Scotland [is for] The Brave

It was a lifelong dream to visit Scotland, and though the tail end of the trip was a bit disastrous, the beginning was magical. My friend and I took an 8 hour bus ride from Cheltenham-Edinburgh. Most of the bus ride was exhausting, and I gleaned comfort only from David Sedaris audiobooks and a stash of candybars. However, the first moment of breathtaking magic occurred when I realized I was in Carlisle, England. I saw green, hilly fields, small stone houses, sheep and cows leading up to the town. It was...Carlisle, PA, 3000 miles away. Our Carlisle courthouse is modeled in brownstone after Carlisle, England's castle. See for yourselves:



We are connected by fragile, but visible strands of existence. Carlisle, PA, becomes Carlisle, UK, and when we can witness these connections, life is incredible.

We made it to Edinburgh in the night. Just as we emerged from the bus and made it down to Princes St. (close to the park and Edinburgh castle), it started to snow in a beautiful way. We felt blessed at that moment, looking at St. Andrew's Day Carnival rides, hearing real bagpipe music, and dancing in the snow. But shortly after that, the weird annoyances began to set in.

Our hostel was inhabited by a group of unwelcoming Australians, who paid a weekly rate of 64 pounds to live there full-time on visas, while not working, studying, or doing anything productive. The hostel room was like a college dorm. Vogue magazines and brightly colored scrunchies were strewn all over the floor. The Australians stayed up all night watching Grey's Anatomy on their laptops, while in the daylight hours they conversed about how much they hated Americans. I felt sad for them after spending several nights there. They were abandoned people, not completely "havin' the hell of a time!" like one woman said, but more likely stuck in one place with no family, no apartment, and no real contentment. Part of the joy of travel is the ability to go home again.

We did not pay much attention to the pseudo-homeless Australians most of the time, as we went on an incredible tour of the Scottish Highlands on day 2. We saw Loch Ness, Glencoe, all of the stereotypical sights, and we were entertained by our kilted bus driver, who told stories all the way there and back, including one about Donald Duck's Scottish origins. I kid you not. We saw the Highlands while they were covered with snow, an amazing thing that few non-residents see. 200-some blurry bus photos of mountains followed. Late that night, a creeping horror set in. Could we be stuck in Edinburgh?....(non-consecutive story telling follows)....

...There have been two pivotal moments in this 3 month travel experience. It happened through some likely-divine circumstances that both of the girls (women?) (young adults?) I live next door to in the flat have both experienced their dad's deaths in the past 5 years (as I of course have). I came to the realization one night that it was profoundly sad that you could never send an "I wish you were here" postcard to someone dead. My father was behind so much of the motivation for this trip. I mouthed that cliched travel phrase under my breath while staring at the mountain peaks of Ben Nevis, Glencoe, the bridge of Spean, on a bus through the Scottish Highlands. I prayed that this internal snapshot of the mountains he loved, but never saw, would wend its way up to him. I once told my Dad that when I sold my first book and became famous, I would buy him a house in Scotland and he could go salmon fishing. Neither of these things happened, but in some distant Christo-Buddhist paradise, I can make out the image of a small old man in a hat, staring at the eternal river and mountains. This brings me peace.

The second pivotal moment occurred after a day of utmost transportation hell. One of my friends was picked as a traveling companion based on her perceived stability and ability to make good decisions. Things started to turn sour between us on the 2nd day in the city, when we realized that it would be difficult to get out. Shockingly, I found myself playing the role of the optimist in an argument. "it'll be okay, I said, "there are salt trucks out, and the buses are still running."
"That is NOT a solution!" she spat back at me. I reached my breaking point. "It's not the apocalypse" I said. "We will be fine." I knew this, because despite all of the misery of my life, somehow better angels prevail. Utter suckitude can reverse itself within minutes and become something positive. This cheeriness drove her into a complete rage: "everything always goes wrong, and we have to prepare for the absolute worst." I just got up and left at that point. Later that night, she sheepishly apologized for having "control issues". I conceded that this was a stressful time and hoped that we could reconcile as friends, despite the stress. We ended up waking at 3 am and trudging up the hill to the bus station through the frozen streets. No cabs were running. Buses were getting stuck. And drunks were beautifully sledding on the hilly streets like children. By some miracle, our bus made it out of the station that morning, and while we were stuck on the highway for two hours, listening to grim radio reports about the traffic and the bus driver's furious Scottish wailing about the dangers of the road, we survived.

After the second day of hand-wringing drama, and questioning whether we would be stuck in frozen Edinburgh for weeks, just as we were about to take our last bus "home" to Cheltenham, my friend had a complete nervous breakdown. She cried, she threw up, she almost hyperventilated. I declared myself a bona fide hippie when I pulled ginger pills and lavender oil out of my backpack. She was astonished that these things worked to calm her nerves. I was astonished that I was not the one freaking out. This was an amazing moment in my life. I was the strong one, not the sick one. I was able to pull myself up to a state of numbness before crashing when I got home. I was acting like some kind of world traveling, kick-butt person, capable of helping other people get through their issues. I know now that I could give those Australian hostel people a run for their money.