Bit hard by the travel bug: The Morrisons in England and Scotland

                                                                   

It likely started as a small kid when we took trips to Tennessee and Kentucky each summer from our home in Kansas City.  Something about packing clothes, then often leaving pre-dawn, smelling the fumes of the diesel trucks on the highway, watching the Stuckey billboards go by. 

Or, maybe it was when I was the 'navigator' of our big 2-week trip out west when I was 13.  Dad often would have me scour the Rand-McNally atlas, or the smaller, accordion-like folded state maps, for the next highway junction as we drove our Champion motorhome from Chicago to Montana, hitting iconic sites along the way:  The Great Corn Palace in South Dakota; Deadwood and Mount Rushmore, SD; swimming in the KOA campground pools (often eyeing and chatting up other girls my age!) everywhere we went.  

Well, I dunno, but by the time I had the great blessing to travel to Europe - specifically, a whirlwind 10-day adventure exploring the German-speaking lands in July 1988 (that included BOTH Germanies, comrade) - it was pretty darn evident by that point that I was destined to be a travel enthusiastic.

Whether taking small or long road trips, business trips or overseas, jet-lag inducing airbuses to far-off destinations, I have enjoyed nearly every trip I've ever taking away from home in my life.  Sometimes, I even think traveling 'is' my home.  But, then I think, 'no, not really'.  But it is a two-sided coin I cherish in my life:  home and 'out there'.

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I am in the after-throes of yet the latest adventure;  an epic, on-the-go, adventure with my family to the United Kingdom. Scooping up the kids from school on their last day of the year, we hustled almost immediately to O'Hare en route to Manchester, England via a hectic and hairy ordeal in Heathrow, London.  

But, yes...ahh, arriving in Manchester!  It was a pretty easy exit from their airport, and we were whisked away by a pre-ordered ride I'd arranged from the states. 'Jason', a professional driver, gave us the 40-minute, Le Mans-like look at Manchester from his sporty, but large, Mercedes.  Pointing out the history and sites of the city, he meandered the winding roads, urban and suburban, to the small town bordering on Manchester called Salford.  Dropping us off in front of the Victorian-era and somewhat imposing exterior of the Hazeldean hotel, Salford (actually, the neighborhood of Prestwich) was actually fairly quiet -- a nice respite after the previous 30-odd hours of a crowded flight and bustling airports.

With not much to do but spend $80 on overpriced hamburgers and haloumi fries at one of the only restaurants in the "downtown" Prestwich area - we were hungry, tired, and not yet too picky on our first meal in Britain - we demolished our meal, walked around town a bit, then made our way back to the Hazeldean.  Our room was quite cozy, but it would do for our first two nights in the UK; 3 beds, an en suite bath AND an accessible bathroom across the hallway.  We made good use of both.

Prestwich was leafy and affluent.  Lots of beautiful flowers and chic cars everywhere you looked.  Also, a lot of synagogues and Hasidic schools.  It has one of the oldest and apparently flourishing Jewish populations in Britain.  Beautiful architecture as well. 

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Next morning, we departed a train early at Manchester Picadilly station for the 45-minute ride west to Liverpool Lime Street station.  Upon exiting the station, one is greeted with magnificent architectural  splendor every direction you look; St. George's - a Victorian-era museum - is to the right, and more modern buildings mixed with old to the left.  Lime Street is on a plateau, but one gets the sense that as you move away from it, you are headed down a slope towards the port and wharves.  And that's exactly what we did.

Ostensibly on a mission to see Beatles' sites (right?), we were impressed by the city in its own right.  Even at 9am on a Saturday, it was bustling.  .

So, to the port we go.  We walked around the Mersey River area, saw a lot of tourist-y things mixed in again with spectacular architecture (I know.  That word has already been used several times in this blog.  Probably not the last.  That's the UK for you.).  After exploring the wharf and grabbing a quick bite to eat off a food truck, we hopped a "Beatles and Liverpool City" bus tour.  

Tommy, our wonderful tour guide and most definitely a Scouser (local vernacular for a native of Liverpool...NOT a 'Liverpudlian'), took us hin and yon through the city center, pointing out terrific features of churches, shops, restaurants, etc., and eventually to the neighborhood the Beatles grew up in just to the (I think) south of the city center.  Along the route, we stopped at Strawberry Fields and Penny Lane.  Yes, photo ops.  However, a kindly and vigorous/vibrant elderly gentleman, presumably just walking on by but who also knew Tommy, "stopped to say hello" (Penny Lane, get it?).  That man is Colin Hanton.  Colin was the drummer in the Quarrymen.  

Who?  In 1956, John Lennon started his first group, a skiffle band (not a rock band, but sort of a cross between Dixieland jazz and Appalachian music huge popular in 1950s Britain...go figure).  John recruited several of his mates, including Colin.  The story goes, Colin had a drum kit already, and Lennon didn't even think to audition Colin, but he simply said "you're in" by virtue of owning a kit!  But Colin indeed drummed with John for almost 3 years with The Quarrymen, picking up one Paul McCartney and George Harrison along the way.  Eventually, Colin made the decision to leave the band about one year before they became The Beatles.  

Colin told the story that once Paul got in the band in particularly, he and John bonded in a unique way...but they also liked to get rip-roaring soused from time to time even during gigs.  Colin thought that was too unprofessional, especially during one audition that would have set the group up for a 6-month 'house band' gig in Liverpool, but John and Paul acted too goofy as they'd been drinking hard at the pub...so Colin said, "right, I'm out of here."  He regrets nothing.  He went on to be a successful businessman and looks very healthy and is a sharp man.  I asked him but one question, "Mr. Hanton, do you still play the drums?"  He lit up, "Oh, indeed I do!  I have a gig with my band round the corner next weekend."  I love this city.

We spent the remainder of our time in Liverpool meandering the city center, watching a Catholic feast parade move one way down a busy street and coming the other way were groups of bachelorette parties, complete with blow up *ahem* "dolls".  Such an incongruous site, but Scousers seem to take it all in stride.  

We hopped a late afternoon train back to Manchester...just in time to then witness the revelry in that city as arguably the two largest football teams in country, Manchester United and Manchester City, just finished a match in London.  But the city of Manchester exploded in partying.  With the intention of seeing parts of downtown Manchester near Picadilly station where we just exited, it became clear our feet coupled with the party atmosphere of the city was a bit much.  We ducked into a small (and thankfully mostly empty) cocktail bar long enough to have a drink, pick up some provisions at a nearby store, then ubered back to the Hazeldean.  Pretty spent, we were asleep early.  Again.

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Next morning, back to Picadilly.  This time, we hopped a Transpennine Express train bound for Edinburgh, Scotland via York.  The Manchester to York leg (about 1.5 hours) was pleasant; a nice, fairly large train with comfy seats and the four of us shared a table. But, then we had to transfer trains at York.  Uh-oh.

We got the train we needed for the final 2.5 leg to Edinburgh...but we got NO seats.  Yep, that's right.  We stood/sat in the hallway opposite the train's bathroom for the entire journey (I think Charlotte and Erika eventually found seats in the main cabins, but only for the last 45-60 minutes; Leo and I were loo-side the whole journey).  

But then...Edinburgh.  Oh my. 

Ascending from the bowels of Waverley station to street level on Princes Street in a misty and light rain, it hit us:  this must be a fairytale.  Every direction was sites of gothic or gothic-inspired architecture; castles, cathedrals, monuments to poets (who does that?!), and then of course a hustling and bustling Sunday afternoon on one of the main thoroughfares in the capital.  The rain made the slate and dark fascades of many of the wonderful structures look even more atmospheric.  This is a city unlike any we've been to. 

We quickly ascertained that this is a hilly city, and with luggage in tow, we grabbed a taxi to our hotel, the Abbotsford Guest House.  Another Victorian-era building, this was probably the largest room we had on our journey and FOUR beds; Erika and I each had our own twin beds, while Charlotte and Leo had singles.  But ample space, 12' ceilings and a bay window with two comfy chairs and a table to watch urban Edinburgh go about its business.

Our first evening, we hiked around in the light, persistent rain through New Town, one of the two UNESCO world heritage sites, and nearest our hotel, in the city.  Looking at the grand Georgian buildings lied on grid-patterned streets, it was stately and magnificent.  But the family weren't having much of it after that train ride plus rain.  So after an hour or so, we parted company; they went back to the hotel, and I made my way to Calton Hill, one of the large hills of the city.  At its plateau, it affords a 360 view of the city and the Firth of Forth, the giant waterway on the northside of the city (actually, a North Sea estuary).  Plus, there are many more monuments atop the hill.  I was up there for a while.  The whole of rainy Edinburgh - with the Edinburgh Castle, Old Town, and New Town in great visual sight - really did look like something out of a dream.  I couldn't believe a place like this exists.  But, here we were!

Our next day, we toured Old Town.  So, unlike the planned, grid-patterned, stately Georgian (mid-18th century) New Town, this other UNESCO site is mish-mash of medieval buildings, streets, overt and hidden alleys ("closes" in Scotland) that all flank a large ridge that begins down near Holyrood Palace and meanders a mile up to Edinburgh Castle:  The Royal Mile.  Oh my.  Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley...all of this must have been conjured by the Royal Mile and Old Town.  

Touring first St. Giles, where John Knox, the Reformation biggie in Scotland in the mid-16th century, used to berate Mary Queen of Scots for being a Catholic, is a magnificent cathedral.  Free to tour (although please leave a donation for this priceless structure), it really provides a sacred look at some of the people of this city for about the last 600 years.  

Leaving St Giles now in a pouring rain, we ambled our way up the ridge more to the mighty fortress of Edinburgh Castle.  The castle is situated on an ancient volcanic neck at the top of the ridge (The Royal Mile, as I'd mentioned before).  It dominates the skyline.  Unless obstructed by another building or perhaps a hill, the castle is pretty much seen everywhere across the city.  

And wow...it's big.  We spent about 2 hours there, but that barely scratches the surface.  Still, we saw the cannon battery, including the "One O'clock Gun", a loud, one shot deal every day at said hour that can be heard up to 5 miles away across the Edinburgh area, the Crown Jewels of Scotland (Charlotte got scolded by the docent for taking a picture on her phone; she had to delete it!), St. Margaret's Chapel (my favorite:  it's the oldest part of the castle, and was built by an early King of Scotland in the 12th century in homage to his mother, who eventually was sainted), and we saw other parts as well.  

With our feet humming once more, we ducked back to our hotel for a little rest before venturing out again to the bottom (thankfully!) of the Royal Mile, to explore Holyrood Palace.  Also with a founding in the late medieval period, the large palace as it is today is still about 500 years old!  It's also the British Royal Family's residence when in Scotland.  A magnificent building filled with Scottish royal history, we also took the special exhibit on the "Dress and Style" of Georgian Britain (again, 1700s).  Terrific stuff.

Our final day in Edinburgh.  Well, we won't soon forget it.  We built the day around taking it 'somewhat' lighter; I took Leo to the excellent Edinburgh Zoo on the outskirts of town, while Erika and Charlotte were going to do some stuff together.  We had planned to rendezvous back to the hotel early afternoon, then go back an mop up stuff in Old Town.  Well, Leo and I saw the zoo and most of it.  But...a message came in from Erika that was urgent:  Charlotte had gotten whisked away on a tram and they became separated.  Uh oh.  Leo and I hustled back to the hotel, but it took sometime since we were on the outskirts of the city.  The upshot:  Charlotte used knowledge she gained in her years in Girl Scouts to find her way back to the hotel; she found a local lady who indeed walked her back.  Of course, Erika was pretty and rightly frantic for a while trying to locate Charlotte!  But to Charlotte's credit, she was composed throughout.  When Leo and I got back to the hotel - we were also pretty darn riled up as we made our way back - Charlotte was chilled out on her bed, "Oh, hi, Dad."  lol.  OK, then.  Blood pressure can settle once more.  (The whole ordeal from losing to locating her was about an hour or so.  All things considered, not bad.)

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Up early the next morning, we took the tram (no one got separated!) out Edinburgh airport and to the Hertz car rental office.  Pre-arranged from the states, we purchased a nice Mercedes mini-SUV (at 'nice' price...sarcasm noted), and headed off for the Highlands:  Loch Ness, Inverness and Culloden.  And yes, this was our first experienced of driving on the opposite side of the car and road.  I took the first leg. 

*Nerves*

It really didn't take too long to get used to it - even the myriad of roundabouts - but it likely helped that most of the 3.5-hour drive was on a large motorway.  However, one of the kids had to use the bathroom and was thirsty, so about 1/3 of the way into the journey, we bailed off the highway and motored around a very narrow, country road.  Oh my.  That tested my resolve a bit, but we were able to ample to the town of Perth, get the bathroom breaks and drinks and continue on north.

The drive north from Edinburgh to Inverness is spectacular.  One starts out with hills (naturally and everywhere I think in Scotland), but these undulating, relatively low-rising hills (say, 1000' in height) give way to the Cairngorms region:  a sub-arctic plateau with very large hills with sheer escarpments that rise to over 4,000'.  Amazing views.  Sheep everywhere too.  Baaaahhh.

We made our way to Inverness in yet another downpour (sidebar:  mornings and late afternoons/evenings were almost always sunny, or mostly sunny, but between about Noon-3pm, it seemed to rain.).  We checked into Adrian's Guesthouse.  It was our least favorite of anywhere we stayed.  It was very clean and with modern conveniences, even more likely than the other places we stayed, but the proprietor was strange and bit OCD (I think), somewhat cantankerous, and always seemed to be lurking around every corner.  It stressed us out a bit.  But the place was a close walk to the city center, and as we were only there one evening, that would do fine.

We made haste to Loch Ness and Uruquart Castle 30 minutes south.  We toured the excellent, entertaining and informative Visitors' Center, then the ruined castle.  Seeing the Loch from the castle especially, you get a sense this place was special and strategic during its hey-day (from about 1200-1700).  I'm pretty sure I saw the monster, too!  I don't think anyone else did.  Pity.

Back in Inverness, the kiddos wanted to hang in the hotel while Erika and I went out close by for a quick pint at the awesome Castle Tavern pub sitting next to Inverness Castle (closed for renovations) with a view down the Ness River valley.  Probably the most picturesque pub we visited on our journey, and we met folks from Carol Stream and St. Charles there.  Who knew?!  I hustled back to the hotel with vittles for the kids, while Erika found a Pakistani take-out place with succulent tandoor chicken and more.  Yum!  Despite the small, tight room (beds were about a foot apart), we managed to sleep well.

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Next morning, we visited the nearby Culloden Battlefield National Park.  Culloden is something akin to the Alamo in US lore.  Basically, and as the last pitched battle on mainland Britain occurring in 1746, it pitted the governmental army based on London versus the Highland Army of Scotland led by Bonnie Prince Charlie.  Charles Stuart, who was raised in Italy and barely spoke any English, tried to led a revolt and coup against the British government stemming back a hundred years in which he, with the backing of some but not enough nobles and expected, but never arrived French aid, was going to take the throne and become the next Stuart monarch (long history).  In about one hour, the Highlanders were slaughtered, their swords and some rifles no match for the government's massive artillery barrages and superior manpower (something like 10 to 1).  The upshot is that the London government began to systematically outlaw Highland culture; all the old clan system was suppressed and dissolved.  A lot of Scots, not just Highlanders, eventually either resettled in cities across the UK, or emigrated to places like North American and Australia.  Curiously, within one hundred years of Culloden, Queen Victoria in the 1800s took to the fascination of Scotland, and the suppression of the previous century was essentially gone, and somewhat reversed.  Scotland, for better or for worse then, was tied tightly to England from about 1750 forward.

Post-Culloden, we trekked back south 3.5 hours to the outskirts of Stirling, the ancient Scots capital (1000-1500), to the tiny village of Menstrie.  There, and with a surprise in store for the kids, we arrived to our our accommodations for the evening:  Broomhall Castle!  Perched up a hill above the village and built in 1870, Broomhall had been many things in its history:  a residence, a school, a retirement center, and in the last 20-odd years, converted to a 14-room hotel.  And it was an absolute gem.

With the family chilling upon arrival in our large room, I spent an hour hiking these giant flanking hills nearby: the Ochil Hills.  With high-winding trails that takes one up about 1000', I got to a particular summit where on the hand I could see the turrets and bay windows of 'our' castle way down the valley to the east, and then as I pivoted to look west, the historic/iconic Stirling Castle, and the nearby Gothic-inspired Wallace Monument, were in sight.  And my southerly view was over the Forth river valley.  Edinburgh, some 30 miles away, could almost be seen from a few of the Ochil Hills summits (which I didn't attempt on this trip).  Suffice to say, I was in awe up there.

Back down to the hotel, we dined in Broomhall's wonderful onsite restaurant, and then later popped into the onsite pub.  Greeting a little Border terrier, Louie, and his owners, that precipitated a 3-hour Scottish pub experience.  Broomhall's pub isn't just for guests, but locals as well.  Apparently, the amble up the hill every evening from the village to catch up with friends, have a few pints or drams, etc.  And our night there was spent in the company of the locals!  Particularly because we were traveling with our kids, it wasn't important to me to worry about taking a whisky distillery tour while in Scotland - something that IS recommended to everyone, whether you drink whisky, gin, rum or a teetotaler.  It's an experience. That said, I DID take my tour with my new favorite Scottish barkeep, Logan, and his local buddies who were hanging there that night.  I think we meandered around about 4 or 5 whiskys - Logan always taking the cap off and letting me smell the bottle before pouring (nice!).  I will say, unlike American bars, in Britain, a dram (or shot) is poured from the bottle into a thimble-sized measuring device that probably is less than one ounce.  So...that's good when you're going to take a whisky flight around Scotland!  I will simply summarize by saying that Logan, Paul and Donna (native Scousers who moved to Scotland a decade earlier), another Logan, and a few others (forgot their names), were just gracious, funny and curious people.  I'd like to think they thought the same about me.  It was the evening we needed. 

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Next day, we said goodbye to Broomhall Castle, and darted over to THE castle:  Stirling Castle.  Like Edinburgh Castle, it played a significant part in Scottish history, especially from the medieval era up to about the Reformation.  Mary Queen of Scots was born here.  Kings for centuries were crowned here.  And, well...among all of that...the real highlight was that Erika got to sing in the Royal Chapel, where the aforementioned Kings were crowned and attended church services.  We ran into a choir group from Nebraska and chatted up the director and chaperons.  The upshot is that, after their half-hour performance, they let Erika sing.  A giant, resonating hall, it was spectacular to hear.  She was as always magnificent in voice, and all the assembled tourists of the castle extended a warm applause.  Priceless experience.

But the meter kept ticking!  Knowing we had to be all the way back down to Manchester by evening - at least a 5-hour journey from Stirling - we escaped Stirling Castle and jutted down the highway back to Edinburgh.  Dropped the car off at the airport on fumes (we purchased an option whereby Hertz would refill it at a cheaper price), we then trammed it back to Waverely station and one final look and goodbye to Edinburgh.  This time, we HAD seats on the train all the way to Manchester!  

Arriving at the very cute, quaint, "English"-y guesthouse, Pymgate, near Manchester airport, it was a very short evening indeed; arrived at 8:30pm, shared a small meal, asleep around 9:30pm, and up at 4am!  Had to catch a 7:30am flight to London and then transfer on to Chicago.  We made it home Saturday evening, June 1st, after this incredible journey.  I think it took us a solid 4 days to shake our jet lag and the spent energy! 

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This was my fourth trip to Europe and second to Britain (only visited London before, never the north nor Scotland).  But it's only second time going with people I know!  36 years ago, me and my schoolmates toured Germany in 1988.  Then in 1996, I made a solo, also 9-day journey to London.  In 2006, ten months after my first wife, Kim, died, I traveled for 13 days to Italy.  Also solo.

And so, this REALLY was a treat to share with people I know.  And not just that I know, but that I love dearly.  I am so grateful especially that Erika finally got to travel abroad (sidebar:  we STILL are planning to do our own travel journey someday sans children).  And then, yes, we're very happy our Charlotte and Leo got to experience this as well.  They were terrific throughout.  They engaged things easily.  Asked questions.  Led us to things as well.  It was an exploration on a whole other level.  

I pray that with good health, finances, and timing, we all will be able to travel someplace new and exciting again one day.  Could be back to Scotland (I vote 'yes').  Could be San Antonio.  Could be Melbourne, Paris, Buenos Aires...who knows?  

But we will undoubtedly look back at this journey through the years and say, "Aye, we really did that."