weedramofscotland

The Tower and Ted

September 30, 2022November 29, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in London Travel

Our last day in London commenced with a visit to the Tower of London where we joined a tour led by a most awesome Brit named Don. He was a very kind and sparkly version of Uncle Vernon from Harry Potter. Well-versed in history, ran the tour like clockwork and had a booming voice. He used to be a schoolmaster. When he moved through crowds, he cried “follow the hat!”

Every group is assigned a Beefeater to welcome them to the Tower and tell a few stories. Ours was a rather hilarious woman named AJ and she pointed out the large Tudor home that takes up one corner of the Tower’s courtyard – it’s the oldest existing Tudor wood-frame home in London (due to all the fires throughout its history) and was built by Henry VIII for Anne Boleyn, and then when construction took a little longer than anticipated, for Catherine Howard.

Beefeaters, or Yeomen of the Guard, are the oldest of the Royal Bodyguards and the oldest military corps in Britain. They were formed by Henry VII in 1485 as his personal bodyguards and got their nickname because part of their salary was paid in beef – they were able to eat as much as they wanted from the King’s table. The Beefeaters’ state dress uniforms, which you may have seen during the Queen’s funeral, are bright red with a substantial white ruffle thanks to fashion icon Queen Elizabeth I who added this sartorial flourish. Their everyday uniforms (shown below) were granted to them by Queen Victoria. There are 73 Beefeaters, and they are former officers of the British Services. Their current job is to (ostensibly) guard the Tower and the Crown Jewels and (in reality) to endure tourists and selfies. They do have an awesome ceremonial job of searching the cellars of the Palace of Westminster before the state opening of Parliament, which they’ve done ever since the 1605 Gunpowder Plot when Guy Fawkes tried to blow it all to smithereens. Also they have a private pub inside the Tower where they can recover from being super nice to tourists and telling the same stories over and over.

Over 100 folks live at the Tower mostly in apartments built into the walls, including 33 Beefeaters and their families. It really is a living community, not an artifact.

Kinda strange but the Tower used to have a menagerie within its walls started by Henry II after he received three leopards as gifts. Over the years it included a lion, a polar bear and an elephant, the latter a gift from the King of France. Apparently the imprisoned animals occasionally seized the opportunity to kill zoo keepers, soldiers and visitors, which must have been an exciting turn to the day. When the Duke of Wellington became Constable of the Tower after defeating Napoleon at Waterloo, he closed the menagerie and sent all the animals to the London Zoo. He also whipped the place into shape in other ways, including instituting the rule that Beefeaters must be former military rather than patronage positions. He drained the moat, which was giving everyone cholera, and built military barracks where the Crown Jewels are now kept. While he was at the Tower he remained commander in chief of the British Armed Forces and became Prime Minister twice. A high achiever indeed.

Speaking of the Crown Jewels, we did see them, and they are completely something to see. They had only just arrived back at the Tower after the Queen’s funeral. Interestingly they are not the oldest crown jewels of the realm – the Scottish crown jewels hold that distinction. What happened was Oliver Cromwell melted down the English ones after he executed Charles I and so shiny new ones had to be created in the mid-1600s after the Restoration.

The Imperial Crown of State is used on state occasions and as the sovereign leaves the coronation (St. Edward’s Crown is used only during the moment of the coronation, then it’s exchanged out for the Imperial) The Imperial Crown includes a giant sapphire that belonged to Edward the Confessor which was set in a ring, and let’s just say I’m not sure how he lifted his hand. There’s a ruby from Richard II (!) which was worn by Henry V at the Battle of Agincourt (!!) and pearl earrings belonging to Elizabeth I (!!!). It also has a cut from the largest diamond ever found, the Cullinan Diamond. It is quite literally priceless and contains 2,783 diamonds, 17 sapphires, 277 pearls, 11 emeralds and 5 rubies. Goodness gracious sakes alive.

There are many other objects included with the collection, including the Queen Mum’s crown, the Prince of Wales’ crown and some spectacularly gargantuan dinnerware made of solid gold, including the largest punch bowl anyone has ever seen, flagons that must weigh 20 pounds, a baptismal font that is just ridiculous and so on. To balance out all of this ostentation, I particularly loved a very tiny crown Queen Victoria wore over her widow’s cap following the death of her dear husband Albert. With all the overwhelming bling of the Crown Jewels, this wee crown was my favorite.

And then there are the ravens. There are ravens living in the Tower which really is the coolest thing. Legend tells us that if the ravens ever leave the Tower, it will fall along with the entire kingdom. Charles II, sort of sensitive to kingdoms falling after the whole Cromwell situation, thought the legend too risky to ignore, and so decreed that there must always be at least six ravens at the Tower. One of the Beefeaters is the chief raven wrangler aka the Raven Master. One of the ravens, Poppy, is completely in love with him and gets jealous whenever he hangs out with anyone else. And ravens mate for life.

I feel like the one on the left is Poppy on the lookout for her Raven dude.

Young ravens in the pen – all the ravens are kept in at night to avoid predators. Adults return at dinner time.

You guys no doubt know that the White Tower, central to the complex, was built by William the Conqueror. There’s a photo of the chapel within it just below. Also you very likely also know that the Tower is the site of many executions. Thirteen people were executed within the walls, the most famous of whom were Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, and Lady Jane Grey, all Queens of England and all buried in the Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula, a church within the Tower. About 125 people were executed outside the walls on Tower Hill. You know it’s been a royal residence as well as a prison. You know the story of the young princes. So I won’t bore you (any more) with historical nuggets, as they could, and have, filled volumes, and we would certainly be here forever, and we have to go to the Lake District.

The Chapel of St. John, the oldest surviving complete chapel from the early Norman period.

Below is the lovely marker on the approximate spot of those 13 executions. Of course Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard were executed by their loving husband Henry VIII. Lady Jane Grey, who was named by Edward VI (Henry VIII and Jane Seymour’s son, crowned at the age of 9 and dead six years later) as his heir. She took the throne reluctantly and was at the Tower preparing for her coronation when Queen Mary (yes, Bloody Mary), swept in and deposed her, charging her with treason. She was executed. Honestly, the sketchiness of living during these times. One day you’re about to be coronated, the next you are charged with treason and Bob’s your Uncle. It would have been challenging to make plans.

Memorial on the spot believed to be where Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard and Lady Jane Grey were executed.

Finally, (I swear), one can also view many, many coats of armor at the Tower, two of which were worn by Henry VIII, one during his younger salad days, and one when he became QUITE overweight after a jousting injury left him unable to exercise (if you need a new excuse, please feel free to steal this one). That’s the armor you’ve all seen with the ridiculous giant penis extending straight on till morning, I guess to compensate for the tubbiness. After you get over that silly sight, you realize how tall he was for his time – over six feet.

Would not have allowed him to go out in public dressed like this.

We ended the day with a visit to the Whisky Exchange in Covent Garden where I was in my happy place with literally walls and walls of scotch.

Finally, we called a Bolt and drove away from the city in an epic rush hour extravaganza. We had decided to visit Richmond for a little Ted Lasso pilgrimage. It took us an hour to get there, and all the while we wondered whether it was worth it. And it really was. The pub and the street where Ted lives in the show look exactly as you would hope. No tshirts, no marker, just a normal neighborhood pub and a beautiful street. Richmond is charming and by and large appears to have ignored the entire thing.

The Crown and Anchor, aka The Prince’s Head in real life.

Magical. I’m sure the show’s location scout took one look at this and called it a day.

Raising our glasses in the Prince’s Head to Ted, Jamie, Keely, Coach Beard, Rebecca and most especially Roy Effing Kent.

Cheers to you all, thanks for being patient with the history geek-out. Heading to the Lake District for a big hiking trip – a place steeped in beauty as well as history – Vikings, Beatrix Potter, William Wordsworth and the invention of gingerbread for a start – but mostly, for us, hiking. Ta!

London Town

September 26, 2022September 30, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in London Travel

Yes gentle reader, we find ourselves back in the United Kingdom. Wasn’t I just here? Totally. When asked why I keep going back, I take out my phone and read aloud this quote: “The object of travel is not to set foot in a foreign land, but at last to set foot in your own country as a foreign land. In the end, it’s all about going home.” I can’t explain it, but Scotland feels like home to such an extent that I feel as though I’m making a concession to the Universe by spending a week in England before heading north. It is dùthchas, a Gaelic word I learned during my last trip (Thanks Andrew!). While there is no direct English translation, it means a physical and emotional connection to the ground of one’s ancestors. I personally think it can be physical and spiritual ancestors. Can’t really explain it but I feel it well enough.

For those of you who love travel, I am confident you know exactly what I mean.

This trip is with my dear pal Trish, who agreed wholeheartedly to come with, leaving her sweet husband, awesome kid and goofy love bug springer spaniel for three weeks to fend for themselves.

We started our journey on a Virgin Atlantic flight that was lit up like a nightclub as we boarded. An auspicious and highly appropriate launch. We are spending three days in London before heading to the Lake District for a week-long hiking trip arranged by InnTravel.

London is a ginormous city, with a population of 9 million. Its most recent iteration started life as a one square mile bit on the Thames. It was founded by the very busy Romans about 2,000 years ago and they promptly built a wall around it which later became A Roman Wall. Next came the Saxons, then the Vikings, then the Saxons again, thanks to Alfred the Great. Then more Vikings and Saxons and finally Edward the Confessor, mostly known for being pious, snagged it back. He died without an heir, which set the stage for William the Conqueror to swoop in and take London and the country in the Battle of Hastings in 1066, thus giving all of us that one date we have memorized in British history. The Normans were basically French Vikings, which is sort of a hilarious full-circle deal.

Next followed centuries of kings, queens, one and a half Lord Protectors, war, famine, plague, drawing and quarterings, beheadings, wars with France and Scotland, enduring religious arguments which often resulted in a bloody Crusade, in short, so much drama. Also incredible art, culture, music, scientific advancement and freaking Shakespeare, just to barely skim the surface. The city manages to reflect every bit of this in the most spectacular way, creating at times such jarring juxtapositions that one wonders whether humanity is in fact regressing.

The chapel where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard are buried overshadowed by the building known to locals as “The Walkie Talkie” or the ‘Fryscraper” or “Walkie Scorchie” after its concave facade focused the sun’s rays and melted bits of cars.

The oldest wood-frame Tudor building in London, built by Henry VIII for Anne Boleyn – no, wait, for Catherine Howard (construction took several years) – and the Shard, the tallest building in the UK (owned by Qatar).

We stayed at the Lime Tree Hotel in Belgravia, which I would highly recommend. One of those places where the rooms actually look like the photos on the internet.

My jet lag rule is to hit the ground running until bedtime no matter what. This is completely doable with three things: outdoor exercise, absolutely no napping and whisky. When you wake up the next morning, jet lag is behind you. So, we walked to Buckingham Palace, St James Place, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Soho and Chinatown. The country was still in an official state of mourning after the Queen’s death, and so roads were closed around Buckingham Palace, barricades along the Queen’s processional route were still in place and many in the crowd were paying their respects.

This braw pony was absolutely a boob man. This initial exploratory sniff and eye-lock was followed by several insistent nose buts. His rider chastised him for his rudeness and trotted him back across the way.

We ended the day at the chef’s counter at Fallow, which was fabulous. So fun watching a kitchen at work – I’m convinced that the cooks are all telepathically connected somehow, it’s the only explanation for their perfectly choreographed and mostly silent theatre of delicious meal preparation.

As it was getting late in the day, there was some jet lag comedy afoot. I’m fairly certain that a few extremely dumb questions were asked and inappropriate comments uttered about the hotness of the owner/chef. They also used the same glassware for water and whisky which was far too difficult a situation for a jet-lagged person to keep track of. For example, there was that time I took a giant gulp of whisky to quell a cough. I literally couldn’t process what to do with an immense amount of spirit firing the inside of my mouth, as swallowing would have burned a hole through my esophagus. So I ever so subtly dribbled it back into my glass, Rowan Atkinson style, with Trish looking on concernedly asking, “Oh no you don’t like it?” Later during the meal Trish refreshed my whisky with sparkling water. I tried to gamely drink it but alas that was a hard no. Luckily the fine folks at Fallow will never see us again.

Our next day I like to call “Maximum Input Day,” as we visited Westminster Abbey and Churchill’s War Rooms, interspersed with pubs and ending with a visit to the Tate Modern to see Yayoi Kusama’s infinity mirror rooms, followed by dinner with spectacular views over to St. Paul’s.

When we arrived at the Abbey I was disappointed to learn that there wasn’t a super special queue for those folks who bought tickets in advance on this thing called the internet in order to avoid the massive queue. Sadly everyone else had also done this and so we joined the queue of all the other special forward-thinking planners. We chatted with a lovely London couple whose daughter had moved to Colorado.

Westminster Abbey is stunning, and residual juju floated around the place following recent events. It has been the setting for every coronation since 1066 (starting with William the Conqueror) as well as sixteen royal weddings. Absolutely everyone is buried there – and by absolutely everyone I mean 3,000 people, including fully half of the British monarchs together with writers (Rudyard Kipling, Charles Dickens), scientists (Charles Darwin, Sir Isaac Newton and Stephen Hawking), musicians and actors (Handel and Lawrence Olivier) politicians and other famous historical figures.

Incredibly, 30 of Britains kings and queens are buried in the Abbey – the first was King Edward in that famous year of 1066, later known as St. Edward the Confessor. This is entirely appropriate since he established the place, after all, and also he was very pious.

A highlight was the spectacular Lady Chapel, built by Henry VII. We paid our respects to Queen Elizabeth I, Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII’s daughter. Elizabeth is buried with her sister, Queen Mary, daughter of Catherine of Aragon and of “Bloody Mary” fame. Interestingly, Mary does not have her own tomb or effigy, rather her existence is marked by an understated plaque affixed to Elizabeth’s tomb. Directly across the Chapel lies Mary Queen of Scots. Fifteen kings and queens are buried together in this part of Westminster. We also gave a wave to Henry V’s elevated tomb as we passed – we could have gotten closer but Henry is in a very fragile chapel where you have to agree to pray to be allowed in. There was a very strict lady assessing people as they climbed up and I see why wayward souls throughout history have been intimidated by nuns.

One more royal’ish story – in the Lady Chapel is a plaque marking the “burial place” of Oliver Cromwell for three short years. He was at the center of the English Civil War and in 1653 established himself as Lord Protector, basically the King of the English Commonwealth. His first order of business was to execute Charles I. Oliver died in 1658, after which his son Richard inherited his father’s title for approximately 9 months, when he voluntarily stepped aside. When Charles II was ultimately re-enthroned during the Restoration, he ordered Oliver to be exhumed and POSTHUMOUSLY EXECUTED. Already Dead Oliver was hung by the neck until dead again, and then his head was chopped off. It was set on a pike at Westminister Hall for 30 years (!!), when the wind finally blew it down. A passer-by guard collected it, put it under his arm and scurried away, hiding it for the remainder of his life and passing it down to his daughter. The head was in the hands of private collectors for years until it finally resurfaced and was buried in Cambridge where Oliver attended school.

The Coronation Chair, which will see some action pretty soon.

We climbed many many stairs to visit the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Galleries, with spectacular overhead views of the Abbey. The gallery holds an interesting collection, including a copy of the Magna Carta, effigies of early monarchs and weirdly, William and Kate’s marriage certificate.

The taking of photos from the Queen’s galleries is forbidden if you get caught.

At last we departed Westminster and visited Big Ben, who had recently completed a major refresh and looked fabulous.

After a brief respite in a pub we visited Churchill’s War Rooms – an underground warren of deeply claustrophobic rooms that served as the center of Britain’s war effort in World War II. It became operational one week before Britain declared war on Germany and was abandoned only after the Japanese surrendered. Churchill and his cabinet lived and worked there throughout the war and while bombs fell overhead during the Blitz. My favorite was the Map Room, staffed 24/7 with a member of the RAF, Royal Navy and Royal Army. It was very high tech at the time – there were phones called “the Beauty Chorus” that connected the Map Room with Need-To-Knows in the British military. Only 46 people had access to the room and they were known as the “Glamour Boys,” which I love.

We meandered back to the hotel along the Thames with a wonderful view of the most beautiful legislative chambers in the world

Time to hit a pub again (please stop counting) in our Belgravia neighborhood. The Horse & Groom, tucked away in a residential area. Blissful.

That evening we had dinner at the Tate Modern with views over the Millennium Bridge to St. Paul’s Cathedral. We had scored tickets to Yayoi Kusama’s marvelous Infinity Mirror Rooms. From early in her life, Kasuma experienced visual hallucinations that made her lose herself and disappear into her surroundings. She called this self-obliteration, and wanted to create art that would help others experience what she saw. While incredibly striking and moving, these hallucinations were understandably challenging for her to manage and so she checked herself into a Tokyo hospital where she remains to this day, creating her art in a nearby studio. There were two small rooms in the exhibit, The Chandelier of Grief (A+ title) and the Infinity Mirror Room. She brilliantly employs water, lights and mirrors to create a sense of infinity. You enter the rooms with a very small group of people and stay a short time. It’s pretty cool.

The museum guide at the entrance of each room set the stage by serving as a sort of Arbiter of Doom. He dispensed instructions like a wizard warning that the next phase of our quest would be to answer a dwarf’s riddles in order to cross a bridge. He added that if anybody freaked out and pounded on the door to get out it would ruin the experience for everyone else, which was an immediately stressful thought.

He also advised that our experience in each room would be utterly unique depending on our group. He was entirely correct about this. We entered the chandelier room with a cadre of well-behaved folks. The exhibit was brilliantly amazing but the vibe was basically like riding an elevator with some random Sears shoppers. In the second room we fell in with a very hip group, and so it was more like a party. We got chastised for not moving through the exhibit because we were basically waiting for our cocktails to arrive. As we were leaving the Tate later that night after dinner, we ran into this groovy group again and the tall dude who was wearing a kimono and a teensy bowler yelled, “It’s YOU guys!! You guys are AWESOME.”

The Chandelier of Grief (only about ten people in the room)

While in the Infinity Room I apparently acquired a date with a dude in a hat and kimono.

Here’s a little video. There’s a walkway through the exhibit, surrounded by water.

After dinner we walked over the Millennium Bridge – very wobbly in Harry Potter but very gorgeous for our evening constitutional.

A wee end note – we largely used Bolt to get around, another version of Uber. We met the most amazing drivers, including a guy whose brothers had been recently relocated to California by the US Government after we pulled out of Afghanistan. One brother had served as an interpreter and the other as a driver for the US Army and were in extreme danger after our withdrawal. We also met an Italian guy who moved to London from Umbria, one of the most magical places in Italy, because he couldn’t handle the corrupt government/mob situation there. Both talked of how much they loved London, and how it offered opportunities they could not hope to have in their home countries.

Caledonia Calls Again

May 31, 2022June 10, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Hiking in UK, Scotland Travel

You guys. After a mere three+ years I’m headed back to the bonnie bonnie banks, glens, cols, beinns, lochs, isles and waterways of Scotland. Last we met it was the fall of 2018 where you provided excellent company on my solo trip. In 2019 I decided to upgrade my house a bit, possibly sensing that I’d be spending quite a lot of time inside its walls in future. As 2020 loomed with its gigantic birthday, I told anyone who would listen that in celebration I’d be saying YES to All The Things. Planned a birthday trip to Paris and another Scotland hiking trip (this one). Yoga retreat in Sedona. Yes yes and yes. And then. Cancel, cancel and cancel, your silly plans matter not. We all lived through the last two years together, and there’s nothing you don’t already know. Enough said.

This trip won’t be solo, but with Danielle, a friend who has accompanied me on many Central Oregon hikes in the Cascades. We are both recovering lawyers, and I think met at a yoga studio years ago. There’s a photo of us in said studio on our backs with our ankles tucked behind our heads and our hands in namasté. Needless to say it’s hilarious and also entirely inappropriate for our purposes here today so I couldn’t possibly post it. Danielle is dating an actual Viking and I still harbor hopes of meeting a Scottish lad with a castle so we remain in men-in-kilts territory. This blog, and Scotland, will continue to abide.

As the trip is growing closer, I’m focusing mostly on driving for the first time in the UK (yikes), and looking forward to hiking in the Cairngorms, the Orkney Islands, Skye, Torridon and Glencoe – and traversing the North Coast 500. I also want to see as many puffins as possible. There will be castles, neolithic ruins, stone circles and Viking stuff. In fact there will be a distillery tour of Highland Park in Kirkwall, which includes a tasting of their “Vikings” series, with special edition, largely cask-strength drams named after Odin, Thor, Freya and Loki. To top things off, I had to postpone my trip home because my intended flight was unceremoniously cancelled, so will be in Inverness solo for an extra day (on my birthday as it happens). On that day a man named Andrew Grant McKenzie (you heard me) a historian who plays the bagpipes and worked at Culloden Battlefield for years will be squiring me on a tour somewhere, honestly it doesn’t really matter where. I believe the chances of him showing up in a kilt are very very high.

So thank you for joining me yet again to explore a wee country the size of South Carolina that somehow contains a vast Universe of history, hiking trails, dazzling terrain, culture, wildlife, wonderful food and very kind and welcoming residents with comforting accents. Scotland is basically Hermione’s bag in the form of a country.

The Endless Travel Part of Traveling and Sleep-Deprived Ruminations, LIVE from Delta Sky Lounge

May 31, 2022June 10, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Uncategorized

Delta Sky Club Salt Lake City – A Six Hour Sojourn

When you live in Bend Oregon you become very familiar with getting up in the middle of the night to go to the airport – and who is organized enough before a trip to go to bed at 8:00? So at best one enjoys 4-5 hours of sleep and that’s if one isn’t obsessing about whether a 4:15 am pick-up for the 30 minute drive to the airport is early enough for a 6:00 am flight when one is checking a bag and going to Scotland. You guys I was obsessed. I texted friends for their advice. I hoped that TSA Pre-check and my first-class ticket (more on that once-in-a-blue-moon situation later) would save me. I couldn’t change it because the driver was taking someone else at 3:15 am, someone who was clearly following the standard, time-tested advice to arrive 2 hours before a domestic flight and 3 hours before an international one. This slightly irritating person who arrived at the airport an hour and a half before me was a wise rule-follower (AS AM I) who would not take a risk of making an unforced error that could ruin a trip. Literally nobody suggests an hour and fifteen minutes which is what I thought sounded reasonable at the time I booked because I obviously suffered a mini-seizure.

The Bend airport has many flights leaving at the same time in the wee hours which can cause a spectacular logjam. There are so many flights that people often accidentally get on the wrong plane, as we have no jetways – a NYC friend likened our tarmac-only access to “living on a farm.” To that very point I looked for articles offering advice for smaller airports but the same guidelines held. I was doomed and got very little sleep as I wallowed, rolled and basked in said doom.

Perhaps it is worth adding that my critical thinking abilities have clearly taken a hit over the past two years. I’ve flown out of my airport a billion times. I know it stem to stern. I also know the only difference between a domestic and international flight as far as my airport is concerned is they look at your passport instead of your drivers license. And yet still I spiraled.

So I arrived. To a sea of empty counters. Nobody. I waltzed up to the sweet young Delta agent and noted how quiet it was. He said, “You missed the rush. Just a little while ago there were 300 people in here.”

So, you guys, make your own decisions, feel like the badass that you are and walk up to that empty counter like you planned it all along.

A few more hours in this weird lounge place and I’m off. See you in the Isles.

Driving, Kev & Kirsty, Lochs, Castles and Reindeer

May 31, 2022June 20, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

First full day in the Cairngorms was very only-in-Scotland. Sorry to say, I was entirely expecting to share funny mishap stories about driving on the left but alas – as my boss said about his own impending trip to England, “You just drive on the left.” A left turn is like a right turn and vice versa. You certainly can’t allow your brain stem to run things, mission control must remain with the frontal lobe, but it’s surprisingly fun and easy. We rented a peppy race car Toyota named Dougal who had automatic transmission (good choice) and a new car smell.

Our bed and breakfast, the Ardlogie House in Aviemore, is run by the most delightful, hilarious and kind couple you can imagine, Kirsty and Kev. I asked them to pose for a photo at breakfast and immediately this happened.

Speaking of breakfast – good heavens. Very scrumptious with a luscious pile of (local) Scottish salmon and scrambled eggs from the butts of the many chickens who wander the backyard and live in their own little houses.

For our morning constitutional we circumnavigated nearby Loch an Eilean. There are an unbelievable 30,000 lochs in Scotland, a country roughly the size of South Carolina. If you are a completest, don’t add “visit all of the lochs” to your list of obsessions.

A castle floats in Loch an Eilean, built in the 14th century. A causeway led to the island but it’s now submerged as levels in the loch have risen. The island is also smaller (about the size of the foundation of the castle) for the same reason. The castle may have been built by the Bishops of Moray in the 13th century but it was rebuilt by Alexander Stewart, notoriously known as the Wolf of Badenoch or sometimes the Celtic Atilla. He was the third surviving son of King Robert II of Scotland. Not content with vast landholdings granted to him through his royal birth, he snagged the Earldom of Ross by forcing a widowed heiress named Euphemia to marry him. (Unnecessary aside: In 2020 Euphemia was the 7,477th most popular girl’s name with 14 girls unaccountably being so burdened)

The happy couple lived apart and had no children although Celtic Atilla had 40 children by other women. He was excommunicated by the Bishop of Moray after the good father failed to grant him an annulment when he acquired one of his mistresses after marrying Euphemia. In retaliation Celtic Atilla burned down a bunch of stuff, most notably Elgin Cathedral (teaser: put a pin in this). There’s a story about him in The Scotsman with the headline, “The Wolf of Badenoch – Scotland’s Vilest Man?” The castle was subsequently held by a festival of clans, the Mackintoshes, the Gordons and the Grants. After the Battle of Culloden Jacobite fugitives took shelter there.

And now if I could offer a tip: if you ever are given the chance to mingle with reindeer, say yes. We left the shores of the loch to head to the Cairngorms for an afternoon spent amongst a reindeer herd. Cairngorms National Park is Britain’s largest, and features the most significant remaining swathes of the ancient Caledonian forest that once covered most of Scotland. It is the location of Balmore Castle, the vacation home and deer-stalking grounds of Her Majesty the Queen. But back to nature, the Cairngorms include four of Britain’s five highest mountains, and the park boasts the country’s only sub-arctic zone with recorded winds of up to 180 miles per hour on its peaks.

Reindeer used to roam over England and Scotland until they gradually were hunted out of existence hundreds of years ago. This particular herd of 150 are the progeny of a small group introduced into the Cairngorms in 1952. Vacationing honeymooners from Sweden decided this would be an excellent project to undertake since the Cairngorms’ muscular climate would be exceptional reindeer habitat. And so they made it happen, which is amazing but also adds fuel to my general suspicion that I haven’t really accomplished anything.

Our hardy group of 8, led by excellent tour guide Ben, hiked up into the very windy mountains to meet some of the herd. This is calving season and so there were baby reindeer (kept in a nearby fenced field with their moms) who were jumping about and playing with each other like baby goats, including one white calf who had been born overnight. Mothers are in labor for about an hour, and their calf is running around in short order after arrival, which is handy for predator avoidance. We were able to feed them but not allowed to touch, as they aren’t “tactile creatures” according to Ben. Very very challenging to restrain oneself from stroking their rich coats and velvety antlers. I actually think they would like it.

All the reindeer have names, and Ben knows them all. A purely delightful adventure, 10/10 would recommend.

Wooden boardwalk out to the herd.

Meall a’ Bhuachaille

May 31, 2022June 20, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

Last day in the Cairngorms, we had to knock out a mountain. We chose a Corbett. The tallest of the Scotland mountains are known as Munros. To qualify as a Munro a mountain must be over 3,000 feet (remembering that we are starting at sea level, you western US mountain people). They number 282, and are named after Hugh Munro, the first person to compile a list of them in 1891. “Munro bagging” is a thing, and to date over 6,000 people claim to have bagged all 282. Corbetts are next, which are between 2500 and 3000 feet, named after John Rooke Corbett, who originally listed them – and interestingly, in 1930 he became the fourth person, and first Englishman, to bag all the Munros. Lastly are the Grahams (2000-2500 feet), named after Fiona Torbet (née Graham) who was a passionate hillwalker and, you guessed it, created a table of the most wee mountains. In a bizarre twist of fate, Fiona was gruesomely murdered in 1993 by Donald Jr, the son of the owners of the Western Highlands bed and breakfast she was staying in. The 400-hour search for her was one of the most intensive ever mounted in the Highlands as helicopters took aerial photos of the area and the Royal Navy dredged a Loch near the B&B. Nine months later, when the snow melted, some of her personal items were found under a tree on the grounds of the B&B. Finally Donald Jr confessed.

Our lovely B&B hosts, who have never murdered anyone, recommended Meall a’ Bhuachaille. Kev said that during the pandemic he walked it every day to clear his head.

We started the hike full of happy anticipation, only to be met with a very, very steep situation. Even so, we came upon (very fit and/or nuts) people running and mountain biking the vertical, switchback-free slopes. This is irritating when one is operating in drag-ass slogging mode. And by the way, I can hear you thinking that I must be exaggerating. We ascended 1600 feet in about a mile. The gnarliest hike in our neck of the woods is South Sister, where the ascent is 4,900 feet in 5.5 miles. You do the math.

Circumstances in this photo are much steeper than they appear.

From a distance, and as you can see from the photo below, our scree-trained eyeballs thought the Cairngorms quite reminiscent of the red cinder cones of Central Oregon. This being Scotland, though, of course it’s not volcanic scree, but rather – carpets of heather. Stop it, Scotland.

Our destination, blanketed with heather.

So I shall skip any further unpleasantness that may have been associated with the climb and say that the summit was reached in due course, which always makes the effort utterly worth it. The top was a windy place. A large cairn served as a shelter. The views were stupendous.

On the way down we came across a bothy in a beautiful valley. Bothies are located in remote spots throughout Scotland. They were originally rural cottages that have outlived their original purposes and now are kept unlocked for hill walkers to take shelter or stay overnight without charge. The Mountain Bothies Association, established in 1965, is the charity that maintains them.

The views were lovely all the way back to the car, as we hiked through a beautiful valley to a loch, coming upon many hikers and dogs out for a Saturday adventure. Mostly Scots and some Norwegians. We might have been the only Americans on the mountain. As it should be.

Castles, Eastern Highlands, and the NorthCoast 500 (shhhh)

May 31, 2022June 20, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

That place where you have to take a photo, John O’Groats

We bid a very sad farewell to our pals Kev and Kirsty in the Cairngorms and headed up the east coast, aiming for the Orkney Islands. We visited three castles along our way. Dornach Castle, which is now a 189 room hotel, was our lunch spot. It didn’t seem much like a castle any more, but it was a rare bluebird day, perfect for an outdoor lunch in the garden.

We then toured the fabulous Dunrobin Castle and Gardens, home to the Earls and Dukes of Sutherland throughout history. The earliest part of the castle was constructed in 1275. It was used as a naval hospital during World War I, and for a time, was a boys’ boarding school. The first Duke of Sutherland is sculpture-toppling notorious for his participation in the Highland Clearances, shipping off Scottish families in the late 18th century to make way for sheep since the cute fuzzy creatures made more money for wealthy landowners than crofters did.

Even so, Dunrobin Castle is gorgeous with spectacular architectural gardens overlooking the North Sea, and is known for its falconry. I took an embarrassing number of photos of the resident falcons and owls.

The indoor tour was quite something – so many rooms, so many paintings and photographs of Dukes, Duchesses, Earls, Kings and Queens. Check out the library – obviously the lion pair are a bridge too far on the decorating front.

As with all estate-type museums, there were explanatory placards throughout. My favorite was outside the “Seamstress Room.” Why? Because it’s also known as the “Haunted Room.” Why? Because in the 15th century the Earl of Sutherland captured a young woman from the Mackay Clan after a battle and locked her up in in the seamstress room which was next to the night nursery which seems like an extraneous detail but it was on the placard. Apparently he wanted to marry her but she refused him. Earl, my dude, you need to up your wooing game. But wait, there’s more. One night he found her trying to extricate herself by climbing down a rope of sheets and I’m honestly wondering whether she invented this particular escape technique. Ego instantly bruised to the bone, the Earl whipped out his sword and cut the sheet rope, causing her to fall to her death. So obviously she became a ghost, and someone needs to turn this tale into a country song immediately.

The Sutherland boys, I fear, are the worst.

The dining room – does this make anyone else feel anxious?

My favorite destination on our drive was a castle near Wick that very nearly fell into the sea. Thankfully it is being restored, not to its former glory, but to a ruin that will decay no more, Castle Sinclair.

Much of our route for this trip is along the NorthCoast 500, invented in 2015 by The Tourism Project Board of the North Highland Initiative to attract tourists to the less visited and economically depressed northern climes. It’s essentially a 500 mile circular driving route that begins and ends in Inverness. It has become incredibly popular rather too quickly and the locals, while benefiting from some positive economic impact, are Not Stoked. Living in a tourist town myself, I sympathize.

A particular enmity is reserved for all the camper vans inhabited by tourists not sleeping in B&Bs and making their own meals. These RVs are rented in Inverness by folks who have no idea how to back them up, and they are simply too big for single-track pot-holed roads. The area has also seen a huge increase in motorcycle and car traffic (especially “fancy cars” complained a group of men ruefully shaking their heads over breakfast in a Scrabster cafe). People are unfamiliar with how to navigate one-lane roads with “passing places’ where one person or another can pull over. The influx has placed a strain on infrastructure in general, particularly, ahem the delicate, often seaside, sewage system. Understandably irritating for folks living in a remote area who suddenly are facing challenges living their lives as usual. One man complained, “The tourists will stop suddenly in the road because they’ve seen a Highland cow and want to take a picture.”

The route is also driven by people who go from attraction to attraction, stopping only for that Instagram moment and not really spending money or meaningfully interacting with the community. Here are a few examples.

Duncansby Head Light House – the farthest northwesterly point of the mainland

The Eastern Highlands are gorgeous indeed and I apologize to everyone lucky enough to live there for stopping at a fair number of attractions listed in North Coast 500 brochures and snapping a photo. I can’t believe I am that person. At least Dougal is a small and not-fancy car.

For now, it’s time for our adventure in Orkney. We are officially here in Stromness and ready for three hikes and one day-long guided tour, all planned through Macs Adventure.

I’ll leave you with the Old Man of Hoy, which we’ll see tomorrow, lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, from land.

How this came out I have no idea as the wind was blowing so hard I could barely stand. Just look at his cute face.

Hiking on Orkney – The Old Man of Hoy

May 31, 2022June 20, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

Giant serious ferry and wee inter-island ferry at Stromness pier.

As I write this a bunch of mostly blootered men are down in the hotel bar watching a football game. Panicky hyperventilating shrieks like the sound I imagine people make who are having all of their limbs slowly pulled off while being eaten alive by lions. In the States this would be irritating but I’m completely fine with it.

Our first hike on Orkney was to the Old Man of Hoy, one of the most spectacular seastacks in the world. He’s just off the Isle of Hoy (from the Norse “Haey” meaning high island) to which we took a tiny ferry that left at 6:30 am and dropped us off at a tiny terminal half an hour later. All the hikers on the boat, mostly older (than me) Brits plus one Aussie, took off across the island in varying directions for a day of walking.

We hiked 13 miles through rain, wind and fog with boggy conditions, slippery rocks and boot-sucking mud, all of it fabulous. We did enjoy a relatively brief period of sunny and warm weather on our way back and it was like we had been transported to an old western and were about to die of heat prostration with our bones picked clean by vultures. Don’t worry, though, chilly fogginess returned in time for our ferry ride back to Mainland, which is, by the way, what the main island is called, from the Norse “meginland.” Same deal goes for Shetland.

We first hiked through a valley with steep hills on both sides. The sun lightened things up a bit as we got closer to the sea.

Wanna see some weather? Volume on.

When we neared the small town of Rackwick we ducked behind someone’s house, passed through a couple of kissing gates, and started the upward climb to the fog-shrouded cliffs. As always in Scotland, colorful and weather-beaten signs marked the way, and we were even met with the iconic red phone booth, still standing but infested with flies, the phone having been removed long ago. If it was actually a back entrance to the Ministry of Magic and the flies were a protective spell, it completely worked.

The Old Man is a climbing spot because people will climb anything. And clearly you are on your own.

As we climbed, the wind howled and the fog rolled back in so we lost sight of the sea below (did I mention we were hiking on cliffs?). I very nearly lost my hat in all the blow. When we arrived at the long-awaited but entirely fogged in viewpoint, we waited patiently, watching all the sea birds nesting in the cliffs and eating lunch with hands that were cold and wet from our walk through clouds. All of the sudden a suggestion of an outline and then – there he was. What an entrance Old Man, what an entrance.

On the long road back, the sun.

The crinkly woman who served us breakfast every morning at the Royal Hotel had a few opinions about Hoy from the perspective of a Stromness native who has seen a few things. She announced to everyone in the room, with certitude and spot-on comic timing, “Oh, I suppose it’s nice and all but such a relief to get off it, though, aye?” and “I feel all a’ trembly when I’m there, it’s so depressin’,” and “It’s no place for women.” She speaks her mind about all the topics, and yet you can tell by the twinkle in her eye, the cock to her head and her appraising gaze that she’s still holding a few things back.

Hiking on Orkney: Neolithic Ruins, Stone Circles, Hippies and Whisky

May 31, 2022June 26, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

Our epic hike to the Old Man of Hoy now in the books, we have two more days of hiking plus a guided tour of Westray to look forward to during our time in Orkney.

One note – we learned that one must never say, “Orkney Islands” or “Orkneys” or “Shetland Islands” or “Isle of Skye.” It’s Orkney, Shetland and Skye, and the same can be said for all 700 of the Isles of Scotland. This mistake is as irritating to Islanders as it is to Oregonians when others pronounce our state Ore-GONE. Ugh.

Our second day of hiking started at Skara Brae, magnificently preserved Neolithic ruins situated on a hill overlooking the Bay of Skaill. As we were en route, our cabbie Eddie told us that ancient Picts lived in harmony for thousands of years, not raising arms against anyone, “until my ancestors came over from Norway.” I accused him of being a Viking, which he completely acknowledged with a tinge of pride. When asked whether he’d lived his entire life in Orkney, he answered, “not yet.” By this time he was obviously our favorite. As he dropped us off, he intoned, “Welcome to 6,000 years ago.”

This seems like an unfathomable period of time, so to provide context, as you walk out to the ruins there are cleverly placed stones marking the progress of history such as the building of Stonehenge, the construction of the pyramids of Giza, the birth of Christ and the fall of Rome. Skara Brae was built and inhabited eons before all of these familiar markers of “ancient” history.

The ruin itself consists of ten clustered houses with stone hearths, beds and cupboards. There’s even a primitive sewage system, so, you know, I could have lived there. The site was occupied from 3180 BC through 2500 BC and it is Europe’s most complete Neolithic village.

The ruins were discovered in 1850 when a giant storm literally stripped the earth from the knoll, exposing the outline of the village. Incredible artifacts were discovered, including beautiful beaded necklaces fashioned from animal teeth or bone.

From the ruins, we joined the West Coast trail, which follows the Mainland coast all the way back to Stromness. The views were insane, the sea was azure blue, and there were more ruins along the way.

The little knob on the far island is the Old Man of Hoy. He’s always nearby.

The Broch of Borwick, circa 500 BC, excavated in 1881. Someone’s wee seaside cottage back in the day.

Just as we ended our walk, the weather changed from gorgeous to blustery – as is its wont.

The next day we continued our passage through days of yore by hiking between two stone circles very near Skara Brae – and possibly used by its residents. As with Stonehenge, nobody really knows for certain exactly how they were incorporated into the life of the community, although theories abound. You’ve heard them all. The Ring of Brodgar was likely constructed between 2600 and 2400 BC and the Stones of Stenness, which are considered to be the oldest henge in Britain, around 3100 BC.

The Ring of Brodgar was originally comprised of 60 stones, with 36 surviving today, still a startling sight. The Stones of Stenness originally had 12 upright stones with only four surviving. My favorite was the Ring of Brodgar.

It’s miraculous really, that so many of the stones have survived for many thousands of years. Imagine! Of course, through the passage of time, random people have interrupted the flow of magic, as they do. The most heartbreaking tale was that which befell the Odin Stone. This fabulously named stone stood near Stenness Circle. Thought to have been erected around 3000 BC, it stood about 8 feet high and had a shoulder-high hole through which couples would clasp hands to provisionally marry one another until they could find a priest somewhere. Isn’t that lovely? Well, of course it is. However, in 1814 a silly man who leased the land upon which the stones stood found himself irritated by people tramping about amongst them. So he destroyed Odin’s Stone as well as a few others. Not stoked, the native Orcadians tried to burn his house down. Twice.

Another heartbreaking and irritating tale is the co-opting of ancient stone henges by weird barefoot hippies. We saw a pair of them during our visit to the Stenness Stones. They walked around with their eyes closed and tie-dyed garments flowing, demonstrating to all that they inhabited much higher planes of consciousness than the rest of us. Barefoot, likely days from their last shower, probably not vaccinated. They ostentatiously perched on the stones (leaving only two for others to photograph) communing with ancient spirits (I guess) and basically making horses’ patooties of themselves. Literally the dude did a headstand like an idiot. Obviously I had to take photos because – isn’t that what they want? To be noticed by lowly beings who are dazzled by their higher vibrational states and inspired by their oneness with the ancient spirits of the stones? You see, what appears to be a disrespectful act is actually the physical manifestation of advanced astral powers beyond our comprehension. I’ll stop now, but I mean seriously, the absolute worst. I suppose we should be grateful that they weren’t naked.

Fell over twice before pulling off this pathetic excuse for a headstand.

Cabbie Eddie, when Danielle told him of these shenanigans, said that these stones had nothing to do with yoga or “flower power” but instead represented the deepest beliefs of ancient peoples. He said that if you cut open the earth – or your arm – you see stone and bone covered with layers of strata, whether it is skin and muscle or earth and ruins of civilizations. This ephemeral strata comes and go while earth and bone endure and thus are deemed significant and worthy of reverence.

Before we leave Stromness for Kirkwall, here are a few photos of a simply lovely town.

The Ferry Inn – the only restaurant in Stromness currently open for dinner. (Thanks COVID). Luckily it’s smashing and we enjoyed it all three nights.

Our hotel just down the way – the Royal.

From the sublime to the whisky, I arranged a tour of Highland Park Distillery for the afternoon. I was ushered into a room with the guide and probably ten guys all standing in a circle. Some Danes, some Swedes and a Brit. The Danes had matching polo shirts with a “Prisoners of Whisky” logo which seemed rather melodramatic. I later learned it signified a posh Danish whisky appreciation group. They barely acknowledged my entrance (what?!?!) so I was determined to make them all love me and respect my whisky knowledge by the end of the tour. Spoiler alert: they did.

The guide told us of an incident that occurred a few days prior where a lorry driver who had attached a caravan to his roof drove under pipes that ran across the road and damaged them irreparably. He told us with a deeply exhausted expression that Highland Park won’t be able to resume normal operations until September. They are gradually emptying out all the washbacks, mash tuns and stills. Yikes.

Even in the face of this troubling news, the tour was fascinating as they always are. I learned that when there is the occasional “off” barrel of whisky (it happens), the contents aren’t poured down the drain because whisky has to stay in Scotland and god knows where it could end up. Rather, the bad stuff is distilled to almost 100% alcohol and sold to France for use in the making of perfume. French perfume made from bad scotch. C’est parfait.

After the tour we decamped to a lovely tasting room to have wee drams of the special edition Highland Park whiskies named after Norse gods Thor, Loki, Odin and Freya. Each dram was meant to represent the essence of its namesake god. All were cask strength and Thor was the best. I think because there were special Danes in attendance and the tour guide was also Danish, he busted out a 1968 bottle currently going for £ 5,000. It was good, yes, but in my estimation Thor prevailed. An old whisky is not necessarily the best whisky, it’s just the most expensive.

The guide told us of a time a beer company in Norway sued Highland Park because they had a beer named Thor and they thought people might be confused. This is a stretch of a legal argument even for our litigious country. Since Highland Park is owned by the same company that owns Macallan and others, their lawyers are pretty heavy duty compared to those of the small Norse brewery. Everyone got together in a room and agreed to settle if Highland Park gave each of the lawyers on the other side, and the brewery owners, a few bottles of the very rare Thor. Case dismissed.

Everyone was presented with a framed certificate with their name on it at the end of the tasting. It will be displayed next to my law school diploma.

In my cab ride home, I asked the driver what he thought the weather was going to be the next day for our trip to Westray. He said, “I’ve lived in Orkney for forty years. When it rains, it’s raining. If the sun is out, it’s sunny.” Alrighty then.

The People You Meet

May 31, 2022August 14, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

The best thing about traveling is chance encounters with fellow travelers, and meeting people lucky enough to live in the places where you have chosen to vacation. Interestingly, we’ve continued to encounter mostly other Brits, Norwegians and a few French. No Americans. Also the general age range has skewed older – many intrepid folks in their 70s and beyond, walking and biking through the Isles.

On our last day of adventure in Orkney we took the very early ferry north to Westray, known as the Queen of the Isles. Westray is eleven miles long and has 600 residents (down from over a thousand in the 1800s) and boasts the shortest scheduled flight in the world, the longest golf hole in the UK and a castle ruin steeped in history. More seabirds than anywhere I’ve ever been with a boggling range of species. Including – oh yes – the MIGHTY PUFFIN.

We were met at the ferry by Karen and Andy Penn, who run Westraak Tours. If you ever find yourself in Westray, book them. Karen was born in Orkney and Andy is an “incomer,” having moved to the island from Dumfries when they married six years ago. We swung by a local B&B and picked up Angela and Peter, a couple from Cornwall, and headed to “coffee,” which ended up being in Karen and Andy’s home, a lovely surprise. We sat around their table and got acquainted, also meeting Andy’s son Callum, who is in his twenties and has autism. It was lovely chatting with him and sharing our names and places of origin. It wasn’t long before Angela shared with the group that Peter, a retired physician, was struggling with early stages of Alzheimers. It was quite touching how he relied on Angela to fill in gaps. He looked to her and said, “do that thing you do,” and she riffed through words to help him find the right one. They were lovely and delightful, up for anything, and all-around excellent traveling companions.

We left Callum with a shopping list for lunch, which would also be at Karen and Andy’s, and set off across the Island. Our first stop was a bird-nesting area along the coastal cliffs.

Next we headed to Quoygrew, the ruins of a Viking settlement. One of its longhouses had been excavated between 1997 and 2005. On the way, we met the charismatic Miss Piggy and fed her dandelions.

Quoygrew was a settlement of farmers and fishermen first inhabited in the 10th century and lived in as late as the 1930s.

Our lunch at Karen and Andy’s was utterly delicious thanks to Callum’s successful shopping excursion. Karen made sweet potato soup, accompanied by egg salad from chickens just up the road, locally made cheese, locally caught and smoked mackerel, rhubarb compote and possibly the best sticky toffee pudding in the world. Lunch was accompanied by a very animated political discussion about Boris Johnson (“a dreadful buffoon”) the current Tory government (“corrupt to the bone”) anti-immigration British home secretary Priti Patel, whose family immigrated to the UK but would not be able to do so under current policy (“a terrible hypocrite” and also “appalling”) and of course Brexit (“a complete disaster”). Angela expressed admiration for the qualified and educated Labour Party leader, Keir Starmer, and wondered, “why wouldn’t people want this type of person to lead the country,” as opposed to Johnson, who won votes because he was “a laugh” and would be an entertaining pub date. Angela also talked of the ever-growing wealth discrepancy in the UK. It all sounded wearyingly familiar.

We next visited Noltland Castle which was the biggest surprise of the tour. On our way we drove by a golf course, which perked up Peter, an avid golfer. Andy said the course boasted the longest hole in the UK at 738 yards. It’s a par 6. Andy said he got a 7 once, but with the constant winds a 15 is more likely.

Noltland Castle was constructed in the 1500s, so a bit late in the game as far as castles go. It was built by Gilbert Balfour, who at the time owned Westray and Shapinsay, both given to him by his brother-in-law, the Bishop of Orkney. It’s odd because apparently he ran out of money or interest because he never finished the castle – the Great Hall remains open to the stars, even while Gilbert lived there. Maybe he blew his budget on the gorgeous spiral staircase, one of the UK’s grandest of the period. Roofs are kind of boring and expensive for sure – but handy to have in place nonetheless. The castle boasts an incredible 71 gun holes. There’s even one in the WC. Was Gilbert paranoid? Or were his fears justified because he moved through life cultivating mortal enemies wherever he went? You be the judge.

The acoustics are amazing, and the local Kirk holds concerts here.

Balfour was the self-appointed Sheriff of Orkney, constable of Kirkwall Castle and master of Mary Queen of Scots’ household. Sounds good so far. But. He was also implicated in the murder of Cardinal Beaton at St. Andrews (mutilating his body and hanging it outside the window), after which he was captured by the French and condemned to be a navy galley slave for a few years. Fully not rehabilitated by that experience, he next helped murder Lord Darnley, Mary’s second husband, in Edinburgh.

You might be wondering why Mary didn’t dump Gilbert after he murdered her husband. The thing is she might have married Darnley mostly because he was also a Stuart and so would have given her a stronger claim to the English throne. Their son James did become James I of England, so that worked pretty well. Also, she had fallen in love with the Earl of Bothwell by that time and, who knows, perhaps she was in on the murder plot, as it was the only way to get rid of husbands back then.

Before Mary’s ultimate arrest, she was urged to flee to Noltland and some say that Gilbert was sweet on her and actually built the castle with her in mind. Sadly, she did not take this advice and was ultimately captured. You know the rest.

Balfour’s incurable habitual plotting continued apace, and he was implicated in the Mornay murder plot against King John III of Sweden. Karma finally caught up to him and he was executed in Stockholm.

Next stop was Noup Head Lighthouse (one of over 200 built around the Scottish coastline). One family, the Stevensons, was responsible for designing all of Scotland’s lighthouses over a 150-year period – which explains why they all look alike. The lighthouses, not the Stephensons. The sole black sheep who rejected the family business in favor of a dodgy writing career was named Robert Louis Stevenson.

Here there were more dramatic cliffs and thousands of seabirds, transforming the cliffs into a layer cake of different types of birds, who clustered together by species in neat rows.

We next visited the Heritage Center, home of the Westray Wife, a small Neolithic figurine carved from sandstone, the first Neolithic carving of a human form to have been found in Scotland. It is also the earliest depiction of a face found in the UK.

The center also featured rare china made for Edward VIII’s coronation. As we know, he abdicated after his ascension but before his coronation, in favor of his love Wallis Simpson. The American divorcee may have done the world a favor by removing a Nazi sympathizer from the board in favor of George VI, the beloved “Bertie,” who, along with the Queen Mum, refused to leave London during the Blitz and was photographed wandering amongst the rubble.

As we were leaving the Center, we spotted a small plane flying overhead – the shortest scheduled flight in the world from Westray to a (very) nearby island called Papa Westray. It’s scheduled for 1.5 minutes with actual flying time closer to a minute. The record for the fastest flight is 53 seconds.

Nearing the end of the day, we dropped off Angela and Peter, bidding them a very fond farewell. Angela was worried about her husband, as he had apparently been struggling more than usual during their trip, and they were headed to Shetland for another week. I hope they find that the familiarity of being back home in Cornwall will return him to form. They traveled extensively during their marriage, having many adventures around the world. Peter would smile happily, looking into the middle distance with fond remembrance as he shared some of their experiences. I dearly hope they are able to continue traveling for a bit longer before Peter’s illness makes it too challenging.

Our last stop on our way back to the ferry was the main puffin colony on the island. You know all those photos of puffins where they appear to be frolicking right underfoot? Sadly, my friends, these photos are largely due to high-powered zoom lenses and a lot of patience. Puffins nest in cliffs like the other birds, only they burrow rather than nesting on ledges. So you must wait for them to fly in and land, or perhaps pop out of their burrow to have a wee, which we witnessed and was adorable. The best time to see them is at dusk. But we still saw a good handful, and it was incredibly thrilling, and this is the best I could do with my iPhone.

As consolation here’s a photo from an exhibit in the Heritage Center.

Next morning we ordered a cab for 5:15 am to catch the ferry to the mainland. Happy to see Dougal waiting patiently for us in the car park, we drove off across the North Coast. Despite the occasional flare of irritation at campers, we mostly traveled along the single track road in complete solitude through moody landscapes, farmland and villages. We stopped at some spectacular, almost deserted beaches and visited Smoo Cave.

Ceannabeine Beach – Caribbean blue waters.

Smoo Cave was interesting although I’m not really a cave person. We opted against the hard hat tour. Lovely waterfall though.

At long last, we left the beaches of the north coast behind and dropped down into the rugged and spectacular Western Highlands I remember so fondly from my last trip.

We stayed the night at Newton Lodge, which is situated in an impossibly gorgeous location on Loch Glencoul.

I’ll leave you with a chance encounter we had with a cyclist we met as we arrived at Newton Lodge, John Loughran. We met him as he pulled up on his bike and tried to sort out where he had booked a room. As we were headed to nearby Kylesku Hotel for lunch, he asked for a ride. Of course we were happy to oblige, and John joined us for a lovely lunch. He is 78 years old, a retired engineer, and a Scot, although he has lived in England these past fifty years. He was riding the North Coast 500 in the opposite direction as we had done, riding valiantly through rain and wind and up and down serious hills on roads with no shoulders, or margins or verges as they are called, somewhat more descriptively than “shoulders.” John didn’t complain about any of it, just nodded and smiled, saying, “oh, it’s quite alright actually.” He told of a time when a local cyclist pedaled by who could see he was running out of steam on a climb. The guy rode alongside offering words of encouragement, and John said softly with a smile, “he got me through.”

John had planned the trip for 2020 along with a fellow cyclist. Sadly his friend bailed on the rescheduled ride, as his wife, whom John sweetly described as “a bit neurotic,” didn’t want to lose her husband for two weeks. John said proudly that his own wife, who was “very busy” and active in their community, was fine without him. He was “a bit disappointed” without his friend and his friend was “gutted” not be alongside him. I am slightly peeved by the clingy wife but like John’s wife very much. John added that he and his busy wife have five very successful children and seven grandkids spread around Scotland, England, Spain, Japan and Australia.

He showed us how he created a page for every day of his journey, carefully planning stops to recharge his electrical-assist bike. He shared many tales of his life, and how on this ride he was visiting spots in his home country that had meant a lot to his family over the years. John might be the sweetest man ever.

I’ll share one of his stories about a business trip he took to Rio in the fall of 2001. He was about to give a presentation to thirty of his colleagues when he heard someone say something bad had happened in the States. They all gathered around a television in time to watch the second plane hit the south tower. As he was telling the story, his mouth trembled and he broke down. He said he could not ever talk about that day without getting emotional, even after all this time. He said quietly, “of course, we cancelled the presentation, we simply could not go on.” When he was able to find a flight home, he remembers stepping over sleeping, marooned Americans in Schipol Airport. A reminder that the horrific 9/11 attacks took a psychic toll on humanity, even though they occurred on American soil. And the residual impact of that terrible day reverberates still, especially in empathetic souls.

Godspeed, John.

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