Time Travel

Subject: Experiment #1018B

Description: Time Travel with simultaneous spatial movement without loss of relative bearings

Status: Experiment a success without decapitation, violent dysentery, or any of the other foul, nasty outcomes that were possible. Side effects: mild discombobulation.

I have made my sojourn to Edinburgh. I would love to regale you of tales of my plane trip, for they were eventful and vulgar (using my ever expanding Scottish vocabulary, a blootered woman insisted on revealing her sex life to rows 4,5, and 6 -- I was 5F), but, to face facts, the inconveniences and trials are pretty much the same for every flight. Transnational flights merely reinforce the truism that human beings crave ritual self-masochism; why else would we pay $800 for the privilege of joining the sacred brotherhood of economy class? On the other side of this -- painful -- time machine, my sworn-brothers and I stepped, glassy-eyed and stiff-jointed, from our temporal chariot hobbling along like primates, thrust backward in evolutionary time, unsure if upright postures were still possible.

I lost 5 hours. I don't know where I put them. When we travel across time zones do we make a deposit in the time back -- "Hey clerk, I'm coming back in 7 weeks, I want those 5 hours back, ok? Hey, do I collect interest?"

The customs official, a cute Scottish lass with pretty brown hair that was cropped tight so that it wasn't pretty at all, asked me, "I dun understand. Why do yea have to come here to study." Groggily, I uttered something that didn't make sense, laughed a bit, knowing full well she didn’t tell a joke, and got my passport stamped.

I met Ben at Glasgow Airport, and we took the bus to Edinburgh. The landscape (outside of Glasgow) was quite beautiful. We talked about nothing, talked about something, and talked about nothing again. I saw buildings (I’ll visit them personally soon).

When we got to Edinburgh, two significant things happened. We were walking to the bus stop that would take us to Ben's flat; the bags were quite heavy. Amongst the hustle and bustle, making sure I didn't make any quick movements -- one slip and my Army Duffle bag would rocket the person beside me into oncoming traffic -- we noticed that the crowd was getting thicker. No, wait, it wasn't moving. Policemen had blocked off the road, so we couldn't cross. A quick interrogative revealed the problem. The Queen was coming through in her motorcade. Imagine! The cheeky... The ol’ bat (Nanny if you read this, please translate “ol’ bat” to “honored monarch”) knew I was coming, and drove up all the way from Buckingham, or whatever palace she stays in on Thursdays, to block my path.

Ok, well I saw the queen. "She was wearing mauve," one of my neighbors announced, knowingly. What the... Ben didn't know why that was important either, except usually on Fridays she wears an ugly lime green (ok, I'm exaggerating a little now, but not before).

Regardless, we found an alternate route. Then, as we wait for the bus at the new bus stop, a SAAB back-ends a bus right in front of us. The chaos so frustrated the bus drivers behind him (one whooshed past almost every minute) that they all figured they would just hopscotch this one bus stop: leaving us stranded. A nice woman -- I want to believe she was a nice woman -- was flabbergasted by this and stood stark still saying, "Wha.. wha.. wha". I just shrugged and asked her if she wanted to join us for a hike to the next stop. "I'll get a taxi". I think she was afraid I'd give her a bag to carry. "Have a good one anyway," I said. It didn't matter; the SAAB drivers knew I was in Scotland too.

So we walk, what must have been another mile or so -- this ruck on me weighs 45 lb, mind you, I weighed it -- and my laptop bag has started sawing dangerously into my brachial plexus. We get a bus, drop the bags at Ben's flat, and get some Fish and Chips. Whew!

Glutton that I am, though, afterwards I want to walk around Edinburgh. I walked Ben's feet off (oops sorry man). But I saw a lot of cool places (including the Meadows, the Surgeon’s Hall Museum (closed today), the Talbott Gallery (closed for renovation), and the National Museum of Scotland (front door closed for renovation, but I got in the side door). The National Museum of Scotland was nice, but very oddly designed. I felt like I was inside a three dimensional maze. It was very well put together in a surreal sense. Then we walked back to the flat.

Oh, wait. My story has imperfect form: trouble comes in threes. My camera isn't working right now, so no pictures. I need to buy a battery tomorrow, and then I’ll talk more about the way Edinburgh looks.

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Scottish word/slang of the day

• Greeting -- "I told him to stop saying 'Hello' to me when I was with June. "She thinks you are odd," I said and socked him in the nose. Offended sorely, he never failed to see me without greeting."

Ironically enough, to greet is to cry, which isn't a very good greeting.