Haggis and Kilts
I hadn’t planned on going to Scotland, but when the opportunity arose I went with it.
"Oh girls, you must go!" Diego, our travel agent friend, exclaimed in his Colombian accent when Becca expressed interest. Then he found us a good deal and by Monday everything was figured out and we were going for sure.
So at 7:30 on Friday morning I found myself at King’s Cross train station, looking around for the leader of our tour group, who we were supposed to meet outside one of the shops. He showed up a few minutes later and handed out our train tickets. The way he talked reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t figure it out until Crystal observed that he sounded just like Murray from Flight of the Concords, with his slightly whiney New Zealand accent.
Four hours later we arrived in Edinburgh and had a coach tour of the city led by a kilted Scotsman
We drove by the memorial to Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson’s house, and up to the top of a hill where there was a great view of Edinburgh.
After that we checked into our hotel and met up with our tour director for a walking tour. He was a terrible tour guide, and it didn’t help that he had consumed a few drinks, but at least it gave us a better idea of the layout of the city. I liked Edinburgh. It wasn’t too big, in fact it felt small after being in London and Paris.
We split off from the group and got dinner in a pub. I ordered Haggis with neeps and tatties (mashed potatoes and turnip mash). Haggis is a traditional Scottish dish made out of the heart, liver and lungs of a sheep. It’s not as disgusting as it sounds. It tastes somewhat like ground beef with a mushier texture.
We made our way back towards the hotel after dinner, stopping to take silly pictures beneath all the signs that had some variation of “scot” on them, labeling ourselves completely as tourists. We passed two guys in kilts standing outside a pub. They had short blue mohawks and were so ridiculous looking that Emily stopped and asked to take a picture with them. They told us they were part of a rugby team and had done their hair for their upcoming match against Spain.
As we were turning to leave Emily asked “is it true that you guys don’t wear anything under kilts?” Neither of them said anything. One turned around and slowly lifted his kilt and mooned us. The other didn’t bother turning around, but slowly lifted the corner and we got a glimpse of something we definitely did not need to see. We quickly walked away cracking up.