Category Archives: Scotland

Rosslyn Chapel: still day one

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Sorry, y’all, our food processor broke and since we’re in the middle of garden mayhem, that was a crisis. Just getting to the Scottish adventures now after a hard day’s chopping.

Now, when last we left our heroes, everyone was on the van and everyone but Maria had their luggage. We headed off to Rosslyn Chapel, a working church, as well as a Knights Templar site and the setting for one of Dan Brown’s novels (referred to by the historical society as The Second Miracle—the first one being that Cromwell left the place standing although his troops did stable their horses in the chapel during the “it doesn’t pay to be a heretic” times.)

The chapel was sometimes called “the green chapel” in the 1700-1900s because it was so overgrown with fungus. Queen Victoria wanted it preserved, but who had any money? Until Dan Brown upped its visitors from 1000 per year to about 150K per year. A lot of restoration went on after that.

The chapel’s most beloved story is probably the Apprentice’s Pillar (read about it here after you finish reading about our adventures: https://www.rosslynchapel.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/apprentice-pillar-fact-sheet.pdf)

But my two favorites are the heart that appears quite randomly amidst all the amazing and mysterious carvings of apostles, corn (which is weird because corn didn’t exist in Scotland during the time the chapel was being built in 1466), and some strange green men who age as you move clockwise through the chapel. It’s a big mashup of symbols and ideas, and smack in the middle of the left well as you face the altar is a heart. A very traditional heart.

I asked the guide about it. “Victorian graffiti,” he said with a smile. “Kids used to party here before it was fixed up, back in her day. And somebody carved that sometime in the 1800s.”

Kids… whatcha gonna do?

My other favorite story from the chapel comes from the Apocrypha, and is about Zerubbabel, the guy who asked King Darius to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem. One night Z and two other king’s advisors put on a bet. Each would say what was strongest, and the king would adjudicate who was correct. One said the king, because, you know, he was judging the contest. Another said wine because it could make people do silly things even if they didn’t want to. Zerubbabel said women, because they gave birth to people who made wine and became kings, plus men had been known to become absolute idiots just to get their attention. And then he said, “but the truth conquers everything else because we all have to bow to it.”

Hence the Latin saying carved to the right of the chapel altar: The king is strong, wine is stronger, women are stronger still, but truth conquers all.  It’s the only quotation in the whole of the chapel, and frankly it’s a coded message that the chapel owner was a Templar.

There was one more interesting message at Rosslyn. As I mentioned, it’s a working church so we had to wait to enter. As we walked around outside, a man from another group cut in front of a woman taking a photo, and then said something rude to her about not getting her knickers in a twist. Based on their accents, the man was in his home country, and she wasn’t.

As he kept up a barrage of abuse toward her, I asked her how she was enjoying her holiday. She spoke pleasantly of getting to see the chapel for the first time, something that had been on her bucket list for years. And of her home country, Switzerland. We chatted amiably until the man’s stream of invective dried up and he drifted away. Tourism sometimes brings out the worst in people seeking good times. Weird.

A pleasant drive from Rosslyn to our hotel in Peebles, beautifully appointed and generous with its magnificent dinner portions. This is when we discovered Gareth’s superpower was finishing other people’s unwanted portions. A good team member to have.

Then it was off to bed because everyone was still the wee bit jetlagged. Presumably the haggis bon-bons from the starter course danced in their heads as they slept.

An Inauspicious Beginning, but hey, she didn’t Jump

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Up a little late, we burned the toast on Barbara and Oliver’s aga, but managed not to set off the fire alarm. (If you’ve never toasted bread on an aga, basically you lift the cast iron cover over the hot plate, set the bread down, wait 30 seconds, turn it over, and take it off. You do not walk away to do something else, allowing the plate to fall onto the bread and smoosh it into burning within 5 seconds. So now you know.)

All the luggage and all the people (just three of us but if felt like moving a people caravan) up the steep staircase to street level and off we went to the tram stop.

Where I looked up to behold a young girl walking across a rooftop peak, like a tightrope walker in a hoodie.

When she had perched herself on the gable end of the house, nothing between her and the street but about 20 feet of air, she realized I was watching her and made a “get lost” gesture with her arm. A big gesture that made her teeter for a second.

I made a “you don’t want to do this” gesture with my hands. She put her hands to her eyes and indicated she was looking at the view, not contemplating ending it all.

Trying to hold a conversation without words across 400 feet width and three stories height is tricky, different cultures notwithstanding. I tried to vibe “I understand you are not planning to jump but I also understand that it rained last night, you are wearing cheap sneakers with slick soles, and you are clearly not yet old enough to drive, so even though you are not intending to commit suicide, you are in danger and no view is worth that. Get down at once. I do not know you but I care what happens to you, and I suspect other people do too even if you don’t think so.”

Again, complex ideas can be difficult to convey by mind meld, so the girl repeated the swatting gesture. I raised my cell phone. “Come down or I dial 999.” Maybe a simpler message would penetrate.

She put what I think was a cigarette back in her pocket and recrossed the peak, one foot in front of the other, moving so swiftly, I wondered if my interference would be the cause of her demise. One intends to do good, but…..

The tram pulled up just as she reached the ladder at the far end of the second house and descended. Probably cursing the interfering bitch at the bus stop, but she lived to curse another day. And maybe had some things to think about. Who knows?

Well, it was an interesting start to ten days of looking after people. We reached the overcrowded airport and quickly located Maria, looking pale and strained and close to panic. She had arrived late, getting in at 1 am from Paris (singing with a choir there) but her luggage had not. Operating on five or so hours of sleep sans suitcase, Maria was trying to bear up bravely, but I could see her full tuning fork quiver shimmering below the surface. We called some numbers that were supposed to help her track the suitcase, figuring it was in the airport someplace, but they did not work. Perhaps it’s policy to give people fake numbers—cuts down on complaints.

Meanwhile we found Zahnke, party of three easily and located the Meadors, looking mildly intimidated by the crush of people pouring off planes in this compact yet horrifically busy airport. My all time worst airport is Toronto, but Edinburgh might run second. The Meadors wanted Out Of There. So did we all.

Our hope that Maria’s suitcase waited in that scrum someplace was quickly dashed by being told in baggage claim, in a Scottish accent so it didn’t sound quite so mean, to get ourselves gone, they weren’t looking for anything right now, someone would deliver it to the hotel if it did arrive.

I didn’t like the way that man said “if,” but off we went.

This was only the first three hours of the first day, which was so eventful we’re going to pause here and pick up tomorrow. With such an inauspicious beginning, where could we go but up?