Traveling to Scotland is like wearing a kilt you don’t want to adorn and can’t pry off. It’s like listening to bagpipes for nine and a half hours with the most surly, agitated, and angry flight attendants my wife and I have ever witnessed.
After surviving the flight to Amsterdam, we only had a four hour layover which included going through four hours of customs. My wife claims I am the most impatient man in the world. I would have to agree, yet I was given a bit of a pass when people were not only rude to me, but when they were additionally rude to her. I used some adult language of which I don’t wish to abuse on my blog. Therefore, you will, if you properly know me, be forced to only imagine the friendly obscenities used to describe certain members of our unfriendly world. Ten miserable days were starring me in the face.
Upon arrival, quite the contrary. It was as if we landed on a different planet. Simply stated, these Scottish blokes are bloody friendly. If you open a door for someone in Scotland, they genuinely say, “Cheers Mate”. If they hold the door open for you, and you say thank you, which I was happily taught to do, they reply, “no worries, mate”. It’s a different world from the Slapshot fast paced world in Seattle where manners don’t apply, even if you are at a Cost Co. The waitresses smile and give you hugs upon dismissal. They try to refuse tips, but of course, I toss the tips at them and run. It is cold as a wind whipped winter outside, but when you enter the very friendly and warm confines of a pub in Scotland, well, that’s just what you feel: warm, and amongst friends. It’s lovely.