from upper windows. There was a bit of a warning first: “Gardyloo!” This was from the French gardez l’eau, but all credit to the Scots, not really l’eau at that point, loo being much more accurate. Residents used to be able to dump at any hour of the day, but in 1749 The Nastiness Act was passed which decreed waste could only be tossed out between 10:00 pm and 7:00 am.

As you can imagine, the city’s water supply was diseased. So the primary sources of hydration became alcohol (even for children, even first thing in the morning) and tea (because boiled).

Edinburgh’s upper classes lived on the center floors, too low down and the stench was overwhelming, too high up and there was a danger of collapse, as the top floors were wooden and poorly constructed. In the mid 18th century, the upper classes left “Old Town,” moved down the hill and established “New Town,” which is filled with Neo-Classical and Georgian architecture. To this day New Town is considered more posh, although both are UNESCO World Heritage sites.

So many interesting stops on our tour – for example, down one close (Scottish term for alleyway) is the only surviving sedan chair storage unit in the UK. Now it’s used as a bike shed, which is frankly what it looks like. Highlanders would be brought from the north to carry members of the upper classes around town suspended in these chairs so their feet wouldn’t touch the poopy ground. Also the streets were too narrow for carriages. They were King Joffrey’s preferred mode of travel in Game of Thrones.

Gains also pointed out statues of Scottish philosophers Adam Smith and David Hume, and government offices, including the old Parliament building, now housing the Courts of Session. A stone in the parking lot marks the approximate grave site of John Knox, the 16th century founder of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland and a leader of Scotland’s reformation. First Minister of Scotland Nicola Sturgeon hates him, and when she comes to town she directs her driver to park on top of the marker.

Next we stopped by a pub called Deacon Brodie’s. Brodie was a proper Scottish scoundrel in the 1700’s. A city counselor and cabinet-maker by day, he broke into homes at night to fund his gambling habit. He was eventually hanged at the Old Tollbooth just down the street from the pub that bears his name and is marked by a sign that honors his double life.

The Old Tollbooth, by the way, according to Gains, was the worst prison of all time, even more so than the Bastille. First established in the 14th century, it stood for 400 years. Sir Walter Scott wrote a book about it, called the Heart of Midlothian, often regarded as his finest novel. The Tollbooth was torn down in 1818. A Heart of Midlothian was installed in the sidewalk just at the spot, as a reminder. Gains said folks who have no idea of its history often drop to a knee and propose there.

Of course, Edinburgh being the home of JK Rowling, Gains pointed out the colorful Victoria Street, which inspired Diagon Alley, Elephant House Cafe, where she wrote the first couple of books, and Greyfriar’s Kirkyard, where she found a few of her character’s names engraved on the ancient gravestones. (Wee aside: Greyfriars Bobby, just outside the Kirk, is a lovely little statue commemorating the terrier who became known in 19th century Edinburgh for spending 14 years guarding the grave of his owner until he died himself on 14 January 1872.) By the time Rowling was writing The Deathly Hallows, her publisher paid for her to stay in a suite in the swanky Balmoral Hotel. The manuscript was locked up every night. You, too, can stay in this very suite for $1300 a night. Ach, how her fortunes have turned thanks to wee Harry.

As we made our way up the hill to Edinburgh Castle, it began pouring rain. Buckets. Gains soldiered on, telling me things I should see in the Castle. He wasn’t allowed to be in certain areas and asked me to warn him and move away if I saw a red laser dot on his forehead.

Edinburgh Castle is still an active British fort, so the British flag flies overhead rather than the Scottish. It’s a wicked fortress to conquer, being perched on a mammoth 750 million year old volcanic plug, although it’s been subject to numerous attacks and sieges throughout history. Robert the Bruce famously burned it down in the 1300’s. Speaking of which, stay tuned for the upcoming Chris Pine movie. Gains’s take (with a rueful shake of the head), “Wasn’t he Captain Kirk or something? Aye, come see Captain Kirk play Robert the Bruce! Ach.” I could go on about the storied history of Edinburgh Castle, but suffice it to say, it’s been a happening place in Scotland for centuries.

I bid farewell to Gains and explored several of the buildings inside the grounds of the fortress, including a memorial for all Scots killed in warfare since World War I. There’s also a dog cemetery where regimental mascots and officer’s dogs have been buried since Queen Victoria’s time, which is completely awesome.

Most famously, the Scottish Crown Jewels are on display, the oldest surviving set of Crown Jewels in the UK. Oliver Cromwell destroyed the British ones and that allowed Scotland to scoot into the lead. Displayed next to the coronation crown worn by Mary Queen of Scots (!!) is the storied Stone of Destiny, also known as the Stone of Scone. It’s a rather unremarkable oblong block of sandstone that has been used for centuries in the coronations of Scottish monarchs. The Brits, in keeping with their history of being awful to the Scots, swiped it in the 1400’s to use for their own coronations. A bunch of Scottish hooligans pulled a modern Highland Charge and stole the stone from Westminister Abbey in the 1950’s, bringing it home to Scotland. It was eventually returned. Finally, in 1996, the British allowed the Scots to have their stone back for good. One day, when Queen Elizabeth dies, the Brits will borrow it for the coronation of the very patient Charles. Or, if Charles can’t hold on, Prince William.

There’s a legend that centuries ago Scots switched out the real Stone of Scone for a fake before the British nicked it. If that’s true, the original hasn’t resurfaced. Or has it.

There are no photos of the Crown Jewels or the stone because royal rules.

When I could stand the big gobs of tourists at the castle no longer, I made my way back down the Mile, stopping for lunch at the World’s End pub, so-called because it was on the edge of town just inside the wall, back when there was one. Fish and chips is their speciality, so I ordered it, and holy crap it was not at all wee. I also tried the Scottish soda called Irn Bru, which Gains told me outsells Coke products in Scotland. It is not very good – a bit like cream soda but not quite there. Perhaps the non-diet version would be better – I read that Scots were up in arms when Obama was spotted drinking a diet Irn Bru in St Andrews.

Five Scots sat around what was likely their usual table in the window, telling tales and discussing the vicissitudes of life in a way that American men never do. I could have listened to them forever, but instead snuck a photo.

I next visited Holyrood Palace, the official royal residence in Edinburgh. The Queen stays here one week every summer on her way to Balmoral in the Highlands. The decor is as stodgy and dingy as you might imagine with fading rugs, fraying tapestries and dark paintings in dire need of restoration depicting bare-breasted women in some sort of biblical peril. The tour takes you through the Queen’s actual bedroom, which felt weirdly voyeuristic. The room is uncomfortably and sparsely furnished with thin-looking embroidered bed linens that look like they’ve been around for centuries. This is her “state bedroom” so hopefully she doesn’t sleep here. Maybe her actual bed has a memory foam mattress with puffy linens, a down comforter and soft pillows from Pottery Barn.

The main reason I visited the Palace was to see the royal apartments of Mary Queen of Scots. You could see the influence of Mary’s French upbringing in the decor and general good taste of the rooms. Seeing her bed was also weird, but for a different reason. It’s so small. I wonder how she managed it with her six foot frame. Off her bedroom is a cozy, charming room with a teensy fireplace that served as her supper chamber, which I didn’t realize I needed until now. And, famously, where her private secretary and maybe Italian lover David Rizzio was brutally murdered by a jealous Henry Lord Darnley, Mary’s second husband, and his Protestant Lord cronies. And when I say murdered I mean stabbed 56 times right in front of her. And she was pregnant with James VI at the time, who some say was fathered by Rizzio. Apparently you can still see bloodstains on the floor which is entirely silly, but still I did look.

Mary’s bedroom opens into a formal great room where she received visitors. A few relics are displayed in glass cases, some books, her rosary, a letter she wrote and so on, but most notably a substantial lock of her hair which at some point was presented as a gift to Queen Victoria. I could not wrap my brain around the fact that I was looking at some of her actual hair. I then wandered around the gardens even though my ticket didn’t cover that (sorry), and it was stunning. Next to the palace is a ruined Abbey (destroyed by the Brits during Mary’s reign) which made for some lovely photos. Arthur’s Seat, the hill I climbed when I first arrived, looms over the Palace, providing a splendid royal view.

There are no photos inside the palace because more royal rules.

I returned to the hotel, hung up my clothes to dry and went out to dinner and a show. Rob Brydon was performing at the Edinburgh Festival Theatre. When you are a single, you can usually snag a fabulous ticket late in the game in the front section. The Trip is one of my favorite films, and it stars Brydon and Steve Coogan. Two awkward British men traveling through northern England eating at gourmet restaurants. Their main schtick was doing competing Michael Caine impressions, which sounds tedious, but is hilarious.

I had dinner at the Printing Press, a posh restaurant in New Town. And there it was, on the menu, as a starter. Haggis and neeps. I figured this was my chance to cross the culinary Scottish Rubicon. An appy-sized, gourmet restaurant version of the famously awful dish. Here’s the deal, though – it was fabulous. I chased it with one of the best risottos and best chocolate desserts I’ve ever had. So serious. My server was a Canadian who had finished college and decided to move to Scotland, as it’s relatively easy to get a work visa in another Commonwealth Country. I was proud of her choice and wish I had done something similar. She loves Edinburgh.

Rob Brydon was way more hilarious than I was expecting. The top of his act was him talking to members of the audience about various things and he’s brilliant at it. His act includes loads of impressions (some were singularly British, sailing right over my head) with many astutely hilarious observations about aging and what it does to your pee stream strength and farting frequency. I was laughing to tears as were most people in the 2,000 seat house. Great fun for my last night in the big city before heading to the Highlands.

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