St. Giles

Easter at St. Giles Cathedral. Actually it's not a cathedral, and the Church of Scotland officially does not admit that such a thing properly exists. But, before the 16th century, it was a cathedral, and old habits die hard. A lovely, very simple service, with an excellent performance of Britten's Te Deum, and some big pipes on the organ vibrating the primarily 14th century structure. The semon decried religion that was only "morality with organ music", but that sounds pretty good to me.

Scottish Museums

Even though Scotland can sometimes seem like a third world country (only occasionally, mind you), the production values in every museum we've visited are pretty remarkable. One recent visit was to the Royal Musuem of Scotland, which employs an older approach to museum collections which was nevertheless pretty amazing. Another was to the Scottish Mining Museum where a retired miner takes you through. Our guide went down the mine when he was fifteen, was made redundant at age 50, and carried the tale of mining and miners with great pride. Mining was awful work, and Joe High School was suitably impressed with the old view that that had kids working on the coal face rather than studying trigonometry or AP physics.

Quiz night at Sam's

Many UK pubs have Quiz Night--usually on Tuesday or Wednesday when things are otherwise slow in the beer business. Many Wisconsin in Scotland students and faculty participate in quiz night at Sam's, the pub nearest the castle. Our teams of six, mixed students and faculty, usually get slaughtered by the University of Edinburgh medical students' team. Our weakness is UK sporting events, along with Brit TV shows. The Quizmaster at Sam's is very nice to the Yank visitors, and throws in questions about the CIA, the oldest university in the US, and the 17th president of the US. But we still struggle--who knows who won the Grand National in 1973? Sometimes a Wisconsin team will try to get a local ringer on the team in order to compensate for this weakness. Buying beer is a cheap price for arcane knowledge.

The winners of Quiz Night receive T-shirts, shirts usually having nothing to do with Sam's, Soctland, or Quiz Night. Rather, I suspect they fell off a truck somewhere and Sam (or his personal representative) scooped them up.

Quiz Night is a nice little business. Organizations sell questions and answers to pubs and fund-raising groups for a sum. People hire out as Quizmasters. The Quizmaster at Sam's is an English lad from Newcastle, who drives to Dalkeith twice a week to conduct Quiz Night and other events. And now that Scotland has banned smoking in all enclosed places, Quiz Night doesn't mean that you immediately need to send all your clothes to the cleaners after once again failing to know the 1983 World Cup winner's manager's name.

Unitarians in Edinburgh

A Sunday trip to St. Mark's, home of the Edinburgh Unitarians. A small group, maybe 35-40, in a little church (actually named a chapel when constructed, according to the stone sign) off the main tourist drag in Edinburgh. It's one of four Unitarian churches in Scotland, although there may be fellowships that don't get listed. The minister is English, has been in place for 31 years, and will probably be awarded a plaque on retirement--several others hang in the sanctuary memorializing ministers past with tenures of 35 years, 51 years, etc. I suspect once they find someone who is willing to come, they keep him, no matter his nationality.

The church was designed by David Bryce, a local boy. This puts it on an architecture tour, but the inside is prettier than the outside. Check it out.

The sermon was about Elizabeth Blackwell, pioneering woman physician, and apparently a closet Unitarian. A welcoming group at coffee hour. No children in sight, and a pretty old congregation. Is this last is true in any Socttish church, regardless of denomination?

Down and out in Paris and London (with apologies to George)

If one is really down and out, neither London nor Paris are the places to be. They are very expensive cities. In London, a mediocre hotel far from the tourist attractions costs $200. In Paris, never order a Coca-Cola--I suspect that Coke has very heavy import duties, raising the price of something that cost pennies to manufacture to the level of a moderate wine.

Nevertheless, OLGS, Joe High School and I had a great time probably borrowing against Joe's college fund. Joe toured the Tower.We ate in a fabulous (read very expensive) Indian restaurant, saw Phantom of the Opera (obstructed view, but who cares), went to Sunday evening service at St. Paul's Cathedral, saw a Steve Martin movie in French, got Joe a high-end Parisian haircut (by far the best, and probably NOT the most expensive he's ever had), sat in cafes, window shopped, ate pastries, and enjoyed the architecture of a pretty concentrated second empire city. We took the Eurostar from Waterloo to Gare du Nord--ever been in a train that goes 200 mph? Three hours and 15 minutes from London to Paris. Amazing.

Campbeltown and Kintyre

A lovely ride past Loch Lomond, through the hills, down to picturesque Inveraray, and on to the end of the Kintyre peninsula. The purpose--a family history pilgrimage. The landscape is high, stark and beautiful, with the sea visible everywhere and thousands of sheep dotting the landscape. I wondered why people would leave such a beautiful place, but if you're starving (thanks to poor agricultural practices and the Duke of Argyll), Canada looks good, despite the mosquitos, hot summers, and other negatives. We found the cemetery and the marker, the farm, and probably the church. The religious wars in Campbeltown were complicated, making it more difficult to be certain about the church. The Heritage Center was closed until later in the spring, as were some other attractions.

In addition to family roots, Campbeltown is home to the Springbank distillery, the only whisky manufacturer remaining out of 30 in operation in 1900. It is really good stuff, too--light but rich and smooth, with just a hint of peat and smoke.

We stayed in the Dellwood Hotel, a small two star that turned out to be on the border of the farm we sought. It came complete with a six toed cat, well-cooked plain meals (including the gargantuan Scottish breakfast--kippers available upon request) and a very comfortable(heated)room. Heat is good.

St. Andrews

St. Andrews, in Fife, is a beautiful and ancient university town. With monuments such as the castle, with a mine and counter-mine used to ward off 15th century attackers, and the remains of a massive cathedral, and the golf links, object of many golf pilgrimages, St. Andrews is a grand day out. Joe High School, sprung for the day from Dalkeith High, climbed the tower, crawled through the mine, and got thoroughly chilled. OLGS and I wandered through the town, visiting a lovely used bookstore, having tea in a Christian tea room with plenty of tracts, and hearing the St. Salvator Chapel choir practicing.

The university students in the choir wear the red academic robes of St. Andrews--most other students we saw did not. Anyone know why? The chapel has a famous organ--one of two modern Austrian organs in the UK. Just wish I could have heard more of it--the bits we heard were from the choir practicing some romantic piece with lots of harmonium--hardly a workout.

The wind blowing off the North Sea is cold. But the sun was shining, an added benefit after the cold and damp of Dalkeith.

Sheep

There are allegedly nearly 15,000 sheep producers in Scotland. Most of the animals become mutton or lamb, with a few being kept for their wool. The wool, now generally made into high-end textiles, used to supply the world. But China and other countries now top the charts in wool production.

In addition to wool and meat, sheep have a valuable role to play in the tourist industry. These lovelies, for example, live on the lawn at Dalkeith House, keeping the grass down and providing hours of family fun for the Yanks who temporarily live here. The lambs are very cute, at first barely able to stand but already eating grass. Both mums and babes watch the student volleyball games with a critical eye.

Mind the queue

Even though the Scots are fiercely nationalist, and fly the Scottsh Saltier, rather than the Union Jack, almost everywhere, a few things adopted from the Brits persist. The queue is one of these.

Example: waiting for the bus during rush hour on Princes Street in Edinburgh. On one long block are three separate bus stops. Once the correct bus stop is found, join the correct queue. How people know which bus will arrive next, and thus which queue to join, is beyond me. So OLGS and I stood side by side, trying to read the numbers on the oncoming buses. The standing side by side, rather than in line, clearly troubled a lady standing behind me. She kept motioning OLGS to move ahead. She then spoke to me, in an impenetrable Scots accent. I think she was talking about the queue. Fortunately, the number 86 A (Dalkeith via the Royal Infirmary) finally pulled up.

BTW, the bus does not open the doors before it reaches the beginning of the queue. So don't even think about it.

Dalkeith High School

Joe High School began life as a student at Dalkeith High School on Monday. DHS is in a new building, the result of a controversial partnership between the local Catholic high school--which is state supported in Scotland--and the state run non-demominational high school. The religious wars are still very close to the surface here--on his first day, Joe was urged by one of his mates at the non-demominational side of the school to enter the Catholic side and give a Hitler salute. He declined to be a pawn in their ongoing game....

He wears a uniform of sorts--black sweater with the school name, black pants, and a white shirt. Today he rebelled and wore a striped shirt. We'll see whether the fashion police get him....

There is no homework, partly because the teachers don't want the books to go home....

Dalkieth

When you think about it, a jump from Minneapolis to Dalkeith, Scotland, is a journey both in miles and in time. Nothing in Minneapolis is much older than the US Civil War, and there's very little of that about. The palace in Dalkeith, Scotland, where Joe High School, OLGS, and I are now installed, is built on the foundations of a 12th-13th century castle. But it's not just the age of the structures that differs. It's an attitude about how one should live that appears foreign, even though the house is equipped with wi-fi, and KLM will deliver the missing luggage to the front door. The issue of resources, especially heat and electricity, is a big one in this house, with warnings everywhere to turn out lights, turn off the space heaters (don't ask), and guard against the insidious dripping of faucets.

Americans live in a land of seemingly inexhaustible resources, with cheap access to almost everything. There are cheap meals, cheap gas, large cars, cheap housing, and a throw-away attitude about all of these things. In the rest of the world, most middle class people do not live in large detached houses with three car garages. It's incomprehensible to most peoploe that they could, or should live like that. And the Brits, while certainly immersed in the modern world, still exhibit a slight WWII rationing mentality. Hence the notion that there is a cost, however, slight, to using heat, eletctricity, etc. We could probably use a little bit of that.

On to Istanbul

For those of you who don't have the intestinal fortitude to read this entire blog, a glossary: OLGS stands for "Oldest Living Graduate Student". His books, his professorship, and the respect of his colleagues world wide (or at least in the UK and Israel) matter less on the domestic front. I'm waiting for the empty wine bottle with the dripping candle. And I still love the guy.

Anyway, OLGS is at it again--he's now off to Turkey. Clearly, he's trying to get in all the travel he knows will bother me before I show up in Scotland. A PhD is actually worth something.....the man is smart.

And the US State Department--the same guys who brought you weapons of mass desctruction--have declared Turkey safe, or at least not a place to avoid. Why don't I take more comfort in that?

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Israel: tourism no matter what....

OLGS went to Israel. I talked him out of it last summer, when things were pretty bad, but once he was in Scotland, and out of my clutches, he answered the call of Hebrew University to do a book talk. Based on the reports, the book talk took about an hour. The rest of the time he spent being a tourist.

We forget, amid the Middle East disaster the US has helped create, that there is a thriving tourist industry in Israel, Egypt, Lebanon, and other places. Interestingly, a lot of the tourists are evangelical Christians, following the Bible through archaelogy.

OLGS visited sites featuring King Herod, a hero to left wing Israelis. He floated in the Dead Sea. And he made a new friend.

Swimming Sectionals

Joe High School is off to the second round of Twin Cities section swim meet, the purpose of which is to identify the swimmers who will proceed to the state meet. Joe will not make it to state--there are several powerhouse swimmers from Cretin-Durham Hall, a few from St. Paul Sibley, and a couple from Southwest. But he acquitted himself well--coming in 5th in the 500 yard freestyle, and 9th in the 200 yard freestyle, placement that qualifies him for the second round. And in both, he swam his personal best--at 5:26:83 in the 500 free, and a 2:02:xx in the 200.

I never thought that I would become one of these obsessive parents who cares about 100ths of a second. But he is pleased, although, as always, he said, "I could have gone faster." I no longer ask him why he didn't--it adds nothing.

Cold enough for ya?

Finally--a Minnesota winter day. The temp is stuck well below zero, the weather guys on the radio are orgasmic about having something interesting to report, and that wonderful sense of Minnesota virtue is present everywhere. I got Joe High School to wear his puffy down jacket--otherwise an indicator of total suburban geekdom, and not cool. I can have meaningful conversations with neighbors: "Your heating bill was HOW much?" I can think idly about plugging up the draft under the doors with a throw rug. Even the old tom cat doesn't want to venture out except for his most immediate needs.

I grew up in a place that wasn't terribly cold, but did have lots of snow. While the words are different, the song remains the same. My conversations with my elderly parents in that far-away place usually begin with the weather report. "You got HOW much snow? 15 inches? Wow!" I member the snows of my youth--Six foot piles at the end of the driveways, perfect for constructing dug-out snow forts. On very cold days--15 or 20 degrees (nothing to a Minnesotan) girls would be allowed to wear pants under their dresses, receiving extra time before school actually started to take them off.

I can tell I'm approaching geezerdom. Why does everyone love to talk about the weather? Is it because we can't control it? Or are we genetically wired to be concerned about it?

Minnesota motto: It's too cold to snow.