Stag Weekend

In some places, names have been removed to protect the guilty.

Thursday morning of last week, I was fully packed for another weekend jaunt, this time, I was off to a Stag weekend for my friend Richard, who will be getting married in two weeks' time. I had set up this travel schedule with some expectation of needing to work, or to attempt to work, for a part of last week. Anyway, I used my frequent flier miles to arrange these tickets, that way, I could more easily cancel the trip in case of work requirements. I'd also save a lot of money on the air fare by doing that, although I won't get credit for elite status next year.

I booked the tickets in business class, but could not get confirmation for two of the legs in that class, so it was booked steerage-business out and business-steerage back.

When I checked in at San Francisco, I was informed I had cleared the confirmation for the first leg, so I was able to stretch out a bit. The person sitting in the row behind me noticed the "Famous Grouse" on my Scottish rugby jersey, and asked where I bought the shirt. I pointed out the Scottish rugby emblem and suggested a web search for that should find one. I had rented three DVDs for my new toy, so I watched "Conspiracy" (HBO, with Kenneth Brannaugh) on the leg to Newark. Amazingly, the flight landed 20 minutes early, but all that meant was that I'd spend 20 more minutes at Newark airport. It did mean an extra 20 minutes of juice, as I found a power outlet to recharge my DVD player.

The next leg was scheduled to leave Newark at 8:45PM, but some late baggage resulted in a 9:15 departure. The North Atlantic winds were with us, though, and we arrived ten minutes early in Glasgow, Scotland: 7:50 AM.

It was perhaps a goal, but I had hoped to get more than the 90 minutes of sleep I did get on that flight. I had the nice, large seat, it was very comfortable, and I was reasonably well fed, but perhaps the excitement at seeing my new and old friends was too much. Ninety minutes was all the sleep I managed.

Having only carry-on, I did not have to wait for luggage, so my first goal was to find an ATM/cash dispenser to get some pocket money. Naturally, at Glasgow airport, they are in the departures hall...

Taxi to Queen Street, then a train to Haymarket. I bought a ticket to Cowdenbeath, as planned, and called Richard from Haymarket, to see their flight status and determine the final rendezvous location. Since all of us were on time, I took a taxi to Edinburgh airport where we all piled into a minibus for the day's activities. Arriving were me, Richard, Dr. Ian, Mark, Chris, Gavin, Harry and Urs. Harry and Urs had come over from Switzerland for the party. Adding to the international flavor, Gavin is South African, but now lives in England.

Our first stop was the Butterchurn for a good, Scottish breakfast. Egg, black pudding, haggis, bacon... I traded my tomato for extra haggis, which I thought was a profitable trade for me. After all the flying, it was quite satisfying!

I also managed to pick up a quick £20 at the breakfast, when I asked, in my best American accent, "How many carbohydrates are there in the black pudding?" The server took it well, and I took the cash. The unfortunate donor's identity will remain anonymous!

Next stop was Knockhill racing, where we got to do some go-kart racing. Aly joined us there, for a nine person race. Like usual, I caused some amount of trouble; they had five sizes of helmets, all of which were a bit small. (Same thing applies to me for hats on those rare occasions when I buy a fitted cap. My head is something like 8 1/4, and the largest hats are usually something like 7 3/4.) That sent the staff looking for one of the extra large helmets, which was too small. One of the staff also has a very big head, and loaned me his helmet. Several people had done this before, which, combined with my mass, put me at a distinct disadvantage. (That's the polite way for me to say I came in last.) Regardless of the order of finish, it was a blast.

I guess I could glory in the international performance; if split into three teams of three (Scotland, England, and International), Harry and Urs did well enough to counterbalance my last place finish to put the three of us as team champion. Then again, given my skill level, "finishing" was a reasonable target for me!

Next, we went to the Famous Grouse for a distillery tour. Aly did not join us for this. The Famous Grouse is one of Scotland's more popular whiskeys, and also a sponsor of the Scottish rugby team. We got to learn the process by which the whiskey is made, and also had a sample of the whiskey. Much smoother than the last time I had sampled the drink; as you may recall, I hardly ever touch alcohol (my last drink was in March, when I sampled some Maker's Mark brought to Lexington by Mike Rosenberg, and before that, December 25, 2001, when I sampled the younger of the two bottles of Armagnac I had bought my father on recent trips to Europe.) Some folks went for a sampler of four whiskeys, that might have made me tipsy due to my lack of recent experience.

Dinner was at the Tormaukin Pub, which had a wonderful menu that I probably could have sampled for several days. I ended up going for the haddock fish and chips (although the beef olives with haggis sounded and looked wonderful, as well as the venison, and the callops of lamb. At one point, the dinner conversation got on to American politics; I suspect some of the others in the pub who might have overheard the conversation may have been amused/confused to hear an American accent that was as critical of the Bush Administration as any at the table.

It was on to the hotel (Mount Royal Ramada Jarvis) where we divided up into rooms, took quick showers, and headed out for the pub crawl. Aly, Keith, and (I think) Rob joined us at this point.

It was decided early that since I would not be drinking very much alcohol, I'd manage the kitty of funds. Everyone chipped in £20 for the evening (later enhanced with another £10) and we'd hit several pubs and clubs for the evening. As one might expect, some were quite nice, some were loud, and all are a blur! I do remember the woman behind the bar at Espionage; she was quite attractive.

We stayed out until close to 2AM, when we went to try to find a doner kebab, but all the kebab shops were closed by then. We did find a chippie. At this point, the party split in half, with some of us returning to the hotel, and others continuing on clubbing.

Having had 90 minutes sleep in the previous 40 hours, I returned to the hotel, where I managed close to six hours.

It was interesting to watch the different personalities when inebriated. They did range the whole gamut, including belligerent, jolly, morose...

The original plan had the suggestion of some folks going off for golf at 9AM, but when I went downstairs at 9:30, only Harry was awake. Others trickled down, and at 10AM we were off to another restaurant for another fine Scottish breakfast before a quick trip to a pub near Waverley station.

Keith and Aly were properly dressed in kilts for the day's Big Match, I had on a 6 year-old Scotland away jersey, others had more recent jerseys. I loaned Mark my flag for him to wear.

At the Hibernian Pub, we bought a large quantity of antlers for the match and were soon off to Glasgow for the latest attempted invasion by Germany. We had enough spare antlers that we were giving them away, some to some wee kids at the station, a couple to some Germans who were over for the match...

The antlers earned us a few comments from others, too.

We finally met up with Ian (not Dr. Ian) who was friends with Richard and me at St. Andrews. Ian was good enough to pick up 24 cans of Tenants for us, too many, so we gave some away to others before the match.

We came across some German fans, who illustrated clearly why they lost the war. Here were a dozen of us, some kilted, and one guy commented that I looked the most Scottish! Let's see, Ian, Dr. Ian, Richard, Aly... All born in Scotland. James... born in the USA, living in California, and I look the most Scottish?

We walked over to Hampden Park, where we were ensconced in the middle of the Tartan Army for the Scotland vs Germany European Championship Qualifier. (Actually, much closer to the front, our seats were in the third row.)

My last visit to Hampden was back in December, 1982, and the place has changed a bit since then. In 1982, I was standing on a muddy bank viewing a distant playing field through driving rain. Hampden was a dump, bordering on a national embarrassment.

Lottery funds were used to rebuild Hampden into a more modern stadium. The international football match is the big event, and with Germany expected to win the group, Scotland faced a difficult task. The opening of the game featured cheerleaders, fireworks, and the kind of pageantry one might expect at a Super Bowl; until they played the national anthems of Germany and Scotland, and the flags were out waving and the songs were in full voice. Even the weather was cooperative, as the sun was out, and the skies were the blue and white (with clouds) of the flag of Scotland. What more could we ask?

It has been a while since I've attended a football match at this level, not since the 1994 World Cup. When Brazil and the United States played on July 4th, the atmosphere was comparable to this.

Both teams came out aggressively, and Scotland managed to get the run of the play. Unfortunately, the finishing wasn't there, so despite controlling the ball, they did not produce the serious scoring threats their play otherwise deserved.

Naturally, 22 minutes into the match, Germany did get a goal on their first serious challenge of the match. As play continued, German defenses became harder, and the U boats were out in force (Dive! Dive! Dive!) Still, Scotland kept up the pressure, and with less than 20 minutes to play, Scotland broke through Oliver Kahn, and scored the equalizer. Much joy, jumping, and shouting! Germany picked up the pace to try to get a winner, Scotland would counter-attack when they got control of the ball, and the game ended up a 1-1 draw. For Scotland, this was a tremendous morale builder (their last result was a home loss in a friendly to New Zealand) and puts them in a good position to finish second in the group. That would put them in a playoff with another team to qualify for the finals in Portugal next summer.

Needless to say, we were all boisterous and ready for some serious celebrations.

Another drink at Billy McNeil's pub, and then to Modern India for some excellent curry , and a series of toasts for Richard. We went by some form of groupings, and for the "People educated in Scotland" toast, in memory of some excellent times with Richard in the past, I suggested black Russians.

We just missed the 9PM train to Edinburgh, so we hit yet another pub, which was more of a karaoke bar, and Richard did get to sing "500 miles," a song written by Scots that has been adopted by the Tartan Army for some singing at matches.

Back to Edinburgh, a quick change of clothes, and back out on the clubs. We re-stocked the kitty with £20 each, and ventured to the Burke and Hare, a strip club in Edinburgh.

The economics of this business are amazing. Cover charge, two rounds, and a dance for Richard, and our £240 kitty was quickly down to £70.

I've not been to a trip club since my first year at Bell Labs, when some co-workers went to one for lunch one Friday. While the Burke and Hare was better lit, it was quite crowded, and the music was extremely loud. I also felt that the women behind the bar serving the drinks were much more attractive than the women dancing at the pole, but I may have been alone with that view. I did watch the crowd a lot, and it was more amusing to watch how slack-jawed some people became watching the girls dance (no one in our party was extremely slack-jawed!) than to watch the lurid gyrations.

At least one other person in the party opted for a private dance, but as I said, names are not being revealed to protect the guilty.

We then headed back to some clubs, and found longer lines. As it was close to 1:30AM, we again split. I gave Aly the bulk of the kitty, keeping some for the four of us returning to the hotel who might have wanted kebabs and/or sodas. I did finally get my kebab that night, alas, it was not as good as others. Still...

The good news was that we got back to the hotel early enough for me to get a decent night's sleep before I had to wake up and go to Glasgow to get my flight. The bad news is, my roommate snored, and perhaps in some cosmic revenge, it meant that I could not get to sleep; I managed maybe an hour of fitful sleep before giving up and taking a longish hot shower to wake up.

Train to Glasgow, bus to the airport, checkin... I was told that there were nine available seats on the flight from Newark to San Francisco, and since I used miles, my priority should have been high enough to get upgraded...

I watched "American Werewolf on London," "A Man for All Seasons," and started in on "Apocalypse Now" for the flight. When we landed at Newark, it was quickly through immigration, and then a very long line for customs. I had no checked luggage, so I breezed through. I had to again go through security at Newark airport, and clearly US Customs and TSA are not coordinated, since Customs directs you to re-enter security at one point, and when you finally get to the front of the line, TSA re-directed you to a different entry point.

Turns out I was not upgraded. Steerage back to San Francisco, 6 hours on a 737. Ug.

Got home, fed the cats. Went to bed.

Overall, it may have been ludicrous to fly from San Francisco to Glasgow for a stag weekend, but it was a hell of a lot of fun, and worth the lack of sleep, frequent flier miles, and energy...