| SCOTLAND VACATION 2004 May 18 - May 30, 2004 JOURNAL ENTRY 7 entry begun on May 22nd, 2004 at 08:00 Kelso Time (We have safely arrived in Kelso and are just awake and ready to face the day.) We lugged our luggage (oh, so that's why they call it "luggage" (editor's note: I just looked it up in the O.E.D. and I was right!)) down to the tube station at Earl's Court and hopped the Piccadilly Line for King's Cross. Once at King's Cross we bee-lined it for the First Class Lounge. A gentleman at the desk on our way in explained how to read the train schedule on the monitors, and proceeded to discuss with us at length all the different possible trains we could take to get to Berwick, then ultimately after an exhaustive five or six minutes landed on the train we were already booked to take. It was a helpful exchange though, as we knew what the train would be called on the announcement boards and which platform we needed to go to. We were buzzed into the lounge, where we had a snack of tea and biscuits and rested a bit. Ginger ran off to mail a few postcards, and I worked on catching up on the journal (which I am obviously still doing). At about 12:40 our train pulled in to station and on we went. At our seats there was room for the luggage in a rack above our heads, and room under our seats for the backpacks we wanted more immediate access to. At first it seemed we'd have the seats opposite us open and thus ample leg room, but a somewhat antisocial couple sat across from us right before the train left the station. The guy came by with the food and tea cart a bit into the trip, somewhere near Stevenage, and we enquired about the meal we were supposed to be given. Well, when we confirmed with two people that in fact it comes with dinner, we did not specifically include the words "for free" or "complimentary" as in "Does the First Class seat come with dinner served FOR FREE?" This was our downfall. Luckily, we'd brought Luna Bars and apples along to tide us over until we got to Berwick, at which point Mick would undoubtedly whisk us away for a proper pub meal. Around Doncaster, the people across from us decided to switch seats after much whispering (I suspect the wife was complaining to her husband about me kicking her accidentally like a million times under the table). So we had good leg room then, and shortbread too from the tea trolley, so life was looking up. At Newcastle we picked up a twelve woman group that was going on a "hen party", the British version of a bachelorette party. They were on the way to Glasgow for two nights of partying and debauchery, and were nice folks, two of which sat across from us (and took up much less legroom than the previous seats' tenants). We chatter with them for some time, and quite enjoyed the rest of our journey to Berwick hearing about their party and what they thought of George W. Bush. Right on time, they pulled into the station at Berwick Upon Tweed. We got up, grabbed our bags, and walked up to the door to leave. It wouldn't open. A lady there said she didn't think it would let us off anymore, that we were too late. One of the train personnel walked by and we were somewhat loudly saying we needed to get off, that they hadn't given us any time, etc. etc. The guy, I kid you not, laughed at us and kept walking. We ran down the car after him, to see if anyone else would help, and found someone else just as the train began to move. He suggested he could call to Berwick and have a message relayed over the announcement system, then we could get off at the next stop, Dunbar, and take the next train back to Berwick. The shock of the whole situation, the train remaining on the platform less than two minutes and perhaps less than one before shutting the doors so we couldn't get out, the way the train remained at the station more time after they had sealed the doors than they had given us to exit, the train employee that had laughed at our plight, the uncertainty of the whole situation, was just too much. We had no idea what Mick was thinking or if a message would get to him. Ginger began to cry, saying over and over to the second (more helpful) train person that they didn't give us any time, they didn't give us any time. I began to shake uncontrollably, probably from my body trying to do something with all the adrenaline flowing through me. The train personnel member that was somewhat more helpful came and said he'd gotten a message through with our names explaining what had happened. We did not know, however, if Mick had heard the announcement. I put the luggage away (in a much easier and quicker-to-grab location), then Ginger came back after she calmed down a bit and we sat down in our seats again, on pins and needles. When we stopped at Dunbar 25 minutes later, believe me when I say we were at the door hitting the button and leaping off the train as soon as humanly possible. The station clerk was very friendly and was quite willing to call Berwick and make sure Mick had gotten the message. He called, but the guy at Berwick told him that yes, there had been a guy looking for two Americans, but he wasn't there at the moment. So, we had about forty minutes before the train would come that would take us back to Berwick, did not know if Mick was coming to Dunbar or staying where he was (neither of us had an idea of where Dunbar was other than somewhere between Berwick and Edinburgh, and the scale of it all was hard to judge because of our unfamiliarity of the region). I went back outside from talking to the clerk, and found Ginger crying again, simply from being overwhelmed by the whole experience, and being in a foreign place, us both feeling a bit more vulnerable and helpless than we really were. She was calming down a bit, and we were feeling more settled, when a man came out with his child and struck up a conversation. He had seen Ginger crying, and was concerned for us. When he heard our story, he offered to drop his son off at home and then take us down to Berwick in his car. We politely declined, assured that the train would soon come to take us there, so he said he'd take his son back home, then come make sure we got on the train. I went back inside again to have the clerk check again at Berwick, and specifically to see if they could get a hold of a Mr. Mick Burgher this time. He seemed a bit put out this time, but begrudgingly agreed, and was in fact successful. Our friend from Dunbar (Mike, we found out, was his name) came back and saw that we were going to get our train okay. We had brought some candy from Arizona to give to my third cousins, and gave some of it to Mike for his boys as thanks for his kind heartedness. He was very appreciative, and said he'd swing by after his other son's recital around eight to make certain we weren't still stuck for some reason. We got on the train and very cautiously and pensively put our luggage up and had a seat. The guy came by for tickets, and when we identified ourselves he said (in what I thought was perhaps an annoyed tone of voice) "Oh, right, we heard about you two." Twenty-five minutes later we flew off the train onto the platform at Berwick, Mick standing there waiting for us with a smile on his face. This, as you may imagine, was a bit of a relief. After saying our greetings and laughing about the whole chain of events, we got out to the car park and put our bags into the back of his green car. Most of the cars in Britain are very small due to the roads and environment, as well as the price of gasoline which in parts was around eight dollars a gallon. Mick drove us back to Kelso, where he lived and where we'd be staying for the next several days, passing of course absolutely stunning views and attractive little villages along the way. We were on the main highway through the Scottish Border region, which from one side to another spanned a whopping two lanes (one each way). The town of Kelso has exploded in size while I was gone, up well over four thousand residents. Mick's place is way out on the outskirts of town, a good ¾ mile from the town center. It's a very nice comfortable house, filled with books and with a great deal of photographs, artwork, documents, and various other wall hangings. He was kind enough to actually move himself into the smaller guest bedroom and give us his mater bedroom, which for the duration of our stay was known as "Hamp Camp East". He had towel sets prepared for us wrapped in ribbons, as well as fresh bars of soap, sponges, chocolates, Kleenex, a radio, and bottled water on the bedsides. His hospitality was absolutely bar none. Once we'd gotten everything in and settled a bit, it was high time for some dinner. We drove down into town and parked in the town square, then went into the Cobbles Inn for our meal. Ginger had a chicken dish, and I naturally was inclined to partake in the haddock and chips. Mick suggested I try a drink called a beer shanty, which is a glass of lemonade mixed with draft beer. It was very tasty and more refreshing than either drink is on its own, like a sparkling wine with a slightly sour aftertaste. When we'd done eating we got a few pictures by the fireplace (which had a fire lit inside of it), making one of the other patrons giggle at us in the process. IMAGES FROM JOURNAL ENTRY 7 ---> |