Month: July 2016

Breakfast

The Pines: Gammon steaks, streaky bacon, pork sausages and scrambled eggs. Coffee and juice. 

Morning tea

High Street Merchants: Coffee with Orange & Date Scone and raspberry jam. 
Lunch

Muchrach House (Dulnain Bridge): salmon gravlax, rare Scottish sirloin with whiskey sauce; accompanied by highlands gin and tonic water. 

Dinner

The Pines: Shoulder of lamb, roasted with local root vegetables; served with a South African Cabernet. 
Digestif

The Garth Hotel (Grantown-on-Spey).

This may sound like we did nothing but eat and drink all day. If it does, that’s only because we did. And I’m not sorry, not sorry at all. 

I might be more sorry on Thursday when we trek up mountains, but that’s ages away yet. 

Not much happened really.  I went out for a few hours drive in the morning, hoping to find some of the ruins that tend to dot the landscape in my previous experience of England and Ireland, but they seem less common in the Scottish Highlands.  Perhaps the sort of people prone to the building of casual castles and cathedrals didn’t spend so much time around this part of the island.  There are some spectacular old castles, to be sure, but they are more formal tourism sites now, rather than the “side of the road” style I tend to prefer.

And when I say I went out for a few hours, it turned out to be all day as the roads tend to be a bit windy and indirect, and people have a habit of parking lorries in the middle of them or closing them entirely from time to time.  I did manage, more through good luck than good management, to meet up with a fair contingent of the party at a local distillery The Glenlivet, where we did a wee tour and had a wee dram.  It’s quite interesting actually, and it’s always fascinating to hear how particular spirits have to be (by law) made in certain ways in order to be called certain things.  Whiskey is made from barley, water and yeast – and it turns out the great majority of the flavour and colour actually comes from the barrels rather than the ingredients.

Other than that, there was a lot of driving around under grey and often wet skies – until popping out into the nice weather that apparently hung over Grantown-on-Spey all day – but for not much photographic rewards.  Hopefully more opportunities will present over the next few days.

Lichen growing boldly on a centuries old gravestone.

The Avon River running through shallows at the side of a road.

We are continuously amazed by the switches in weather.  It’s not so much “four seasons in one day” so much as “in one hour” – or at one stage yesterday, “simultaneously”, as we watched rain fall through the sunlight onto colourful spring planter boxes.  Between the weather and the 20-odd hours of daylight, it’s no wonder it feels like it’s taking a little longer for us all to adapt to the travel this time around.

Today has been the first day since we arrived that we haven’t been given a parade; but then it’s also been the first day without bouts or torrential rain – so it’s a break even result I think.  Sunday is a day for repose, and there has been a substantial amount of that going on.  Coffee has also been involved.

Late in the afternoon we got sorted out enough to go to another town in search of waterproof trekking pants for Thursday, when apparently we are preparing to summit the highest peak in the highlands and are allowing for a return of the torrential rain.  Not sure that’s exactly what I signed on for, but at least it’ll be interesting to see a parade on the top of a remote granite hill.  

After the shopping, we nipped over to Loch an Eilein (literally, we think, “a lake with an island”) where there was reputed to be the ruins of a castle on the said island.  In the end it turned out to be more of an old wall than anything recognisable as a castle per se, but it did nonetheless bear witness to the sort of project that most modern builders would probably baulk at.  Quite a nice forest walk to the best viewpoint too, so it was happy times.  

 
Since then we have busied ourselves researching precisely which distilleries need to be visited in the next few days, as apparently there are just one or two (ousadn) to choose from in this part of the world.

We’ve only been in Scotland for a bit over 48 hours, but it feels oddly familiar already. I guess the fact that we speak the language makes it feel less of a displacement, but I’m still a little surprised by just how easy it has been to settle in. 

Today had some interesting experiences. I woke up with a massively swollen eye, presumably from some sort of allergic reaction. Certainly antihistamine seems to have taken the edge off it, but I woke up looking like is been in a fight, which was more than a bit disconcerting. It actually looked exactly like it had felt, and I hadn’t anticipated that! Hopefully it’s gone by tomorrow, but it’s still unusual now. 

Anyway, having got up early and headed out to find a coffee and do some photography, it became apparent that preparations were afoot on the Royal Mile for some sort of parade. We weren’t really sure what, but as it prevented getting the car in to pick up our luggage, we decided we may as well at least watch the show. Turned out to be the Scottish Crown Jewels on the move again, driving past in a saloon no more than a few metres away and protected by several police officers in hi-vis jackets and an impenetrable layer of bagpipers. 

After that, we lugged our bags back to the car and drove through alternating sunshine and torrential rain to St Andrews. Melbourne talks about four seasons in one day, but here that happens every hour. At lunch yesterday we went through two full cycles, and I think the 1.20 hour drive today had three at least. However, with a little hassle actually locating the clubhouse, I got to walk around the 1st, 17th and 18th. The 17th at St Andrews is probably one of the two most famous holes in the world and definitely the one I was most curious to see in person, and it didn’t let me down.  I was surprised how close the road and paths are to the 18th green, but even more so to be able to walk along the road at the 17th, the Road Hole. The pin was cut way right and I saw players finish up on the road, and so my sense of the place was deliciously filled in. I still want to come back here to play one day, and I resisted the urge to walk on the green until I can. 

From there, according to the GPS, it was just 2.18 to Granton-on-Spey and The Pines House, where we meet up with the rest of Justine’s family. In reality, that took more like 4 hours, but who’s counting? Other than everyone else? Anyway, we made it, and it turns out to be rather worthwhile. The house and town look very appealing, and I’m sure we’ll discover more of its layer a a details tomorrow. For now, the tasty stew and bottle of whiskey provided by our hosts is all betokening a fine few days to come!

Well, our all-too-brief stoppover in Edinburgh comes to its inevitable conclusion, and we must repack the bags, locate the car and navigate the way to our final Scottish destination of Granton-on-Spey.  Should be about three hours we reckon, plus the extra time required to swing past St Andrews and glance covetously at the home of golf, secure in the knowledge that a game is out of the question.

Some quick observations.  I don’t recall ever being in a place where the people – residents and visitors alike – have been so consistently friendly and cheerful.  Have had numerous interactions with people from formal customer service ones to casual asides about being lost and needing directions, and almost every one of them has been individually noteworthy for their politeness, genuineness and friendliness.  Has been really noticeable, and I am hoping that is going to be the case for all of Scotland now!

It’s also, here in the very centre of Edinburgh anyway, very clean and well kept.  Compared to most other cities I’ve been in, at home and abroad, there is very little graffiti or anti-social damage, and you feel like you get to see the place mostly as intended.

In fact, I have really liked the feel of the place.  Five years ago, we spent a similar amount of time in Dublin, and I had a totally different reaction.  Admittedly it was just after the Irish economy had been hammered by the GFC, but the whole place gave me the feeling of being a theme park based on Dublin’s past.  Everything was about where something once happened and the range of overpriced souvenirs you could buy to prove you were there.  By contrast, Edinburgh feels very much comfortable in its own present.

The only odd thing about the place is that nothing opens before 8am.  Both mornings we have been up early and wandering around, but the ONLY place you can get a coffee is one of the many Starbucks scattered around the place.  Made Aidan happy, who was keen to try a brand he hears a lot about in teen culture, and to be honest the coffee wasn’t too bad – a quality that the only coffee you can get your hands on often acquires!

Above: (L) Lauren walks the Royal Mile into the early morning Sun; (R) The clock tower above the Balmoral Hotel.

Awoken at 6am by assembling groups of what appeared to be cadets in full ceremonial Scottish military outfits who then proceeded to march past our kitchen windows for our viewing pleasure!

They sure know how to make visitors feel welcome here!

To say today was a long one is no casual turn of phrase.  At a conservative estimate it’s about 45 hours since we last slept lying down, and it probably comes as little surprise that as I write this, I am the only one who isn’t now reminding themselves what it’s like.  Don’t get me wrong, that will happen soon enough, but for a little longer I am happy to sit here in our apartment just off the fabled Royal Mile, drinking a locally brewed but Roman themed beer and staring out the kitchen window at Edinburgh Castle – which appears to simply emerge from the grassy hillside.

Or, more precisely, mostly at the otherwordly cantilevered grandstand that now inhabits the esplanade, and where the annual Tattoo takes place.  It really does just look like a low budget flying saucer has carefully landed bang in the middle of a medieval castle, and it is a little hard to know quite what to think of it.  Across the road and out the adjacent window are two red painted British Mail telephone boxes that just scream “QUAINT!” as far as possible, but the flying saucer effect doesn’t lend itself easily to singular adjectives.

Another thing that has been immediately striking in Edinburgh is that bagpiping buskers don’t seem to fare any better here than they do at h
ome.  It’s not that I don’t like bagpipers, I actually quite like that really – its just that they make such an intense noise that no one can comfortably walk within 20m of them, and so I don’t see how they ever hope to make a buck.  Anyway, at least around here there is a sense of likely authenticity that is lacking most other places.
I certainly have formed a good first impression of Edinburgh, the domineering busking aside.  Every conversation we’ve had has been warm and welcoming and friendly.  The city seems interesting and authentic, and I’m looking forward to getting out there tomorrow and doing the 24 hour immersion.  Good nig