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Notes from A Broad
I just returned from three weeks in Scotland. Combination golf trip for my husband and visiting relatives and a road trip for me and my sister. The golf was great, the food was terrific (that’s a first) and the weather almost biblically bad. I swear Scotland is the only place you can be too cold and too hot at the same time. And you’re soaked and your hair’s a mess.
Even though it’s an activity I normally enjoy, I was wary about getting provoked into political discussions. This past election was too hard, and my own feelings too raw. The typical Scottish argument goes like this: something provocative and borderline insulting is said. When you respond in disagreement a hand is held up: whoa, whoa, whoa, we’re not talking politics. You then lamely try and make your point while everyone looks upon you like a troublemaker.
It happened over and over. But I simply didn’t respond. I shrugged. I said things like: it’s hard to explain. If you were me you might feel different. On a personal note, it took no effort. I seem to have entered a sort of zen-like state.
So it’s ironic that my only really bad experience was with a fellow Yank.
In Inverness, she approached my sister, my cousin, and me and offered to take our picture. I asked how she was enjoying Scotland and she said not at all. She and her husband were freezing to death and he wasn’t speaking to her. She then offered that they were looking for a country to move to as Trump was now president.
When I asked how easy it was to move to Scotland (knowing damn well it’s not; why do people think other countries don’t have borders and laws?) she replied not at all, so they were leaving to check out Portugal.
I said something nice like: I hear it’s lovely this time of year.
She then went on a tirade about how much Hate! Hate! Hate! there was in the states and that she had to leave. She then said something stupid about the Paris Accord, then how Trump was going to ruin the environment and/or blow up the world. But the Hate! Hate! Hate! was just too much for her to bear.
I’d finally had it. I just said: the hate I am experiencing right now is proof of your claim.
When she responded in confusion, I said: you’ve just approached three strangers and you have no idea their feelings on the matter, nor how they voted, nor the reasons why. And because my zen-like state had left the building, I said: nothing like two sons in the military to focus the mind.
We then turned and walked away, with her yelling at our backs. Which she continued to do until we finally turned a corner a few minutes later. For all I know she’s still yelling.
The good news is she took a great picture.
A cousin (who lives in Edinburgh, works for the NHS and enjoys six weeks of vacation per year, has literally vacationed in more countries than she can name and can’t be fired from her job), my sister Theresa (who was on her first vacation abroad since 1992) and me. I love this picture as for the first time the wind wasn’t blowing and my hair didn’t look like Donald Trump’s.
Published in General
Early in Bush’s first term, a married couple who were friends of ours moved from Texas to the Northwest (Seattle or Portland, can’t remember which) because they could no longer stand to live in the state that G.W. hailed from.
When she told me the reason they were moving, I said something like, “If that’s how you feel, then that’s probably a good decision.” What I meant was, “Don’t let the Red River splash your behind on the way out.”
The husband had been mugged and beaten a year or so earlier right in front of their house, which I’m sure made no dent in their smug sense of superiority for living in a “diverse” neighborhood rather than the bourgeois, racist suburbs, but it may have contributed to their decision to move. Relocating let them feel superior to an entire state, regardless of how “diverse” of a neighborhood they chose in their new city.
I suspect they raised the average intelligence of both states by moving, so it’s a win-win.
These kinds of retorts usually come to me too late, but a good response would have been: “I hope Scotland works out. The weather seems perfect for you.”
Scotland is magic. Especially the west coast. The east coast is much too tame. It’s the only place I’ve been and seen three rainbows at the same time. An old movie “Local Hero” gets at that pretty well. Saw it snow in June while there while seeing the Northern Lights.
I first ventured there over 50 years ago with my grandparents. It was primitive. No other way of putting it. Now it’s not. Back then pubs weren’t open on Sunday. And neither were restaurants. My grandfather wanted to go to Culloden. There were no markers. Had to ask a dozen people. And he wasn’t sure he had found it. Now there’s a tourist center, battleground memorial. The works.
I actually like the weather. It changes every five minutes. It makes you REALLY appreciate sunshine. And if you go up to Tongue on the north coast you can get gale force winds all but a few days per year.
I’m with @dougkimball. Years ago I lived in Scotland for about 20 months; it was another winter coming in with the long, long nights that motivated me to move back to California.
I lived in London later. I was so busy with work, I really didn’t notice except when everybody had left and was sitting out in the park enjoying the 30 minutes of sunshine. Then it was just glorious. I would close the drapes in November and not open them until March. But as I said I was busy, so it really wasn’t an issue.
Welcome back! Really enjoyed your pics. JY looks great in a Kilt.
I think we are all learning how to navigate the angry horde filled wilderness with tremendous patience. I don’t talk politics in social engagements at all anymore (unless it’s a political group) and get to keep a least a baker’s dozen liberal friends.
Welcome back! Really enjoyed your pics. JY looks great in a Kilt.
I think we are all learning how to navigate the angry hoard filled wilderness with tremendous patience. I don’t talk politics in social engagements at all anymore (unless it’s a political group) and get to keep a least a baker’s dozen liberal friends.
Thanks @davesussman. He wore it to an event that was “coat and tie”; he had to remind the organizer that no one said anything about trousers.
I think you did the right thing in regards to discussing politics with the natives…… To me that is like being a house guest and then arguing with the host. As far as the idiot American you ran into, people like her are one reason why foreigners don’t understand or dislike Americans. lol
Welcome back to Southern CA just in time to be just hot.
Even though it’s an activity I normally enjoy, I was wary about getting provoked into political discussions. This past election was too hard, and my own feelings too raw. The typical Scottish argument goes like this: something provocative and borderline insulting is said.When you respond in disagreement a hand is held up: whoa, whoa, whoa, we’re not talking politics. You then lamely try and make your point while everyone looks upon you like a troublemaker.
This is if you can understand what they said. Having Scottish relatives you’re probably good at it.
Brilliant! Love your emotional control…. your “zen-like state”. I could use a hay wagon load of that now-a-days.
What a great post. I started chuckling right at the title and continued through the comments.
Lots and lots of practice. My mom used to tell me: all this stress is going to kill you. Plus, your looks will go.
When her prediction came true (I went bald a few years ago) I decided to get a handle on it. I went bald because son #1 was in Afghanistan; I’ll be damned if some yahoos on the left will give me so much as a wrinkle.
Thank you, @latapada. It was a great trip and I enjoyed writing about it.
Justin Trudeau is going to Scotland! I don’t know if he read this post, but it appears Annefy’s trend setting powers have kicked in again. It seems likely that Trump deranged Americans will be a feature, not a bug, for his trip.
This—the willingness to assume that anyone whose knuckles aren’t actually dragging on the ground must be a Trump-loathing progressive—is really astonishing. As is the yelling. I’m really sorry, Annefy.
On the bright side, the weather looks just about perfect for me—I love cold, damp places, especially if there’s beer.
You live in Maine, you say?
Craig Ferguson claims “damp” is a color in Scotland.