Rosslyn Chapel & Melrose Abbey

Posted on by
1

I don’t remember much about Dan Brown’s potboiler The DaVinci Code, other than it posited that Mary Magdalene absconded to France pregnant with Jesus’s baby, and that was some kind of big reveal.  Not for me, of course, who had been studying women’s spiritual writing, and reading books like Merlin Stone’s When God Was a Woman or Charlene Spretnak’s The Politics of Women’s Spirituality while I was working on my Ph.D. I had also read The Gospel of Mary Magdalene, which indicated as much, and I wrote poems about her, including one about her pregnancy.  Just call me a heretic.

Rosslyn Chapel

I also don’t remember how The Rosslyn Chapel fits into Brown’s story, but it does, apparently, and so I took a trip out to see it.  It was an interesting place, because while it was erected in the the 15th century, there was a big gap between when it got a lot of use as the chapel for the Earls of Rosslyn, and when it was closed down for being a house of idolatry, on account of all of the carvings (though from what I can tell, most seemed religious in theme to me).  For two and a half centuries, the chapel sat vacant, windowless, and was basically given over to the damp and plantlife.  Then along comes Queen Victoria, and she falls in love with it.  So begins its restoration.  It gets a new narthex (a shallow foyer) and they install a pipe organ.  It gets cleaned up and looks pretty good for a while, but the damp comes back.  So long about the 1950’s, someone has the “good” idea to cover EVERYTHING in the church with a cement slurry, which paints over the colors and details till everything is a muted gray mush, but stops the damp.  To my mind, the carvings weren’t all that because you couldn’t really see the relief anymore—although there are tons of them. They were probably quite amazing before this “restoration.”

A surreptitious  from-my-purse photo of a boring ceiling in Rosslyn Chapel…the only photo I took of inside 

But I enjoyed the chapel.  I even went down in the crypt where there was a brilliant stained glass window, though not much else.  I would have taken a lot of photos, but there was a sign saying no photography, and me being a (mostly) goody-goody, I complied.  I did take a sneak picture from my purse, which just got a boring part of the ceiling, and I snapped one of the stained glass window because there were only two people down in the crypt with me to object, and they were busy taking their own photos (but it came out kinda bad).  Turns out I was like the only person on the tour who didn’t take lots of pictures.  I feel sheepish.  I should just have taken the pictures of the inside and beg forgiveness if I got caught.  Oh, well.

Walter Scott’s favorite view

This is the first tour I took where we actually went south, to the rolling hills of the Scottish borders.  Earlier in the day, we stopped at a couple of places.  One was a favorite look-out and writing spot for Walter Scott, which overlooked three hills, which at one point had Roman occupation, and they named the hills “Trimontium”—not a particularly originally name for “three mountains.”  The air was fresh, and sweetened with wildflowers.  There were many bees!

William Wallace

Then we drove a little further to see a statue of William Wallace.  Our tour guide was unimpressed with the statue for its many inaccuracies.  For one thing, the statue’s gear is wrong—he wouldn’t have had an oval shield, his sword was too long, his armor on his arms wouldn’t really protect.  For another, and most egregiously, he was wearing his kilt backwards!  The front of a kilt is supposed to be flat; it’s the back that’s pleated (where here you can clearly see pleats in the front). But what I liked about the statue of Wallace was that it faces nothing but a treed valley.  Like, if you didn’t know the statue was there, you’d miss it.  It’s a hidden monument, which you can only get too by taking a walk in the woods (danger! danger!) scented with wild garlic and heavy with cow parsley.  Fortunately, I did not come to any mishap on my walk.  The ground was level.

We stopped in a little hamlet called Melrose for lunch.  I had a cheese and tomato toastie that I bought for breakfast but then didn’t eat, and I found a bench facing the Melrose Abbey so I enjoyed quite the view.  Melrose Abbey is famous for being the site where Robert the Bruce’s heart relics are buried, a heart which he wanted carried to the Holy Land during the Crusades, to expiate the sin of killing another king on sacred church grounds.

After I ate, I went around to the side entrance of the Abbey, paid my entrance fee (which was only half the usual cost since the Abbey is undergoing renovations—everything in Scotland seems to be undergoing renovations!), and wandered the cemetery and took pictures.  I really liked Melrose Abbey because it’s also ruins, and it must look quite wonderful to walk through when the fencing is down.  Apparently, when it was being built, there were masons who decided to make carvings of naked women in lascivious poses which weren’t discovered till much too late, just because the masons could and they weren’t being closely supervised.  I don’t know, I thought that was pretty hilarious, because when this was a whole church, it must have been spectacular and holy.  So a few sexy statues would really amp up the ambiance. 😊

I found a graves stone with the date of 1695 on it, and another of 1810, but most of the stones were lichened over or too weathered to read.  The place was still and peaceful, and the tour guide let us have an hour and twenty minutes for the stop, so I could leisurely gaze at the Abbey and walk around as I pleased.

I was really happy with the tour guide in general.  He regaled us with lots of interesting information, and seemed really happy to be on the tour—like night and day from last weekend.

Oh!  And I forgot to mention that two of the people on the tour—Bob and Linda—were from Marietta!  That’s too crazy!  I would have liked a chance to talk with them more but we all went separate ways at the various stops.  Still, can you believe, running into people living in the same town as you?  It really is a small world sometimes.

Tomorrow I’m off to Hadrian’s Wall, so be sure to tune in for my next post if you’re curious about that.

Enjoy the photos!

The Victorian addition to Rosslyn Chapel

Rosslyn Chapel side wall

A dedication to the Earls and Baronesses of Rosslyn at Rosslyn Chapel

Melrose Abbey

The back left of the abbey. This guy WOULD NOT GO AWAY, so I finally just shot the pic with him in the way.

Melrose Abbey

Close up of the “mouth” (my word) of the abbey.

The mouth of Melrose Abbey, a little further away

The date reads 1695.

The front of Melrose Abbey with a grand (but unglassed) window

More abbey

The first date on here is 1810.

Detail of the grand window

Another view of the mouth of the Abbey

Front view of Melrose Abbey with cemetery in the foreground

I love these three arches.

The gently rolling hills of the Borders

Yet another view of Melrose Abbey

After I toured Rosslyn Chapel, I got this Ginger Beer. You can’t see it, but a dumb bee flew into it and decided it wanted a drink. Then it got stuck in the bottle, so I had to dump it out to free the bee.

Loch Ness & the Highlands, 2.0

Posted on by
2

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

Posted on by
Reply

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

Posted on by
2

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)

Posted on by
1

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

Posted on by
Reply

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

Posted on by
1

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.

April’s None So Cruel

Posted on by
1

Earlier in the month, my Mom asked me if I had ever heard the expression “April is the cruellest month” and of course I had to laugh.  Any poet (or student of poetry) worth her salt recognizes that is the first line of T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, and it’s the first thing I think of when it turns April.

I’ve also been thinking it every day, since this is the first Poetry Month that I’ve chosen to participate in National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo).  I’ve been struggling to write a new poem every day—some days it’s been easier, and I’ve even written one or two poems that I think are pretty good.  The majority of them though are, at best, exercises in the practice of writing poetry.  Which is to say, they are poems, but not very good ones!

Still, having the discipline to write every day (or nearly every day…I missed a few days which I swear I went back and made them up!) has been illuminating.  For one thing, even if the quality of the output has not impressed me much, the habit of writing has been a kind of comfort to me.  It’s as if I can’t say I’ve forgotten how to write a poem (which sometimes I think when it’s been a while between poems), because this time I know I wrote a poem the day before.  For another thing, I’ll have 30 poems on the 30th that I can maybe go back to and work on revising.  That feels like an accomplishment.  Whether some of them are worth going back to is debatable, but the opportunity is there, should I choose to take it.

A few times I have stared at the computer and written “I have nothing I want to say.”  Then I write something down anyway, and remove that line.  It’s been liberating, especially the last few days which have been hard for me to come up with something new.  A few people on Twitter suggested I write poems about not knowing what to write, and so I sort of amended that idea to admit on the page that I didn’t have anything to say—then forced myself to write something anyway.  Again, not great art for sure, but I satisfied the NaPoWriMo requirement of a written poem.

You would think with all that’s going on right now—the continuation of Covid, the horrible and escalating war in Ukraine, the worsening climate change, I’d have a lot to write about.  But it’s hard to write good political poetry.  I can’t do it well, because such writing should be subtle so it remains art.  When I write on such things it comes out screed-like and dismal—too tell-y and not show-y enough.  It’s something I’d like to get better at though—and I suppose to get better at it, you have to practice.  And you need to read political poets.  I should do an investigation and find some contemporary political poets to read.

For the time being though, I will continue writing poems for April, just so I can say I did it. And at some point I’ll have fresh eyes to look at the work and see if some of these “exercises” are better than I remember.  Revising can be a fun part of writing, although as we all know, it’s hard work.

Anyway, all this is by way of saying April isn’t that cruel at all—at least not in my little corner of it.  I’m writing poems, looking forward to the end of the semester, and maybe even have a trip to Scotland in the offing.

And I still have plenty of copies of Amo e Canto which I’d love to sell you and donate the proceeds to the Ukraine war effort.  CashApp:  $Aishatonu or PayPal:  paypal.me/aishatonu.

Help Ukraine–And Get My Book for Free!

Posted on by
2

As I mentioned several days ago, my new chapbook Amo e Canto was released. I posted about it on Twitter, Facebook, and Linked In, thinking that I could encourage some sales and share this book I’m so proud of with friends and peers.  (And I was going to pay the postage for anyone who purchased a copy.)  And like the last two “pandemic books” I published (What Magick May Not Alter and Daughter of the Wheel and Moon), nothing but crickets.  (That was my little pity party moment.)

Then I thought, I know what I’ll do:  I will give the proceeds from book sales to Ukrainian charities to help citizens fight the Russian invasion.  Surely that will drum up sales. (It didn’t.) Still when the world is burning, that’s when we need poetry the most—because it offers solace and empathy, and the world is sadly missing those things.

Right now Ukraine needs our empathy, and it needs our help.

So if you don’t want to buy my book, that’s fine!  I know there are more important things going on than my chapbook release at this moment.  But  please give all you can to these legitimate charities which you can read about on the USA Today website (along with several more charities than are listed here):

Please help.  And you know what?  If you give at least $20 to any of these charities and email a copy of your receipt and your address to aishatonu[at]gmail[dot]com, I’ll even send you a copy of Amo e Canto for free!

Amo e Canto is Out in the World!

Posted on by
Reply

Nearly two years after the announcement that it had won the 2020 Sow’s Ear Poetry Chapbook Prize, my collection Amo e Canto (Italian for I Love and I Sing) has been released.  Because it came out as Issue 30.1 of the Sow’s Ear Poetry Review (and was sent to all subscribers of the Review), it’s not conventionally available for purchase.  However, I am selling extra copies, postage paid, for $13.50 via my CashApp, $Aishatonu.  Hit me up if you would like to buy a copy.  (Put your address in the “For” line so I’ll know where to send your book!)

Amo e Canto is a collection of “poemoirs”—half poems, half memoirs about a trip I took to Venice in 2014. The poemoirs focus on typical Venetian sights, like churches, canals, pigeons, and art, and tangentially examine a relationship with a missing love.  It’s a really different kind of writing from what I normally do (which tends to be mostly narrative, women-centered writing), so if you’re interested in Italy and hybrid forms (or you just love me), this collection is for you.

I’m really proud of this work, and it’s a beautiful collection.  The cover includes an absolutely lovely painting by Alex Ghizea-Ciobanu called I Will Take Venice with Me that as soon as I saw it, I wanted it for the cover.  (Actually, I’d love to own the actual painting!)  The ecru paper is smooth and silky and not insubstantial.

It may have taken longer than I hoped for Amo e Canto to manifest, but it’s wonderful that it exists now. (Patience is a virtue, and all of that.)  I’m so grateful to Sarah Kohrs and Kristen Zimet at Sow’s Ear Poetry Review for all they’ve done to bring this collection into being, and I’m grateful to Sam Rasnake for choosing it as the winner.  I’m also thankful to the journals who originally published some of these poems, especially Rowan Glassworks, which nominated five of them for Pushcart Prize in 2015.

I have many to sell and would love to get one into your hands!