Scotland Travel – Page 4 – Wee Dram of Scotland

Inverness, Birthday Bagpipes and My Drunk Dude Angel

May 26, 2022June 20, 2022 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel

Back in Inverness, the first order of business was to bid a fond farewell to our faithful Dougal. I had grown quite fond of him despite the flaws he was born with – the back seat is worthless for anyone with legs, the hyper-annoying beepy lane monitor warning system, the cheaply finished interior etc. But I loved driving Dougal all over Scotland. I loved the entire experience, driving on the left, single track roads, no shoulders, glorious teeth-rattling potholes, all of it. Maintaining awareness of passing places, sorting out who should pull into one either by driving forward or backing up, and the subsequent mandatory wave to the other driver after you execute whatever you both silently agreed upon – it all makes navigating Scotland’s roads a delightfully communal experience. A very different situation than in the States where one’s car creates a bubble of isolation and basically drives itself.

Another driving-related thing I wish I could have shared with dad is the UK experience of getting gas. The pumps appear to be super-charged and sound like a jet engine when engaged – and they fill up your tank in literally ten seconds. Life-changer. Why can’t we have jet engine gas pumps? You can get your nails done while waiting for your gas tank to fill in the States.

Dougal. He’s been through a lot. Farewell my friend.

Before we relinquished Dougal, we visited Culloden Battlefield. This somber place is an incredibly rich and fascinating site. Since I wrote about it extensively during my last trip, I’ll simply leave you with a couple of photos.

We spent the afternoon puttering around Inverness in the rain, visiting Leakeys, its famous used bookstore. In addition to books they have bins and bins of prints and old maps, all “guaranteed” to be over 100 years old. OK maybe but does it matter really? I bought three.

I was excited to have a birthday-eve dinner at Mustard Seed, my favorite Inverness restaurant. Apparently I have my own table there, as they seated me exactly where I enjoyed a lovely meal in 2018. Maybe it’s the designated Mysterious Woman Eating Alone table. It has a nice view of all of the proceedings.

And last but certainly not least, for my last full day in town I booked a tour with one Andrew Grant MacKenzie, who arrived to collect me with a kilt, a border collie named Sonas and bagpipes. Andrew is a legit historian and archaeologist, so he’s basically Indiana Jones. He’s also fluent in Gaelic (pronounced gallic, not gay-lic as it is in Ireland, similar to the whisky/whiskey thing). We had arranged a tour along the Moray Coast, east of Inverness, which Andrew dubbed, “Picts, a Wolf and the Covenanters.”

Andrew managed Culloden Battlefield for years for the National Trust of Scotland. He actually met with Diana Gabaldon as she was doing research for Outlander. (Segue: I eventually admitted to him that I had partaken of a Rabbies Outlander tour during my last trip which was a super embarrassing thing to disclose to a historian but he didn’t seem to judge.) He said that Culloden staff were the first people in the UK to see Outlander – it was released in the US first and Americans started visiting with particular questions about a fictionalized version of the ‘45 rising which the staff couldn’t answer, not having seen the series. I’m imagining fans asking to be shown the spot where Jamie and Black Jack Randall engaged in fatal hand-to-hand combat. Hopefully not, as both characters are 100% fictional but people are weird. Anyway, STARZ sent over the first two seasons and all employees had to watch it. Of course Diana’s tale is mostly about the love story, not a historically accurate depiction of events sufficient to pass muster with folks who live and breathe Culloden. Still I would have paid a lot of money to watch them watch Outlander.

Andrew also seemed to know everyone in Scotland – he knew the crazy guide we encountered on the aforementioned Outlander tour who had armed his little old lady passengers with plastic swords and reenacted various scenes (see previous blog), he knew the bagpiper Backroads arranged for us during that tour (ditto), he’s talked to the head of Visit Scotland about infrastructure issues related to the North Coast 500, and he has been invited to ceilidhs attended by members of the Peatbog Faeries. He also worked at Cawdor Castle for a while and so of course knew Lady Cawdor.

By now you are getting Andrew’s general awesomeness. And so onto the tour we go. He first drove us to Sueno’s Stone, the largest and most spectacular of the many carved stones that have survived from Scotland’s early medieval period. It stands about 21 feet high and is encased in a giant protective display case. Continuing in the Pictish vein we next traveled to Burghead, a quaint little town located on a spur of the Moray peninsula where a Pictish fort was located. You could see Orkney from the site.

Our next destination was the ruins of Elgin Cathedral, the place that our friend the Wolf of Badenoch (remember him?) burned down. I was picturing a quaint medieval chapel when it was actually more akin to Westminster Abbey.

The cathedral is a massive and gorgeous site. There’s one room with a domed ceiling, glass windows and perfect accoustics, which Andrew demonstrated via the dulcet tones of his singing voice.

After having lunch at Cawdor Castle Cafe, we finished the tour at the Auldearn battlesite. As a historian, Andrew cares a lot about this battle and doesn’t understand why more people don’t visit the site. Perhaps our friend Diana could do something about that although be careful what you wish for. The 1645 battle was fought between a Scottish Covenanter army allied with the English Parliament and the Royalist forces of Charles I. Covenanters were folks who signed the National Covenant in 1638 to confirm their opposition to the interference by the Stuart kings in the affairs of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland. The Stuarts believed all of that divine right of kings stuff and that monarchs were meant by God to be the spiritual heads of the Church of Scotland instead of that other guy Jesus. This was a sticking point even for Scots who supported the Stuarts. Andrew said it was the first time a battle had been fought between Gaels over an idea rather than land and resources.

In the peace and solitude of the ancient battlefield, Andrew liberated his bagpipes from their case and played an evocative and mournful tune about the battle itself. It was achingly lovely and sad. From the sublime to the you-know-what, his encore was a song you might recognize in honor ME GETTING EVEN OLDER.

Best rendition ever.

Over the course of the day we had some great conversations about history – and even delved into politics. Andrew said that most Scots struggle to comprehend what is happening in the States currently with MAGA, the insurrection, guns, individual rights and so on. Yeah same same.

We talked about the horrific 1996 Dunblane massacre, the deadliest mass shooting in British history. Sixteen students and one teacher were killed, with fifteen others injured. Directly afterward, Parliament passed two new firearms acts which outlawed the private ownership of most handguns within the UK, together with a buyback program. Thousands of weapons were incinerated. As we know, there have been no further mass shootings with a handgun in the UK since, even though we are told by NRA experts that guns don’t cause these horrific things. UK residents can still own hunting rifles, of course, but they are registered and owners must keep track of their shots. The guns are inspected every year to make sure the owners’ reported number of shots match the number of times the gun was actually fired. Can you imagine the cascading exploding heads in the States if something that restrictive were enacted? I guess in some countries the bother and inconvenience is worth not having people and children regularly mowed down by military-grade weapons. Imagine.

Andrew also talked about a few Gaelic concepts that inform his life and business. The words are about the sense of belonging to a place and to a people. There is no English translation. They resonated with some of the things I’d been thinking about and experiencing on this trip around why I feel so in sync with the hills of Scotland while lately feeling less connected to my home in Oregon.

Dùthchas is the connection to one’s ancestors, their lives, stories, the ground they lived on and one’s physical and emotional connection to that ground. I think ancestors can mean either a spiritual or blood lineage. Cianalas is the longing for dùthchas when you aren’t there. It’s a mournful longing but it’s not sad. Caim is the belief that wherever you are and whatever your current situation you can gain strength from encircling yourself in that longing and that connection to your dùthchas. Sonas is the sense of completeness and comfort you feel when you drop into dùthchas, cianalas and caim. These concepts echo throughout yogic/eastern spiritual traditions as well. My yoga teacher talks about his own spiritual lineage in the same way. I can’t explain why, but I feel and experience the truth of it.

If you find yourself in Scotland, consider Andrew and Sonas as guides. You can find more information about them at http://www.highlandhistorian.com.

I capped off this perfect day with a birthday dinner at Rocpool. After dinner I ordered an affogato because it’s unquestionably the perfect dessert. It arrived with a road flare in celebration of ME GETTING EVEN OLDER.

By all means let’s celebrate this fracking thing.

And now for the journey home. Let’s dispense with COVID. For the first time since the pandemic started, I let down my guard during this trip and didn’t don a mask the entire time I was in Scotland, throwing caution to the winds as it were. With bated breath, I took the test with the tele-health person monitoring. Negative. Never been happier to see a single red stripe.

And now for my dicey short layover in Schipol. I had an hour between my Inverness flight landing at Schipol and my flight to Salt Lake taking off. Not boarding, mind you. Flying away. As we sat on the runway in Inverness, I was feeling all the appreciation for how quickly Europeans get their asses settled onto airplanes. Everything was proceeding apace until, of all things, they couldn’t get a cargo door to latch properly. As time ticked by, inexorably shortening my layover like slow drips from the faucet of doom, I was about to volunteer to sit in the hold during the flight so I could keep the door closed with my body. Then, behold, the pilot took matters into his own hands and asked for the ladder to be brought back to the airplane so he could descend to the tarmac and “take a look.” He emerged from the cockpit, a burly central casting Viking with red hair, marched down the steps and totally took care of it. I need someone like that around me at all times.

So we arrived in Amsterdam a half an hour before my next flight. I was surprised to hear as we landed that only one connection was blown, a flight to Boston. I was instructed to “go right to the gate” for my Salt Lake flight. YES BY HELL I CAN DO THAT. The airplane landed in the “curtain” area of Schipol which is basically New Jersey, with a stinky bus that takes you to the terminal. I hit the ground running and arrived at the empty gate panting in a most unladylike manner and entirely disheveled and having to pee but I had apparently made it in time.

Ah but not so fast. The gate agent looked at my flight information in the system and reacted with a puzzled expression. She showed it to all of her gate agent friends and they were also visibly taken aback, shrugging their shoulders and saying things to one another in Dutch. What what what? I found out later that KLM, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that since my flight was delayed I ergo missed my connection and so they had rebooked me on the same flight the following day. Before my feet had even hit the tarmac. Like declaring someone dead when their heart is still beating.

So the lead gate agent (I presume) was summoned and he started calmly typing into his computer and talking on the phone. In Dutch. I still had zero idea what was happening. He finally looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, that plane is not going anywhere.” OK phew. Bless you sir.

Relaxing, it was then that I fully noticed the short t-shirted paunchy drunk dude standing several feet away and surrounded by no less than four tall, fit and woah quite handsome security agents. I gleaned that the drunk dude had been tossed from the plane due to stupid drunken behavior and it wasn’t the first time. And sad to say he was an American. Well of course he was.

He was doing that thing hammered people do, which is moving and gesturing very slowly while intoning super dumb things in an exaggerated rational-sounding tone. He of course had had two beers. From my years of lawyering, this exact quantity of alcohol is noted in every accident report. It’s a phenomenon really, that every single person who has ever caused a motor vehicle accident tells the cops that they have imbibed exactly two beers. Someone should do a study.

Anyway the dude was carefully explaining that he knew his own limits, that he was fine, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he would miss his daughter’s birthday party, and that he had had ONLY TWO BEERS. He also periodically dramatically extended his arm straight out in front of him and scolded the various security guys for not social distancing. For their part, the security guys appeared to be employing de-escalation techniques while at the same time trading spectacular insults with drunk dude. I literally think someone’s mother was mentioned at one point. The dude once tried to “get in line” behind me and I almost bodily moved the tallest and most woah handsome security guard so that he was more solidly between me and the dude.

Of course the dude was filming the whole interaction with his phone because obviously he’s going to file a complaint, so I might become famous as a background extra on social media.

Meanwhile the formerly calm senior gate agent finally exploded and yelled at the top of his voice, gesturing dramatically, spittle flying everywhere, for security to move the dude away because the whole drama was distracting him from getting me on the freaking plane. There was a spectacular amount of swearing. I was with him on this, and actually hoping the dude would be thrown into a Schipol holding cell where his fingernails would be slowly pulled out one by one. Do they have those? Do they do that? Hard to tell with those stoic Nederlanders.

Finally the dim light dawned and the dude managed to accurately assess the situation. He simply was not going to prevail either by his wits or physical prowess and so he wandered off down a moving walkway, throwing muddled parting threats over his shoulder. I said to my gate agent, “Americans are the worst.” He agreed so enthusiastically that I felt the need to add, as I hadn’t yet been given my boarding pass, “not me though.”

Anyway, once I triumphantly boarded the plane at last, the senior gate agent suddenly appeared onboard and high-fived me, saying none of it was my fault and asking whether I was happy. Don’t worry, why would I file a complaint about what ended up being a funny story I could share with you guys – and besides I AM ON THE PLANE.

Also, the thing is, the drunk guy was the reason the flight was delayed long enough for me to make it. They had to excavate and remove his bag. So, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, thank you my dude. And I hope you find the help you need, for your daughter’s sake.

So after that wee bit of drama, I made it home with no further incident except my checked bag decided to remain in Amsterdam for a few extra days to see the sights. And except for the fact that I am no longer in Scotland, all is well. Best thing is getting to see this face.

I so enjoyed writing about my long-postponed trip and sharing it with you. Thanks for reading. I hope it inspires you to travel to Scotland or anywhere you feel dùthchas. Just don’t be a tourist.

And gird your loins, my friends, because I’m headed back to the UK in September.

Portland, Edinburgh and Time Travel

September 29, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

Hello from Edinburgh (pronounced Ed-in-bruh so stop saying it wrong). Started the journey in Portland, so here’s the obligatory shoes picture with the new carpeting. Not completely legit like back in the day, yet the tradition bravely carries on.

I could have boarded that first flight earlier today, or it may have been yesterday. Traveling pulls one out of the external stream of time. The traveler moves forward in his/her own little time-warped bubble completely unrelated to time as it’s experienced by everyone who isn’t flying. Flight attendants keep bringing meals, in the correct order, but on a compressed schedule. When traveling east, the sun seemingly comes up every ten minutes. Or perhaps it never completely goes down. Night is fleeting. Woah.

So let’s hear all the clueless traveler stories! Sadly, everyone was well behaved all the way from Portland to Edinburgh. I know, disappointing. Only JFK could be counted upon to be its usual cluster. The PDX pilot was so proud he had gotten us there early, but sadly, as the plane drove by all the gates, appearing to be taxiing out for another flight, he told us our gate was ready, but that there were two other planes in the “alley,” blocking our access. One plane had found its way out and he was expecting the other to follow suit. We waited long enough to obliterate his daring speed record and screw people with tight connections.

So I hired a car to ferry me from Edinburgh airport to my hotel, mostly because I’ve always wanted to see my name on one of those signs, but also jet lag. It was a brilliant call, although I got into the backseat directly behind the driver like a doofus. The steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car, you see. Everyone knows that. Say, does anyone know why we decided to drive on the right side of the road instead of the left, like a proper British colony?

My hotel, the Inn On The Mile, is halfway up the Royal Mile. It’s basically some modern, well-appointed rooms above a restaurant with live music every night until 1:00 a.m. so stay tuned. I dropped off my bag and set out to hike up Arthur’s Seat, a steep hill overlooking town. It’s part of Holyrood Park. Holyrood is the Queen’s official Edinburgh residence and it’s where Mary Queen of Scot’s private secretary/maybe lover David Rizzio was murdered in front of her in 1566. A brutal history but such a lovely hike, although rather too many people on the main trail. I did see a bunch of locals walking their dogs, and there was also a group of people dressed like Vikings having a picnic. I regret not asking for a photo, although it did seem that they were off-duty.

One overwhelming observation that penetrated my foggy brain – I had forgotten how unfailingly polite British people are. They form a line within a bus shelter which sometimes completely blocks the sidewalk but the important thing is the sanctity of the queue. They ask if it’s okay if you pay for something that you buy. “Do you mind?”

I’m writing this in the restaurant in my hotel. I had two wee drams of whisky (never call whisky Scotch in Scotland but remember to take the “e” out unless you’re in Ireland), even though the massage therapist said that massage was all about eliminating toxins and so the last thing I should do is put more back in. (PS getting a massage after a long plane ride is brilliant except for the lecture.) Whisky is medicinal, though, and also in Scotland you can buy those tiny airline bottles of single malt scotch, they even come in adorable tiny boxes just like the grown-up bottles, which isn’t related to the first thing but I don’t care.

Definitely a wee bit of jet-lag going on. I did the melatonin thing. I remember very little of the flight from JFK to Edinburgh so I’m assuming sleep. I’m probably totally fine. I also squeezed Benadryl cream onto my toothbrush.

My initial impression is that Edinburgh is a beautiful, historic city of about 500K souls, very few of whom hang out around the Royal Mile. Lots of accents, few of them Scottish. I did have a fabulous Scottish gentlemen in the immigration line. Clearly I looked suspicious because before he stamped my passport he asked me a lot of questions. My favorite: “Why are you visiting Scotland? Outlander?” NO of course not. Silly Outlander fans, going on tours to look at films sites and such. I would never.

Outlander and Whisky

September 27, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

I’m about 80% English/Scotch/Irish. If I were a paint color, I’d be Bland White. Long before I knew exactly how white (thank you Ancestry.com), I’ve been interested in British history. Used to be able to recite all the Kings and Queens of England. So Scotland was firmly on my travel list, but I admit it was the cinematography in Outlander, shot in Scotland, that put me over the edge. And maybe the kilts.

So what better way to spend my first full day in Scotland than booking an Outlander Tour like a geeky tourist? The tour included historic castles, forts and villages used as film locations for Outlander, Monty Python & the Holy Grail, and Game of Thrones. And then, as a topper, finishing the day with a whisky tasting at a bar named Edinburgh’s 2018 Whisky Bar of the Year.

I booked the journey through Rabbie’s, a company specializing in smaller tours using wee buses. I expected to be joined by a bunch of middle-aged women who talked about Jamie Fraser (a.k.a.the main character in the show who is widely believed to be the perfect man) the entire time. Instead, several couples, including one on their honeymoon, and one big family, the McGowans, all piled into the bus together. They were from Florida, Philly, South Carolina, France, England and Australia. I sat behind the guide and was joined by the head of the McGowan clan. The McGowan himself. Who was very quiet (his wife made up for it from the back of the bus) and went to great pains to avoid any physical contact, which I appreciated.

Of course, I instantly fell in love with our Scottish tour guide, Nicky. He just happened to be tall with reddish hair, very articulate, thoughtful and hilarious. Wearing a kilt that wasn’t a costume.

The first place we visited was Three Bridges, a town with, you guessed it, including a bridge that was built in the 17th Century. A marvel of engineering. The place has no connection with Outlander, just a cool spot.

Jamie Nicky took my photo in front of the old bridge.

Then we journeyed to the most “all the feels” of Outlander settings, Lallybroch, the Fraser ancestral home. Otherwise known as Midhope Castle, still standing but entirely in ruins on the inside. The steps up to the door were built by the film crew. A beautiful and evocative place marooned out of time on a working farm. Surprisingly, there is a picturesque cottage right next to the Midhope ruins. Not next door, but right there on the edge of the lawn. Architectural Digest – Medieval beautiful. The owners were the luckiest people alive to own this gorgeous cottage in such a setting. Ach, no more, thanks to the fickle finger of fate. Their idyllic spot has been besmirched by Outlander and the tourists who followed in its wake.

Speaking of tourists, it soon became apparent that there were different sorts of Outlander tours. As we were leaving “Lallybroch,” another, larger group came down the path toward us, led by a guy in an over-the-top Highlander costume. He held a plastic shield and brandished a fake broadsword. He was a scenery-chewing Pirates of the Caribbean Johnny Depp version of an 18th century Jacobite. Johnny Depp Jamie had obviously dispensed plastic weaponry to everyone on his tour for them to, I guess, ineffectually arm themselves as they visited ruins. Two adorable little old ladies walked side by side, one brandishing two plastic axes, the other holding two pistols. I would have died had I booked this tour. Johnny Depp Jamie immediately challenged Jamie Nicky with his sword. Jamie Nicky, sensing danger, extended an arm in front of me to protect my life and virtue. I grabbed his arm with both hands and crouched down, because I’m not about to be left behind in a sudden acting opportunity. His arm was strong and thick and suddenly I had a new appreciation for the antics of Johnny Depp Jamie.

Our next stop was Blackness castle, a 15th century fort built on the south shore of the Firth of Forth. It protected Linlithgow, one of the main palaces of Scottish Royalty, especially the Stuarts. Because of its site, jutting into the Forth, and its long narrow shape, it has been dubbed the “ship that never sailed.” It was used to portray Ft. William in the series, including the scenes of Jamie being flogged nearly to death by Jack Randall (I know people who haven’t seen the show are wondering why on earth), and later the daring rescue of Claire by Jamie, Murtagh, Angus and Rupert with Jamie scaling the tower clutching an empty pistol. Speaking of which, I came upon Johnny Depp Jamie again just as he was reenacting the scene of Jamie clubbing a redcoat over the head after asking where Claire was being held. JDJ brushed people out of the way so he could rush up some steps in search of Claire.

All swashbuckling aside, Blackness Castle is a gorgeous structure in a beautiful setting with a nicely preserved Great Hall.

Next stop was the 100% charming town of Culross, where the scenes in Cranesmuir, the village near Castle Leoch, were filmed, including Geilis Duncan’s house, Claire’s herb garden, and the scene where the wee boy got his ear nailed to the pillory for stealing. The town has barely changed since the 17th century and is managed by the National Trust. I had the second best sandwich I’ve ever had there, in a charming little place called the Biscuit Cafe. I mistakenly took a table next to the loo. We all know this, but people truly have issues about bathrooms. One lady in her sixties ducked in and her friend had to stand in front of the door like in high school, holding it slightly ajar, explaining to the gentleman who was next in line, “She’s afraid of getting shut in.” Aren’t we all.

Next was the granddaddy of all film locations – Doune Castle, a medieval stronghold in the Stirling district of central Scotland. The most famous taunting scene in cinema was filmed here.

Starring our beloved John Cleese as the pitch-perfect French taunter, with many memorable lines, including that old chestnut, “Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!” Apparently the Pythons had booked several castles in Scotland for filming until someone wondered who they were and whether they could even pay, withdrawing permission from all except Doune. So basically the entire film was shot here.

Also the most famous scene ever filmed depicting a guy shoving a boy out of a window because the boy caught him having sex with his sister. I know this scene is basically in every film, but this is truly the best version. Unfortunately, in Game of Thrones, the boy did not die and instead became the Three-Eyed Raven, which, we don’t know, but may result in the ultimate downfall of said guy in the long slow dance of karma.

In season 1 of Game of Thrones, Doune Castle was Winterfell. In season 2 they moved production to Ireland because it was cheaper.

Doune bounced right back, and became the home of the McKenzie clan in Outlander, Castle Leoch. It’s now the third most visited castle in Scotland, after Edinburgh Castle and Stirling Castle. The audio tour is narrated by Python’s Terry Jones, and by, of course, Sam Heughan, who plays Jamie. Inside the house is a fabulous Great Hall and a wonderfully preserved kitchen, including a giant fireplace large enough to roast an oxen. Many silly Python scenes were filmed inside, including the song-and-dance number “Knights of the Round Table,”and the Sir Galahad the Chaste’s seduction scene. I completely recognized them all.

The last stop on our tour was Linlithgow Palace, where Mary Queen of Scots was born and lived for seven months, after which she was whisked away to Stirling, a more secure location. She was in danger the moment she was born, and for most of her life. It was another 20 years before she returned. A lot of Stuart history here. There’s a beautiful and drafty portico on the roof where legend has it Queen Margaret waited in vain for the return of James IV from Flodden Field. Bonnie Prince Charlie was the last Stuart to stay at Linlithgow. In 1746 the castle burned because the British duke of Cumberland’s troops failed to properly extinguish their campfires.

Gorgeous spot (Scots had great taste in castle sites), with a statue of Mary Queen of Scots on the grounds. In the UK you are allowed to scramble all over ruins, climbing up tiny staircases with flimsy railings that wouldn’t be allowed in the US. No posted warning signs, nothing roped off, I guess because you’re supposed to use common sense. The higher you go, the more pigeon poo there is, since all is exposed to the skies. Many ruined castles around Scotland don’t have roofs, not even if they’ve undergone restoration. Why? Because buildings with roofs are taxed.

In Outlander, the tunnels and cells underground were used for Wentworth Prison, where extremely terrifying things happened to Jamie.

It was a fabulous tour, largely because of the fabulous Nicky. He told us the entire history of the Jacobite rebellions. There were five between 1688 and 1745, all with the goal of returning one of the Jameses to the throne of Scotland and England and all failures, finally resulting in the Highland clearances. Nicky told the story with passion and emotion. History is still very much alive for Scots. As Robert Louis Stevenson wrote, “For that is the mark of the Scots of all classes: that he stands in an attitude towards the past unthinkable to Englishmen, and remembers and cherishes the memory of his forebears, good and bad; and there burns alive in him a sense of identity with the dead even to the twentieth generation.” Nicky also reflected on the current political situation in the UK and elsewhere (ahem), resolving to focus his efforts on things he could positively impact, like, for example, people’s lives. He also taught me a new word, “scuppered,” which originally meant to deliberately sink a ship, and has come to mean thwart. So many uses. Anyway, I adored him.

How to end such a day? By booking a very expensive whisky tasting at Usquabae, meaning water of life (Gaelic translation of Medieval Latin aqua vitae.) Sitting at the bar, I was regaled with tales of whisky and its historic impact on the Scottish economy and history. A couple of local boys chimed in, asking questions and giving their own opinions. It’s a very complex subject near and dear to the heart of Scots. I chose a tasting called “The Decades.” It included a whisky from the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s, which covers my entire life. The older whiskies were good, but as the bartender noted (he had tastes of all my drams to keep me company), they do get a bit “vegetal.”

One last observation about Scottish men. They look you right in the eye, steadily, when you’re talking to them. They don’t hang back, either, they are snuggled right into your personal American space. I love it.

The Nastiness Act, A Lock of Hair That Used to Be Attached to Mary, Haggis and Rob Brydon

September 26, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

Aye, it does rain in Scotland. Usually, I’m told, a wee bit of ongoing mist, but sometimes a freaking downpour. And yet I booked a private tour of the Royal Mile and Edinburgh Castle, and the show must go on. The Mile is very touristy, but, like many such places, with a little effort and intrepidity you can have your own singular experience in spite of it.

My guide, Gains, has a PhD in History, and he brought whisky. As we meandered up the mile, he had many colorful tales to tell. Best of all, he poured wee drams at 10:30 in the morning as we stood in front of The Writers Museum, devoted to the Scottish trifecta of 18th and 19th century writers, Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson. Over my drams he told me about Burns Night every January 25, when Scotland celebrates their Rabbie’s birthday with a bit of frivolity and drink. It was a very Scottish moment.

As romantic as the Mile is now, it used to be utterly disgusting. Its streets floated with raw sewage and it was massively overcrowded with people in tenement-style buildings up to 14 stories tall. More than 50,000 Scots were crammed within its walls and livestock roamed freely. There was no plumbing (ignoring Roman tech) and so once a day residents would dump buckets of waste into the streets from upper windows. There was a bit of a warning first: “Gardyloo!” This was from the French gardez l’eau, but all credit to the Scots, not really l’eau at that point, loo being much more accurate. Residents used to be able to dump at any hour of the day, but in 1749 The Nastiness Act was passed which decreed waste could only be tossed out between 10:00 pm and 7:00 am.

As you can imagine, the city’s water supply was diseased. So the primary sources of hydration became alcohol (even for children, even first thing in the morning) and tea (because boiled).

Edinburgh’s upper classes lived on the center floors, too low down and the stench was overwhelming, too high up and there was a danger of collapse, as the top floors were wooden and poorly constructed. In the mid 18th century, the upper classes left “Old Town,” moved down the hill and established “New Town,” which is filled with Neo-Classical and Georgian architecture. To this day New Town is considered more posh, although both are UNESCO World Heritage sites.

So many interesting stops on our tour – for example, down one close (Scottish term for alleyway) is the only surviving sedan chair storage unit in the UK. Now it’s used as a bike shed, which is frankly what it looks like. Highlanders would be brought from the north to carry members of the upper classes around town suspended in these chairs so their feet wouldn’t touch the poopy ground. Also the streets were too narrow for carriages. They were King Joffrey’s preferred mode of travel in Game of Thrones.

Gains also pointed out statues of Scottish philosophers Adam Smith and David Hume, and government offices, including the old Parliament building, now housing the Courts of Session. A stone in the parking lot marks the approximate grave site of John Knox, the 16th century founder of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland and a leader of Scotland’s reformation. First Minister of Scotland Nicola Sturgeon hates him, and when she comes to town she directs her driver to park on top of the marker.

Next we stopped by a pub called Deacon Brodie’s. Brodie was a proper Scottish scoundrel in the 1700’s. A city counselor and cabinet-maker by day, he broke into homes at night to fund his gambling habit. He was eventually hanged at the Old Tollbooth just down the street from the pub that bears his name and is marked by a sign that honors his double life.

The Old Tollbooth, by the way, according to Gains, was the worst prison of all time, even more so than the Bastille. First established in the 14th century, it stood for 400 years. Sir Walter Scott wrote a book about it, called the Heart of Midlothian, often regarded as his finest novel. The Tollbooth was torn down in 1818. A Heart of Midlothian was installed in the sidewalk just at the spot, as a reminder. Gains said folks who have no idea of its history often drop to a knee and propose there.

Of course, Edinburgh being the home of JK Rowling, Gains pointed out the colorful Victoria Street, which inspired Diagon Alley, Elephant House Cafe, where she wrote the first couple of books, and Greyfriar’s Kirkyard, where she found a few of her character’s names engraved on the ancient gravestones. (Wee aside: Greyfriars Bobby, just outside the Kirk, is a lovely little statue commemorating the terrier who became known in 19th century Edinburgh for spending 14 years guarding the grave of his owner until he died himself on 14 January 1872.) By the time Rowling was writing The Deathly Hallows, her publisher paid for her to stay in a suite in the swanky Balmoral Hotel. The manuscript was locked up every night. You, too, can stay in this very suite for $1300 a night. Ach, how her fortunes have turned thanks to wee Harry.

As we made our way up the hill to Edinburgh Castle, it began pouring rain. Buckets. Gains soldiered on, telling me things I should see in the Castle. He wasn’t allowed to be in certain areas and asked me to warn him and move away if I saw a red laser dot on his forehead.

Edinburgh Castle is still an active British fort, so the British flag flies overhead rather than the Scottish. It’s a wicked fortress to conquer, being perched on a mammoth 750 million year old volcanic plug, although it’s been subject to numerous attacks and sieges throughout history. Robert the Bruce famously burned it down in the 1300’s. Speaking of which, stay tuned for the upcoming Chris Pine movie. Gains’s take (with a rueful shake of the head), “Wasn’t he Captain Kirk or something? Aye, come see Captain Kirk play Robert the Bruce! Ach.” I could go on about the storied history of Edinburgh Castle, but suffice it to say, it’s been a happening place in Scotland for centuries.

I bid farewell to Gains and explored several of the buildings inside the grounds of the fortress, including a memorial for all Scots killed in warfare since World War I. There’s also a dog cemetery where regimental mascots and officer’s dogs have been buried since Queen Victoria’s time, which is completely awesome.

Most famously, the Scottish Crown Jewels are on display, the oldest surviving set of Crown Jewels in the UK. Oliver Cromwell destroyed the British ones and that allowed Scotland to scoot into the lead. Displayed next to the coronation crown worn by Mary Queen of Scots (!!) is the storied Stone of Destiny, also known as the Stone of Scone. It’s a rather unremarkable oblong block of sandstone that has been used for centuries in the coronations of Scottish monarchs. The Brits, in keeping with their history of being awful to the Scots, swiped it in the 1400’s to use for their own coronations. A bunch of Scottish hooligans pulled a modern Highland Charge and stole the stone from Westminister Abbey in the 1950’s, bringing it home to Scotland. It was eventually returned. Finally, in 1996, the British allowed the Scots to have their stone back for good. One day, when Queen Elizabeth dies, the Brits will borrow it for the coronation of the very patient Charles. Or, if Charles can’t hold on, Prince William.

There’s a legend that centuries ago Scots switched out the real Stone of Scone for a fake before the British nicked it. If that’s true, the original hasn’t resurfaced. Or has it.

There are no photos of the Crown Jewels or the stone because royal rules.

When I could stand the big gobs of tourists at the castle no longer, I made my way back down the Mile, stopping for lunch at the World’s End pub, so-called because it was on the edge of town just inside the wall, back when there was one. Fish and chips is their speciality, so I ordered it, and holy crap it was not at all wee. I also tried the Scottish soda called Irn Bru, which Gains told me outsells Coke products in Scotland. It is not very good – a bit like cream soda but not quite there. Perhaps the non-diet version would be better – I read that Scots were up in arms when Obama was spotted drinking a diet Irn Bru in St Andrews.

Five Scots sat around what was likely their usual table in the window, telling tales and discussing the vicissitudes of life in a way that American men never do. I could have listened to them forever, but instead snuck a photo.

I next visited Holyrood Palace, the official royal residence in Edinburgh. The Queen stays here one week every summer on her way to Balmoral in the Highlands. The decor is as stodgy and dingy as you might imagine with fading rugs, fraying tapestries and dark paintings in dire need of restoration depicting bare-breasted women in some sort of biblical peril. The tour takes you through the Queen’s actual bedroom, which felt weirdly voyeuristic. The room is uncomfortably and sparsely furnished with thin-looking embroidered bed linens that look like they’ve been around for centuries. This is her “state bedroom” so hopefully she doesn’t sleep here. Maybe her actual bed has a memory foam mattress with puffy linens, a down comforter and soft pillows from Pottery Barn.

The main reason I visited the Palace was to see the royal apartments of Mary Queen of Scots. You could see the influence of Mary’s French upbringing in the decor and general good taste of the rooms. Seeing her bed was also weird, but for a different reason. It’s so small. I wonder how she managed it with her six foot frame. Off her bedroom is a cozy, charming room with a teensy fireplace that served as her supper chamber, which I didn’t realize I needed until now. And, famously, where her private secretary and maybe Italian lover David Rizzio was brutally murdered by a jealous Henry Lord Darnley, Mary’s second husband, and his Protestant Lord cronies. And when I say murdered I mean stabbed 56 times right in front of her. And she was pregnant with James VI at the time, who some say was fathered by Rizzio. Apparently you can still see bloodstains on the floor which is entirely silly, but still I did look.

Mary’s bedroom opens into a formal great room where she received visitors. A few relics are displayed in glass cases, some books, her rosary, a letter she wrote and so on, but most notably a substantial lock of her hair which at some point was presented as a gift to Queen Victoria. I could not wrap my brain around the fact that I was looking at some of her actual hair. I then wandered around the gardens even though my ticket didn’t cover that (sorry), and it was stunning. Next to the palace is a ruined Abbey (destroyed by the Brits during Mary’s reign) which made for some lovely photos. Arthur’s Seat, the hill I climbed when I first arrived, looms over the Palace, providing a splendid royal view.

There are no photos inside the palace because more royal rules.

I returned to the hotel, hung up my clothes to dry and went out to dinner and a show. Rob Brydon was performing at the Edinburgh Festival Theatre. When you are a single, you can usually snag a fabulous ticket late in the game in the front section. The Trip is one of my favorite films, and it stars Brydon and Steve Coogan. Two awkward British men traveling through northern England eating at gourmet restaurants. Their main schtick was doing competing Michael Caine impressions, which sounds tedious, but is hilarious.

I had dinner at the Printing Press, a posh restaurant in New Town. And there it was, on the menu, as a starter. Haggis and neeps. I figured this was my chance to cross the culinary Scottish Rubicon. An appy-sized, gourmet restaurant version of the famously awful dish. Here’s the deal, though – it was fabulous. I chased it with one of the best risottos and best chocolate desserts I’ve ever had. So serious. My server was a Canadian who had finished college and decided to move to Scotland, as it’s relatively easy to get a work visa in another Commonwealth Country. I was proud of her choice and wish I had done something similar. She loves Edinburgh.

Rob Brydon was way more hilarious than I was expecting. The top of his act was him talking to members of the audience about various things and he’s brilliant at it. His act includes loads of impressions (some were singularly British, sailing right over my head) with many astutely hilarious observations about aging and what it does to your pee stream strength and farting frequency. I was laughing to tears as were most people in the 2,000 seat house. Great fun for my last night in the big city before heading to the Highlands.

Inverness, Jacobites and Culloden

September 25, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

Bidding farewell to Edinburgh, it was time to catch a train to Inverness, known as the gateway to the Highlands.

Arrived around supper-time and checked into the Castle View Hotel, run by the lovely Eleanor and her Jack Russell, Mia. The hotel is on the River Ness and pretty much everywhere was walkable. My room was on the top floor, with no lift. (PS same deal at the Inn on the Mile, just not a thing here).

The hotel boasted a lovely view of Inverness Castle, which houses the local courthouse and other offices. There are plans to build a new facility for the Courts so the castle can be opened to visitors. Fabulous rooftop views from my room, and gazing over the River Ness at the castle while enjoying a full and fabulous breakfast was perfection.

My first morning I walked about eight miles of the famed Great Glen Way, a lovely stroll along the River Ness to the park-like Ness Islands and then up the Caledonian Canal. The Way is a walking path that runs 78 miles, bisecting Scotland from Inverness to Ft. William. People in Scotland walk. And walk and walk. Trails go on for miles, and are so scenic you could die.

All the walking gives one time to ponder many things. For example, you know all the rules we have in the States, to protect us from one another’s presumed and inevitable bad behavior? In Europe, there are fewer rules, and amazingly, unregulated people actually rise to the occasion given the chance. For example, only a few dogs were on leash during my walk. Rather than being a catastrophe with dogs running wild and eating babies, every dog was on voice command. Dogs didn’t interact with other humans or with one another because they were looking at their owners. When they did have a bit of a run, the instant their owners whistled, they hit the brakes and ran back. Maybe Americans are boorish uncivilized barbarians and can’t be trusted to behave properly. We will never know.

I then walked around Inverness, which unfortunately is pretty closed on Sunday because of God. This is too bad, mostly because there’s an amazing bookstore called Leakeys, located in a former church with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a wood stove. Next time. Visited the Old High Church, where Jacobites who survived the slaughter of Culloden were held before being executed in the churchyard. Because of God.

Next day I met George, a local guide, for a tour around the area. He arrived with coffee and croissants, so I liked him immediately. As we were emailing back and forth about logistics prior to my trip, I expressed a bit of ambivalence about visiting Loch Ness and Urquhart Castle because of all the tourists. George convinced me that it would be a shame if we didn’t at least do a drive-by before it opened. Even so, there were still a few tour buses, filled with loads of people who appeared to be checking sites off their lists, snapping photos and moving on, rather than really engaging, not that I’m being judgmental. The castle has 1,000 years of history under its belt. It’s the largest medieval castle in Scotland and the most important in the Highlands. Sadly, its owners blew it up in 1692 to keep the Jacobites from taking it. There’s a very cool old catapult on the grounds. Loch Ness is beautiful but so are many of the other 31,000-plus lochs in Scotland. No I’m serious. Scotland is a very watery land.

Like many visitors to Scotland, I was hoping to run across some Heilan coos, a.k.a Highland cattle. And they do not disappoint. Scotland’s animal population is full of extra-adorable creatures who seem to have been sprinkled with faerie dust. The hairy Coos originated in the Highlands and Outer Hebrides and were first mentioned in the 6th century AD. They are primarily bred for their meat, which is very lean, as they are largely insulated by their shaggy hair rather than by subcutaneous fat. Scotland does not appear to have industrialized its meat supply, so the coos have a pretty nice life until the end, grazing on the plentiful green grass and rounded bales of hay. Also posing for pictures.

Continuing my morning whisky tradition, we drove to Tomatin Distillery for a 10:00 a.m. tour and tasting. It was fascinating learning more about the making of Scotland’s national drink. Very complicated, time-consuming, lengthy and totally worth it. By law, Scottish whiskey must be made from water from Scotland and aged in oak barrels for at least three years. Of course, most whisky is aged much longer. There are lots of superstitions, for example, when the copper pot stills need to be replaced, if the old one is dented, the replacement must have a dent in exactly the same spot.

Tomatin has an old mash tun that you can climb inside. I was touring with a fellow from Germany who was very stoic about life and had no interest in getting his picture taken squatting inside a large tub. So what the heck is it? Ground down malted barley is fed into the mash tun with heated water. The temperature is high enough to dissolve many of the sugars in the grist but low enough to allow the enzymes to continue doing their thing. The liquid is collected and taken away to become whisky. The solid left over residue is given to local farmers for feed.

Since we did a fair bit of driving on this tour, a word about road signs. Of course, they are better than ours. They are gentler with more humor. Some examples: Instead of “travel time,” it’s “journey time.” Instead of detour, it’s diversion, which sounds way less annoying. Instead of “yield,” it’s “give way.” Instead of passing lane, it’s overtaking lane. We drove over several “weak bridges,” which means simply that it’s a one-way bridge. So drivers have to give way. But my favorite is this one.

Our next stop was the Highland Folk Museum, Britain’s first open air museum. The museum gives a flavor of how Highland people lived and worked from the 1700’s through the 1950’s. Over 30 historical buildings are on the property, all furnished with items appropriate to their time period. Some have been built from scratch and some have been moved from other sites. It was fascinating looking inside these dwellings from throughout Scottish history, but my favorite was seeing an actual peat fire. It smells lovely, and it generates heat like you wouldn’t believe.

Also, there were Shetland ponies.

We next drove by Coffin Bridge, the oldest surviving packhorse bridge in the Highlands. It was built in 1717. Before the 18th century it was impossible to carry the deceased from the town of Carrbridge to the local cemetery when the river was high. So this bridge was constructed by one of the earliest Scottish members of Parliament, Alexander Grant of Grant.

George and I enjoyed a yummy lunch in a semi-fancy pub and now for another observation about rules and dogs. In Scotland, people can bring their dogs into restaurants. Not just little dogs. During lunch we were surrounded by a yellow lab, a sheep dog and a standard schnauzer. All perfectly well-behaved. Amazingly, I did not feel my health was in danger.

Next we were off to Cawdor Castle, currently owned by the Dowager Countess Cawdor, a woman in her 70’s who retires to another home on her estate during the summer months so she can charge tourists ten pounds each to enter. It’s fun to see a castle that is not in ruins and has never been attacked by Jacobites or redcoats, just a beautiful lived-in place with amazing gardens. Its other claim to fame is that Shakespeare refers to Macbeth as being the Thane of Cawdor in the Scottish play. However, the castle was built many years after the life of 11th century King Macbeth, so never mind. George told me he’s heard staff complain about the Dowager Countess and how difficult she is to work for, but I’m inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt because she installed a “be mindful” sign over the entryway.

Finally, we headed to Culloden Moor to visit the memorial to those who perished in the devastating battle that raged there. The Jacobite army was devastated, and their defeat marked the beginning of the end of Highland culture in the 1700’s. The Jacobite Forces (supporters of installing Charles Edward Stuart, aka Bonnie Prince Charlie, to the thrones of Scotland and England) were handily defeated by the Hanoverian English in under an hour. This was the last of five Jacobite rebellions that occurred in 17th and 18th century Scotland. It was a bloody battle. The Scots lost between 1,500 and 2,000 men and the English only lost 50. This after the Bonnie Prince’s forces had swept through Scotland and almost made it to London. At this point, though, a decision was made to retreat back to Inverness, even though Charles II had his bags packed and was ready to head into exile. One of those many moments in history easy to second-guess.

Over the years after the battle the Brits decided to deal with the Highlanders once and for all. The infamous Highland clearances were implemented, where Scottish crofters were cleared from their lands to make room for more lucrative sheep farming. Laws were passed preventing all Scots from owning weapons, wearing the plaid of their clans, speaking Gaelic, effectively wiping out the Highland culture. Many, many of them emigrated to the United States. It was essentially ethnic cleansing – George told me that there were discussions in Parliament about requiring the mandatory sterilization of Highland women.

It is a somber place. Victorians installed a memorial, along with stones representing all the clans which were set about over the spot of mass graves. Thanks to the massive appeal of Outlander, the earth around the Fraser clan’s marker is denuded of grass, with little stones and flowers strewn over it. You’ll see my own disrespectful and inappropriate photograph below. The battlefield is very simple – a line of blue flags marking the spot where the Scots lined up, and a line of red flags marking the position of the British. It’s worth noting that the Bonnie Prince and the Duke of Cumberland, the commander of the British forces, were both just 25 years old. These days they would still be in college or back living with their parents while they found themselves. Hard to imagine.

We ended the day at the 4,000 year old Clava Cairns just down the road. A clava cairn is a type of Bronze Age circular chamber made of stones. They are typically surrounded by standing stones, and their history is very murky. This area was the inspiration for Diana Galbadon’s books. So again, me with the dumb Outlander photo. (PS the stones don’t work at all). George said that local witches, wiccans and druids still gather here for dances and mystical ceremonies. A couple of local Scottish women talked to us for a while, and they were dead serious about the magic of the place. The veil between Druid magic and faeries of old and the 21st century is very thin in Scotland.

George dropped me at my hotel after 7:00 and I had a quick dinner and stopped in a local pub for literally 5 minutes to check out the nightly traditional Scottish folk music. It was pouring down rain and honestly George had slightly exhausted me with all the facts and history, as much as I loved it.

Next day, I was onto my Backroads hiking tour of the Highlands!

Backroads Day 2 – In Which We Hike Into Storm Ali

September 23, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

Day Two dawned cloudy, windy and rainy. Today’s hike had three options, and one of them was nixed by our fearless leaders as being too dangerous because of the weather. It included some ledge hiking and the winds were too strong. Disappointed, but also, woah.

The trail winds through a long valley (or glen if we are being Scottish) between Beinn Eighe and Liathach. We were told there was a spot about 2.5 miles in from which you could turn around and call it a day, or you could do a through hike. Through hikes are the best, especially when someone else is coordinating the transportation, so I was inclined in that direction.

The route description said, “you may encounter a bit of mud or wet patches as you meander down through the glens.” There was also a mention of stopping for lunch. Jenny and Eileen told us that there would be an exciting opportunity to ford a river with some potentially high water due to all the recent rains. An interesting end to the Backroads Scotland season, as the U.K. summer had been marked by a heatwave and dry weather so unusual that it made the news in the states. Guests on those trips complained that it didn’t “seem like Scotland.”

On the short drive to the trailhead we mulled over the two options and searched the sky for any sign of a break. At least the mist wasn’t obscuring the hills – we might get wet, but there would be views. As we pulled into the parking lot, Keith ho-ho’d, saying in his jolly tone, “I’ve never seen this parking lot so empty before! Awesome!” As we were cinching up our rain gear in the deserted parking lot, Jenny and Eileen opened a big bag of hiking sticks. Some eyebrows were raised and doubt was expressed about whether we really needed them, being the badasses that we were. Our leaders regarded us patiently and gently recommended the sticks, mentioning again the fording of the high waters and the muddy slipperiness of the hike. We each took one.

The trail started off uphill in the pouring rain. And was gorgeous. And empty. Spirits were high.

We soldiered upward, finally arriving at the river. The stepping stones were exposed and not under water, which was by no means a sure thing. Suddenly, everyone got the whole stick thing. Apparently, Jenny and Eileen know what they are talking about.

We hiked a little further, reaching the 2.5 mile mark at a stone cairn, which was the moment of no return. Jenny, Eileen and Keith convened a trail meeting over some wee drams of whisky. It’s hard to understate how miserable the weather was. There was a definitely a heightened sense of camaraderie, souls bound together by adversity, etcetera. Here’s the deal though. Had anyone turned around they would have been faced with piercing, stinging sidewise rain and face-buffing gale force winds. It’s one thing having that at your back. It’s quite another having it in your face. Onward seemed the much saner option, and, hey, it was only 5 more miles. Keith, who would have accompanied any who wished to bail had to make the journey back to the vans alone. Next time we saw him he looked 20 years younger from his Scottish facial.

Here we are agreeing to go forward, sealing our resolve with a team cheer.

The rest of the hike was by turns raining, not raining, cloudy, misty, sun breaks, windy, not windy. All the weathers. And when I say windy, I mean we needed to stop and brace. I was up front following Jenny, and at one point I looked up and she was six feet off the trail. The wind had blown her toward a steep gully but thanks to her ninja reflexes, she was able to jump sideways onto a bank. She had a big grin on her face.

We hiked along in a spread-out train, with people speeding up and hiking with one another and then slowing down to take a picture and walking alone for a while. I took lots of photos, actually, testing the water-resistance of my iPhone. I managed to get one extra amazing one during a moment when the sun broke through and illuminated a ridge. The weather changed very quickly, so by the time you took your pole strap off your hand, took off your glove, dropped it in a puddle, picked it up again and stuck it in your teeth, unzipped the pocket of your rain pants, took out your phone, turned it on, allowed it to scan your face and open, things would have likely changed completely. There was a lot of fate involved.

One of my favorite moments was listening to Irwin and Bob talk about Star Trek, and by that I mean the original series. I started to participate but then realized that these guys could name episodes and quote a lot of dialogue. Bowing to the masters, I listened appreciatively to their pro-level geekiness until the trail spread us apart again.

Throughout most of the hike, even in those conditions, I either had a smile on my face or was smiling internally to avoid a weather-related dental procedure. I never felt whiny or scared or worried or that it sucked. You simply could not believe that you were outside in this weather at all, much less the middle of nowhere, and the whole concept was fabulous. And with every step you marveled at the wild, remote Highlands beauty. It was exhilarating and emotional and hilarious. Even though there was no “stopping for lunch.” We came across only two other walkers on the entire hike, one of whom had one leg. I mean. It’s really hard to complain.

Thinking about it now, I wondered if I should have been having some deep thoughts about the meaning of life as I traversed the glen in the storm with my stick. Actually, my mind was completely blank. It wasn’t churning over anything, or narrating my experience. I was just walking. Taking it all in. Being in the moment, as they say. It was marvelous and quiet and wild. I felt happy and at peace.

Finally, as we hiked down toward the vans, along a river, a waterfall and surrounded by reddish-brown ferns, the sun came out for real. As we had spread out quit a bit over the hours of walking, Jenny and Keith took me and Bob (those Canadians are not only super nice, but also highly intrepid) back to the hotel for tea and a hot shower.

Back in my room, I managed to get enough internet to briefly check the news. As it turns out, the storm we had just hiked 8 miles through had been given a name by the British government, which meant that it was “deemed to have a substantial impact” on the UK. Storm Ali packed a punch. Winds of 100 mph had been clocked somewhere in the Highlands. Train service had been halted completely from both Edinburgh and Glasgow. Roads were closed due to downed trees. Edinburgh Castle was closed. Ferry service was disrupted. 70,000 people were without power.

And twelve of us were out hiking in the Highlands. And I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

Backroads Days 3 and 4: Over the Sea to Skye

September 23, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel, Uncategorized

Day three dawned a wee bit rainy, and our planned hike was officially scuppered due to wind, flooding and danger of being blown off a cliff into the sea. Very disappointed, as we were heading to the famed Coulags. Next trip.

Jenny, Eileen and Keith had another hike in their back pockets, followed by lunch in a little village. Then we would head to the Isle of Skye. Jenny sketched out the day on a chalkboard.

The hike was completely beautiful. Our love of sheep officially began on this day. Adorable Scottish sheep were everywhere. Scotland doesn’t seem to have industrialized its meat production. Unsupervised sheep, cows and chickens are wandering around all over the place completely left to their own devices. Sheep are marked with a splash of color which identifies to whom they belong. Otherwise, they are free to wander, eat grass, and perch picturesquely on the edges of cliffs, gazing out at the ocean.

I kept asking people if the cows and sheep were used for milk and cheese and the people kept raising an eyebrow and shaking their heads. Make no mistake, we are talking about meat here. But at least until their day of doom, Scottish livestock have the world’s most fabulous life.

A few pictures of our hike follow, but sadly the most exciting bit went unphotographed. Just after passing someone’s lovely farmhouse (they have a black dog named Merlin who enthusiastically greets ramblers), we needed to haul ourselves up a tall boulder cropping. And to help, there was a rusted chain that had been set into the boulders. Completely awesome. I felt like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible as I pulled myself up the outcropping, hand over hand. Which I shared with Keith after triumphantly reaching the top. In response, he cocked his head and asked, “you felt like a Scientologist?”

We returned to the little town where we began, and walked to our lunch place, a fabulous little pizza spot on a loch. Keith removed a giant chalkboard from a wall and presented it to the table. He asked the server permission first, and interpreted a disapproving pause as assent. Note to self: adopt this strategy immediately.

As we left the restaurant, we were greeted with a magical rainbow over the loch. While we pretty much had daily rainbows, this one was the most rainbowish one of all.

We set off in the vans for a bit, finally driving over a lovely bridge to the Isle of Skye. It has been hit pretty hard by tourism over recent years, but Backroads always finds more solitary spots. We stayed at the Duisdale Hotel, on the edge of the water with beautiful views.

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On tap for the evening was a musical performance by a local bagpiper and accordionist who teach music at the Gaelic College on Skye, called Sabhal Mòr Ostaig. The college is dedicated to providing education for Gaelic speakers with the goal of widening access to the Gaelic language and culture.

Bagpipe music used to make me cringe and then run out of the room. Maybe one of the things that happens after menopause is that suddenly bagpipes become majestic instruments that make you shiver and then cry.

In the middle of the show, our bagpiper challenged us to a bit of Scottish dancing in the parking lot, and so out we went. A documentary of our dance lesson experience is currently being edited for Netflix. The reviews will say, “Stunningly talented Americans and two Canadians change the face of traditional Scottish dance forever.”

The next day dawned slightly brighter with strange blue areas in the sky. Now old hands at divining Scottish weather, we thumbed our noses at the blue and donned our rain pants. Today we met Sarah, a Scotland ranger, who would accompany us on our hike and tell us about birds, plants and the Highland Clearances. Our trail started at a ruined church (see below) and took us past some old granite mines where we came across a lovely woman out for a walk with her border collie. We then dipped down to a large and desolate ruin of a village that was abandoned as a result of the clearances.

The Highland clearances are an infamous chapter in Scottish history. They were the forced eviction of inhabitants of the Highlands and western Islands, and basically cleared the land of people to allow for the introduction of sheep. For hundreds of years prior to the clearances, the Highlands followed the clan system. The clan was ruled by one family, and others lived together in agricultural townships that functioned like collectives. The land was controlled by the chief but leased by tenant farmers. Very feudal. All the men who worked on the land also owed allegiance and their military service to the clan chief. The clearances, which took place over a century, resulted in the destruction of the traditional clan society and began a pattern of rural depopulation and mass emigration from Scotland to the Americas and elsewhere.

So why? After the Battle of Culloden, the British government (aka evil redcoats) passed repressive legislation designed to compromise the power of the clan chief and Gaelic culture. The 1746 Act of Proscription required all swords to be surrendered, prohibited the wearing of clan tartans, forbade the speaking of Gaelic and the playing of bagpipes (because they were deemed instruments of war). Another act removed the sovereign power which the chiefs held over their clans. The clearances began thereafter, waxing and waning through the collapse of wartime industries after the Napoleonic Wars, a rise in population, famine, and a decline in the economy. Landlords were deeply in debt and were looking for more lucrative uses for their land. Replacement of the old style of peasant farming with well-capitalized sheep farmers allowed the charging of higher rents and required much less manpower.

Nobody knows for sure, but possibly up to 150,000 Scots emigrated during the clearances, and the effect still resonates today. In 1755 it is estimated that 51% of Scotland’s population lived in the Highlands, but by 1981 only 21% were.

Here are some photos of just one such village left in ruins.

Stop it with the history!! Please may we talk about peat instead. Scotland is covered with peat bogs, and over history Scots have used peat to heat homes, make whisky and so much more. Peat bogs have very low rates of decay and can even preserve food (up to 2,000 year old containers of butter have been found) and dead bodies (watch the BBC’s Shetland on Netflix because Douglas Henshall is gorg – I mean a great actor). Peat’s official name is sphagnum moss. I can go on and on, but since you have already been subjected to background info you can look up yourselves on the internet, suffice it to say that it can hold an amazing amount of water. Sarah stood knee-deep in heather and gave us a very interesting peat talk. She was holding in her hand a tiny bit of sphagnum moss. I mean tiny. When she squeezed it, enough water poured out to fill a juice glass. Magic.

Before I share the next few pictures, allow me to issue a disclaimer. Having learned the devastating story of the clearances, I feel slightly guilty being so enamored of the sheep. I mean, I love them. There are 7 million sheep in Scotland and I love each and every one. My thinking is, though, that those initial displacing sheep are long gone, and the current sheeply inhabitants had nothing to do with the clearances. You are free to judge their culpability for yourself.

After our visit to the ruined villages, we hiked down to a rocky shore and up the side of a cliff to our dramatic lunch spot overlooking the sea. Keith awaited us with the lunches we ordered on Day 1.

That evening we visited a brand new distillery on Skye, called Torabhaig. It’s so new that they haven’t yet produced a whisky because there hasn’t been enough time to age it the requisite number of years (3) in oak barrels. After the tour, as we were tasting another distillery’s whisky, we chatted with two employees. One shared that he was an extra in the iconic Hardhome episode in Season 5 of Game of Thrones. He also gathers with his mates every week for Dungeons & Dragons – and you got the sense that he is quite the appreciative drinker. The other has exactly one drink every year, a whisky, on Christmas Day. He works in a distillery, he lives and breathes whisky, and yet only one drink per year. He told us in foreboding tones about Scotland’s relatively new zero tolerance policy on drinking and driving, and said that we were all legally drunk after sampling our first wee dram. Scottish authorities warn that the only way to ensure you stay within the limit is to have no alcohol at all. It’s actually had a negative impact on Scotland’s economy and critics say it amounts to a form of prohibition. Dinna fash, though, if you are a non-driving tourist sort of person.

We were amazed by the huge investment it took to start a distillery, especially when you aren’t making gin or vodka (which one can whip up in a matter of days, we were told dismissively). Huge up front expense and a long wait before anything hits the market. A labor of love, to be sure. I bought a tshirt to help things along.

And a last word about whisky. When I first arrived in Scotland, I couldn’t believe how cheap a dram was. Well….it is much cheaper, but it’s also more wee. A pour is about one ounce of liquid, whereas in the States, it is more like 1.5 ounces and maybe even 2 if the bartender is clueless. I never once saw a server eyeball a pour, either, it’s very carefully measured in a jigger, which means that your glass is inevitably sticky from the awkwardness of the transfer. I generally favor the smaller food portions you are served in European restaurants. But with whisky, I say, supersize me.

Backroads Days 5 and 6: Cows, Beaches, Ferries and Harry

September 22, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel

On this last full day of our hiking trip through the Highlands, cows were the stars. Cows, seriously? Ah, but they are free-roaming Scottish faerie cows.

Our final hike, while just as beautiful as the ones before, was bittersweet. You realize how much you will miss your daily routine of getting up early, greeting your fellow guests with whom you have totally bonded, having breakfast, pulling on unflattering rain pants, going for a drop-dead gorgeous hike with weather that changes every five seconds, heading to a beautiful hotel, engaging in some sort of educational, cultural or whisky-related activity, enjoying a gourmet dinner over interesting conversation, and then retiring to a comfy bed in a beautiful room. It bears mentioning that for days you have exactly zero responsibilities because everything is all dialed for you. It’s a very civilized schedule, with just a touch of adventure, to which you quickly grow accustomed, like okay, this is my life now. It’s surprisingly emotional when it comes to an end and you know you’ll soon be required to make decisions and do laundry. While most Backroads trips are only six days, because of the pace and the fact that you tend to live in and notice every moment, time passes slowly and the trip seems longer, in the best possible way.

This final day dawned unmistakably bright. Our hike took us from the edge of a village over some rolling hills toward the sea, and into the paths of the cutest, muddy-ankled cows who have ever walked the face of the earth. One sweet little face in particular.

Obviously my spirit animal.

After we bid farewell to our cows, we came across the most brilliant handmade sign ever, imparting a few gentle suggestions about how to behave as we hiked through the owner’s property. Keep the faries safe.

Our path ended at the water’s edge and our first white sand beach, completely deserted.

After spending some time walking about and gazing out to sea, we reluctantly turned around and made our way back. But there’s always time for a wee stop at a pop-up cafe. We soon came upon Jenny, who had opened the Highland Cafe, stocking it with cookies, fruit, hot chocolate and Baileys and Cream – best ever. My pal Irwin declared his Baileys and hot chocolate to be the best drink he had ever tasted. Again, we would have lingered, but alas, the rains came, a ferry awaited, and so we skedaddled.

I love ferries, I don’t know why. I’m not generally a huge fan of being on the water in some sort of tippy vessel, but I’m all about an hour ferry ride in the Scottish Highlands, especially when you can see your destination, Mallaig, across the water from the dock. It was sad to bid farewell to Skye, but we had Hogwarts in our future, and best not to keep Dumbledore waiting.

In Mallaig, a charming coastal town, we walked a few blocks to catch the Jacobite steam train to Fort William. This train has been operating under various names and with different operators every summer since 1984 and its route is incredibly scenic and has always been popular with tourists. The company running the show provided Warner Brothers with the train used as the Hogwarts Express in all the Harry Potter movies and allowed them use of the Jacobite’s route for filming, particularly the famous Glenfinnan viaduct. So you’ve all seen it. I mean, you should have if you are my friend. Not to miss an opportunity, as if riding on an actual steam train in the Highlands were not enough, the train now completely traffics in Harry Potter. There’s even a Potter-themed gift shop in one of the cars. And there are children everywhere, in costume, having the time of their lives. One German boy dressed as Harry ran up and down the aisle in our car, followed by a trotting, indulgent father wielding an iPad in front of his face to capture every moment on video. We snagged the boy during one of his passes and invited him into our car. He spoke no English but knew exactly what we were hankering for. He promptly sat down and wielded his wand for photos.

All along the route, tourists were standing about on country roads with cameras at the ready, to photograph the train as it rumbled past, belching steam. Pretty remarkable.

After arriving in Fort William, we found the vans in the train station parking lot. How they got there, I have no idea. We climbed aboard and headed to a private Island called Eriska, and the beautiful Isle of Eriska Hotel. Maybe the swankiest hotel of our trip – I had a suite of rooms the size of many apartments I’ve lived in. Goodness.

We convened for our final cocktail party and dinner, all dressed up and fancy-like. We unanimously decided to forgo the planned hour-long walk around the grounds the following morning, advertised as being “probably really muddy,” in favor of enjoying the beautiful hotel and bidding a fond and leisurely farewell to one another.

Fittingly, our final sunset was a doozy.

We shared one last van ride as the leaders dropped me at my hotel in Fort William and took the rest of the guests to the Inverness Airport to continue their journeys away from this magical country.

Thanks, Backroads, and especially Jenny, Eileen and Keith. You guys rock.

Fort William and Reflections on Traveling Solo

September 21, 2018November 11, 2018 by weedramofscotland, posted in Scotland Travel, Solo Travel, Uncategorized

“When you’re not sitting across from someone, you’re sitting across from the world.”

I am writing this final entry from Oregon, in fact I’ve been home for exactly two weeks. I have thought about Scotland every day, with the fondness of remembrance and the surprise of new revelations. It’s a little harder to write a travelogue from home, though, so sadly Fort William will not receive quite as much love as it deserves, even though it is totally wonderful and you should all go.

Fort William is nestled between Loch Linnhe and Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in the UK at 4,413 feet. (Remember they are starting from sea level.) It’s also at the other end of the Great Glen Way from Inverness. As such, it is gateway to multiple recreational areas in the Highlands, including the beautiful Glen Coe and and Glen Nevis. This being my last full day in the Highlands, I arranged another private tour with local guide Peter, who grew up in the area. We first drove through beautiful Glen Nevis, noticing that the tippy tops of the surrounding hills, including Ben Nevis, had been sprinkled with faerie dust overnight. We call it snow in the States but of course this is Scotland, so. Peter pointed out filming locations for basically all the Scotland movies, as well as Harry Potter. The road ended at a trailhead marked with an ominous sign about people falling off the trail to their deaths. A couple of dudes were carefully reading, and photographing, the sign before setting off down the path. Hopefully not too far, as orange sneakers and jean jackets, I fear, bode ill.

Peter shared more Jacobite history, especially about the Bonnie Prince’s journey after he scarpered from Culloden, fleeing across Scotland to the Isle of Skye. Even though he completely bailed as his men were being slaughtered, his escape is heartbreakingly recounted in the folk ballad, “The Skye Boat Song.” (Listen to it and try not to cry.) He made it to the Outer Hebrides, where he met legendary Scottish heroine Flora MacDonald. Flora sheltered the Bonnie Prince and kept him hidden from British authorities. She ultimately masterminded his escape from Scotland by disguising him as “Betty Burke,” her Irish maid. Peter said there were rumors they had a fling. They were both in their twenties, attractive, hiding from the redcoats and having a dangerous adventure together, what do you think?

While the Bonnie Prince escaped to a life in Rome as a sad, aimless alcoholic, Flora was captured and thrown into the Tower of London. Typical. She was released, and later married a MacDonald, a kinsman, thus insuring that she was Flora MacDonald from cradle to grave. They had a family and emigrated to North Carolina, where they supported the British in the Revolutionary War. Being on the wrong side of history yet again, they ended up losing their property. They returned to Skye, where Flora lived to the ripe old age of 68. Everyone in Scotland knows her name. You can visit her home, her grave and a statue on the grounds of Inverness Castle. I suppose she is depicted searching for our Charles Edward Stuart, although I’m not certain why there is a wolf.

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We next stopped at the Commando Memorial, a striking sculpture honoring the unit of elite soldiers created by Winston Churchill during World War II. Their special training was adopted by other elite military units around the world, including the US Army Rangers.

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And of course, we visited the Highland Memorial, located near the Glenfinnan viaduct, which I had traversed on the Hogwarts Express days earlier. The memorial honors the Highlanders who supported the Bonnie Prince during the 1745 rising. Surrounding hills were framed by a yet another beautiful rainbow as I headed back to the car.

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Finally, we drove down the road bisecting Glencoe, another fantastically beautiful and remote valley framed by six of Scotland’s 282 Munros. These looked particularly serious, and indeed, Peter said he lost a friend in a hiking accident there. Munros may only be 3,000 feet or so, but they are not to be trifled with.

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Since returning, I have thought often about the Scots and their beautiful country. My overwhelming impression of the Scottish people is their openness, humor and kindness. Their strong connectedness to their rich and bloody history and culture (read How the Scots Invented the Modern World), and to nature and their fellow creatures. Also, as in many European countries, they have a very relaxed sense of time. Am I romanticizing? Almost certainly. Nonetheless, I’m trying to carry my perceptions with me, because they reflect how I’d like to be in the world. Travel forces us to slow down, unless we take our frenetic American pace with us, and also imparts a sense of perspective and proportion that there’s a big wide world out there and it’s pretty silly to coil up inside our constricted sense of our own importance.

I have never done a major trip like this on my own. So this blog was meant to be the Journal of a Woman Traveling Alone. The thing is though, just as in my life at home, I found that I actually didn’t think about it that much. I did notice a few things. I learned that one’s experience of travel is very different when traveling solo. When you are with a group you create your own universe of interaction. You experience everything together, and share experiences visually and verbally. You talk to one another more than you interact with locals. I felt that as a solo traveler, I was more open to anything happening, to anyone talking to me. You are, as the quote says, sitting across from the world.

When traveling with others, if you are a person who pre-worries and over-worries (ahem), there’s an underlying layer of concern about whether your companions are okay, happy with the itinerary, having a good time, etc. Are they hungry, would they like to stop, do they need to go to the bathroom. Women are the worst at this. We want to be supportive of others’ experiences, like, at all times, and if we can help, especially by giving up something we kind of want, then by all means. We like to smooth things over, we like to soothe. We are the great mediators.

Being alone, you are forced to do whatever the blazes you want whenever you want to do it. You experience your travels directly, taking responsibility for your own experience, interacting with complete strangers, figuring out all the things. Very liberating. There’s no waiting around, or worry that you are keeping others waiting. No one was humoring me. There was no need to clear anything with anyone else, no need for compromise. The phrases, “what about…” or “what if we…” or “do you want to….” never passed my lips.

One is a free agent. You are your very own self, looking at things through your own eyes, feeling your own feelings, being your own observational genius. Bearing witness to your own journey. Your emotions are closer to the surface because they are outward-facing, rather than aimed toward or through a companion. I often found myself welling up at the beauty of the scenery just because that’s what happened. No need to say anything or seek validation by asking, “Isn’t that beautiful,” and then being impacted, even subconsciously, by another’s reaction. There’s a lot to be said for moving through your experience with no filters, no agendas, and none of the indigenous drama that can permeate interpersonal relationships.

The downside, of course, is missing the camaraderie of traveling with a like-minded soul, with someone you love enough to travel with, which can be such a profound experience. On a more practical level, another person means a reduced level of travel anxiety since you aren’t on point the entire flipping time. On the other hand, you discover that you can have some pretty fabulous camaraderie with yourself, and being on point actually makes you feel pretty badass. Who knew.

On balance, I highly recommend it. It doesn’t have to be a two-week extravaganza with a passport. Take a break and head out for a solo weekend once in a while. You won’t regret it.

So it has been wonderful sharing this journey with you, and I greatly appreciate the personal feedback I’ve received, for real. I have enjoyed writing this more than I can say, and I hope I’ve convinced all of you to consider a trip to a beautiful and magical country in any way that makes sense to you. I swear Backroads isn’t paying me for writing this, they just happen to be a great fit for me. Find ways to travel that work with your own personal style. Visit countries and cultures that give you a fluttery feeling inside your heart. Spend a lot of time in the outdoors once you get there. One thing I’ve learned from others’ well-intentioned travel recommendations is they can land with a bit of a thud. Travel is an intensely personal experience. Have faith that your very own adventures await.

Travel is profoundly life-changing, every single time. Even the inevitable sucky bits. And life is short, as they say. So begin imagining your next adventure and then make it so.

Sláinte mhaith!

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