Travelling Hopefully - But With Slightly Gritted Teeth

 I awoke in my standby hotel (which was perfectly fine by the way) eager for the Orkneys. Today I would finally set foot on these fabled isles. But first I had to set foot on a train.

With the sun high in the sky I found myself hanging around Inverness train station trying not to look like I make a habit of such behaviour. Fortunately the rest of my tour group arrived before the police moved me on. Like most Intrepid tours the travelers were an eclectic bunch hailing from the four corners of Australia. Our guide was also Australian although he had lived in Scotland long enough to go native.

From Inverness we would catch a train to Thurso then a rather large ferry to Stromness and voila; Orkneys. Drama started early when it became apparent one of our number was missing. I looked very carefully but it wasn’t me. Eventually deciding to abandon her to her fate we piled onto a rather small train and headed for the coast.

Once on board the other members of our group introduced each other in the traditional manner by hurling hot chocolate at each other. We are now united as one family or possibly have started a blood feud which will last down the generations.

With its passengers glaring at each other and hot chocolate running in the gutters like blood the train set off on its journey. It travelled at a pace that afforded great opportunities to enjoy the highland scenery and enjoy it I did. There were cattle, sheep, horses more cattle and no end of sheep. Having hit the coast the train sensibly turned left rather than run us into the North Sea. Our guide attempted to impart essential information. “Seal!” I screamed in excitement before apologising. We all decided seeing a seal was way more important than whatever our guide was saying. I still don’t know what he was trying to tell us. At later points in the journey I would shout “Rabbit!” And “Deer!” but by this time they thought I was making it all up. It’s a good thing I didn’t see a wolf.

What is a train without a delay? The two go together like Sydney and rail. Our train stopped at a tiny Highlands station for fifteen minutes or so while another apparently far more important train was permitted to go past us. Our guide looked mournful and muttered something about calling the ferry to make sure it didn’t go without us. At least I think that’s what he said I was busy shouting animal names at the time.

Finally we turned up in Thurso and immediately piled into a taxi to get a little more ferry adjacent. The ferry was named something Nordic and had a Viking painted on the side. I understand wanting to keep in touch with your proud seafaring history but I wonder at the wisdom of reminding the locals of what used to happen when Scandinavian ships sailed into harbour. Fortunately we weren’t met with a hail of arrows.

It was evening by the time we arrived in Stromness and we were immediately bundled into another taxi to take us to god knows where. I’d stopped caring by this point and just assumed accommodation would present itself at some point. For once I was right.

Travelling Hopefully by Train

 Having exhausted the amusement value of Edinburgh or possibly vice versa I turned my face towards the heart of the Highlands. That’s right I was going to Inverness. The name Inverness comes from the Gaelic words Inver (phony) and Ness (sea monster). The city has served as the de facto capital of the Highlands ever since the Highlands was deemed to need such a thing. 

I arrived at Edinburgh’s Waverley station in plenty of time which gave me the opportunity to sit around for quite some time and wait for ScotRail to catch up with me. I’m not sure it ever did really. Still there was an electronic indicator board which displayed my train and proudly announced that it was on time. What it didn’t mention was the platform that the on time train would depart from. This became more and more of an issue as the time for said departure inexorably approached. With a mounting sense of panic I stared at the indicator board willing further information to present itself. In fact I was concentrating so hard on the indicator board that I almost missed the attendant bellowing out the platform currently occupied by my train. Fortunately it was directly in front of me.

I had bought a first class ticket but due to some inadequate signage wound up in economy instead. By the time I realised my error I was surrounded by people with more people beyond and fighting my way out would have required a troop of Cossacks at my back or, preferably, front. The view out the window was the same, I presume.

The view out the window changed rapidly from the outskirts of Edinburgh to fields and finally to more Highlands related terrain. The ground got lumpier, the horizon got closer and there were trees and gorse and stuff. Why I don’t have a job travel writing I don’t know.

I kept an eye out for deer. What I saw were cows, sheep and the occasional unenthusiastic attempt at agriculture. Despite the slight chaos surrounding its departure the train slid into Inverness bang on time.

Inverness as a destination didn’t particularly interest me but it was the starting point of my tour of the Orkneys. I was due to meet my tour group at the train station the next day. In deference to this  fact I had booked a hotel largely for its proximity to the station. The Royal Highland Hotel was literally a one minute walk from the station. I entered and was immediately entranced by its elegant old world style. I congratulated myself on an excellent choice. I think you can guess what’s coming next.

I announced myself to the receptionist and told her I was staying there that night. “No you’re not,” she replied. Apparently some of the rooms had not proved as rainproof as one would normally expect in a hotel and as a consequence I would not be staying there that night. They had graciously booked me into another hotel down the road. Apparently I should look for a big sign that said B&Bs. I obediently did so and found my place of repose. It was just past the tattoo parlour and the piercing shop a couple of doors along from the gentleman’s club and across the road from the Travelodge. Still it could have been worse, at least it wasn’t in the Travelodge.

Travelling Hopefully - Tattoo

 Yes the Edinburgh Military Tattoo gets an entry all to itself. Not necessarily because I have anything interesting or profound to say about it but let’s face it if you were looking for interesting or profound this blog probably wouldn’t be your first destination. In fact I could delete the word “first” from the previous sentence without impacting its accuracy.

Seeing the Tattoo has always been a dream of mine. I used to watch it on the ABC when l was younger but  because they broadcast it over the Christmas/New Year break that’s when I thought it was on. If I had thought about it for a moment I would have realised that doing the performance in Edinburgh Castle in midwinter would have been impractical. The performers might have survived but the audience wouldn’t.

So eager was I to ensure I got in (despite a pre booked ticket) that I turned up three hours early. The previous performance was still going on. I loitered with intent for the next couple of hours taking shelter under some trees to protect me from the biting wind, the showers of rain and the hot sun all of which turned up to mock me during this time. 

Finally a queue began to form and I joined it. Now surrounded by queue buddies I waited patiently until I thought my muscles would atrophy. Eventually the word was passed down the line and we surged towards the castle. Actually given that the average age appeared to be about seventy surged probably isn’t the right word to use. Eventually the word was passed down the line and we oozed towards the castle.

Dizzy with excitement (or possibly simply as a result of standing up for three hours) I took my seat and waited for the drink stands to be cleared away. As I waited I saw paramedics pushing away an elderly guest in a wheelchair. Apparently the excitement of turning up had been too much for ber.

There isn’t much I can say about the actual show. If you like that sort of thing it was staggeringly good. If you don’t then it was still staggeringly good but you won’t care. There were guest bands from the Ukrainian navy, the Polish Border Guard and the US army. My favourites were the Top Secret Drum Corps from Switzerland and the US Air Force Honor Guard Precision Drill Team who were amazing. There was pretty much every band in the British Army, Highland Dancers and probably not random others.

Once the final pipes had died away and blasts of fireworks had ruined the sleep of every bird in a five mile radius I got up to go and realised it was very very cold. Not by Edinburgh’s standards of course, the water was still liquid and the homeless made it through the night but it was cold for me. With pipe music ringing in my ears and my blood flowing somewhat lumpily through my veins I made my way ack to my hotel. By the time I arrived my circulation was behaving more or less as it should.

On my last day in Edinburgh I bought socks.

Travelling Hopefully - Underground

I went quite a bit of my time Edinburgh without seeing the sun. This will surprise nobody who has been to Edinburgh but in my case it was at least partially deliberate. I found myself drawn to various subterranean tourist attractions. Underground tourist attractions all work on the same principle; everything looks more interesting if it’s dimly lit and if your customers are trapped underground they’re less likely to run away. In fact The Real Mary King’s Close takes the latter part of this to extremes by warning anyone who wants to go back to wait for a guide without which presumably they will wander the underground streets of Edinburgh for ever.

For clarity a close is a street. The Royal Mile serves as the spine of old Edinburgh and the closes ran off it rather like ribs or legs of a millipede. The closes were narrow, filthy and were lined with tenement buildings up to twelve stories high. The closes tended to be named after a prominent resident. Mary King’s is the only one named after a woman.  Like the other closes on this side of the Royal Mile they all sloped down to what was then an artificial lake, part of the city’s defences, and is now the best fertilised park in Edinburgh. Fast forward a couple of centuries and the local council is looking to build a prominent new building on the Royal Mile. They did this by purchasing four of the closes including Mary King’s chopping off bits of the buildings there until they were level with the Royal Mile and building the new construction on top of what was left. This means that underneath the cellar of the new building is a maze of rooms, building remnants and streets. Down into this man created labyrinth we would journey to see how people lived in days of yore.

The answer is badly. For the poor it meant being crammed in tiny rooms surrounded by people you’d rather avoid (mainly relatives). For the less poor (and Mary King was by no means poor, she was a property owner and a businesswoman at a time when technically women could be neither) it still meant being crammed into somewhat more space with perhaps fewer irritating relatives but still not somewhere you’d go on your holidays. Ok so I did go there on my holidays, do you honestly think I’m an example to follow?

We were guided through the maze by a cheerful woman dressed as a serving woman from the sixteenth century only clean. There was a series of instructions beginning with “turn off your mobile phone “ there were other instructions but I didn’t hear them because the man next to me’s mobile phone went off for the remainder of the speech.

We went through the home of a family that died of plague which was quite a popular thing to die of at the time. The various types of plague were explained. Despite the bad press bubonic plague was definitely the one to get if you had the choice. The plague doctor had a treatment for that with a 50% survival rate. Definitely the best odds in town.

We were subsequently led through a cow byre (in the middle of what was essentially an apartment block just in case you were wondering how the plague got a hold in the first place) and a comfortable middle class home (three whole rooms) which of course had a ghost because that is a must have accessory for any sixteenth century home. The ghost is that of a young girl. She caught the plague and her parents did the responsible thing and abandoned her there. Somewhat closer to our own time a Japanese mystic visited the place for one of those “inconclusive bullshit about ghosts” television shows. Said mystic identified the presence of the ghost (where would we be without such people?) but it was what she did next that impressed me. Having determined that the girl had been stuck alone for centuries with no one to play with this mystic popped back up to the Royal Mile and bought a barbie doll which she left in the room for the girl to play with. Others have followed the example and there is now a whole shrine of toys (and other weirder items) in this room. Definitely dying miserable and alone was the best thing to happen to this little girl.

The tour was fascinating and it was possibly as a result of this experience that I made my second underground foray. I admit I skimped on the initial research. Basically I saw a sign saying “Edinburgh Dungeon” and I thought it would be an informative and educational guide to some of the grimmer parts of Edinburgh’s history. It was more of an interactive music hall show without the music. Performers chewed the somewhat shabby scenery, encouraged audience participation with a slight edge of desperation in their voices and sound effects and occasional bits of moving furniture added to the atmosphere. The atmosphere being that of a group of performers taking full advantage of the fact that their audience couldn’t run away. It was the sort of thing that would be loads of fun with fewer children and more alcohol.

Travelling Hopefully - Finally Here

 Every city has a purpose. The purpose of Frankfurt is to make the rest of Germany feel better about itself. My own sojourn in Frankfurt was confined to the airport and was simultaneously mercifully brief and eye wateringly long. Once I looked at the planes and had a curry wurst I was still left with seven hours to kill before Lufthansa would graciously agree to take me on the final leg of my journey to Edinburgh. I spent the time reading and once I’d finished my book I filled in a few hours weeping hysterically.

Other people weeping hysterically likely include the readers of this blog who are now into the third entry and haven’t even reached the beginning of the holiday yet. Firstly I would like to point out that reading this blog is not the  cause of your problems but merely a symptom and I would urge you to visit a therapist or exorcist as quickly as possible. Secondly I’ve done it, I’m finally here. With Lufthansa’s farewell chocolate still sticking to my lips I stepped out into the land of my ancestors. Well some of my ancestors, probably. I inhaled the sharp Scottish air as I was informed there was a thirty minute wait for a taxi. Once he deigned to show up my taxi driver informed me he couldn’t take me to my hotel because of trams or something. He did drop me off within walking distance and pointed helpfully.  By the time I reached my hotel I had spent almost as much time travelling from the airport to my hotel as I had travelling from Frankfurt to Edinburgh.

I had come to Edinburgh to see the Tattoo. After years of watching it on TV I was finally going to see it live. Assuming I could make my way through the crowds. Not only was the Tattoo on but also the Edinburgh festival and an Oasis concert. As a result the streets were swarming with humanity and Oasis fans.

I set out on the big day at 8.30am. A little early for a performance that starts at 9.15pm but you don’t know my talent for getting lost. With jet lag still dragging at my heels my intention was to find my way to the castle to ensure I could do it again at a more appropriate time. The old town of Edinburgh is made of grey stone an aesthetic choice which was essentially a defensive technique. Given the prevailing Scottish weather it was entirely possible an invading army would simply fail to see it.

The weather on the evening I arrived had been beautiful and the new day followed suit with bright sun and blue skies occasionally fighting their way through the clouds, cold wind and pissing rain. As a result no matter what weather you had dressed for you were wrong.

Edinburgh loomed grey and impressive before me. I climbed steps. This is something you’re just going to have to get used to in Edinburgh. A lot of the city is directly above and sometimes actually on top of the rest of it. I walked up the Royal Mile and came to a halt when something blocked my way. It was Edinburgh Castle. Having achieved that in literally the first twenty minutes I was left in the somewhat embarrassing position of not really knowing what to do for the rest of the day.

Fortunately Edinburgh came to my assistance. I looked to to one side and found Camera Obscura which is five floors of optical illusions and camera trickery guaranteed to appeal to children and a certain type of adult. I am that certain type of adult. Giggling with immature glee I tested all of the exhibits while parents nervously ushered their children away from me. I did manage to leave before the police arrived but that was probably more due to the crowds in the streets than any judgement of mine.

Travelling Hopefully - Copulating Otters and the Shabby Bladdered Four

 The above sounds like a dubious jazz band. I have to admit that at least on international flights the airlines have stopped even trying to pretend that their safety briefings are going to keep you alive in case of a crash or even a mild cold. As such the safety video is little more than an opportunity to highlight various photogenic scenes selected apparently at random.  Nothing as plebeian as an aircraft makes its way into any of the scenes.  I was directed to my life jacket by a woman wandering through an aquarium while what looked like otters expressed their feelings for each other in the most vigorous of ways in the background. Should the plane crash I know to brace myself in the rose garden and if the cabin loses pressure an otter will apparently drop from the ceiling.

With the safety of its passengers thus assured the aircraft reversed out of its corral and headed in the general direction of Singapore. Seven hours of enforced immobility gave me the opportunity to look at my fellow passengers. Specifically the three older somewhat battered looking men who visited the toilet on a rotating schedule every ten to fifteen minutes. Three? Well I have pretty much recovered from the cancer but I still find it wise to stay within easy reach of a toilet. Particularly when I travel.

Possibly it was our monopolisation of the bathrooms which prompted virtually every other passenger to try and piss in a cupboard.  The cupboard was set some three feet above the floor of the cabin. This didn’t stop an endless stream of passengers from rattling desperately at the handle apparently under the impression that relieving themselves involved completing an obstacle course.

Apart from the urinarily misdirected the flight was uneventful and I landed in Singapore without once having to deploy the emergency otter under my seat. While I waited for my connecting flight I went and visited the airport’s butterfly garden. The number of butterflies in evidence at ten o’clock at night could be counted on the toes of one hand.

Travelling Hopefully

 I’m always paranoid and nervous at airports. I shamble nervously through the teeming throngs always afraid that I’m about to be pulled aside and informed that not only am I not boarding my plane but that I will be removed to an undisclosed location and held incommunicado for the rest of my life. While free board and lodging has its appeal it would be a pity to miss out on the holiday.

Strangely the authorities unaccountably failed to detain and abuse my innocent person so I guess it’s back to the dating apps when I return. I was pleased to see I had once again booked an airline that parked so far from the entrance that I suspected I was leaving from Melbourne. Still the walk let me build up an appetite which is an essential precursor to airline food so I’m going to call that a win.

As I settled down to fill the gap between the time you’re expected to arrive and the time they graciously allow you onboard the metal sky tube I felt my excitement rising.  At least I call it excitement, my doctor has another word for it. Ahead of me lies Neolithic villages, puffins, sheep and at least one tattoo. Either that or three weeks staggering around Edinburgh airport looking for the exit. Either way it will be an experience.