So why exactly are you going, anyway?

I confess- I've not been behind this trip.
Now, it's not as if I haven't known- I was the one that DEMANDED that we get this trip, that we do whatever it takes for this trip- but I am now sitting at the airport, my Crohn's in full blast and this feeling that I'm doing something wrong. I'm not doing anything wrong, I just feel that way.
We board and take off more quickly than you'd think, and soon we're out of U.S. air space. The flight is showing three movies- the newest Harry Potter flick (hadn't seen), Evan Almighty (had seen), and 1408 (hadn't seen, but didn't care so much). I figured that I could sleep through the last two movies. So I watch Harry Potter, and then I try to sleep.
It's at this point that two things happen- 1) a baby starts crying, and 2) the flight attendant's summon bell malfunctions, going off sporadically for THE REST OF THE FLIGHT. I am dead serious. No matter what they did, it just kept ringing, and not with a rhythm- the rings were random. I tried counting between the rings, and it was different virtually every time.
So when we landed at Heathrow and the sun was still down, forgive me, but I had a sense of foreboding. It was made worse by the hour-long wait to get through the UK Immigration Police, standing and carrying my carry-on baggage. Someone was denied entry, the police were quite vocal when they did it: “We’re sorry, but your visa information is wrong and we cannot allow you entry into the United Kingdom. You need to return to your home country.” It turns out that home country was China. I shuddered at that thought.
Once I did get past the immigration booth (it took me all of 30 seconds), things went relatively smooth. I found the Heathrow Express (nice but not worth $30), which took me direct and non-stop to Paddington, where I went into the Underground and transferred to King’s Cross. Mind you, I’ve got two carry-ons and a 40 lb. suitcase… I was exhausted when I got to the train terminal. I bought a one-way ticket to Edinburgh, then I went looking for Platform 9 3/4. (“Nine and three-quarters? Think your being funny, do you?”) But I was there for a real train, and I had to learn in a hurry how the system worked; kind of a baptism by fire.
I had an un-assigned ‘saver’ seat, which meant I could take any train, any unreserved seat, by any route that got me to Edinburgh. The first direct train to Edinburgh had such a mad rush of people that I wasn’t able to see an open seat, plus I wasn’t able to fit my bag in the luggage rack as it was too big. So I waited for the next train. I knew from my previous research that the train transferred in Newcastle, so I got on the next train to Newcastle. This had plenty of unreserved seating, and while I still couldn’t fit my bag in the luggage rack, I had a place to put it.
The train ride was smooth and easy, and full of English countryside. Tiny little towns, endless fields, well over 10,000 sheep, and even an occasional cow; there were ponies in increasing numbers as we got further north. Also, nuclear reactors were very close to the train, I counted at least three within a mile.
But the star view of the trip was the town of Durham. You have to dissociate the Durham in North Carolina with this Durham. –This- Durham looks like it was built along two hillsides, green and pristine. I fell in love as soon as I saw it, it looked as if something from a novel- it would be intellectually tawdry of me to such the style, say, an 18th century British novel, so I’ll leave it to your imagination.
After a few hours, I arrived in Newcastle. I don’t know what I expected, but whatever it was, the actual image made sense. The train station was busy, and I looked for the next train to Edinburgh. It was 3 hours away. But there was a bus from the train station direct to the Edinburgh Waverley station. I said, what the hey, I’m just trying to get there.
The bus ride was long, but it was eye-opening. England was the same; many references to Hadrian’s Wall in this part of the country, which I thought was much further south, and then I was in Scotland. The countryside is more depressing and dark, it’s covered in an umber-colored brush (hence, Northumberland), but the landscape became more noticeably hilly and green as we got further north. Plenty of oak and pine… by default, it’s Scotch Pine, but I don’t know if it was in fact the genus and species called Scotch Pine. And wool outlets were increasing in number.
We pulled into Edinburgh, and the first thing one noticed was not the Edinburgh Castle, but a giant hill in the east part of town. The city is very similar to any other British city, but hilly and with very dynamic buildings, and one other difference- a minimal amount of modern architecture. The bombers missed Edinburgh in WWII, so no new buildings had to be placed in the town. The result is a near seamless environment, and it’s so easy to just feel a part of it.
Once I got into town, I didn’t know where my hotel was; normally, I’d walk, but since I was lost and tired, I got a cab. It was a very short cab ride, but that’s went the dollar-pound disparity hit me. It was a 6-pound fare for about a half-mile along main, uncrowded streets. That’s $12 for a half-hour cab ride. That hurt.
I got to the hotel and checked in. The staff told me I was being upgraded for free. I had reserved a standard twin bed in a closet, the normal European room- I instead got the Cuthbert Suite (which is not named for Elisa Cuthbert, but the St. Cuthbert of Scotland). I didn’t collapse when I got to my room, but I could have. I bathed and cleaned up.
Once settled, I went about the business of starting my rental cell phone; international cell phones have sim cards, that allow you to put your number on any international phone. Kind of cool, but I had to activate it on a separate phone- this didn’t work. After getting some help from the younger staff with similar phones, I got a new sim card and my phone worked!
Dinner was okay; Scottish salmon, and whiskey to drink (there was more, but that was the highlight). It wasn’t very busy because most people were holed up in pubs to watch the Rugby World Cup final. I watched as much as I could, but fell asleep. I do want to ad the adverts, though- I saw an ad with Mr. T that had him driving a tank yelling at some male British simp to “GET SOME NUTS!”, and a gorilla drumming a Phil Collins song that ultimately had something to do with Cadbury.