Category Archives: General

Loch Ness & the Highlands, 2.0

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I thought taking a two-day tour to Loch Ness and the Highlands would prove to be twice as good as last week’s one-day tour, but I wasn’t as impressed with the tour this time.  Don’t mistake me, I loved seeing both sights again, but the tour itself was lacking.  For one thing the tour guide had the personality of a flaccid noodle; whereas the other tours I’ve taken the guides have been chock full of stories and history and chatter, this guy was sparing to the point of laconic in his speech.  For another he didn’t seem to have a real itinerary, which offended me.  He kept asking the tour group what we wanted to do.  (I was like, dude, this is your country—you show us what we should see.)

A burn (little creek) in the Three Sisters. That little blue thing at the bottom is a tent!

 

We hardly stopped our drive at all.  We did go to Loch Lubnaig and the Three Sisters in Glen Coe again, but there were other places we might have stopped even for just a few minutes to take pictures. We stopped in Ballachulish at the Clachaig Inn where I made a fine lunch of (vegetarian) haggis, tatties (potatoes), and neeps (turnips), but it was a surprisingly heavy meal that I couldn’t finish.

Urquhart Castle, with Loch Ness in the background

And then we drove to Urquhart Castle, a little south of Inverness.  I know I said, “Once you’ve seen one castle, you’ve seen them all,” and I kind of stand by that statement, but I love ruins, and this castle definitely qualified. There wasn’t much to see since it was half knocked down but ruins speak to me in a way that preserved castle buildings don’t.  And the setting, of course, was lovely, as the castle was on the banks of Loch Ness.

The other people in the tour decided to take a boat ride, but as I took a boat ride on Loch Ness last weekend, I didn’t want to repeat it.  And it was just as well.  It started pouring.  I felt so bad for the rest of them because they got soaked, while I enjoyed some extra time in the gift shop and café, perfectly dry.

“Lay on, Macduff, And damned be him that first cries ‘Hold! Enough!'” (Inverness Castle)

 

And then it was on to Inverness.  I didn’t see as much of Inverness as I wanted.  Once I got to my B-and-B, Eskdale Guest House, I was kind of super tired and just kind of conked out in my tiny single bed right next to the radiator.  In the morning, I saw a little bit more of the town, but I didn’t get to visit Inverness Castle.  I thought it was closed, because of the time we got to Inverness the night before (6 p.m.), but actually it’s not open to the public.  I was disappointed because I really wanted to see the castle where I thought MacBeth would have lived (although he was King from 1040-1057, and technically the first castle was put up in 1057, so he didn’t live there after all), but I still wanted to see it.  The current castle was put up in the 19th century, and it’s veneered with lovely red sandstone.  And it’s in great-looking condition, though there was orange plastic fence all around it because they are doing repairs.

Who dis? It me!

The trip home was not exciting.  We made several stops for walks-in-the woods, which, if you know me, wouldn’t be my first choice.  One stop was at Loch an Eilein, in  Rothiemurchus Woods, and this was a pretty little loch.  I took the path beside the loch, but wanted to get a good picture from a different vantage point than the pictures I took initially (which, let’s be honest, were mostly about the ducks), and of course, I stumbled over a root and went down like the proverbial ton of bricks, getting mud all over my jeans, tearing holes in my sneakers, and fouling up my knees and legs and arms something fierce.  It never fails. This is why I don’t go hiking.  (Because the woods always try to kill me.)  And then, to add insult to literal injury, in trying to get back up, I fell again.  I was disgusted and filthy, and was glad to get back on the bus.  Then we stopped at another walk by the Tay River (?) and the river was quite pretty, but I didn’t walk too far because my ankle was throbbing and I knew that I was tempting fate to go into the woods a second time. So I found a picnic bench and watched the water.  We also stopped at the scenic Cava Cairns, big piles of stones used for burial and other religious purposes.  Actually, I kind of dug them.  One of the other people on the tour took my picture at the center of one.

The best part of the trip back was stopping at Dalwhinnie distillery, where I tried a flight of whiskies which were paired with festive chocolate truffles.  I didn’t have my camera on me, or I would have taken a picture of the drinks, but of the three of them, the 15-year, the Winter something brew, and the Distiller’s choice, I was partial to the 15-year.  It was raining and cold then too, so the whisky poured a little fire into our bellies.  Of course, the last thing I needed was three “wee drams” on an empty stomach, but fortunately I wasn’t driving.  Or required to stand upright for any length of time. 😉

A church missing its roof in Dunkeld

Afterwards, we stopped for lunch at Pitlochry and I ate fish and chips at McKay’s Hotel. The haddock was perfectly fried and crispy though it needed salt. I wish we had longer than an hour because Pitlochry’s High Street was full of cute little shops I would have liked to look in.  I might have considered skipping lunch, but the whisky was strong with this one, and I needed to offset the booze.  And then we stopped in one more place (Dunkeld) for another walk, where I saw a lovely church in the process of being restored.

In writing this down, I guess we stopped a quite a few places after all, more than I initally remembered, but because the tour guide didn’t really bother telling us about anything, it seemed like kind of a wasted few days.  I guess I’d have liked fewer walks in the woods, and more actual stops at things to see.  But everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves so perhaps my attitude was crappy.  And maybe I expected too much—but after the last few tours, I guess I was a little bit spoiled.

I still have a few more weekend tours planned, so I’m hoping they will be a little more energizing and interesting than this weekend’s.  But it was good to get back to the Highlands.  I just kept thinking how great it would be to live there part of the year (winter). I could so see myself in a little semi-restored farm house, with a sheep out back and a cat at my feet, where all I would do is drink hot tea, eat fresh scones, and write, write, write my heart out.  Maybe some day.

Hope you enjoy this new batch of pics!

Urquhart Castle

Lunch at Clachaig Inn–tatties, haggis, and neeps covered in a tasty brown gravy

Loch Ness, from Urquhart Castle

Urquhart Castle

Urquhart Castle keep

A view of Loch Ness from Urquhart Castle. In the middle left, you can see signs of tree farming. For every tree cut, Scotland plants 2 more.

A friendly gull

A lovely field at Dunkeld

A train bridge at the Hermitage, near the Tay (?) river

The train bridge from a further vantage point

Loch an Eilein… For this view, I injured myself. You’re welcome.

Mama duck at Loch an Eilein (Rothiemurchus Woods)

As soon as I sat down, these ducks came out of the water to see if I had anything to feed them. Sadly, I did not. (Loch an Eilein)

View from the center of a cairn in Cava Cairns

Ring Cairn, at Cava Cairns

Another view of Urquhart Castle

Another burn in the Highlands

Low hanging clouds in the Highlands (Ballachulish)

Inside of the Clachaig Inn, where I tried veggie haggis

Three Sisters (well, two of them, at any rate)

Another two of Three Sisters

Glen Coe, looking north

A sunny day at Loch Lubnaig

Glen Coe Mountain (from the back)

Glen Coe Mountain, with even more clouds

A view of Edinburgh Castle from Princes Street on the ride out of town

The Highlands & Loch Ness

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Loch Lubnaig

Loch Lubnaig

I felt the call of the Highlands this weekend—and suddenly I know why so many medieval romance novels are set there.  They are mystical and majestic, full of history, but more than that, they are primal.  They spoke to me on a profound level; as soon as I stepped foot in the mountains, I felt something—a pull from the Earth I’ve not felt before.  Of course they were already quite beautiful from what I saw on the drive, but once we stopped at Loch Lubnaig—and I touched the freezing water—some fairy magic was transferred. I got the Highlands.  I imagined stories I could tell; I saw characters coalesce in my mind almost instantly.  It felt like a writer’s high.

We stopped a number of places—Glen Coe (the “valley of tears”), where members of the Clan MacDonald defied the King and refused to pledge loyalty so they were all slain in their beds; the Three Sisters, a trinity of mountains also in Glen Coe (but a different part), that were wreathed in mist and rain; and of course Loch Ness.  I can’t be sure, but I saw a shadow which might have been Nessie.

Loch Ness

I loved Loch Ness.  I took a boat tour, and learned some fascinating facts about it, among which there is more fresh water in Loch Ness than all of the lakes in the Lake District in England, and the loch is so big you could fit all the people in the world in it.  (I don’t know how that would work, but I’ll take the tour guide’s word for it.)  Also, the loch is very deep and inky dark, so dark that you can’t see anything except by sonar after 25 meters, because there’s so much black peat in the water light can’t penetrate.  It’s basically like the loch version of a black hole. It was bracing and freezing to be on the water, and the wind actually buffeted people sideways on the top (open) deck of the ship.  I could have cheerfully stayed on the ship longer though, if that were an option, despite the wind and cold, because it felt right to be there—part of that magic I mentioned earlier.  Of all the things in Scotland I wanted to see, Loch Ness and the Highlands were the “Scotland-est.” (If you were to ask me before I left Atlanta what I think of when I think of Scotland, I’d answer “Loch Ness and the Highlands.”)  I’d always imagined going these places, and the reality did not disappoint.  I’m really glad I accidentally booked myself on another bus tour to see these places, because one time is not enough.

Entrance to Edinburgh Castle

Yesterday I finally dragged myself to Edinburgh Castle. I say dragged because I really didn’t want to go—if you’ve seen one castle, you’ve seen them all, right?—but also I had to literally drag myself up this huge stairway—Peter Somebody’s Staircase—because I took a wrong turn down Victoria Street and landed at the foot of the castle, instead of just walking the Royal Mile like I meant to from the bus stop.  Ah well.  My

calves are still sending me hate mail.

Mary Queen of Scotts

The castle was windy and cold—my favorite weather, especially in summer—and amazingly high above the city.  You could see all the way past the North Sea.  I liked seeing the Crown Jewels (a crown and a scepter, as well as the Stone of Scone [pronounced “skuun”] also known as the Stone of Destiny, the stone upon which monarchs are crowned which was stolen from Scotland by England’s King Edward in 1296).  Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to take pictures of the jewels—I don’t know why—because they were kind of cool, though maybe not as ornate as I had expected.  Mary Queen of Scots was born at Edinburgh Castle, so after looking at the Crown Jewels, you got to walk through her rooms.  There was a room which had Mary’s family tree on it…it reminded me kind of like Sirius Black’s family tree mural from Harry Potter, adorned with beautiful and elegant portraits from her family.  You also could look into the birthing room, which frankly was literally the size of a closet.  There was also a lovely and ornate tapestry (and/or bedspread) she had made, but I didn’t get a picture of it because there were too many people in front of it and it was a dark room.  But the needlework impressed me.

Scottish National War Memorial

I also scoped out the Scottish National War Memorial which was dedicated to the memory of the soldiers who died in WWI.  It looked like it should have been a chapel, not a war memorial.  Maybe it had been at some point?  But the sign said it was made in 1927 for the memorial’s purpose, which kind of amazes me because it looks like it was built part of the castle, if not originally, certainly more than 95 years ago.  I also peered in at the Great Hall, and perused the History of War Museum, and I can categorically state the only thing that interested me about the History of War was seeing the medals from the uniforms the men wore.  Some of it looks like jewelry.  And I love me some jewelry.  But the history of war leaves me cold—and with the exception of a brief nod to women as nurses, women’s role in the war(s) was ignored.  Overall, I’m not sorry I went to Edinburgh Castle, but between seeing it and Sterling Castle last week, I’m about castled out.  I appreciate their historical qualities, but they are surprisingly unromantic buildings (yes, yes, I know they are built for military purposes, not fairy tales), and seeing them in real life demystifies them in a sad kind of way.

Millennium Clock Tower, National Museum

Backtracking a little bit, Friday I went back to the National Museum of Scotland.  I had intended on going to the Royal Scottish Academy of Art and Architecture instead, but when I got there, the guard told me it was closed because it wouldn’t have an exhibit until the end of July.  I was glad I went back to the National Museum—I got to see things I missed and enjoyed my leisurely walk through the collections.  Something I hadn’t seen the previous time I visited was the two-story Millennium Clock Tower.  If I had been on the first floor, I think I would have filmed it going through its various songs and chimes at 1 p.m., but I missed some of it and wasn’t at a good spot to film anyway.  It’s a wonderful clock though, with four levels—a Crypt, a Nave, a Belfry, and a Spire, to correspond to the way a medieval cathedral is constructed.  Apparently, it was built in 1999—but just like the War Memorial, it looks older than it is.  I really enjoyed looking at it, and seeing various parts lighting up as it rang.

Another thing I saw that was very interesting was their extinction/climate change exhibit.  You would never see such a indictment of things like oil and pollution in a governmentally-supported museum in the States.  Oh, it was critical of human destruction of the planet—and so bald about it.  I mean the exhibit just points out all over the place how human selfishness causes animal extinction events and how we are probably going to end up with a planet that is beyond saving.  Can you imagine if this were the Smithsonian?  Republicans would go bananas.  But I loved it.  It’s a devastating exhibit, of course, but I really appreciated its in-your-face predictions of climate doom. We need truth like that.

One thing doing so much on the weekends helps with is keeping my loneliness issues at bay—you can’t be too lonely when you’re tramping all over the wilds of Scotland as well as the less-wilds of the city of Edinburgh.  So I think I’m doing a little bit better with feeling disconnected and discouraged than I was earlier, which is a good thing, especially since I still have several more weeks to go before I return home.  I still miss folks, and the days are still too long.  But I’m coping.

Hope you like this latest batch of pictures.

A church in front of Edinburgh Castle. At the lower right you can just see a Fish and Chips seller.

Field Marshal Earl Haig statue

View from the castle

I love the clouds in this picture. What you can’t see is just how steep this incline is.

The royal palace with clock tower

Upper ward courtyard

A handsome horse statue on the left side of the War Memorial

A debonair lion on the right side of the War Memorial

Ben Nevis, the highest point in Great Britain, with snow

The beautiful Highlands

This scratched off part of the hill is where Nessie apparently tried to escape the Loch but unfortunatly slipped back into the water because the hill is so steep.

Loch Ness

Loch Ness canal

Loch Ness (I think)

The Three Sisters, Glen Coe

Mountain in Glen Coe… the tour guide said “Geroff, and getcher Instagram pic.”

More Edinburgh Castle

I like the angle I took this pic of the arch.

A Highland bridge, no longer used for trains

Edinburgh Castle

Edinburgh Castle

Loch Ness

Loch Ness

Loch Ness

Piano painted by Phoebe Anna Traquair, National Museum of Scotland

Embroidered triptych by Phoebe Anna Traquair

Big Ass Fish (Kirsten, it tried to bite me!), National Museum

Mass censers, National Museum

Detail of Millennium Clocktower, with a tiny JC in the reflection, National Museum

Detail of the Millenium Clocktower, National Museum

Helen and Kate Storey dress, with X-ray of lung, 1997, National Museum

L: Plaque, the Virgin & Child, Italian,late 15th C., National Museum R: Plaque, the Virgin & Child, Italian, 17th C.

Grape goat, Michael Powolny, ca. 1907-1910, National Museum

The hall of animals, mostly extinct, National Museum

Giraffe head. I think he’s grinning.

Busts, National Museum. But I mostly like the atrium design apparent here.

Airplane in the Hall of Technology, National Museum

Another view of the atrium, National Museum

Bull figurine, National Museum

Cat figurine, National Museum

 

Morning Musing

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5 a.m. from my bedroom window. It ain’t what you call “dark.”

It’s 5 a.m.  I’ve been awake since 2:30, when the seagulls decided they wanted to hold a concert right outside my window. In case you haven’t heard a seagull lately, its cry falls somewhere between a half-cranked motor and a baby being stabbed to death.  Seagulls like to fly over the courtyard out back of my apartment, and I like to watch them…but not this early.

Since I’ve been in Edinburgh, my sleep patterns have been disrupted.  Partly that’s due to sleeping in a strange bed, one that lacks multiple blankets and too many pillows.  Partly it’s the light situation. I can tell you that around 3:30 the sky was definitely turning lighter, and I’m used to dark nights and black-out curtains back home, so that my bedroom is cave-like and no light enters in to bother me.  (Yes, yes, I could wear a sleepy mask here—and I have one—but I never can keep it on my face long enough to let it work.)  I also miss my cats, especially Jenny, who keeps me company at least for a little while as I sleep.  All of these things combined have contrived to keep me up later and to sleep less deeply when I finally go to bed.  Even my Fitbit has been giving me poor sleep marks since I’ve come to Scotland.

I’m not sure why I couldn’t just roll over at 2:30 and fall back asleep.  I guess I do have some weighty thoughts on my mind.  For one thing, I remembered I promised to write a blurb for a new poetry book, and I was suddenly panicked that I was late with it.  (Turns out I’m not; it’s due mid-July, not mid-June). For another I guess I’m worried about my class.  Discussion is going really well and what I’ve graded so far has been good, but teaching a new class is difficult and I worry my students may be disappointed with me.  (I’m so used to teaching creative writing these days, that teaching literature seems just so much harder than it used to be.)  And finally, as I mentioned before, I’m lonely, and also finding it hard to write.  My Dad asked me if I’d written a lot of poems since I’ve been here when we talked on Father’s Day, and I bashfully admitted I have not. (On the other hand, I didn’t write about Venice when I was in Venice, but when I did finally write about it, I came up with a book.  So perhaps a book of Scotland-related poems might be percolating in the back of my mind?)

I suppose I’ll wind up taking a nap at some point today—I suspect I’ll just crash.  (But hopefully not while I’m teaching. 😊)

Anyway, I just wanted to jot a quick blog for my five loyal readers, and to take a picture of 5 a.m. so you know what I’m dealing with.

Weekend Sightseeing (Is Exhausting)

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Portobello Beach

This weekend was a busy one for me—I packed a lot of living into two days.  On Saturday, I took a bus out to the seaside, specifically the Portobello Beach Promenade.  It was cold and blustery, but there were plenty of people (and dogs!) playing in the sand and several people had their feet in the water.  There was even a couple of lunatics up to their waists in the North Sea.  The temperature wasn’t quite 60, so I can only imagine how cold the water was.  They didn’t stay in the sea long.  (Not surprising).

The truest ambrosia

While I was there, I stopped at the Shrimpwreck for lunch, and tried a fish finger sandwich, made of battered fish, French fries (on the sandwich!), tartar sauce, and mushy peas (also on the sandwich!).  It was good.  And those of you who know me IRL will understand how thrilled I was to drink a Lemon Fanta, the drink I fell in love with when I went to Italy several years ago (and one that is not available Stateside).  It was a perfect lunch, accompanied by entertainment: the Portobello volunteer clean-up crew dancing to the B-52’s “Rock Lobster.”  One of them wore a crawfish “fancy dress” costume, with a placard that read “No Fear! Be queer!” on the back.  Another one of them wore striped pants, and had a red-painted face and dreadlocks.  Not exactly the colorful characters of a Venice Beach scene, but they definitely had a boardwalk vibe going on.

Altar at St. Mary’s Cathedral

Afterwards, I came back to the apartment for a few hours and rested.  (I don’t know about you, but every time I go to the beach—in any capacity—I get tired.  I wonder if it has something to do with the sea air.)  Then I took another bus ride to the vigil Mass at St. Mary’s Cathedral (since I knew I would be out all day Sunday, and I didn’t want to miss church). It is lovely inside, but not what I think of when I think of a cathedral—it was certainly more elaborately decorated than St. Columba’s from last week, but it isn’t stately in the way cathedrals usually are.  It’s like, if a typical cathedral is a thoroughbred, then St. Mary’s is a workhorse.  It gets the job done, but isn’t magnificent to look at.  It’s just a nice, big church.

The Kelpies, by artist Andy Scott

Sunday I walked down to Waterloo Place (just over the bridge from the Royal Mile) to take a sightseeing tour outside of the city.  The first—and best—thing we saw was The Kelpies monument, outside of Falkirk.  You can’t imagine the scale of these horse heads—they are massive, about 100 feet high, and made from steel.  I would have liked to have longer than 25 minutes to visit them, though, because that was hardly enough time to go to the bathroom, see The Kelpies and then duck into the gift shop.  I loved them at first sight.  Of course, folktale kelpies are horrible creatures who lure unsuspecting people to get on their backs and ride them into the ocean where the horses drown them and feast on their bones.  But these kelpies were certainly wonderful to look at.

Loch Lomond marina

The next thing we did was visit Loch Lomond, of the eponymous famous folksong, and the surrounding farmland was green and lush and dotted with white sheep like confetti.  I could have wished that the tour drove around the perimeter of Loch Lomond, but we were confined to a little bit of shore where the boats were tied up.  There was a path around the marina, which I walked some. Mostly I watched the ducks who were sunning themselves on the banks.  The loch was as picturesque as you can imagine—the beginnings of the Highlands in the background, the sun glinting off the water in golden waves, the boats floating gently around their anchors.  And the air was so fresh!

A mama sheep. Very ewe-nique.

Our next stop was for lunch in a little hamlet called Aberfoyle. At the café I ordered a cheese toastie (kind of like a grilled cheese but not exactly) and a bowl of carrot and lentil soup, heavy on the carrots. I chose to sit outside and people watch, although the people weren’t all that interesting. Their dogs were, though.

There was a sweet shop next door, and I bought a package of homemade butter shortbread that literally, deliciously disintegrated on your tongue.  And then I headed over to the big wool shop, and figured there would be too many things I’d want to buy inside (like yarn, which I have no room in my suitcase to take home), so I skipped it, and went around back where they kept some sheep. Their pens stank (as you might expect), but the sheep themselves looked so cute.  They got into a bleating contest—it reminded me of a sheep opera (because you know, that’s a thing) (it’s not really) (but it should be), as they each tried to outdo the other in their “singing.”  I really wanted to put my hand out to pet them—which we were allowed to do—but the caveat that “These animals bite” kept my hands firmly on my side of the fence.

Stirling Castle

The awful Stirling Heads

Stirling Head art close up (yuck)

After lunch we headed to Stirling to visit Stirling Castle, the birthplace and home of King James VI.  I didn’t actually get to see the palace itself—I couldn’t figure out where it was—but I walked around the castle battlements, the dungeon, the chapel, the Great Hall, and the hall of the Stirling Heads, which are these large, wooden, medallion bust images of various people James wanted to commemorate.  And they were just horrible, creepy, weird pieces of décor, probably about 2-2.5 feet in diameter, and several inches thick. I know they served a purpose, but I really couldn’t get over how ugly they were.  I am probably revealing myself to be a philistine, but they were nothing like I was expecting. (They had really been talked up by a tour guide.) In my head I was imagining something magnificent; the reality was quite something else. But the castle itself was impressive with amazing views of the countryside from its sheer drops.  What was coolest about the castle was that Mary Queen of Scots was crowned there.  And, I think no matter who you are, Mary’s tragic life resonates.  At least, I always found her life story to be compelling, if sad. (I might actually have read her biography at some point, because I seem to remember a whole lot about her.)  Still, I didn’t need two hours at the castle, and wandered back to the garden to wait until it was time to get back on the bus and return to Edinburgh.

Castle gardens

I finally got home around 7 and I was exhausted.  The tour was longer than I was expecting.  I thought we’d be back by 5, but it was closer to 6:30; I should have taken a little nap on the bus (I usually take naps on Sunday), but I didn’t want to miss seeing any of the countryside. Just in case there was something amazing.  (I did get to see a glimpse of The Kelpies on the way back, so I count that as a win.)

I enjoyed the tour over all, but I was the only single traveler.  Everyone else had family or friends to visit things with, so I was kind of lonely.

Actually, if I were to complain about visiting Edinburgh at all, it would be because of how lonely I am.  Maybe I should pretend I am Mary Queen of Scotts in her prison cell; perhaps that would make the loneliness a little more bearable.  But even Mary had her little terrier dog for company.  I have no one.  (Weep, weep, sob, sob.)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed all the pictures.

A view from Stirling Castle

Another view from the Castle

A Visit to the National Gallery

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View of Old Town, with the National Gallery on the right.

Today after class I went to the National Gallery of Scotland.  It’s undergoing big-time renovation, so only a small amount of the collection was available for visitors to see.  Initially I was a little disappointed, because I was expecting to be blown away with breadth and volume, but then it occurred to me that it was kind of nice in its coziness.

This was my favorite picture, John Duncan’s Saint Bride (1913)

There were maybe 14 or so individual galleries to peruse, starting with Medieval religious icons, some Titians and Canallettos and other Italians, a great Vermeer of Martha, Mary, and Jesus (I should have taken a photo—apparently, it’s the only religious picture in his 36 surviving works), some Dutch masters including a very small Rembrandt, Scottish pieces (portraits and landscapes), and then upstairs were the Impressionists and a few early 1900s works.

Because the space was so confined, big walls bore a picture high up as well as eye-level and that was a little annoying, because it seemed a little cluttered, but of course they want to showcase as much art as possible in the few rooms they had to show it.  I went through the exhibits twice, although I lingered on the Impressionists out of habit more than any other reason.

Walter Scott Memorial close up (see human for scale)

Afterwards I walked to the Walter Scott Memorial, which is huge—200 feet tall at least.  It wasn’t open for visiting, but you couldn’t miss it.  It sits right at the edge of a park on Princes Street.  I’m amazed that I missed seeing it when I rode in on the tram from the airport last week—although I was so zonked out from traveling that I guess I wasn’t paying attention.

I’m not sure where I’ll head to next.  Maybe Edinburgh Castle.  Maybe Holyrood Castle.  Looking forward to the weekend to get in more sightseeing.  (Where do you think I should go next?)

Walter Scott Memorial from a distance

My First Week in Edinburgh

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I was reminded yesterday that when you’re in a new country, everything is interesting. Based on my experiences so far, I don’t know about that.  For me, I have mainly spent the first week in Edinburgh adjusting to the crazy amounts of daylight (4:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m.) and the daily wind and rain.  (I’m so happy I brought a lined raincoat, and I Amazoned a new umbrella since I forgot to bring one.)  I have spent a good amount of time locked up in my flat, preparing for my class, but I’ve also taken some long walks, trying to get the lay of the land.  And I have drunk a metric butt ton of Scottish Breakfast Tea.  Which is like English Breakfast Tea, only it uses a really complicated dialect. 😊

Friday, I did a cursory visit to the National Museum of Scotland, which is a fantastic natural history museum with a huge atrium and tons of natural light.  I will go back and do a “deeper dive” in the exhibits, but I mainly looked at the science/technology hall, the hall of design, and the world cultures hall.  I visited the museum with the coordinator of the Scotland Study Abroad program, and we didn’t have a lot of time there because he also wanted to go to Clarinda’s Tea Room, on the Royal Mile, which was fussy and frilly (in the best way) and full of tea-related décor.  I had a scone with butter and preserves.  I was expecting more of a biscuit, but this scone was sweeter than that, but very crumbly.  Afterwards, we walked back past some bagpipers and drummers and Richard went his way, and I went mine…right into a freak storm.  Imagine a day where it’s bright and windy and gorgeous.  And then come the clouds like a galloping herd of gazelles.  That storm soaked me to the core, and of course I wasn’t wearing my raincoat.

In the rain, a man with a large backpack bumped into me (don’t worry, he wasn’t a pickpocket), and then as I passed the Museum again, he put his hand out for me to shake it and asked who I was.  I was so shocked, I told him.  He said his name was Sam and he was looking for a Tesco (a grocery store).  There was one right around the corner, and I thought he was going to go toward it but he went the opposite way.  It was a little strange.

Saturday, I tried doing laundry and found the washer to be beyond my intellect level.  Then I went for a walk in Holyrood Park.  There’s an entrance close bywhere I’m staying, so I walked over to it, and it turned out the entrance was a steep set of stairs down to the street (Queen’s Drive), and about 10 steps down it, I said to myself, “Self, if you go down these stairs you’ll have to come back up,” and while I was debating this shaggy sheep dog came out of nowhere.  He looked pretty good so I wasn’t worried he was lost, and then as if from mist, his owner appeared.

“Rolo,” he said, “quit botherin’ th’ lass.”

“Oh, he’s not bothering me,” I said, putting my hand out to pet Rolo.

“In tha’ case, quit botherin’ me dog.”

With that, the man and Rolo passed me going down the stairs, and after being flummoxed for a little bit at the surprising turn of events, I followed at a discreet distance.  I walked up the hill a ways (not the big hill, the one that puts you on top of Arthur’s Seat), and then down a grassy knoll.  I tried taking some selfies, but it was so windy my face was all scrunched up and my hair had its own postal code.  I sat on a convenient rock until I was ready to face the 400 steps back up to the park entrance.  I’ll have you know I died about 6 times on the hike back up the stairs.

Yesterday, I spent the day reading for class, but all day I wanted to go to church.  I just couldn’t get motivated for the 9:30 Mass.  Fortunately, St. Columba’s church had a service at 6:30, so I walked south till I got there.  It was definitely a no-frills service… no music and a homily that contrasted our relationship with God and the Trinity to this kid at his grammar school selling stick insects (don’t ask). It was a tenuous connection at best.  I was glad I went—it let me see a different part of town.  Next week I think I’ll try St. Patrick’s.

So, that kind of catches you up on my visit so far.  Not overly exciting, but I’ll have more exciting plans in my future I’m sure.

How I’m Coping with Social Distancing

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It’s a funny thing about human nature that when you’re told you can’t do something (like go out and Mix with the Peoples), that’s pretty much all you want to do.  I’ve been thinking about how this “social distancing” we’re all supposed to practice is tedious as well as difficult.  True, it’s technically Spring Break and I’m working from home, so it’s not like I’m going anywhere during work hours—but if we weren’t in the midst of a pandemic, I could go somewhere, at least for lunch. But instead, I’m stuck at home, contemplating eating a very sad lunch of mixed veggies and rice.  And I miss people at work.

I wouldn’t miss them so much if, after Spring Break ends, we were all going back to campus.  But that’s not happening, as far as I can tell.  I miss Amanda popping in with her silly nonsense and her stern talkings-to to me when I stay late, or Karen standing in the door with some gossip that’s too good not to share.  I miss Carol asking me how things are going with the schedule or telling me about her crazy cat.  I miss hearing voices along the hall, students excitedly telling a professor they’re walking with about a project. All the interruptions from Monday to Thursday that makes my interruption-free Friday work-at-home days so very quiet and appreciated.  (I don’t miss meetings.  I would NEVER miss meetings.  But you get my point—it’s a little bit lonely.)

So far, I am virus-free, and I am very glad about that. As the numbers of cases grow exponentially, I wonder if I will remain virus-free.  So many people are sick—and it’s really hard to avoid people even when you’re socially distancing.  Invariably, you have to go to the grocery and you touch a variety of surfaces, even if you’re being careful.  (Even if you’re using sanitizer and washing your hands like you have OCD.)  And more to the point, if the person you live with still has to attend work, as Chris does, how isolated can you be?  I do worry about his catching something, too, since his job hasn’t shut down yet.  (Fortunately, he tells me that most people who can are working from home, so it’s very empty in the warehouse.)

You think social distancing would be an introvert’s dream.  You don’t have to see anybody, you don’t have to expend any of your limited powers of socializing.  You can just be content in yourself.  And the first couple of days, I think I was.  I mean, I love my house.  I love being here, listening to the bullfrogs and birdsong, seeing the buzzards behind the next door neighbor’s yard,  noticing what new green is appearing on the trees out back and what new flowers have popped up in front.  In every way, my house is a refuge for me, and I love that. But it becomes a little hard to appreciate those elements when you hear and see them full time.  Especially when you feel like you yourself may be becoming part of the furniture.  I suppose I need a little social interaction just so I don’t stagnate.

I’m sure I’ll grow more used to this situation as the weeks pass.  This is just what I’m feeling now.  I hope all of you are making the best of things, and that you’re staying well.

The Longest Hour of My Life, Or: a Confirmed Heretic Goes Back to Church

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roman popeI recently decided to return to the Catholic Church over a decade of avoidance.  I had quit over a combination of disagreement with dogma, disgust at its sexism, and disappointment in the way it handled my need for spiritual help at a very painful period in my life.  I visited other churches in the interim (and almost joined the Unitarians), but never committed to any.  And let’s be honest, sleeping in on a Sunday morning seems to do me more good than most things, including listening to some man interpreting the Gospel and telling me how to live my life—especially when he has no idea what it means to be a woman in this (or any other) society.

It has been a rough transition back, though. Not because I’ve forgotten the prayers or the songs or the order of standing sitting kneeling—that stuff is ingrained from 12 years of Catholic school and years of being a good, practicing Catholic.  No, what has been difficult to stomach (besides the obvious horrendous sex abuse scandals which should make most of Church leadership burn in Hell) is the retrogression to pre-Vatican II High Mass BALONEY.

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Five Ways to Feel Christmassy… and Fail

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1.  Christmas cookies burned.

2.  Looked at trees today.  It’s Dec. 7th, and the trees were totally picked over.

3.  There’s no Christmas music tonight that isn’t annoying me.  Really, “Feliz Navidad,” again?

4.  Had to give up making an snowman ornament because I kept pricking myself with the pins to make it.  And I had the wrong size pom-poms to make the ear-muffs anyway.

5.  Went to put up some Christmas lights in the front window, and put some on the Nordic Island pine that is in the window as well, but of course on both strings that I brought out (which were working last year), half of the lights were off.  If a 100 bulbs had to be busted, I wish it had been one entire string, and not 50 on both.  But now I’ll have to try to figure out which lights are blown on both strings.  It’s a real bitch to pull the lights in and out of their sockets too.  I got through 20 lights on one strand and thumb and forefinger are crabbing at the effort.  (Also, I’m afraid of breaking a nail.)

I know, I know, I know.  First World Pains.

A Lark

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Oh!  It’s raining!  Which has nothing to do with this post.

You may wonder why, after a break of over 2 years, I have decided to start writing here again,  The truth is, I forgot about this blog.

Oh bother, it’s stopped.  Crazy Charlotte weather.

Who even reminded me I had this blog was a new person at work who said she was reading some of my work online–which I thought meant she had stumbled on a few poems.  But no, she had found my rant about prezi.  I must have looked at her blankly when she said, “You know, your blog?”  And here I’m thinking tumblr, which is where I have (more frequently) written things.  Because I was tired of people stalking me at this blog.  (And yes, they were stalking me.  I mean, not like anything I put in this blog was particularly private–for heaven’s sake, my name in full blazing glory is on it–but still, a couple of people were reading it who I’d rather see be swallowed by a monsoon and drowned at sea than know Word One about me.)  So I kind of quit.  And then I forgot about it.  And started writing in tumblr.

So, you’re asking yourself, why now?  And aren’t the stalkers still stalking?

The answer to the first one is, I don’t know.  Except that it’s pretty boring watching my nephew because I’m not really watching him because he’s holed up in his room holding a very dramatic conversation with himself, or singing Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive” (and by the way, is that Lou Diamond Phillips watching a plushie fight-to-the-death in their video?  WTF?), or singing operatic nonsense to the Mario Brother’s theme.  If I was in his room watching, I might be extremely entertained.  But as I am out here in the living room contemplating the meaning of nothing in particular, I thought it might be amusing to write a few lines in this sad ol’ unloved blog, for old time’s sake.

The answer to the second question is, so what?  Let them find out the huge secret that I’m babysitting this weekend.  Oh horrors!  How can they use it against me???  Oh!  I am wringing my hands in worry just thinking about it!

(Not.)

We’ll see how long I keep it up.  I’ll probably quit when I get back to my regular routine… you know, like tomorrow.