Scotland’s national animal is the Unicorn. That right there should let you know what kind of country you are dealing with. The land of burger-flipping magic that’s what. You know that sweet train scene in Harry Potter where the Hogwarts Express steams around a bridged corner of the countryside and you can’t help but feel the magic? That’s in Scotland. Hell, we stayed not 500 meters from Arthur’s Seat, the hill named after King Arthur. Yeah, that King Arthur. You know; Excalibur, the Lady in the Lake, Merlin.
Besides magic and legends, Scotland also donated to the world the gift of Penicillin. Something that a certain Sergeant (E******a) of mine was in dire need of after an ill-advised rendezvous with a Tijuanan lady of the night. (Funny story: five dollars, five minutes and five days later then Lcpl. E*******a found himself the subject of study for no less than four Navy Corpsmen-in-training. His luck was that they all happened to be female.) Scotland says your welcome, Sarge. Or how about the wonder that is television? Or the study of economics, which while it may have been the easiest class in high school, it’s another beast in college.
But enough about that. I would really like to point out the things that matter to me: Edinburgh Castle, the winding streets containing sweet little pubs like The Auld Hoose, and the soft heather that covers the hills in Holyrood Park. Or the occasional bagpiper, blazing away on his pipes to the delight of all the tourists. These things need to be experienced. Because while a pub may be a pub the world over, it is something altogether different when the jukebox is filled of metal and the staff all have accents so thick that screamo starts to make sense in comparison.
I love Scotland. I hope to go back again someday.