The Mouse, The Evolution, and The Snow

Near Seaside, Florida

I went to Walt Disney World and lived to tell the tale!

Okay, full disclosure time. I walked into this part of the trip firmly ensconced in an anti-Disney perspective. I have had real issues with Disney when it comes to Princesses needing Prince Charming, taking fully textured stories and reducing them to the point of sanitizing anything useful, and basically trying to take over the world. Also, the man himself, complete with helping to blacklist people in the 1950s, has always been a figure of suspicion to me. Now that I have experienced Walt Disney World my perspective has evolved.

I still think they are a part of the Illuminati trying to take claim of the world (The Mouse owns the image of the Mountie and the Star Wars franchise. Star Wars, people!), and I will never forgive taking a beautiful story about a little mermaid and reducing it to a singing crab, but I have to admit I had a great time at Walt Disney World.

Except for the fact that the experience almost killed me.

Eric and I were with our chosen family Andrea and Carlos and our nieces Sophie and Kipi. Together we visited the Magic Kingdom, EPCOT, Hollywood Studios and Animal Kingdom. And we managed to take a big chunk out of each of them. We began each morning waking up in our adjoining rooms at the Port Orleans Riverside Resort. Our rooms were Princess themed and included portraits of some of the Disney princesses (which creeped me out a bit as I felt they were watching me sleep) and fibre optice fireworks on the headboards which you can turn on at your leisure via a button on the side. 

Yes…I often invoked the obvious reference required when finding a fireworks display option on your hotel bed headboard. But not in front of the children.

After the hint of a breakfast we boarded the bus to our theme park of the day and spent the morning enjoying our FastPasses which allowed us to skip the long lines. After lunch or a child meltdown, whichever came first, Andrea and Carlos and the girls would return to the resort for rest and pool time while Eric and I soldiered on. Then we would meet for dinner and maybe take in a few more rides before leaving. Once we returned to our rooms we would crash gratefully into bed and then I would lay in the dark on not sleep because I was w-a-y too overstimulated.These were full days, indeed.

The heat and humidity was unbearable. When you left your air conditioned room at 7:30 you would be in desperate need of water by the time you reached the bus stop ten minutes away. Gallons of water led to hours at the restroom, especially with kids. The heat, often at 35 -38 degrees, and an eight and ten year old, required a very slow pace which made our feet ache in despair. By the end of our four days at Disney I must have squeezed out enough fluids to fill a tanker truck. And my feet and legs were completely destroyed! Carlos and I looked like slow release fountains, Eric and Andrea always had that glow, and the girls were excited. Really excited. It was really cute…but damn that fleeting youth!

Thank God the fifteen million souvenir shops nearby were air conditioned! Surely this is unrelated to our discomfort.

Highlights for me included:

-         The Haunted Mansion: waiting area had a headstone that played the instrument you touched on the stone surface; the holograms were magnificent and included one that entered into the car with you at the end. If Disney wanted to make a Haunted House that could scare the crap out of you…they have the budget and technology to do it.

-          Kali Rapids: One of those bouncy raft down the rapids where you and your family ride in a circle and try, in vain, to stay dry. I love these kinds of rides. It was too short, but it was blast from start to finish.

-          Peter Pan: I forget its actual name, but you fly in a sailboat over the narrative of the story. It is really magical.

-          Toy Story 4D Arcade: You are in a car that spins and rolls around to different arcade style games where you use your toy shooter (not a gun) to win a match. Andrea and I played and she kicked my butt

-          Splash Mountain: Medium scary roller coaster with water. It tells the tale of Brier Rabbit and all of the characters found in The Song of the South without Uncle Remus or any reference to the title of what even Disney considers a movie that is too racist to re-release.

-          Mission: Space: Gary Sinise is our captain to helps us get to Mars for a training flight in this simulation. We manage to miss our target, crash land and go past the landing area risking our lives and the multimillion dollar space craft we have been given but we are congratulated for our success and welcomed as astronauts. Hmm.

Eric, Carlos, and Sofie enjoyed the scarier roller coasters while Andrea and I enjoyed the softer rides. We did manage to experience a great deal together as a family, though.

I will admit to loving the Frozen sing-a-long show, though. I have to because it was actually awesome. Watching the girls sing along to every note, spying the boys in the next row look sour and work hard to hate everything, and the campy actors on stage made for a fun time.

Also, Christoff was freaking hot.

At the end, when Elsa finally comes out and we all sing the signature song…again…snow falls from the ceiling. Okay…it was soap suds…but, dammit, for a few moments you are in your late forties and believing it was snowing in the auditorium. I admit I may have had something in my eye and had to wipe a tear or two away.

Such is the magic of Disney.

Which brings me back to evolution. I believe that Disney is beginning to realise that the Prince and Princess story cannot be the only model from which to draw upon. Frozen is about two sisters who look out for each other and the older, the one with more power, must come to terms with her real self in order to fulfill her destiny. And, in this story, the princess is crowned without a prince. In fact, there is no Prince Charming in this story.

And when I think of Pixar and its partnership with Disney, and shows like Up and Inside Out, there is still plenty of magic to be had.

In the meantime, I will try to catch up on my sleep and seek out feelings in my feet and legs.

The Flight, The Southern Belle, and The Haunting

Fort Lauderdale

It has been a long time since my last blog entry. A series of dubious wifi connections and late night check-ins conspired against me, I suppose. I had this fantasy that once I got to Disney World I would be staying in the same place for a few days so I could catch up then. More on that folly in a later blog.

I wanted to mention some time we spent at Kitty Hawk in North Carolina. This little place is along the coast and quite small. You often drive along with the sea on both sides of you. Kitty Hawk, of course, is famous for the first successful flight of the Orville brothers. Actually, this event occurred in what is now Kill Devils Hill, but with the closest town at the time being Kitty Hawk it became the famous name attached to the famous event. I suppose when Kill Devils Hill was incorporated there was a determined decision to not associate the famous event with a place called Kill Devils Hill. I have no idea what the origin of this name is, and I am okay with that.

The First Flight National Monument has an information with a full scale replica of the successful aeroplane and there are talks every half hour by Rangers that are clearly enthusiastic as well as educated in this field. There is the pre-requisite walk through display and the required gift shop, but it is when you leave the centre and go out into the field when you feel the magic of the place.

Beyond the replicas of the Wright Brothers’ hangar and workshop (in which they lived), beyond the marker that stands to commemorate the founding of the National Park, beyond the stones that indicate the length of each attempt to fly that day lies the obelisk-inspired monument on top of a fill that makes it clear where lift off took place.

Eric and I walked the length of the flight to the monument and then back again. It is easy to recognise the enormity of the accomplishment even in this day of five hours to Europe. All this because of two guys who fixed bicycles.

As we walked back to the centre to get respite from the heat before returning to our car we heard another sound among the birds and people talking: an airplane. Just beyond the trees next to the path of the first flight there is a small airport. This seemed fitting to us.

Savannah was like a grand old dame who was a little more tired than her sister Charleston, but she was far from worn. Like any good southern hostess she was charming, welcoming and still very much full of life. I loved Savannah from the moment we drove up to the Foley House where we stayed.  The cacophony of cicada hidden among the Spanish moss was constant as was the humidity and heat. Nobody walked quickly or ran. I tend to walk fast but the weather here makes that impossible.

As you make your way through the historic district your path down the street is interrupted every other block or so by a grand old park. These provide respite from the sun. One of these parks, Oglethorpe Park, was a block from our guest house and was where they filmed the ‘box of chocolates’ scenes in Forest Gump. As I made my way slowly through these streets at night I was reminded of Florence, where so many people just walk through the streets quietly as they enjoy simply being in such wonderful place.

Savannah considers itself to be one of the most haunted cities in the country, so we had to take a ghost tour. Actually, what we took was advertised as a ghost walk and a ghost hunt. Some of you may know that I was once a part of a paranormal investigation group back in the day. I was the true sceptic. I was the annoying guy who kept debunking things and not getting excited by orbs. But I always hoped we would find something that I could not explain. Our tour of the Sorrel-Weed House started off interestingly enough. Apparently it was in the library of this house that General Lee began his leadership of the Civil War. We learned of the affair of the house owner with one of the servants and how his wife caught them in the act. The wife threw herself out a second floor window head first into the flagstones below and the servant hanged herself. I think the husband remarried. Hmph.

So, we looked for contact with the two ghosts of the Sorrel-Weed House. Our guide handed out EMF detectors and did not explain their use or why they are used and here we were, about twenty people, waving EMF detectors in various parts of the building.

Meh. With this crowd, I would not have come out to play either.

There was one moment where Eric and I got a little excited about a particular corner in the old carriage house where the servant hanged herself.  I tried to find electrical sockets and other evidence of a manmade electromagnetic field in the room but to no avail. However, after the tour I checked outside the building and found some transponders near the site. Oh well. So much for ghost hunting.

We also heard some ghost stories involving our guest house. Apparently the Foley House was built on a very large Jewish graveyard. I am not sure this explains misplaced dishes and table cloths, but there you have it.

We left the tranquil and elegant Savannah for what we knew would be a very different experience at Disney World.

The Bed, The Fort, and The Forgiveness

The Foley House, Savannah, Georgia

We have been continuing our exploration down the east coast of the U.S.A. and finding it very different from the west coast. The long, seemingly slow moving waves of the Pacific are replaced by the crashing vibrancy of the Atlantic, but the relationship with the water seems different. While there are places of surf and sun worship out west, it is not nearly on the scale as it is here. Atlantic City and its ilk are only the beginning. While there have been times when we are left mostly to ourselves to enjoy the scenery and the occasional glimpse of the ocean over the protective barriers, natural and otherwise, but we are rarely alone. We are often in very affluent neigbourhoods admiring the houses on stilts which are built very tall so as to afford some view of the ocean. People are constantly crossing the street on their way to the beach; chair, towel, and brood of children in tow.

Crossing the Chesapeake Bridge Tunnel was an engineering treat. Instead of a long bridge which a very high centre, of which there are plenty in this area, we go under the water into a tunnel…twice. It was very cool.

Eric and I are not beach people, but we did take some to walk along the surf.

We spent Wednesday night in Greenville. We wanted to get away from the coast in order to bring the cost of accommodations down. Eric was thrilled with our motel as it was so cheap he could give them ready cash. Not sure what the hourly rate was. Our air conditioning consisted of two settings: Baffin Island January and off. The bed was the worst. It was soft and bouncy and a double.

A double.

Eric and I on a double bed.

I made a joke about accidental sex and then tried to sleep. Every time I move Eric almost flew off the bed and hit the wall. Every time Eric moved I found a foot up my nose. I think I slept three hours at the most.

We moved on and made our way to Charleston, South Carolina. We visited the Fort Sumter National Historic Monument. It was here that the opening volleys of the Civil War was fought. There was a nice little display and many tales were told, but my favourite actually took place years after the end of the American Civil War.

When Fort Sumter fell to Confederate forces, the union took the US flag down and retreated. When the war was over there was a ceremony that raised the American flag over the fort once again. It was called a ReUnion Ceremony and signified the end of internal strife within The United States. In one of those moments where history seems to have a twisted sense of humour, this event occurred on the day that Lincoln was shot.

But the best bit happens fifty years later when there is a celebration and, as always seems to occur when the Civil War is concerned, a re-enactment. The surviving Confederate soldiers line up outside the fort and take on the battlements again. Inside, the surviving Union soldiers wait as they once did years before. When they could wait no more, they surprised everyone and rushed out of the fort and crashed into the approaching Confederates. Instead of fighting, the two sides tearfully embraced as brothers.

We left the fort memorial and found out that mere blocks away from this historic site is the AME church that made tragic headlines recently as the Charleston church that had been the victim of a mass shooting.

As we drove by we saw the many cards and letters and flowers left by those who, like us, wished to express their respects. But there was one large poster that took primary focus. This was not left by a well-wisher but by the congregation. A message to us all.

“Forgive Others As We Have Been Forgiven.”

A Dive, A Drive, and A Diving Horse

Chesapeake, Virginia

So, you may have noticed that there were no travel entries for the month of July. Since 2010 I have recorded my adventures taking kids to Europe either by blog or by email or by both followed by further travels by Eric and I in August. This did not happen this year for the simple reason that I finally made good on my promise to take a year off from Europe.

I missed the travel, but it was a good decision. Not only was I exhausted from my first year as a VP, I also managed to get kidney stones. This would have made for an interesting time in a foreign land! I almost took a complete rest from blogging this summer, but Eric and I are once again on the road and the muses call!

Eric and I are on our way to Disneyworld to join up with our chosen family on August 9^th. As per usual, we made it into an excuse for a road trip, this time to trace the eastern coast of the United States.

Our first day,  mostly spent with Eric pushing the pedal until we made it to Newark in the early evening. Using one of his apps, Eric chose the Hotel Riviera Divine in downtown Newark. This hotel was one of the most grandest of hotels in the area…in the 1920s. It never recovered from The Great Depression. And while Eric and I waited for our turn to speak to the woman working in the lobby behind the protective plexi glass, boy were we both experience a great depression!

We found no comfort in the bulletin advising long term guests that fumigation happens every first Wednesday of the month whether it was needed or not. Nor did we find joy in the fact that the security guard had to open our door for us as well as the gate to the secure parking lot.  We found our room clean, but clearly the old dame had seen better days. Long ago.

Anyways, once we pushed the big suitcase up against the door we went to bed and prayed to God that the joint wasn’t haunted.

We began our seaside journey the next day. The Jersey Shore is glitzy in places and authentic in others. We had a very late breakfast at Alice’s Kitchen in Seabright, New Jersey. A great breakfast in a beautiful little town that was basically one side of street that straddled the shore for a few miles. While there were touristy stores, the place has yet to fall into the overly touristy trap.

Atlantic City is everything you expect it to be. It was loud, busy, hell bent on consumerism, extravagant, ostentatious, desperate, weird and wonderful. We were offered 20 minute massages every fifty steps along with our fortunes. The place was packed solid and all of the major vendors were there.

We checked out the midway and was actually a little insulted. Or at least I was. The fact that those working there looked as though their souls had been sucked out them by their nasal passages was sad, but the whole place had an air of the approach commonly known as “Whatever…good enough.”

Here is a place where a bunch of adults have come just begging to spend money. An arcade in Atlantic City calls out to the decades of arcade activities. You know, the penny arcade machines, the pinball machines, Pac-Man and the crap that came out afterwards. Right? Wrong. We had a role of those claw pickers. The ones with stuffed animals in it. Like fifty of them. On each side of the aisle.

And a sad looking teenager without a soul.

What happened to that horse that jumped from a high platform and dived into a small pool of water? You know, the one in those old postcards?

We continued on our way south and eventually made our way to Ocean City. Which also had a boardwalk and an amusement park. Who knew?

Today we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. This was very cool. A true engineering feat. Eric won the toss and got to drive, but I took a series of brief videos for the good old Facebook!

We are currently staying at a fairly cheap Motel in which we managed to somehow snag the handicap access room. This is what happens when you wait too late to find a place to stay. The big problem really is the fact that our allotted parking is also designated a handicap spot. So…we are not legally able to park in our paid for spot. Just a tad awkward. We thought about parking there anyways…for about three and half seconds. Then we moved our truck to another part of the 756 acre parking lot.

It should still be there in the morning…

Dublin and Departure

Dublin is a bustling city to be sure. London was busy, but all of those people on the streets had space in which to negotiate. Edinburgh was not bustling during my stay. Dublin seemed to have the same amount of people in streets that were a lot narrower. The result was a great many individuals weaving in and around each other as they purposefully navigated their way through the winding streets.

               I would normally have no issue with this, but bringing up the rear of a group of twenty-one students made for an interesting ride. I actually lost sight of them a few times as they dissipated into the throng.  Every time we moved, I had at least a few nervous moments.

               We stayed at Trinity College. We read Oscar Wilde’s The Happy Prince together just steps from where he lived as a student and discussed The Book of Kells while sitting on the lawn next to the library in which it is housed. I spoke to my students about how many works of the ancient world were saved because they had been stored, and copied, in remote parts of the world as the medieval age burned in steel and fire.

               At one point I found a mug with my family crest on it. Having failed to find my tartan I opted for this instead and purchased it (sorry, Eric) along with a little book about my family’s history.  Later, my colleague Joe would present to me a magnet with my family’s crest on it. So, it seems I have fulfilled my familial obligations in the marketing department! When I purchased the mug, the old man asked if I was a Daly myself. “Yes”, I replied with the pride of the clan. He then proceeded to tell me some of the history and antics of my family and the role we played in Irish history.               

               At least I think that is what he said. I really could not understand a word of it. But we shook hands and I nodded my gratitude as I purchased my goods and he yelled “Be proud!” as I walked out of the store.

               Our last dinner together was in a large restaurant and we all dressed up for the occasion. Afterwards we attended a garden presentation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Dublin Castle. While the performance itself was hit and miss, the kids really enjoyed it. On our walk back we stopped at Murphy’s for ice cream.

               The manager kept encouraging the kids to just clamour up to the counter and get in to order. Joe, Asha and I laughed and said we were Canadian and queuing was in our nature. He scoffed and kept herding the kids to the counter. They politely went with him, and then, once they had made their choice, returned to their spot in the line. We watched as the manager kept insisting and the crowd of kids kept moving and undulating together and separately; moving away and dispersing only to blend back together again in a perfect line. Eventually the manager went behind the counter and helped serve.

               I loved these kids!

               Afterwards, we went home and did our final bed check. The kids began getting emotional about it, but we reminded them we had a long day in the morning and that there would be ample time for emotion. But I had to admit to feeling a bit sad that this would be our last night together.

               The next day we boarded our plane and came home. As usual the kids cried and sobbed and hugged and made promises they could never keep to each other  after we took our final photo together next to the baggage check. I was hugged and thanked and I said my own goodbyes. Then we went through the last bit of customs and through the open doors into the arrivals gallery and the kids dispersed into the crowd and into the rest of their lives. Some came back to say goodbye again but most didn’t. Our time was over.

               And then Eric, who had been waiting for me patiently since his plane had landed awhile ago, took me to our car and we went home. I am writing this from the comfort of my screened in porch. The familiar birdsong mingles around me along with the rustling of the leaves within the canopy that surrounds me. It is the afternoon and I am rested. The report cards are done and my work with Global Journeys this year is over.

               This will be my last summer with Global Journeys for at least a while.

               Now…I can hear many of you reading this laughing. This will be the third time I have claimed my retirement. But this time it really is the truth.

               I began doing this job because I wanted to keep a connection with the classroom whilst in Guidance. When I managed to get on the VP list, I knew that I could be called away at any time and once I was sitting in the VP chair, this job was not an option for at least one, probably two or three, years.  But I didn’t get off the list. Each year I remained and each year for the past two years I came back. I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while I could.

               This September I begin my new job as a Vice-Principal. Having been an acting VP this past spring I know full well that I will not risk the end of my first year in this job for Global Journeys. If I had any second thoughts about not returning next year, my appointment at the end of June took that choice away from me.

               So, after five years, ten countries (including Scotland), fifty-eight students, twelve colleagues, and countless museums, galleries, archaeological sites, and hours in trains, planes and coaches, I am taking my leave of Global Journeys. I have also brought other kids to other places outside of this job. By my count I have brought over one hundred kids to Europe. I am proud of this. And I hope I will get the chance again someday. But not today. And not tomorrow.

               Thank you for following along with me on this year’s journey. I hope that you found the read worth your while. I will connect with you again if I travel to another destination, either with Eric or with other, or even alone. I will also be maintaining the blog while not travelling so I hope you will join me at www.dalymuse.blogspot.com.

               In the meantime, here’s to the road ahead!

The Promise

When I was a little boy, my father used to tell me a story about a giant who made a bridge that crossed the ocean. This giant wanted to fight another giant, but changed his mind. In the end the bridge was almost completely destroyed. I don’t remember much more about how my father told this story, these facts being lost within the depths of the drawers of my memories. But I can remember him telling me that if you could actually sit on the stones of what is left of this bridge, all you needed to do was wish for what you need most in your life and it would come true.

When I asked where this bridge was he told me it was in Ireland, the land from where our family came to Canada many generations ago. I was brought up to be very proud of my Irish heritage and it is the ethnic background with which I most identify. My father always wanted to go to Ireland. But he never did. I suggested he go about fifteen years ago. He said he might just do that, but he feared he was getting too old. I told him that this was nonsense, but he made me promise, whether he made it to Ireland or not, that I would see our family’s homeland. “You understand about history and culture,” he said to me once. “You should go and see where we are from. You will appreciate it more than your brothers.”

I promised him I would go. One day. I found out later that the Dalys are from Westmeath. That, I figured, would be the place to go.

As some of you know, my relationship with my father was a very complicated one. The day would eventually come where I would sever my relationship with him. This was not about anger or hurt, although I was both of these at one time, it was about recognizing that a relationship was toxic and enough was enough for both of us. Two years later my father died.

I don’t regret my decision. Our problems were not about childhood issues. It was about respect, and acceptance, and what it means to be family. Ending the relationship allowed me to forgive my father, and me for that matter. It allowed me to mourn the man who was my father without unnecessary baggage that would have happened otherwise. But one thing kept me from feeling closure.

I never went to Ireland. It was a promise I made to my father and it really mattered to me.

I struggled about whether or not to write about this next bit. It is not a subject I am comfortable with. I don’t think I understand exactly what happened, but I do know it happened…no matter how odd it sounds.

This past winter I had a dream. In this dream I am walking through a very green field and there are stones up ahead in the horizon. I realize that these stones are the end of the green and the beginning of the ocean. I am walking really fast, almost trotting, because I am late. I should have arrived at my destination much sooner.

Then I see my father. He is smiling and telling me to relax. That I am not too late. That I am doing just fine and to stop worrying. I am happy to see him and he seems younger than I remember. He is standing on one of the stones as I approach them. They are not round but straight edged. They are hexagonal or octagonal. I can’t really tell. When I reach the stones I take a deep breath because I have finally reached my destination. My father tells me to sit down.

Then I woke up.

I spoke with Jo and Eric about this. Jo has more experience behind these kinds of things. But it was Eric who figured it out.

This dream happened in the middle of the week. That weekend I was offered this summer job teaching in Europe. This year I was asked to do the England, Scotland and Ireland tour. I was thrilled because I would finally get to Ireland. But I was also disappointed. A visit to Westmeath was not even remotely possible with our itinerary.

When we were talking about my dream (again) during the weekend, Eric thought of The Giants Causeway in Northern Ireland.  The result of volcanic activity, hexagonal shaped pillars of rocks form a series of steps along the coastline. It looks like an uneven stone road reaching out into the sea.

Then I remembered my father’s story about the giant who built a road.

I couldn’t get to Westmeath, but I felt like my father was telling me where the next best location would be.

This week I made it to the Giants Causeway.

We walked down a winding around that led us to this amazing phenomenon. You have a great view of the sea, the cliffs, and, of course, the hexagonal shaped rock formations. People are walking about them and taking pictures. My kids thought it was the coolest thing ever.

For the record, the approach looked absolutely nothing like my dream. But when we got to the bottom and I made my way along the road to a cluster of higher levels juts that was just before another jut I felt like I had seen this part in the dream. This was where my father told me to sit.

So I sat. I sat for a long time and looked around me at the vistas, the people, the rock formations, and the water in between the stones. Eventually I closed my eyes.

I listened to the sea and the birds and the voices of my kids and the sounds of walking all around me.

Then it seemed to get really quiet and I could swear I could smell a hint of sagebrush. There have been a couple of times where I felt my mother’s presence. These are brief and very rare. And they could easily be passed off as a part of my vivid imagination. But this time I felt my father’s presence. It felt like he had sat down beside me and if I opened my eyes and looked to my left I would see him there with his cowboy hat and his boots and that moustache. It was very intense. It was very real to me.

For the first time that I can remember I actually missed my father. I missed talking to him. I missed laughing with him. This felt sad, but it also felt good. It felt right.

Eventually, the inevitable moment arrived and I opened my eyes. The world had returned and I sat there alone. I had fulfilled my promise at last. I had come to Ireland and I had honoured my father. I owed him this. I regretted taking so much time, but I think he would have been okay with it.

As I looked around for my kids, wondering what time it was, I realized that I was sitting on the stones of the giant’s bridge. My Dad said I should wish for something that I needed most in life.

I thought of my friends, my little girls, my chosen family,  my house , my village, my job, and my Eric. And I realized that I had nothing left to wish for.

Underground in Scotland

We are staying at the University of Edinburgh. More specifically, we are snuggled into the very modern Pollack Hall with its sliding doors, key card entries and all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast and dinner. We are a long way from Oxford.  I can fit in my shower and, once I figured out how the super modern taps worked, I had excellent water pressure.

I am going to put it out there right now: this will be the first trip with Global Journeys in which I have gained weight. The thing is, these damn residences are always buffet and consisting of UK fare like potatos, roast beef, boiled vegetables, chips, broiled chicken, and assorted fattening deserts with words like “curd” and “pasty” and “fatty” associated them. And then it became ridiculous with six words: all-you-can-eat Yorkshire pudding. And don’t even get me started on the fact that the national motto for cooking in the UK is “When All Else Fails, Wrap It In Bacon.”

I will be lucky if they let me in the plane for the trip home. I’ll be lucky if I fit into the plane!

When I first looked at the city of Edinburgh I was struck by how stark it seemed. Solid, brown, stone buildings collected together to form a mass of dark windows, pointed roofs, and heavy architecture. There was little opulence and absolutely no sense of ostentation. I don’t believe this city can ever be accused of being a jewel, but that is okay. Once my initial impression passed I saw a comfortable, reliable and proud city that offers no artifice. It is what it is, and to be anything else would not be Edinburgh. I cannot claim that I found the city to be pretty, but she is handsome!

We took the kids on a haunted walk of the underground vaults. Built within the archways of a bridge, the original purpose of this section of the city was to create a centre of commerce protected from the elements. An underground mall, if you will. When the damp and mould prevailed after the constant flooding, this idea was eventually abandoned. Moving in after the shops all left were the most desperate and most vile people of the city. Those who not afford to live anywhere else had to find refuge in this area rife with thieves, murderers, and human traffickers. Children growing up here had to play around the drug dealers, the prostitutes, the violence and the fear. It is a dark and dreary place, to be sure. But it is also spooky! Oh yeah…and let us not forget the body snatchers!

Enter nineteen teenage girls, two teenage boys and three tired adults. What could possibly go wrong?

Our guide, who looked like Judy Dench, was an excellent storyteller. She had the kids wrapped around her finger. At one point, before entering the vaults, we were discussing the murder of a judge while huddled in one of the city’s many closes (very narrow alleyways) when someone abruptly strode into the close and startled us.  He happened to come at the most intense part of the tale. I don’t know who was more shocked, our group or this poor guy who had obviously gone out to get some milk or something.

As we walked through the cavernous depths, with its dampness and stench, I tried to keep my claustrophobia at bay. The ground was uneven and I found it difficult to walk. I had hurt my knee in London and had been working with a bit of a limp since. This slowed me down and, always being at the end of the line I began to fall a bit behind. This allowed me to see the kids as one clump, clustered together for protection and feeding each other’s fear. It was like a Most Haunted episode on steroids.

I felt it on my legs at first. A gust of wind that swept the floor around us. It scampered on the floor of the room we were in and caused the girls to lift up their feet and hop about. As the screaming began I realized that this wind did not touch the upper part of our bodies, only from the knees down to the ground. It was like an invisible wave had swept into the room. The screaming subsided and for an brief moment there was almost silence. I say almost, because it was then that we heard the voices. They echoed and ricocheted off the uneven walls and empty passageways. They were low and deep.

The girls screamed again and my colleagues and our guide tried to calm them down. As they started to settle down and walked back towards the darkness to see if I can hear the voices again. I thought I did, very faintly and far away into the darkness. I think what happened was another group had entered the vault and the wind was the result of a single door letting air in from the outside. I am pretty sure that had we not screamed like we were in a slasher movie we would have heard a number of different voices at first.

Pretty sure. In any case, the kids were having none of my theory and the mood for spooky fun was set in stone.

We learned of a spirit named “Mr. Boots” who strode about the place and made threats. He apparently didn’t like being called Mr. Boots and has been known to inform visitors aggressively that his name is actually Edward. When the tour guide told of this story, she went on to describe some of the experiences others have had and referred to him by his nickname. At this point a number of kids asked her to please call him Edward as they did not wish to upset him.

Afterwards we walked home and the kids were on a post-scare high. They were convinced that they had experienced a true haunting in the tour. Who was I to argue? They paid good money for a true haunting.

My colleague, Joe, and I took a side trip on another day to Roslyn Chapel. This is a small medieval church that had a major role in Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. Part of the movie was also filmed here.

It’s very small, but the carvings are intricate and covers the entire building. No where within these walls is there a blank space.

One of the pillars, the Apprentice Piller, has an interesting story attached to it. It seems the Master asked his apprentice, as they were building the chapel, to wait for his return from a trip before working on the next column. The apprentice, with a lot of time on his hands, decides to work on the column anyways. Upon his return, the Master found the column not only completed, but extraordinarily beautiful and inspiring. Much better than the Master could ever do. The Master became angry and jealous of the genius and  skill that the apprentice demonstrate, so he killed him. The Master was tried and executed for his crime but that was not all. On the other end of the sactuary, up in opposite corners and facing the Apprentice Column are the carved renditions of the Master and the apprentice. Both are forced to look upon this column together for all eternity. The apprentice can bask in the glory of his creating forever. While the Master is forced to look upon his shame and humiliation.

This place is considered a special place for many reaons. Some think it holds, or held, the Holy Grail. Or the skull of St. Matthew or Jesus. It has  accused of being the final resting place of Mary Magdalene or another saint. Some feel that ley lines, like those found at Stonehenge, cross through this chapel bringing the earth based energy of the universe with them. Still others think it might be part of a larger complex involving a landing pad for aliens.

I just found the place to beautiful, quiet, serene and inspiring.

While I was able to see Edinburgh a bit more, including the castle, I have to admit it was a brief stop. I will have to return here again in order to truly understand the Scotland.