There and Back Again: UK 2023, Days 08-10

The last several days of our trip have a bit more flow to them than the day-to-day nature of the first week or so, and so we’ll put a bow on everything right here. On the eighth day, in fact, we did almost nothing. Three of the four of us basically wandered the local town, poking our noses into the old churchyard to see the various war memorials, or else meandered along a lovely path that hugged the little river that Dunalastair straddles. Meanwhile, the lady of the couple we were traveling with decided that a spa day was more her speed; this was a neck of the woods where she was spoilt for choice, so she picked the Loch Rannoch Highland Club and went and had a day. (Neither of us went, but rumor has it that she had a great experience!) We all gathered back in the evening, refreshed and rested, for dinner in the hotel once more and a pack up for our final days out.

Our travel back to Edinburgh was leisurely; the plan was to camp near the airport so that folks could get to the airport at a (relatively) tranquil pace… yeaaaah, more on that in a minute. Since we had a whole day on the docket for what was about a two hour drive if we hustled, we did the opposite. The first thing we did was an audible that we’d no plans for when we arrived. Normally I wouldn’t say that we (the O.G. Ramblers that is) were the sorts to hunt down t.v. related locations, but we’d seen a cookbook in a couple of local shops called ARAN, and John sussed that this was related to the bakery started by Flora Shedden and her partner. All four of us have been off-and-on fans of the Great British Baking Show and knew Flora from her semi-final run many years back. As it turned out, ARAN was in the tiny village of Dunkeld and was basically on a direct line with our destination. Well, we had to eat lunch somewhere….

Dunkeld turned out to be one street about 300 meters long, with purposefully-quaint shops lining both sides. Like, there’s probably a lot more to it somewhere but that was clearly ground zero for visiting traffic, of which there was plenty. Clearly spending a weekend morning in Dunkeld is a thing that locals in the surrounding area think of fondly. Which is fine of course, but it meant that the vibe was more theme park than country idyll. We snagged some admittedly-delicious nibbles and sandwiches and made our way back to our car, albeit circuitously through the various shops.

Are last major stop was in Dunfermline, where the resting place of Robert the Bruce awaited. But first, our last meal of note! Funnily enough it was another dart throw that landed on Jack O’Bryan’s. To be honest I didn’t know that I was actually in the mood for a Scots/Tapas hybrid that also served as a not-bad-at-all chocolatier but once we discovered that such a thing existed it just had to be tried. It was really lovely; they did great small plates but did no attempt to hide the fact that they were doing fresh and tasty local dishes, not some Scotland-cum-Espana dance that probably wouldn’t please anyone… actually I take that back, I follow a young woman on social media who teaches Scots language a word at a time. but her degree is actually in Spanish. So, ok, my bad. There would be a target audience of one. MOVING ON.

Fed and happy, we made for Dumfermline Abbey which, as noted, is the final resting place of Robert the Bruce. You know how it is remarked from time to time that nobody doesn’t know anything anymore because we’ve got google in our pocket? Yeah, so. We spent not a short amount of time talking about what exactly it means to be “the Bruce”, and not one of us looked it up. I was weirdly proud of us for just having the conversation for awhile. Still don’t know, for that matter. (And if you tell me in the comments you’re missing the point. :p ) In any case, the Abbey is a fine specimen, with your classic cycle of burn-down, tear-down, expansion and modernization that you get in really old churches.

Funny story – the other couple we were with had gotten roped into a tour with a guide. We weren’t interested that much so we just wandered free form. When we caught up to them our friends had these big grins, and couldn’t wait to loop us in. Apparently, no more than a month prior the guide had led around a nice couple who were American but had retired to Portugal. We don’t know for sure, but the way they described where they live to him we’re about 80% sure they were from Braga. So yeah, our kind sure gets around.

From Dumfermline we went to Edinburgh to check into our hotel nice and close to the airport… by which we mean about a 25 minute drive. Look, it’s close on the map, ok? As a man said to a woman many many years ago “traffic is the fire in which we burn.” Anyway, after a leisurely hour returning the rental car (go easy ok? The cloverleafs are nasty over there) we rustled up a wildly unsatisfying meal (short version – after a week of cozy dining in the countryside we tripped and fell into the local version of Dave & Busters. Whoops.) we were all, despite being sad to be separating, clearly all getting into “go-home” mode, with packing and pondering what would need doing when we got there. Hugs abound, and then it was up to our rooms to pack up.

Traveling with friends can be tricky, and if you find people with whom it works well you should treasure them more than gold. We’d been to France with them almost a decade before and now this trip, and we’re looking forward to whatever hypothetical trip comes up down the road. Good’uns, that’s them. We saw them off on their AM flight to the States, then took our leisurely jaunt over the Channel and back to Porto. Home before dinner, and that was that.