To RAF Menwith Hill

A car is almost essential in Fife, so I mustered the energy to take public transportation 8 hours across the border to RAF Menwith Hill to retrieve my trusty Chevy Malibu. For the record, I'm not at Menwith Hill yet, but just across the street, at pub & inn seemingly pulled from the Canterbury Tales called 'Queen's Head.' Dealing with British bureaucracy is tomorrow's challenge.

The journey was fraught with confusion and poorly prepared from the outset. If there's one thing you absolutely require in Scotland, it's an umbrella. I didn't have one, so I decided to wait out the rain. After an hour or so of waiting, I realized it wasn't going to end, and if I was ever going to get out of the house and get going, I'd need to borrow an umbrella. My neighbors kindly lent me one, nice and large, though each panel is a different color of the rainbow. Needless to say, I look like an errant "pride" poster blowing in the wind. Somewhat emasculating, to be honest.

The bus to Edinburgh follows the southern coast of Fife. It's a very pleasant ride, about 2 hours total. The coasts around Fife are gradually sloped, unlike the rock cliffs that drop to the ocean further south (near the Scotland/England border).  When you get into the more modern towns, although still quaint by any cosmopolitan standards, the clientèle gets noticeably rougher. Some fellas sport a mean face and baggy pants, haircuts like Wayne Rooney or 80's punkers. But by and large the area is dominated by old-folk, always dressed like its Sunday and ambling down the street at a pace that compliments the wonderful landscape that surrounds them in their twilight years. Scotland wants you to walk slow and breathe it in.

Edinburgh looks like a massive stone building separated by a few streets, monolithic but without any of the negative connotation. The buildings are long and identical, sometimes spanning several blocks. Edinburgh seems to be only one color, gray, and in that sense reminds me of West Point. It is beautiful in its authenticity, however. Situated on a hill overlooking the city, Edinburgh Castle is breath-taking from a distance. I wasn't able to visit it today but I'll make a point to come back.

A train ticket to Harrogate (nearest station to Menwith Hill) will put you back about 100 pounds. That's roughly $130. I couldn't believe it; that even makes Germany seem cheap. I had a moment of crisis when the machine rejected my card. Thank God I travel with two, always, just in case. The train followed the coast, passing field after field of sheep. I even spotted dairy cattle blithely galloping across the open pastures. Some even braved to scale the cliffs near the coast, presumably to chomp at the fresh windswept grass that outlines the ruins of old watchtowers, churches and castles. Happy cows from California, to quote the stateside advertisement, have nothing on happy cows from Scotland. To my shock, there was a random 'trailer park,' in the standard American sense of word, though cleaner, placed right along the cliff face. I can't imagine that property is cheap, but it doesn't seem to be desirable property either; I noticed no pricey mansions or luxury property there. Then again, who wants to live near the railroad tracks anyway?

By around 2200 I had arrived at Harrogate. The taxi driver was very affable and helpful. Perhaps because I look so young, everyone seems surprised that I'm in the military and traveling abroad by myself. It surprises them that I've gotten around without anyone making arrangements for me, maybe because they expect that someone would arrange to receive military persons. The novelty owes to my curious double-status, of course, that of junior officer and philosophy student. Like my landlord, people wonder what to make of that, if it's a good thing, common, etc. I would tell them, but I haven't figured most of it out yet, other than that Scotland is remarkable, that I like being here and am blessed by the opportunity, but, naturally, wish someone were here with me to share it with. And that I'm getting paid to do this.

At any rate, Lisa has become absorbed by her new Droid X, the unending novelty (apps for every curiosity), and I think our Skype conversation is coming to an end. And with that, this post as well.