stirling, dundee, and glasgow

Rewind to Scotland: -   there's more to tell!  In the last few days before we went to Belfast, Northern Ireland, we visited 3 Scottish cities which we really enjoyed:  Stirling, Dundee, and Glasgow.

Stirling is an ancient capital of Scotland, located just west of Edinburgh.  Stirling Castle is where some of the Scottish royalty were crowned, including Mary, Queen of Scots.   In order for us to see this beautiful and historic city, Dori and Dan graciously agreed to re-visit Stirling, where they had been just a couple of weeks previously.  As we approached the city, after our long drive from the Isle of Skye, down along Loch Lomond (singing the familiar song along the way), Stirling Castle sat on a high promontory.  What amazes me here and in other cities is the abrupt transition from green pastures to city.  No urban sprawl, just tidy countryside devoted to pastures and cultivation and then clean city streets.  It's all so organized and practical.  Of course, that means that folks like us don't have their 2 acres of land surrounding their home!

                                                     the Forth Guest House, Stirling

We all stayed in a pretty B & B for our one night in Stirling, walked around a bit that evening, had a nice meal at an Italian resto, and then got to sleep after our trip.  The next day was Sunday.   Bruce and I attended services in the Church of the Holy Rude, where Queen Mary had worshiped and where her infant son, King James VI, had been named King in 1567.  We didn't know this at the time, only that it was a beautiful medieval church.  There was a very small congregation that day, but a contingent of aging veterans of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, an infantry regiment, were honored with front row seats.  After services we chatted with a couple of folks who introduced themselves to us over tea and cookies.  One was a delightful 87 year old, Olive, who told us about attending church in her younger years when the sanctuary would be packed with worshipers. I guess that many churches are struggling with  attendance, even famous historical ones.  Olive had been a docent at the church and pointed out the highlights to us, including the exact spot where King James had been crowned king.

                                          Church of the Holy Rude, Stirling, Scotland

                                             inscribed in the floor of the sanctuary

                Bruce and Olive, sweet friend to newcomers at Church of the Holy Rude

We followed up with a tour of nearby Stirling Castle, an Historic Scotland property which has been restored and is now a fascinating, dynamic destination, with staff portraying early castle residents.  I learned about the tapestries that are being reproduced by hand, using highly skilled weavers employing techniques from the 14th century.  One of the completed designs is identical to the famous unicorn in a fenced enclosure, the original of which is now in the Cloisters in NYC.  I've added that to my bucket list.

                                           Recreated unicorn tapestry in Stirling Castle

We met Dori and Dan in the late afternoon and headed east to Dundee, northeast of Edinburgh, on the Firth of Forth ( a large bay emptying into the North Sea).   Erik and Elizabeth live there and had invited us to stay for 2 nights in their flat in a restored jute mill.  It's the city where my Uncle Lloyd, a member of the Canadian forces in WWII, met his wife, my Aunt Jean (is that right, Peggy & Fran?)  It's a very hard-working city, dominated in the past by the jute industry - and also, apparently, the Dundee marmalade business and newspapers, resulting in the moniker, the city of "Jute, Jam, and Journalism".  Bruce toured the ship Discovery, built in Dundee and used by Capt. Scott to explore Antarctica.  We both toured a jute museum, which explained the process of jute being shipped from India, where it was grown, to Scotland, where it was processed into lots of materials, including fabric for the American wagons carrying pioneers west!  Eventually, the manufacturing was moved to India, where it still exists today.  Of course, this was devastating for Dundee, leaving 60 or more jute factories idle.  However, the city seems to have recovered and is the location for universities and bio-medical firms and free museums, Michelin Tire, and National Cash Register.  One of the city's current industries is the creation of computer games!  On our last evening together, Dori and Dan treated us all to a delightful meal together, followed by a farewell sip of Talisker's Scotch for each of us from the pretty Isle of Skye quaich.  It had been a wonderful 2 weeks with these four Scots lovers!

                           Erik & Elizabeth's apartment complex, a converted jute mill

                                The Discovery, Capt. Scott's ship used to explore Antarctica

The third Scottish city that we visited that week was Glasgow.  By this time, we were on our own.  Dori and Dan had flown back to Canada, and we had turned in our silver chariot.  We traveled  by train.  Glasgow was a city that I was eager to see, as it seemed to have a distinctly different history and feel from Edinburgh, more of a proud working person's place with deep union roots from the shipbuilding industry.  We booked a hotel for 2 nights and explored Glasgow for one full day in between.

The city is full of imposing impressive architecture, but, like Belfast, which it resembles in some ways, it also has many modern steel and glass buildings slipped in among them - and lots of churches.  I was especially interested in the architecture of Charles Rennie Mackintosh, a Glaswegian Arts & Crafts designer from the early 1900's.  That first evening, as we walked around, I spotted the art college which he had designed.  The next day, we had lunch at the Willow Tea Rooms which he had also designed.  Dan had highly recommended the People's Museum, where we saw a flat similar to the one that Erik and Elizabeth had lived in during their early years of marriage in Glasgow, when Erik was beginning his career as an industrial pastor.  Bruce and I both enjoyed that museum, with its displays of Glasgow life from the not-too-distant past, including a model backyard bomb shelter which families had used during WWII.

Though Glasgow's history is that of industry and hard work and poverty and poor, overcrowded housing, it  has a vitality and contemporary artiness and style, not to mention socialist leanings, that are appealing.

                                Willow Tea Room, looking out through the art deco windows

All in all, we saw a lot of Scotland during our 2+ weeks there, from cities to highlands and islands.  It's a beautiful land, stark and majestic, as well as pastoral, mystical, and alluring.  There is still a lot left to explore!  Another time :).







  

Belfast, Northern Ireland

Belfast Northern Ireland has changed a lot in the 12 years since Bruce and I were here last.  We have strong ties to Belfast ever since our family hosted an 11 year old boy, Joe, through the Maine Irish Children's Program (MICP) in the summer of 1986.   MICP was an ecumenical effort to contribute to the peace process in this war-torn country by bringing Catholic and Protestant children to Maine for a few weeks and placing them in homes of the opposite faith.  Following that summer, Bruce and I both became involved with running the Maine side of the program, resulting in Bruce traveling to Belfast in 1989.

Bruce's first trip here was an eye-opener.  It took place during the height of the "troubles", as the 30 year period of bloody violence is so benignly referred to.  The city center had been surrounded by barricades in those days.  Army tanks and soldiers were everywhere.  The Catholic and Protestant sides of town were clearly divided, and it was dangerous to trespass on the side that you didn't belong to.

After many years of work towards peace, the Easter Accords were worked out in 1998, led by our own Sen. George Mitchell.  Despite the agreements, when I visited Ireland on vacation with Bruce two years later, in July, 2000 - marching season - the Protestant Orange Order was still provocatively  parading through Catholic neighborhoods, waving their flags of hatred.  Catholics were still burning piles of tires in the streets in response.  We were steered clear of certain towns.  Belfast was a "work in process".

Fast forward to 2012.  Belfast is now a bustling city of glassy, modern buildings tucked among the grand Victorian stone matriarchs.  There is a buzz about the new Titanic Museum, erected in time for the 100th anniversary of the construction of the ship here in Belfast.  It was impossible to get into the museum this weekend as the tickets were sold out.  Tourists are filling up the city, not just from England and Germany and other parts of Europe, but more significantly, from the Republic of Ireland, as well.  Nary a soldier or piece of barbed wire is to be seen.

                             Titanic Museum, looking like both a ship and an iceberg!

                                                        Belfast street scene

 It is exhilarating to see the progress that has been made and to feel that the city is pretty normal now. We stayed with friends, John and Jane Herron, whom we had met through work in the reconciliation effort.  During our visit this week, we went to the symphony together, ate at a nice restaurant, attended their church, shared a meal with their friends, toured City Hall - all very ordinary activities - now.  John, was taken aback by the relaxed approach to security at City Hall.  But such is the current atmosphere of civility.

                                   The foyer of Belfast's beautiful and ornate city hall

Lest we think that all is rosy, however, our young tour guide, on a bus tour of the city, shared his opinion that there is a great deal of work yet to be done.  He noted that the "peace wall" separating the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods remains standing and, in fact, has been added to, as recently as two years ago.  Most children still attend segregated schools, according to him.  The military murals on outside walls are looking fresh - perhaps because people like us pay money to tour the area and are very curious about these remnants of the troubles.  Real peace and respect between the two sides is still a work in progress.  And, after such a long period of strife, it seems reasonable that it will take a long time to heal the wounds completely.

One of the highlights of our short stay in Belfast was meeting with Joe, now a 37 year old man.  We had been in touch on facebook so had caught up on his life.  But it was wonderful to share time with him in person and to see the same personable 11 year old peeking through those older eyes.  He lives in the neighborhood where he grew up, near his siblings and extended family, and loves the Belfast that he has always known.  And we thought it was great city, too!

                                            Bruce, Joe, and Linda

Whisky, War, and Weather

Being in Scotland we had to try the whisky – or Scotch as we would say.   There are a number of distilleries around, but they are often small and remote or not well advertised.   Linda and I decided to visit the nearby Talisker distillery which is the only Scotch producer on the Isle of Skye.   Not being a whisky aficionado, I really don’t know one brand from another so it was time to learn more.

On a cool, cloudy, windy day (aren’t they all) we set off in our silver Benz to learn more about the process of making whisky and see some countryside.   Talisker is located in the small town of Carbost  on the western side of Skye – about 20 miles from our cottage in Uig.  We arrived at the neat whitewashed compound about 12:30 and went upstairs to the visitors center which was warm and cozy but a bit crowded with people.   We were able to get tickets to the 1:30 tour and were offered a “wee dram” of the Talisker 10 year old whisky – it was love at first sip.   I have little experience with Scotch but this was a very nice drink – smooth, mellow, with a smoky deep flavor.   We sipped our dram while reading the posters about the history of the distillery and the process of making whisky.   Promptly at 1:30, we began our tour of the small production area, smelling the yeast fermenting the barley and watching the still man mix the various portions for the final product.   We were intrigued by the explanation of how each distillery has a slightly different process and different water source, which gives each brand a different and distinctive character or flavor.   The tour ended in the gift shop where we bought a small bottle of the 10 year old Scotch to enjoy in the cottage.  We will now look for Talisker when we get home to Maine but not sure if we will be able to afford it.

                                          Our wee dram of Talisker 

There are constant reminders here in Scotland of the toll of war.    The history of this area is marked with gory tales of great upheaval and conflict among the various tribes, clans, and kings – think Braveheart and Rob Roy.  Reminders of these conflicts are seen in the many castles on display  throughout Scotland, as well as tales of the great – and not so great - conflicts between the clans who fought each other and England over religion, land and wealth.

 

                                                          Rob Roy's grave

Of more recent vintage, we are reminded of the terrible toll of 20^th century wars in Scotland.   It seems that every small town square and church yard has a monument with the names of its dead during “the Great War” and World War II.  It is sobering to see a monument in a small town engraved with 60 names and realize that this was an entire generation of young men.   It is understandable that the section of names of men killed in World War II is so small, as there were so few men alive at that point. 

Weather is a topic of constant conversation here on Skye and, indeed, the entire country.   We were prepared for colder weather when we arrived from India, having packed jackets and extra clothing in anticipation of lower temps than in Asia and India.   We felt “at home” with temps in the 40’s and 50’s, but the wind was something else altogether.   I bought a nice wool sweater at a local thrift shop and Linda acquired some gloves, socks and a hat.   These were sufficient for Edinburgh but the trip northwest to Iona and Skye tested our love of cool weather.   We encountered snow during our first night out, and Dan and I retreated to a cozy pub for a Guinness by the coal fire.   Thankfully, the hotel was well heated, and the beds had large duvets which were appreciated.

                         View from our guest house the first morning outside of Edinburgh

The weather here is constantly changing with intermittent sun, snow, hail, rain, and clouds - but it’s never warm.  This changing weather gives us some glorious sun sets, and the light is ever changing which makes for strikingly beautiful pictures.  We are enjoying the weather and have seen remarkably little rain thus far, but there are moments when we long for our woodstove in Maine.

Skye - Finally!

It's all about the light on the Isle of Skye!  The ever-shifting clouds and sun and shadows on the hills and over the water.  And the clear air.  Very cold, clear air for much of our week there.  What a starkly beautiful landscape.  It makes your heart ache.  

In the words of a traveler to Waternish peninsula:

…and I set down in my journal

That we are entered into this enchanted world

Where land and sea and sky conspire

To steal your heart and take your breath away.

 For me, this trip completed the one that Dori and I had begun 43 years ago when we tried to hitchhike to Skye from Edinburgh - but ran out of rides and time and had to turn back.   This time we had husbands with us and traveled in comfort in the cushy Mercedes.  When we arrived, we stayed in a picture-perfect little white cottage looking out on the sea.

                                                       Our cottage in Uig, Isle of Skye

The cottage where Dori, Dan, Elizabeth, Erik, Bruce, and I stayed - a small home, really - sat on the side of a steep hill facing the harbor and village of Uig, located on the northwest coast of Skye.  Several times a day we could watch a big car ferry swing into position at the pier and load vehicles for the voyage to the outer Hebrides islands of Lewis, Harris, and the Uists.  The sun set on the hill behind the village and gave us unending varieties of colors and light.  We spent the week looking at this scene, exploring the island, chatting, and cooking evening meals, which was a treat for us after not having cooking facilities for several months.

                                      Ferry to the Outer Hebrides arriving in Uig harbor

                                      Sunset over Uig

Our first full day in Skye was a Sunday.  Dori and I, plus Elizabeth and Erik, attended a service in the small white Church of Scotland, just down the road.   It was a very small gathering of older parishioners.  Erik compared it to a Noah's Ark group, as it included 2 fellows in kilts, 2 ministers (himself being one), 2 North Americans (Dori and I), two old ladies dressed in tweed suits, hats and gloves, and 2 Mercedes parked outside.  The sermon was progressive and well done.  As is typical, apparently, in old Scottish services, there was no organ.  Instead music was provided by the congregation, led in singing by a chanter, in this case a tall gentleman with a wonderful voice.  The whole service was simple and beautiful.  

                                                 Church of Scotland in Uig

                          The tall chanter and the kilt-wearing church elder

That afternoon we toured the wild north end of Skye.  The weather was variable - imagine that!- with typical light rain showers mixed with clouds and sun.  Dan was on the hunt for geo-caches, hidden messages tucked away in all manner of off-beat places.  He found one under some rocks behind a lonely red phone booth beside a sheep pasture.  We all walked on rocky trails, the wind whipping our jackets and scarves, past quietly foraging sheep, to get close to castle ruins perched on a promontory high above the sea.  We visited a graveyard where the legendary Flora MacDonald, heroine to Bonnie Prince Charlie, was buried under a huge Celtic cross.  The tea room where we later warmed ourselves couldn't have been more aptly named:  the Warm and Cozy Tea Room.  Hot tea and delicious baked treats were the perfect antidote to our chilly outing. 

                                  Dan's remote geo-cache site behind the red phone booth

                                                 Warm and Cozy (and pretty!) Tea Room

Early in the week, on a beautiful sunny day, we toured Dunvegan Castle, ancestral home of the MacLeod clan.  Since our grandmother, Christy, was a MacLeod, Dori and I were especially interested in this site.  The 700 year old castle is lived in as a home, even now, and was much more comfortable than I would have imagined a medieval dwelling to be.  Of course, it has its own dungeon where one of the chiefs had left his wife to starve to death, a less than cozy touch!  I loved the walled garden, a pretty, warm, peaceful area, and expected to see Peter Rabbit pop out of a watering can at any moment.  

                                          Dunvegan Castle, seat of the MacLeod Clan

                                  Blue poppy in the Dunvegan gardens

Near the castle is a tall, flat-topped mountain where another MacLeod chief, long ago, put on a massive feast for visiting nobles under a starry sky.  As the story goes, all manner of game and seafood had been prepared, and hundreds of clansmen had encircled the "table" with torches, lighting the meal. The whole experience had rivaled the most opulent feasts of the wealthy castle dwellers in the lowlands.  This story and others were offered by Dori, our own personal Scots history expert, whose deep knowledge and love of all things Scottish meant that she could pull out a story or tidbit of knowledge, anytime, at just the right moment.

                                      Christy MacLeod Frost's  grand-daughters

The next day's destination, for Bruce and me, was the Talisker Whiskey Distillery, just down the bay from Dunvegan.  We are pretty unschooled in hard liquor and were curious about this particular drink since it's so … Scottish!  The tour began with a wee dram of 10 year old Scotch.  My immediate impression of the taste was smoke, with an ever so slight hint of mackerel.  It was strong and certainly warming - but very smooth.  (I think that Bruce has an expensive new vice.)  The talk of "noses" and the aging process in oak casks stored in the cellar reminded me of wine.  We learned that a single malt whiskey means that the ingredients come from only one distillery, using the mash from one type of barley.  We ended our tour in the shop, of course, where we bought a small bottle.   At the cottage, Elizabeth and Erik presented us with a Skye pottery quaich, a traditional Highland cup used to sip whiskey communally among new friends.  A perfect gift for sharing our Talisker with our new friends!

                                                            Talisker Distillery

That evening Dori and Dan introduced me to the fabled "fairy glen".  They had been making quiet references to it for a couple of days.  So after dinner, we set out in the car. (Since Bruce and I are brave enough to drive on the left side of the road, we're the designated drivers!  It's actually pretty fun.) The fairy glen, although high in the hills, is sheltered by green velvety, knobby-shaped mounds.  A wee pond reflected the evening light, and a bench overlooking the pond let us know that we weren’t the only humans to view this magical scene.  A mama sheep and her baby – Dan said the lamb must be only a day or so old – quietly nibbled grass near a crooked tree.  Dori spotted a hole in the side of a hill big enough for a fairy family.

                      Momma and baby having evening snacks in the fairy glen

Overlooking the whole area was a tall promontory of rock, beckoning us to climb it, of course.  Up we went, Dori and I, while Dan geo-cached further down.  The trail wound around and up, revealing a protected area with stones set in lots of familiar shapes on the grass:  spirals and human forms and waves.  Reaching the tip of the promontory required us to cross a short space that reminded me of a very mini version of the knife edge on Katahdin (not that I’ve ever climbed K.).  The wind threatened to blow us off either side, both of which dropped rather precariously.  We hunkered down and scooted across. 

Our next little challenge was squeezing through a narrow passage of rock higher than our heads.  We were rewarded by a look-out from which we could see Uig harbor and soft high hills all around, the sun still coloring the sky.  But it was very windy so we didn’t linger long. 

We met Dan and 3 sheep on the way down.  Dusk lasts a long time in this northern latitude but it was getting a bit dark, adding another dimension to the timeless ambiance.  I felt privileged to have shared the experience of hovering between this world and another.  

                                                 The enchanted fairy glen

Wednesday was rainy, and our pace was a bit slower.  We read and wrote and planned and chatted.  It seemed like a good day to do something close to the cottage and indoors.  A visit to the Museum of Island Life on the very end of the island was just the thing, so we thought.  It certainly gave us a taste of the harsh life in the old days, complete with a cold rainy wind blowing a gale.  We nearly froze as we hurried among the unheated old stone crofts, each featuring a different aspect of life.  They were fascinating, made all the more so by the knowledge that our own family would have lived in similar conditions.  I was interested in the weaving tradition and had hoped to see some weaving taking place, but the old fellow on the desk was genuinely sad to tell us that there was no weaving being done in Skye any longer.  We would have to go to Harris and Lewis to see weaving.  He also bemoaned the decline of the Gaelic language, though Erik tells us that Scotland is now an officially bi-lingual nation with both English and Gaelic being used.  We saw lots of instances of this on signage. 

           Stone croft with thatch roof and rocks to suspended to hold it in place

The warming up that day took place at a wee pub at the Ferry Inn in Uig.  Tea and Guinness with friends – true Scottish pleasures! 

That evening the MacLeans and Webbs, after “tea”, i.e. supper, set out to find some traditional music.  We had been told by a church lady in zebra-patterned shoes that we could find it in a pub in the little village of Edinbane, about 15 miles away.  The pub is owned by a 30-something, fiddle-playing woman.  She and her fellow musicians, a banjolin player and a fiddle/penny whistle player, slowly filled the tidy pub with an appreciative audience and lively music.  A cute young couple with their well-behaved dog joined the group, and doggy happily barked his applause with the rest of us.  At one end of the room a blazing fire in a big stone fireplace added just the right touch.  It was wonderful to hear live fiddle music in this, the land where so much of our fiddling tradition has its roots.  Bruce recognized a few of the tunes from his Fiddlicious repertoire.  I drove the Merc under starry skies along smooth dark roads back to the cottage. 

                                The colorful town of Portree

                        Haggis, neeps (turnip), and tatties: pretty tasty!

Having had our required shopping outing – and my first taste of haggis (surprisingly good, rather like meatloaf)– in Portree on Thursday, Dori & Dan and Bruce & I decided to finish our week in Skye with a climb on the Old Man of Storr on Friday.  It is another rocky “monolith”, rising 170 feet along the coast facing the island of Raasay and the mainland.  We packed a picnic and joined about 20 carsful of other climbers, grateful to be there early in the season before the crowds get really big.  I must say that I’m not sure where all those folks went, because we saw only the occasional hiker.  As we climbed, the damp air took the form of a substance between snow and hail (snail?).  We considered turning back but waited a few minutes in the shelter of a wooded area, and it disappeared.  Farther along, a fellow with CP, using the type of crutches that begin at the elbow, was making his way slowly down the trail, alone. We decided that we had no excuse to not make the climb. Just outside the woods, we stood to eat our sandwiches, looking up at the treeless, rocky path, dotted with a few hikers high up. 

It was a steep climb and gave the heart and lungs a good work-out.  As we ascended, more and more of the magnificent landscape came into view:  woods, fields, other high hills, and then the sea and bays and inlets and islands and beyond it all the mainland.  Above us rose the solitary rocky spike of the Old Man.  Behind him stood a clump of dramatic rocky pillars.  Dan was off on a lower side trail, looking for a cache.  Dori lagged behind, capturing it all digitally and drinking in the beauty and mystery.  Bruce was ahead, worrying about the clouds and impending weather.  I, too, took photos and tried to stash this memory in a place where I could retrieve it easily – and then scooted down, behind Bruce.  

                               Old Man of Storr is the tiny spike on the horizon.  

I could go on, retelling the moments of this lovely week, but my time and energy, as well as yours, I’m sure, dear readers, is rapidly fading.    

So, these are the highlights of our week in Skye.  It was a gift to spend it with passionate, fascinating, and generous kindred spirits.  And a memorable week it was, filled with things so quintessentially Scottish:  fairies and fiddle music, kilts and castles, whiskey, haggis, tea and Guinness, ancient standing stones, Celtic crosses honoring dead heroes, echoes of ancestors, wild windswept hikes – and light, always the light, shifting amid the mist and clouds, opening glimpses of heaven.

The Sacred Isle

The Island of Iona, a tiny spot of land just off-shore from the much bigger island of Mull on the west coast of Scotland, is one of those places that has called to Bruce and me for years.  Known as a sacred place, it has a mystical, spiritual, historical reputation as the site of early Celtic Christianity.  In 563 AD St. Columba arrived there from Ireland to introduce Christianity to the Scots and to Europe.  It’s where the beautiful Book of Kells was written.  In more modern times, it’s where Rev. Bobby Ives, of the Carpenter’s Boat Shop in South Bristol, Maine, became a member of the Iona Community, an ecumenical effort for peace and progressive Christianity.  And Dori and Dan’s Scottish brother-in-law, Rev. Erik Cramb, has had a nearly 50 year association with the Iona Community.  Erik and his wife, Elizabeth, Dan’s sister, joined us for this part of our Scotland tour.  

We awoke to snow that first morning in Crianlarich, where I left off in my story.  Dori and I felt so lucky to have dodged the bullet on that one for our hike on the West Highland Way the previous day.  The four of us drove west, farther into the highlands, through majestic snowy scenery, to the coastal town of Oban.  Gradually the snow disappeared from all but the tops of mountains.  In Oban, we met Erik and Elizabeth and, under the most perfect complete rainbow, took a car ferry to the island of Mull.  Just before we arrived, the ship steamed past the MacLean clan’s Duart Castle, positioned on a strategic point of land on Mull. 

Snowy cloudy highland forest

Misty Duart Castle, Seat of the MacLean clan

From here we drove the 20 miles to the southern tip of Mull and the tiny settlement of Fionnphort. The scenery along this route was mountainous and sweeping and grand – and elicited a whole new set of superlatives.  The sky was moody with shifting dark and light, creating constantly new vistas.  On the narrow, one-track road, Bruce began to pull over for photos without request!

At Fionnphort we left our silvery Mercedes behind, as required, and boarded yet another ferry for the 15 minute hop over to Iona.  We had forgotten to pare down our stuff and so dragged all our year-long belongings behind us – and ON us - as we made our way to our cottage on the island where Dori, Dan, Eric, and Elizabeth had stayed 6 years ago.  It was a beautiful three bedroom home, looking out on the ocean, with sun pouring in from all angles: my kind of place!  And, in a giant coincidence, we discovered from the guest book, that a friend of ours, a member of our church in Gorham and a Maine Dept. of Human Services co-worker from 40 years ago, had also stayed there just last fall!

                                                  Scene from our bedroom window

We were exceptionally lucky with the unpredictable Scottish weather, and our 3-day experience on the island was lovely. In addition to the famous abbey, there is a quaint little village with a school, a post office, a couple of small hotels, a great little grocery. There are potters and other crafts artists. Farmers still raise sheep and cattle on the island.

While there, Bruce and I walked a couple of the island beaches, over fields that fell steeply to the sea, sheltering momma sheep and babies.  We explored the ruins of religious buildings from times so long ago, as well as the beautiful abbey itself, now restored and serving as a place of worship for groups who come to the island for classes and spiritual renewal - or for travelers such as ourselves.  Dori and I had tea and scones in a hotel sunroom looking out on the sea.  Bruce and Dan had Guinness in a bar looking out on the sea!  Dori and I combed the graveyard where Norse kings and Scottish kings and French kings had been buried beside fishermen, soldiers, wives, mothers, and many young children.  Tall, Celtic stone crosses lined the old, old walkway.  The MacLean cross had stood sentinel since the 1400’s!  

                                                             MacLean Cross

Church services were held twice a day, in the morning and evening.  All of us attended several services at various times.  The most moving church service was communion on our last evening.  The ancient stone sanctuary was lit with many candles, while a long table was arranged down the center aisle, set with a simple white tablecloth and seashells, and around which sat those congregants facing it in the first row of seats.  A common cup (with a small wiping cloth) and a loaf of bread were passed from person to person.  The young piano player’s music at this point seemed extemporaneous, rising and falling in a rush of clear sweet notes.  Afterward, the passing of the peace among the worshippers felt warm and sincere.  Although it was a short service, by the time it ended, the hour was nearing 10pm.  We left the abbey and walked back to the cottage in the chilly moist night air.  It was a perfect way to conclude our visit to this special isle.

                                                          Iona Abbey 

                                       Our group as we were waiting to leave Iona

Kilts, Pubs, Salmon, Sheep, & Lochs!

It’s hard to believe that we’ve been in Scotland for only a little over a week.  We’ve packed a lot of sightseeing into that time.  We began in Edinburgh, capital of Scotland, and spent two days roaming around the majestic old stone city.  On the Royal Mile, in the heart of the Old Town, we happened upon a wedding with the handsome groom and best man outfitted in kilts (pictured below); got glimpses of fancy cars - a bright red Ferrari and an Asti Martin, owned by Sikh men from India, it appeared; heard bagpipes, of course, being played along the street; looked out over the ramparts at Edinburgh Castle; listened to sweet choral music in medieval St. Giles Church, where we also saw mention of our Murray ancestors, dating back to the 1500’s.

                                       The handsome groom and best man - in kilts!

Friendly guys along the Royal Mile, enjoying the afternoon sun and their Scotch whiskey!   

We ate the obligatory – and delicious - fish ‘n chips and drank pints of Guinness beer, that smooth, creamy mother’s milk of libations.  The "full Scottish" breakfast at our B & B was very full indeed, comprised of eggs, potato patties, sausage, bacon, baked beans, roast tomato, and toast - plus juice and coffee/tea, of course, as well as fruit if one wished. Enough to fuel hours of touring!  It must be noted that Scottish food has improved tremendously in recent years, often offering fresh local products served in creative ways.  I had a fantastic smoked salmon and fish chowder one evening. I haven’t had the wherewithal to try haggis or blood pudding yet, but that’s a goal while we’re here.  

                                              This fish chowder was YUMMY1

On Saturday evening Dori, Bruce, and I went looking for traditional music at a pub.  We found it, but the pub was packed with locals, putting us too far from the fiddler to hear any music.   Dori, who drinks nothing stronger than ginger beer, made her way through the crowd to request the song, Maggie, and, being asked to sing a few lines, made her Scottish singing debut.  Bruce and I, tucked away in a corner, missed it!

                                           Dori and Bruce at Belle's Pub in Edinburgh.  

The next day, Sunday, we all toured the botanical gardens, as we had done a couple of times in Ooty, India.  It was a sunny, brisk day and lots of families wandered the hilly terrain, past clumps of daffodils and among the 700 varieties of rhododendrons.  Highlights for us included the experimental organic garden and hoop houses, which got Bruce and me itching to do our own gardening at home; the Queen Mother’s Garden, where a lovely tiny building was filled with artfully displayed seashells and pine cones collected by the children of Scotland; the fairy wood – we ARE in a Celtic land - with its hidden miniature doors on trees;  the beautiful, delicate glass house where tropical plants are flourishing (we didn’t need to see any more of those and so skipped the tour); and finally, an extensive and inspiring outdoor visual display of the dire environmental state of our world – with ideas of various solutions and a website.  The theme was Bob Dylan’s song, Hard Rain, which was being broadcast in that area.  All in all, a dynamic and delightful place, the traditional mixed with the whimsical, the practical, and the timely.   And not one stranger asked to take our photo!   

Seashells collected by Scottish children to honor and remember Queen Mother Elizabeth, who was born in Scotland.  

The graceful glass house with the outdoor environmental display. You can find out more at www.hardrainproject.com.

That evening Dori, Dan, and I toured Mary King’s Close, an alleyway off the ancient Royal Mile.  The close dates back to medieval times.  Although it has been covered with street level buildings, underground it follows the steep slant of the hillside and extends downward for many stories.  It was pretty interesting to hear about life in the severely overcrowded houses that had lined the alleyway.  Much mention was made of the smelly, noxious human and animal waste that had washed downhill to the lake at the foot of the street.  And that explains why the relatively wealthy Mary King lived high up in the original 11-story building!

On Monday we checked out of our lovely B & B and picked up our rental car.  The rental agent pushed a Mercedes Benz on us, which is both a delight and a curse here in frugal Scotland.  We headed west.  Our destination was the tiny settlement of Crianlarich, one of the villages on the hiking trail known as the West Highland Way.  Dori and I had plans to hike a six mile portion of the trail. 

As we drove past the bright green fields of sheep with their baby lambs close by, past the cold blue lochs (lakes) and the beautiful sweeping, wide-open vistas of high mountains, Dori and I began our litany of superlatives.  Bruce and Dan at first mocked us, and then a few superlatives began creeping into their own reactions to the amazing scenery unfolding before us.  Along the way, we spotted a sign directing us to the grave of Rob Roy.  Remember the movie with hunky Liam Neeson? We detoured to the grave and found it in the churchyard of a charming old stone church out in the countryside.

 The churchyard where we found Rob Roy's grave.  The tiny dots in the background are sheep!

 It was 4 pm when we arrived in Tyndrum, and Dori and I set out on our 6 mile trek.  Normally, in Maine in April, that would be a ridiculous time to begin a hike, but in the highlands of Scotland, where dusk lingers and doesn’t become fully dark until 9pm, it was only a little crazy.  Although the temperature was chilly, there were patches of blue sky and we felt lucky to not have rain. We bundled up in many layers, found the trail, and began our adventure.  The trail followed a small stream initially, then crossed a government experimental farm and into a sheep pasture.  We were careful to close the gates securely, and then we became sheep paparazzi, our cameras whirring at the sight of those cute wooly creatures.

Standing next to our elegant Mercedes, Dori and I are bundled up and ready for our hike on the West Highland Way.

Never ones to pass a cemetery, the ruins of a 13^th century priory and nearby graveyard captured our imaginations and slowed us down a bit.  The estimated time for this portion of the trail was 4-5 hours. However, we figured that two old ladies with cameras should add an hour or more!  

                                                                   Along the trail

                                             
The mountains around us were in the 1000 meter range.  Some were capped with snow and were absolutely majestic.  Although the trail did not ascend the mountains, it certainly ranged much higher than we had anticipated.  We huffed and puffed, up and up, higher and higher, through lovely, moist woods covered in moss, across stream after stream rushing downward.  It was pretty cold, and I was lucky to have Dori’s gloves and Bruce’s cap.  Dori was toasty warm in too many layers of hoodies and jackets.  Finally the trail began to descend, as we knew that it must at some point, and we both picked up the pace, concerned that our husbands would be worrying.   The light was just about gone when we reached Crianlarich and made our way, in a cold drizzle, along the highway to our rural B & B.  Dinner with the guys at a hostel across the road was the most delicious steamed salmon, with a coal fire in the fireplace and the host plucking out tunes on his mandolin.  Couldn’t have been lovelier!

                                                                    Climbing high on the trail.