We got in, and were greeted by our waiter. He had quite a brogue, and my mom couldn't understand him. Then came the kicker - that lad was wearing a kilt. Well, I was lost then and there.
The most interesting thing was that we felt like true rowdy Americans visiting another country, mostly because the service was, well, a little lackluster. We needed to change our order once, and trying to get a waiter or waitress to pay attention was as hard as getting a visa (... yes, I am not good at this game). I think our waiter noticed this, and in the middle of completely ignoring us, bent over another table, like a sly Japanese school girl. He got his full tip.
Besides that, the food was wonderful, we had a obligatory but spirited discussion of haggis, and quite enjoyed ourselves. Oh, and I got to try Irn Bru, pronounced Iron-Brew, because honestly, that's how Scotland rolls. This delicacy is a caffeinated confection (a soda, in non-pompous terms) and is more popular in Scotland that Coca-cola. And perhaps Coke. Both kinds. Supposedly, it works wonders on hangovers.
Anyway, it tastes like liquefied cotton candy. And it's orange. Radioactive orange. And I can't wait to stay up drinking it every night. Have a wonderfully low-quality picture.
Stay turned for the wonderful, adventurous tales of... me packing. And exploring the wonders of a money belt. Yes, you're stuck with me for another few months. Dreadfully sorry.- Arisu. Who is sorry.
