Life moves pretty fast

If you are anything like me, when you get home from a holiday, particularly one where you have been out and about a bit, there is a pocket in a jacket or bag that is full of the little mementos of the excursion. This isn’t the pressies you may have picked up or the little trinkets that we all collate on these trips. Instead, it is more like the bus or train tickets, leaflet maps, guidebooks, receipts, price tags or, if you’re very lucky, in true Pegg and Frost style, the corner of a Cornetto ice-cream wrapper.

This is the lint of the tourist. The chattels of the traveller. The flotsam and jetsam of the holidaymaker.

It is the stuff that reminds you of all those places you visited, where at times you thought, “my feet hurt but I should be cultural”! Then you went round a corner and saw something that just made you awe with fascination. As a result, the sore feet or tiredness weren’t there any longer and you were completely immersed in that moment.

Having just come back from a very enjoyable week exploring some of the landmarks and historical places of Scotland by train, my pile of these items is substantial. But what is wonderful about it, is that it gives that reminder. A different one to all the photos that capture the moment after the first glimpse – they are a want to preserve and share that memory. Instead, these items display the practicalities. The logistics that went into discovery and allowed you to see and experience those memories in the first place.

I had a wonderful holiday full of incredible scenery, fascinating locations and inspiring visits to cultural places. You can see on my Instagram feed just a sample of these. However, sitting here looking at this quaquaversal pile of items, (I love that word!), I thought this would be a good reference for reviewing some different aspects of my time on the first proper holiday I have had in this sabbatical period. Thus, in no particular order, here we go:

Premier Inn

I have stayed in many Premier Inn’s on both this holiday and previously, and I find they work really well for me. Reasonable price, normally in the centre of town, comfortable and will happily take left luggage if you arrive before check-in. I can hear the soothing tones of Lenny Henry voicing the adverts in my mind – a fellow alum of the 2007 Open University graduation class by the way! Plus, it’s purple! All good so far.

There are other observations, not criticisms but quirks, worth mentioning as follows:

Firstly, the corridors all look the same. If you are moving Premier Inn to Premier Inn over a number of days, (I stayed at four different ones in seven days on this trip), particularly maybe having had a wee dram at the local hostelry in the evening, this can be a little bit challenging. You have to make sure you remember your room number – I’ve found it very helpful if it is a football formation, 442 for example – but this is how the number cards end up in your aforementioned pocket. Just remember to take the old one out before going to the next!

Secondly, they smell of the same cleaning solution. Not bad. A pleasant smell really with, as Sheldon Cooper would say, “a hint of toxic chemicals, which is comforting”. As a result, they are clean, but the smell can add to the disorientation I mention above.

Thirdly, there is always a mirror behind the toilet to make the bathroom look bigger. As a fella, the view can be quite off putting! I’ll leave that there.

Fourthly, “no I haven’t stayed with you before, but I have stayed at a Premier Inn before” will be said regularly.

The big challenge is of course the breakfast. Not that there is anything wrong with it but, as Michael McIntyre famously observed, you get a kind of buffet brain! This is when you have to fight the inner voice that tells you that a full English with a side of Pain Au Chocolat every day is ok! Also, every time I am reminded that I like the fact that they serve cranberry juice with breakfast, but that I always forget to buy it for home when I go to the supermarket!

Finally, there is a little bittersweet sentimental thing for me staying at a Premier Inn. They have a little slot as you go into your room, in which you place your room key to activate the electric for the lights and air con. This is common in modern hotels. The thing to remember is to collect your key as you leave. My lovely Jen and I had a silly tradition that as we left a room like this in a hotel, whomever took the key out of the slot would say, “I’ve got the key” and the other would reply, in homage to 90s dance classic The Key, The Secret by Urban Cookie Collective, “I’ve got the secret”! I still do this every time and it makes me smile and very emotional all at the same time!

Buses

I have already written heavily on trains in my post Train of Thought so, for the sake of variety, despite having been on a rail holiday that included the Caledonian Sleeper, I thought I would talk about buses.

The apprehensive task facing the traveller on an unfamiliar route on a bus comes with the pressing of the bell. To explain. In the modern world, a combination of apps and other online information will give you most of what you need to know to get on the right bus to the right place. As a result, I successfully took buses to and from Scone Palace, Culloden and Leith, to see HMY Britannia, while I was away.

However, the other part of the technology, the tracker/sat nav to ensure you get off at the right stop, always has a slight lag. As a regular rider of trains, I know that if a station is listed on the route, the train will stop. This is not true with buses. Here you have a situation where you could commit the terrible faux pas of pressing the bell one stop too early. Now hopefully someone else is getting off and as a result, firstly you can risk waiting to see if the bell is rung by that person. However, if this doesn’t appear to be happening and no-one else is moving to disembark and you have then rung it, potentially to realise you are wrong, what do you do? Embarrassing conversation with the driver and avoid the withering gaze of the locals or hope there is a middle door you can sneak out of and accept the walk as a result? I can feel every Brit reading this is just a little tense considering the options.

This happened to me going to Scone. Fortunately, the driver was a friendly chap and based upon my obvious tourist request, un-local accent and a lightly patroned bus, as I stood up to get off one stop early, he encouraged me back to a seat after a warning that I would face a long walk and kindly drove to the next stop. I did still feel it necessary to press the bell before I got there though!

Walking the battlefields

This one is a little more serious. I have visited several famous battlefields in my life, including Battle near Hastings in Kent, Bosworth Field in Leicestershire and the Somme in northern France. On this trip, I visited Culloden near Inverness and could view the location of both Bannockburn and Stirling Bridge from the ramparts of Stirling Castle. I find these places incredibly thought provoking. Standing on Culloden moor, near where 1,500 plus men where killed, I felt as I often do in these locations.

Firstly, that I am incredibly grateful to not have had to experience the slaughter of the battle. It must have been horrendous for all involved, no matter what allegiance, both during and, for the survivors, after the event. I find I visit the associated museums of such places, look at various objects designed to do as much damage by their wielder to a fellow human being as possible and just think “that’s awful”.

Secondly, I take in the surroundings as a whole and often this leads to consideration of the human paradox of such a brutal thing taking place in what is usually a rather picturesque piece of countryside. Scotland probably represents the epitome of this, certainly in the UK. I often think of the scene with Russell Crowe smiling at the robin before the battle at the beginning of the film Gladiator. It is such a stark and jarring juxtaposition.

Finally, I then try to think of the politics and historical significance of the battle itself. I visited three different regimental museums on my trip and these all emphasise the glory of decisive victories. Whether today we would agree with the motivations that led to these engagements, in particular I am thinking here of those related to the expansion of the British Empire as an example, the modern world is shaped by these dramatic events. Culloden is a perfect example of this. A small mistake in tactics by the government forces in that action and resultant success on the part of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the whole world would likely be incredibly different.

It is humbling and I do often find myself taking a moment to thank those whose sacrifice leads to the freedoms I know and take for granted. We do this as a nation on 11^th November, but personally I will never forget the feeling of visiting the Menin Gate in Ypres, Belgium on a school trip. There surrounded by thousands of names of the missing, it was noticeable how even a group of lively teenagers, as we were, fell silent almost instantly and stood respectfully as the last post was played.

The European tourist grand five – palace, castle, cathedral, museum and gallery.

When it comes to the man-made components of any visit to a place, it is likely that at least one of the five locations above is on the menu. A quick mental tot up leads me to believe that in a week, I covered two palaces, three castles, two cathedrals, seven museums and three galleries and as a result saw items from across the human spectrum. Everything from famous Viking chess pieces to a Da Vinci masterpiece, a room full of monarchs painted with all the same nose, and the outfit worn by Denise the Menace on RuPaul’s Drag Race!

I think it goes without saying that these places can be fascinating, beautiful, inspiring and, let’s be honest, trying at times! The reason is obvious. Other people! This is because, we all read, walk and process things at different speeds. We all find different things interesting and/or boring. Art is subjective and hence what is beautiful is in the eye of the beholder, and thus what is engaging for one is potentially turgid for somebody else.

This is most obviously expressed by the process of taking a photo in a tourist spot. You can’t help but find yourself either, smarting because someone stepped in front of the picture you were trying to take or doing some John Cleese style “ministry of silly walks” stride to remove yourself from a family pic, teenage group selfie or artistic musing on fine architecture.

But this is also a source of amusement in some cases I find. The example I found this time round was randomly syncing up with a group of French teenagers on their visit to Edinburgh Castle. When I say syncing up here, I mean being next to them in the queue and then random small groups of them appearing in different parts of the site as I was there.

There were the three lads wearing track suits and flat caps in Burberry check that they had clearly bought on the Royal Mile as something with a hint of tartan, and looked like they were all going to be more interested in a trip to the bookies than the castle.

There was the one lad with the group of girls who strangely took it upon himself to lift one of them up for a photo to recreate the rather sad scene in waxworks from the Battle of Waterloo of a soldier carrying a dead Ensign. I don’t think any of them appreciated that as an unfortunate choice, particularly the large number of images of killed French troops, who you never know may have been ancestors, displayed in the background. Still, he got the giggles I think he was after from the assembled throng!

And to that point, there was the lad on the edge of a group of boys in the queue staring at one specific girl in a group of girls. He had that look that many a fella will remember of having a proper crush but no idea how to separate the young lady from her little assembly. Bless him. If he was anything like me at that age, it would eventually involve some awkward and very unsuccessful approach, that in the planning was incredible but painfully poor in the execution!

I really enjoyed my holiday. The day I had at Loch Ness was a particular high point. A day of stunning views and a golden eagle. The deep-fried haggis was also excellent! The little soft Nessie toy that I picked up that day that I called Dave, (after King David I), will be a lovely reminder of fun times and my one-eighth Scottish ancestry from my Great-Grandmother felt suitably embraced by the visit. I look forward to more time north of the border and to other getaways in the not-too-distant future.