So I had these plans about this blog. They involved epic posts about preparing to move to Scotland and about our trip to Scotland and about the amazing things we’ve done while we’re here. We’ve been in Scotland for just over a week, and this is my first post. Time is brief, so I will be, too.
First: We flew, sleepless, to Keflavik in Iceland. Too near the engines to listen the Icelandic folktales, so I read Roy Thomas’ adaptation of The Odyssey and started the Poetic Edda. Then we went through security, got entry stamps in our passports, got exit stamps in our passports, and joined the queue headed for Heathrow.
We flew, sleepless, to Heathrow in London. Next to us was a young Canadian Anglican from St. John’s Shaughnessy (sp?), her husband was across the aisle. Some nice conversation. Read some more Viking poetry. Landed in London, wandered through a small maze, got a photo taken, went through security, got entry stamps, eventually found our gate, was unable to comprehend the boarding call, got on plane. Sat on tarmac for 1 h. I slept; Jenn didn’t.
We flew to Glasgow. I slept. In Glasgow, we retrieved our six checked pieces of luggage and met up with the Nimigans who bought us supper at Starbucks (reminiscent of our farewell dinner at Pearson in Toronto) and made sure we got on the bus to the coach station okay. Went to the coach station in Glasgow. A kind Scot helped us get our luggage to our coach. Rode the coach to Edinburgh. Successfully got our baggage up an elevator and into a taxi.
Arrived our flat, not knowing what to expect since we’d been unable to contact our landlady since before leaving Canada. She left us a note on the door and keys at the fish & chip shop three doors down. Got into flat. Survived.
Starbucks closes in eleven minutes, so I’m going home for supper. Since our arrival, we have seen lots of the city, gone to the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo, and searched for a permanent flat. Thus far, no success on that front. This is all for now.