Chapter 26: Ed In Burr

February turned into March and April and May, as February tends to do, and tourism returned to the world in force.

We noticed more and more American accents in Ireland. Obviously we’re American tourists, so pot/kettle and all that, but the charm of visiting such historical, unique cultures is diminished when the accents we overhear in the pub all shift from Irish brogue to Jersey gruff. Fuh-gedda-boud-dit.

We crossed the Irish Sea on May 7 knowing that they would soon follow. I felt like a reverse Paul Revere, warning the British that the Americans are coming.

Getting from Belfast to Edinburgh was annoying (5:00 a.m. taxi to ferry station, ferry to Scotland, taxi to train station, whoops train is cancelled today, taxi to bus station, two-hour bus to another train station, train to Glascow, sprint a half-mile with our luggage through Glaswegian streets to a different train station on a tight connection, train to Edinburgh, taxi to AirBnb, haul our stuff up four flights of stairs), but we set to work exploring Edinburgh for three weeks.

Before we get too much further: when you’re reading this, make sure to pronounce the city correctly in your head – like the title of this post. Ending it with a hard G would be almost as bad as casting an American-Australian actor to play a 13th-century Scottish warrior.

For what it’s worth, Braveheart lies somewhere between lampooned and reviled in Scotland, and is one of the most historically inaccurate films of all time. One historian compared it to a “film about Colonial America showing the colonial men wearing 20th century business suits, but with the jackets worn back-to-front instead of the right way around”.

(It is just this attention to detail that proved Mel Gibson the right man to direct and star in this culturally prominent film, later making such diplomatic and sensitive comments as, “I’m not a ******* historian”.)

Anyway. Edinbugh is visually dominated by its castle…

…and by its surrounding seven hills.

We climbed the most famous of these, Arthur’s Seat, one clear morning.

Gorse, a thorny evergreen shrub, blankets the Scottish landscape with brilliant yellow flowers this time of year. I’m in this picture somewhere.

Calton Hill, another of the seven, is topped by the National Monument, inspired by the Parthenon in Athens but never completed.

I turned 40 on May 13, a birthday that engenders a man to look hard at his life and realize that he may only have 200 or 250 good years left, depending on how quickly biorobotics and gene augmentation advance, so he’d better make the most of it.

In that vein, Rachel and I went on a long e-bike guided tour of the city, which I followed with a nap, happy hour, live music, and chicken wings – a successful birthday by any measure. And made more so by Rachel getting a bunch of friends and family to text me their birthday toasts, which was amazing.

(My problem now is that I’m in my 40’s while Rachel is still in her 30’s, which causes her no small bit of delight. Suggestions appreciated.)

A few weeks into our stay, Rachel’s parents flew over to visit us. We walked through the farmer’s markets, toured the inside of the castle, sampled some of Edinburgh’s amazing seafood restaurants, and walked through quaint Dean Village.

Rachel and her parents had a great time on a Scotch whiskey tasting adventure, hosted at a local pub.

I was unfortunately in bed, felled by a farmer’s market Scotch egg.

This local delicacy is a soft-boiled egg, wrapped with ham and chorizo, breaded, flash-fried, served with hot sauce, and – this is important! – apparently best not eaten after sitting on the counter for a few hours.

The other famous local dish, haggis, is a pudding of sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs, combined with onion, oatmeal, and spices. It is considerably tastier than it sounds, and was a big favorite whenever it hit the table. I think it’s one of those peculiarities – like peanuts in your coke, or Weird Al Yankovic – that is unfairly always a punch line, and I will defend it hereafter.

After a few days of enjoying the city, we all four moved to more bucolic and less crowded accommodations in the countryside. To wit, we rented a castle.