Bathrooms were the most difficult. I've never really appreciated before how much I rely on consistencies in bathroom fixtures. Yeah, some are clean, some have poodle-sized bacteria running around, but you don't have to think twice about the differences that really matter. Probably the worst one was that the lightswitches for all the hotel bathrooms are on the outside, so when you have to take a night trip, you stagger into the bathroom, close the door, flail around blindly for the switch, whacking the walls not unlike a patient in a padded cell who's somehow managed to get out of his strait jacket straps. Then you remember that the light switch is back outside, so you have to either go back out (risking waking up your new spouse) to turn on the switch or just do your business in the dark.

This is tricky too; the water level in toilets is very low, so there's at least a foot between you and the water. I'm not going into too much detail here, but let's just say that at 9.8m/s/s, you can get a hell of a splash.

That's not all; the toilet paper sheets are sized to some weird European standard; it reminds me of that "A4" sized paper they use for business. This is not a problem.

Something you'll never see in New York City.

The problem is that there are about eight perforation holes per sheet, so if you try the old, American "wrist-snap" to sever the sheets, you wind up with half a roll of toilet paper at your feet. Add all this to the fact that some medieval law prohibits sink faucets from mixing hot and cold running water, so you wind up rapidly alternating scalding and freezing your hands until the temperature shock has killed off all but the hardiest bacteria. The showers are tolerable, although if anyone in any of the neighboring towns flushes a toilet, your water temperature fluctuates about thirty degrees in a random direction.

Oh yes, all of the hotels had electric "towel warmers." These are electrically-heated torture racks located about three inches from the toilet, so when it's turned on you wind up burning your arm several times while re-rolling the pile of A4 toilet paper at your feet.

While working off the jet lag one morning, Heather (she's my new wife; I did mention that, didn't I?) decided that was the perfect time to swipe my electric shaver. Never having been overseas before, she asked me which outlet setting she should use. I couldn't remember whether the switch said "110v/230v" or "115v/240v", so I just said "the lower one", knowing that either 110v or 115v would work fine. Unfortunately, the switch was vertical, and the one in the bottom or "lower" position was "240v", so Heather woke me up two minutes later telling me that the shaver stopped working "and it smells funny". I now use a razor blade for shaving.

This chapter wouldn't be complete if I failed to mention my experience using the bathrooms at Harrod's. Harrod's is a mega-Macy's-type store in London. Ultra-trendy, ultra-expensive and all that. Heather and I will probably never be able to afford anything at Harrods, but we were there looking for the toilets. I was starting to get desperate as I hurried from salesperson to salesperson, each of whom would point down yet another insanely long hallway. When I finally located the restrooms, I sprinted in, only to be stopped by a woman in uniform who told me that using the toilets would cost a pound (about $1.65), unless I had a receipt from one of the booths in the Harrod's food halls. I smiled and told her that I had every intention selling my left cornea so I could sample something from the food halls, but my need to use the toilets was something of an urgency, and may I please use it now? No, apparently, I was told that I had to purchase something from the food halls first. I explained to her, in a quiet hurried voice, that I really needed to use the toilet, and if I were to go the food court at this time, the food court would suddenly become a very unpleasant place to order and eat food. This argument not working, I asked if there were any "econo-toilets" or potted plants I could use?

Harrods. They probably charge a pound to use the toilet so they can afford their electric bill.

Finally, I gave in, and paid her the damn pound, making snide comments about how I'd better have an attendant in there ready to clean my backside when I'm done. For what it's worth, it was a nice bathroom, I guess, with vanity mirrors, and bottles of cologne sitting by the sink. We made no other purchases at Harrods, and I didn't flush.

Chapter 2: Food

Mixed feelings about the food; the British Isles have some of the best and the worst food in the western hemisphere. Breakfasts were generally awful. This was not a problem, since I usually don't bother with breakfast. Some of the options included really soft eggs, no matter how they're prepared. Their idea of a hard boiled egg is what we in the States call "soft-boiled". Their idea of soft-boiled is what we call "salmonella." Blood pudding (a.k.a. "black pudding") was available, which is like a dried sausage slice made with a lot of pigs' blood (and yes, it's pretty close to black in color). Bacon, which is closer to fatty Canadian "back bacon." Your regular fruits, juices, and healthy dry cereals. There were Kippers (a kind of smoked fish). Porridge, which Heather kindly asked me to stop loudly referring to as "gruel". Some people there eat a healthy breakfast of baked beans on toast.

On the other hand, a good scone can be excellent; scones are very lightly sweetened bread rolls with a unique slightly crumbly consistency. A bad scone can be used to hunt small game animals. I'm also addicted to "Walker's Scottish Shortbread Biscuits", which isn't really a good thing, because I think each biscuit uses a full stick of whole-milk butter. They aren't very health-conscious out there. You can't hurl a brick without hitting a candy store (don't try this; they get annoyed fast), and you'll have a hard time finding anything that's health-conscious besides diet soda and vegetarian dishes. Even milk is usually 3% or 4%. They do seem to cater to their vegetarians; most menus indicated veg. dishes, more so than I've seen in the States.

Yeah, I ate the haggis. For those of you raised in sheltered schools, "haggis" is an ultra-traditional Scottish dish that consists of sheep innards mixed with spices and oat grains cooked (but not served) in the sheep's stomach. Although I had to avert my eyes during the cutting open of the stomach after cooking, I tried the haggis, and it wasn't all that bad; it tasted mostly like spicy sausage meat with a faint "liver" taste that I wasn't all that fond of. If it was put in front of me again, I'd eat it, but I doubt I'd order it myself. On menus, it's often listed as "Haggis, Neeps, and Tatties." I eventually figured out that "Neeps" are mashed turnips, and "Tatties" are mashed potatoes. The three are served side-by-side.

A thong dispenser (cost = one pound), Brighton Beach. Thankfully, this has nothing to do with Cock-a-Leekie Soup or Spotted Dick.

The soups are generally excellent across Scotland. I ordered a bowl of an unappetizing-sounding "leek and potato" soup, and it was excellent. So were the "Highlander" soups I had on several occasions.

Be careful when ordering "familiar foods" over there; they are rarely, if ever what you expect. Heather's "ham and cheese sandwich" had grated, unmelted Swiss cheese on it. My "shrimp scampi" consisted of battered and fried shrimp meat; no garlic that I could discern. Salads came with all sorts of weird vegetables, including a garnish that I'd swear was trimmings picked from the grass outside the restaurant. Even pizzas came with unnerving toppings, including tuna fish and pineapple. They have this thing for potatoes. If you spend a week in Great Britain, expect no less than 15 meals with potatoes in one form or another.

Some actual foods in England include "Cock-a-Leekie Soup", "Spotted Dick", and "Bubble and Squeak". While I'm going on about names, actual London Train Stations include "Barking" and "East Ham".

The following is a list of "Lucky Dip" brand condom flavors listed on a vending machine in the men's room at the airport in Glasgow, Scotland:

• Chocolate
• Rhubarb & Custard
• Liquorice
• Curry
• Banana
• Pineapple & Peach
  
• Ice Cream
• Mint
• Lager
• Whisky
• Lager & Lime
• Champagne
  "A la carte menu
  also available"
  

Chapter 3: Landscape, weather, etc.

Northern Scotland has some of the most beautiful landscape I've seen... Imagine the tallest, steepest hills on the U.S. East Coast. Now strip them of trees, and lay down short-cropped grass and some rocky outcroppings. Throw in several patches of dense, purple heather (really tiny flowers). Now triple the height, and make some of the grassy sides so steep that climbing up them without using your hands is dangerously impossible. Add a few clouds that tend to hang out in small patches at random altitudes. Now put as many of these hills in as little space as possible, and you'll have a pretty good image of the northern highlands of Scotland. I plan to go back there in the next few years, just for the hiking.

The weather, especially in Scotland is just weird... In the states, you can get up in the morning, look out at the rain, and be safe in assuming that the weather is going to be shitty all day. In Scotland, you can go from blue skies, to rain, and back, all within three hours. Even when the skies looked clear for miles, we kept an umbrella with us, and several times, it turned out to be a good idea.

Chapter 4: England

"So... Are we doing Stonehenge tomorrow?"      - Spinal Tap

You've probably noticed that although I was in both England and Scotland, I'm been going on mostly about the latter. That's because while England's nice, I was generally more impressed with Scotland. To its credit, England does have Stonehenge. Although they're still not letting people walk into the site itself, they've taken down the chain-link fence, and replaced it with a knee-high rope that allows you to get quite close to the stones. Just beautiful. No one liked my "Sconehenge" joke in the nearby cafe. I blame the cold weather.

London was also nice... I wish we'd had more time. Anyone who goes to London without visiting the Soho district at night is missing out on a lot. While in the city of Bath, Heather and I managed to get the last two tickets to a comedy play starring Gene Wilder, who performed flawlessly. Farther south, the seaside city of Brighton was like a scaled down Atlantic City of sorts, except that the maximum slot machine payoffs are only 10 pounds (about $16.50), so there were not as many need-a-life addicts. Also, the beaches consist of pebbles and rocks; not sand.

"Excuse me, but are you Americans?"       - The boat attendant at Kesswick, after watching me navigate a rented rowboat back to the docks.

Overall, it was a great trip. I'd recommend the isles to anyone who wants to travel, but is too lazy to learn another language.