My First Bus Ride

Happy Birthday, Sister Kristin!!!!! (03/08/1987)

March 7, 2011 (because this lovely excursion happened yesterday)

I know I was supposed to write this blog about my American views of certain things in Scotland, and I’ll still do that… but in another blog. Because for this one I have a new experience to relate – my first real foray into public transportation and shopping in Scotland.
I navigated a local public transportation website, traveline.com, yesterday to figure out where and when I could grab a bus. I’d seen a bus stop right outside Ecclesmachan and figured that ought to be a spot where I could get picked up. After doing a search of local T-Mobile locations I had determined to go to a shopping center called The Gyle, which is at the city limits of Edinburgh. However, when I went to breakfast this morning I saw Rose and Linda, her boss, and when I told them that I was going to try my hand at public transportation they recommended that I try the mall in Livingston instead, as it was bigger and also had a T-Mobile store in it. So When I got back to my room I found myself a new route.
Off to Livingston I shall go!
I stopped in the coffee shop and got a Twix bar, against my better judgment, before I left. Naturally I left my route information on the counter there, and didn’t realize it until I got to the bus stop. Luckily I remembered the important details (be at Stance D at 16:47 for the bus back), so it wasn’t a major deal for me. Someone arrived shortly after me at the Ecclesmachan bus stop, which boosted my confidence a skosh. I didn’t know how much the fare (it’s £1.70 to go between Ecclesmachan and Livingston, in case you’re ever out this way and need to know) would be and didn’t want to waste the bus driver’s time while I dug it out, so I dropped £2 into the change receptacle. I think he was annoyed by it but he didn’t say anything.
The ride to Livingston was relatively uneventful, but I kept myself alert to the road signs, looking out for anything relating to “The Centre” or “Almondvale Avenue”. I do want to mention, however, that the ubiquitous British “roundabout” is spawning healthily out this way. Seriously, they have roundabouts here like we have intersections back home. It’s crazy. And each and every one has a special name. They are really serious about their roundabouts.
The entrance to the mall, which is I believe the main entrance, that the bus dropped us off at was big, and inside it looked absolutely massive. The avenues (I don’t know what we call them) here were large enough for major vehicular traffic to pass through and the glass ceiling was at least 4 stories above my head. Further along it closed in significantly, until it was narrower in width and shorter in height than what I’m used to in the States.
I saw some stores that I recognized, such as H&M and the Disney Store, but most of them were completely foreign to me and some had comical names, like “Cotswold” (sounds like a British word, doesn’t it?), “Aulds”, “Peacocks”, “Schuh” (pronounced, “shoe”, I’m assuming, since that’s what they sold there) and “Jessops”. There was also the British equivalent of a Dollar Tree, affectionately called “Poundland”. Isn’t that just “tickle-your-gut” adorable? I suppose we do have some oddly-christened stores in the States, such as “Babbages” and “Torrid” (the worst name for a plus-size clothing store for women, by the way, that they could have chosen).
The first store I went into was a department store called M&S. I didn’t see much that I liked, but the store was notable because it was a department store… with a grocery store inside of it. Seriously. Imagine going into Sears and you turn a corner and suddenly you feel like you’re at Sparkle market. It was weird. There was even a little bakery in it, which was like a store-within-a-store-within-a-store-within-a-mall. I almost bought a maple pecan thing for 80p or something… it smelled so good! Luckily there wasn’t an attendant at the bakery so I was forced to turn it down. Close call, that one!
I have commented that I haven’t seen a single kilt or heard a single bagpipe since I got here. There is, however, a store at the mall called “Highlander” that specializes in kilts, but I didn’t go in. The sign mentioned “other formalwear”, which made me think it would be like walking into an “American Commodore” and telling the attendants there that you’re just browsing (“Ummm… okay. Sure…”). That balked me, plus the fact that I’d have had to go up a flight of stairs to get to it, where everyone could see me and think I was a weirdo.
On my way back through the mall I found a directory, because I hadn’t seen the T-Mobile store (which was, after all, the focus of my journey), and found that I had passed it up. The girl in the store seemed friendly, but she didn’t offer me much advice or spend a long time chatting with me about my options. Unfortunately, I’d have to say I got the impression that she wanted to get me out of the store as soon as she could. I picked the cheapest phone available that had a camera (it was only the second cheapest of the lot, at £10) and “topped it up” with another £10.
I stopped at around 3pm at a café called BB’s to grab a sandwich, charge my new phone and read the user instruction pamphlet. I ordered a barbeque chicken sandwich (which tasted like chicken but did NOT taste like barbeque) and a hot chocolate (which tasted like semi-mediocre hot chocolate), and immediately proceeded to make a mess of the hot chocolate, spilling a bit onto the table, and from there onto my hoodie.
I went into a store called “Superdrug” (I know it sounds bad, but it was like a RiteAid I swear) and looked at their hair straightener selection. They had a few to choose from, and they were all dual-voltage, as I had hoped (yes!!!!) but I thought I’d check out WalMart’s selection before buying one. Later I discovered that WalMart’s selection was… well, they didn’t have one. Not a single hair straightener. As much as I hate WalMart and their money-grubbing, privacy-invading, soul-crushing, employee-screwing, pompous tyranny, I have to admit that the ones that we have in the States at least have hair straighteners. I mean, come on, United Kingdom!
Anyhow, I figured while I was at WalMart I may as well do some grocery shopping, so I wouldn’t have to bother with the Tuesday night minivan run. I also found an adapter for UK to US plugs, and they were only £2. I had resolved to buy myself a UK straightener, so I knew that I would need one of these. I’ll be sure to get one before I leave.
Gah! I’m so not in a blogging mood right now. But I must persevere. For my readers. I love them like a second-rate supervillain pretends to love frozen yogurt to impress the girl at the laundromat. Bazinga!! (No, that’s not saying that I pretend to love them. Read it correctly! *smack* Kidding. I wouldn’t smack you. I love you, remember?)
When I got back out to the bus stop (Terminal “E” was the one I needed ) I examined the bus schedule there and fretted a bit because it said it was going to Linlithgow. Ecclesmachan is, of course, halfway between Linlithgow and Livingston, which makes my fretting pointless and silly, but I think my newness to the whole matter means that my naïve worry can be forgiven. I talked to the driver of the bus that left right before mine, and he assured me that I was at the right terminal and that the next bus would take me back properly.
I’d waited around for about 10 minutes (of course I got there early out of my anal fear of making a mistake) when an attractive guy approached and scrutinized the route schedule. He asked me if I knew whether or not the 21 (the bus that had just left) was usually on time, and I had to confess that I had only just ridden a bus in Scotland for the first time that day, so I had no clue. I also had to inform him that if he was looking for bus 21, it had just left less than a minute earlier. Despite remarking that he needed the bus he didn’t seem overly chagrined that it had left without him. Whether this reflected an extraordinarily laid-back manner or a lack of true desire to get where he was going, I don’t know. We waved to one another as my bus took off.
My return bus ride, unfortunately, was not as uneventful as my first one. On the plus side, I learned a valuable lesson: while in the States you’re supposed to hit your “stop” button, wait for the bus to stop, then get up and get off, the order of things is not so in the UK. The order here is: walk to front of bus, hit “stop” button, bus stops, get off. If you try doing it like you’re stateside, the driver will pass up your stop and you’ll end up having to ride all the way to the end of his circuit in Linlithgow and halfway back to get back to your destination. I was stunned, confused and alarmed when he didn’t stop for me. I had told him where I was going – that’s how they figure out your fare, remember? – and part of me had thought that maybe the little screen he uses to figure out your fare, I don’t know, kept a journey log for him that let him know where all his passengers were going or something. Not so, crazy little American girl! Not so at all!
On the plus side, the journey to Linlithgow was very pretty. Unfortunately I was unable to appreciate a lot of it due to 1) my impending coronary regarding my missed stop, 2) the reflections off the windows and the speed we were going, which combined to make it hard to take pictures, and 3) the slow descent into darkness. I was fortunate to be seated next to a very concerned 50-something woman, who sympathized with me and helped me out by giving me advice and making sure the driver realized what had happened. I am indebted to her for her help.
So my adventure ended at a little past 6, when I found myself once again on the sidewalk making the trek through Ecclesmachan to the Oatridge College campus. I want to mention that a student car drove by and honked derisively at me while I was walking, but didn’t bother asking me if I needed a ride.
And yes, I know that I can’t claim that the honk was derisive, since I don’t know the car personally, but in my slightly aggravated and weary state it certainly sounded like it.
I got back in time to have dinner with John and Allistair again. I was also privy to a semi-bawdy conversation they were having with a pair of sexually ambivalent boys. Whether they were genuinely exploring their sexuality or just being teased about their chummy relationship I have no idea. Scottish humor still mostly eludes me.
I have yet to plan my next excursion, but Niall tells me that in two weeks’ time my Heritage class may take a trip to Edinburgh.
*squeal!!*
♥
SM