Day 7: We're not the Flintstones

 No running a stone car with our feet or a pet dino conveniently named Dino. Nope, today we made it back to neolithic times and the iron age as we explored the west coast of Mainland Orkney.

We were still awake at a stupid hour of the morning, and needed more coffee than we had time for, but we had to be ready for Graham at 9 as our day was chock-full of planned stops.  If you ever come to Orkney, we highly recommend you get in contact with Graham, as not only is he a native Orcadian, but also he has a quiet pride in the place which is admirable.

Our first stop was to what is probably the most famous tourist site on Orkney, Skara Brae. Coming to Orkney and not going to Skara Brae would be like traveling to Toronto and not seeing the CN Tower.  It would just be wrong.  As we didn't want to be wrong, we braved the wind and spitting rain (if you don't accept the wind and rain, you're not accepting the islands) although we're not entirely sure how much of it Dad saw.  Here's why:

I'm pretty sure that's Dad underneath all those layers, but I can't be a hundred percent sure.

Mum, on the other hand, braved the weather with more aplomb.

For those of you unfamiliar with Skara Brae, it's a 5000 year old neolithic village that was uncovered when a storm blew off the sand covering the place. Orkney winds, when they mean it, mean it.  It's the most complete example of its kind in all of Europe so it's a very impressive place.  I really wanted Mum and Dad to see it as I got to 25 years ago but then I was with the Principal Teacher for History from the secondary school in Kirkwall, so we just got waved through and were allowed to crawl in and out of the houses as long as there weren't other tourists.  Having returned to Skara Brae, I now know I was actually in the workshop and house two before I got too nervous about disturbing a UNESCO world heritage site and made my way back to the path.

Also not there 25 years ago: the amazing visitor centre and cafe.  I picked up yet more Christmas presents, including the most awesome item of clothing with Viking cartoons on it, and Dad warmed himself up with a cup of much needed hot chocolate.  

Skara Brae achievement unlocked!

 From Skara Brae we drove the west coast until we came to the old Viking capital, Birsay.  Unlike Scalloway in Shetland, Birsay is a very tiny little settlement that various people in power kept trying to make happen, like Earl Robert Stewart, who built a now ruined Earl's Palace there.  Despite a whole bunch of people with money trying to make fetch happen (if you get that reference, well done) Birsay never took off.  This is good as Kirkwall makes more sense anyway.  Trust me, if you were here and saw both places, you'd understand.

We had lunch reservations at the Merkister Hotel which, like The Kirk Cafe, is in the middle of nowhere.  Apparently, Orkney has a habit of putting excellent establishments in the middle of nowhere. The Merkister Hotel overlooks Harray Loch, which is extremely popular with fisherman.  If you want to catch brown trout, that's the place to go.  Even Graham's father is an avid fisherman there and Graham wondered if he was going to run into his dad.

The above picture was the view from our table.  It was magnificent and very proudly Orcadian.  That's the Orkney flag flying there and if it screams to you "we love our Norwegian roots" then it has done its job.

Lunch was leisurely and Dad ate a whole tonne of food.  Dad's not usually a lunch eater so this was a surprise.  It's like the Orkney air is good for him or something.  After lunch, we decided it would have to be a light dinner.

Next, we drove to see the Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar. The latter of which is, according to lore, a bunch of giants and fiddler who stayed up to late partying and got stuck there.  It must've been a great party.

Both of these henges are older than Stonehenge, which is something every Orcadian needs to be sure tourists know.  Scotland beat you, England!  The stones also came from 10 kilometres away from where they were placed, so either the neolithic people had some ingenious ways of moving heavy things, or they were all competitors in a strongman competition.

We drove up to Yesnaby which is a lookout over the Atlantic Ocean.  It's also the only place on Mainland Orkney where you can see the Old Man of Hoy.  I would post the picture, but it's terrible, and I want to keep up a pretense that I'm good at this vacation photo thing.  For Canadians, the Old Man of Hoy is a stone stack like Flowerpot Island off of Tobermory but like, 10 times taller.  People actually climb this thing for fun.  Their definition of fun and mine are totally different.

Finally, we headed into Stromness, where our tour guide, Graham, was the Principal Teacher of History at the secondary school.  25 years ago, I missed out on Stromness so I was excited to see it.  There are a lot of comparisons to be made to Lerwick, including the main commercial street requiring walkers to plaster themselves against the walls of the buildings when a car drives through.  Sure, the buildings have a similar style, and it's right on a natural harbour, but the main comparison is the plastered pedestrians.

We went to the Stromness Museum which is little but perfectly formed.  Graham had told us that once upon a time two thirds of British men working for the Hudson's Bay Company, back when 1) it was a global influence and 2) still a major force in Canada, were Orcadian.  The museum had a lovely display about the HBC, and we were all taken aback by the recruitment poster.

We debated the very important question of how long until that person in the poster freezes to death in a northern prairie or arctic winter.  There's trying to sell something to look stylish, and then there's losing all your toes to frostbite.

The museum had a very extensive exhibit on John Rae, who I mentioned yesterday, including a hilarious cartoon that I am cursing myself for not taking a picture of. Still, Mum, Dad, and I learned a lot about everything mentioned previously, and also Orkney geology, The Royal Oak, the death of the guy on the "Your Country Wants You" posters, and more about Scapa Flow.  

 

I might also have picked up some more presents for my brother because I am a very, very good sibling.

The drive back gave us another view of Scapa Flow, which really is a site to behold, and then we came back to Kirkwall.  Somehow, it was already 5 o'clock and we had to say goodbye to Graham, though, and I will happily repeat, we would be happy to recommend if you're coming to Orkney.

Dinner was a light affair, though we somehow forced ourselves to make room for dessert.  Dad and I split a lemon tart, and Mum had rhubarb crisp and custard.  She was a happy woman.

Tomorrow is our first day off since our trip began.  We plan to do things like mail postcards, and send home some of the stuff we've picked up already to save weight in our luggage.  Given I was carrying our souvenirs in the hellscape that was Edinburgh Airport, I learned I was one kilogram off the maximum weight for my suitcase.  Something's got to go.

Anyone want a postcard from Orkney?

Day 6: It's peedie not peerie here

An interesting fact: in Shetland, peerie means small.  In Orkney, they say peedie.  They are very clear about this.

Six in the morning comes very early.  As we had to be at breakfast by 7 to make sure we were ready for our tour guide, Graham, at 9, we couldn't afford to be late. Two Scottish breakfasts (Mum and I) and a bowl and a half of porridge (Dad) we managed to make it downstairs within minutes of 9am.

Let me start by saying Graham is a lovely person.  He used to teach at the secondary school in Kirkwall and is full of history as a native Orcadian.  This pleased the teacher in Mum and me. He also has a very comfortable van to travel about in!

Today the focus was mostly on the south of Orkney.  We made it all the way down to the bottom of South Ronaldsay, across a few islands, and even the top of the hill overlooking Kirkwall.  Our first stop though was to the Italian chapel, which Dad was keen to go into.

 For those of you unaware, Italian prisoners of war during WWII built the chapel out of two Nissen huts and whatever they could scrounge from sunken ships or trash, like meat cans.  Even the baptismal font is made out of the spring from a military truck.  Everything is painted to look like it's brick, but it was done so professionally, they have a sign telling you not to touch the walls to check as so many people were doing it.  

Some of the prisoners were trained artists, so when they found some glass, they painted one side, but in such a way, and so thinly, that unless you're up really close to it, you won't know it's not stained glass.  No I didn't touch anything.  I wanted to, but resisted my inner toddler.

Graham gave us the history of everything inside, then showed us the statue outside which is of St. George slaying the dragon.  Mum immediately jumped in about him being patron the patron saint of England, but we learned today he was also the patron saint of soldiers.  Dad likes the second story better.

We drove over all four Churchill Barriers and played spot the sunken ships in Scapa Flow, getting our fill of Orkney's military history.  Don't worry Kevin, we got you some things to read for when we get back.  My brother is really into WWII history having interviewed many veterans back in the day so he'll be terribly jealous about this morning's travels.

Traveling back from the southern most island of Orkney, we went through the village St Margaret's Hope, which has to be the proudest little village I've ever seen.  I don't think residents are allowed to have a blade of grass out of place.  On a side note, our tour guide's mum was born there.

Lunch was in the middle of nowhere.  In this middle of nowhere is The Kirk Cafe which is not only a cafe but an artist's shop and studio.  What does this artist specialize in?  Jewelry.  

I may have bought the second on from the right.  I might also be wearing it right now.  No, I don't feel guilty about the needless expense. Okay, needless isn't the right word, because, apparently, I needed a new necklace.

Lunch was perfectly adapted for Mum and Dad.  Dad's meal was both yummy and caused no difficulty, and Mum's was loaded with vegetables so her blood sugar, and her doctor, would be happy.  Also, it was made with lamb from North Ronaldsay, where the sheep there eat a strictly seaweed diet.  Me, I had a grilled cheese.  That may sound simple but you didn't see the epicness of this grilled cheese.  Sadly, I didn't take a picture of the epic grilled cheese, so I'll distract you with one of Mum and Dad at the cafe.

On the drive back into Kirkwall we accomplished something we failed to do during our entire Highland tour last year:  see a Highland cow.  We had to come all the way to Orkney to see a hairy coo.  (No I did not spell cow incorrectly.)  Dad was pleased as he had never seen one, but I had a near run in with one at Glamis Castle 25 years ago so I was happy this hairy coo was on the other side of the fence and not say, about five feet in front of me as I rounded a corner.

In Kirkwall was the St Magnus Cathedral, which means it is a very large church in the middle of not so big town.  Dad was keen on seeing this one because it's only 4 years younger than St. Margaret's Chapel, which is the oldest building in Scotland, and one that truly affected him the first time he was in Scotland.

 Okay, sure, it took three hundred years longer to complete, but it was started 4 years after the chapel in Edinburgh.

We learned about the bones of St. Magnus and how they were missed by Henry VIII's reformation zealots.  Wow, Henry VIII failed at something.  I'm so shocked and by shocked I mean not surprised in the least.  The man may be England's most famous king, but he didn't really succeed at a lot of things besides getting married like he was Elizabeth Taylor.

Anyway, the bones are in a pillar in the cathedral, and archeologists know it's him because he has one massive head wound that correlates with all the tales of the saint's gruesome murder.  Graham gave us a quiz on what we thought St. Magnus would've looked like, and between Mum and I, we came up with a bearded blonde, with blue eyes, and probably wearing red.  I guess we've watched too many British archeological shows as what we described exactly matched the computer-generated likeness created by the experts.  A gold star for Mum and me.

Also buried in the graveyard, with an effigy in the cathedral, is John Rae, who is a famous Orcadian who found out what happened to the Franklin Expedition -- and got trashed by Franklin's wife and Charles Dickens for reporting what turned out to be the fairly disgusting truth of what the men did when they were starving.  I'll spare the details.

 This fascinated my Mum because her great-great grandfather was on the ship that last saw the Franklin Expedition before it disappeared into history.  As we all know, Mum loves everything that can be related back to family history.

Since Graham spent the day enlightening us, Mum and I brought out our teacher side and explained a few things about Rae's effigy that he didn't know, because Canadian Indigenous history isn't taught in Scotland.  We recognized some of the symbolism of how he was dressed.  We are such history nerds.

After all our walking today we were happy to take a drive to see a Rendall Doocot, which is essentially a really rich person's pigeon trap, but it's a rather large, and very architectural structure for such a simple purpose.  If you know Dad, you know he loves architecture, the craftsmanship that went into old buildings, and decorative masonry (though he also loves Masonic tradition, but that's not relevant here) so he enjoyed getting to see a variety of humanity's ingenuity in creating beautiful buildings, even if it is just to catch pigeons.

We made it back to the Kirkwall just in time for me to pick up something I'd ordered at a local store mere minutes before it closed.  Ever been sure you packed something only to fly to another continent and discover you didn't?  Yeah, I did that. Graham knew the nearest alleyway to park by so that the store was literally the first door to my left.  I was impressed how close he got me without parking in front of the actual store, which I'm not so sure would be permitted.  "You paid for local knowledge," Graham quipped.  True.  Totally true.

Back at the hotel we went for dinner but since Dad walked farther than he's walked in probably the last couple of years, he was desperately in need of coffee.

For the second night in a row, Dad scraped his plate (and thank you to the chefs for making all necessary adaptations).  Not only is he walking more this trip, but he's eating more too, which makes Mum very happy.

Finally, I have to show off my new purchase, which can be seen in the following picture:

Important Stats:

Horses: 15 and a half

Shetland ponies: 1 (hence the half)

Highland Cattle: 2

Short-eared Owl: 1 

Hares: 2 (one probably became lunch for the owl)

Cattle: 50000 (that number may be accurate)

Sheep 150000

Day 5: We are never ever ever ever getting back together

 My apologies to Taylor Swift but I need to write a break up letter.

Dear Edinburgh Airport.

It's not me.  It's you.  I swear you have like eight hands and none of them know what the others are doing.  Most likely, they're sitting with their thumbs somewhere we don't talk about in polite company.  You keep the disabled reception room in the equivalent of an outdoor garage.  You forget to send people when people in wheelchairs need to get to their plane, even though they had pre-booked.  You block off entire sections of hallway because Starbucks wants to, making navigating next to impossible.  

In short, we are never ever ever ever getting back together.

Don't call us we won't call you,

Me

Our morning went well.  The restaurant staff at the Marriott were brilliant.  They dealt well with all of Dad's needs as well as a full-complement of exhausted Swifties.  Breakfast was tasty.  We got back upstairs a whole 30 minutes early.

 We were packed and ready half an hour early too, and the Marriott sent someone up to help us down with our luggage and the cab they booked for us the night before arrived on time.  

Our cabbie was hilarious.  Did you know the radio tower at Edinburgh Airport is designed to look like a golf tee?  We learned that on the ride over.

It was at the airport everything went to something unmentionable in a hand-basket.

First, the people with the wheelchairs couldn't find us.  The actual attendants were lovely gentlemen, but check in, disabled reception, the toilets, and the gates are all at opposite ends of the terminal.  (Also, all but one disabled washroom was out of order.) 

Mum kept beeping through the scanners.  Dad, I understand.  He has a metal jaw and hip, but Mum?  Every time she went through the scanner she beeped, but when they would hand scan her, nothing but they kept making Mum go back and forth through the scanner.  I swear I heard Keystone Kops music playing.

Once we got to the gate, we were rather crowded because our gate shared all the seating with the one next to it and that plane was running late.  I had to stand around for half an hour before I could get a seat.  Mum and Dad had to be shoved as closely as possible to the benches because Starbucks is building what I can only assume to be an airplane hanger inside the terminal, given the amount of space it was taking up. 

Our attendants who took us up to the gate had to leave but we were assured someone would be there about 2 (our flight was supposed to leave at 2:20) to get Mum and Dad on the plane.

Two o'clock came and went, no attendants.  At first, it was all right because the flight was delayed.  Then people started loading.  Usually, those with mobility issues get to board first, but we were told by a very snippy little man who had a little bit of power, and wanted to yield it, they would be loaded last whenever the attendants showed up.

At one point, he was trying to close the disability access line before my mother was in it.  When I asked him to wait, he snapped, "Don't yell at me."  Dude, I taught high school in the inner city.  If I was yelling at you, you would need new underwear, but I know better than to do that in an airport.  Eventually, we got help from another passenger getting Mum in line.  

Attendants finally appeared and despite there being people other than my parents who had accessibility issues, the gate had no way of getting said people down to the plane.  Instead, we made our way several gates over, down the elevator small enough for one wheelchair and one very skinny person, then back across the tarmac to our plane where they hadn't attached a ramp. Cue making our flight even later, and even more Keystone Kops music.

As a side note, once of the attendants in the last part of our journey bore a striking resemblance to my Uncle Gary.  It was downright eerie.

The actual flight to Kirkwall was completely uneventful.  It was full of tired Swifties but no cranky babies.  For that, we were grateful.  

Everyone was ready for us in Kirkwall, and one of the attendants there was kind enough to call us a cab when my phone was being a jerk.  Soon enough, a lovely man called Brian took us to the Albert Hotel in downtown Kirkwall.  I use downtown with a bit of irony there as Kirkwall is about the same size at Lerwick.

Our rooms are lovely.  I think my room is the nicest room I've ever stayed in.  It has not one, but two televisions, and a separate partitioned seating area. I will get a picture of it at some point.

Dinner was in the restaurant attached to the hotel, Neuk.  Tonight's special was roast beef with all the trimmings and the staff adapted it perfectly for Dad to eat.  He even scraped the plate.  He probably gained a couple of pounds from the meal alone.  Mum said it was like something her Nan would make.

 That's it for today as we have to be up and out by nine for our tour of the south mainland.  Dad's going to get all steeped in war history tomorrow so he'll be happy as a clam.

As for me.  I'm going to bed and hopefully not dreaming of the nightmare that was the Edinburgh Airport.

Stats:
Horses: 4 (while landing, I saw them)

Sheep 10000 (so few today)

Tired Swifties: Multitudes.

 

2024 Day 3: We're Floored!

 Given our cumulative lack of sleep, 7:30 in the morning came very early, but we made it.  Probably looking even more tired than us at breakfast were all the Swifties.  They all looked like they had a good party at the concert last night, but definitely had trouble functioning the next morning.

One nice thing about the restaurant in the hotel is that the staff is willing to bend over backward for any patron, including making oatmeal as Dad likes it, which means a happy Dad.  We ate so quickly this morning we even had time for an extra coffee.  That made Dad happier.

We had to leave on time this morning (9:45) because we had a very important appointment at 10:30.  That was our time slot at Rosslyn Chapel, and since they are very strict about entrance times even on normal days, today they had to be more insistent.  There was a wedding happening at 12 so the chapel smelled wonderful.  Fresh flowers were everywhere.

We got to investigate all the interesting parts of the chapel, like the Master Pillar and the Apprentice Pillar, the green men, Lucifer all tied up and hanging upsidedown, but the most interesting to me was on the door to the chapel: the trillium.  For those who don't know what it is, it's the official provincial plant of Ontario, and, more importantly, it is only found in North America.  The chapel was completed well before 1492.  It is a mystery!  Actually, it's really not if you take into account the vikings, and archeological evidence, but I had to throw in something of a conspiracy as most of the people there today were all enthusiasts of The Da Vinci Code.

I would love to show you a picture of the trillium (and the fleur de lis across the door jamb from it) but we were not allowed to take pictures in the chapel.  Apparently, some woman tripped and fell in the chapel while trying to take a picture.  Both the camera, and a bone, broke.  (Collectively, we've decided the woman in the story must be an American.) She tried to sue the chapel, failed miserably, but from hence forth, no photos or video inside.  I can, on the other hand, show you the outside.

The carvings aren't just on the inside but the outside, and even on the roof, so Rosslyn is missing a money making opportunity by making a video of all the details inside, then hiring a drone to film the outside details, and selling it in their gift shop.  Now, if they ever start doing that, I expect a cut of the royalties.

For those of you unaware, Rosslyn is an important work in Masonry, not just the skilled trade but the organization.  Dad, being a proud penguin (have you ever seen a group of Masons in one place?  They look like a flock of penguins.  It's a long-standing family joke, just go with it) had to go see Rosslyn.  His lodge went a few years ago and Dad couldn't come so he wanted to make up for it now.  

Our next stop was an hour and a half away, the home of the other Kerrs (not of Ferniehirst like yesterday, but of Cessford) Floors Castle.  See what I did there with the title of this post?  I'm punny.

Floors is the largest inhabited castle in the Borders and it is massive.  We only saw maybe a quarter of it which is is open to the public.  This was, of course, after scones and coffee (the latter for Dad) in the Garden Cafe on the grounds.  (We would've eaten in the Courtyard Cafe closer to the castle, but Disney, yes, the House of Mouse, had it rented out for a tour.)

Floors is accessibility friendly, so Mum and Dad got to use an elevator to go inside, while I trudged up the stairs with our guide, Morag.  By the way, if you ever need a guide on mainland Scotland, I'll send you Morag's contact details.  

This castle was built in two parts, though the Kerrs of Cessford did have an earlier castle which was so ruined, it could not be saved.  

Now this branch of the Kerr family is very very rich, not just because they own a huge estate and employ half of the local town of Kelso, but also, they married into American robber baron money.  I'm talking the type of money where they chop up 16th century tapestries just so they'll fit the decor.  I cringed a lot when I heard this.

Behind Mum and Dad is one of the horribly abused priceless works of art.

Everything in Floors is behind a rope.  Chairs with Aesop's Fables tapestries from the 18th century are in one room.  Original portraits of kings in another.  There's even a pillow stitched by someone in the Stuart dynasty sometime before Charles I lost his head. 

What I found most interesting was one of the ways the estate made money, which is by breeding winning thoroughbreds, the most famous of which is the filly Attraction.  Not only did she win two thirds of her races, but also she bred many winners.  I think I saw a couple of them in the paddock outside the Garden Cafe.  Then again, maybe not, and they were just other really gorgeous horses bred on the estate, but I'm choosing to believe they are of her line.  She's had 14 foals, so it's possible.

I got my first Christmas present of the year in the gift shop (not telling for whom), and I could not believe that wherever I went, there was just more and more castle.

The drive back took us through Melrose, and past the famous ruined abbey there, and Galashiels, which is where we suspect my Granny Carre got her maiden name from (Shiels).  The drive back to the hotel was full of beautiful scenery but not so many horses, much to my chagrin.  

We said goodbye to Morag at the hotel and went immediately to dinner.  We are now full and back in our rooms to pack up and head off to Orkney tomorrow.  Hopefully, this flight is more peaceful than our last one.

Important Stats

Horses seen: 32

Duchess of Roxburghe's dog met by parents: 1 (a wiener dog)

Sheep: 100000000000000

2024 Day 1-2: Everything went uphill after that

Day 1: In which we are tired

 WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!  Now imagine that for 6.5 hours of the flight from Pearson to Glasgow.  Parents who bring toddlers onto flights with nothing at all to do, then promptly ignore their wailing and screeching, should buy everyone on the plane several drinks.  Parents who let their toddlers run up and down the aisle, while completely ignoring them should be put into stocks upon arrival at their destination.  I would want to throw rotten vegetables at them.

At one point during the flight, the head attendant actually picked up the kid and returned him to his seat.  I don't know what he said to the parents, but the running around ended.  Sadly, the screeching every couple of minutes did not.  

After a 6.5 hour flight, plus and extra 40 minutes on the plane because we were called back to the gate to pick up a late passenger (who knew they did that?) we arrived in Glasgow with absolutely 0 minutes of sleep.  Fortunately, Glasgow is still an amazing airport that Pearson could take lessons from, so our luggage and driver were awaiting us once we got through customs.

Our driver, Thuar, whisked us across the rush hour of Glasgow (it was now 8:10 in the morning) and over to our hotel, the Courtyard Marriott West Edinburgh, with absolutely no trouble.  As it was long before our rooms were to be ready, we ate breakfast and tried to put coffee into Dad as soon as possible.  It was an epic crisis coffee-wise.

As Edinburgh is full of Swifties (Taylor is playing the next three nights) there is not a room left anywhere.  It also means we weren't able to get into our rooms until nearly 2.  Dad took a nap on the lobby couches.   Sadly, there is not a picture of that.

Before our room entry, we had a coffee meet and greet with our Mainland Scotland tour guide, Morag, who presented us with an itinerary we found quite acceptable.  There wasn't a rush.  We would get to see what we wanted to see, and we wouldn't be late getting back to the hotel.  One of the three aforementioned things turned out to be a lie.  More to come on that.

After napping for five hours, which was not enough, we made our way down to dinner, and Dad had difficulty staying awake.  This time, there is a picture of that.

Dinner was a quiet affair, and then it was back to our rooms and back to bed.  We needed to be up at what some people would call a reasonable hour to meet Morag the next morning.  By that time, we were not reasonable people.  We were tired people.

Day 2: It all went uphill after that

At the terribly unreasonable hour of 7am, we were up and about, but so slow moving, we didn't make it down to breakfast until quarter after 8.  Dad ate in a record amount of time, but did not get enough coffee.  Still, somehow, within minutes of 9:30, we met Morag in front of our hotel.

Our trip down to the Borders was beautiful, and very full of sheep.  Our first stop was Branxholme Castle.  For those of you who were unaware, Mum is a very, very proud graduate of Branksome Hall School, which took its name from the castle.  Mum would like it mentioned that in 1955 the Earl and Countess of Dalkeith came to Branksome Hall and presented a lintel identical to one at the castle.  She was visiting Branxholme exactly 62 years since her graduation day.  Did I mention she was a very, very proud graduate? 

Our arrival did not seem like a good omen because it was spitting rain, and The Orangery at Branxholme, where we were to eat lunch, was closed, because the local village, Hawick (pronounced Hoick) was having its annual ride around the borders of the march.  This is a thing they do in Scotland, apparently, so everything in Hawick was closed.  Also, at first, we thought no one was at the castle.

Thinking Mum was going to be terribly disappointed, suddenly the owner drove up, then his wife answered the door a moment later.  Everyone on staff, except for them, was attending the riding, but they were happy to let us in and have a look around.  The first room they took us to was the literal Branxholme Hall, where Mum found a copy of the lintel from Branksome.  The hall is still used for small weddings, and Burns night.

Yes, that bag is from the Branksome Hall School Alum shop, just in case you were still unaware she is a very, very proud graduate.

 The owners were kind enough to give here a history book on the castle, as well as a tour of the pictures of the castle from a time when the school would have taken its name.

Mum wrote a novel in the guest book and assures me the next time we come to Scotland, we're staying in the B&B part of the castle.  My arm will not need to be twisted to do this.

As we were about to leave, the earlier rain had tapered off to the lightest of drizzles, and Mum found the original lintel on the outside of the castle.  Of course, her picture had to be taken, because, and I know this is a shock, she is a very, very proud graduate of Branksome Hall.  (Also, she wants to be able to show the girls at the next reunion because she's the only one from her graduating class who has made it to the castle.)

Leaving Branxholme, Mum declared it would be her highlight of her day, no matter what else we did for reasons that have been stated, repeatedly.

Our next stop was Hermitage Castle, which has a lot to do with the Elliotts, which is Mum's side of the family.  We found out they didn't live there.  No, the Elliotts were serious bastards, and spent all their time in the castle in the dungeon, usually for stealing someone's cattle.  Literally every single person we met today was happy to tell us how horrible Mum's family is, and they told us with glee.

Yes, the second picture is of the hole to the dungeon.   We weren't sure Mum should even come in the castle, not because of the slippery moss all over the stones on the floor, but because the place would likely come down around her, being an she was an Elliott walking through the front door.

Okay, maybe it was due to the moss on the stones, but really, can't you picture either Mum or I stealing some local cattle?

Cattle-less, we then headed to the village of Newcastleton for a very late lunch.  For some reason, our timing wound up completely thrown off, which I'm sure is a shock to no one.

The lovely owners of Branxholme suggested a cafe called The Olive Tree, which makes some extremely yummy food and epic drinks.  Cue the picture.

That is a salted-caramel hot chocolate.  For some reason, Dad did not want to share.

Off next to Ferniehirst Castle, where one part of the Kerr family lives.  The other part lives in Floors Castle, and for a long, long time, those two parts didn't get along.  Something about stubborn men and arguments.  I'm sure this is a surprising revelation for those who know Kerr (or Carre, as we spell it) men.

We were supposed to see only the outside and the grounds, since they were preparing for guests the next day and we were fine with that.  Dad got to pose at his ancestral castle, and enjoy the beautiful flowers.

For those of you who can't read what it says on the door, it reads, "Kerr Family Association: Borders Branch."

We were preparing to leave when a young man and his cute dog, Molly, arrived and asked us if we would like him to call his dad, who happens to be the groundskeeper, and see if he'll let us into the castle.

Yes.  Yes we did.  First, the groundskeeper let us into the family museum which included pictures, family trees, and tartans.

Next, he let us into the small chapel, accessible from the outside.

Suddenly, the groundskeeper asks me if Dad can handle the stairs to the kitchen entrance, or if he'd rather use a stairlift.  One stairlift ride later, Dad was inside Ferniehirst Castle.  We saw the family library, where the books are so old they shouldn't be touched without gloves, the main hall, and the main entrance to the castle.  The whole time the groundskeeper is giving us the history of the family, the art, and even the portraits on the wall.

Talk about luck. We should've bought a lottery ticket.  Two personal tours, and the rain held off completely for our last two visits?  One unexpected cafe with top-of-the-line food?  Mum getting books on Branxholme and Ferniehirst Castle, as well as one about the history of the Kerrs?  Could we possibly top this tomorrow?

Our guide Morag was kind enough to say no matter how much planning she did, she would never have been able to plan something like this, so just enjoy it while it's happening.

On our (very late) way back to Edinburgh, we stopped briefly to see one of the four famous sacked Borders abbeys, Jedburgh.  It was just a quick look-see which was fine with us because we were ready to head back (it was nearly two hours later than the itinerary plan).

Morag took the scenic route back to the hotel, for both scenic and practical reasons.  Edinburgh, being awash in Swifties and people driving in to see Taylor and Travis because they had to get a room in a nearby town, the main routes would be clogged.  The route took us through Dalkeith, and all I have to say about that is the Dalkeith estate is massive.  We drove from end to end of the town, and came across one entrance to the estate driving in, and another while leaving. The town of Dalkeith is not small either.  

Arriving back at the hotel at 7, we had a quick dinner, and then retired to write this blog.  

Oh, one important thing to mention.  Not only did Mum graduate on this day 62 years ago, but also had another major event 59 years ago: she met Dad.  Their first words to each other?  "How do you do?" And then they shook hands.  They reenacted it so everyone could get an idea what it looked like.

A few last bits of important info:

Horses seen: 28 and a half.

Shetland ponies seen: 1 (Hence the half)

Sheep seen: 10000000

Dog: 1