Hello Kitty!

Hello Kitty!



While resting up at our hotel Sam went down to the front desk to inquire as to where we could get a reservation for dinner this evening.  He comes back with a 10:00 reservation at a place on Georges St. in New Towne called Tigerlilly.  Nothing earlier, it was this or hotel food.  My 48 year old mind conjures up a slightly Bohemian place that is reasonably quiet, artsy and with excellent local organic food maybe even a little light jazz if we're lucky. I wasn't even close.  It was Friday night and we were met with a pounding disco beat and a trendy bar scene as our hostess saw us to our table. 




Years ago my husband had worked with a woman from Edinburgh who favored revealing clothing and spike heels even for conservative business meetings and we never understood where she got such a notion in an industry like insurance.  Now we know!  She was hanging out at some of the night spots on Georges Street and forgetting to change her costume come Monday morning.  I was the only female in the room in flat shoes and clothes that clearly put me on the dowdy middle aged tourist end of the spectrum.  I knew for a fact, at this point, that both teetotalling grandmothers were spinning in the their graves because I had brought both of my teenage sons to a night club where there were scantily clad women and profuse amounts of alcohol being served. 



 Still, the food was good featuring fresh local seafood and steaks and the wine list was quite good.  I managed to have a wonderful conversation with my 19 year old son over the pounding beat of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean." Clearly though, this was not the sort of place for the dinner conversation that I craved after a day of sightseeing. 

The best conversation was the taxi ride home when the kids pinned us to the wall accusing us of liking such a bar scene when we were younger.  Honestly, we did our fair share of cutting lose on Friday night but we were in graduate school and we favored flatter shoes, cheap Mexican food and copious amounts of beer at a dive bar downtown. 

Kilts and such

Kilts and such

Yesterday on the Royal Mile we had seen an enormous monument that looked like a church steeple from Castle Hill.  Thomas said it was Mordor as it was Gothic and mysterious in design and dark colored even though it was stone.  We approached the monument next to Princes Street Garden and we finally realize this is the Sir Walter Scot monument.

If this monuments doesn't convey the Scot's feelings toward this man then nothing will.  It is literally built to resemble holy sacred ground.  The interior spiral staircase ascends to a middle chamber that resembles a church replete with stained glass window.  Sam and the boys climb to the very top, I stay behind because I don't like how high up it is.  Outside I find a bench and watch people in the park below.  All the time Thomas is taking a picture of the top of my head from the top of the monument.

Regrouping we head up to the Royal Mile via Cockburn Street.   Lots of shops here all selling everything from utilikilts to tartan bra and panty sets.  I remind myself that all these shop keepers are just trying to make a living in economic situations that appears to be worse than in the U.S.  The news the night before features sometimes violent demonstration in London over what to do about pensions.   Thomas finds a skateshop and I find two print dealers before we reach the end of the Royal Mile in time to see workers cleaning up from the Queen's visit that afternoon.

 The Scottish Parliament building is to our right and for anyone who likes modern architecture this is a feast for the eyes.  Once inside, the displays and kiosks in the lobby went a long way in helping me believe in the basic democratic process again even though it can be slow and tedious at times.

 

Heading back up The Royal Mile, we are finally going to order Will's kilt .  Edinburgh has more kilt shops per square mile than any other place in the world and not only do some of them sell kilts but tartan boxer shorts, coffee mugs and panty hose.  Seems you can put tartan on just about anything.   Having visited several kilt stores we decide Hector Russell www.hector-russell.com is the one for us in both price and quality.  They will custom make the kilt and and ship it back to the United States.

Will wants a Buchanan tartan kilt the same way some people pine for a jersey of their favorite sports team.  Proud as I am of my heritage, I have no desire to have a kilt or one of the fanciful tartan dresses with the fancy bodice.  I wouldn't mind having the weathered Buchanan throw for the family room couch but know that in the end if I really want it, I can find it on the internet.  Besides, I don't really need it. 

A jovial blonde lady measures Will's waist and hips while Thomas goofs off wrapping himself in a shawl and mimicking a character from Braveheart.  Prices for kilts vary tremendously to say the least.  The cheap acrylic kilts, that are most likely made in China, leave you dancing around trying to keep your dress tail in check if a strong wind kicks up while the real wool, heavy and medium weight kilts stay put when it becomes breezy.  The pleats of a well made kilt sway when walking just like water rippling in in a pool.  The mark of a better quality kilt is just this movement.

Will leaves the store happy that he will finally have a kilt and dreams of the places he will wear it - The Renaissance Festival, church, The St. Andrew's Ball in Cincinnati and even Halloween.  He has foregone buying other trinkets to acquire this one item. 

We swing through New Towne on the way back to our hotel scoping out a good restaurant for the evening.  We are tired of hotel food and pub grub.  We will find something a little more upscale this evening.....

My son dressed in his kilt at St. Andrew's Ball.