Family-History Pilgrimage: Day 4 (covering Days 2-3)

Saturday, June 10, 8:30 a.m.

Among the road signs to expect in Britain. 

Our first day in Scotland (Thursday) offered several lowlights and one highlight. First, a word to the wise: Choose anything other than Hertz for car rentals in Edinburgh. Not only did we wait in line for an hour for a reserved car, but the car we “reserved” was not available. We were offered a manual transmission, which I haven’t driven in years; and relearning that skill while remembering how to drive on the wrong side of the road, sleep-deprived, seemed imprudent. The other option was an electric vehicle. In theory, that sounds great. But practically, as an unprepared foreigner, using the charging infrastructure in Scotland will drive you insane. Plus, a full charge lasts for only 270 miles, and our trip involves driving from Scotland to Wales and then back and forth across the breadth of southern England. I know, it will be OK; but the unnecessary frustration is … frustrating.

The brighter note was dinner Thursday night – outstanding fish and chips at a pub around the corner from the hotel. I can vouch for Stowford Press Cider, too. I’ll probably have to try again, just to be sure.

Then on Friday, once I was able to charge the car and tamped down that anxiety, the day improved greatly. We’re in Edinburgh because some of my ancestors on my mother’s side (McLagan and Key) left for America from this area. And later, we’ll drive through villages, some now city neighborhoods, from whence they came. But yesterday, we saw sights.

The Scottish Parliament, facing down Holyroodhouse Palace. 

The gate to Holyrood Abbey.

First, we went to Holyroodhouse Palace, one of two royal abodes in Edinburgh, along with Edinburgh Castle. Holyroodhouse treads a very fine line in historical and royal interpretation, given the complicated Anglo-Scottish history. Many Scots still would say the English are occupiers of their ancient realm; and probably not coincidentally, the modern Scottish Parliament building sits literally across the street from Holyroodhouse, an ever-present reminder to the royals of Scots nationalism. In 1603, with the death of Queen Elizabeth I, King James VI of Scotland became King James I of England, too. Thereafter, his house of Stuart received decidedly mixed reviews, depending on your national point of view. From the English perspective, the Stuarts precipitated the constitutional crisis that resulted in the ascendency of Parliament over the divine right of kings, the English Civil War, the beheading of Charles I, the Restoration of Charles II, and finally the bloodless dumping of James II and replacement with William and Mary in the Glorious Revolution of 1688. So, the current royal house has to walk a tightrope of interpretation at Holyroodhouse, honoring Scottish national identity in this ancient palace while the faces of executed and deposed tyrannical ancestors stare down at them from the walls. (You can tell where the Windsor nose comes from.) All that said, Holyroodhouse does an amazingly fair and honest job of dealing with it. And, of course, the place itself is as glorious as the second revolution that cast the Stuarts aside. The palace was built alongside Holyrood Abbey, begun in the 12th century and still breathtaking, even as ruins left by Protestant soldiers and vandals. History, in all its complexity, seeps from the stones.

Shelving in a wine merchant's stall
at Edinburgh Underground Vaults.

Yesterday afternoon, we walked on stones telling very different stories – the Edinburgh Underground Vaults. After the city grew in the 1700s, it needed a bridge to connect the ancient volcanic hilltop with new settlements to its north and south. One of those bridges was designed with a distinctly modern mindset: mixed commercial use. Alongside, above, and below the span of the bridge, they built chambers for businesses on multiple stories. It was a great idea but a bit ahead of its time, given the complete darkness in the vaults other than candlelight, the leaking rainwater (and sewage) dripping into the stalls below the bridge, and the underground economy, literally and figuratively, that grew up in the unused spaces once the respectable cobblers and bookbinders had had enough of the wet, stinky darkness. The nearly forgotten spaces were cleared out starting in the 1980s, and the site is a great tourists’ journey through an almost unimaginable version of city living.

A familiar name among the Scotch display.

Then we ended yesterday with a lovely indulgence: the Scotch Whisky Experience. I’m not really a Scotch drinker, but the varieties of the nation’s drink were fascinating to learn about and sample. And the meal afterward was a delight: venison, salmon, and chicken-wrapped haggis, which was surprisingly wonderful. (These days, vegan haggis is everywhere, and I’m telling myself that’s what the chicken was wrapping.)

The Ukranian consulate in Edinburgh, across from our hotel.

And finally, a note related to current events on their way to becoming history: Directly across the street from tiny our hotel is the Ukrainian consulate, with a street sign reading, “Volodymyr Zelenskyy Street.” The defiance seems right, especially here in Scotland.