So the great Thompson Highlands Adventure began this morning at a small Avis rental outlet in Edinburgh. I have to admit I was tremendously nervous about getting out of the crowded city, where half of the streets are barricaded for an update of the tram system, ON THE LEFT SIDE! Of course, it didn’t help, as we sat in the rental car garage and I checked out the left-side gear shift, that my mother brings up an incident TWENTY-TWO YEARS in the past when I once in Japan had a hyperventilation incident when my mother was visiting and my homestay mother was stressing me out. Mom said something tactless like, “I just hope you don’t get the jitters like that time in Tokyo.” Thanks Mom. I should be in therapy.

Anyhow, we got on the road, and with the help of Mother, Dad and the friendly pre-ordered GPS (which the Edinburgh Avis woman said wasn’t available, then miraculously found one) we made it out of Edinburgh and on to the remains of the farthest extent of the Roman Empire – a wall built in the 140s AD by the Emperor Antonius Pius to keep out the barbarian Scots – a wall soon abandoned as the Romans retreated to Hadrian’s Wall in England, then all the way back to Rome. It was on a lovely crumbling, boarded up estate, once quite the place, and it was on lovely green fields bordered by trees that is now used as a local dog park. It really was lovely in the sunshine. Not much of the site was visible – just a few rocks, a hummock that was once a 10-foot wall – and some interpretive markers. But it was a great chance to stretch our legs – and see the ruin of a stone house where the first steam engine was developed by James Watt (or was he an energy secretary?) in the 19^th century.

We then visited the lovely Stirling Castle, long a critical site in the history of Scotland, birthplace of the tragic Mary, Queen of Scots, mother of King James VI of Scotland and Shakepeare’s patron James I of England, set high up over a lush green plain with great views of the distance William Wallace memorial. We had a great lunch overlooking the surrounding countryside and watching the storm clouds brew.

Then on to the Highlands. The driving was getting a bit easier, and it was gorgeous as we rose up into the purple-heathered huge barren hills. We stopped for a brief visit to the Dalwhinnie Distillery, Dad’s first in Scotland. The distillery dates to the late 18^th century, briefly owned by an American firm until Prohibition, then back to Scottish hands, which has brought it laurels in recent years.

We then drove another half hour to our hotel in Boat of Garten, a charming tiny town with an old-fashioned steam train we will ride tomorrow. To capture a bit of the chaos of our trip, Will was relaxing on our front porch and noticed he’d worn his pants on backwards all day. I guess I was a bit more stressed out after all than I’d thought!!!

And then we went to dinner. And had a great dinner in which I became a total blood pudding convert – scallops with blood pudding, a parsley glaze, exquisite potoatoes with cream. But then while Mom and I waited for the check, missed the best moment of the day.

Grandpa and Will wandered into the bar, where an accordianist and fiddler played, and they asked Will to sing something and he sang, “Old MacDonald had a farm.” I am so sad I missed it. Outside the window, is the steam train we will ride tomorrow, “Now we’re lost in this crazy hotel,” said Will, as we wandered through the old hotel, reminiscent of our hotel in Rothenberg.

Jesus, Now Dad is strapping on the electric accordian!!!!  “I”ve never played an electric one before,” he said.

I woke at daybreak (alas 4 a.m.); Will at 5 a.m.  and we finally had to rouse Gramma and Bops at 7:15 as Will and I headed down to an amazing breakfast buffet. (Don’t worry, Rick, it wasn’t the breakfast buffet of a lifetime. But still really good.)

Our first stop as we walked up the Royal Mile toward Edinburgh Castle was St. Giles Cathedral, the heart of the city since like 800 AD. Inside, above the din of a organ recital, a volunteer guide named Norman Bryson (son of Bruce, “son” is a lowland naming device, “mac” is a Highland term, also meaning son), told us about the history of the cathedral and the artifacts therein. It was a virtual tour of Scottish religious and political history, and including entertaining tale of an extremely obese King George IV being persuaded by none other than Sir Walter Scott to don a sail-size kilt and pink stockings to cover his ugly legs.  Among the more fascinating tales, he showed us one of the 7 surviving copies of the Scottish National Covenant, which basically told the English King to buzz off and keep church and state separate. (And Rehan, pardon me if I get the facts wrong!) Well, our old friend Thomas Jefferson apparently studied under a Scotsman named Blair, who was at William and Mary College. Jefferson and Blair became close friends and Jefferson learned all about Scottish history and this document — hence we owe some of the ideas in the Declaration of Independence  — and even some language in the preamble — to these Scottish clergy. Fascinating.

We then ventured up to the Castle, where I experienced my first major failure as a tour guide — not buying the tickets in advance on-line. So Ma patiently waited in the unexpected hot sun for 45 minutes to get us tickets. We saw a bagpiper; a dog cemetery for soldier’s pets; the king’s crown and sword; a chapel dating back to the 12th century. Mother’s favorite site was the huge cannon Mons Meg, a gigantic cannon capable of shooting a cannon 330 pounds almost 2 miles. No wonder it exploded in 1681.

We then ate another fabulous meal at the Royal Museum of Scotland — we gotta stop this — and quickly toured the museum. We saw the famous Lewis Chessmen, wonderful Pictish stone carvings — so beautiful — Roman sculptures, a steam engine, tartain battlegear, you name it.

We then plodded through a rainstorm to catch a tourist bus for a 1-hour tour, getting tired now, and hit a whisky shop to score a bottle for Bops, who was already back at the hotel.

Tomorrow, we’re off to the countryside — a castle or two, a distillery or two, and a hair-raising driving moment or two, I’m sure. Wish us luck!

We slept until about 6 p.m., then Will popped awake and declared, “I feel like it’s morning!” We were a bit droopy, but we headed out to find dinner, targeting a highly recommended locavore French restaurant near our hotel, but alas, C’est domage, it is Bastille Day, and the place was booked for a special event. But they sent us around the corner to what we are calling the Higgins of Edinburgh, a tiny restaurant called Wedgwood, which was amazing — even Dad loved it — and Rick would have been in heaven. Grandpa loved the whisky menu. Will loved his mashed potatoes — called bubble and squeak, or squeak and bubble, we can’t quite remember — and Grandma and I ate up a mysterious dark figgy wedge of stuff that came with Will’s pork. Grandma especially partook. And you should have seen the look on her face when the server told us it was blood pudding! So I say, bring on the Haggis!!

After dinner, we took a walk up to Calton Hill to get a view of the Firth of Forth and the city. Despite a bunch of packs of partying Italian, Spanish and French exchange students, it was a lovely evening, no rain, and spectacular views of the water and the gorgeous architecture of Edinburgh. Will declared it was “like Ashland but more historic.”

So tomorrow we’re off to explore Edinburgh — Will is psyched. He’s loving spending time with Grandma and Grandpa, whom he declares way more fun than mommy. I’m not bad, but I am the tour director and enforcer on this trip. So far, so good!

Well, we arrived in Scotland, safe and sound, but a wee bit exhausted, as Will will attest. (He’s apparently a “wee fellow” here, an expression I love.) We had a quite fine, but extremely noisy flight from Portland to Amsterdam (it was like a very poorly run kindergarten class in our section), so Will wasn’t able to sleep at all. But upon arriving at Amsterdam, Will was able (and eager) to wish the Pink Martini maestro Thomas Lauderdale “Happy Birthday,” since he was just off our flight to Amsterdam to “mix” his fourth album. He’s a gracious Portlander and was very sweet to Will.

Anyhow, Will hit the wall waiting in Amsterdam, slept on the plane to Glasgow, slept in the car to Edinburgh, arrived in our hotel room saying, “The best thing of all, there is a bed.” He took a bath, commenting, “How do you know these things? (that taking a bath after a horrendous travel day makes you feel better.) My hair smelled like chicken nuggets.”

So we’re napping until dinnertime, then out to see the city and get on the correct time zone. It’s a beautiful city, and we are quite keen to explore. That sounds like something Rehan would say, so I’m sticking with it. We send good vibes to all from Scotland.