Yes, this time last week we were on US soil; doing laundry & catching up with all that had occurred while away!

But let’s return briefly to our travelogue & get us from medieval York, England to Edinburgh and home.

Thursday a.m. in York was beautiful - warm; not a cloud in sight and free enough for a leisurely walk to the bookstore on Micklegate before boarding the train to Edinburgh.

Train travel in Europe is standard practice.  The trains run consistently and are most frequent.  This one was no exception; full of travelers awaiting a stop at Newcastle (site of Russell’s concert on Monday evening); and less than comfortable I might add.  Simply because it was so crowded that our luggage was stuck in the passageway between 2 cars & I was antsy until I could get it in the proper luggage compartment in our car.  There was food on the train and I took advantage of snack time to ward off hunger on the 2+ hour trip to Scotland.

We arrived at Edinburgh Waverly Station on time and quickly strode to the station exit.  Wow, a long & steep climb up 6 or 7 flights of concrete stairs to street level.  Harold and I started the arduous journey with 3 pieces of now-much heavier pieces when a young man bounded behind me and offered to carry my bag.  I didn’t ask any questions, but politely allowed him to take the bag from my hand.  He then went to Harold and offered to take his one large case.  Harold, always the ‘macho’ male declined.  The young man courteously offered to pick up the end of the case and help Harold up the steep steps.

Up they went with luggage in tow.  Once on the street, we offered to pay the young man for his kindness.  To our utter amazement, the young man said, “Oh, no!  It was a pleasure,” and darted up the street with packback swinging.

We stared at each other and I exclaimed, “well would that happen in the states?”

 I’m usually the one who can quickly acclimate to new surroundings and get us around with map in hand; but I had no clue where we were except that we had landed on Princes Street.  West End or East?  For 2 folks who never used taxi service, we made up for it while abroad!

Once back at Orwell House Lodge on Polwarth, we settled in for a quick brew before deciding to do a ‘dry run’ for finding the Airlink bus to the airport which departed from the lower end of Waverly Bridge.  (We did a lot of ‘dry runs’ this time around just to make sure we knew where we were going and how much time it would take us to get there).

Since this was our last day in Edinburgh, I wanted to soak up the environment & atmosphere.  We wandered through the park that runs between Princes Street & the rail station.  The park houses the huge “Scots Monument” that rises at least 8 or 9 stories in the air with a small walkway for those brave enough to climb the narrow staircase to enjoy the view.

I forgot to tell you that in York, we walked up about 150 steps or so to the Clifford Tower which is all that is left of one of 2 fortresses that guarded the city from Roman times through the Middle Ages.  All that is left now is a round building that houses a small gift shop (why not?!) and a few indications of what the original structure housed.  Harold climbed to the top to get a great view of the city; but I declined and stayed below.

Considering I have vertigo that has gotten worse as I’ve grown more chrono-mature; I made it down the long stairway with relative ease - one step at a time not looking anywhere except at the step immediately below me!  Now that’s determination and exercise!

Back to Edinburgh and the park that runs along Princes Street.  We then crossed the broad thoroughfare to find Marks & Spencer’s (fondly nicknamed “Marks & Sparks”), a large retail chain in the UK that houses a ‘bureau d’ change’.  We needed a few pound to get us through the evening and safely on the plane the following day.  Upon our return to Orwell House, we enjoyed a dinner of lasagne; brew & dessert before retiring early.  At least I retired early!  Harold finished Russell’s autobiography while I snoozed away our final evening across the pond.

I have to tell you that the Edinburgh airport is class!!!  The staff dresses in suits & ties (the gentlemen) and are very courteous, professional and kind.  Harold’s passport had expired the day before (we hoped we had that ‘wrinkle’ resolved prior to leaving).  We waited while the staff verified our information about “expired passports”.  Once settled at the gate, I took time for one last mocha on Scottish soil before boarding the Continental 757 (ugh, my least favorite piece of equipment) for the 8 hour trip ‘home’.

Those of you who know me well will appreciate that I weathered that lengthy time quite well with 2 movies; airline food; a number of breath mints & several coffee stir sticks! 

Wow, was I glad the plane landed 30 minutes ahead of schedule; the luggage was there at the carousel when we arrived; and the line at US customs was short & efficient.  Once our bags were loaded onto the conveyor for the last leg of the flight to Dayton; we headed outside for a breath of fresh air in the warm sun.  Our cool-weather jackets must have looked strange to the ‘natives’ who wore shorts in the nearly 90 degree weather.

I won’t belabor the point here; but there is a dramatic difference between the Edinburgh airport & Newark’s Liberty!  And I do mean “dramatic”.  There is even a drastic difference between the international terminal and domestic.

I went outside again after going through security the 1st time.  I needed the air (uh-hum).  While taking in the NYC skyline from my vantage point on the ground level; I was treated to continual horn-honking from the line of taxi’s waiting for fares outside the terminal.  Then to the utter amazement of the crowd milling about; 2 taxi drivers got into a physical altercation ourside their cabs!  Swinging, pushing, shoving and not a police or security person in sight.  One cabbie had verbally assaulted a security person (a female of considerable physical stature) who simply walked away from what appeared to be an escalating situation.  Although every bystander was yelling for security; no one came to breakup the incident and it abated when the 2 men returned to their cabs; picked up a fare & went on their way.

My thought as I returned to the terminal was, “You couldn’t pay me to live here!” 

Next there was security.  Because I hadn’t been impressed with the TSA person who checked our ID the first time, I went to the 2nd station.  A young man who looked bored, tired, disinterested or all 3 looked at my already initialed boarding pass & then announced that I would have to remove my license from my billfold.  Well it doesn’t come out easily - in fact it is next to impossible to remove!  Even though I told him that, he took my billfold from my hand and tried wiggling the license free.  When it wouldn’t come, he handed the wallet back to me with his now famous line - “it has to come out of there.”

“Well, take it out,” I stated with a wry grin!  “You say it has to come out; you took my wallet from my hands, so you take it out!”

Next thing I knew he was making a call on his 2-way radio.  Deciding I didn’t want to spend any more time in Newark than necessary; especially in a holding cell, I took my billfold back, took out c.cards & finally wiggled the license free.  He stared at it; handed it back to me with the boarding pass and motioned me on.  As I headed for the bins & xray equipment, I said, “Now call whoever it is you called & tell them I’m not getting detained today!”

I won’t go into great lengths the next piece of the saga, but let’s just say that the staff was less than 25 years of age; somewhat unsure of what they were supposed to do (like how to tell what that funny-shaped thing is in the woman’s suitcase ahead of me); and obviously not enjoying their work.  As a long line waited behind me, a woman in front could not decide what to do with an 8 oz of Breck something that did not meet regulations.  The young TSA agent was so kind and courteous to her & that made the frustrating wait even more frustrating.  She kept looking at me - guess I was supposed to make the decision for her since her husband had chosen to go on ahead.  There was considerable discussion about her “options” - none of which seemed suitable to her.  Several of us let the woman know in a smug “know it all” manner that “it’s common knowledge you can’t take more than 4 oz & it has to be in a . . . . !”

With temperatures rising and the line lengthing, the TSA agent asked for the 4th time what the woman wanted to do while he held the Breck over a waste basket.  Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who’s making the judgment), he looked at me and I calmly said - “throw it away!”  He didn’t, but continued to look at me instead of the woman whose decision-making abilities must have been in her checked luggage.

“THROW IT AWAY!”  I raised my voice only slightly and “plop” went the Breck into the basket of trash.  Just at that moment, spouse showed up wondering what all the commotion was about.  I simply stated the situation and told him I had the agent throw the tube in the trash.

“Why did you do that,” he asked?

I retrieved my wallet, boarding pass and other necessities from the bin and sprinted toward the gate where Harold was calmly reading a book.

“Where have you been,” he inquired?  “Did you have fun out in the sun?”

To which I replied, “you’re never going to believe this, but. . . . . . !

Finally we arrived in Dayton 40 minutes late and on the coldest airplane I’ve ever had the misfortune to be on.  Took the long-term parking coach & then couldn’t remember what row our car was in.  We loaded luggage in the Windstar and headed for Indiana. 

It was exactly 12 midnight when we rolled up in front of our home and poured out the car with luggage in tow.  I glanced at my watch and mentally calculated the number of hours we had been awake.

23 hours from Edinburgh, Scotland, UK to our front door in Connersville, Indiana USA!  Is it any wonder it has taken nearly a week for my body rythmns to return to some semblance of normality?

All in all, with all the quirky things that happened, it was a great trip.  No demanding luggage out at 5:45 a.m. & on the coach by 7:00; no tour director barking orders and giving barely enough time to potty along the way; no foreign language to decipher (although the accent gave us a bit of a challenge at times).  There is certainly something to be said for traveling outside a group.  And sometimes the difference in cost is worth it when one can create one’s own itinerary and take charge of one’s own time.

Well, it was awesome.  Much to store in our memory banks & much to share with daughter’s and g’children who are real history buffs. 

I hope you’ve enjoyed the mini-travelogue and bid farewell to the friendly folks of the UK with us as we return to “life as usual in the good ole’ USA!”

Have an awesome weekend with much rest and a little fun along the way!

Linda, a fellow traveler