Port Logan or Port Peace

Greetings, readers!

After getting evicted from our little abode, we spent a couple of nights in Edinburgh. Surrounded by bagpipes, new accents, and beautiful architecture, we spent two days exploring the city. We went up to Edinburgh Castle with intentions of going in, but bailed when confronted with the almost £20 entrance fee. What’s up with that Scotland? We took full advantage of the view and got some nice pictures of the castle, which is good enough for me.


We also spent some time visiting a few of the many museums the city has to offer, as well as visiting a few its many fine bars. I highly recommend The National Museum of Edinburgh and The Hanging Bat. Spend some time knocking down a foam wall with a tiny catapult in the museum. It doesn’t sound quite as thrilling as it is, but trust me IT WAS AWESOME.


Then unwind with Otto, an excellent Dopplebock served by the lovely people at The Hanging Bat. Which, by the way, has one of the greatest bathrooms, I’ve ever seen. Not only were the sinks and faucets made from kegs, they had a jar of free tampons and a little cup with bobby pins. When was the last time you went into a bathroom like that?! The answer, for me, is never.

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We only had two nights in Edinburgh though and on our way to Port Logan, where I’m currently at, we decided to do some ferry hopping. Guys. Let me tell you a thing. I’m that person who gets sea sick at the drop of a hat. That gentle swaying is a bitch. Ask me when I remembered this. When I was already on the boat, that’s when. So, murderous ferry (at one point it might have been 45 degrees from the water), followed by the curly fries of roads, and on to what? Yes. Another ferry. A SECOND FERRY. It’s a wonder I didn’t throw up all over anything. I’m quite proud of myself. My smoothness knows no bounds.


Once we made it back onto non moving land (Thank Zeus) we still had about two hours of driving, which we broke up with food. Because, you know, that’s how you rest by stuffing your face. Which brings me to: Mushy Peas. Guys. What is happening? I don’t know, but it’s a thing. They taste good, but visually, you know, it’s like abstract art. You’re never quite sure what’s happening, but you pretend you do so no one thinks you’re a peasant. Do you know that feeling?

Anyway, we made it safely down to Port Logan, under the rain, in the cold. But, in front of the beach, surrounded by calm and silence. Sometimes being far away from everything has its advantages, it’s nice to be able to unwind even when you didn’t know you needed it.

I’m here for a few more days. I might go to Ireland or I might couch potato it Scotland style. What does that mean? I have no idea. My guess is it involves beer. Lots of it. Because…. Fuck it. I have no excuse. Because in any country, my relationship with alcohol remains strong.

And Scotland has quite a few delectable beers on offer. Seriously. You come. You buy one of each Scottish beer you can find (maybe not one of each if you’re just the one, there’s a lot of them). You hole up somewhere. And you drink. I promise you’ll have a great time. Provided you leave your hole at some point, you caveman. Either way, Scotland has delivered. But it’s not yet over so you’ll have to wait and see what else is in store. After all, Halloween is coming up!

Amidst my drinking and drinking, I’ve been reading Calvino’s stories and they’ve been more fun than I expected. I won’t go into detail now because this post is long enough, but stay tuned for what will probably be me rambling about short stories, Calvino, and space. It sounds thrilling, I know. Try to stay calm.

I’m off to potentially eat leek and potato soup, which is apparently a thing. Who knew? Stay warm, readers.


Until next time!

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