Sunday, 6 September 2025, The rest of the way to Edinburgh (The Sheraton Grand)

Written 27 September 2025

Grumble, grumble, grumble . . .

The first-class, flat-bed seats on our trans-Atlantic flight were the least comfortable and least convenient we have ever encountered. No partitions between adjacent seats, nowhere to store anything, really small spaces—trying to rest with the bed in flat position was like being in a mummy sleeping bag, only a rigid one!

The noise-cancelling headphones were great, but there was nowhere to put them but on your head (other such seats provided compartments or even just hooks to hang them on). We were all given tall pint bottles of mineral water, but as soon as the plane made a turn on the way to the runway, they all shot across the cabin (mine into the lap of the stranger next to me, his into the aisle beyond). The only place to put something down, even momentarily, was the slick, flat top of the console next to me, but when I needed the tray table (e.g. when dinner was served), I had to gather everything up into my arms (ear phones, water bottle, my crossword case, the Delta amenity pack, dinner menu, etc.) and still have a hand free to open the top of the console to release the table. Same in reverse to stow it. When the table was deployed, you were pretty much stuck, unable, for example, to reach anything you dropped, either by your feet or that fell into the aisle. You couldn't, for example, lift the dinner tray with one hand, push the tray table up with the other elbow and reach down under it for an errant salt shaker. The heavy metal tray table had to be folded in half, then raised sideways and held there, while you held your oversize first-class dinner tray and your linen tablecloth aloft—unworkable; I tried. Dinner was served quite late, because we had to wait until a queue of 22 other planes took off before we could.

Throughout the flight (except when the bed was flat, when I couldn't reach), I had to keep one arm on the console to hold everything down, so that the frequent bumpy air didn't send it all sliding again.

This year, in addition to the lovely soft pillow and quilt (made of sustainable bamboo!), which you had to hold on your lap most of the time for want of a better place, Delta supplied a cylindrical "lumbar cushion," which they proudly announced could be untucked from its cover, unrolled, and placed over the whole length of the headrest, back, seat, and footrest as a mattress pad. I didn't originally use it, because there was too much traffic in the aisles to let me stand up to spread it, but later, in the night, I deployed it and really hated it. I was wearing soft knit clothing, which slid easily over the naugahyde seats, but it absolutely would not slide over the mattress pad. It was like being glued down. The only way to turn over was to get out of the bed entirely, turn around in the aisle, and lie back down facing the other way. Or if you could get the leverage to turn over lying down, you succeeded only in dragging the mattress pad with you, bunching it up against one side of the bed or the other. After about half an hour, I got up, dragged it to the galley, and thrust it upon the flight attendants, since I had no place else to put it. Maddening.

At breakfast time, I was served quite a nice pair of warm pastries—a savory spinach one and a crispy chocolate one—and a dish of watermelon cubes with mint chiffonade, but the tea water was tepid, cooler than the pastries, and in putting down my food tray, the attendant knocked over the little glass pitcher, spilling about 1/4 cup of very cold milk into my lap! I spent most of the rest of the flight trying to squeeze and blot it out of my clothes with paper cocktail napkins, the best they could come up with to cope with spills.

So not a great flight. But passport control was an automated breeze, baggage claim was smooth if slow, customs almost invisible, and our limo driver was waiting right where he was supposed to be. Kind of a hike from the terminal to the limo, but the driver helped with the luggage, whisked us smoothly to the hotel (the Sheraton Grand, at 1 Festival Square) while chatting amiably, and introduced us to the concierge.

Alan the concierge led us to the Tauck desk in the lobby and introduced us to Sharon, the hotel's dedicated Tauck hostess. But it was only 10 am, and our rooms weren't ready. We therefore stored our bags with the hotel and set off along Lothian St. to the Bank of Scotland ATM to acquire some pounds. Doing so revealed that all new pound notes have been issued and that the few old ones we brought with us are no longer legal tender! They're so old that even the bank wouldn't change them out for us. When we get home, we can apparently mail them in to get new ones.

On the way back, I got this photo near the corner of Lothian and Princes St. No idea what the painted cow and the little skeletal guy are à propos of.

Almost back to the hotel, we stopped at Shakespeare's, a pub founded to serve the patrons of the nearby national theater. At the right is its row of beer taps. While we waited for the kitchen to open for the day, Davis nursed a Tennent's lager (the left-most tap).

The steak sandwich wasn't such a much, but the steak and ale pie was quite good.

Here's where we started learning the names of the various kinds of bread available. This is "cottage loaf," clearly made in a loaf pan. Any bread formed on a flat surface, rather than in a pan with sides, was called a "bloomer."

The pie was described as being made with puff pastry, and as it turns out, it was. That oval object on top of the steak and ale stew is the top of an oval of puff pastry that was baked separately, then split horizontally. The stew was ladeled over the bottom half, and the other half was perched on top. I was disappointed they didn't have steak and kidney pie—a specialty of my late Scottish grandmother's that I miss to this day. I watched for it on all the menus, and although steak and ale was quite common, steak and kidney never appeared.

To go with the pie, we chose mashed potatoes and "mushy peas," another frequent menu item, especially with fish and chips.

Here's the front of our hotel, viewed across Lothian St. and the middle of Festival Square. the lobby, reception, and the vehicle entrance are one floor below, and at the back. Someone had done a good job of assembling and maintaining beautiful borders of potted plants on the stairs to the entrance, but as you can see, they made it impossible to use the handrails, so what with the jet lag, fatigue, David's bad foot, and my creaky knees, we were careful to use the nonfloral sides.

By the time we got back, our rooms were ready, so we settled in and took it easy for the rest of the afternoon. The menu at the hotel's restaurant, One Square Brasserie, looked good, so we had dinner there.

David was disappointed with his starter of confit duck and apricot terrine, saying that, although pretty, it was tasteless.

I was happier with my roasted breast of pigeon with roast peach and watercress salad

The sides we chose were salt-baked shredded beetroot and blood orange salad sprinkled with hazelnuts and new potatoes with mustard butter and chives. The beets were nearly raw and the salad rather bland, but the potatoes were very good.

Dessert was the winner: strawberries topped with Marsala zabaglione, a scoop of outstanding wild strawberry sorbet, shards of almond tuile cookie, and a shower of lemon-balm sprouts. Yummy!