We are in Scotland for the 18th time since we retired in 2000 after an uneventful series of flights from Portland (a great airport, by the way) through Minneapolis (quite dirty) to Stiphole in Amsterdam (busy) and on to Edinburgh (small, but homey). People ask us why we keep going back to Scotland and why we don’t explore other places? We answer that we fell in love with Scotland in the first few days of the very first trip and it now feels like coming home--in fact, Jacky at our B&B in Crieff always greets us, “Welcome home.” Some people buy a beach house (at one time we did) or a mountain cabin. Instead, we adopted a second country.
As part of the first entry from our spring trip to Scotland I talked about leaving our cat, George, when we go on trips. I begin this entry with a revisit to that same commentary. Each time we leave George is harder than the last time because George isn’t getting any younger and at 14 years old we don’t know how many more times we will have George to leave. This trip we had to make a special point of having a conversation with our cat and house sitter about “what if...” When we used to have a kennel of Siberian Husky sled dogs and we had to put a dog down we’d always had the rest of the kennel to come back to. The situation was never easy, but the rest of the dogs made it a little more bearable. In another situation the night before we flew out to an Ireland trip our cat of the hour, Derek, took suddenly seriously ill. I rushed him to an after hours Vet clinic and we had to put him down. Our trip was made sadder by the loss, but we had time to get over it before coming home. Having to leave a pet (an honored family member) at home is part of the travel experience that is not fun, but it is a part all of us with pets have to cope with.
This trip in Scotland has an interesting side note relevant to this topic. It seems that Queenie, the cat of our adopted Scottish family, began sitting outside our room’s door the day before we arrived--she does enjoy coming into our room and sleeping in our suitcase when we’re in residence--I say again, it was the day before we arrived. The family says she’s done this with no one else. Is there a “cat hotline” and George told Queenie to take care of his family? Anne’s napping on her bed as I’m writing this and Queenie is curled up next to her, just like George would be if we were at home.
KFC
Jacky, our B&B host at Merlindale, begged us and begged us to bring her some American KFC. The Scottish version is only slightly better than rubbish. For years we joked about flying KFC over to Scotland with us and poisoning the whole family. Jacky, a le Cordon Bleu trained chef, insisted that it would be perfectly safe, especially if we vacuum packed it. Two trips ago we finally relented, bought some KFC in Canby, vacuum packed it the night before, and brought it to Scotland in Anne’s carry on. Jacky was over-the-moon with delight. She grabbed it, heated it in a very hot oven, and everyone relished the treat of American KFC. Everyone except Anne and I. We knew someone had to be well to rush the others to hospital when the food poisoning struck. Thankfully nobody got even the slightest ill. The next trip we packaged the KFC, but forgot and left it in the fridge. We arrived at our Scottish home in the doghouse. This trip we again brought KFC--six wings and four thighs. Again no one has gotten sick. This means we’re now expected to bring KFC on every trip. We keep wondering how we’ll explain the rather pathetic looking package of vacuum packed wings and thighs to an Immigration and Customs agent. Honest, sir, it’s just KFC, but no, we won’t eat it.
How do you pack for a long trip?
Anne and I divide the labor (or labour, since I’m writing in Scotland): I do most of the planning for our trip and Anne does most of the packing. I have trouble imagining doing it any other way, but I know that our system would not work for others. When I concentrate a few possibilities come to mind. Are you one of these trip packers:
Last Minute Lou who throws everything in the suitcase on the way out the door and hopes she has everything she needs.
Meticulous Martha who makes lists and checks them twice, then checks each item off as it’s packed. Anne fits here, but adds that each item is in its own plastic baggy--she is single-handedly keeping the Zip Lock company in business.
Triple Packing Teresa who packs, unpacks, packs, unpacks, and packs again.
Frustrated Fiona who stews and frets about each item to be packed--is it the right one, do I really need it, should it be in this bag or that or the carry on, etc.
Notice that none of my classifications are of men packers. That’s because I think most of us males are spatially challenged--I have enough trouble getting my briefcase and camera case packed that I’m glad to leave the packing decisions to my Meticulous Martha.
Think on This: The less you know, the more you believe.
Next for Us: Four days of golf in the rain and then down to England and the Cotswolds.
Photos: Anne at PDX, Queenie, Scottish Cemetery Cat, Anne Vegging Out, St Fillans GC 3rd hole.
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