I’ve been working overtime to make yet another deadline on yet another an unmentionable project. As a result, I haven’t had time to blog about my amazing trip to Scotland, or anything else for that matter. Well, the deadline’s been met and I have a few desperately needed days off, so here you go.
The eight hour flight to Heathrow was truly hellish. A grungy, overcrowded sardine tin filled with fussy toddlers and TB patients. When a flyweight like me doesn’t have enough room in the trade paperback sized seats, you know everybody on the plane’s gonna be homicidal before we hit the Atlantic. Sleep was not an option.
By the time I got to Edinburgh, I was near delirious, which made my first in-the-flesh meeting with Tartan Ninja Al Guthrie even more surreal. Al already had explicit instructions to make like we were on the run from the body snatchers and chase me around the city, at least until something resembling a reasonable bedtime.
Over the next couple of days, we walked all over the city. Edinburgh is a stunningly beautiful place, despite the ongoing construction of the “cunting trams” tearing up the streets. Here in L.A., my adopted teenage city, buildings from the 1920’s are considered “historic” and the only castles were built by movie moguls, magicians and Walt Disney.
We hit the Edinburgh castle, of course, but we also visited some of the coolest cemeteries I’ve ever seen. Wandered along winding cobblestone streets and poked around in used book shops. Climbed both the Duane Swierczynski memorial staircase and the Salisbury Crags. Descended into the ancient underground city through Mary King’s Close. Al was a wonderful, patient and endlessly amusing tour guide.
Castle notwithstanding, I was really impressed with the food. I was expecting everything to be greasy, bland and starchy. Haggis with neeps and tatties and deep fried Mars bars. Truth is, Eddy-B is a surprisingly foodie city. The Dogs was hands down my favorite restaurant, with haut-vegetarian David Bann in a close second. Of course, I had haggis too, and Irn Bru. I went to a café which claimed to be the birthplace of Harry Potter, where I nearly made the cute, chubby barrista drop her lattes with my “fantastic accent.” Unfortunately, I also managed to get food poisoning along the way, not from haggis, but from a deadly salad. Figures. Should have had the deep fried pizza. But more on that later.
Tromping through castles and other historic sites was a blast, but I really had the most fun hanging with my Scottish peeps, including Russel McLean who came down from someplace much less cool to hang with us.
The last word on Eddy-B is my new favorite: Cuntybaws. I particularly like using this exclamation in a hard New York accent.
(Doesn’t Cuntybaws sound like a mean old troll who eats naughty children in a Norwegian fairy tale? He also has an ugly old sister named Fannybaws.)