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This summer the family and I went on an airbnb spree of homes in Scotland.

We began our trip on a Sunday; all five of us packed up and ready to go. Debbie (MIL), Jamie (my new husband<3), Everett & Sophia (my new step-kids!). All of us making our way to the airport, the happy family we are, playing alphabet car games on the way.

This vacation was a pretty big deal — It was Debbie’s first trip on a plane ever in her life, and Everette’s first trip abroad, plus it was like a family-moon since Jamie and I were recently married. Excitement levels were pretty high and we began our pleasant trip through the security gates at Pittsburg International. Arriving to our gate early we decided to grab some munchies at the terminal bar. We ate greasy shitty foods, but hey, we were officially on vacation and soon to leave for Scotland!

All day long Jamie and I had been receiving delay alerts about our flight on our phones. Feeling this was somewhat routine we paid no mind and held our positive attitudes. About an hour before boarding our phone screens announced that the trip was canceled. Just flat out canceled. For maintenance. Which is good…. but really!? Totally canceled! In all my years of travel, a trip had never just been out right canceled like this. Totally bizarre.

It was like reaching the first peak of a roller coaster; instead of plummeting into fun you level off at the top and go home. We all had a daze of a day, feeling like a teen playing hooky on life with nowhere to go. I myself took a nap and Jamie absentmindedly played his mandolin into the night.

We had rescheduled our flights for the very next day, exactly as it should have been the day before, with the same stops and layovers exactly. If that doesn’t give you dejavu then I’m not sure what would. This time everything went according to plan and several hours later we landed in Edinburgh (pronounced Ed-en-burr-roe).

As prescribed: our first stop was a pub!

We kicked-off our vacation at  The Queen’s Arms for our very first taste of haggis, fish & chips, and black pudding. We ordered our pints and tankards and clinked for our adventures to come! The food came out and we began to dig in. What I mean by “dig-in” when traveling with teens is much griping and wincing at the strange food that smells funny, and they’d rather die than eat it. I will say, Ev had a good attitude, and he actually did dig-in.

It was awesome.

Like seriously, why doesn’t the USA allow the processing of sheep intestines and whatnots into this peppery deliciousness of a sausage patty. It tasted so good, of course it was deep-fried and turned into an adorable lollipop, but still, the meat was so good. Everything was good, the fish, the black pudding, and even the mushy peas.

That may have been our first encounter with these processed yummies, but we sought them out at every opportunity we could. When still in Edinburgh we had breakfast at Cafe Montague and ordered toasties with haggis. Noticing our very American vibes, the owner informed us, with a chuckle, that Scots don’t eat haggis all the time.

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