Excerpted from our memoirs: The Last Section of The Beginning of our Quest:
Manhood Stone and The Strike
After our stay at Ruthin Castle, we bid goodbye to our newfound friends and headed north to Scotland for a few days. Our lodging was in another— you guessed it—haunted castle, Dalhousie Castle, only eight miles from Edinburgh. Dalhousie was built in the 13th century, the era of Genghis Khan, Marco Polo, and the Magna Carta. Brimming with so much history, it was the kind of place that could have been plucked from the pages of a fairy tale. But make no mistake, this ancient castle was very much the real McCoy. It boasted an illustrious guest list that included King Edward I, Sir Walter Scott, Oliver Cromwell and Queen Victoria.
After a peaceful night, no hauntings, we traveled into Edinburgh. The best part of our journey to Edinburgh was the Scottish equivalent of Ruthin Castle’s medieval banquet called Jamie’s Night where we were the only Americans surrounded by all Italians. The highlight of the banquet was the “manhood stone” competition – lifting a gigantic stone, which was a sign of manhood in early Scottish culture. Our fellow meal participants put up their “Italian Stallion,” their young male against the lone American male, which was me. I wondered if it might be better to lose considering the macho culture of Italy. But in the heat of competition, I out lifted their Italian Stallion – a tad of karmic (incarnation) payback. I must say they did handle it pretty well. There were only a few dark sneers and mumblings.
After Edinburgh and Dalhousie Castle, we headed back to London to catch a flight back to the States. In my mind our journey was not complete. Considering that I had planned on visiting various sacred sites in ten days, ones that realistically would need at least two weeks to see, we had to skip a few sites such as Stonehenge and Avebury. It was mentally and spiritually difficult for us not to visit them, but there wasn’t enough time.
And then came the air traffic controllers strike. Margaret and Ian had dropped us off at Heathrow and decided to wait around to see if our flight would take off. As common sense would dictate, Heathrow was a zoo of unruly animals, including me. TV cameras were all over the departure lounge, but I didn’t care as I expressed my displeasure (really angry) to the agent handling the chaos of cancelled flights. Compared to the many stuck travelers who would most likely have to spend the night or nights in the airport, we were very fortunate. With no outbound flights to the States, our circumstances turned into a great gift.
The controllers’ strike was a headache for the majority of American bound travelers, but it was a blessing for us. Most graciously, Margaret and Ian put us up at their home…
The inconvenience of our delayed flight turned into the realization that we now had time to experience Stonehenge and Avebury. Our extra days with our friends were spent visiting these and other sites, and Ian and I drinking a few pints (maybe more than a few) at different pubs while Sherry and Margaret enjoyed teatime together. And I didn’t run at all.