Go Tigers!

Well, Thursday we left for our driving trip.

Phase One was Stonehenge. I was disappointed to learn that it probably didn't have anything at all to do with druids after all. *crushed* But all in all, it was ridiculously cool. Towering stones on a hill, blanketed in mystery even with the hordes of tourists walking around the walkway, listening to their audioguides. I wish I would have been able to see it when it was fully complete.

After Stonhenge, we crossed into Wales, basically just to say that we had, and then we began heading north. Since we're basically using the "fly by the seat of our pants" approach to planning this part of the trip, we just drove awhile and then stopped when we saw what looked like a cool restaurant.

It turned out to be wonderful. We were led downstairs into a low-ceilinged room with wooden beams decorated with ivy. I decided to go a little bit out of the ordinary and order the lamb.

Wow.

Amazing.

Our waiter (who we think was also the owner of the restaurant) entertained us with ghost stories and his own tales of traveling to Florida. When he brought out our food, he asked if we needed any "other" sauces with it, like ketchup. Then he said, "Well, I do have some sort of voodoo sauce I brought back from Florida." Hearing him say "voodoo sauce" with that accent just made it all the funnier, until he brought it out. Sure enough, it was a bottle of cayenne hot sauce, labeled "Voodoo Sauce." Well then.

We stayed at a Travelodge up the road a bit, where I enjoyed a long shower, followed by a long bath. Hooray for hot water.

The next day, we kept on driving north, this time across the border into Scotland. It took us a long time to get there, so we ended up looking for a place to stay the night instead of going into Edinborough right away. Apparently Memorial Day Monday is Bank holiday in England, plus there was some sort of show in the area south of Edinburgh, plus a VW convention of some sort (weird, I know), not to mention a very important rugby match in Edinburgh itself. The English vs. the Irish, in what I think is the final match of some sort of tournament/season.

Needless to say, everything was booked solid. We were getting kind of desperate when we pulled into the last town. We trundled up to The Mill Inn and once again asked if they had any rooms. They didn't, but they gave us the business card of a Bed & Breakfast up the road. We piled back in our "van" and headed there. When we got there, it didn't appear that they would be able to help us either, but the owner, a man named (get this) Ian Mob, offered to make a few phone calls for us. It must have been our tired looks on our (still) excruciatingly gorgeous faces that convinced him that he needed to take us under his wing. He found a room for the three boys a little ways down the road, and set up a room himself for us girls.

We unloaded the luggage and then trundled off to Edinburgh for a bit of the night life. This is where we discovered exactly how fanatical everyone is about rugby. Downtown, outside of the pubs, crowds and crowds of people stood around quaffing (awesome word) ales and occasionally ripping off a passionate "Go Tigers!" We were walking up to one such street when everyone started their own impromptu pep rally. We just sort of stood there looking, and someone else on the street, presumably Scottish, tossed off a "The English have landed" in our general direction as he passed by.

Our supper was amazing though, and after we had finally polished off the last bit, we drove over to Arthur's seat. It's a huge overlook that sits to one side of the city, where you can hike up and take amazing pictures, ooh and ah, fall off and kill yourself, or make out. The best part is that you're free to do whichever thing interests you the most. Myself, I just found a nice spot to sit, where I sat (obviously) and tried to be contemplative. It would have worked a little bit better if it hadn't been so frigidly cold.

Eventually we drove back to our beautiful guest houses and our lovely innkeeper. There are no words that describe this man properly. Charming almost works. Quick wit. Great sense of humor. Basically, everything you could possibly hope for in a host for your night in Scotland.

In the morning Mr. Ian served us our breakfasts in a beautiful sun porch, dressed in his favorite outfit. A kilt, of course. He says that he likes for his guests to be able to see one for sure before they leave Scotland, and since "I love ma kilt, tis no hardship." I only wish I could post the accent in this blog so you could hear it.

My breakfast consisted of:
A pot of tea, fresh grapefruit, a poached egg, a slice of brown toast with orange marmalade (homemade by his wife), two slices of bacon, sauteed mushrooms, and four gorgeous cherry tomatoes baked, still attached to their vine. Talk about a beautiful presentation and an absolutely delicious meal.

After we said goodbye to the Mobs, we went back into Edinburgh and toured the castle there. It was full of English and Irish people (Go Tigers!) and lots of others, but I still enjoyed it. There was one tour through the castle that told the history of the Crown Jewels of Scotland, culminating in the display room where they are actually kept.

We didn't actually leave Edinburgh until early afternoon, so we spent most of the rest of the day driving.

Tonight, I strolled over to the restaurant next door, which just happened to be run by a bonafide Italian. I'm not sure how long he's lived here; I would assume quite awhile, but he still had the italian flamboyance and charm. And the penne pasta with asparagus, mushrooms, and cream sauce was exactly what I was hungry for.

More later, once it happens. :) I have been drinking pots and pots of tea and thoroughly enjoying every drop. I'm exhausted every night, but so far, I'm having a wonderful time.

Correct pronunciation of the day:
Edinburgh
EH-din-bore-oh

Cheers!