August 30-31

Out of all the trips I’ve ever taken, I think my visit to Scotland is my absolute favorite. Funny considering that I was so anxious about going on my own, but it all worked out better than I could have imagined.

I just barely made my night bus to Edinburgh, that departed from London’s Victoria Coach Station at 11 p.m. on August 30. The bus was only half full so I got a luxurious two seats to myself, but I still couldn’t really sleep. For nine hours we crawled through the pitch-black English countryside, heading ever further north. It had been an incredibly hot, almost sultry evening in London, but as the night wore on it grew colder and colder and I soon realized that I had not brought nearly enough warm clothes for this trip. Oops already.

We finally arrived in Edinburgh about 8:30 a.m., and I went in search of a hostel. Since I only needed a bed for one night I hadn’t bothered reserving a place; I just looked up some cheap hostels before I left and made sure they took walk-ins. As I reached Princes Street – Edinburgh’s main shopping thoroughfare – I got my first glimpse of Edinburgh Castle and the ancient buildings lining the Royal Mile. I think my jaw literally dropped. The whole vista was glorious and gothic and so wonderfully European. Edinburgh looks the way I had expected London to look before I first visited it, all dark, weathered stone. London does have such buildings scattered about, and of course Edinburgh’s got plenty of modern architecture itself, but I’d never seen so many authentic medieval buildings all clustered together. I still believe Edinburgh to be the most beautiful European city I’ve ever seen.

My hostel arranged and my bag dropped off, I headed back to the bus station. I was determined to visit the Carmichael Estate and Visitor Centre, located about an hour and a half outside the city. One of my major reasons for wanting to visit Scotland was to learn more about my family’s heritage; see the land of my ancestors, as it were. I knew it would be difficult to reach the centre – indeed it took two separate buses, both with limited running times on Sunday – and I was anxious about heading off into the countryside on my own, but I felt so strongly about needing to do this. How could I possibly come all the way to Scotland and not visit Carmichael lands? So I went for it.

First I rode an hour to the small town of Biggar, where we pulled up just as the next bus I needed was leaving. The driver knew I needed to catch it and that the bus wouldn’t return on its route for another hour, so we literally chased it down until the driver stopped and let me on. Then we rode for another 30-40 minutes through the pouring rain – have I mentioned it was raining? I was in Scotland, of course it was raining – passing various scattered houses and rolling, softly wooded hills. It didn’t look unlike rural northern Michigan, honestly. Several times we stopped to let people on who were just standing by the side of the road, no distinguishing landmarks in sight. As the driver pulled over at the entrance to the Carmichael Visitor Centre, I figured this would be expected of me as well.

Rather nervous I quickly hopped off the bus, realizing as it drove away that I hadn’t settled with the driver when he would be returning. I had a vague idea it would be an hour, though, so I bravely ventured forth across the muddy farmyard. The visitor centre is composed of several buildings, one of them a barn, and the lady who showed me around told me they used to have a petting zoo. She too was a Carmichael, and we chatted some about family lore as she gave me a small tour. The petting zoo was closed; the café and restaurant were closed; but that still left the clan history room, the souvenir shop and . . . the wax museum.

“Did you say . . . a wax museum?” I asked, uncertain if I’d heard right.

“Oh, yes!” she said. “We’re so very proud of it. We have some really wonderful wax figures, including one of the only replicas of Queen Victoria on horseback.”

“Oh,” I said. Clearly this was something I had to see, so I paid the extra pound for admission. The lady led me to an outbuilding, unlocked the door, and left me inside . . . alone with a whole shed of full-size wax figures.

I don’t think words can adequately describe how extraordinarily creepy it was to wander utterly by myself, no sound but the steady pattering of the rain against the roof, through an entire gallery of wax figures on both sides who all seemed to be watching me. At one point I totally spun around at a strange creak, heart pounding, convinced they had come alive. These were very realistic wax figures. On the other hand, I found several of the exhibits truly interesting – they were devoted to showing what life would have been like at the Carmichael manor house through the centuries, and of course I love anything historical. Other exhibits were . . . not so factual or Scottish-based. Turning a corner, I was met first with the “children’s section,” with Peter Pan and Captain Hook and some Lost Children. Directly afterward came the distinctly not for children section, with a rather gruesome torture scene reenacted, and . . . Dracula and the Mummy???

I may have simply stood and stared at that last one for a little while.

Another shed led me through figures of famous Scots throughout history, including Mary Queen of Scots and Stanley & Livingston, as well as the celebrated Queen Victoria on horseback. It also included info on Carmichael Clan chieftains through the centuries, and ancient maps of clan lands. I’ve loved studying maps ever since I took a historical mapping class sophomore year of college, so those were my favorite part.

Having finally exhausted the wax museum, I wandered the picturesque farm grounds before returning to the souvenir shop. I bypassed the Carmichael beef products and homemade jams in favor of keychains with the clan crest and some watercolors of the estate grounds. Then I returned to the road to wait. And wait. And wait, shivering underneath my umbrella. I was so nervous that I had misjudged the time or the bus route and that it wouldn’t return for hours, and that I had effectively stranded myself in the rural Scottish countryside. Thankfully after 15 solid minutes of standing in the rain it appeared, and I frantically waved it down. Once back in Biggar I had another hour to kill in the miserable weather for the bus back to Edinburgh, so I hung out in a warm coffee shop with a crossword puzzle. I always carry a few crosswords cut out from the newspaper in my purse for just such occasions.

The sun came out as we pulled back in to the city, so I set out to explore the Royal Mile and the grounds around the castle. I ended up walking completely around the castle, which considering it rests on massive cliff overlooking a huge sunken park that used to be a lake, was no small feat. I ate dinner on a stone terrace overlooking the twisting medieval streets.

When I returned to the hostel, people were preparing to attend the fireworks display. It was the last day of August, and like many European cities Edinburgh was celebrating with its end-of-summer 2-hour fireworks extravaganza. I joined an assorted group from my floor – mostly Australians, I always meet Australians traveling – and we found a good spot on Princes Street to watch the show. It was magnificent. They launched the fireworks from the castle itself, perched high over the city, in rhythm with a classical orchestra playing in the park grounds. I can still picture the way bursts of color lit up the castle battlements while music swelled below. Definitely the best fireworks show I’ve ever seen.