The British Library Reading Rooms - Where I went wrong so you don't have to

I'm not going to lie; getting into the Reading Rooms is a process even if you're a student. For us independent researchers, it's a bigger process yet. And it definitely helps to have a friend who is a high-up muckity-muck in the librarian world who is also willing to help you out.

To start out, you need to apply for a Reference Number. This, in itself, is really simple. You can go to this url and read the instructions before clicking on the link in the paragraph titled "You can register online today". (You're going to want to read the instructions all the way through because they're helpful. I skimmed them, which was my first mistake.) That Reference Number is only good for three months, so don't apply for it too soon. Once you provide proof of identity and address at the library itself, you'll get a Reader Card pass that's good for three years.

So, once you have your Reference Number, you can set up an account on the British Library page, which is essential. It's how you request access to books and manuscripts in the Reading Rooms, which is where all of the things us history geeks are excited about. There are some caveats on the stuff you can request, however. Every book that I wanted required that I have a Letter of Introduction from a professor or librarian who could vouch that I wasn't going to do something stupid with the materials once I had them. We'll get to that in a second, but I wanted to make sure to mention it here because otherwise you'll just get frustrated on requesting things.

Okay, so, I acquired my Reference Number, I set up my BL account online, and I looked up the books that I wanted to see. Here's where Problem #1 came up. I study bookbinding, which is to say, how books are held together. My main area of study is the Romanesque Era, or roughly 1100 - 1350. There are a number of books from this time period, but historical librarians did a number on us bookbinders. It was common practice for manuscripts to have their entire book covers be replaced if they showed wear and tear rather than conserve the original bindings. This means that of the dozens of Romanesque books listed on the BL website, I had absolutely no idea which ones would actually have a Romanesque binding.

So, this is entirely for my bookbinder friends and the rest of you can skim or skip over this, but... on the BL website, there is actually a searchable database on bookbinding time frames. I had absolutely no idea, and it would have saved me about an hour at the library itself had I known, because I could have replied to the nice email that I got from Zoe asking for what I wanted to see so she could have them ready for me. Here's the link for that database: https://www.bl.uk/catalogues/bookbindings/ You get there by clicking on <All Catalogs> in the Catalogs & Collections link, then again on the <All Catalogs> on that page. It's the fifth link down.

What you're looking for is the Shelfmark ID. Most of the books that I was interested in started with "Add Ms #####", though a few were something like "Davis ##" or "IA #####". The Add Ms items are all gotten through the Archives and Manuscripts Reading Room, and usually only require that Letter of Introduction. The others required approval from the Curator, which meant I had to fill out a form explaining who I was, what I wanted, why I wanted it, and how that knowledge was going to be used. And then wait 48 hours for approval, and another 24 hours to actually receive the item. You can see now why knowing what you want ahead of time is incredibly helpful.

There's also the part where if you do your research online, you'll be able to see what you need in order to actually be allowed access to some of the materials. My area of research is old - some of the oldest codices still in existence - so I needed some verification that I wouldn't be an idiot with them once I had my hands on them. This required a Letter of Introduction from a trusted academic on their learning institution's letterhead with a signature. My lovely and wonderful friend Heather S graciously agreed to write a Letter of Introduction for me, even though she was on winter break and enjoying time with her son while he was on leave from the military. I <3 her so damn much.

Her letter basically said, "This is how I know her. This is what I know of her studies. I heartily recommend that she be given access for her independent research. Signed, Dr. Heather." It came to me - and to them - as a pdf in an email, which they printed and filed with my Reference Number.

Because I couldn't figure out which books I wanted, I couldn't send the reference librarian a list of books or request them online. This meant that I had to wait until I had gotten my library card and was allowed into the Reader Rooms in order to get the help of a living, breathing librarian. This took time, and I was on a limited schedule.

After you've done all of the legwork online prior to arriving in London, it's time to present yourself to the Registration Staff in order to prove you are who you say you are and provide proof of your address. It's a simple process that is more about waiting in a queue than anything overly difficult. (Thus is the British Way(tm).) When you walk in the door of the library, after you've had your bags searched, you go up the stairs to the right of the Information Desk. From there, turn right, and then right again, and you'll find the Registration Desk. There is likely to be a queue, which you can stand in if you'd like additional direction, or you can skip the line and go straight into the computers on the left-hand side of the desk.

Since you've already signed up online and gotten a Reference Number, you can select Option #4, use your Reference Number to sign through, and then update the requested information. You'll be assigned a queue number. Note that number, because that's what they'll call out when it's your turn to provide your documentation. Then sit down on one of the round settees and wait. Depending on time of day, how many people are in front of you, and how many people are working, the wait can be anywhere from five minutes to half an hour. I went as soon as the doors opened on the Monday between Christmas and New Years. I waited two minutes.

When your number is called, you go to the desk, sit down, and provide your passport and drivers' license/ID with your current mailing address. If you don't have that, bring a utility bill with the correct address and your name on it. The registration person will verify the information you've already put into the computer, give you a lecture on what's allowed and not allowed in the Reading Rooms, take your picture, and give you a card. That is your Gold Key into the Inner Sanctum.

Now, you're ready to go to the Reading Room!

Oh wait! NOPE! You're not! And here's why: you are not allowed to bring any bags other than a clear plastic bag, and you are not allowed to bring in any sharp objects, pens, or anything else that may be used to injure or harm the books or documents. No coats, no purses, no backpacks. (For the record, this is true of nearly any Rare Books Library that you go to. Expect it.)

Luckily, they provide for this. There is a Coat Check in the bottom floor where you can leave your belongings that you won't need and pick up a plastic bag for the things you will need (your wallet, notepad, pencil, magnifying glass, etc.). Leave the Registration Room and go down the escalator to the basement, where the Cloak Room is readily apparent. Give them your coat and bags (sans wallet, etc), they'll give you a number, grab the plastic bag from the shelf on the back wall, and off you go to the Reading Room! No, for real this time. You're finally ready.

The two rooms that I was interested in were one on top of the other on the left side of the building from where you entered, the Archives and Manuscripts Reading Room, and the Rare Books Reading Room. First floor (which is second floor to Americans) is the Rare Books Reading Room and where I would have gone had I been able to get the Curator's approval prior to arrival. As I didn't, the books that I could access were in the Archives and Manuscripts Reading Room on the third, er, excuse me, second floor.

Because of all of the weirdnesses with my experience, I should have gone straight to the Reference Librarian to ask for help after I showed my Reading Room Card to the guard at the front door. She was off to the side of the main desk. If you happen go to the main desk first to ask where she is, they'll point you to her... after they ask you a million questions to make sure you should go to her. Which you already know because you haven't actually reserved any books, which is where the main desk comes in. But they'll verify it anyway... taking up some of your precious few minutes. (But I'm not bitter.)

Here's where I'm going to sing the praises of the Reference Librarians at both of these Reading Rooms. They went above and beyond in helping me acquire access to books quickly, efficiently, and with minimal fuss once they learned that I only had a few hours to do any research. They moved heaven and earth to get me the books I was able to request, and painfully explained the process for the next time I want to come in and get the other items on my list. (And believe you me, people, there will be a next time. My Reader Card Pass is good for three years!) Truly, these men and women were extraordinary in their care of this poor, stupid American woman.

Now! I have put in my request, waited the one hour and 10 minutes I was told to wait, and gone to the main desk in the Reading Room to get my books. Yay! But hold on just one moment, little lady. There are rules to these books. Rules like no photography. At all. None.

Okay, that's really the only rule, but it was awful! First of all, I can't draw for crap, so anything I tried to draw out came out looking nothing like the actual item. Second of all, I still have a broken right hand, so even if I could draw, after about 10 minutes, my hand hurt like crazy and I could barely hold a pencil. In a morning of frustrating red tape and exceptional rules, this one about undid me. I stood there, looking at the man behind the desk, mouth agape, and I kid you not, growled. He looked taken aback, as was I, so I quickly closed my mouth, apologized, acknowledged the rule, and slunk away with the first book. (Turns out, books that old can only go out one at a time. Yeah, okay, that one actually makes sense to me, too.)

At the end of the morning, I'd had the opportunity to examine and explore three books that were over 900 years old. I'd been able to run my fingers along the spine to feel the cords and linen thread. I'd inspected the end bands - and found one where the leather was actually tucked around the threads!! - and seen the way the metal cover was attached to the same book. I'd had a lot of my research verified, and several of my assumptions, as well. Yes, I wish that I could have gotten pictures of the books, but I also know that I can reach out to the Reference Librarians, and they can and will take pictures for me and email them to me should I ask it of them.

All-in-all, this was an incredible day for me despite the small irritations and slow downs. Make the effort, if it's an option for you. It's oh so worth it.

London - A stupid head cold, the British Library, and a night out with friends

At some point between Edinburgh and arriving in London, I started feeling a bit crappy. Nothing serious, just a headache and tiredness. A cold, I guessed, which made sense given all of the planes, trains, and automobiles I'd been in over the past few weeks. Lots of time and space for germs to spread during one of the germiest times of the year. Unlike most other times, I decided not to brave it out and got some cold meds. With nearly a week still left in my vacation - and another train ride in my near future - the sooner I beat those germs into submission the better.

Quick trip to the local shop had cold and flu powders in hand, as well as some Vitamin C with Zinc tablets for Brian. I've been taking the cold powders diligently since Sunday night and I can 100% tell when the meds wear off. So yeah, definitely needed them. This head cold, you'll see, will play a recurring role in the next few days. Not a happy Roana. *mad*

So back to London. We arrived at around noon and headed straight for the hotel. They allowed us to get our room early and drop our stuff off, and then we headed out to see London. I had two objectives, but otherwise was happy to let Brian take the lead.

Objective 1: Trafalgar Square. I wanted to get a picture of the lions for my oldest two boys. I brought them to the UK for their 10th birthday (15 years ago), and Trafalgar Square was a highlight for them. They spent ages climbing up on the lions, running around with other kids, and generally have a great time. It led to one of the few things that they really remembered of the trip.

It was a bit of a walk from the hotel - and remember, I was feeling a bit puny - so we took it at a slightly slower pace. When we got there, I was surprised at how completely packed the square was, though I'm not sure why. It was Sunday during the holiday season. Of course it was packed. Plus, there was a holiday market going on. Nonetheless, I managed to get a picture of one of the lions to send to the kids.

From there, we decided to stop by Buckingham Palace on our way to Objective 2. It was a slog; partially because of the crowds in Saint James Park with the Winter Wonderland Festival going on, partially because we were still fussed from the two-mile walk from the hotel to Trafalgar, and partially because of my cold. We stopped midway through to rest on a bench in Saint James, and to people watch, like you do. Except, in my case, I bird-watched.

Buckingham Palace, like every other tourist attraction in London, was awash in people. And I was edgy and uncomfortable from my throat itching and my head throbbing, so my patience was a bit thin. Brian, thankfully, kept me going in the right direction with minimal frustration. We took the long way around to get to the main gates, but I think that may have helped my disposition a bit. Fewer people being... you know, people.

Brian pointed out that all of the iron fencing poles had ER on them for Queen Elizabeth, and that once Charles was king, that would all have to change. This kind of made my heart ache a bit, so I took a picture of the pole to keep. When she dies, I think I'll have that made into something cool like a mousepad or something to have a lovely memory of this trip and her. (This was later found to be untrue when my friend Berry said that they don't actually make that change until or unless they need to replace the poles, anyway. Still, glad I got the pic.)

From there we went on to meet Objective 2: Speakers Corner. Like Trafalgar Square, this was a highlight for the two boys. When we'd been there before, a Christian pastor from Atlanta, GA, had been up on a soapbox detailing the evils of Muslims. A younger couple, obviously Muslims, were arguing with him and starting to get visibly frustrated when we walked up.

One of my sons, Carter, jumped into the fray, giving the young woman a moment's pause before she started grinning. The pastor tried to dismiss Carter as just a child, but then his twin brother, Jackson, jumped in, too, both using solid, fact-based arguments to shut the guy down. I don't think I'd ever been prouder of those two as I was at that moment. The young Muslim couple stood back, arms crossed, and just let the boys take over. When they were done, the young woman came over to shake their hand and to tell me how brilliant - absolutely brilliant - both boys had been.

At first, I'd been embarrassed that an American could be so unyielding and cruel to those of another religion, but then I knew that my boys had shown that not all Americans were like that guy. Score two for the good guys.

Anyway, I wanted to get a picture for the boys there, too. Sadly, yet another pastor from the American south stood on the corner telling all assembled - and there was quite a crowd - that if they weren't Christian they were going straight to hell. This time, he was surrounded by a large group of Muslims shouting him down. No need for an American to step in, so I stepped back, took a picture or two, then we left to find food.

Oh dang, people. The food we found! Before I'd left for Europe, my friend Sharon R had told me about this place that had just opened in London that was basically conveyor belt sushi, but for cheese. No, like seriously, exact same idea - different colored plates going around a long, round bar on a conveyor belt, each with a different type of cheese and an accompaniment that you pick off the belt to eat. Once you're done, the server comes over, tallies up your bill based on the color of each plate you've taken, and you pay for what you've eaten. But ... for cheese. Brilliant!

Yes, we ate way too much. Yes, it was amazing! Yes, we did find at least one each we didn't care for and so didn't finish, but it was a stinky cheese. Do you really blame us?

Then off to get cold meds, unpack at the hotel and rest a bit, before going back out later that night for Mexican food. (Don't judge. It was across the street from where we'd already had dessert. Okay, don't judge that, either. We're on vacation!)

The next day - Okay, look. I'm going to get a little ... I don't know... worked up? Excited? Going to be a total dweeb? about what I did next. On Monday morning, I got up early, showered, took more cold meds, and headed off on my own for one of the highlights of this entire trip: The British Library.

Lemme explain. No, that will take too long. Lemme sum up: I had an email exchange with one of my bookbinding heroes (don't judge!) named Christopher Clarkson three years ago where he suggested some books to examine at the British Library to have some of my questions on the Romanesque bookbinding methods answered. Prof. Clarkson died two years ago, but I still have his emails to me with what to look for.

I'll make up an entire post about my trip to the British Library to help anyone else interested in doing this kind of thing because it wasn't as simple as sending an email and getting access to the books. It took me two hours to work my way through the red tape and actually touch any of the books I requested, and I wasn't allowed to get threeother books on my list. It's a process, and I know at least a few of my friends will benefit from learning from my mistakes/efforts. But this is not that post. (This is.)

I will tell you all about two of the books that I got to see - not touch, but definitely see: The Lindisfarne Gospels and St. Cuthbert's Gospels. The Lindisfarne Gospels is one of the oldest examples of illuminated manuscript that we still have available to us, having been created in the 8th century. St. Cuthbert's Gospels is the oldest completely intact codex with the original binding in Western Europe, having been made and bound in the 7th century. (The Lidnisfarne Gospels was rebound in 1852, so while the manuscript is brilliant and impactful, the binding held little interest to me.)

I was forbidden to take any pictures of the books that I was allowed to handle, so I've little to show for that other than my hand-scribbled notes. I will tell you that I actually teared up when I saw the third book, a gorgeous metal-covered tomb of the Gospels of Luke and John. Had I only seen pictures of this book, I would never have been able to understand how it was put together. By handling it, opening it, closing it, examining it in finite detail, I believe that I get the process and can't wait to try to recreate something like it. That "aha moment" where it was clear that by being there, in that moment, in that space, I learned something I would never have learned without that happening brought me to tears of gratitude.

After I'd fondled the books to my satisfaction, I joined Brian and my dear, wonderful friend Berry, whom I'd met on the forum I mentioned earlier but had yet to meet in person. We met Berry's lovely friend Cath and her delightful three-year-old daughter, Tabitha, for lunch. In true European fashion, we spent a long, leisurely lunch chatting, getting to know one another better, and enjoying the antics of a lively, sprightly three year old. (She became my buddy, I'm happy to say.)

With full bellies and happy hearts, we walked from the restaurant to the Globe Theater, as it is one of the few things in London on my list that I hadn't seen before. The area was packed, or course, with tourists, but I got a few good pictures.

By this time, Tabitha had hit her limit of Adult Time, so Cath whisked her off, leaving Berry, Brian, and me an hour or so to kill before we met up with our other friends, Kyle and Shaun (also from the forum). The Tate Modern loomed above us, and we figured why not. It was... interesting. (Side note: I'm not much of a modern art fan in general.)

An hour of "Art or Ass" later and we headed on to Fleet Street to a Christopher Wren pub that I'd chosen. As most of London appeared to be that day, it was packed, so Berry asked a couple of guys if we could join them at their table, as they had room. Conversation ensued, and it turned out that Steve - unbeknownst to his very surprised buddy Dave - had been a historical reenactor in his past, so had plenty to talk to Berry and me about, so we passed a lovely half hour chatting with our new friends while we waited for our old friends.

First, huge shout out to Kyle who flew in from the states that afternoon and still came to join us for drinks and dinner that night. It had been 14 years since I first met Kyle in person, and somehow he hadn't changed much at all. Though Berry had met both men before, I'd never met Shaun in person, and Brian hadn't met either man yet. In a matter of minutes of sitting down, however, my experience with my forum friends bore true here. Conversation flowed easily and well, we laughed a lot, and I truly enjoyed the evening. From the pub, we moved on to a pizza place for dinner. After an extensive wait for our server to allow us the privilege of paying, we finally said our good-byes.

This trip has been amazing in a million ways, but that day - Monday, December 30 - fulfilled so many of my wishes. I honestly don't know how to explain to someone who doesn't care for history the way that I do what it felt like to hold books five times older than the Declaration of Independence. Or what it meant to finally meet people in person (and see one I hadn't seen since he was barely an adult) that I've held dear in my heart for 15 years. All of this in a city that I chose as my first foray into international travel 19 years ago because I'd studied its history for so long. When I went to sleep that night, for the first time in a long, long time, I had no nightmares and no unsettled thoughts.

The next day, Brian and I set off for the last leg of my trip. We hopped the Eurostar to Paris! (And my cold got worse.)

These friends of mine

In February 2005, nearly 15 years ago, my ex-husband introduced me to a political forum that he'd been part of for a few years already. Most of the folks on the forum had met on a gaming group and moved to this forum in order to better discuss world politics, the news, and whatever else sounded interesting that wasn't particular to the game. They live all over the world and have a myriad of different jobs, so it has made for some interesting perspectives in the geopolitical arena.

Over the years, as the internet has changed and social media platforms have taken over most forum boards, our group has dwindled down from the 500-plus posters we had to a core group of about 50 of us. I am the soul remaining regular female poster. Many of these men I consider very good friends, or as I've told them, like brothers. You spend 15 years sharing your life stories and hearing theirs, it's hard to imagine life without them.

You've heard me mention several friends I've met on this trip: Isaac, Tracy, and Brian. Isaac and Brian are from that forum group.  (Tracy is a good friend from Portland.) The day that Brian and I left Edinburgh, we traveled down to Preston to meet another friend from the forum, Pete.

The train ride was uneventful,  and I slept on Brian's shoulder most of the trip. (Okay, arm. He's a very tall  man, and on my best days I wouldn't be able to reach his shoulder.) I felt like I was coming down with a cold and he graciously let me try to sleep it off.

Meanwhile, Brian and Sarah, Pete's bride of 32 years, were working out arrangements to meet up. Pete, apparently, remains a Luddite and refuses to use a Smart Phone or text. Thank the heavens for his wife!

When we arrived in Preston, Pete, Sarah, and their 17-year-old son Teddy met us at the station. They walked us to our hotel, waited while we checked in, and then brought us to a lovely pub for a drink.

The pub was built sometime in the 17th century, I believe, and Sarah made it a point to take me to see the well in the center of the floor in the basement. Well lit, the deep stone walls and clear water at the bottom were easy to see under a very thick clear cover that we could walk on. Sarah stepped on the cover and jumped a little to show me it was safe, but I stayed to the outside. Six inches of plexiglass may have protected me from those depths, but I'm not the girl to take that chance. (No pictures, I'm afraid, as the pub was packed and I felt touristy enough.)

We relaxed, chatted, and swapped stories of our lives over drinks. Then Sarah and a very patient Teddy headed off to see visiting family while Pete, Brian, and I found food. We walked a good half mile to this little vegetarian Indian sweets shop that also served food. (Not kidding; that's how it's billed and how it presents itself.) The food was cheap, filling, and tasty, though a little too spicy for Brian's palate. It also tasted nothing like the Indian food I've had in the states, which I found interesting given it was owned and operated by an Indian family.

From food to another pub, where a young man at the table next to us was explaining to his mates that the entire middle of the US had nothing. Nothing at all, you see. I glanced over and raised an eyebrow. One of his mates caught my eye and started laughing, which made the young man turn to look st me.

"Yeah?"

"Careful there, friend. That's my home you're talking about."

His mates start laughing at him and telling him to watch it. He doubles down.  "No, but for real. Tell them. There really isn't anything in the whole middle part of the country."

"I disagree. I'd argue that corn and soybeans count as something. And there's a whole lot of that there. " I grinned and took a drink while he said, "See! I told ya'!"

We then started talking about how big the US is compared to the UK, and why what he was saying really was impressive. In short, the area he was talking about as having "nothing" was three times larger than the whole of the UK. That nugget of information actually impressed his mates. The young man asked us how many time zones the US had, and Brian and I had to define what he meant by that. Are we including Alaska and Hawaii? Does that make it five or six? Silence from the table as they stared at us.

Pete has driven a huge part of our country on two different road trips with another friend from the forum, Josh. They'd done a grand tour of the east coast, the south, and ended up in Chicago. Josh is American (as much as an Alaskan can be, anyway *wink*) and he'd taken Pete around on a misadventure to meet a bunch of guys from the forum. They had a blast, and Pete still tells the stories with fondness. They took a second trip up the western shoreline from San Diego to Seattle, but Pete wasn't as impressed. He said the PNW was effectively England, so it wasn't as interesting. (He's not wrong.)

After a couple of beers at that pub, we wandered off to one more. This is apparently a European thing, by the way. One avoids getting drunk by never settling in at any one place. You have a drink, maybe two, then pack up and move on. Isaac introduced me to this on my birthday, and I think it's brilliant. Hard to get too drunk if you know you have to walk after a pint. The downside of this is that I left my new scarf I'd bought in Barcelona at one of the several places we visited, and by the time I realized it, I was too tired to try to find it.

So one last pub, one last drink, and Pete walked us to our hotel, gave hugs and handshakes around, then toddled off home. Brian and I had an early train to London, and this was easily the latest we'd stayed up yet. It was, afterall, 11pm, and we aren't so young anymore.

A castle, a market, and a cemetery - 25 hours in Edinburgh

When I changed my trip to include the UK - specifically to head up to Lincoln to hang out with Brian - he suggested that we take a day and go to Edinburgh. That sounded like a lovely way to spend some time, so he booked our travel and hotel, and after four days of lounging around, we hopped an early train north.

On the train, we met a lovely young couple on their way up for a weekend in Edinburgh. The young man had spent a few Chirstmases up there with his family going to the Christmas Market and was looking forward to going up again. I looked at Brian. He shrugged. He'd not known anything about a Christmas Market, but now we were both interested in checking this thing out.

The train arrived on time with no issues (yay!), and we trudged through a couple of "closes" (very narrow alleyways for pedestrians, generally with a crapton of stairs) to the hotel, dropped our bags off, and then headed up to the castle. Yes, there was a Christmas Market, but that would simply have to wait. There was a castle to explore!

Edinburgh Castle was first laid out 2000 years ago by digging into a mountain of black lava rock and building a wooden fortification on the top of it. Over the years - and variable governments - new, better, more intimidating buildings were built as a message to others to avoid stopping by without an invitation. Without question, this was a brilliant plan, as one look up at the mountain from below pretty much says, "Keep out!"

In our case, however, we paid 20 quid each for the privilege of an invitation, so we happily wandered around the multi-level, multi-building space. One of these buildings housed a large military museum that showed the various ways that Scottish men and women contributed to or abetted wars in and for the UK since the 18th century. (For whatever reason, other than a nominal display on the Jacobean Rebellion and the room where James VI & I was born, almost nothing at the castle referenced Scottish history prior to 1725 CE.) I admit that I struggled with this museum. Yes, some wars are necessary, but I've never appreciated celebrating them. I tried to explain to Brian that my issue stems from the idea that men have forever felt a need to "die like my father did" or to prove themselves as their fathers or grandfathers have done, which has inevitably resulted in more wars.

We left the military museum and climbed up to the Grand Hall where a musician was keying up to play on his lute. While he tuned his lute - and the audience - he spewed really bad history, and after my third rolling of the eyes, Brian asked if I wanted to leave. Yes, please. (And for the record - and those at the back of the room - water was perfectly fine to drink throughout history with few exceptions. *grumbles*) We then explored the King James VI & I halls, including where he was born, and where the Scottish Crown Jewels and the Stone of Scone were kept.

In some spaces, we were asked not to take pictures (like in the Scottish Crown Jewels room), and in others, I chose not to take pictures as I struggled with the contents of the rooms (like the military displays). As such, you'll note that a lot of my pictures here were more about the buildings outside and the surrounding views.

One building, however, held me enthralled, and I took a number of photos there of the stained glass windows. (It was only later that I found out that the windows were created in the 1920s.) This was the chapel dedicated to Saint Margaret, a Scottish Queen from the 12th century. The room was small, no more than eight feet by 12 feet, with a cordoned-off apse at the front. The aforementioned stained glass windows told the stories of several legendary citizens of Scotland, including Wallace (which should have tipped me off on their ages, but sometimes I'm slow). It was a sweet chapel for a woman who birthed three kings of Scotland and one queen of England.

Once we'd hit all of the major points of the castle, we wandered down to the Christmas Market to see what we would see. This wasn't a Christmas Market like any I'd seen before.

First, there were carnival rides. Second, there was no Christmas music anywhere in the space. And finally, the only Christmas trees that I remember seeing were in the Christmas Tree maze. Still, I loved it. It was vibrant and fun. There were delightful shops selling all the usual things like ornaments, kitcshy doodads, illuminated candle holders, etc. Of course, as we were in Scotland, there were also a bunch of wool items everywhere in a variety of plaids or other brilliant patterns in bright colors.

This was billed as a German Christmas Market, so the food tended toward German, like sausages, kassel, and pretzels. There were also a myriad of crepe/waffle stands, and mac & cheese. The vegan mac & cheese place in particular was fantastic. (Yeah, I know. I was surprised, too.)

The market spanned multiple levels that we walked a few times, then we wandered off to see the castle from below the hill at night. Brian and I took turns taking pictures, and then playing with our filters to get different effects. A lot of the pictures we came up with were beautiful, evocative, and at times, downright creepy.

I really enjoyed playing around with photography with Brian. He, like me, loves to play with angles and shadows to see what will come of the shot. Comparing pictures became a bit of a competition for us; one that we both won, I think.

The next morning, we got up early, checked out of the hotel, and walked out to the cemetery that I'd taken pictures of from the castle.

I have a thing for cemeteries, the older the better. I love trying to come up with stories about the grand tombstones one finds in these old, often abandoned places of rest, where entire families are laid out with dates and ages of their deaths. Morbid, yes. A great exercise in imagination and storytelling? Absolutely.

From the cemetery, we headed towards the National Museum of Scotland, a lovely compact art museum free and open to the public. (We got distracted by a monument in the middle of the road that appeared off in the distance. So, we walked over to it and, despite Brian's objections, down the hill a bit beyond it, before turning around and going back to the art museum.)

Once back on track, we found a delightful museum organized by dates, with a number of prominent Scottish painters highlighted. There were also two Rembrandt pen-and-ink drawings on display, which I found fascinating. (No pics of that, sorry. I was distracted and pulled away before I thought about it.) Another painting kind of threw me for a loop, so I took a couple of pictures to get input from my late-period costuming friends.

There was, as seems to be a theme, a Cranach painting.

As well as a beautiful set of paintings of the goddess Diana.

After the museum, we had a bit of time left, so we walked a little down a path where we found a fountain that Brian absolutely hated, calling it garish, and that I thought was adorable.

From there, we went to a pub across from the train station to relax before catching a train to our next stop: Preston.