High tea, Low pee

 

"You have to have high tea at Greywalls when you're in Edinburgh," my friend Catherine told me almost every time I headed to that fantastic city. Greywalls is located in the nearby town of Muirfield. I have great faith in Catherine's recommendations.

We had spent a week in Inverness where Rick played in the World Hickory Open Championship. This morning we headed toward Edinburgh for the Story Festival before heading home next Friday.

Rick made reservations for us to have high tea at Greywalls based on Catherine's recommendation. We thought we had built in enough time to drive from Inverness. WRONG!!!

The GPS lied about a left that left us in traffic jam on a country road where progress was marked by inches for miles and miles. 

The first hour or so wasn't that bad until my bladder started to fill and fill and fill and fill. Eventually we were back on a major road with an estimate that we would reach Greywalls close to our reservation time. However my physical needs shuddered at Rick's estimates of 34, 24, 15 minutes. As much as I love Scotland, their major roads lack rest stop with toilets. We are spoiled by those in France where rest stops are frequent and vary from those with restaurants and gas stations to those where there is cultural information, wifi, exercise alternatives, etc. along with toilets.

Scotland does have laybys, which are more like a slight pullover. No toilets. I wonder now how huge Scottish bladders are or how strong are the muscles to be able to close the door to unwanted urinary activity.

Finally free of the traffic jam, Rick was giving me the miles and times left to travel. I knew I wouldn't make it.

"Go into a layby," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"YES!"

We were the only car. I took of my coat. By opening the passenger and back doors, I had enough privacy when I squatted that no passing car would see me.

Relieved, we traveled on, drove through a small village, saw the white caps on the sea. We arrived one minute before our reservation time.

The Greywalls hotel built in 1902 was fantastic. A young man led us into a living room with a fire. A table had been set in front of a comfortable sofa.

We ordered the tea, which included finger sandwiches, natural and fruit scones, jam, clotted cream and pastries.

I think the tea was even better because of the delicate flower-decorated cups.

It brought back memories of another tea in Malta, where my good friend and I had gone to keep a promise we made to ourselves when an especially sad and difficult would be over. That promise had helped on days we juggled problems.

And there were all the teas on Wigglesworth Street that I shared with my housemates at the end of the day. They weren't as elaborate but there was the special teapots we used that often conveyed unspoken messages of the type of day it had been. 

Not able to finish everything, the young man, who had added fuel to the fireplace, offered to box the leftovers, which we accepted.

Leaving the hotel, we looked back. There was a rainbow, a colorful silent applause to a perfect high tea.