So Hard to Say Goodbye

This morning I gazed at my views of the puffy sheep and the sparkling loch beyond the trees for the last time, then began the long journey back down to Edinburgh.  The downside of having such a wonderful time on a trip is that it's really hard when it comes to an end.  It might have helped a little if it had been rainy and gloomy today, but it's still sunny and achingly beautiful here.  Driving here was enjoyable in that it gave me plenty of chance to enjoy the scenery, listen to music, and let my thoughts wander, but it was also hard knowing every mile was bringing me closer to my departure.

I stopped for lunch in Pitlochry, which is yet another charming little Scottish town.  [Sorry, but this is the only photo in this particular post.  A little side note for a few of you who have asked about my camera, it is a little point-and-shoot Canon PowerShot that fits in my hand and that I bought at Costco.  It's done surprisingly well, especially considering I have no photography skills whatsoever.  I just look at something and go, "Pretty!" and take a picture.]

Since 100% of my meals the last few days have been very traditional Scottish dishes, I decided on a whim to pop into an Indian restaurant on a side street.  The sun was so bright I couldn't see in the windows very well, and when I went in, I saw I was the only patron in a rather sizeable restaurant.  It ended up being a pretty hilarious experience because there were three men working there, and they all took turns doing something (I guess they were really excited to have a customer).  One brought me the menu and took my order, another one brought me my food, and a third one checked in with me partway through to see if I needed anything.  All of them seemed to want to chat for a minute and asked me virtually the same questions, so I ended up having the same conversation three times.  Talk about déjà vu.

Now I'm in Edinburgh for the night so I can get to the airport tomorrow morning to catch my flight back to the U.S.  While I am definitely looking forward to seeing my friends again and being able to talk to family on the phone, there's a big part of me that's not ready for this experience to be over and I am already feeling a deep sense of loss.  I'm also not looking forward to all the stressful realities of being home--cleaning my house, working out what to do about the rotting fence with the neighbors, finishing the work on my kitchen, etc.  It's been so lovely not to think of any of that for the past several weeks--to not feel any of that responsibility. 

But what I'm trying to remind myself is that while this trip might be over in the literal sense, its effect on me can and will continue on.  There's still so much to process and reflect on.  One thing I was thinking about on the drive today is how terrified and stressed I was in the weeks leading up to this trip.  I also thought about how awkward and lonely and uncomfortable I felt traveling by myself in England for five days over 15 years ago--my first time traveling by myself.  And I realized I've come a long way since then.  I navigated my way around all sorts of locations via all sorts of transport.  I had great conversations with people.  I tried things I was afraid of.  Most amazingly, I felt relaxed and comfortable the majority of the time, each positive experience and outcome giving me more confidence for the next.  This is not to say that there weren't some difficulties along the way--just that I had an internal sense that they would work out okay and I didn't need to panic or get upset.  I got used to dining on my own and genuinely enjoying it (especially when I had a good book on my Kindle), and when I saw people glancing over at me, instead of assuming they were thinking "who's that sad, loser lady all by herself?" as I usually would, I entertained the possibility that they were thinking, "who's that mysterious and cool lady sitting over there by herself?"  I actually started that as an internal joke with myself, but I kind of started believing it by the end. 

On the boat ride yesterday, a very nice couple from England and I got to chatting, and the husband asked me, "And you're doing this trip on your own?"  I said, "Yes, I am," and he exclaimed, "Oh, well done!" like I'd just completed an outstanding equestrian jump.  It could be that all these people traveling with spouses and families and friends felt pity for me and were just trying to be polite.  But maybe one or two genuinely did feel some admiration or envy or realized, "hey, you can do that?!"  (answer: yes, you can!)

Did I miss having someone to share these experiences with?  Some of the time, yes, of course.  But a lot of the time, I enjoyed the complete freedom to do whatever I wanted to and make my decisions completely spur of the moment, not to mention that sometimes, in some of those really beautiful places, solitude just felt right.  Plus, I didn't feel entirely alone thanks to all of you who've kept up with the blog and posted comments and/or "liked" them on Facebook and/or sent e-mails about it.  In many ways, through this blog it's felt like I have been traveling with other people, so I appreciate the company!

While part of me regrets not asking for more in my proposal and staying for longer (mine was the smallest/shortest proposal the committee received), most of me knows this was exactly the right trip and right amount of time to ask for.  For one thing, as much as I'd like to run away from them, my house repairs can't be put off any longer.  For another, I needed to experience this trip to be ready for something bigger and longer.  Plus, I got a pretty good sense of a good chunk of Scotland and will be much more informed about picking a location when I come back and rent a cottage for a summer.  Which will be someday...

Beneath my sadness at this trip's end is a tremendous gratitude to Wellesley and the Stevens Fellowship, without which none of this would have been possible.  I am so proud to be an alumna of a school with such a long tradition of valuing and affirming women living rich and full lives that in turn contribute something to the communities they are a part of.  I am also thankful for the love, support, and prayers of family and friends.  I've experienced blessings on this trip beyond what I ever hoped for or imagined, which is another lasting impact.  As a natural worrier my whole life, I've had a tendency to imagine worst case/negative scenarios much more easily than best case/positive ones, although that's slowly been shifting as I've gotten older.  So many best cases and positive experiences have occurred on this trip that it has tipped the balance for me.  Or at least I hope it has and I can retain and remember some of this sense when I'm back in the context of home. 

As I was standing at the top of the summit yesterday drinking in all the beauty around me, the Doxology popped into my head.  I didn't sing it aloud because there were other people walking up and down the trail and I am not a complete loony bin.  But it seems an appropriate way to close now.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise him all creatures here below,
Praise him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
 

A Castle With a View and a View of the Castle



Below is another shot of the south tip of Loch Ness and the little harbor at Fort Augustus, which I took after dinner Tuesday evening at a little restaurant appropriately called The Boathouse: 

In spite of the overcast nature of the previous evening, I woke up yesterday well before 6:00am with bright sunshine blazing behind the curtains in my room (although I dozed until 7:30--who gets up at 6:00 on a vacation?).  After breakfast, I headed up the A82 to Urquhart Castle, which sits overlooking Loch Ness.  This is what the lake looks like on a sunny day:

Like the other castles I've visited here in Scotland, Urquhart started as a type of hill fort originally and shows signs of inhabitation from long before there was ever a castle.  There is evidence that this was a Pictish stronghold (FYI, Macbeth was a Pict) and records indicate a visit from St. Columba, an Irish monk/missionary responsible for spreading Christianity in Scotland (and the guy whose bones/relics were once housed at Dunkeld Cathedral from the previous entry).  Anyway, as seems to be the pattern, the castle started rather simply, got built up further over the centuries until it was a massive fortress, and then changed hands about a dozen times or more as the English and Scottish forces duked it out for control over Scotland.  There was also a lot of kerfuffle caused by the MacDonalds, who held the castle for years before being kicked out by the king, and then retaliated with constant raids for decades.  Lots more back and forth, and then the last guy to truly occupy the place blew it up to keep it from falling into the hands of the Jacobites.  Seems like a tragic waste of a perfectly good castle (especially since the Jacobites were losing), but I'm not exactly an expert on castle warfare.

At any rate, what remains are various stone chunks of ruins and explanatory plaques, all laid out like the most awesome and gorgeously situated playground/fort ever.  There was a kind of excited glee in all of us adults as we climbed up and down all the narrow stone staircases to the various levels and took in the views.  I kept waiting for someone to divide us into groups, hand out flags, and fire a starter's pistol.

 

Below is one of the many boat tours passing by, probably on the lookout for Nessie.  Considering this lake is more than twice as deep as the North Sea (300 meters at its deepest point) and absolutely massive, it's not hard to imagine something lurking below.

 



Even with so many other tourists around, I somehow managed to have this little section to myself for a good fifteen minutes or so, which I enjoyed from a bench tucked around the corner from the bushes in partial shade. 

While I sat there, I tried to imagine what this place would have been like 500 years ago, fully inhabited and bustling with activity, noise, smells, etc. and most likely much more dark and enclosed.  I'd been reading a retelling of the Sleeping Beauty story  in the previous couple days called While Beauty Slept (well done, but fairly dark and gloomy), which has a medieval castle setting, so that further activated my imagination.  But I must admit I prefer the more open, peaceful setting of the ruins, nature gradually taking over and sprouting weeds, flowers, and bushes from among the rocks.

 

After snapping a photo for a family, they offered to take one of me.  You can probably tell how bright the sun was from my squint, a consequence of my resolve not to wear sunglasses so I could see everything in its true color.

 
I headed down a small path to water level and dipped my hands in it (cool, but not as cold as I was expecting).

And then there was this duck, who decided to take off just as I took a picture, which is now one of my favorite shots:

 

I then returned to my car and continued up the lake (which was a very pretty drive) to Inverness.  Now, nothing against Inverness, which I understand to be quite a popular destination, but at the sight of all the cars and buses stopping up every road, all the buildings and people packed on every block, and the heavy grey clouds above blocking out all the sunshine, I quickly (or at least as quickly as all the traffic would allow) looped around a block and drove straight back out.  Give me a two-lane country highway with nothing but hills and trees and wildflowers over that any day.  As if to affirm my decision, the sun appeared just a few minutes after I left the city.  I'm doing my best to soak it all in and trying not to think about what a shock to the system (and spirits) it will be to return home to Anaheim.

 

I love the beauty here, the slower pace of life, the peace and serenity and simplicity.  Obviously, part of my infatuation is due to the fact that I'm on holiday.  But a large part of it is that life here is vastly different from life at home.  The two Americans I spoke with who live and work here for real confirm that life here is slower-paced and more peaceful than it is in the U.S.  Work is just one part of life, and the idea of spending crazy long hours at the office seems insane here instead of the badge of honor it is in the States.  And then there's all the beauty and the history.  Part of me feels like I could move and live here in a heartbeat.  But part of me also knows that there would be some really difficult aspects.  Winter, for one, and the fact that for many months it starts getting dark at 3:30pm.  You get more daylight than you know what to do with in the summer, but the other side of the coin is a depressingly meagre amount in the winter. 

 

There is also the issue of loneliness and a life that might be a little too quiet.  Peace, quiet, and a fair amount of solitude are nice for some stretches, but if it were for a longer time, I could easily see myself getting depressed and/or going a little bit nuts.  As I witnessed in Perth (and other smallish towns from this trip), too much quiet and too few people out and about can be eerie and isolating.  At home, I can often get discouraged by how busy my life gets, and a frequent longing of my heart there is for less 'clutter' in my day of things to do.  More space and rest and quiet.  Fewer distractions so readily available (while here, I've watched only a small fraction of the amount of TV I do at home).  More natural beauty in the physical environment, which is actually something I think is a necessary and vital part of the whole rest and quiet bit.  But, as something Alix said at one point about living in St. Andrews made me realize, not having much to do can also be a kind of hardship, as can having to build all new relationships.

 

Of course, this is all a very hypothetical and luxurious dilemma to have, especially when I've been faced, over and over again in the last several weeks, with centuries of lives where the days were filled with the relentlessly grim task of simple survival.  To have a taste of all of this and to experience a longing for more of it is, in its own way, a very rich blessing.

 

But back to the fun stuff.  This afternoon, I almost went on a sedate scenic boat tour, but then changed my mind and went on one of these instead:

 

Best decision ever, as it turns out, because even though we had to wear giant insulated suits that made me feel like the Michelin Man and the wind was strong enough that it was like putting my face under one of those high-powered hand dryers, it was ridiculously fun.  Those boats go really fast, and our guide whizzed us all over with lots of sharp turns that were a tiny bit scary at first but exhilarating from start to finish.  Maybe you can tell from my idiotic grin that I'm kind of having a good time.

 

Along with the roller-coaster-like thrills was the added bonus of being able to cover long distances in a relatively short space of time.  Our final point before turning back was Urquhart Castle.  Here's what it looks like from the water:

 

During our ride, our guide told us about a pretty road up the east side of Loch Ness, so when we returned, I hopped in my car and headed that way.  It was one of those narrow-no-lanes-scary-ish roads, but even though there were a few times I thought I was going to end up in a ditch, being able to see things like this along the way more than made up for any momentary terror:

 

 

At the summit of the drive, there was a place to pull over and walk (or climb, really) a path to the real summit, which of course I did even though I was wearing rather impractical footwear.

Some sheep along the way (I thought about clambering down to them to finally get my sheep hug, but my flimsy shoes and the horned sheep's stink-eye made me reconsider.  Plus, they're not as fat and cute as the ones next to the hotel):

 
Almost there:

 

Absolutely stunning views from the top:

 

Interestingly enough, the couple I met at the top (seen here walking back down the path) were two teachers from Morro Bay, California. 

 

 And my final time returning to the place that's been my home for the past four days.  I'll be sorry to leave it tomorrow:

 

 

 

 

 

And Then I Drove Some More

Yesterday I bid farewell to Perth and started the journey north.  I say "journey" because far from being a simple trip from Point A to Point B, this experience encompassed not only the more literal definition of traveling, but also the more metaphorical definition of undergoing some sort of challenge and resulting transformation.

My first stop, once I'd circled the city of Perth a time or two trying to get to the right highway (it's a small city, fortunately), was Birnam to see the famous Birnam Oak, which is the last of the great trees from the medieval forest that used to be there.  There is a newer forest now, "newer" in the sense that the trees about one or two hundred years old are "newer."  Given my earlier difficulty with finding the right tree, I was relieved to find some clear signage this time around.

 

The signs are not only informative--they're also funny.  When I saw the tree above, I got all excited and started snapping a bunch of photos.  And then I read the marker in front of it:

At the next big, old-looking tree, I had learned enough to read the sign before taking photos, and this one gave me a chuckle as well:

And then there it was--the great Birnam Oak, which has grown so large and heavy it's had to be propped up with posts.

 

Once upon a time, this was a younger, shorter tree, and if it had been in the play Macbeth, Malcolm would have ordered his men to hew down its branches to hold in front of them to disguise their numbers, hence looking to Macbeth like the forest marching upon him.  What confuses me, though, is why Shakespeare would have chosen Birnam Wood when it's nowhere near Dunsinane Hill.  In fact, there are several woods much closer.  Perhaps the photocopied research I received will explain.  If not, I might have to look into that a bit.  Either there's some significance to Shakespeare's choices or he was bad at geography (or just didn't care about minor details like that).

 

Trees and distances aside, I enjoyed a walk along this lovely section of the Tay River, which runs through much of central Scotland. 

 

Just a couple miles from Birnam is Dunkeld, my next stop.  The cathedral here used to be a Christian mecca in the medieval period (building started on it in the 1200s), housing the relics and bones of  St. Columba.  Part of the cathedral was restored in the 1800s and currently functions as the parish church, but the older section remains in ruins that are currently closed to the public and undergoing some structural repair. 

Below is the one section of the old church still open--the bell tower.

The weather was, as I was told by a shopkeeper, typical Scottish weather--sunny one minute, then cloudy grey and raining the next.  Sometimes it was sunny and raining at the same time.  The same shopkeeper recommended that I make a stop for lunch at a place called Bruar Town, which was basically a shopping center selling all kind of local foods and lots and lots of Harris Tweed.  I stocked up on a few gift items, ate a ridiculously overpriced salad, then got back on the road. 

By now the terrain had changed quite a bit.  Instead of wide, green fields interspersed with gently rolling hills, these highland hills were much higher, craggier, much more densely covered with trees, and more dramatic as a whole.  At home, I tend to be something of a lead foot when I drive.  This is because my life at home is usually quite busy and I'm focused on getting to wherever I'm going as quickly and efficiently as possible.  This is also because there is nothing worth looking at on any of the drives--in fact, it's often quite ugly, making me even more eager to get where I'm going.  But here, you see this:

I was driving on a 2-lane highway, which turned into a road with no clear sides, and until I got a little more used to it, my heart was in my throat every time a truck or bus would come careening around a bend, forcing me to hug the edge of the road and passing by with only a hair's breadth between us.  But there were long stretches where there wouldn't be any other cars at all, and it was easy to imagine myself the only person for miles.  In some ways, this was very disconcerting (especially as my phone, and therefore my GPS, had no reception), but it was also very peaceful.  I could toodle along as slowly as I wanted, drinking in all this beauty and pulling over to take photos whenever I was moved to.  Surprisingly, I felt no anxiety about getting lost even though there were a number of times I had no idea what road I was on or if I was heading in the right direction.  There really aren't that many roads in this part of Scotland, so I just trusted that if I kept driving, I'd eventually come to either a sign or a person who could point me in the right direction.

   

Stopping to ask for directions was actually part of the fun as I met some very nice people along the way, one of whom assured me I could always turn around and come back for the night if I didn't get where I needed to be.

 

Fortunately for me and my bladder, I did eventually arrive where I needed to be, which was here: 

 

This is the Glengarry Castle Hotel, my "splurge" of the trip (thanks in part to a very sweet and generous gift from my neighbors/second-parents, Jerry & Lynda).  It's a manor house that got turned into a hotel, and while it's not quite Downton Abbey, it does feel a bit like I'm staying at my genteel granny's house.  Below is my room and the views out the two windows.

 

 

I love the view of the water (Loch Oich), but I think I might love those sheep just a tiny bit more.  I can hear them "baaa," and they are so fat and puffy and sweet that I've had to fight the urge to run downstairs, climb over the fence, and just go hug one.  They're probably quite dirty and smelly up close, but all that puffy wool makes me want to get hands-on, kind of the way seeing a mound of dough just makes me want to squish it.

Okay, back to the manor house, which has these two lovely and comfy rooms downstairs where guests can hang out.

 

I'm currently in an armchair in the latter one typing this up and looking up now and then to gaze at the lake below.  The grounds surrounding this hotel are really beautiful, and I took some time this morning to explore them, following this path along the lake:

 

If you can zoom in on the photo below, you'll see a big bumble bee on the left.  He was going in and out of each blossom, humming with gluttonous contentment.

The hotel itself isn't a castle but is named such because of these ruins of Invergarry Castle (once visited by Bonnie Prince Charlie) which stand further along the property.

 

One of the things that struck me as I was walking around was how quiet it was.  It was just me and the lake and the trees and wildflowers.  Oh, and the insects, which could be quite noisy in comparison.  It reminded me of how seldom I am in a place of such quiet and stillness, nowhere in particular to go, nothing needing to be done, but just being and surrounded by beauty.  I could almost feel my soul taking a huge, deep breath.

 

I've shifted gears here, and while the entrance hall to the hotel sports a whole table of brochures and almost everyone else staying here jumps in their cars after breakfast and disappears for the day, I'm enjoying a kind of lackadaisical meandering from one moment to the next.  After my exploratory walk, I lay on my bed listening to the sheep and dozing for a bit, read a novel for a while, and then with (a late) lunch time rolling around, decided to drive up a few miles to the town Fort Augustus.  After driving through a bunch of villages yesterday that were comprised of four cottages and a B&B, Fort Augustus seemed like a lively hub.  There were actually a few streets that had restaurants, shops, etc. and near the parking lot, I saw a sign for a rare animal shelter.  Hopeful that there might be some sheep I could squish, I mean pet, I paid the 2 pound entry and jaunted down the path.  These little pygmy goats and a miniature Shetland further on let me pet them, but the few sheep I saw stayed well away from the fence.

 

At the center of town is one end of the famous Loch Ness.  I briefly considered doing a boat tour, but I think I'll wait and see if a sunnier day presents itself and go then.  Meanwhile here's a somewhat gloomy Loch Ness shot:

The big excitement in town occurred just after lunch.  Fort Augustus has a canal allowing boats passage to and from Inverness through a series of locks.  I gathered along with a large crowd to watch this boat slowly lift on the gradually rising water before the gates opened and it moved on to the next lock to repeat the process.  It was the most exciting boring thing I've ever witnessed.

(the boat entering the first lock--the crowds gathered soon after)