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Onward to Inverness! ScotRail’s first class comes with boogers…

We woke up Sunday, August fourth, to lots of rain. We weren’t in the mood to look for breakfast under those conditions. We also had a train to catch. Originally, we were going to leave Edinburgh at about 10:00am, but Bill was fretting that we’d have to switch trains in Stirling. With a tight connection and rain, he worried that we’d have trouble. On Saturday, before he picked up dinner, Bill stopped by the train station and spoke to a very helpful man who told him that if we took the 9:29am train, we wouldn’t have to switch trains. Unfortunately, since it was less than 24 hours before the train was due to run, we couldn’t reserve our seats. But, he said on a Sunday morning, we’d have no trouble getting seats… Yeah, right.

Bill and I decided to brave breakfast at the hotel. We took the elevator to the breakfast area. I immediately noticed that it had a smell reminiscent of French Residence Hall at Longwood College, circa 1991. Longwood is now Longwood University and French is no longer a dorm, but the smell of stale beer and puke tends to leave an indelible mark on the ol’ olfactory organ. To be fair, the elevator smelled more like stale beer than vomit, but I couldn’t be certain. I think someone might have spilled beer in the lift and neglected to tell someone. The floor was sticky and, yes, smelled a bit like a frat house after a raucous party. I wasn’t impressed.

Breakfast is not included in the room rate at the Kimpton Charlotte Square Hotel. However, in addition to the usual buffet offerings, they do have cooked breakfasts at the hotel. It looked like the main waiter was training someone new. Everyone wore jeans and t-shirts with aprons and, having once waited tables myself, I could tell the new girl was doing a “trail”. Unfortunately, as her trainer was teaching her, he failed to notice us sitting there neglected for several long minutes. I finally shot a cranky look at a busser, who kindly clued in his colleague.

  • Bill wonders where the wait staff is…
  • Garden environment… nice for breakfast, but missing a real bar.
  • Scrambled eggs with salmon.
  • The aptly named “bacon butty”… my butty is bigger now.

I went with the Bacon Butty, which is aptly named. It was basically a soft bun with a bunch of back bacon in it. It tasted okay, but wasn’t the most imaginative dish. Bill had scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, which he seemed to enjoy.

After breakfast, we checked out. I probably sounded irritated as I told the receptionist about the condition of the elevator. She quickly made a note of it, and again, told Bill about their air conditioning woes. I suppose we could have made more of a stink than we did, but I think we were just ready to get on our way to Inverness. The staff called us a cab and we were soon whisked off to Edinburgh’s huge Waverly train station.

We got to the station at just the right time, as a huge flood of Asian tourists showed up minutes after we did. We were able to find benches to sit on, since there was no track assigned to the Inverness bound train. I passed the time by people watching and reading all of the stuff on the walls. I get a kick out of British nannyism signs, as well as the historic notes one finds everywhere in Scotland… even in the train station!

  • Those stairs were a challenge with five bags.
  • But we were rewarded with interesting tidbits about Sir Walter Scott.
  • Glad to know that ScotRail pays a living wage…
  • One view on the way to Inverness.
  • A wonderful mom…

We finally hauled our bags to the correct track and waited for what seemed an eternity for the doors to open. In Germany, when the trains pull up, they let people get on and wait on the train. In Scotland, they don’t open the doors until just before the train leaves. Lots of folks were standing around, peering into the cars. It looked like many people had seat reservations. We did on our original train. At one point, as we waited impatiently for the go ahead to board the train, a recorded female announcer requested that everyone leave the station due to an emergency. It was a false alarm, but some people were noticeably confused and annoyed. I was among them.

The doors finally opened and everyone rushed for a seat. Fortunately, eagle eyed Bill spotted two seats facing the direction of travel that weren’t claimed. Bonus, they were right next to the WC and there was plenty of space for our bags. We were lucky, though. Not everyone managed to score a seat. One American couple got on the train and the wife peevishly said that she couldn’t sit backwards or she’d throw up. That turned out to be a prophetic statement.

I couldn’t help but wonder what second class was like on ScotRail, as the window had an enormous booger stuck on it. It was grossing me out, and I was reminded of the old school bus we rode on in Islay on a previous Hebridean cruise. There were boogers on that, too, but at least they had a good excuse. It was a school bus, after all, and there’s no class system on a school bus.

The loudspeaker on the train was also kind of messed up. It kept cutting in and out, making it sound like we’d landed somewhere in India or Pakistan instead of Scotland. I got a raw video with the sound in it. I’ll have to turn it into something shareable at some point. We had a good laugh about it, though. I posted on Facebook that as long as no one vomited, I’d be okay. Again… I tempted fate.

The first stop after Waverly Station was Haymarket. A young mom with three little girls took the two free seats facing Bill and me. I was immediately reminded of my good friend, Julie, whom I met at Longwood College in 1991, when she was a freshman and I was a sophomore. Julie is a very maternal person. She teaches school and has two sons and, I swear, the Scottish mom who joined us could have been her twin twenty five years ago.

The mom, whose name I later learned was Iona, was amazing. Her eldest daughter looked to be maybe eight or nine years old. She was pretty independent. The other two girls I would guess were about five and maybe two or three years old. The middle aged one sat opposite me. She had big brown eyes and long, luminescent red hair that gently curled down her back. I thought she was adorable, even though she was a little grumpy at first. Iona asked her what was wrong and the redheaded girl, I’ll call her “Em”, said she needed the toilet. Iona asked her why she wasn’t “using her words”.

Over the course of our three hour journey, I watched Iona lovingly tend to her little girls. Em, especially, needed help, since she suffered not one, but two bouts of motion sickness. Iona came equipped with food, games, and even a tiny portable fan that she directed on Em after one bout of vomiting. She never lost her temper and took every opportunity to correct her daughters’ behavior. I thought they were very well-behaved, for the most part. Iona told us they had another long journey once they got to Inverness. They were headed to a northern island to see relatives and would be traveling until at least 5:00pm.

I could not help but be reminded of an experience Bill and I had in France back in 2014. We were on a very full train going from Marseille to Nice. A mom on that train brought her two little girls with her. One girl was about eight and the other was a toddler. Mom basically sized up Bill and me, noted how kind and helpful Bill is, and just left her daughter with us while she took care of the little one in a different car. Iona was a refreshing change of pace. She never let the girls out of her sight and really impressed me with how good she was with them. We should all have a mom like Iona.

We were seated in first class, but ScotRail is decidedly low class regardless of where you sit. There was no dining car and though the WC functioned, we watched person after person fail to lock the door properly. Consequently, quite a few people got interrupted mid whiz, including Bill. Next time, instead of taking the train to Inverness, we’re renting a car. However, I am glad we took ScotRail this one time. The ride up to Inverness was pretty, if not a bit crowded. I also enjoyed meeting Iona and her adorable girls.

We arrived in Inverness in the early afternoon and found a taxi to take us to Rocpool Reserve, the best hotel in Inverness… or so we’ve heard. Stay tuned for the next post for my impressions.

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An underwhelming late lunch at Chillers in Wiesbaden…

Bill needed time to bottle his latest homebrew and Zane got us both up at about 4:00am.  Consequently, after a morning spent doing laundry, I laid down to read and fell fast asleep.  By the time Bill was finished bottling, Zane, Arran, and I were all catching some Z’s.  I finally woke up about about 1:45 or so, kinda late for lunch.  Since we didn’t go out yesterday, we decided to try lunch at a place where there is no pause.

I generally make it a habit to steer clear of German “American” style restaurants, with the exception of those I know have a connection to an actual American person.  However, I had seen Chillers at the Wiesbaden train station and was kind of intrigued by it.  I kept getting suggestions to try it on Open Table.  So, realizing that a lot of places would be closing soon for their pre-dinner pause, we decided to give it a try.  I made a reservation for 3:00pm, but there was no need to do so.  They had plenty of open tables.

Before I get too cranked up with my review, I must mention the truly confusing parking garage next to Wiesbaden’s train station.  We had a hard time figuring out how to get out of it, since it’s Sunday and the garage is attached to a mall.  The mall is closed and they don’t leave it open like they do the Schwabengarten in Vaihingen, and some other places we’ve been when we lived in Stuttgart.  It took us about fifteen minutes to find the way out, since every exit had a sign that said it didn’t lead to the mall… not that we wanted the mall.  We just wanted to escape the garage.  I think we finally just said “fuck it” and picked a door to see where it would lead.

Out front.  They were setting up umbrellas for all the pale people avoiding the sun.

Anyway…  Chillers is supposed to be a “Californian” beach bar.  The bartenders were wearing t-shirts that read “Never leave the beach”.  The waitresses were dressed in black.  We heard both German and English spoken there.  In fact, the staff all spoke excellent English.

The bar area.

Bill told them we had a reservation and the bartender joked that he wasn’t sure he could accommodate, as he pointed out all the open tables.  A lot of people were sitting outside, since the weather is warmer today.  I wanted to avoid the sun and cigarette smoking, so we decided to sit inside.  I liked the music they were playing, which was one part hard driving rock, one part head banging metal.  The inside of the restaurant appears to have been part of the train station, so the building has some character.  It’s also a bit noisy inside, due to the high ceilings and hard floors.

Bill checks out the menu, which is chock full of burgers, quesadillas, ribs, chicken wings, and a few salads.

 

I got a kick out of the welcome, which started in English, welcoming everyone to California, then went to German.  The menu is in English and German.

Lots of burgers.  They let you choose what kind of patty you want– beef or “gemischt”.  Mixed there was half beef, half bacon.

We sat in a booth and I decided to have a Lynchburg Lemonade, which is basically lemonade with Jack Daniels.  I don’t usually order mixed drinks, but I wasn’t in the mood for beer.  Bill had a hefeweizen.

This Lynchburg Lemonade wasn’t bad.  It was generously sized and potent.  I noticed the non-alcoholic drinks were kind of pricey.  For instance, Dr. Pepper was selling for over four euros a can.

 

Bill had a regular Weizen, also kind of pricey at about 4 euros.  I think my mixed drink was about 6 euros.

 

They also have American craft beers in bottles.

There was a large group of Americans in the restaurant and the wait staff had their hands full with them.  Consequently, they were a little too busy to deal with us right away.  That was alright, since we weren’t in a hurry.  Then the group moved outside, which made things a bit more chaotic.  The waitress was apologetic as she took our food orders.  I had a “Social BBQ” quesadilla, which was a tortilla with chicken, guacamole, barbecue sauce, melted cheddar, melted Monterrey Jack cheese, and bacon.  It came with a choice of sides– fries, garden salad, Caesar salad, or for a euro more, curly fries or sweet potato fries.  I went with a small Caesar salad.  Bill ordered a half rack of baby back ribs, with Californian jerk sauce, and fries.

Our food took a long time to get to us.  After we’d been sitting for awhile without food, the waitress came over and apologized, explaining that the large group had put them behind.  It was alright, since we were neither in a hurry nor particularly hungry.  However, once the food arrived, I couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t very hot and appeared to have been sitting for awhile.  I wondered what it would have been like if they were dealing with that large crowd of Americans and the restaurant was actually full.

My barbecued chicken quesadillas.  This was actually good, but not very fresh.  Obviously, it sat for awhile before it got to me.  The cheese was no longer very melted, and it was just warm.  I could have complained, but I didn’t want to wait longer.  I did enjoy it well enough.  It would have been better if it had been hot.

 

Bill enjoyed his ribs, which had a bit of heat to them.  They were saturated with sauce.  He said he also liked the dip that came with the fries.  I can’t comment on that, since I didn’t try it.  I did try the ribs, which were pretty good.  I did notice that the sauce tasted a lot like the sauce that was used on my quesadillas.

 

After we were finished eating, the waitress asked if we’d like an espresso on the house, since we’d had to wait.  I missed that she was comping it and said I’d rather have a shot.  She said that was fine.  Bill then explained that these were freebies.  It was no matter, since the shots were cheaper than an espresso or cappuccino would have been.  I decided on Bailey’s.  Bill had an espresso.

I was expecting a small shot glass, but she brought me a big glass with a healthy pour that looked watered down… but didn’t really taste watered down.  

You can’t go wrong with espresso.
 

While we were waiting for the check, which came to about 34 euros, we noticed a man talking to the waitress.  He was from the large group that had moved outside.  We heard him apologizing and wanting to pay for ribs.  She said something along the lines of what he was asking wasn’t allowed– I mean, I’m sure she would take his money, but it sounded like something else happened that was technically verboten.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, but her reaction and body language were definitely not what I’d expect from a restaurant in California.  It was very German, in fact.  But I can’t comment on who was in the right, since I’m not sure exactly what was going on.  He seemed to be trying to smooth things over and she was kind of chastising him for something.  Rather than stand back and rubberneck, Bill gave her 40 euros and said “Stimmt”, so we could get out of there and let them settle their dispute in peace.

We went back to the parking garage and proceeded to get off on the wrong floor, wandering around the garage for about ten or fifteen minutes in a fruitless search for my car.  I kept telling Bill I thought we were a level lower.  He finally listened to me and we found the Mini.  Very soon, that car will be the senior one in our fleet, as we send his Japanese SUV on to its next owner (in Africa or Asia maybe?) and start driving a Swedish SUV.

As we passed Chillers on the way home, we saw that same large group of Americans standing in a circle in front of the restaurant, appearing to be having a discussion with someone in charge.  It just occurred to me that the lady at the bus stop was posing!  

This election poster gave me pause.  It sounds a bit like MAGA.

It’s election time…

I didn’t think Chillers was horrible.  It wasn’t as bad as Chili’s at Ramstein, for instance.  I might give it another chance if the opportunity arose and I really wanted a German interpretation of American style junk food, although I don’t think I’d go out of my way to give it another try.  I would have had a better impression if my food hadn’t been lukewarm and service had been a little more attentive. However, having once been a waitress myself, I understand that sometimes shit happens.  I don’t hold it against her too much.  It looked like that group might have been giving her a hard time.

Drinks were a bit pricey, but the food was reasonable.  I just don’t want to park at the garage from hell again.  Anyway… not my favorite local restaurant… could have been better… but it has its positives, too.  Probably best for a young crowd.  Bill pointed out that Erbenheim isn’t too far away.  I’m sure American youths come by there often to get their chicken wing fixes.

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