The Angry Journey, Part III

We’re finally on our flight to Edinburgh, the boys in car seats with me in the middle, the three ladies in the row in front of us. With some work, the baby falls asleep as people board the plane. The clock is ticking. We need to get off the ground to start the seven hour flight since the baby may not have seven hours of sleep in his plans. Instead, the passengers board and the door is closed. Fifteen minutes pass and the plane finally backs up. It taxis a bit and the safety briefing takes place. Then there is an announcement that we are tenth for takeoff and should be off the ground in twenty minutes. Forty five minutes later, the plane finally accelerates and lifts off. This was another highlight of the journey as the kids were fabulous, both boys sleeping for the vast majority of the flight. I even caught about ninety minutes of sleep.

We land, clear immigration, and collect our baggage. Surprisingly, all thirteen pieces of luggage arrives. This is blessing and a curse. On our own, how are Amy and I going to move this immense amount of luggage and the children? We knew this problem would arise, but I had no real plan. So the oldest pushes the baby in the stroller, while Amy and I each push an overloaded luggage cart while pulling another overloaded luggage cart. At one point, a kind Scotsman takes pity on Amy and pushes her cart all the way to the taxi queue. The six seater taxis refuse to take us with the luggage. Two five seater taxis agree to take us, fully loading one taxi with luggage and the putting some luggage in the other. I ride with the loaded cab while the rest of the family rides in the other. In the taxi, I call and text the property manager to meet us at the flat with the keys. Remember, we’re arriving roughly 23 hours later than planned.

At the flat, we unload the luggage, pay the £52 ($78) in cab fare and move the luggage into the overgrown front garden. The state of the garden lets me know that the immense amount of work that was supposed to be done before our arrival was likely not complete. Also, there is no one present with keys and the agent isn’t answering his phone. To top it all off, the kids are in summer clothes, but it is roughly 45°F. Amy unpacks some jackets, but the cold children are tired and not thrilled with the Edinburgh summer. The six year old tells me, “This is all your fault.” True enough.

A few more phone calls and keys arrive after roughly an hour. Yeah, we’re inside our temporary home. Precisely none of the promised work is completed. If I have the energy, I might comment on all that, but the fact is the flat turns into a construction zone and remains one today.

To take the family anywhere, we’ll need the van I bought us before heading home. I walk the mile to where the van is parked, but guess what? It doesn’t start. I walk to the Heatherlea, get the bike I bought, and ride back to the Blackford flat. “Good news,” I tell Amy when she answers my knocking. “My bike works.” The car was jumped later that day, I moved it to Blackford, and told the family to get ready to go to the store. When we loaded up, the van was dead again. (It would be three days before the battery was replaced.) We all get out and walk one and one half miles to the grocery store. If you are roughly three feet tall, that’s a long walk.

So that was my family’s introduction to Scotland. Not exactly what I had planned.