Kernie and I planned a trip to Scotland a little less than a year ago; we contracted with a company we had used on a previous trip, Vantage Deluxe World Travel, and booked the Ocean Odyssey to sail us from the Firth of Forth near Edinburgh north through Scottish Islands, Northern Ireland, the Isle of Wight, Wales, and finally Poole with a final couple days in London. We paid our balance to save 5% this winter. Kernie secured business class tickets to and from London with extra days added to our voyage for a very good price. Three weeks before leaving, not having documents regarding meeting places in Edinburgh to start the cruise, we went to the Vantage website and learned that our voyage was to start a little less than two years from now.
First thought: “We have lost our frigging minds. We thought we were booking for this year and made an error.” On reflection, having received notifications about our coming trip, including Covid standards for travel in the summer of 2022, we had a second thought: “This is a clerical error.” I few secured messages and a phone call revealed that was neither: the company claimed the ship to be unavailable, “due to covid” and the trip as booked was fully paid for but available in 2024. They would not consider, as this was a delay, not a cancelation, returning our money, though we could peruse the catalogue and consider an alternative trip sooner than 2024.
My recommendations this month shares an article from the New York Times relating the experience of a 92 year old woman with the same experience with the same company. Your thoughts are welcome!
After a pissy couple of days, Kernie and I resolved to make the best of it and we shortened our vacation (and air reservations—free of charge—thank you British Air) and started anew. We made lemonade out of lemons.
This was our first trip to Europe in several years, the first after Covid. The news beforehand was clear: expect chaos at Heathrow. It was clear both boarding the plane in Seattle and experiencing the transfer in London for the trip to Edinburgh that there is a pent-up demand for travel since Covid had its way with us. The line for business class to Edinburgh was not to be differentiated from any other line we saw; people were tense, anxious to be going, crowding, and working on positioning. We relaxed and let the rest fret. Our reward? “As this flight is fully booked, there will not be enough room for all the carry-ons; if you are willing to check your carry on, please come forward.” We did. We delivered our bags and were suddenly at the front of the line. This afforded a long wait once on board as the boarding was slow—all our flights out of Heathrow required being bussed to the plane and this was a slow and cumbersome process. Kernie and a flight attendant schmoozed and he was a marvel of customer service as a cranky old woman with a pronounced English accent lamented at row 16 (looking hungrily at the open exit row seating) that her knees were not going to carry her to her seat in the back of the plane. The assistant was polite and positive and clear. She moved on. Despite the chaos that is Heathrow, all our luggage landed safely and we were off to The Native, a hotel on Queen Street that was affordable and had a kitchenette as an extra.
Before we could enjoy that hotel fully though, we were off on a Rabbie’s tour — a whiskey tour. We spent three days and two nights with five other tourists in a bus with seating for sixteen, plus the driver Jeff.
Starting off that morning, I was re-oriented to an old European city; modern almost universally new looking small and smart cars driving on incredibly narrow and non-straight roads intermingled with busses. And bikes! People ride commuting bikes in Edinburgh! That is not for the weak of heart. The Firth of Forth is now recognized by me and visualized through the story of its three bridges: one that was overbuilt in the late 1800’s to secure the confidence of the people (a newfangled iron bridge of the time had collapsed a few years before with great loss of life), a “golden gate” like suspension bridge built in the 1960’s which had defects and has required a great deal of reinvestment and modified traffic allowances, and a twenty first century beauty upon which we drove north.
Tour drivers have to have the gift of the gab and Jeff did. We learned quickly that he was an ex- cop—-not just an ex-cop but with time as a supervising policeman whose job was underwater recovery for much of Scotland —-before he retired. He mostly told history anecdotes pointing out the sites but had opinions of a distinct point of view about the environmental friendliness of wind turbines, all electric cars, and a multitude of other topics before we moved on to politics. His accent was helpful supporting his points of view even when one disagreed with his conclusions. He did teach us a few things: Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales all have national parliaments. England does not! The English Parliament we know is for the United Kingdom which in turn, includes these three other countries. The English are an absolute majority in this democracy and there is no constitutional adjustment to this majority voting block as we experience in the US ie they have no “Senate” with two from Northern Ireland, Wales, etc. He made clear that Scotland and Northern Ireland thought that Brexit was a mistake as did central London but the rest of England held sway and the problems have become very real. He is clear that England (United Kingdom) was and can be a very successful country, the problems adjusting to the new reality are difficult. No cheap labor can access England easily—“it would be like living in California and not allowing Mexicans across the border; that would be hard on the economy, right?” There was a plethora of other issues all being negotiated: student visas, business relationships and where they are headquartered, and so on.
Jeff married an Iraqi born woman some 5 years ago; she is a little younger than him and his birthday marks a potential, “real” retirement soon though she will continue working. Her education and work experience were in London. A perspective he presented to us: Jeff’s parentage is English for three generations before there is a native born Scot; he has made his career in Scotland. His wife had a Scottish grandfather who conceived her mother while on occupation duty. She is more Scottish than he is! He smiles, “Tell that to the locals!”
Traveling to the Lindores Distillery was a bit like driving from Portland to Olympia on I5—except the roads are very narrow and the towns, each and every one of them, are constructed of stone hundreds of years ago and exude a charm even with occasional graffiti, overflowing trash bins, or traffic jams. Lindores is not owned by a conglomerate and is relatively new. We got to walk through the sparkling clean and modern facility learning all the steps. The guide loved my Rotary addition about yeasts: they, “fart out CO2 and pee ETOH.” He will use that in the future. The grounds are an old middle ages monastery that was destroyed during the reformation but which was the source of distilling back in those days. "Aqua vitae” were medicinal spirits sold at the time. They are sold now and don’t taste bad (“tea bags” of herbs are added to the 40% distillate and sold without being put in a cask). The remainder of excess production is casked after further distillation to be rendered whiskey in three years and one day or to generate income before that time frame, made into an inexpensive gin. LIke California’s wine industry, there is a glut on new business in distilleries. England is awash with cheap gin.
I do not have a developed palate for Scotch whiskey but the three year product was richer and more developed than expected—both to me and as explained by our fellow travelers who clearly knew their business. We will try a blind taste test with friends when we get home.
Our second distillery was near a national forest and Balmoral castle, ie Royal Lochnagar. We learned the queen was in in that the flag was flying and there were armed guards at the gates. We would learn later in the week that she was on her deathbed. The setting was beautiful and the grounds immaculate. Our tour director repeated all the steps we had encountered at Lindores. This director was quirky and very well informed; I really liked him; he could be on SNL. He enjoyed telling anecdotes from his getting an education in public schools in Scotland and then would spice the stories up. I learned here that one did not have to drink all the tastings. We had yet to have lunch and had been served a total of eight samplings each with about one ounce.
Lunch had been short and we went to get sandwiches at a TESCO store —it was large and modern and more than just a Safeway. We could only find parking at the TESCO—the town was five minutes down the road, walking, and was small with most the sandwich shops looking busy. We only had an hour— the take-away food at TESCO was horrible and to get it, I competed with teens in school uniforms out for lunch. My need to actually look at each sandwich was awkward because for the most part, they knew exactly what they wanted and I was in the fucking way. I settled on a BLT and managed to find a bag of mandarins and water for the bus. We ate on a curb. I learned that bacon in Scotland is not cooked very long; it is always pale and limp though quite tasty. The short walk to town confirmed our decision—we would have had trouble with our time line I think. There was a small park with a commemorative statue to the dead of WWI. One more time, the immensity and impact of that war was right before us visually. A column of granite with a carved soldier, gun on the ground. The names of the dead were carved on three of the four sides of the column. There were nearly a hundred names. The commemorated dead from WWII fit in a small plaque at the foot of the soldier and numbered less than twenty. There were two from the Korean War.
Our driving for the rest of the day took us through the familiar terrain that we had seen alternating with high country with few trees and rough grasses. Creeks and rivers ran everywhere. Sun, wind, clouds, and scattered rain all came in quick succession. We might as well have been home! The buildings remained an attraction from comfortable well-built mansions to farm houses with exposed joists. We were told the tour company offered an Outlander tour which given the scenery, might deserve a second look. We hit a point of elevation with a view of a “castle” which in fact was a white box like structure, perhaps four stories high, with a few windows surrounded by a wall. At the overlook, I found two MG’s, both modern vehicles. Has Morris Garage been reopened? No, Jeff pointed out that these cars are made in China. They looked pretty cool though. The other visual at this overlook was a Jaguar the likes of which have yet to make it to the states. The next day, I enjoyed the view of an old restored (British Racing Green) MGTC.
We arrived at Grantham on Spey where our Bed and Breakfast was located. The Garden Park was recently taken over by a husband and wife team; she is Swiss speaking with an Italian accent and the husband was a soft spoken Italian. They were wonderfully attentive and very very Green. They made home made breakfasts each morning we were there and the husband was delighted that Kernie loved biscotti—he broke out his personal supply when she learned this as it was not on the menu. It was here I chanced on Haggus. The ingredients for the most part are off-putting (minced body parts of sheep) which did not deter me. The flavor matched the appearance, a dark and flat patty that crumbled apart. As sausage patties go, it brought to mind, lintel soup ie an earthy flavor. As the owners are very green, I did not leave a crumb on my plate which had included scrambled eggs, a thin piece of ham (bacon) and a dry piece of home baked bread. Of note, up to this point virtually every Scot encountered had been friendly and engaging. At breakfast a very dowdy elderly woman in bike ware sat next to us. Her presence and demeanor, without saying a word at breakfast found us speaking in hushed tones so as to not disturb her. She ate from a bowl of cold “24 hour” oatmeal. Kernie then asked about her biking, where she was from, and where she was going. She was not pleased to be addressed by a stranger, uninvited and spoke almost scornfully about heading to Inverness. I asked if her ride was supported. She gazed at me with a look of incomprehension and after I explained what I meant, a look of disdain. “Traveling with support would be immoral!” John Knox lives!. Jeff overheard this and later commented, “I was not going to jump into that one…..”
Dinner both nights in this very small town was challenging. The economy is linked to distilleries and the whiskey tourist business. Pub fare was pretty much the range of options. I tried fish and chips; I tried a very dry and plain hamburger. Other options would have included a Pizza place and a sketchy looking Indian restaurant. I drank not a drop of alcohol either night.
We appreciated that we are in a very rural area at the end of tourist season so things were not all they could be. I thought to explain the food choices away with this thought. Except for the potato thing—we encounter that everywhere in the United Kingdom—on reflection, that holds for hamburgers, pizza, fish and chips as well. The weather held (clouds but mostly sunny and in the low seventies) and we saw yet more varied scenery as we drover all over Northern Scotland. Day two found us at Glen Moray distillery. It proved a very impressive facility as was the sampling of spirits. The challenge this day was the volume of the samples and the need to walk down a spiral staircase after the sampling. I estimated that by the end of the day, I had had 9 ounces of Scotch. In my world, that would be binging even if taking six hours to do it. Hans (a fellow traveler) would tell me he had an additional three drinks when he went to a bar that night. Our last stop was the Cardhu distillery. That was very modern, well funded—a Mercedes of distilleries if you will. It was owned by Johnny Walker and there is a plastic statue with his characteristic walking stance and tip of the hat. His coat and hat are multicolored, attributed as an attempt to market to the LGBT community. The woman who was to be at his side (the founder and inspiration of this specific distillery) was missing in action, out for repairs. With repeated instruction and requests for feedback, I have experimented with smelling, tasting, adding a drop of water and tasting again—-and not finishing all the samples……. Do I detect the apple smell? They hay? The raisins? vanilla? I think my imagination helps but my sniffer is not a reliable tool. I can discern differences in volatility and oiliness and these terms found their way into the conversation as well.
Before Cardhu, we lunched at Charlsetown of Agberlour. While this was a lovely setting my error was ordering a baguette chicken sandwich. It came heavy with mayonnaise which meant I could not share it with Kernie. It was a lot and the crisps were over the top. We were the only people in our group not having beer with lunch. We went on to amble about on the main street where barely a person could be seen. Kernie found a house for sale on the edge of town and she circled it peering through windows. I waited for the Bobbies who never came. It was an impressive house with stone walls a foot thick if not more. The rooms seen through windows were all expansive with hardwood floors. The back yard had an orchard that slanted down to a river. Across the street on the return we saw a Scottish Episcopal Church set a couple hundred yards up a hill and we walked to it. It was stately, large, and beautiful with no parking which implies people walked a good distance to go there. There were isolated graves about the back which bordered on a forest. They all appeared to be in disrepair. Again, a memorial to the dead of WWI with long lists of names—soldiers from a local orphanage remembered. This was a very small town.
The treat on the third and last day was Dalwhinnie: It was already a favorite—I spent my last twenty five pounds at duty free in Heathrow decades ago when a retired police officer convinced me this would be a good choice. It was the first Scotch I ever bought and for the most part, the only scotch I really have enjoyed— The Distillery outdid itself. The speaker was a middle aged crusty redhead woman with a great sense of humor and was able to test us diplomatically.
They were low on stock so only two of the four samples were their product. Kernie and Randy and Hans all agreed that Winter Gold was the superior bottle from the sampling and she brought out an extra tasting of this that was kept in the freezer so we had viscous cold gold which was a very nice variation. I bought a bottle of this and a 200 cc sampler of their 15 year “normal” brew. In the shop, tourists from across the world were to be found with a stew of languages. Most notably, a short Japanese tourist, looking most self-assured in a full-on kilt outfit.
The weather forced us to a sixth distiller (vs the forest walk Jeff had planned) after we had a pretty nice lunch in a tourist town (Caesar salad for RAM; roast beef with potatoes for Kern). This town had a hydroelectric dam whose information plaques could easily have been found at TVA sites ie “dams like this fundamentally changed rural life in Scotland.” Just outside of town we had a stop at Blair Athol where virtually everyone but us and Jeff got hammered as in 4 drinks each at a bar (there were no reservations/tours for sampling available). They stumbled into the bus and down the road we went to a chocolatier and then a coffee place before landing in Edinburgh. Of note, I cashed $200 at the airport into pounds and paid $25 for the pleasure of doing that. A sign at the coffee shop identified that by the end of this month, twenty and fifty pound notes will be retired from circulation and not longer accepted. Jeff noted that the use of cash is dwindling and that cards are ubiquitous even for relatively trivial transactions. My $200 was the exact correct amount; we left England without a spare pound.
Brave New World!
A return to Edinburgh from our three days of whiskey tasting found is with the next day free and very very hungry. Rural Scotland had proven to have abysmal food on the tour so we struck out to see what we could find. On George Street, we were told there would be good choices and indeed, separating out the ever present pub food establishments which mirrored that which we had already seen, we found a fine Italian restaurant that left us wanting more. We would go back one more time but not before trying a “Latin” restaurant that lived up to its label in that in addition to traditional Mexican entrees once could get a Cuban sandwich, an Argentine steak, or in my case, a chicken in coconut sauce a la Bahia over rice. Here I had my only beer of the trip and it was a South American beer. Kernie had a Capraina.
Getting our bearings on Princes Street, we got oriented to our meeting places for future day trips and ended up in a cemetery high on a hill across from that of the Edinburgh Castle. I am a regular tourist at cemeteries and was rewarded with a memorial to David Hume next to another dedicated to Abraham Lincoln, the emancipation proclamation, and the Scottish war dead from the Civil War.
We explored the Royal Mile, finding it too crowded and thought entry to the castle might be free. They were full up and we would have to order up tickets at a discount on line to get entry a few days later. We walked down the “back side” of the castle where there were no tourists, and managed our way into some beautiful park settings, gardens, yet another cemetery and then back on to Princes street where we enjoyed the Scottish national museum of art.
St Andrews was our next day destination and the good weather that had been the norm our first week was coming to an end. Again, across the Firth of Forth but this time taking an Easterly course along the coast which was very nice to look at. We stopped at a small town that had been a prominent fishing village in the day. It looked the part and we were early enough to see lots of tourists shops just opening up and hardly a soul to be seen. For our half out stop? A coffee and a cemetery with a view of the lower town.
I had a good friend in college spend a semester at St Andrews in 1971. He liked the experience. I can’t imagine what that would have been like. The students these days looked like students everywhere (he spoke of wearing gowns to class). It was a very a city filled with youth and again, this time of the day was packed with tourists. We did not manage to see much of the campus but did get to the golf course. Enough said. We stopped in the town of Falkland on the way home: the town of Falkland was a twenty minute stay. I could have stayed longer—it is the scene of some Outlander movies and looked the part. The shops were oriented to tourists and yet with a funny spin as next to them, basic stores used locally for meat pies, pastries, and a stationary store. The proprietor of one was one of those many Scots who went to Nordstrom customer service school—very engaging. Shortbread, cookie, and two coffees later, we departed and I had to take a picture of a nearby violin shop and then some housing that had a Ukrainian flag in the window. I must say that in many places, the Ukraine solidarity movement is strong in Scotland
Our last full day in Edinburgh had us exploring the castle which is rich in military heritage. I enjoyed that greatly. My context for, “The thin red line” is a novel about Guadalcanal in WWII but the military museum had a famous piece titled by that name showing rows of Scottish Infantry fighting off Russian horsemen in the Crimean War. Once again, World War I raised its head with the monuments being over the top. We passed on seeing the crown jewels both out of a lack of interest and noting the very long line to get in. We moved on and found the Museum of Surgery deeper in the city near the University of Edinburgh. We spent hours reading the histories and looking at histological sections by organ system of diseases we have only read about. It was a horror show of things gone wrong, some occasionally bringing us to the present and people we do know. There was a brief video of Arthur Cannon Doyle speaking of the benefits brought on by scientific thinking. Did you know he believed in Fairies? The author of Sherlock Holmes, believed in Fairies…….. By the end of the day, legs were tired but life looked really really good this 2022.
The last Rabbie’s tour took us south to Hadrian’s Wall which is in northern England. Our guide, Sinclair loved to hear his own voice and he had a lot to say. “Those Romans, they were engineers! When they made a road, it was straight. They did not contour them with the lie of the land, no! They went over hill and dale in a straight line damn the consequences!” To illustrate his point, he would accelerate on this portion of the road which mimicked a roller coaster with the effects of the hills. He pointed out evidence of medieval farming as there were linear depressions regularly aligned in what is now grazing land. “It was warm enough to farm here back then; not now though…..” He waxed on about global warming and natural cycles evidenced in the historical record. We are due for a cooling trend in the next few decades……if you did not know that yet.
My love of Roman history was rewarded. The wall is quite eroded but at one park we found a credible non reconstructed site that gave an idea of what it was like. It is on a trail that one can walk from one side of the island to the other following the wall. He took us to Vindolandia, a museum dedicated to the Roman site there. On the way, I learn from Sinclair that the Victorians really messed with all our minds as we consider what we read in the history books growing up. “It’s all crap,” was heard over and over again. He even thinks the modern theory of King Arthur’s source in legend coming from Cornwall in the South was a feint by the Victorians trying to hide some deeper truth that is yet unlearned…… Meanwhile, the artifacts found in garbage dumps from two thousand years ago revealed startling things. They had a shoe collection and no surprise, women’s shoes were stylish (pointy) with designer hobnobs on the soles. Wooden tablets that had not been burned revealed accounting, reports to bosses, and letters to friends. It made them seem very real and very modern. Their durability and prolonged presence was also apparent. The fortifications and buildings made of stone being excavated are almost 2000 years old and they were not the first on the site. The original structures were large and wooden and redone as time required. Romans!…………
During lunch, we sat with some elderly women on a trip and I overheard them saying as they looked at their cell phones that the Queen was not doing so well. Her death was announced in the late afternoon. I waited in a line for an “accessible” bathroom and while musing on where the inaccessible ones were and spoke of the queen with the guy in front of me, a thirty-something in a suit. He was very respectful of the queen and her legacy—sort of a, “I will miss the ole girl,” sentiment. He was quick to point out he was not a fan of Charles. I commented on a video from his youth when he was in the army and alarmingly immature with his attempt at humor. Internally I mused on his leaked texts to Camilla that were also immature—and weird—-and I noted that he lost me a long time ago. The comeback? “And those ears,” with a sad shake of the head.
We had first class train tickets, Edinburgh to London the next morning. We had calculated that we would get to the London hotel in about the same amount of time traveling by rail vs by air—and we avoided the airports and commutes associated with those. We were right! However, rumors in the hotel lobby were that the roads about the train station were shut down and busses and cabs might have difficulty negotiating—because of the Queen’s death. As I was outside looking for our scheduled taxi a British man told me that because of that issue he had decided to not go by rail and fly instead. That news found me talking to the Kern about options and she decided we would hoof it. It was a twenty minute walk in a misty rain with cobblestones and a few short (block long) inclines. It was likely to be the only exercise we would get all day so yes, off we went with our luggage in tow. As we approached the train station, now a bit sweaty, we noted not one road closed. The busses and taxis were moving as usual. We saved a few pounds and got four thousand steps. Kernie suspects he wanted our scheduled taxi.
Trains in the United Kingdom: First class in our case was thirty pounds more than, “steerage.” For this, we were able to sit in a lounge where tea, coffee, biscuits, and water were free and available as was a comfortable set of chairs. We got on board the train to find we were not sitting next to each other. The conductor came to us five minutes later and moved us to the front car where we had a quadrant of seats to ourselves. This was good, as I was coming down with a sore throat and felt achy. I had no COVID testing supplies—-so I was masked up and keeping my distance. The ride was characterized by speed, a few five minutes stops that were barely noticeable. We had a hot lunch and were offered alcohol every hour on the hour. While we declined — still humbled by our whiskey tour—we were very pleased with our choice as we headed South.
King’s cross station to our hotel on Fleet Street was probably no more than six miles but took nearly forty minutes to negotiate and cost thirty five pounds. The inner city was nearly gridlocked. We were housebound once arriving and awoke to a London now mobilizing for the Queen’s ceremonies. The streets were empty at ten AM so we went for a walk. We managed to find St Paul’s and then went down to the waterfront and followed Victoria embankment until we got to the Temple station where we headed back, stopping at Trafalgar Square. My memory was validated by a guide at the national art museum as the entrance to what had been the portrait gallery (we visited decades ago) was no longer there. My memory was correct I was told. The gallery had been moved and was not open yet. At this point, the tourist venues were getting full and I suddenly was clammy and lacking basic energy. We got back to the hotel where I slept until the next morning.
On awakening, I felt better and we slogged on foot towards Big Ben and managed a few pictures of people heading to Buckingham palace; small children dressed nicely carrying bouquets were not an unusual site. Kernie and I chanced upon two cyclists on Fleet Street waiting for coffee and she engaged them with the question as to where to find exciting cycling jerseys. They eyeballed us and so we had to reflect on our cycling routines. We were deemed credible and got some recommendations. As we spoke, Kernie brought up the Queen. The thirty-something who addressed us had dilating plugs in his ear lobes and seemed a poster boy for individuality as a driving force. He had a very interesting perspective. First, as he grew up, her role in how the government actually ran things was never that clear and in that sense, her practical relevance in the day to day did not seem important to him. Secondly, there was an impact now in that for his whole life, she had been there. She was a source of social stability and an image that was reassuring through difficult times. “We have had horrible leadership at times and you know that there will be a fight and we will hopefully get through it. But she was always there and gave you a sense that there would be stability and continuity. I appreciate that now that she is gone.” He did not wax philosophical about Charles, but was willing to give him a shot.
Arriving at the parliament building, the crowds were building but the focus remained on Buckingham palace. We saw a few sights for old times sake and struck out for Hyde Park.
And of course, Kernie saw something that no one else wanted to —a very old man, dressed formally with a cane was paying no attention to the lights directing traffic as he walked obliquely across the street—-not in a crosswalk—-and traffic was coming. This street fronted Parliament. She committed and saddled up on one side of him and I guiltily took the other side. We matched his stride and made eye contact with the coming drivers who all slowed. He seemed a little non-plussed by us but was curious. He was deaf. We did not explain much that he understood. We wished him well once he was on the sidewalk and Kernie said under her breath, “I can’t look back.”
As we stopped at the next corner, there was a very long light holding us up and we crossed only to see him once more, obliquely walk down the street very slowly. A police van slowed for him and they took no notice of each other. He got to the curb and then we got serious. We doubled our speed and got away from the crowds. Kernie was able to go into a community antique market. The slices of life she could see were interesting but mostly it was chachka coming with a high price.
Feeling ill (wait for it) I spent a lot of time in the hotel room. My mind was not in a place where reading, writing, or Wordling was happening, so I watched some TV with Kernie. British TV is strange! Like Japan (also an island nation), there is a tendency to the childish and the silly—manly walking upright cats selling insurance. Japanese sing-song voices for multinational companies selling ….whatever. And the commercials are blocked for significant lengths of time, sort of like the last half of the national news in the USA…… There is a lot of discussion about reverse mortgages and internet apps that allow one to modify energy bills which have gone up dramatically. Disneyland for a day, two adults and a child cost 509 pounds; the ad emphasized the Marvel Universe creations, and Mickey was not to be found. There were lots of pop music and little girl voices. Occasionally there is an American accent selling something. There was a heavy handed emphasis on having women, people of color, LGBT, and children all represented in the ads. There was a lot of dancing, hip checking, arm waving…..and then I fell asleep.
We managed to get home safely other than for the part where, having been masked up for nine hours, fatigued, and now on an altered sleep timeline, when asked if I had any food in the luggage as we were on the exit point of Seattle customs, without thinking, I volunteered, “well I have some beef jerky I thought I would finish in England but there is a little left.”
That should have been my inside voice.
The customs agent assumed a look of horror. My showing him the five tired pieces of jerky did not help. My passport was handed to a stern woman who guided me down a hall. I told Kernie to go on out and meet our ride. The stern lady was clear, “Oh no, you two have to stay together.” We were ushered into a glassed-in holding cell. “Take a seat, please.” It was full of large families from where English was not a first language. The luggage carts were overflowing. I could not call our ride to tell them of our delay. Kernie’s facial expressions were, “off putting.” If they were taking us in order, we were going to be there a long long time. Thankfully, my name was called quickly. My beef jerky was examined (“yep, made in the USA.”) and with our permission, confiscated. Luggage was x-rayed and we were on our way.
White privilege is real……..
Class privilege is real.
Citizenship is real.
Experienced travelers can be idiots.
We got home, feeling pretty good about our trip, and then got out the COVID test pack that we had intentionally not taken with us. I tested positive. Kernie tested negative.
All is well, so far.
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