Scotland

is full of cold! And yet, there are no wool socks to be found...

Leaving Ireland (in the most ghetto plane ever):


Entering Scotland:




Got into Linlithgow later than expected. Dropped stuff off at Chelsea's B&B (super cute) and went to dinner.

Ate dinner at the Old Post Office

Creeped on a really, really cute guy
(we very "subtly" took some pictures. and some video.)


Discovered sticky toffee pudding. Might be the best dessert ever invented. At least top 10. Mom should figure out how to make this for Christmas.
(not my picture but you need something for reference. Just picture it with more caramel sauce and ice cream.)



My sleep-place not nearly as cute. Much older and colder. Couldn't figure out how to turn the shower on. (You pull a string on the ceiling, THEN push the on button.)

Felt awkward being the only guest. Had way too much food and tea at breakfast because Scottish old ladies think people eat a lot.

Hitched a ride (from the lady, not a stranger) back to town, picked up Chelsea, went to church then Linlithgow Palace. Or Pastle, as it's really a castle, not a palace, but I was willing to compromise.



Lost Chelsea for about 15 minutes. Or maybe I was lost. It's hard to tell.




Ate lunch.

Tried to find an event going on in town that night. Discovered another American from Portland, Maine, and her Scottish friend who misunderstood my inquiry as to where to buy wool socks and tried to lend me hers.

Walked around town, went down to the frozen loch with the enormous swans who chased us down for food, etc.


That's me standing on the edge of the lake.

Ate dinner at the Four Marys. Forgot when I ordered lentil soup that no matter what, soups get blended after they're made in the UK/Ireland, thus making them all the same, boring texture. Sticky toffee pudding again.

Found something on at the church called 9 Lessons and Caroling, which turned out to be a lot of unfamiliar carols sung every verse and a bunch of bible readings. So, verily like Christmas mass. We had to stay the whole time just so we could sing Angels We Have Heard on High (that having been brought up previously in the evening, and therefore seemed important).

Then one last Bulmers (though, here, called Magners) Pear and I taxied back, where the driver had no idea where to go and I had to try and direct him. (Although, I guess that was better than the first taxi driver who took me to the wrong place.)


I think Magner's tastes a bit more pear-like, actually. And we can't figure out why in England they have Magner's, the "Irish cider", and in Ireland they have Bulmer's, the "English cider". Seriously, islands. doublyew tee haitch.