Scotchy scotch scotch.

December 24-29, 2015,

"I love scotch, scotchy scotch scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly". - Anchorman 

Why do we call it scotch anyway? It should just be called "whisky" (though spelled "whiskey" in Ireland and the US). There's scotch tape and scotch eggs, but we don't define those things as simply "scotch". So why do we call scotch "scotch"?  It would be like calling American beer simply "American". Though we already do do that with Budweiser, so maybe it's not a good example. And I just said "do do"......hehehe, that always makes me giggle. 

So maybe it actually does make sense to call it whisky.  Whisky is probably the most famous thing to come out of Scotland, besides William Wallace. And I guess there are other things in the world which are referred to based on the country of origin.  "China" refers to fancy table ware, a "Brazilian" is something you might get before a beach holiday, and "Turkey" is what we eat for Thanksgiving dinner. 

Anyway, I'm getting off track. It seems like ages ago I went to Scotland during Christmas break, so it's about time I finish my post about it. 

I've known for a long time that Zosia and Tomek like Scotland. So I wanted to make a trip before Tomek moved back to Poland. And as usual, Jessica Schwartz stalked me, found out about my travel plans, and promptly booked a ticket to join us.  

Of course no holiday trip is fun without some problem at the airport passport control. I know they deal with thousands of people every day, including many dummies that don't realize they are doing dumb things, but it doesn't mean they (I) deserve a rude attitude. Before the trip, I was waiting for my new Polish residence card, which had expired and the slooooooooow-moving Polish bureaucracy kept me from getting a new one before the trip. It was over a month after the expiration of my old card, and I still didn't have a new one.  The Polish government put a stamp in my passport that said my residence card was approved, hoping this would help during my travels.  And of course, this stamp was in Polish.  So when the border control decided to have a go at me (I can't believe I just used that phrase, which I think is British...too many Brits in Poland!), I was stuck.  I didn't have a valid document showing I could stay in Poland, and of course the lady didn't speak Polish so she couldn't read the stamp.  She kept saying "I don't speak YOUR language, so how can I know what this says".  Which is a fair point, as I don't know why I thought this stamp in Polish would help at all.  I kept reminding her that my passport says I'm American, I just live in Poland, so Polish is not MY language.  Surely Americans are allowed to come to London without some special document, right?  The lady was very curt and rude and flaunted her power, acting like I didn't deserve to come into her beloved country. 

Then for some strange (but welcomed) reason, she suddenly became nice, and explained why she was asking these questions.  She said that they need to check that people who enter the country have the right to go back to where they came from (in my case, that I had the right to go back to Poland). If, when I leave the UK, Poland doesn't accept me back (because of overstaying my stay in Europe without a residence card, for example), Poland would send me back to the UK and I'd be the UK's problem (and cost).  So, then it made sense.  I wish she had just started with that.  Eventually she let me through, and we became Facebook friends (not).  

So it was off to Tomek's for a traditional Polish Christmas Eve dinner, with a bunch of Poles living in London.  Well, Luton to be exact.  Tomek was working at the Vauxhall factory in Luton for a while. His roommate and other friends and family were there too, even Santa, and dinner included all the traditional fixins: carp, ryba po grecku (fish greek style, which doesn't make sense for Polish Christmas, but hey, it's a tradition), and a bunch of mayonaisey salads.  One surprise is that there was no alcohol.  A dinner in the home of two 20 something Polish men, and there was not a drop of beer or vodka.  I thought I was in the Twilight Zone.  Turns out, a lot of families stay away from alcohol on Christmas eve.  But not everyone follows this rule. When I had dinner with Ewa's family a few years ago, I think I was drinking all night (to help me speak better Polish with the family).    

My favorite is "Ryba po grecku" (greek style fish), though not sure why it's called that

The next day we headed to Scotland, first to Edinburgh.  Just like in my dreams, it was a long, wet drive.  Just to be clear, my dreams were about a drive in Scotland that was long and wet; my dreams themselves were not long and wet.  Cars were spun around, there were huge puddles everywhere, but Tomek managed to get us there in one piece. At least we had various street/city signs to keep us entertained...we passed signs that referred to towns called Burnmouth, Eyemouth (not joking), and a river Eye Water (still not joking).  Not to mention Cockburnspath (or simply Cockburn), and Oldhamstocks.  I was giggling the whole time.  

When we got to Edinburgh, Jess was already there.  After some obligatory Indian food, we went home to rest up for the next days.  Generally we spent a lot of time walking in Edinburgh, which is a very beautiful city.  But since it rains a lot, the next best option was to stop in bars and have some whisky.  So this is exactly what we did.  Other than visiting the castle and the whisky museum next door, we decided that staying in bars was more interesting than sightseeing in the rain.  So we didn't leave.

Reunited, and as obnoxious as ever

Tomek needs a new camera

I managed one shot of a blue sky at the castle...Scotland's first blue sky ever

One of my goals was to "enjoy" some haggis, though I had no idea what it would taste like.  I know that it's gross animal parts, packed inside of a stomach casing, but I didn't know if it would be like eating a whole stomach on a plate (like when I ate a sheep head on a plate and a bucket of guts in Mongolia).  Luckily, the haggis doesn't look disgusting at all, and it's actually quite tasty.  We tried it at Arcade Haggis and Whisky House, and washed it down with some smokey whisky.

I don't know how we didn't die after eating this "breakfast"

(the haggis is the round dark circle above the sausage)

I really enjoyed a few different whiskies - Dalmore, Glengoyne, and Auchentoshan, among others. There were a few that were super smokey, like Bowmore and Argbeg, which you really have to be prepared for.  I learned a bit about the different regions in Scotland and the types of flavors they are famous for, but after a few drinks, I promptly forgot.

She probably stole that glass

We spent a couple days in Glasgow as well.  Glasgow is more modern and reminded me a bit of Chicago, especially around Michigan Avenue, with lots of shops and lights everywhere.  Ashton Lane was a nice area for drinks, but somehow we kept losing Jessica.  I guess the rest of us were too old and when we were ready to go home, she wanted to stay out and mingle with the locals.  She entertained herself (and us) by talking to random drunk guys and making fun of the way they talked.  

Another thing I really wanted to do was to see the Highlands and visit Loch Ness.  The Highlands always seemed like a mythical place, from books and stories.  And of course, we wanted to see Nessy. So we took a bus tour around the region, which was a nice way to see a lot of stuff in one day.

Somewhere in the Highlands

Ruins on Loch Ness

Selfie-stick fail, trying to get Nessy in the background

Another piece of history that I found interesting was the history of Tomek and Zosia's great grandfather.  He was in the military during WWII, and like many of the Polish soldiers fighting for the allies, he was based in Scotland.  But after the war, a lot of the soldiers weren't allowed to go back to Poland because of the Stalin regime, so he ended up living in Scotland. He is buried an hour or so away from Edinburgh, so they went out to see his grave while Jess and I drank all day. Some people paid their respects to their elders, and some people sat in a bar.  Something about that seems wrong...

Oh, and I'm still annoyed that "pudding" means dessert.  I ordered some pudding from a menu, expecting to get some custardy goodness, but it was just a normal cake.  When I asked the waiter if there was some mistake, he looked at me like I was an idiot.  "I'm sorry, but I ordered the pudding". "That IS pudding, you idiot".  "No, it's not".  "Yes, it is."  "No, it's not!" Reminded me of this classic clip from the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.    

Oh, and this is annoying too