Edinburgh, Scotland & London, England

 

One of the benefits of international travel is constructing a network of international friends.

 

You can compare travel notes, coordinate rendezvouses, or ohhhhh, I don’t know…… spring each other out of Scottish pig farm prisons.  Whatever the day calls for.

 

Upon the apex of my Pig Farm Fiasco, I dispatched an urgent S.O.S. to my friend living in Edinburgh.  She responded:

 

 

 

thank you, 8lb 6oz baby jesus

 

 

Niamh.  One-third of my Thai scooter gang, roommate at that Spiritual Awakening & Healing School back in January, and angel on earth that answered my desperate plea for help and came through in my darkest hour.

 

Offering her apartment as my safe haven, Niamh let me invade settle into her life for a full week.  She gave me her ear, her shoulder, half her bed, and all the vegetables I could handle.  We were a little family: me, her, and her mom, Carol.  Eating family dinners, drinking cups of tea wine, reading and rereading the instruction manual for that new heating system in the hall closet…… and cuddling into bed with Netflix, hot water bottles, and layer upon layer of comfy cottons.

 

 

 

are they not the cutest?

 

 

I’d wish them both a good day as they headed out for work in adorable matching outfits (see above), and then figure out what someone with no job and no responsibilities DOES the rest of the day.  Maybe nap?  Maybe watch CrossFit documentaries to trick my brain into thinking I worked out?  Or maybe snatch up the spare set of keys (on that sperm keychain from Carol’s old work) and do a bit of leisure exploring around Edinburgh.  Leisurely.  One to three points of interest per day, max.

 

Per Carol’s spot-on suggestions, I hit up FREE art, science and history museums (to ogle at masterpieces and make up backstories for all the portraits); I walked through the Princes St Gardens and the Royal Botanic Garden (to take pictures of women taking pictures of harps in cages); and I sampled some brews at BrewDog (Scotland’s largest independent brewery- you MUST find and taste their Elvis Juice grapefruit IPA and flagship Punk IPA)…… all while donning my new old-lady coat I bought in The Hospice Shop for five pounds.

 

 

 

i wasn’t kidding

 

fresh to death.  in a hospice shop.  get it?

 

 

Let’s be honest, though.  Was most of my sightseeing food-related?  You betcha.  And was I on an unstoppable eating bender because I don’t like quitting things and I don’t like confronting people and why can’t we all just get along and where’s the butter?  These pancakes need more butter.

 

I successfully ate my feelings all over Edinburgh.  Ox cheek benedicts and short rib croquettes.  Hog roast sammies with sage, onion, and spicy chili cheese.  Maple-glazed salmon and sweet potato fries…… pancetta pear pecorino & pistachio pizzas with pasties, pies, and peanut butter fudge for dessert.  Why stop at lamb shoulder and crispy rice when you can have round two Korean-spiced chicken burgers?  Or braised pork cheeks with souvlaki kebabs?  Oh, the nation’s known for shortbread?  I’ll take seventeen.

 

 

 

two for me.  none for you.

 

 

Now, I’m no medical doctor, but as you can see from this complex line chart (below), it appears that my daily consumption of food, in Scotland, had a direct correlation with the tiers of triglycerides underneath my chin.

 

 

i’ll be submitting these findings to both The American Journal of Medicine and Horse & Hound

 

 

And, another thing.

Can we talk about HAGGIS for a second?

 

The controversial ‘savory sheep pudding’ that’s packed with internal organs, minced with onion & spices, and boiled in a sheep stomach bag?

 

Now, you KNOW I’m a huge fan of processed meat.  Half my conversation points include hot dogs, bologna, or the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile…… and my relationship with my nephew is lit’trally built on salami.  I love eating composite meat; I love talking about composite meat; heck, I’d even sew a ball gown out of composite meat (if Lady Gaga hadn’t already stolen my thunder.)

 

So, flash forward to the bagpipe-playing meat by-product in question (that’s seasoned with spices & topped with a mound of mashed potatoes) and all I can say is…… ‘what’s the big deal, here?’  It’s seasoned, salted meat in a PASTRY PUFF for Christ’s sake.  What can ever go wrong in a pastry puff!?

 

 

 

you know it and i know it and you know that i know it.  it’s delicious.

 

this tasted like a hot dog wrapped in a mcdonalds hash brown.  #imlovinit

 

 

After Niamh got off work (and I showered for the day), we’d sample the Edinburgh nightlife and boot scoot all over town.  To secret bars hidden behind Zoltar fortune teller machines (that sold boozy slushies & alcoholic ice cream).  To beginner-level acro classes (where trust falls turned into crowd surfing and strangers climbed on each other’s bodies like monkeys on trees).  And to shady Mexican restaurants (only the shadiest will do) for free salsa lessons, free shots of whatever the owner was pouring down everyone’s throats (Mama Juana), three buckets ‘a coronas and the left side of the food menu.  (Were the guacamole cheese fries necessary?  Yes.  #coronas)

 

When exploring in the city wasn’t enough, we’d hike Arthur’s Seat (that 823’ hill next to Edinburgh) and take the ‘fun way’ back down.  Turns out Niamh’s ‘fun way’ was the road less traveled never traveled before because that nutbag had us reverse-rock climbing down giant boulders while screaming ‘WE THOUGHT THIS WAS A PATH!!’ to all concerned onlookers walking down one of the many other acceptable paths.

 

 

 

i got wild blackberry juice all OVER my pants

 

view from the top

 

 

We even took the train to Glasgow, one night, to meet up with my pig farm roomies at a Xavier Rudd concert.  A.) travel friends unite!  B.) Xavier Rudd is incredible.  C.) it’s a wonder more wedding photographers don’t mix purple stage lights and sweat- so flattering!

 

 

 

hi, we’re sweaty aliens!

 

‘tinnies’ on the train

 

 

You might have noticed that, in that Arthur’s Seat summit pic (above), there were two ladies flanking me.  If so, check you out, Holmes!  Can’t get nothin’ past you!  The mystery pixie on my left is none other than my college gal pal, Joanna.  Have I mentioned that Joanna and I have been on FOUR ADVENTURES together this year?  No?  Shame on me.  Let’s recap:

 

1.  JOANNA was the one who got lost with me trying to find Cinque Terre IN Cinque Terre…… and who helped me celebrate our failure with beer and gelato.
2.  JOANNA was the one who crashed the Dublin karaoke birthday party, took me to a different pub and introduced me to her boyfriend ‘potato’.
3.  JOANNA was the one who suggested we bring hog roast sammies with sage, onion, and spicy chili cheese on our two-hour ascent up Arthur’s Seat (outside Edinburgh).  Thank God we had sustenance; it was such a long climb.
4.  And finally, JOANNA was the one who met me outside Glasgow (on a weekend break from the pig farm) to watch British TV shows (about strangers hosting dinner parties) in her fancy schmance hotel bed…… to drink top-notch craft beer at both Drygate Brewing Co (get the Disco Forklift Truck APA) and Tennets Wellpark Brewery…… and, of course, to strap ourselves inside big plastic bubbles and roll down hills dotted with cows in toupees.  Aka a typical Sunday.  Aka the focal point of your next holiday.  Aka the most fun you can have in a bubble = ZORBING.

 

 

hi, i love you, please keep visiting me, i love you

 

lady loves on a hiking break

 

strapped in and ready to roll

 

 

Please please please click play on our zorbing video below.  I promise it’ll be worth it.

(There’s a bonus video, shot by Joanna, from INSIDE the bubble if you click that small arrow on the right of the picture.  Do it.  Do it now.)

 

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A post shared by Taylor Malloy (@taymalloy)

 

 

 

Saying goodbye to Scotland was tough, because that meant saying goodbye to Niamh and Carol.  Who took SUCH good care of me at my lowest point this whole year.  Showering me with hugs and kisses…… screaming out ‘I love yous’ from other rooms in the house…… and packing me that salami coleslaw sandwich, for the train, because you KNOW I love salami.

 

Turns out, all that pig farm ‘unpleasantness’ was just a catalyst for me to spend more time with them.  Two of the best ladies you’ll ever meet…… I love you guys so freaking much.

 

SO, after 82 goodbyes and 3,000 kisses, I hopped aboard a six-hour train to London, with a salami sandwich and all the feels.

 

 

 

miss you already

 

 

Chapter 2: I See London, I See Transplants

 

 

Have you ever asked yourself, ‘hey [insert first name] where do you want to go next week?’ and then…… you went to that place?

 

 

 

this year is absolute bonkers

 

 

London might be the easiest decision I’ve made all year, because sometimes you just want to go where everybody knows your name.  And they’re always glad you came.  Well, maybe not always.  And maybe not everybody.  Maybe like 2.2 people.  And, like, 80% of the time.

 

A trip to the UK would not have been complete without a pit stop to see two of my favorite people and their uber-blonde baby muffin.  Enter Ashley, Pria and Maverick: exhibits A, B, and C.  Transplants from Chicago, expats living in London, and lovers of single malt scotch whiskey (which I was handed upon arrival).

 

My mission was simple: steal their child, three sequin leotards and become the next Dance Mom fold into their daily lives and trick their son into loving me.  But first…… how the F*CK do you open baby-proof cabinets?

 

 

 

it’s been 7 years since i saw the peanut butter

 

 

Daily life in London was easy to fold into.  My hosts kept the Ben & Jerrys supply at a constant double pint, Maverick kept the house SPARkling clean with his toy vacuum, and I was able to keep sweatpants on 85% of the day.  I got quality one-on-one time with all parties involved.

 

• Ashley during the day – while we shared equal childcare duties while she looked after Mav and Auntie Taylor sat on the couch (pooped out after one toddler dance battle)
• Pria at night – for post-work happy hours in the cit-tayyy (pairing bottles ‘a red with bulgogi bibimbap)
• And Mav – during family tickle parties, when I’d ask him if it was ok if I touched his body.  Granted, that came out wrong.  I just wanted cuddlessssss and I felt weird going in for them if he wasn’t looking.  Give me a break and do NOT put me on the neighborhood watch no-fly zone, Mommy #1.  Mommy #1!  Put the phone tree down.

 

 

 

but seriously tho, i just wanted to touch his body

(aka squeeze him and smush him and hold his little toes)

 

 

When Ashley wasn’t building hot wheels tracks and Mav needed a break from vacuuming, we’d pack up the stroller for some London leisure exploring.  Strolling our way through Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus, Covent Garden and Regent’s Park.  Learning human biology in the Natural History Museum, admiring water nymphs & bird ladies in Hyde Park & Kensington Gardens, and getting thirsty walking along the earl grey-tinted Thames.  Which reminds me…

 

The last time I was in London was with my college crew team, back in ‘06, when we rowed the English Women’s Henley.  Apparently, we saw the sights and did the things and made lasting memories but all I can remember is my final night: being dropped off at a bar in my pajamas because the assistant coach wouldn’t drive me home, getting hammered with teammates, putting 100 bobby pins in my hair, and then heading straight to Heathrow, with my friend Barz, to catch our 6am flight to Dublin.  The funny part?  Our flight wasn’t even that day.

 

 

Travel might be wasted on the young, drunk and stupid… but they’ll have a fucking great time wasting it.

 

 

 

my crew

 

 

Flash forward 12 years and nothing’s changed.  Except I don’t wear bobby pins; I wear pjs to the grocery store; and I spend my Fridays laughing (on the inside) at toddlers’ faces as they come up for air at Mommy & Me swim classes.  Half confused, half drowning, half paralyzed, 10/10 would spectate again.  (PSA: please invite me to your son or daughter’s next Mommy & Me swim class.  It’s my new thing; I know all the songs.)

 

London struck the perfect balance between hanging with my homies (couch. cuddles. cabernet. Chelsea Does Drugs.), crushing sights without even trying (we’re riding the underground past tooting broadway & shepherd’s bush and we’re making friends with Yeoman Warders!), and eating our faces off at some of the best food markets in the world.

 

 

Unbutton your pants ladies; we’ve got work to do.

 

 

 

 

It’s been a few months since I’ve had to rip off my bra immediately upon entering the house.   (Don’t mind me…… I can’t feel the lower half of my body.  A chicken kati roll is camped underneath my boob shelf and my COTTON SPORTS BRA WITH NO UNDERWIRE is cutting off all circulation.)

 

One day, Ash, Pria, Mav and I hit three food markets on the same day and I celebrated by taking a 20-minute timeout in the guest bedroom, to coax myself into breathing again.  Sour cherry scones and spicy coconut curries.  Chocolate brioches and prosciutto navettes.  Burgers, bahn mis, falafels and biscoff-filled donuts.  Beetroot rose lattes and chimichurri steak & chips.

 

 

 

Truffle mushroom and cheesesteak dumplings with mini sea bass tacos and the best fish & chip nugs I’ve ever had (at Camden House).  Italian artisan gelato and rosemary fries and cookie dough and katsu and bbq beef hula hoops.  I could go on all day.  Every dish a revelation.  Every bite a masterpiece.  (Especially the duck confit burger in a brioche bun with melted goat cheese, truffle honey, rocket and crackling.)  Living my fattest life.  BEST.  Living my best life.

 

 

 

this is a frozen yogurt cotton candy cloud.  this is the level i was on.

 

and this is me hiding behind a red telephone booth because i gained 10 lbs

 

 

When Pria and I lost Ashley for five minutes at that round three Southbank Food Market…… and she came back, triumphant, with loaded risotto cheese balls…… I fell in love with her all over again.  Aaaaand then I got caught in the train turnstiles on the way home.  A certificate of sorts, proving that I maximized my time in the United Kingdom of Cake.

 

London…… I love you.  I love your art scene both old (National Gallery) and new (Leake St Graffiti Tunnel), your food markets (in order of preference: KERB Camden, Borough, Southbank Centre, Gabriel’s Wharf Riverside Walkway, Old Spitalfields, Boxpark Shoreditch), and your 5pm Evensong at the Westminster Abbey.

 

Pro tip: if you’re a churchgoer or have ever enjoyed a choir performance, you must attend Westminster Abbey’s Evensong and bask in the glory of God.  Not to be too religious-y, but the light hitting the columns & the stained-glass windows at sunset… and the 30-piece choir’s song seeping into your soul… it’s transformational.  Coronation church since 1066, you feel like you’re a part of history.  If you close your eyes, you forget you’re on earth.

 

But the thing I love most about London is watching old friends become new parents.  It’s a beautiful thing (and a little like an after school special improv show where you never know what’ll stick…… and your performance hinges on audience participation).

 

Ash & Pria – I loved watching you guys support each other and lean on each other and love the SHIT outta that little guy together.  Honestly, it was so cool to watch you do your thing.  To be in it, and a part of it, for ten whole days.  You guys are absolute supermoms.

 

 

look at that effortlessly flowing hair…

 

and that expert swim class technique…

 

and these neanderthal ass cheeks

 

and these

 

and this

 

and auntie taylor scaring children

 

 

Oh, and thank you, Pria, for showing me how to use Apple Wallet.  You’ve introduced me to the future and I am forever grateful.  And thank you, Ashley, for cutting my hair even though you were nervous and said things like, ‘OooOoOOo that wasn’t supposed to happen’ while cutting it.  When you pushed my head down to get to my neck hair, it felt professional and that’s all that matters.  (And finally, thank you Mav for telling me every day that I was ‘very strong’.  Your mommies did an excellent job coaching you because flattery always wins.)

 

 

cheers to you guys.  (we’ll take 2 more rounds… and peanuts to fill up this globe thing.)

 

 

SO, after a pasta dinner send-off, an Odor Eaters parting gift, and a nice even bloat all over my body, I repacked my bags for my next adventure.  Knowing that I’d be back soon (because I need to teach Mav more dance moves and stuff my face at other food markets), it wasn’t a goodbye but a see you later.  I left my old lady hospice coat in good hands, hugged everyone six more times, and spent my flight to Morocco making up children’s book rhymey poems in my head.  Here’s a quick one:

 

 

The cat in the hat and the shark in the park, the perfect white fro of that old monarch.

The sheep in a jeep and the wind in the willows, peekaboo kittens and proud armadillos.

Numbers and letters and green eggs and ham, tickle the tiger and pickle the lamb.

Goodnight moon and the velveteen rabbit, momma’s watchin whoopie, she’s back in the habit.

 

 

Did anyone notice I asked you to pickle a lamb’s dead body back there?  Catchy, right?  xoxo

 

 

(Apologies to my friend Pria who does not make an appearance in many pictures on this post.  If you want to see what she looks like, please refer to my Southern France post, when we toasted label-less wine in our underwear and got drunk in captain hats.)