CALLANDER, Tuesday, July 22, 2009, 4 p.m. – Our dear friend and Glasgow native Rehan Ahmad told us we hadn’t experienced a true Scottish summer until we had “rain up our noses and were soaked to the underwear.” 

Well, Rehan, I’m happy to say we now have the authentic experience.

Today, we left our lovely little hotel in the south of Skye (after another massive Scottish breakfast, of course, see above/below) to drive to the ferry in Armadale, a 20-minute drive away.

There we boarded a small ferry for the half-hour trip over the Sound of Sleat to Mallaig, the terminus of the Harry Potter Express we’d ridden on a few days ago and where we’d had a great seafood chowder. This time, we followed the railroad route on a fairly good road back over the waterfall-streaked hills into Fort William.

From there, we drove east into the spectacular scenery of Glencoe, best known for an infamous 1692 slaughter by the army of the Clan MacDougal engineered by a treacherous government official bent on destroying the Highland clan.

Soldiers murdered at least 38 people who had been hosting the soldiers during a snowstorm. Others were driven out into the snowstorm and perished there. The massacre, which made it into a pamphlet complete with the government’s complicity, gained sympathy among the public for the Highlanders and the Jacobite cause.

We ate a picnic lunch in the café at the Visitor’s Center there (the rain was falling too hard outside), but we were able to see the massive mountains before they started to disappear in the midst.

I’ve never seen anything quite like them, but they evoked the same feeling of awe that you get in the Yosemite Valley when you look up at the impossibly steep mountains. We learned of an interesting American connection with the massacre: a 12-year-old son of the MacDougal’s who survived the massacre had a direct descendent who emigrated to the United States in the 19^th century, I believe. His son then married a Nez Perce woman, and after the massacre at Big Hole in Montana, always spoke of the two massacres as very similar. Sorry I don’t have better details, but  you know how it is to go through a museum with a 7-year-old.

We then drove up over the mountains of Glencoe, which were impossibly gorgeous, with lacy waterfalls, misted hanging valleys, and the wide U-shape of a glaciated valley.

It really was breathtaking and would be a fabulous place to go hiking. There were actually quite a few people in rain ponchos slogging along the hillsides. Brave souls.

We then leveled out on the wide open spaces of the Rannoch Moor, which was dotted with huge rocks I believe were left behind after the glaciers melted. Then the rain really began to get interesting. We had been warned coming out of Fort William by huge flashing signs reading “Heavy rains ahead. Watch for flooding roads.” Well, for the next hour or so we would be hit by rainstorm after rainstorm, dumping so much rain that the roads indeed had standing water and the windshield wipers couldn’t clear the rain fast enough. One minute it would be sprinkling, the next you’d have to slam on your brakes to keep from hydroplaning into the oncoming tour buses. We couldn’t get here fast enough.

We did pass through some lovely hills, however, places that would be fun to return to – like a tiny town called (mother wrote it down) with a sweet-looking hotel, and a bike path built on a reclaimed railroad line outside Callander, where we are right now. We saw people riding over a stone viaduct that looked like the one in the Harry Potter movie.

Definitely a place to come back to. Now off for a walk and dinner with the folks!

ISLEORNSAY, ISLE OF SKYE, Tuesday, July 21, 2009, 4:45 p.m. — We had a delightful morning in the sunshine, glorious sunshine.

We all slept in then went downstairs for a leisurely breakfast in our hotel. I tried out the Brose (rhymes with prose), which is a very thick, coarse porridge served with cream. It was very hearty. Pa had his usual bacon and eggs, Grandma her roasted tomatoes and mushrooms, and Will ate a whopping two bowls of corn flakes, toast with jam, a hard-boiled egg and bacon. Whew!

We then enjoyed the morning sun outside,

and Mom and I found a wonderful wool and tweed shop next door where I actually bought something! (I never shop on vacation.) They had beautiful scarves and funky hats and tweedy men’s jackets, all made in Scotland. We then ventured out on our driving tour of Skye, a 4 1/2 hour venture to the tip of the island and back, past some of the most rugged and gorgeous scenery we’ve seen on the trip. I had to get into my “single-track mind” again, as we wove up the coast past the quaint harbour town of Portree. At 2,000 residents, it’s the islands largest city and capital. We then cruised up the coast, past innumerable sheep, which threatened to jump out in front of our car and become lamb burger at any moment, past innumerable white-washed houses with dormers peaking out, past lovely rock formation after rock formation. The Old Man of Storr is the most famous, and it was striking.

We took a steep, single-track road up to see the Quairaing, a series of weird rock formations on the sweeping green hillsides. The drive was a bit hairy, because you couldn’t see far ahead of you and it was NARROW and STEEP and quite dramatic. Even more dramatic was turning around at the top! We then headed back down and talked Dad into driving the whole way around the Trottenish Peninsula — we were all a bit (OK, a lot) tired of driving, but we’d come so far we couldn’t turn around now.

We enjoyed the rest of the drive, in which we encountered many many sheep, many many beautiful views out across the water to the surrounding islands, and a few small white houses set against a dramatic vast green backdrop. We also passed the Flodigarry House Hotel, where our friends the Ahmads stayed — unbelievably gorgeous setting!

As we rounded the island and headed for home, Will asked, “Where are we going?” We said, “The Hotel.” “Why did we do that?” he asked about the drive, since his face had been buried in his DVD movies most of the time, though we prodded him to enjoy the view all the way along.

And as we approached the hotel, the skies — which had been graciously kind to us for our day of sightseeing — began to darken, and yes, rain began to fall. It’s now raining quite hard, but that doesn’t matter because we are safe and cozy in our hotel. The weather forecast for the last three days of our vacation? Heavy rain.

ISLEORNSAY, ISLE OF SKYE, Tuesday, July 21, 2009, 8:45 a.m. — We woke to a glorious sunny morning. Will and I are feeling so optimistic we’re wearing shorts! (And we’re getting low on clean laundry, so any temps above 60 is shorts-weather.) I wanted to share our sunshine with you all before it disappears.

We just wanted all of you to know we are doing great — Rick thought we sounded tired and rode-hard, and maybe we are, but we’re having a blast. This is the most beautiful and charming inn on the most beautiful coast, and our antique-filled room is beyond charming.

I’m not sure what we will do today; Dad wants to relax and watch the boats in the harbour; Mom wants to drive north and see the landscapes Asma raved so much about; I’m not sure what I want to do; Will is, as usual, open to anything. We’ve decided to take a ferry tomorrow from Armandale to Mallaig and drive along the Harry Potter Express line to shorten our return trip. A ferry ride should be fun.

So here’s to the elusive Scottish sun. Here’s one more picture from our room — I can’t wait to get out an explore — after a massive Scottish breakfast, of course.

CARBOST, ISLE OF SKYE, Monday, July 20, 2009 – So here we sit, Will and I, in the Talisker Distillery, the only whisky maker on the islands off the western Scottish coast, waiting for Grams and Bops to complete their 2 ½ hour “Connoisseur Tour,” during which they will sample FIVE different, very peaty whiskies. I expect I’ll have little help co-piloting on our way to our hotel tonight! Anyhow, while Will plays with his iPhone, I thought I’d catch you up on our doings. I hope to file this and the post from yesterday when we go through a little village in the north of the island tomorrow that has wireless. I can’t let my readers down. All four of them!

I’m hoping the hotel tonight has wireless, because Will is getting homesick for Daddy and Mitchell, and we need a Skype-session. Will lay in bed this morning imagining all the things Daddy would like about Scotland (big breakfasts and nice hotels, among them), and all the things Daddy and Will would be doing together here: telling stories at night about Nessie, putting on Will’s new Viking hat and making scary faces, snuggling in the big bed. But Will wants me to promise to drive when we come back with Daddy – he’s convinced that Daddy’s stressful experience driving in Greece is the reason Rick doesn’t want to go back there!!! (Rick wants to go to countries he hasn’t been before, while Will and I can’t get enough of that place.)

We woke early at our now beloved Letterfinlay Lodge (I’m sleeping better now, thanks for asking),  where our trusty clerk the “Dingaling Man” served us delicious porridge, egg and bacon for breakfast. I was 8:30 a.m., and Will looked over at the barred-up bar on the edge of the dining room and asked, “When does the bar open?” Oh dear, we’ve been with my folks a little too long apparently! J It reminded me of the other day, when Bopa, in his usual grumpy demeanor, struggling with jetlag, forced a smile for the camera. Will said something to the effect of, “We need to get Grandpa some whisky so he can smile.”

The weather has turned decidedly worse, which is funny because it’s been rather November-in-Portland – Mother said the TV news predicted gale force winds today. The perpetual mist that coats you whenever you step outside was here yet again this morning. But off we set at 9 a.m., headed for Eilean Donon Castle, one of the most picturesque and photographed castles in Scotland. On the way there, we drove through dramatic, mossy-green mountains and glens, all streaked with waterfalls. The roads were narrow, the rain constant, the tour buses lumbering straight toward us (“Remember: Oncoming Traffic in the Middle of the Road.”) But for the most part, the traffic was light and we felt utterly alone and isolated – no towns, no people, no animals, no trees, just vast seemingly empty vistas and slate-gray lochs. A shaft of sun came out for one glorious moment, when a full rainbow stretched from one side of the glen to another. Astonished, we pulled over, but by the time Dad and I got our cameras out and turned on, it was driving rain again. I’m not sure I caught the rainbow, but I’ll post it if I did.

Around 10 a.m. we arrived at the castle in a driving rainstorm and those gale force winds Mother predicted. We fought our way into the reconstructed castle, which sits on a tiny tidal island in the loch. The castle, dating back to the 15^th century but destroyed only to be rebuilt in the early 20^th century, was extremely cool, with great views of the rain slanting sideways across the loch.

We then journeyed on to the Isle of Skye, on our way to the Talisker Distillery – which from the remote location and single-track road leading to it one would assume would be a tiny, quaint place. Well, somehow the hoards are here with us. We had a nice lunch in a tiny pub, boasting itself “Possibly the Best Pub in Carbost,” being the only pub in Carbost, which overlooks yet another loch. Will and I are now camped out in the visitor center, awaiting another hair-raising car drive to our hotel in the driving rain and flooding roads. Oh joy. But the hotel tonight looks really charming, and we plan to eat in the pub there before collapsing to prepare for our drive around Skye tomorrow. I’m hoping Mother remembers to ask for my to-go dram of whisky – I think I’ll need it tonight!

The weather improved a bit, and we arrived at the lovely Eilean Iarmain hotel, a tiny, isolated old place on the Sleat Peninsula of Skye. Dad declared he loves it here more than any place in Scotland and wants to spend the day here tomorrow — all day, no driving. I think I’ve worn him out. I think I’ve worn myself out because I tend to agree with him!

It is absolutely gorgeous here; our rooms look out across at the western coast of Scotland, and the mountains are lush and shrouded in those ever-present clouds. But the sun broke about a half hour ago, and Will and my parents are out for a walk while I revel in a rare moment of wireless — not free, but wireless no less.

We are right on the water, there are little boats bobbing around, and we are going down to have dinner in the pub shortly. I wish you all were here with us! Thank you for your comments, Kymberly and Rehan. I will respond to them when I have a chance. This is a truly special place.

SPEAN BRIDGE, Sunday, July 19, 2009 – After a breakfast of porridge and toast with marmalade, (well, Pa had the full Scottish breakfast of bacon and eggs, and Ma the ubiquitous broiled tomato and mushrooms), we set off for Fort William to catch the Harry Potter Express, otherwise known as the Jacobite Steam Train. The rail line, originally built in the late 19^th century to haul in herring from the coast, became famous for being featured as the Hogwart’s Express that took Harry and his cohorts to witch school. (Remember D.K. Rowling wrote early versions of the story in a café looking out on Edinburgh Castle.) There is an especially famous shot of the old-fashioned steam train crossing the Glenfinnan Viaduct, and yes, we passed over it today! The scenery was spectacular, huge green mountains laced with waterfalls and speckled with gray and white rocks. We passed a number of lochs – they seem to be everywhere – and passed the place where Bonnie Prince Charlie both arrived in Scotland to lead his Jacobite insurrection, and where he fled from it after the disaster at Culloden.

After an hour and 45 minute ride, we arrived in Maillaig, a fishing village at the end of the line, on the coast looking out on the inner Hebrides, including the Isle of Skye, where we travel tomorrow. We ate a delicious lunch (Mom and I had the Scallop and Shrimp Chowder, YUM!) and Will devoured every carbohydrate in site – cheese and tomato pizza, baked beans, chips (as in French Fries), bread. I forced him to eat one slice of cucumber and one wedge of tomato. I guess a child can’t become malnourished in just 10 days, or can he? We’ll get back to eating fruit and vegetables when we return, I suppose.

We then wandered the tiny town looking for wireless, and found it at the ferry station. There, I hurriedly filed my pre-written blog post and uploaded a few photos for all our loyal readers out there. I felt like I was back as a reporter, searching for a way to get my story filed in the middle of a wildfire with no cell service. We then rushed back to the train station to catch the ride home. Will won 5 pounds on the waterfall-counting contest on the return trip, beating out Bops 13 to 10.

We’re now back at Letterfinlay Lodge,  sipping whisky, lounging in the rustic wood-paneled drawing room, and waiting for dinner at 6:30.Will is playing pool and having a wonderful time while Grams and Bops watch the British Open. Why isn’t it called the Scottish Open?????

Love to all! I’ll attempt to file this Monday if we have wireless either at the Talisker Distillery, where the grandparents have a special tour, or at our bed and breakfast. Wish me luck!

The day started at the beautiful hotel in Inverness that apparently had a section dating back to the 1530s. Will and I had a great porridge breakfast in the lovely formal dining room looking out on the Moray Firth and the hills beyond. We watched the inevitable Scottish rain fall and speculated on who would see Nessie first. We then headed out for a 1-hour tour on a boat on Loch Ness aboard a small boat, which took us over the incredibly deep water of the loch. Will scanned the water with his binoculars, watched the on-board sonar screen for sign of the elusive monster. We saw the lovely ruins of Urqhart Castle, last blown up by the retreated Brits in the 17^th century, on a strategic point in Loch Ness that had been fought over for centuries.

On our return trip, an older gentleman named Kenneth White, who worked on the boat, regaled me with stories of the history of everything from 11^th century Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor and King-assasin, to the Jacobite rebellion in mid 18-century – dates, names, he reeled them off like a true history bugg. He then asked if we were Scottish, and he proceeded to whip out heavily thumbed books on the names and clans. He said that Thompson is the same as Thomson, or MacIntosh, son of Thomas, and we are part of the Clan Chattam, pronounced “Hattam,” and said that our ancestors may have been at the decisive, horrific Jacobite battle at Culloden – on either the Scottish or British side. He said our ancestors may have been taken prisoner and shipped overseas, or may have emigrated during the infamous clearing of the Highlands, part of the wholesale destruction of the clans and Highland culture following the Jacobite rebellion of 1745-46. Apparently there is a great library in Inverness, where staff will help you track your ancestors – something to remember for a return trip.

We then drove to Cawdor Castle, where the famous Thane of Cawdor, Macbeth, slew his king Duncan and went down in Shakespearean infamy. It’s gorgeous and still a private home, where the Countess of Cawdor still lives 6 months of the year, making money off us tourists the other six. Will saw a dungeon, where people may have been hidden from persecution or imprisoned. There were innumerable priceless tapestries, furniture, portraits – as well as photographs of her children and herself and modern artwork. It was truly a fabulous place. The gardens were lush and flowering, but it was raining too hard to explore them. The only thing missing was any mention of Shakespeare’s Macbeth – everyone was at pains to explain he was actually a great king, villianized by the Damn Bard of Avon. I can’t remember the specifics, but I seem to recall Shakespeare was playing to his Scottish King and patron’s family ties – like I think James I may have descended from Banquo, whom Macbeth murders.

We then visited an amazing, multi-media interpretative center at the site of the Battle of Culloden in 1746, where the Jacobites lead by Bonnie Prince Charlie lead an ill-fated attempt to reinstate his father on the English throne. He lead his exhausted and overmatched Highlanders to slaughter at the hands of the Brits.

Finally, at the recommendation of our new friend Kenneth, we then headed out on our first “dotted-line” road, which turns out to be a single-track road along the south side of Loch Ness. A trip that would have taken 40 minutes, took 1 ½ hours, and it was way stressful. We did see some lovely scenery toward the end, but I was exhausted by the time we arrived at our hotel, where a surly clerk got into it with my mother for ringing the bell too much. Oops, gotta go to dinner because we don’t want to be late and get in trouble again with the surly clerk/waiter/bar keep/receptionist, whatever he is.

Later on ….. Mom ended up making friends with her surly, overworked clerk – she calls him the dingaling man. She bought him a pint and he now teases her about all the bell-ringing. The Inn is a casual place, much to Dad’s liking, and it looks out over lovely Loch Lochy and the steep partly forested hills across the loch. The tops of the hills are not surprisingly hidden in the perpetual mist.

A monster named Lizzie apparently live in Loch Lochy – Will spotted her this morning. “I only saw her back. She was black, I saw her spine, bumps on her back and that’s all I saw,” Will reported. No Nessie, but Lizzie!

A note on the driving – driving on the left is the easy part. The hard part is the roads are so damn narrow, and there is NO SHOULDER. Either a curb, a sharp drop off the asphalt, or a treacherous pothole. And there are TOUR buses! And there are signs that say “Oncoming traffic in middle of road.” No kidding. So far, so good, but it’s a little nerve-wracking, like today when a bus was edging into our lane, forcing me into the gutter at the side of the road. We’re lucky we didn’t get a flat tire – I hope it doesn’t deflate in the coming days.

So after Dad’s rousing accordion performance last night, we found that today unfolded with yet again two of his favorite things: whisky and trains. He’s not named Thompson for nothing. I’d tried to buy tickets months ago via email for the steam train ride that started outside our little stone hotel in Boat of Garten. I was all worried we wouldn’t be able to get tickets, and Mom was out there dutifully at 9 a.m. to purchase them. Well, there was a rush on tickets 7 minutes before the  train left and we and one other Scottish family queued up to purchase tickets for the all-volunteer-run train. The train was adorable, looking just like one of my father’s toy trains at home. We chugged down the tracks for 15 minutes, watched the engine steam to the back of the train, and then it chugged us back to Boat of Garten for 15 minutes. Then we did a similar jaunt to the north and back. Will had a chance to sit in the engine and talk to the train buff running it. “Do you know how this works?” he asked Will. “No, but my grandpa knows a lot about trains.”

We then checked out of our hotel, where the receptionist — with a suspiciously familiar accent — told us she was a native Oregonian, grew up in NW Portland and was an art history major at U of O. And we thought we were far in the wilds of Scotland! She came to Edinburgh to study art and is spending her summer working at the hotel, in a landscape she said reminds her of home. It is lovely — lush green fields filling the strath or wide valley of the River Spey, dotted with lamb, sheep and goats and the occasional stone fence.

We then, in an occasionally driving rain, drove up a lovely narrow winding road to the tiny town of Craigelaiche, where we ate at a tiny hotel that proclaimed it had an outlet in Tokyo. No explanation was forthcoming, despite my entreaties. We then visited the Holy Grail — the Glenfiddich Distillery — which is No. 1, my father’s favorite whisky, and is No.2, apparently a devotion he acquired when I was 18 years old and we were up heli-skiing in Canada. I won’t estimate either how many years ago that was, nor how many bottles have been consumed since then. But it was a fascinating tour, even for Will. Perhaps the best part was when Dad discovered the malt is held in vats made of Douglas Fir — alas, from Canada, but still, Doug Fir. Dad wondered if they might buy some fir from him so he could have his own vat made…

Then on to Inverness, near Loch Ness. Our hotel, part of which dates back to 1621, looks out on the Moray Firth, and Will is convinced he saw a mysterious monster in the water on our drive in. More to come tomorrow. We take a boat trip on Loch Ness tomorrow, as well as visit the Cawdor Castle of Shakepeare’s Macbeth fame. Can’t wait.

Finally, a note on the people we’ve met. Everyone is so gracious and friendly. I chatted with the fiddler last night, a farmer struggling to make it. The family today on the train — who’d been coming to ride the train every summer for  years — were our personal tour guides. Last night on our way to our room, we struck up a long conversation with cattle farmers from Aberdeen. Everywhere, people are so welcoming and relaxed. It really is a special place.

One final quip for the day: I dragged Will out of bed just before 9 a.m. and as I dressed the groggy wee fellow, I said, “Look nice clean pants.” “No,” he quipped. “They’re not Queen pants, they’re King pants.”

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!