Road trip number two. Heading up north Yorkshire way to Scotland, the land of my for bearers. At this point, Alex and I were camping experts, but there was much flooding in the region, and the added complication that once you get past, lets say Nottingham, they speak another language. Luckily, as you proceed north and the words get progressively more unintelligible, the people also get more and more friendly. Its a perfect correlation. Our first stop was Sherwood Forest for lunch. I saw no men in tights, but did see the old tree where Mr. Hood used to hide out. (please picture Arrow Flynn, not Kevin Costner). I thought I might try my luck at pick pocketing to really get into the spirit, and continue the reign of terror, but Alex talked me out of it. We continued on to York, possibly my favorite large English town. The Abbey was fantastic, the best stained glass yet, very subdued and seemed to be glowing rock rather than painted glass. The little lanes were great, and we took the ghost tour which was actually really scary. Our camp site for two nights was unfortunately really damp, lets say completely saturated, being in the flood zone of the river, but we made do. Also went up a little town called Whitby, known for being the town where Dracula was written and partially set. There were a few Goth kids running around, but mainly little old ladies (Dracule?) One of them caught us kissing and growled at us to,"Oh grow up!" We decided Whitby wasn't for us, so drove down the coast to Robin Hoods Cove, a great little hamlet along the cliffs of the sea. Highlight was when I trounced a certain British girl in a race up the hill. On to Edinburgh, pronounced Edinbuurah, (I think). What makes this place so cool is the massive rock that juts up out of no where, the perfect perch for one of the ugliest castles you'll ever see. It also happens to be a castle that has been taken quite easily over the course of time, but nonetheless, its a damn impressive sight. We met some cool Canadian people on the bus into town one night and put them to shame on the dance floor at a club later that night. Explored the High Street, which is teaming with Tartan (plaid) shops and such, but also seems to be partially owned by my clan, the Campbell's! Our coat of arms bearing a savage looking boar was all over the place! Seeing this I got a little cocky and started to strut around, Mic Jagger like, till I tripped over a cobble. I also braved haggis, which wasn't bad, just a bit gristly. On the way back to the bus, I went into a Mexican restaurant and begged for some salsa. I think they some the crazed look in my eye, so they gave me a whole cup full! I was giddy as a school girl and was proclaiming the Scots as the most giving people on earth when the bus driver wouldn't let us on the bus with the cup! I tried to explain that although there may be a rule, that surely he could understand that in spirit it was meant to stop hot beverages from scalding people, and not from people bringing home a bit of dinner, but to no avail. There was no way I was leaving my FREE salsa on the side of the road for anyone to find. I was getting off that bus! (reminds me of the time I left a half eaten burrito in the City Hall council chambers of San Francisco, something I have always regretted). To add insult to injury, we had already paid, and he refused to give our money back! This, of course, meant war. We sat fuming on the bus stop, munching on salsa, plotting our revenge. The plan was simple, we were going to smuggle salsa onto a Scottish city bus or die trying. Well, we did, and I'm sure I'm on some most wanted list up there by now. From there Alex had to go back home to work, but I continued on to Inverness to witness the legendary Highland Games. The looks on these colossal peoples faces as they hurtled immense objects into the sky was a never ending source of hilarity for me, I don't think I've ever had so much muffled laughter. They had a couple old guys in kilts wired up to speakers to announce the events, or just ramble on about god knows what. They were classic and wee bit sarcastic about the whole thing, which I fully appreciated. I mean, a bunch of the largest men on the planet running around in skirts holding telephone poles, its hard to take seriously. The low light was a leaky tent, nothing worse then waking up in a puddle. After two days up at the top of the island, I headed back to the civility of Suffolk. Two day later I found myself on a plane bound for Brussels. I had the best time in England, and as hard as it was to leave, as I write this I'm about to see Alex again (after a month).
http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/YorkshireAndScotland
