10 Reasons I Hate Scotland
I don’t hate Scotland. Not even a little. But in the several weeks since John and I moved to Edinburgh, I’ve found that when I wax poetic to people about how much I love it here, their eyes glaze over. So, like a love sick sop trying to swoon an uninterested lover, I’ve decided to employ a very specific strategy. That’s right. I’m playing hard to get with Scotland.
This list is a reminder that Scotland and me, well, our relationship isn’t always perfect. So in no particular order, here are 10 things I hate about Scotland.
(1) I shower over my toilet.
This was my bathroom situation for the first two weeks of my life in Edinburgh. The set-up was good incentive to get up early and shower before John, because showering second not only meant a water covered toilet, but a water coated bathroom (for once, at no fault to John). I’d like to say my new accommodations are better, but it seems the Scots have a penchant for letting shower water roam free.
(2) This counts as a home office.
I’ve had several meetings from this space, with the washing machine and refrigerator (not pictured) as my backdrop. Blurring the background does little to disguise that I am in a utility closet. Doing a load of laundry while in a meeting is exciting; the washer senses an important moment and ramps up its spin cycle to contribute. But the worst part? Tomyris’ litter box also lives in this room. John once tried to shut the door while I was in a meeting, and I screamed. I’ve since moved to a new Airbnb, but as my search for a proper office in Edinburgh continues, I’m discovering the utility closet may be the pinnacle of my working spaces.
(3) Finding a place to live is a game with mysterious rules.
As it turns out, arriving mid-August to find housing is the worst time to do so. All of Edinburgh is consumed by the Fringe Festival. I didn’t understand exactly how large the festival is, but it roughly doubles the city’s 500,000 some occupants during the month of August (sources disagree on the exact number, but suffice to say, there are a lot more people).
And what does this have to do with housing? Well, those extra people are living in the open housing. Landlords plan their lives around having an open flat in August to rent to poor schmucks (ahem, like me) who will pay anything to be here. If you do find an open flat to let long term, you have to be prepared to apply that day and give six months rent up front to have a fighting chance.
And yet, there is no such thing as a long lease in Scotland. You’re restricted to 28 days. In fact, if I give six months rent up front and decide to leave the flat after month one, the excess in the deposit is legally required to be refunded to me. How challenging for the landlord and…fair to me, the tenant? I really don’t know what to make of it. But, likely as a result of this rule, rental prices are sky high. Even for the flats with toilets under the shower head.
This will undermine any feelings of sympathy you have for me, but we looked at a flat in this building.
I laughed out loud when I arrived picturing anyone visiting us here. “Oh, you can’t miss it,” I’d say nonchalantly as I gave directions to an unsuspecting guest. But, alas, the flat was too small for us to comfortably live. It seems like I’m being a whiny brat, but I assure you, the space was tiny. And you have to believe me, because I’m desperate to live here and fulfill my dream of an unsuspecting visitor pulling up our driveway.
(4) The flow of foot traffic is indecipherable.
We drive on the left here and all that. But no one can seem to decide on the flow of foot traffic. And it’s not just the pedestrians. Most dogs walk off leash here, and I have stared down many a spaniel taking his half out of the middle. I am steadfastly walking on the left, but so far that strategy has only led to me having awkward dance moments with humans and dogs alike.
(5) If we could all just agree on how to write the date, life would be better.
I’m not tied to having the month be first in the date as is the custom in the U.S.; nor am I wed to having the day come first, as is the custom here. But perhaps, for the sake of our collective sanity, we could decide on ONE way to write the date and do that the world over.
I have the same complaint with selecting a side of the road to drive on and measuring systems. Although, to make it extra confusing, Scotland uses miles to describe distance and then the metric system for everything else.
Somewhat related, here’s a short video of my first time driving here (this trip at least).
(6) The butter is too good.
There’s a wonderful Schitts Creek episode where Moira, forced to voice her faults, finally admits that “Sometimes she drinks too much tea.” This critique is similarly benign. But(ter) it’s getting serious. Because I can not stop eating butter, and therefore bread, crackers, slices of cheese — butter happily complements all of it. Send larger trousers, please.
(7) How do you order and pay for food at a restaurant?
I’m always confused by the dining process when I travel, so perhaps it should be no surprise that it’s a mystery as well in Edinburgh. So, in some restaurants, you find a table and someone comes to take your order, and when you’re done, you pay at the bar. Other times, you order at the bar, you find a table, and you pay at the table. But then on Tuesdays in the summer when its raining, you wait to be seated, they take your order at the table, but you pay at the register.
In one particularly confusing move, John tried to leave his credit card with a staff member at the bar and then go sit down, and the woman lost her mind. The manager actually had a stern talking to with John and told him that you NEVER leave your credit card with a service team member. NEVER.
(8) There’s a queue for the bus I will never understand.
John was first to spot that the queue for busses is taken quite seriously. I didn’t really notice it until a couple asked us if we were getting onto a particular bus they were also waiting to board. “Yes, but go ahead,” I said as I smiled pleasantly and waved them on. They hesitated. “We don’t queue for busses in the U.S. in quite so orderly a manner,” John explained to them, glancing over at the near empty bus and the three other people boarding, all standing in a clear line. The couple looked horrified. As if John had said “Here, take my credit card. I’m going to wait at that table three meters away for you to return it to me.”
(9) Bad weather is always just over the horizon.
We have had glorious weather since our arrival. Blue skies, perfectly warm 70 degree days. You’re comfortable in a t-shirt or a light jacket; trousers or shorts. The light lasts until 9:00pm. It’s magical. The locals lap it up, basking in the sun the way a cat might sleep in an afternoon sunbeam; appreciative, content, and just a little bit smug. But, if you bring up the weather, any local is quick to tell you how unusual this is. Their faces get quite serious as they say something sinister like “Enjoy it now, because winter will be awful, cold, and dark.” Then their smile returns and they tell you to have a lovely day. How, exactly, am I supposed to do that NOW?
(10) Scotland is far from my friends and family.
This is not Scotland’s fault, but let’s blame it anyway. The challenge is that I find myself so wanting to share the beauty of this place with my loved ones. And it’s not the grander moments that I really crave (see above re visiting me in Downton Abbey), but the smaller moments here. Coming over a hill on the bus and seeing the city spread out before me. Having a delicious dinner that I’ve somehow managed to order and pay for and want to share with others. Taking in this view during my morning run.
I marvel at the beauty of this place and I desperately want to see the reaction of my friends and family as they experience it. Not just through a text or a crummy blog post, but in real life. Moment by moment.
There are other, smaller complaints that didn’t make it on this list. But like those above, they are surmountable (come visit, Friends & Family!) or relatively minor. In this short time, the experience has been everything I hoped it would be. It has knocked me out of my comfort zone.
And yet. Yet. I feel I am home.
