Scotland

Our first stop in Scotland is just inside the border at Gretna Green. At one time, the legal marrying age in Scotland was 16, compared to 21 in England, so many young couples, unwilling to wait the extra five years would run up to Scotland, usually hotly pursued by the bride's father, and stop at the blacksmith's shop. This was because in addition to a lower age of consent, Scottish law also allowed local tradesmen to perform marriages when there was no vicar or Justice of the Peace around. Such was the case in this town, and the blacksmith's shop became quite a popular stop. It's still quite popular now, although not many marriages are still performed here. It's strictly a Tourist Site, and they play it to the hilt. We have a group photograph taken in the actual smithy shop. Two older members of our group were just married six months before the tour, so they are our bride & groom. The smithy/guide also wants a set of parents, so some smarty-pants, thinking that the contrast would be cute, volunteers me and the youngest female member of the tour (Walla Walla College's Reference Librarian) to be the parents. Cute. But it does mean that I get to hold the gun. This is one big old heavy rifle they give me. Now, of course, I have to pay the 3 pounds for the picture.

Then we are left to wander through the gift shops. They have quite a collection of the tourist-type Scottish stuff. Some of it is not bad, like the clothing, but there is a good share of the usual junk. They have a small set of bagpipes for sale, and I ask if they actually work. "Well, they make a noise," says the cashier. They do have a decent-looking sword for only 40 pounds, but I can't think of a way to get it through the airport, so I leave it. I can't find a tartan pattern for Cottrell, but that's OK, because I really don't know what size I take in a kilt. I'm not at all sure I want to know either, come to think of it. While we're in the shop, the smithy/guide goes out into the courtyard and starts playing the bagpipes. I may be considered strange for this, but I've always kind of liked the sound of bagpipes. Of course, I've never had the chance to learn how to play them because for one, they're quite expensive, and two, nobody wants you to practice where they can hear you. So I'll just have to content myself with listening.

After Gretna Green, we drive straight to Glasgow. We pass Locharbie on the way, where the terrorist-bombed 747 crashed. A nice thought to contemplate when you have to fly back on a 747.

Our hotel in Glasgow is the Hospitality Inn. Nice-looking hotel. Reminds me quite a bit of a Holiday Inn. An upscale one, anyway. Through some misunderstanding, the chef is not entirely prepared for a bunch of vegetarians, but they manage to put together a nice vegetables-in-a-pastry crust dish fairly quickly for us. But tonight, some of our group are somewhat less vegetarian than usual. While we're sitting in the main restaurant, we can see a steady stream of well-dressed people going around us to the ballroom or whatever. The women look particularly good. I am definitely sitting in the wrong room.

Andrew and his parents go out walking, but I decide to stay in my room. It's well after 5, so all of the shops are closed, and I think we're too far from the downtown area or any tourist sites to be able to comfortably walk there. Besides, the TV's here have nearly 8 channels. I'm almost overwhelmed I end up watching The Day of the Jackal eventually. Andrew is back for the end, then we watch Quantum Leap. Andrew suddenly realizes that Dave is up next, and shuts the TV off. I tell him that he doesn't have to watch, and turn it back on. He threatens to take the power cord, but I promise to turn the sound down quite low and not watch it for long, so he relents and goes to bed. People don't usually react that violently to Dave. To each his own, I guess. And so (after the Top Ten List) to bed.

Friday, June 16, 1995

After a shower and a generous helping of The Big Breakfast (love that Dani!), it's down for the usual British hotel breakfast. Buffet-style this morning with a few surprises. One of them is the appearance of Cocoa Puffs, so I have them instead of the usual Rice Krispies. I haven't had these for years. Rice Krispies in chocolate milk. Cool.

Then it's off to Stirling Castle. It is said (and continually repeated by the guides) that whoever owns Stirling Castle owns Scotland. It's located on high ground with a good view of the only bridge across the river for miles around. Thus it was the scene for many battles involving (among others) Sir William Wallace (of Braveheart fame), Robert the Bruce, and the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745. Interesting place. We have a great view of the very interesting-looking Wallace Memorial, but we aren't going to get to go there. We are on one of the first tours of the castle since we're there so early. I take a few pictures, but the places I really want to take them are too dark. I guess I'll have to buy the Official Guide Book. It looks like I'll have to buy 2 guide books because the one for the castle doesn't mention the Wallace Memorial. It's on the cover of the Stirling city guide, but is barely mentioned inside. I have to cash another traveler's check for this. Now I have Scottish money. Terrific. I've been led to believe that it is almost worthless outside of Scotland. But we're going to be here for a couple of days, so I should have plenty of time to get rid of it.

My first chance to spend it comes when we stop at Callander for lunch, but that's all I spend it on. I stop in the bakery and grab an egg salad/cheese/tomato sandwich. The girls in the shop are having a discussion about a dance that's coming up. The girl serving me says she isn't going to go because it costs 2 pounds, and she doesn't have it. I think for a second that I should give her the 2 pounds, but I don't. This is probably going to bug me for quite some time. The town advertises itself to be Rob Roy country. However, I can't find any Rob Roy books in the bookstores. Well, any cheap volumes, anyway. Perhaps later.

The scenery is quite impressive as we drive up to Glencoe. The weather is somewhat less impressive. By the time we get to the Glencoe tourist stop, it is starting to drizzle. We crowd into the information center along with a group of German tourists, and nearly get mixed into their group at the admission gate. We also have to crowd in with them to see the short video presentation about the massacre that happened there. I'm sure the film is totally unbiased when it presents the horrifying details of the cowardly attack on the MacDonald clan and their great, if somewhat flamboyant chief, by a force led by a Campbell at the instigation of a weaselly wheeler-dealer in the government. Still, the attack didn't go well, and they only managed to kill 35-45 of the 200 clansmen camped in this valley. The rest escaped into the highlands. After the show, the Winzenreids and I go for a short walk around the center. There's a path that winds up the side of the mountain, but we don't have time to do much more than go down it a little ways and across the brook. Really nice countryside, and I'd like to go for a serious hike here someday, but now we have to hurry back to the bus.

We now drive to our hotel in Fort William. It's right on Loch Linnhe. Very nice. However, our room only has a good view of the parking lot out back. This hotel does have a laundry service, which I find out will cost me 8 pounds 75. A little steep for one load of laundry, I think, but I'm finally out of clean socks, and nearly out of clean shirts. I use another traveller's check, and give them my bag. For the second night running, the chef and/or staff didn't hear that we are largely vegetarians. Keith has a word with the management, most of the rest of us have the Vegetable Curry. I'm not ordinarily a curry eater, but this is not bad. Not too spicy. The vegetables are served at a buffet table, along with some of the best fried potatoes I have ever eaten.

Friday night seems to be the big night for American TV. We watch Due South and the first part of Friends before we decide it's close to sundown. To bed early tonight, I think. Keith has this mad idea of getting started at 7:15 tomorrow. Breakfast is at 6:30. Perhaps this would be a good night to retire early.

Saturday, June 17, 1995

Yes, he was serious about breakfast at 6:30. We go the Continental route because it's too early even for the staff to make us something hot, I think. We were supposed to catch a train to the ferry at Mallaig, but the schedules don't coincide this morning. So we jump on the bus to catch an early ferry to the Isle of Skye. Because of union regulations, our driver has to have a full day off every week or so, so we get a replacement today. He's Scottish, and a local to boot, so he gives Keith the correct pronunciations for everything. Our regular driver comes along with us, too. He says it's just to keep an eye on his bus, but we like to think that it's because he likes us.

We drive out past Ben Nevis, which, at 4,406 ft., is the highest mountain in Britain. Keith says that people use the mountain to predict the weather -- if you can see the top of the mountain, it's going to rain. If you can't see the top, it is raining. Ben Nevis is predicting rain this morning. Sort of. There clouds are just covering the summit. Very eerie-looking.

The ferry is, of course, much smaller than either of the ones we rode between Wales and Ireland. But it is much quieter. The only place you can go out on deck is at the stern, though. I stay in the forward lounge for a bit, then go out on deck. This ferry also rolls a bit more than the others, I have noticed. I don't take any pictures because I figure we will be coming back this way later. Well, it turns out we aren't. Fine.

After we land at Ardavasar, we head up the road a bit to the lands of the Clan Donald. The Clan has donated their lands to the National Trust, or something, and we get to walk around the grounds, castle, and forest. When we get off the bus, we are immediately greeted by the local version of mosquitoes, called Midges. Keith passes out some bug repellant wipes, but we have to keep fanning with our brochures for this to be effective. Our guide is very cute. She says that she used to have her own farm, but was having a tough time making it pay, so she took this ranger job about a year ago. I, of course, do not say a word to her, but just stay close enough and pay enough attention to be strangely annoying. She takes us on a basic tour of the grounds, including the "castle" which the owner had built in the 1840s, and which burned a bit later. By castle standards, it's not all that old, but since he used some bad materials, it looks much older. It hasn't been rebuilt or restored, and they're just basically using it as a nursery for young saplings now. The trees grow nice small roots in there, so they are easy to transplant. Our guide calls them "wee trees," and also mentions the "wee birds" making "wee nests" in the masonry. I love the way Scots talk. Then she shows us to the library/museum which contains many Clan documents and artifacts. I try to ask her a question outside, but someone else is having quite a long conversation with her, and the longer I just stand there, the sillier I feel. I go inside the library for awhile and look at the display on the Clan's role in the Jacobite Rebellion. By the time I go back outside, she's long gone. This is the way my luck goes.

After the tour is over, we wander about for awhile. A few of us are very worried that Keith is going to want us to sing again, so we make a conscious effort to stay away from the group. I find the playground, and play on the rope bridge and, of course, the swings. The bus has been moved up to the castle, and it turns out that we aren't going to sing and have a Sabbath service after all, we're just going to eat. We all grab sandwiches & munchies, then spread all over the area, blocking access to the other tourists in several places. Man, are we annoying. From the front of the lawn, there's a great view of the Strait of Sleat that we crossed, so I spend some time at the lookout after I eat. What a great view.

After this, we take a drive up the island. The southern end that we started at has some great forest land, but as we get further north, it turns into heather-covered moors. However, the heather is not in bloom, so it doesn't look quite as amazing as it could. We catch another ferry at Kylea Kin, and take the short trip back to the mainland, landing at Kyle of Lochalsh. It's just a brief crossing, and the ferry doesn't even lift the ramps all the way up. I'm sure they could put up a bridge here, but they may have some ship traffic that couldn't get under one. It would probably spoil the place, too. The ferry ride is just right.

We take a nice long roundabout route through the Highlands back to the hotel. Pretty drive, even though it does start to rain along the way. It is while we are on the bus that Keith pulls out the songbooks and his harmonica. We have some sort of a song service, but it is rather weak. I guess we just don't feel like singing on the bus. Then Keith has the group share stories of God's guidance and help in their lives. A retired pastor from Australia shares some interesting mission stories, and Keith's wife tells us a wild story from one of their trips through Greece and Turkey.

We make three fairly quick stops during the afternoon drive. We stop at the Commando Memorial, and get some spectacular pictures of the countryside. We also make a photo stop at the Eilran Dornan Castle. It looks like a really neat place, but we aren't touring today. Still, it looks good, and I have a feeling I've seen it before, in pictures or something. The quickest stop we make is at Neptune's Ladder, which is a series of 8 locks between the Lochs. It's raining pretty hard now, and Arthur is the only one brave enough to go and get a picture from outside the bus. It is a pretty impressive sight, though. You can see all of the locks going straight up from the bottom. From there, we drive to the hotel, and get there with enough time for a nap before supper.

At supper, which included another generous helping of those amazing fried potatoes, one of the hotel staff informs me that my laundry is done and that I can pick it up at the desk. I take it up to the room to refold and repack into my suitcase and discover that not only did I pay 8 pounds 75, I also seem to have donated a pair of socks. I ask at the desk, but no one seems to have noticed a pair of black socks sitting around. I'll just have to replace them when I get home, I guess.

I sit in the room reading and writing until 9:30, then I check out the TV, and discover that there is not much on British TV on Saturday nights, either. So I flip through the channels for a bit, hoping something better will come on if I wait long enough, but eventually I give up and go to bed.

Copyright © 1995,1996 Stanley Cottrell II

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