The weather has been glorious. Everything seems beautiful. I would probably find the tarmac to be unique and the garbage cans clever were I to pay them any attention, in weather as beautiful as this. People always groan about the weather here, but I am deceived into loving the place because of days like today and yesterday, (and fingers crossed, tomorrow and the day after as well).
Eileen Donan Castle has occupied its spot on the hill for more time than is fully known (ie, it has prehistoric stones left on the site, and then a couple of layers for the current buildings. Though in great ruin and disrepair, it was bought by a Mr.McRae _______ and his family in 1913 and for the following 20 years or so, built up and repaired. It is now a headquarters to the McRae Clan. It's location is spectacular, surrounded by waters that are tidal - sometimes accessible by land, and at other times, only accessible by the bridge leading to it.
Today we visited Stirling Castle, and again the sun shone. Bright and warm. I even managed to get down to just my t-shirt! It made the green lawns look even brighter, and the trees offering shade seemed to actually serve a purpose! Stirling castle was a royal home for centuries, and wasn't really meant to be a strong hold for fighting, but was positioned in a stategic place...sort of in the middle of Scotland's narrowest part of land. The Stuarts lived there, and there are major restoration works taking place on the palace/residential buildings at the moment. It will look amazing as they cover up all the stones with the lime wash, tinted in the same colours as they were originally. It is hard to imagine an old castle without it's stones showing - and yet, the majority of castles were probably once rendered in something...
We learnt more in our journey to understanding the positions of Englishmen, Scots and Jacobites, and the conflicts they had. Unfortunately there is still way much to learn, so I shan't attempt a definition as it would most likely be wrong! The kids most thoroughly enjoyed watching 'two of Cromwell's men' (with disticnctively Glaswegian accents)explaining how the seige went on the castle, when highlanders were the ones defending it, and also how to load and fire their muskets.
We repeated our never-to-be-repeated act of not having accommodation pre-booked, and headed to Oban. This time there was a lot less stress, as the first place we went to gave us a room - on the top floor- of course....it is always the top floor, which is good for the view, but not great for the lugging of heavy cases. It was a great big old house, on the end of the Esplanade. Even though it was part of a terrace building, it was still huge. Lots of rooms, at least 26, and a grand old drawing room downstairs, across the hall from the shared kitchen. All the front rooms look out into the bay. This is especially picturesque on a morning like this morning, where the waters are calm and still, and there are rows of sail boats, anchored in harbour.
We met a couple from Queensland, who have both left their jobs and are traveling the world for a year. What amazing places they have seen and been to. The man is calling it his midlife crisis...that's as may be...but what a way to have it.
Eliza's foot is getting better. She can walk most normally on it again, but it is still very tender.
On our last night in Plockton, we had dinner with Ailsa and Forbes, as they are holidaying near by. The good bye at the end of the evening was quite sad, and I had to focus on the possibility of them visiting us in Oz someday, as opposed to the likelihood of it being a long time, if not forever, before we see them again. Add this to the farewells at Bonar Bridge, and it starts to feel like things are coming to an end. However, we are now back at Innerleithen, enjoying the generosity of yet another of Cat and Stu's rellies (Stu's Mum and Dad this time). The focus will be on a good week, with lots to see and do...Edinburgh for example, and Melrose Abbey. Goodbyes will be dealt with later!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Speed, Bonnie Boat, like a bird on the wing
We have braved the midgies and visited Skye. Pleasantly, the midgies were no bother, and we were able to fully appreciate the scenery that is Skye.
The homes on Skye are distinctive in character, white, with slate rooves, with two or three ‘attic’ windows looking out from them. A little portico poking out around the front door. Most quaint. They are not so much concentrated onto road sides, as scattered over the hillsides. (Mainly around the township areas….other areas are quite bare of people and signs of them) There are craggy, smooth topped mountains, and a couple of quite sharp peaks in one spot, creating a landscape quite similar to those we encountered higher up on the west coast. The sea side is rather mighty looking – especially on a day like today where there have been wind warnings, as it is a stormy blue, with choppy waters wearing little white caps. Dark, ominous rocks poke their heads up amongst the waters, threatening boats but inviting birds.
Hours in a car do not rate highly on the kids lists of fun things to do, and I confess that today they missed much of the scenery by having their heads down, drawing on notebooks, to pass the time. Sam particularly was disgusted with himself (and us – because of course, it was our fault for not telling him, ‘Look now’) when he missed the Skye bridge going into Skye, and then again on our way out.
We did let the kids out at a playground at around midday, to stretch their legs before lunch. This ended badly, when Sam jumped off the seesaw without warning, with Eliza on the other end. Her poor left foot caught the impact as she came slamming down on top of it. There was screaming, followed by the usual debate that parents everywhere agonize over…do we find a hospital…do we let it go for a bit. I suppose that given our circumstances it isn’t surprising that we decided to let it slide a bit. (I should add that there were no visual signs of breakage at this point). She has continued to nurse it for the rest of the day, but I did see here walk towards some toys with nothing more than a slight limp mid arvo, and this evening she is walking on it again, albeit very gingerly. I think we shall be okay.
Whilst on Skye we visited the ancestral home of the McLeod Clan, in Dunvegan. I saw the vest of Bonnie Prince Charlie, which was good because I had been hanging out for some evidence of his fleeting visit. (We had stopped at the cemetery where Flora McDonald’s remains reside, and I was still missing some lines from the first verse, and chorus of the Skye Boat Song.) The gardens at Dunvegan are beautiful. Delightful. Waterfalls, wooden bridges, highly manicured garden beds and all enjoyed without being rained on.
We also popped into Skye’s only Whiskey distillery where two things happened. I found the words to the Skye boat song in a cabinet (unfortunately they were obscured with other bits of info) so I couldn’t quite make them all out. The other thing that I learnt was that I hate Whiskey. I took the little sampler thinking that perhaps my taste buds may have matured and a little sip of whiskey may prove enjoyable, but, er no. My taste buds have not matured enough that they enjoy the taste of acids, textas or petroleum products – guess I don’t need to worry about developing any nasty alchohol habits any time soon!
Flora MacDonald, by the way, was made famous when she smuggled Bonnie Prince Charlie from the mainland, to Skye, dressed as her handmaiden. He had been on the run since his defeat at Culloden, three months earlier, and from Skye escaped to France. Flora as captured and taken back to London as a prisoner, but her fame as a heroine spread quickly and all sorts wanted to visit her. Eventually she was released, returned to Scotland and married. She had five sons, and two daughters…and then emigrated to America, where her husband and her became caught up in the war of Independence. Her husband and sons fought. Husband was taken prisoner. She returned to Scotland to visit, and on the way home, was attacked by pirates and during the skirmish broke her arm which plagued her for the rest of her life. The amazing thing is that her husband and her were re-united in Scotland, and stayed and lived til old age. (Sadly, minus two sons, whose lives the war had claimed) She was such an inspirational woman, it is enough to make me like the name Flora!
We will head south tomorrow, visiting Eileen Doonan Castle, and Loch Ness on the way down, possibly staying at Oban or somewhere geographically similar. That will leave Tuesday to visit Stirling Castle, on our way back to Innerleithen. Then there will be only one week remaining before we leave Scotland, for ever. Gulp.
The homes on Skye are distinctive in character, white, with slate rooves, with two or three ‘attic’ windows looking out from them. A little portico poking out around the front door. Most quaint. They are not so much concentrated onto road sides, as scattered over the hillsides. (Mainly around the township areas….other areas are quite bare of people and signs of them) There are craggy, smooth topped mountains, and a couple of quite sharp peaks in one spot, creating a landscape quite similar to those we encountered higher up on the west coast. The sea side is rather mighty looking – especially on a day like today where there have been wind warnings, as it is a stormy blue, with choppy waters wearing little white caps. Dark, ominous rocks poke their heads up amongst the waters, threatening boats but inviting birds.
Hours in a car do not rate highly on the kids lists of fun things to do, and I confess that today they missed much of the scenery by having their heads down, drawing on notebooks, to pass the time. Sam particularly was disgusted with himself (and us – because of course, it was our fault for not telling him, ‘Look now’) when he missed the Skye bridge going into Skye, and then again on our way out.
We did let the kids out at a playground at around midday, to stretch their legs before lunch. This ended badly, when Sam jumped off the seesaw without warning, with Eliza on the other end. Her poor left foot caught the impact as she came slamming down on top of it. There was screaming, followed by the usual debate that parents everywhere agonize over…do we find a hospital…do we let it go for a bit. I suppose that given our circumstances it isn’t surprising that we decided to let it slide a bit. (I should add that there were no visual signs of breakage at this point). She has continued to nurse it for the rest of the day, but I did see here walk towards some toys with nothing more than a slight limp mid arvo, and this evening she is walking on it again, albeit very gingerly. I think we shall be okay.
Whilst on Skye we visited the ancestral home of the McLeod Clan, in Dunvegan. I saw the vest of Bonnie Prince Charlie, which was good because I had been hanging out for some evidence of his fleeting visit. (We had stopped at the cemetery where Flora McDonald’s remains reside, and I was still missing some lines from the first verse, and chorus of the Skye Boat Song.) The gardens at Dunvegan are beautiful. Delightful. Waterfalls, wooden bridges, highly manicured garden beds and all enjoyed without being rained on.
We also popped into Skye’s only Whiskey distillery where two things happened. I found the words to the Skye boat song in a cabinet (unfortunately they were obscured with other bits of info) so I couldn’t quite make them all out. The other thing that I learnt was that I hate Whiskey. I took the little sampler thinking that perhaps my taste buds may have matured and a little sip of whiskey may prove enjoyable, but, er no. My taste buds have not matured enough that they enjoy the taste of acids, textas or petroleum products – guess I don’t need to worry about developing any nasty alchohol habits any time soon!
Flora MacDonald, by the way, was made famous when she smuggled Bonnie Prince Charlie from the mainland, to Skye, dressed as her handmaiden. He had been on the run since his defeat at Culloden, three months earlier, and from Skye escaped to France. Flora as captured and taken back to London as a prisoner, but her fame as a heroine spread quickly and all sorts wanted to visit her. Eventually she was released, returned to Scotland and married. She had five sons, and two daughters…and then emigrated to America, where her husband and her became caught up in the war of Independence. Her husband and sons fought. Husband was taken prisoner. She returned to Scotland to visit, and on the way home, was attacked by pirates and during the skirmish broke her arm which plagued her for the rest of her life. The amazing thing is that her husband and her were re-united in Scotland, and stayed and lived til old age. (Sadly, minus two sons, whose lives the war had claimed) She was such an inspirational woman, it is enough to make me like the name Flora!
We will head south tomorrow, visiting Eileen Doonan Castle, and Loch Ness on the way down, possibly staying at Oban or somewhere geographically similar. That will leave Tuesday to visit Stirling Castle, on our way back to Innerleithen. Then there will be only one week remaining before we leave Scotland, for ever. Gulp.
Friday, August 27, 2010
See the Scenery
See the Scenery
It occurred to me last night, as I lay in the hostel listening to revelers leave the bar, that I had done a very poor job as an artist – that is, that I hadn’t painted any scenes for you. So here goes.
The Orkney Islands are devoid of trees. I don’t know if it ever had them or not (what did the place look like, back when it had a Mediterranean climate??), or whether the weather is simply too unkind, either way, the view is one of green hills, that somehow manage to not look desolate. There are little crofts that are scattered over the island, abandoned and slowly falling to decay…..even they don’t look desolate….more intriguing, or quaint, or romantic…..but not desolate. This may also be attributed for the lovely weather we scored. By lovely, I mean that we never got caught in a heavy downpour, and that on more than a few occasions we had the sun actually shine on us. The wind was chilly when it blew, but we were even lucky enough to not have as much of that as we are lead to believe is common on the islands.
I also need to paint grass for you. It would be such a shame, if when I spoke of ‘grass’ - be it here, in the Borders, or even back in England- you pictured buffalo grass, or some kind of cooch. Firstly, paint it green. Not a washed out lime, but a full of energy dark green, then add sheen. It is shiny. Glossy. Chances are that it has, after all, been washed by rain rather recently, so it looks shiny clean. Now add about six inches to the length of lawn. There seems to be two kinds, one a flat, narrow blade, and the other, like super fine, non-pointy pine needles. Both reach a height where they bow down under their own weight making a very inviting sort of cover. But wait there’s more…even when there is not more….Firstly, there is usually a whole ‘nother layer beneath the long grass, that is made up of mosses, tiny ground covers, and a blend of other friendly weeds, like clover, dandelion etc. This adds a sponge like layer, that means when you walk on the grass, it is like walking on a gym mat, and when sitting on it, like plonking yourself on a cushion…a damp one, I grant you….but a cushion non the less. The interesting thing is that when there is NOT a layer of ground cover underneath, and you can just see the dark dirt underfoot; it is still springy. It is as if all of the centuries of plant matter, growing and then dying, and all of the water, constantly soaking into it, has created one big sponge. I suppose this is worse in the hills, but I can’t think of anywhere that we have walked, where this hasn’t been the case. In fact, in the hills, you are more likely than not to get wet shoes or feet, because the ground is so water logged, that when you step on the grass, your foot sinks deep into water-logged soil.
Before catching the ferry, we drove through Kirkwall, and stopped quickly at the cathederal. Unfortunately, this is a picture I just can not paint for you. I have neither the education nor the vocabulary to do it. Suffice to say it was impressive without being grandiose. It was provincial looking, but in no way simplistic. It was highly detailed craftsmanship, but not intricately fussy.
The ferry ride was most enjoyable as we lunched on board on our sandwiches, and tried the smoked cheese on oat crackers that we had purchased in Orkney, and tried the yummy rose lemonade.
I was most impressed that we met our agenda of visiting both the Castle of Mey, and Mary-Anne’s cottage. I may have mentioned that the Castle of Mey was the Queen Mother’s personal residence – bought specifically by her, when the place was on a waiting list to be knocked down. Rumor has it that it cost her 100 pounds, the price that the wrecking was due to cost. There is no proof of that but it makes an interesting story. The place has been left as it was when she lived there. Including her coat and hat on the downstairs chair, and her hob nail gum boots. Apparently Charles and Camilla were there only a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know how they normally live, but I shouldn’t be surprised if to them, Mey feels like slumming it. It feels a bit old. Normal really. Far too normal for a royal residence. Haha! Normal for a castle? I don’t know what I am going by as it has been ages since I lived in a castle. Ha! I simply mean that there are cement floors in some parts, and paint that is cracking and peeling. There is a sort of coldness and oldness in the furnishings which I don’t imagine the royal family to be used to. But maybe they are. Maybe everyone has a grandma’s house to visit, that feels like this one. I suppose when you look at it that way, it is exactly how the Queen Mum’s residence should be. Had a lovely guide there, by the way. Full of first hand info.
Mary-Anne’s cottage was the extreme other end of the social scale, as it was a crofter’s cottage that had remained fairly unchanged for the last 150 years. She had inherited it from her Dad, and even though she married and had a child, she didn’t like change, therefore, a visit is mostly a step back into the not-so-distant past. (Reminded me strongly of Petticoat lane, crossed with the sheds at Dergholm). Shane and I were a little on edge because the kids were allowed to touch things, and one is just waiting for the moment when something that has survived 150 years of farming life, and a decade of tourist visits, is destroyed in one foul moment, at the hands of one of your children. The worst that happened was when Sam and Lilli ran up to the quite large pile of peat, piled pyramid style on the front lawn. Sam grabbed a block on the corner, about half way up and gave it a little wiggle. By coincidence I looked up at that moment, and can vouch for him, that it really was no more than a little tap…..but down she came. Peat tumbled on top of peat and the lovely neat tower lost its corner, down the slope of the lawn. Ooops! How I wish we could have seen Sam’s face. I imagine that his eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go, while his mouth dropped open in horror. He froze, and must have been waiting for the peat to stop, and his parents to start. All he got was a mild sort of tut tut, and was made to help put things as right as we could.
We stopped the night at Durness, in a nice little b and b where they let us all squeeze in together. The cooked breakfast was a welcome start to the day, and we have since then been traveling. We visited the Smoo Cave (in Durness) which was speccy in its location and lay out. It has a gaping huge mouth, looking out into a bay. Running into the back of the cave is a water fall, whose waters pool in the cave, and then run out in a stream, across the rocks and out into the bay. We sat in a rubber dingy and had a little look around. The cavern is basically underneath one of the hills which make up the highlands, and so the water that runs down into it, is very brown in colour, the result of having filtered its way through so much peat. Apparently it is this ‘Peaty’ water that makes Whisky so good…
Cocoa Mountain also made it onto our visit list, as part of an artistic community in Durness. The Village was not pretty, but the people who choose to live there, an eclectic and talented bunch. We ended our tour at the Cocoa Mountain shop, if for no other reason than that they had soy milk. That is a big deal here. Fortunately, coffee shops haven’t been a big part of our travels, but had they been, I would be really sick of black tea by now…
The rest is scenery. Driving around and oohing and aahing at the achingly beautiful scenery. People kept telling us that the West Coast is their favourite part of Scotland. That its coastline is rugged and wild. The Highlands stunning. On our way north, I confess that I didn’t really expect too much. ‘People’ were right though. It surprises me that hills where trees refuse to grow can be so lovely to look at, but they are. There is a sort of greyness to it all. Rock exposed along the tops and in various places on the slopes, and where there is not rock, the dull purple of heather, and above it all, cloudy skies. But somehow this is beautiful….and then the sun comes out and POW, it takes your breath away. The colours brighten. The loch that seconds ago made a still mirror of silver, becomes a vibrant reflection in technicolour. Or choppy grey waters become a deep, dark blue. There is so much water everywhere that I frequently do not know if I am looking at a loch or a firth. The roads are winding their way amongst it all, like a show ride through God’s best theme park…only there are no tracks keeping your car on the path, and when one comes the other way, you need to make a spot to squeeze past one another….maybe He could work on that!
Tonight we are back in Bonar Bridge, and tomorrow we head to somewhere near Skye. It will be a day of more driving and looking, as opposed to getting out and doing. The kids probably don’t enjoy this as much, but in fairness are traveling really well – I just wish we had a cassette other than the Goon Show to listen to – perhaps a second hand shop may be worth a visit some time soon. I guess I will write when we have braved the midges on Skye, to tell you about that. Midges are awful by the way. Truly awful. You could simply suck them up your nose they are so small, light and thick in the air. Worse than mozzies. At least you can have a good go at smacking a mozzie out of its existence, but midgies…it is like trying to swat a spec of dust, whilst you are standing in a dust storm. I think the best plan is to just turn and run, but don’t scream or you will end up swallowing a good few dozen.
It occurred to me last night, as I lay in the hostel listening to revelers leave the bar, that I had done a very poor job as an artist – that is, that I hadn’t painted any scenes for you. So here goes.
The Orkney Islands are devoid of trees. I don’t know if it ever had them or not (what did the place look like, back when it had a Mediterranean climate??), or whether the weather is simply too unkind, either way, the view is one of green hills, that somehow manage to not look desolate. There are little crofts that are scattered over the island, abandoned and slowly falling to decay…..even they don’t look desolate….more intriguing, or quaint, or romantic…..but not desolate. This may also be attributed for the lovely weather we scored. By lovely, I mean that we never got caught in a heavy downpour, and that on more than a few occasions we had the sun actually shine on us. The wind was chilly when it blew, but we were even lucky enough to not have as much of that as we are lead to believe is common on the islands.
I also need to paint grass for you. It would be such a shame, if when I spoke of ‘grass’ - be it here, in the Borders, or even back in England- you pictured buffalo grass, or some kind of cooch. Firstly, paint it green. Not a washed out lime, but a full of energy dark green, then add sheen. It is shiny. Glossy. Chances are that it has, after all, been washed by rain rather recently, so it looks shiny clean. Now add about six inches to the length of lawn. There seems to be two kinds, one a flat, narrow blade, and the other, like super fine, non-pointy pine needles. Both reach a height where they bow down under their own weight making a very inviting sort of cover. But wait there’s more…even when there is not more….Firstly, there is usually a whole ‘nother layer beneath the long grass, that is made up of mosses, tiny ground covers, and a blend of other friendly weeds, like clover, dandelion etc. This adds a sponge like layer, that means when you walk on the grass, it is like walking on a gym mat, and when sitting on it, like plonking yourself on a cushion…a damp one, I grant you….but a cushion non the less. The interesting thing is that when there is NOT a layer of ground cover underneath, and you can just see the dark dirt underfoot; it is still springy. It is as if all of the centuries of plant matter, growing and then dying, and all of the water, constantly soaking into it, has created one big sponge. I suppose this is worse in the hills, but I can’t think of anywhere that we have walked, where this hasn’t been the case. In fact, in the hills, you are more likely than not to get wet shoes or feet, because the ground is so water logged, that when you step on the grass, your foot sinks deep into water-logged soil.
Before catching the ferry, we drove through Kirkwall, and stopped quickly at the cathederal. Unfortunately, this is a picture I just can not paint for you. I have neither the education nor the vocabulary to do it. Suffice to say it was impressive without being grandiose. It was provincial looking, but in no way simplistic. It was highly detailed craftsmanship, but not intricately fussy.
The ferry ride was most enjoyable as we lunched on board on our sandwiches, and tried the smoked cheese on oat crackers that we had purchased in Orkney, and tried the yummy rose lemonade.
I was most impressed that we met our agenda of visiting both the Castle of Mey, and Mary-Anne’s cottage. I may have mentioned that the Castle of Mey was the Queen Mother’s personal residence – bought specifically by her, when the place was on a waiting list to be knocked down. Rumor has it that it cost her 100 pounds, the price that the wrecking was due to cost. There is no proof of that but it makes an interesting story. The place has been left as it was when she lived there. Including her coat and hat on the downstairs chair, and her hob nail gum boots. Apparently Charles and Camilla were there only a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know how they normally live, but I shouldn’t be surprised if to them, Mey feels like slumming it. It feels a bit old. Normal really. Far too normal for a royal residence. Haha! Normal for a castle? I don’t know what I am going by as it has been ages since I lived in a castle. Ha! I simply mean that there are cement floors in some parts, and paint that is cracking and peeling. There is a sort of coldness and oldness in the furnishings which I don’t imagine the royal family to be used to. But maybe they are. Maybe everyone has a grandma’s house to visit, that feels like this one. I suppose when you look at it that way, it is exactly how the Queen Mum’s residence should be. Had a lovely guide there, by the way. Full of first hand info.
Mary-Anne’s cottage was the extreme other end of the social scale, as it was a crofter’s cottage that had remained fairly unchanged for the last 150 years. She had inherited it from her Dad, and even though she married and had a child, she didn’t like change, therefore, a visit is mostly a step back into the not-so-distant past. (Reminded me strongly of Petticoat lane, crossed with the sheds at Dergholm). Shane and I were a little on edge because the kids were allowed to touch things, and one is just waiting for the moment when something that has survived 150 years of farming life, and a decade of tourist visits, is destroyed in one foul moment, at the hands of one of your children. The worst that happened was when Sam and Lilli ran up to the quite large pile of peat, piled pyramid style on the front lawn. Sam grabbed a block on the corner, about half way up and gave it a little wiggle. By coincidence I looked up at that moment, and can vouch for him, that it really was no more than a little tap…..but down she came. Peat tumbled on top of peat and the lovely neat tower lost its corner, down the slope of the lawn. Ooops! How I wish we could have seen Sam’s face. I imagine that his eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go, while his mouth dropped open in horror. He froze, and must have been waiting for the peat to stop, and his parents to start. All he got was a mild sort of tut tut, and was made to help put things as right as we could.
We stopped the night at Durness, in a nice little b and b where they let us all squeeze in together. The cooked breakfast was a welcome start to the day, and we have since then been traveling. We visited the Smoo Cave (in Durness) which was speccy in its location and lay out. It has a gaping huge mouth, looking out into a bay. Running into the back of the cave is a water fall, whose waters pool in the cave, and then run out in a stream, across the rocks and out into the bay. We sat in a rubber dingy and had a little look around. The cavern is basically underneath one of the hills which make up the highlands, and so the water that runs down into it, is very brown in colour, the result of having filtered its way through so much peat. Apparently it is this ‘Peaty’ water that makes Whisky so good…
Cocoa Mountain also made it onto our visit list, as part of an artistic community in Durness. The Village was not pretty, but the people who choose to live there, an eclectic and talented bunch. We ended our tour at the Cocoa Mountain shop, if for no other reason than that they had soy milk. That is a big deal here. Fortunately, coffee shops haven’t been a big part of our travels, but had they been, I would be really sick of black tea by now…
The rest is scenery. Driving around and oohing and aahing at the achingly beautiful scenery. People kept telling us that the West Coast is their favourite part of Scotland. That its coastline is rugged and wild. The Highlands stunning. On our way north, I confess that I didn’t really expect too much. ‘People’ were right though. It surprises me that hills where trees refuse to grow can be so lovely to look at, but they are. There is a sort of greyness to it all. Rock exposed along the tops and in various places on the slopes, and where there is not rock, the dull purple of heather, and above it all, cloudy skies. But somehow this is beautiful….and then the sun comes out and POW, it takes your breath away. The colours brighten. The loch that seconds ago made a still mirror of silver, becomes a vibrant reflection in technicolour. Or choppy grey waters become a deep, dark blue. There is so much water everywhere that I frequently do not know if I am looking at a loch or a firth. The roads are winding their way amongst it all, like a show ride through God’s best theme park…only there are no tracks keeping your car on the path, and when one comes the other way, you need to make a spot to squeeze past one another….maybe He could work on that!
Tonight we are back in Bonar Bridge, and tomorrow we head to somewhere near Skye. It will be a day of more driving and looking, as opposed to getting out and doing. The kids probably don’t enjoy this as much, but in fairness are traveling really well – I just wish we had a cassette other than the Goon Show to listen to – perhaps a second hand shop may be worth a visit some time soon. I guess I will write when we have braved the midges on Skye, to tell you about that. Midges are awful by the way. Truly awful. You could simply suck them up your nose they are so small, light and thick in the air. Worse than mozzies. At least you can have a good go at smacking a mozzie out of its existence, but midgies…it is like trying to swat a spec of dust, whilst you are standing in a dust storm. I think the best plan is to just turn and run, but don’t scream or you will end up swallowing a good few dozen.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Orkney Wonders
Okay, so here we are in Scotland, visiting landmarks and buildings, older than the Pyramids of Egypt. Amazing places that give insights into how Stone Age Man lived.
We started our day by letting the kids run around the stones at Stepness. Just as the area around Stonehenge has standing stones around the place, so to do the Orkneys...only some of them are even older than those found at Stonehenge. They are in paddocks, and even in some peoples front yards. They are generally a thinner wedge than the ones in England that we have seen, but still sizable enough when you are standing alongside of them.
Our next stop was the one I was most looking forward to - Skara Brae. The water was once further off than it now is, on the coastline at Skail, and Stone age man, had a settlement there. Thing is, that no one knew that, because sometime between the six hundred years when it was inhabited, and the last few centuries, it had become completely covered in Sand and dirt, and no one knew it was there...until in 1860, when a fierce storm blew madly over the coast, blowing away the sand, so that the Laird of Skail House found a village, amongst the post-storm debris.
The amazing thing was, that there was still the 'furniture' inside the dwellings that were uncovered. We are not talking wicker settees here, but stone shelving, stone beds (minus the fillings and coverings...the only thing that lasts for five thousand years, is rock. Leather and fabrics would have been long ago perished. The houses were set down into the ground, with a hearth at the centre of the dwelling, a set of shelves against on wall, (think two big rocks lying on their sides, with a slab across them, then another two rocks on their sides, with another slab across them). Against the walls, there were two sections where slabs of rock jutted out creating the three more walls needed to make a 'box' for sleeping in. These bed areas had little shelves worked into the stone walls next to them. There was another 'box' like area with an enclosed area of dirt in front of it for I don't know what, along with several smaller 'box' holes in the ground, which I am also at a loss to adequately explain.
You get to walk through a replica of house no.7, but it isn't until you take the walk out to the edge of the sea, and (sticking to the path most strictly) walk amongst rooftops of the actual village that you get a good sense of the lay out of such a village.
A room like the one we walked through, made up 1 individual house and was joined by a network of tunnels to other homes of very similar layout. They are believed to be from the Neolithic Period (the late stone age) but really fascinatingly, they were actually built atop of older ones, with some mild differences in design, eg. the older ones built the sleeping alcoves into the walls, instead of having them jut out into the room. It is always amazing to imagine that people so long ago, already had a history so old that they were building on top of it!
We also went for a wander through Skail House, home of the man who discovered Skara Brae. This was interesting, but nothing 'wowish'. From there we drove to the Brough of Guerney. (Brough is pronounced, 'brock') Again, a fascinating look at the way people would have dwelt, but again, so old that we can only guess at so much stuff...like clothing and diet...as it is pre-history....nothing concrete to go by, just lots of inferences to be made. This reminded me of prefabricated buildings. You know in the city, how they manage to take an empty block and have a massive shed built on it a couple of days later, all with the use of prefabricated, concrete walls, that are shipped in in huge slabs and put together? Well, obviously, they didn't have concrete to make slabs, but they did have slabs of rock - and whilst they didn't come in sizes to order, they did serve as most useful to the builders of the time. A slab serves as a wall, as a barrier, a door, the edges of the bed (as described at Skara Brae) etc. The stone work here is all small stones, that is, they look a lot narrower than the stone work in wall and fences in other areas of Scotland. The centre of the Brough reminds me of a bee hive, sticking up above the ground, with a network of trenches, tunnels and hills, all weaving around it in a way that I am unable to complete the picture of.
We then drove on to the Brough of Birsay, which is on a piece of land which is only accessible when the tide is out. We didn't even visit the Brough, but enjoyed walking around the island, playing on the rocks, watching the ocean on either side of us, and hoping that the seals who were just off shore, would come in and give us a closer look.
Late in the afternoon, we returned to the hostel to do a load of washing, look in the shops along the street and grab some tea (from the chippy, and I add this simply to say that amongst the battered morsels we consumed, there was a slice of black pudding. Shane and I really like it but don't know if we should. Sam and Lilli both ate it without complaint- Eliza screwed up her nose at it though....I wonder when we should tell them what it is...)before heading to a Seven Pm tour of the Maeshowe site.
Lilli was getting herself a bit worried about this, as it is presumed to be a tomb, although no bodies have ever been able to prove this assumption. On the way to our tour, we stopped at the Ring of Brodgar for a quick look. This is the most significant looking of the standing stones, as they make a very large circle on a slight rise. They looked quite spectacular, with the centre of the ring being thick with heather, their purple, added to the stones, with dark green hills in the back ground, really was a sight to behold.
Maeshowe looks from the road, like a hill that shouldn't be there. It is a green mound that stands out for its height, on an otherwise flattish piece of land. Underneath the ground is a stone hut with four walls, which lean in, brick by brick to form a roof (which by now is long gone, and was replaced by a farmer last century, rather poorly I am afraid). There are three little 'L' shaped chambers, and then the low tunnel by which we entered. There were never any treasures found in there, which could be one of two things...one, that there never were any treasures, or two, that the Vikings took them all. And Vikings were most definitely there at some point, as they left their graffitti throughout. Seriously juvenille runes, like, "Eric the Viking wrote this rune this high," and the one above it saying something like, "John the Viking,wrote this higher than Eric the Viking" Apparently there are a lot of crude and crass things there as well, which the guide books do not share.
The Vikings are believed to have spent four days in there at some point, with two stories giving the reason. One being related to the treasure thing, that they came to plunder, and that it took them four days to do it. The other being that they were caught in bad weather and sought refuge within, staying - or being stuck there, for four days.
No one knows. One thing that they do know, is that on Winter Solstice, the sun shines through a wee gap above the original entrance doorway, lighting up the hallway and illuminating the 'tomb' with a lovely red light.
Tomorrow we must leave the island on the midday ferry and hope to do both the Queen Mum's house, "The Castle of Mey" and "Mary-Anne's Cottage" in the few hours left to us in the afternoon, before heading along the north coast, in a westerly direction, towards our next destination. We could have spent quite a bit more time here as there is so much to see, but I guess we have had a good taste of the history that the Orkney Isles offer, and shall have to leave island hopping, and artist trails for another time..or life...
We started our day by letting the kids run around the stones at Stepness. Just as the area around Stonehenge has standing stones around the place, so to do the Orkneys...only some of them are even older than those found at Stonehenge. They are in paddocks, and even in some peoples front yards. They are generally a thinner wedge than the ones in England that we have seen, but still sizable enough when you are standing alongside of them.
Our next stop was the one I was most looking forward to - Skara Brae. The water was once further off than it now is, on the coastline at Skail, and Stone age man, had a settlement there. Thing is, that no one knew that, because sometime between the six hundred years when it was inhabited, and the last few centuries, it had become completely covered in Sand and dirt, and no one knew it was there...until in 1860, when a fierce storm blew madly over the coast, blowing away the sand, so that the Laird of Skail House found a village, amongst the post-storm debris.
The amazing thing was, that there was still the 'furniture' inside the dwellings that were uncovered. We are not talking wicker settees here, but stone shelving, stone beds (minus the fillings and coverings...the only thing that lasts for five thousand years, is rock. Leather and fabrics would have been long ago perished. The houses were set down into the ground, with a hearth at the centre of the dwelling, a set of shelves against on wall, (think two big rocks lying on their sides, with a slab across them, then another two rocks on their sides, with another slab across them). Against the walls, there were two sections where slabs of rock jutted out creating the three more walls needed to make a 'box' for sleeping in. These bed areas had little shelves worked into the stone walls next to them. There was another 'box' like area with an enclosed area of dirt in front of it for I don't know what, along with several smaller 'box' holes in the ground, which I am also at a loss to adequately explain.
You get to walk through a replica of house no.7, but it isn't until you take the walk out to the edge of the sea, and (sticking to the path most strictly) walk amongst rooftops of the actual village that you get a good sense of the lay out of such a village.
A room like the one we walked through, made up 1 individual house and was joined by a network of tunnels to other homes of very similar layout. They are believed to be from the Neolithic Period (the late stone age) but really fascinatingly, they were actually built atop of older ones, with some mild differences in design, eg. the older ones built the sleeping alcoves into the walls, instead of having them jut out into the room. It is always amazing to imagine that people so long ago, already had a history so old that they were building on top of it!
We also went for a wander through Skail House, home of the man who discovered Skara Brae. This was interesting, but nothing 'wowish'. From there we drove to the Brough of Guerney. (Brough is pronounced, 'brock') Again, a fascinating look at the way people would have dwelt, but again, so old that we can only guess at so much stuff...like clothing and diet...as it is pre-history....nothing concrete to go by, just lots of inferences to be made. This reminded me of prefabricated buildings. You know in the city, how they manage to take an empty block and have a massive shed built on it a couple of days later, all with the use of prefabricated, concrete walls, that are shipped in in huge slabs and put together? Well, obviously, they didn't have concrete to make slabs, but they did have slabs of rock - and whilst they didn't come in sizes to order, they did serve as most useful to the builders of the time. A slab serves as a wall, as a barrier, a door, the edges of the bed (as described at Skara Brae) etc. The stone work here is all small stones, that is, they look a lot narrower than the stone work in wall and fences in other areas of Scotland. The centre of the Brough reminds me of a bee hive, sticking up above the ground, with a network of trenches, tunnels and hills, all weaving around it in a way that I am unable to complete the picture of.
We then drove on to the Brough of Birsay, which is on a piece of land which is only accessible when the tide is out. We didn't even visit the Brough, but enjoyed walking around the island, playing on the rocks, watching the ocean on either side of us, and hoping that the seals who were just off shore, would come in and give us a closer look.
Late in the afternoon, we returned to the hostel to do a load of washing, look in the shops along the street and grab some tea (from the chippy, and I add this simply to say that amongst the battered morsels we consumed, there was a slice of black pudding. Shane and I really like it but don't know if we should. Sam and Lilli both ate it without complaint- Eliza screwed up her nose at it though....I wonder when we should tell them what it is...)before heading to a Seven Pm tour of the Maeshowe site.
Lilli was getting herself a bit worried about this, as it is presumed to be a tomb, although no bodies have ever been able to prove this assumption. On the way to our tour, we stopped at the Ring of Brodgar for a quick look. This is the most significant looking of the standing stones, as they make a very large circle on a slight rise. They looked quite spectacular, with the centre of the ring being thick with heather, their purple, added to the stones, with dark green hills in the back ground, really was a sight to behold.
Maeshowe looks from the road, like a hill that shouldn't be there. It is a green mound that stands out for its height, on an otherwise flattish piece of land. Underneath the ground is a stone hut with four walls, which lean in, brick by brick to form a roof (which by now is long gone, and was replaced by a farmer last century, rather poorly I am afraid). There are three little 'L' shaped chambers, and then the low tunnel by which we entered. There were never any treasures found in there, which could be one of two things...one, that there never were any treasures, or two, that the Vikings took them all. And Vikings were most definitely there at some point, as they left their graffitti throughout. Seriously juvenille runes, like, "Eric the Viking wrote this rune this high," and the one above it saying something like, "John the Viking,wrote this higher than Eric the Viking" Apparently there are a lot of crude and crass things there as well, which the guide books do not share.
The Vikings are believed to have spent four days in there at some point, with two stories giving the reason. One being related to the treasure thing, that they came to plunder, and that it took them four days to do it. The other being that they were caught in bad weather and sought refuge within, staying - or being stuck there, for four days.
No one knows. One thing that they do know, is that on Winter Solstice, the sun shines through a wee gap above the original entrance doorway, lighting up the hallway and illuminating the 'tomb' with a lovely red light.
Tomorrow we must leave the island on the midday ferry and hope to do both the Queen Mum's house, "The Castle of Mey" and "Mary-Anne's Cottage" in the few hours left to us in the afternoon, before heading along the north coast, in a westerly direction, towards our next destination. We could have spent quite a bit more time here as there is so much to see, but I guess we have had a good taste of the history that the Orkney Isles offer, and shall have to leave island hopping, and artist trails for another time..or life...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
35 and all is well.
Yesterday was my 35th birthday.
I can say it quite calmly.
In fact I have practiced saying it so that I can now get it out without it catching oddly in my throat. "I am thirty-five". Shane jokes that the reason we took this holiday was so that I wouldn't have time to dwell on my birthday, and another year being struck off of the calendar of my life.
I am quite ashamed of being ageist. In fact, ever since I learnt that there was a name for the condition, I have fought wildly against it, and have come to feel quite healthy, fit and strong...and happy about my age. After all, when I look back from my hundreds (you see, I plan to live to the age of 100), I will look back on my thirties as my infanthood. So much to still learn!
I have done some reflecting, however. Mostly on the outcomes to date, of this trip. You see, I thought that this would be a great time to develop some good habits, and work on eradicating some bad ones. For example, I thought this would be a great time for us to take responsibility for our Christian growth as a family - church would be irregular and fellowship fleeting, therefore, we would need to really get ourselves organised....what can I say, other than, HUMPH! Then there are behavious in the kids which I thought we would be able to work on. That was a silly idea really, but I just thought, we will all be together, all the time, so there will be no excuse for not pulling-up all of our socks.
I was also hoping that over the course of our trip, things would magically fall into place for me in the 'who-am-I-where-am-I-what-am-I" department. I say that a little tongue-in-cheek, and a little shamefacedly truthfully. I was reminded at the beginning of the year that when we ask 'Who am I' we are asking the wrong question. And there was evidence enough of that in my own life. We are to ask "Whose am I" and then it all begins to make sense. Problem is, that I know whose I am....I just don't feel peace about anything in particular.
Anyway, as this is a blog and not an online therapy session, I will share my conclusion. And that is...we are who we are. I am who I am. And happiness will not come by trying to change myself, but by learning to accept myself. Urgh. I hate the way that that sounds like something from a self-improvement book. But there you go. Who we were at home, is who we are on the road. Disappointing maybe, but a really interesting thing to learn.
If you are still with me by now....well done...I shall reward your patience with blogging about the trip, instead of my inner tumults.
We are now in the Okney Islands, staying in Stromness in one of the most lovely, homely hostels so far. We left Bonnar Bridge this morning where we had enjoyed the hopitality of Catriona's aunty, Morag, for the last two nights. Whilst there we visited Shin Falls, where we had the privelege of watching Salmon leaping up the falls. Amazing. The fish are programmed, at a certain time of the year to go up the river, from whence they came, to the breeding grounds. This in no mean feat, as you get a real appreciation of when you watch them try, and fail, to clear the water falls. Apparently the poor wee fellows are so exhausted by the time they make it to their destination, that they have only energy left to do the deed....then they die. I guess that might be a nice way to go....don't really know...can't speak on behalf of fish...
We had lunch there as a birthday treat for myself, and enjoyed looking at the Falls of Shin Shop, which is owned by Al Fahed, aka Harrod's fame. He has now sold Harrods, but continues to own this little shop in the middle of seemingly nowhere.
Our time in Cullen ended well. Lilli was taught to play chess by Ollie, the 12 year old son of the Hostel owners. He was a sweety, whose name was actually Owen, spelt the Welsh way, which is Alwyn. Very interesting, as Dad's middle name is Alwyn and he has never liked it - but perhaps if it had been pronounced 'Owen' he may have been fonder of it.
Before leaving Cullen, Eliza found a rock on the beach, covered with sparkling crustaceans of gold. We assured her and the other two, that it was highly unlikely that it would be gold, but we couldn't forsake it, just in case. Problem is, where does one find a geologist, or anyone, for that matter, who could tell us whether we had just found a rock which could pay for our holiday? Ta da! Bonner Bridge. Morag's son who was at home on our arrival is a Geologist! Good job Sandi! I only wish that you could have told us it was real gold, rather than fool's gold.
So - back to today. We drove to John O Groats, if for no other reason than it is a great name for a place, and is the furthermost town of mainland UK. We then drove west for a few miles, until reaching the port for the car ferry, which we caught across to the Orkneys.
From arrival we drove through Kirkwall, to Stromness, stopping on the way, for a gander at the Italian Chapel. This was a typical Nissan Hut, which was part of an Italian Prisoner of War camp during world war II. The Italian prisoners felt the need for somewhere to worship and they took this humble hut and made it into something beautiful. Now, all that is left of the rest of the camp is some stones in the grass, in a fenced off paddock, but the hut is beautifully preserved as the locals promised the prisoners it would be. In fact a team of artists came over from Italy some time ago to retouch the paintwork and keep it in tip top shape, as it has come to be an important place to the Italian people, as well as to the Orkadians. There is a masterfully carved face of Jesus in stone above the entrance, made by an Italian from one of the other camps (there were three separate camps on the Orkneys) whilst from within the camp near Saint Mary's, where the church was built, Dominichio Chiochetti took charge of the painting, and another man (who I apologise for not being able to name) took care of all of the wrought iron work. The end result is humbly beautiful. For the photo that was taken of the chapel on its completion, they hung a cardboard bell in the iron steeple, making all look complete and neat as a pin. In time that was replaced by a real one, from a ship in the area.
Tomorrow we are off to visit Skara Brae. Some of the oldest settlements of man, in all of Western Europe, are here, in the Orkney Islands. I can't wait to wander around them and see for myself, how people lived, before we started to record history. For all you Jean M. Auel fans out there - I reckon this will be how Ayla lived...soooooo interesting.
Tell you more when I know more.
I can say it quite calmly.
In fact I have practiced saying it so that I can now get it out without it catching oddly in my throat. "I am thirty-five". Shane jokes that the reason we took this holiday was so that I wouldn't have time to dwell on my birthday, and another year being struck off of the calendar of my life.
I am quite ashamed of being ageist. In fact, ever since I learnt that there was a name for the condition, I have fought wildly against it, and have come to feel quite healthy, fit and strong...and happy about my age. After all, when I look back from my hundreds (you see, I plan to live to the age of 100), I will look back on my thirties as my infanthood. So much to still learn!
I have done some reflecting, however. Mostly on the outcomes to date, of this trip. You see, I thought that this would be a great time to develop some good habits, and work on eradicating some bad ones. For example, I thought this would be a great time for us to take responsibility for our Christian growth as a family - church would be irregular and fellowship fleeting, therefore, we would need to really get ourselves organised....what can I say, other than, HUMPH! Then there are behavious in the kids which I thought we would be able to work on. That was a silly idea really, but I just thought, we will all be together, all the time, so there will be no excuse for not pulling-up all of our socks.
I was also hoping that over the course of our trip, things would magically fall into place for me in the 'who-am-I-where-am-I-what-am-I" department. I say that a little tongue-in-cheek, and a little shamefacedly truthfully. I was reminded at the beginning of the year that when we ask 'Who am I' we are asking the wrong question. And there was evidence enough of that in my own life. We are to ask "Whose am I" and then it all begins to make sense. Problem is, that I know whose I am....I just don't feel peace about anything in particular.
Anyway, as this is a blog and not an online therapy session, I will share my conclusion. And that is...we are who we are. I am who I am. And happiness will not come by trying to change myself, but by learning to accept myself. Urgh. I hate the way that that sounds like something from a self-improvement book. But there you go. Who we were at home, is who we are on the road. Disappointing maybe, but a really interesting thing to learn.
If you are still with me by now....well done...I shall reward your patience with blogging about the trip, instead of my inner tumults.
We are now in the Okney Islands, staying in Stromness in one of the most lovely, homely hostels so far. We left Bonnar Bridge this morning where we had enjoyed the hopitality of Catriona's aunty, Morag, for the last two nights. Whilst there we visited Shin Falls, where we had the privelege of watching Salmon leaping up the falls. Amazing. The fish are programmed, at a certain time of the year to go up the river, from whence they came, to the breeding grounds. This in no mean feat, as you get a real appreciation of when you watch them try, and fail, to clear the water falls. Apparently the poor wee fellows are so exhausted by the time they make it to their destination, that they have only energy left to do the deed....then they die. I guess that might be a nice way to go....don't really know...can't speak on behalf of fish...
We had lunch there as a birthday treat for myself, and enjoyed looking at the Falls of Shin Shop, which is owned by Al Fahed, aka Harrod's fame. He has now sold Harrods, but continues to own this little shop in the middle of seemingly nowhere.
Our time in Cullen ended well. Lilli was taught to play chess by Ollie, the 12 year old son of the Hostel owners. He was a sweety, whose name was actually Owen, spelt the Welsh way, which is Alwyn. Very interesting, as Dad's middle name is Alwyn and he has never liked it - but perhaps if it had been pronounced 'Owen' he may have been fonder of it.
Before leaving Cullen, Eliza found a rock on the beach, covered with sparkling crustaceans of gold. We assured her and the other two, that it was highly unlikely that it would be gold, but we couldn't forsake it, just in case. Problem is, where does one find a geologist, or anyone, for that matter, who could tell us whether we had just found a rock which could pay for our holiday? Ta da! Bonner Bridge. Morag's son who was at home on our arrival is a Geologist! Good job Sandi! I only wish that you could have told us it was real gold, rather than fool's gold.
So - back to today. We drove to John O Groats, if for no other reason than it is a great name for a place, and is the furthermost town of mainland UK. We then drove west for a few miles, until reaching the port for the car ferry, which we caught across to the Orkneys.
From arrival we drove through Kirkwall, to Stromness, stopping on the way, for a gander at the Italian Chapel. This was a typical Nissan Hut, which was part of an Italian Prisoner of War camp during world war II. The Italian prisoners felt the need for somewhere to worship and they took this humble hut and made it into something beautiful. Now, all that is left of the rest of the camp is some stones in the grass, in a fenced off paddock, but the hut is beautifully preserved as the locals promised the prisoners it would be. In fact a team of artists came over from Italy some time ago to retouch the paintwork and keep it in tip top shape, as it has come to be an important place to the Italian people, as well as to the Orkadians. There is a masterfully carved face of Jesus in stone above the entrance, made by an Italian from one of the other camps (there were three separate camps on the Orkneys) whilst from within the camp near Saint Mary's, where the church was built, Dominichio Chiochetti took charge of the painting, and another man (who I apologise for not being able to name) took care of all of the wrought iron work. The end result is humbly beautiful. For the photo that was taken of the chapel on its completion, they hung a cardboard bell in the iron steeple, making all look complete and neat as a pin. In time that was replaced by a real one, from a ship in the area.
Tomorrow we are off to visit Skara Brae. Some of the oldest settlements of man, in all of Western Europe, are here, in the Orkney Islands. I can't wait to wander around them and see for myself, how people lived, before we started to record history. For all you Jean M. Auel fans out there - I reckon this will be how Ayla lived...soooooo interesting.
Tell you more when I know more.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Swimming At The Beach, In Scotland
I felt that the above should be the title of this post, as it is highly likely that it doesn't happen very often. I should also add, in a vein of honesty, that at no point did real, full body immersion, swimming take place. However, there was wading, and sitting in the waves, and by the time we came home there was sand in all of the customary cracks and crevices of the children, hence, I claim the right to refer to it as 'swimming'. The wind was gusty, but it was warm. Mild may be more accurate - but the temperature over all was very warm and so we made the most of it while we could. This was made all the easier by the location of our new Hostel, which is right beside the harbour! A harbour that has sand, of all the novelties!!
We are in Cullen Harbour Hostel, in Cullen. Ever heard of Cullen Skink? Well that is from here. Last night we were in a guest house / hotel in Carnoustie. We had to separate into two rooms, which was fine, and breakfast was included, so we lingered over that for an hour, and at ten am I was not my usual hungry self. It meant that a lunch of carrot sticks and apples was all that was needed by us all. (and so as to dispel any air of puritanical achievement, there were crisps, shortbread and french fancies all enjoyed at later times in the day.) After our noodle dinner, we went for a stroll and found a truly excellent playground on the foreshore. I think that Shane and I laughed and enjoyed ourselves as much as the kids! Seriously cool, and took some convincing this morning that the rain and the drive ahead made it not a possible spot to re-visit.
We followed the coast up to Aberdeen and then headed inland, via Huntly, to get to Cullen. Huntly Castle was somewhere that my friend and I had stopped and looked at 13 years ago when we went on our four day fly-around-Scotland trip (no, we didn't really fly - we drove) Do you remember that, Sandi? I loved it at the time, and enjoyed it just as much today as the sun shone down in warmth, making the green hills, tall trees and rushing stream even more enchanting than I recalled. It is a great castle to visit, as there are more internal walls intact on the inside, than one often finds at such an old place. It was first built up in the 12th Century by the Lord of Fife. Later it was inhabited by the Gordon family for ever so long, until the mid 17th Century when cruel treatment and political unrest saw them leave the place forever. Walking around and reading the info available, one gets a pretty good idea of how such a place may have looked.
Another bonus was the discovery that our English Heritage Card, will be honored at all Historical Scotland sites.
After writing the last blog, it occurred to me that I can not do real justice to the people that we are seeing and the kindnesses that they are showing us. Each person has their own story in my life, and I can't possibly recount them all - nor do I know that they would actually want me to... so if you are mentioned here....please do NOT feel glossed over....the personal exchanges that pass between us all are the most special moments of all; scenery comes second.
G'bye the noo.
We are in Cullen Harbour Hostel, in Cullen. Ever heard of Cullen Skink? Well that is from here. Last night we were in a guest house / hotel in Carnoustie. We had to separate into two rooms, which was fine, and breakfast was included, so we lingered over that for an hour, and at ten am I was not my usual hungry self. It meant that a lunch of carrot sticks and apples was all that was needed by us all. (and so as to dispel any air of puritanical achievement, there were crisps, shortbread and french fancies all enjoyed at later times in the day.) After our noodle dinner, we went for a stroll and found a truly excellent playground on the foreshore. I think that Shane and I laughed and enjoyed ourselves as much as the kids! Seriously cool, and took some convincing this morning that the rain and the drive ahead made it not a possible spot to re-visit.
We followed the coast up to Aberdeen and then headed inland, via Huntly, to get to Cullen. Huntly Castle was somewhere that my friend and I had stopped and looked at 13 years ago when we went on our four day fly-around-Scotland trip (no, we didn't really fly - we drove) Do you remember that, Sandi? I loved it at the time, and enjoyed it just as much today as the sun shone down in warmth, making the green hills, tall trees and rushing stream even more enchanting than I recalled. It is a great castle to visit, as there are more internal walls intact on the inside, than one often finds at such an old place. It was first built up in the 12th Century by the Lord of Fife. Later it was inhabited by the Gordon family for ever so long, until the mid 17th Century when cruel treatment and political unrest saw them leave the place forever. Walking around and reading the info available, one gets a pretty good idea of how such a place may have looked.
Another bonus was the discovery that our English Heritage Card, will be honored at all Historical Scotland sites.
After writing the last blog, it occurred to me that I can not do real justice to the people that we are seeing and the kindnesses that they are showing us. Each person has their own story in my life, and I can't possibly recount them all - nor do I know that they would actually want me to... so if you are mentioned here....please do NOT feel glossed over....the personal exchanges that pass between us all are the most special moments of all; scenery comes second.
G'bye the noo.
I blinked, a week went by…
Last Friday we had a picnic lunch in a park with Lee-anne, before waving her off to Essex for the weekend. In the afternoon we took a drive to ______ Pass, North East of Ambleside, where we fulfilled our promise to the kids, that we would climb a mountain. We parked by a roadside ‘Free House’, in the carpark where many people stop to take walks up into the hills. We chose the side of the road where the hill did not look as high – our very reasonable logic being that we had a three year old in our midst, and the clouds that the cold winds were bringing along, were very grey and threatening. I stuffed my parka pockets with a bottle of water and some afternoon tea, and off we went. We fully expected to get drenched, but were very pleased…..like, VERY pleased, that we didn’t. We did get wicked winds making us unsteady on our feet at the top of the summit, but that was more exhilarating than alarming, and the view was brilliant. We sheltered under an overhanging rock to eat our fare, and even managed a few moments of silence, to listen to the noise of the wind, whipping the grasses together, and to think of home and all those we love. On arriving back at the car we all felt thoroughly alive, and the warm stillness inside the car was felt as a great luxury. Life can be so simple and so wonderful…. Makes me wonder why we haven’t climbed more mountains, taken in more views, and sat in silence in the country more often?
Saturday was bump out, and a bigger task than usual, due to having actually unpacked suitcases for the first time, and over the course of the week, spreading out like so much ivy. We hit the road soon after ten am and kissed the Lakes District goodbye with our eyes. Wishing like blazes that you had a photographic memory to tuck it all away in, and hoping fervently that one day you may be able to return and stay for longer. Every town is full of ‘walking’ shops… and every laneway, road and park, is full of walkers, er, walking. One day, I would like to join them and just walk around the country side until I can’t just picture the area, but can smell it and feel it too.
Our plan was to visit Birdoswald Roman fort, followed by Chester Fort, both in Hadrian’s wall, on our way to Scotland. It is without doubt a fascinating place to visit, and the achievement of the three regiments of Roman Soldiers who built (the majority) of the wall in under three years, is remarkable. (for those who aren’t familiar with Hadrians wall, it covers the land from the east coast to the west coast of England, right at the tippy top, only a couple of districts away from what is now Scotland. It sort of marked the edge of the Roman Empire’s lands – which were phenomenally large. The wall had forts built into it every mile (I think) where soldiers were posted to maintain control and order. The wall was in use more or less until the Roman Empire collapsed, and then certain areas were still inhabited….like Birdoswald, right up until the early 1900s.)
I really can not tell if it was the grey skies and occasional showers that dampened the mood, or whether there was too much of the same here, or whether I simply had ants in my pants because I was desperate to get into Scotland. Whatever it was, by the time we had finished our visit and eaten our sandwiches in the carpark (it was a really nice car park) we were all happy to make our way onwards, leaving Chester Fort to another day -or not. The drive was rather longer than I had anticipated, so I was glad that we hadn’t lingered any longer on touristy things...(or maybe it was those ants in my pants again). We stopped and took an obligatory photo at the Scotland / England border, and my heart began to feel a little lighter.
After loving the Lakes District so wholeheartedly, I confess that I was worried I would find Scotland to be secondary in beauty. That maybe my mind had built it up to be more that it could possibly be. But it is not so. I am the first to admit though, that objectivity is not something I can claim to have. You see, I am in love. I don’t know why and I wonder at it constantly. Maybe it is simply because of its beauty and magnificence (which, if I am making an attempt at objectivity, I would have to say does not surpass the Lakes District). Maybe it is because of the past that it represents to me – memories of independence, freedom and adventure. Or maybe it is the new present, spending precious time with precious people, and sharing it all with my very own family. I don’t really know. All I can say is that as we drive along the roadways, the entire time there is a gnawing at my heart. Like something is being turned over and over that needs to be resolved, and it feels akin to yearning, but for, I know not what. When we are out of the vehicle surveying the scene, I am breathing deep with not just my nose, but my eyes and flesh as well. Why do I feel such belonging to a country that isn’t even my own? It makes me feel downright disloyal, and yet I love our Australia as much as the fiercest patriot. So you see, love-sick. Love-sick, with Scotland!
Samuel and Nathan (or Nethan, as Sam can not stop calling him – I think it is because to his ear, that is what Cat and Stu are saying) were dressed as a pirate and fireman respectively, within about two minutes of our arrival at Innerleithen. A back yard to play in was considered a form of bliss by the kids (and consequently the parents, also). We formed a plan of attack for the following day and set about getting five excited children to sleep, which was not highly successful, but eventually worked.
Sunday bloomed into a fine specimen of a day, and we took a packed lunch up to the top of a hill, referred to as ‘the tower’, and all ate there. The sun cast its magic onto every blade of grass, every tree and the very view itself. We were warm, even hot at points and we couldn’t believe our luck. We kept telling the kids to enjoy the sunshine immensely as we may not get to see it again for the rest of our trip! I got stung by a bee on the thumb, and had midgies attempt to nibble us, and Sam had an attack of the stinging nettles, and yet nothing deterred the mood of the outing. Fantastic. Innerleithen was laid out below us, with the village of Walkerburn alongside. Getting the kids to keep going was sometimes a bit of a tire, …in fairness, I should be specific, because they were all great, except for Eliza who behaved as one struggling to cope…which is probably and adequate explanation really. She was outdone by the little legs on one year old Laila, who waddled along in trooper fashion, between bouts of being carried.
An old friend from the castle came by in the afternoon, Alison, bringing her two lovely kids, Ewan and Olivia. (more blondies, seriously, the kids all looked like cousins, not strangers from opposite ends of the earth) There was more happy playing in the back yard as new friends were made, and we old friends caught up. As the afternoon neared its end, we fulfilled a promise to the kids, and drove out of town, to a point where they could wade in the river. They all ended up building a damn across the width of the stream – and by all, I mean Stu and Shane as well, for what boy can resist an attempt at changing, or at least controlling, an element of nature? We went home to a succulent Roast Beef (by now, it is almost official that the Fulwoods are addicted to roast beef with gravy and Yorkshire puds), followed by Golden Syrup Dumplings (something that the Ormistons hadn’t tried, and which it therefore, seemed a necessity to provide them with). It barely needs saying, that Sunday, was a beautiful, golden memory kind of day, where you don’t need the benefit of hindsight to know that everything was perfect.
Monday saw us visit Peebles. Aaahh. The nostalgia. So familiar and yet so unknown at the the same time. We had morning tea with Agnes. A super sweet woman who is now in her retirement, who I knew from my days at the Castle. Her and Cat keep in touch and the timing just worked out well for me to tag along on a pre-planned visit. Lunch in the park by the Tweed. Separate ways for a while, and then Cat and I headed into Galashiels, whilst the blokes looked after the kids and helped build a new fence in the back yard. By the time we returned, the blokes had not only done the above, but also fed and bathed the kids, and we were in time to be shown to our seats, in the back yard, to watch the ‘circus’ which the kids had prepared for us. Circus is a pretty good description actually. There were clowns and games and even a programme for us to keep track of things with. It was about then that I asked Cat if the swarming things EVERYWHERE, like bits of ash floating in the air, were midgies. To which she replied yes. Man oh man. Freaky. They seriously are thick in the air, and so it pays to stay well covered.
Tuesday we left Innerleithen, to go to Broughton, where Cat’s mum and dad live. The afternoon was passed at Doug and Morags’ with the kids meeting three more children to play with, these ones with a bit of DNA in common. Seriously, it is really hard to name the relationship for the kids, I think they must be third cousins or something like that. It was really cool seeing D and M again, and meeting (and re-meeting) all of their children. We were lucky enough to stay for dinner and we left there having had a really lovely time, and having been made to feel really welcome.
Wednesday was Stobo day. We took the kids out to see where Mummy used to work, and on Teresa’s invitation, were able to share lunch with her… and then Yvonne joined us…which was a most excellent bonus, and we even had the pleasure of Mr Winyard’s company. There was much laughter and pleasure at the reunion. Neither woman looked any older, which I thought pretty impressive given the years that have slid by. We were given a tour of the new part of the castle, and of the Cashmere Suite, all of which you can probably find on line if you were to look up ‘Stobo Castle’. Teresa most generously invited us to hers if we needed somewhere to stay and again, we left the visit feeling really, really lucky. What a buzz it is catching up with great people from your past, and both parties deriving real joy from it.
Today we have departed from Hotel Fordyce, where the service is second to none, and the rooms such that you wonder if perhaps you should stop touring, and just stay… (which they have incidentally offered as an option) But no. The North of the country calls. Begging a visit. We are on our way. Drove through the kingdom of Fife today which I have been chomping at the bit to see. But enough. Enough. Your eyes are tired and so are my hands. Enough, and goodnight.
Saturday was bump out, and a bigger task than usual, due to having actually unpacked suitcases for the first time, and over the course of the week, spreading out like so much ivy. We hit the road soon after ten am and kissed the Lakes District goodbye with our eyes. Wishing like blazes that you had a photographic memory to tuck it all away in, and hoping fervently that one day you may be able to return and stay for longer. Every town is full of ‘walking’ shops… and every laneway, road and park, is full of walkers, er, walking. One day, I would like to join them and just walk around the country side until I can’t just picture the area, but can smell it and feel it too.
Our plan was to visit Birdoswald Roman fort, followed by Chester Fort, both in Hadrian’s wall, on our way to Scotland. It is without doubt a fascinating place to visit, and the achievement of the three regiments of Roman Soldiers who built (the majority) of the wall in under three years, is remarkable. (for those who aren’t familiar with Hadrians wall, it covers the land from the east coast to the west coast of England, right at the tippy top, only a couple of districts away from what is now Scotland. It sort of marked the edge of the Roman Empire’s lands – which were phenomenally large. The wall had forts built into it every mile (I think) where soldiers were posted to maintain control and order. The wall was in use more or less until the Roman Empire collapsed, and then certain areas were still inhabited….like Birdoswald, right up until the early 1900s.)
I really can not tell if it was the grey skies and occasional showers that dampened the mood, or whether there was too much of the same here, or whether I simply had ants in my pants because I was desperate to get into Scotland. Whatever it was, by the time we had finished our visit and eaten our sandwiches in the carpark (it was a really nice car park) we were all happy to make our way onwards, leaving Chester Fort to another day -or not. The drive was rather longer than I had anticipated, so I was glad that we hadn’t lingered any longer on touristy things...(or maybe it was those ants in my pants again). We stopped and took an obligatory photo at the Scotland / England border, and my heart began to feel a little lighter.
After loving the Lakes District so wholeheartedly, I confess that I was worried I would find Scotland to be secondary in beauty. That maybe my mind had built it up to be more that it could possibly be. But it is not so. I am the first to admit though, that objectivity is not something I can claim to have. You see, I am in love. I don’t know why and I wonder at it constantly. Maybe it is simply because of its beauty and magnificence (which, if I am making an attempt at objectivity, I would have to say does not surpass the Lakes District). Maybe it is because of the past that it represents to me – memories of independence, freedom and adventure. Or maybe it is the new present, spending precious time with precious people, and sharing it all with my very own family. I don’t really know. All I can say is that as we drive along the roadways, the entire time there is a gnawing at my heart. Like something is being turned over and over that needs to be resolved, and it feels akin to yearning, but for, I know not what. When we are out of the vehicle surveying the scene, I am breathing deep with not just my nose, but my eyes and flesh as well. Why do I feel such belonging to a country that isn’t even my own? It makes me feel downright disloyal, and yet I love our Australia as much as the fiercest patriot. So you see, love-sick. Love-sick, with Scotland!
Samuel and Nathan (or Nethan, as Sam can not stop calling him – I think it is because to his ear, that is what Cat and Stu are saying) were dressed as a pirate and fireman respectively, within about two minutes of our arrival at Innerleithen. A back yard to play in was considered a form of bliss by the kids (and consequently the parents, also). We formed a plan of attack for the following day and set about getting five excited children to sleep, which was not highly successful, but eventually worked.
Sunday bloomed into a fine specimen of a day, and we took a packed lunch up to the top of a hill, referred to as ‘the tower’, and all ate there. The sun cast its magic onto every blade of grass, every tree and the very view itself. We were warm, even hot at points and we couldn’t believe our luck. We kept telling the kids to enjoy the sunshine immensely as we may not get to see it again for the rest of our trip! I got stung by a bee on the thumb, and had midgies attempt to nibble us, and Sam had an attack of the stinging nettles, and yet nothing deterred the mood of the outing. Fantastic. Innerleithen was laid out below us, with the village of Walkerburn alongside. Getting the kids to keep going was sometimes a bit of a tire, …in fairness, I should be specific, because they were all great, except for Eliza who behaved as one struggling to cope…which is probably and adequate explanation really. She was outdone by the little legs on one year old Laila, who waddled along in trooper fashion, between bouts of being carried.
An old friend from the castle came by in the afternoon, Alison, bringing her two lovely kids, Ewan and Olivia. (more blondies, seriously, the kids all looked like cousins, not strangers from opposite ends of the earth) There was more happy playing in the back yard as new friends were made, and we old friends caught up. As the afternoon neared its end, we fulfilled a promise to the kids, and drove out of town, to a point where they could wade in the river. They all ended up building a damn across the width of the stream – and by all, I mean Stu and Shane as well, for what boy can resist an attempt at changing, or at least controlling, an element of nature? We went home to a succulent Roast Beef (by now, it is almost official that the Fulwoods are addicted to roast beef with gravy and Yorkshire puds), followed by Golden Syrup Dumplings (something that the Ormistons hadn’t tried, and which it therefore, seemed a necessity to provide them with). It barely needs saying, that Sunday, was a beautiful, golden memory kind of day, where you don’t need the benefit of hindsight to know that everything was perfect.
Monday saw us visit Peebles. Aaahh. The nostalgia. So familiar and yet so unknown at the the same time. We had morning tea with Agnes. A super sweet woman who is now in her retirement, who I knew from my days at the Castle. Her and Cat keep in touch and the timing just worked out well for me to tag along on a pre-planned visit. Lunch in the park by the Tweed. Separate ways for a while, and then Cat and I headed into Galashiels, whilst the blokes looked after the kids and helped build a new fence in the back yard. By the time we returned, the blokes had not only done the above, but also fed and bathed the kids, and we were in time to be shown to our seats, in the back yard, to watch the ‘circus’ which the kids had prepared for us. Circus is a pretty good description actually. There were clowns and games and even a programme for us to keep track of things with. It was about then that I asked Cat if the swarming things EVERYWHERE, like bits of ash floating in the air, were midgies. To which she replied yes. Man oh man. Freaky. They seriously are thick in the air, and so it pays to stay well covered.
Tuesday we left Innerleithen, to go to Broughton, where Cat’s mum and dad live. The afternoon was passed at Doug and Morags’ with the kids meeting three more children to play with, these ones with a bit of DNA in common. Seriously, it is really hard to name the relationship for the kids, I think they must be third cousins or something like that. It was really cool seeing D and M again, and meeting (and re-meeting) all of their children. We were lucky enough to stay for dinner and we left there having had a really lovely time, and having been made to feel really welcome.
Wednesday was Stobo day. We took the kids out to see where Mummy used to work, and on Teresa’s invitation, were able to share lunch with her… and then Yvonne joined us…which was a most excellent bonus, and we even had the pleasure of Mr Winyard’s company. There was much laughter and pleasure at the reunion. Neither woman looked any older, which I thought pretty impressive given the years that have slid by. We were given a tour of the new part of the castle, and of the Cashmere Suite, all of which you can probably find on line if you were to look up ‘Stobo Castle’. Teresa most generously invited us to hers if we needed somewhere to stay and again, we left the visit feeling really, really lucky. What a buzz it is catching up with great people from your past, and both parties deriving real joy from it.
Today we have departed from Hotel Fordyce, where the service is second to none, and the rooms such that you wonder if perhaps you should stop touring, and just stay… (which they have incidentally offered as an option) But no. The North of the country calls. Begging a visit. We are on our way. Drove through the kingdom of Fife today which I have been chomping at the bit to see. But enough. Enough. Your eyes are tired and so are my hands. Enough, and goodnight.
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