The Ghost of Edinburgh
Edinburgh. The first time I came here, it was to visit my cousin, Sarah. She was working as a tour guide for the haunted vaults, and invited me to come with her to 'jump out' at the end.
At the end of the tour, someone dressed in ghostly clothes jumps out and screams, effectively terrorizing the people in the group, most of whom are already spooked by the stories they've been hearing for the last hour. In this particular instance, I dressed up in a black cloak and veil, waiting outside the vault until Sarah gave me the signal.
"When I say 'go'," she said, "You jump out, scream, and then turn and run back down the stairs. Turn and run. Got it?"
"Got it."
The moment of truth arrived. I jumped out and screamed with all my might, then turned and sprinted down the haunted hallway. I actually felt like I was being chased. I realized too late that I had reached the top of a small stone staircase. There was nothing to do but jump, and as I attempted to leap over the stairs, cloak and veil flowing behind me, I fell flat on my face. With the entire tour group watching. So much for instilling fear into their hearts and disappearing mysteriously into the night.
The next time I went to Edinburgh was a year ago, again with Sarah and Amie, one of her friends from the States. We went back into the haunted vaults, though I left the cape and veil behind this time. The guide brought us all into one of the vaults, and told us a story about the ring of stones in the center of the room. I can't remember the specifics, but the gist of it was this - don't step into the circle. Just don't do it.
So what does Amie do? Step in the circle. Don't do this, people. Don't tempt fate.
At six o'clock the following morning, who do I find shaking me awake in my hostel room but Amie, barefoot and confused, asking for help. The weird thing was, she wasn't staying in the same room. She wasn't even staying in the same hostel. And she wasn't drunk. We all blamed her blatant disregard of the haunted circle, and never did find out what prompted her to sleepwalk around Edinburgh.
This time, I am staying out of harm's way. I spent the morning in my favorite coffee shop, The Elephant House. It is famous for being the spot where J.K. Rowling wrote the first 'Harry Potter,' but frequented by people for the atmosphere and food. I had breakfast and bought a bag of Elephant Corpses - smashed up sugar cookies formerly in the shape of elephants - while drinking tea, reading the Sunday paper, and gawking at the castle.
There's something in the air around here - it reminds me of the scene from 'Mary Poppins,' right before she descends from the sky with her umbrella. The leaves swirl, and people can tell that something is happening, though no-one knows what. Edinburgh looks and feels like it hasn't changed in hundreds of years, and it's not hard to imagine why rumours of ghosts run rampant.
I'm writing from a couch in the SmartCity hostel lounge, where they are showing E.T., which only contributes to the supernatural vibe. It'll be an early night for two reasons: 1) 8:00 a.m. start tomorrow with the Haggis tour 2) I am fighting a losing battle with bronchitis. Just when I think I am better, a hacking cough strikes in the middle of the night. This was especially awesome last night, when I serenaded my seven roommates with my attempts to cough up a lung before finally falling asleep with a half-finished Strepsil in my mouth.
Oh well. It could be worse. The room could be haunted.
Scotland Is Sexy
Day one of the Haggis tour and I find it hard to believe that Scotland and England share a border. It all feels so...Scottish. This is a good thing.
I learned several things today from Carol, our Scottish guide.
1) Scotland is the source of all important inventions, including tarmac, telephones, and epidurals. It doesn't matter that Alexander Graham Bell left Scotland at the age of six - according to Carol, he invented the telephone at the age of five, making it - bingo! - Scottish.
2) Anyone important comes from Scotland, i.e., Sean Connery (the best Bond and the only one worth mentioning).
3) Scotland weather is never 'bad'. Instead, it's 'liquid sunshine' comes in three stages
- Glorious
- Atmospheric
- Dramatic
4) Scotland is sexy, from its scenery to its people (see point number two or listen to any Scottish accent for proof)
These, and several more points, are deciding factors in why I am happy to be an honorary Scot for the week ("You're all Scottish on this trip," announced Carol).
We kicked off the trip from Edinburgh to Fort Augustus with a lecture from Carol & Colin (our driver) about the Deep Scottish Love we will soon experience. Apparently the 'DSL' will increase once we have spotted 75 white horses from the windows of the coach. So far we have 58 to go - it was a good day for white horses. I'll keep you posted on the impending DSL, which has prompted the 'no snogging' rule on the coach.
Despite the crappy - oh, I mean atmospheric - weather, all 39 of us filed off the bus at each photo stop, because the scenery was irresistable. It's nice to be in a place where I can blow my nose and black stuff doesn't come out.
I just had haggis for the first time - there's a video, will put it up soon. It was...different. If I didn't know what it was (sheep insides) it may have been different, but all I could think was that it was spicy and had the texture of chunky vomit. This coming from a girl who has definitely eaten suspect hot dogs and lunch meat in her day.
Aside from that, we're staying in Morag's Lodge, which is a great little haven on the banks of Loch Ness, and I just had a huge feast of baked potato and various toppings. There's a cosy bar with games, couches, and free internet. My room is called 'William Wallace', considerably better than one of the other rooms, 'Shallow Grave'.
Sadly, no sign of Nessie. As I was taking photos of Loch Ness, a figure floated into my peripheral vision. My heart stopped for a second, but resumed beating when I quickly realized it was a dirty grey swan, not the elusive monster. I've accepted that finding Nessie may not be in my future. I'll have to settle for reconstructions, as seen in this photo.
I'd better wrap this up and head back to Morag's bar. The evening's entertainment starts soon. His name is Sweaty Donald, and his reputation, as you can imagine, precedes him. I'm not missing this. If everything I learned today is true, he's sure to be sexy.
Scottish Highlands and Huanted Castles
I am writing from my dorm room in Carbisdale Castle. No, castles and dorm rooms don't usually go hand in hand, but in this case, it works. Understandably, castles and wireless internet have not yet developed a relationship, so I won't be posting photos until our next stop.
Today was just another day in Scotland - glorious sunshine, rugged beaches, pelting rain, a whiskey distillery, bloody battlefields and snow-capped mountains. You really get it all in one neat little tartan-ed package here.
I did more today than I would on a typical Tuesday, starting with our stop at the Culloden Battlefield. It would be a kid's paradise, perfectly designed for a marathon session of Capture the Flag or Cops and Robbers. Or, in actual fact, the site of one of Scotland's most significant and destructive battles. We huddled in a circle, shielding ourselves from the biting wind and cold, and listened as Carol told us that we were standing on the site of a mass graveyard. Eerie.
From there, it was through Inverness to the Glenmorangie Whiskey distillery, where we could lift our spirits from the somber Culloden. I used to work at an Irish pub where we served this whiskey, and I never thought I'd find myself at the actual distillery. Suffice it to say, whiskey isn't quite my drink of choice, but I can see why the Scots drink it - it definitely gets you warmed up.
After that, it was on to a beach, one that wouldn't be out of place in Australia or Florida, for some football, photo-taking, and frisbee. It is also right by the church where Madonna and Guy Ritchie said their ill-fated vows. I think we had a better time than they did, even with the sudden rain shower that sent us all back to the bus.
I've got to go - seven o'clock and dinner is being served. In the castle. Where I'm sleeping. My little girl dreams have come true.
Superstition
Today was an immersion into two more things Scottish - superstitions and wilderness.
Despite the ghost of the Duchess of Sutherland roaming around, we didn't lose a single Haggis tour member to Carbisdale Castle. There were a few unusual occurrences - my hairdryer (of course I brought my hair dryer) working only sporadically, when it was fine the day before and the day after, and a panel falling from the wall of our room.
Everyone even survived the nature walk to and from the pub - fifteen minutes, in the dark, over the river and through the woods. I am not exaggerating. On the way there, pelting rain. On the way back, unexpected clear skies and a sky full of stars. It looked like a fairy had exploded up there. There was the small matter of a group of three who missed the turn back to the castle, taking them on a slightly inconvenient detour, but like I said. We all made it back safely in the end.
The pub was a pleasing little surprise, particularly when we discovered the traditional costumes in a corner of the room. It wasn't long before everyone was donning kilts and tartan dresses, dancing to 'Achy Breaky Heart.' What? Yes. You heard me right. But there was traditional music, and proper traditional music at that, when two genuine bagpipers came into the tiny room and played for us. To top it off, there was a fireplace at one end of the bar, which gives any pub bonus points, but particularly a pub in the middle of nowhere near a haunted castle in Scotland. Even though it was a trek, it was a worthwhile trek in the end.
This morning we set off for the Isle of Skye, land of the faeries. On the way we passed through the land of the bitter cold and ferocious wind, also known as the Hebrides. Haggis Adventures were not joking when they said to bring weatherproof jackets and shoes. Of course, I failed in this basic duty and have consequently found myself with wet feet for three days. No matter. The misty mountains wouldn't be the same in hot climates. Something wouldn't seem right.
Back to superstition. During our drive, the sun was shining. Unfortunately, I had left my sunglasses in my bag under the bus, and the sun was shining directly into my left eye through the bus window. But at least the sun was shining, and it was fantastic. Glorious, even. Once on Skye, the wind intensified and the rain clattered against the bus windows. When we got out for our stop at an enchanted stream, it pounded even harder. But this is Scotland, and a little rain never hurt anybody. Like we were going to stay on the bus.
Besides, how often do you get the chance to put your face directly into a stream that, according to legend, has been blessed by the King of the Faeries himself? Carol told us the story of the stream, and to her immense credit, kept us laughing through the rain and the cold. In the end, most of us got down on the ground and stuck our faces in the stream. Why would we do this? To gain spiritual enlightenment? To gain immortality? No. To gain eternal beauty. We are now a bus of 39 stunners. Don't look directly at us. The beauty might be too much to handle. Move over, Brad and Angelina.
I might offer a bit of advice for anyone embarking on a coach tour - do whatever you can to avoid sitting in the back seat, particularly if you are prone to motion sickness. It's not nice. Luckily, the Scottish air will smack you in the face and cure all ills, so at the end of the day, it's not too bad. Recovery is imminent.
And the air does hit you hard - we stopped in Skye to look at some mountains, cliffs, and 'kilt rock,' and every time I stepped off the bus I instantly felt like all of my clothing was made out of mesh. But again, staying on the bus just wasn't an option. There was too much to see. If I were a better photographer you might get some idea of just how impressive this country is, but I suspect that nothing beats seeing it for yourself.
On the way to Saucy Mary's Hostel/Bar, we had a rousing session of bus karaoke. You haven't experienced The Proclaimers' '500 Miles' until you have sung it at the top of your lungs while cruising along the winding roads of the Isle of Skye. It kept us busy until we arrived at Saucy Mary's Hostel/Pub at the end of the day, where we gratefully dumped our bags and headed to the bar for some dinner.
Saucy Mary is another Scottish legend - a Viking princess who lived in a tiny castle on Skye, she was also an entrepreneur who devised a way to make money from local sailors. She linked up a series of boats, creating a barrier between her castle on the island and the mainland, and charged a fee to pass. Kind of like the troll under the bridge in the 3 Billy Goats Gruff. Predictably, the sailors balked at this and began sailing the long way round the island.
Determined to win back her business, Saucy Mary added a little something - with the toll payment, sailors were treated to (allegedly) the world's first peep show. As the story goes, they came sailing back in droves, and so goes the story of the pub's namesake. Rumour has it that any female who imitates Saucy Mary in the pub won't pay for a drink all night, but none of us are brave enough to try. I don't think the harrassed barmaids behind the counter would be too impressed, either.
Live entertainment starts in a little less than an hour, so I'm going to pack up and re-join the rest of the tour. It's only been three days, but I feel much more Scottish than that. Only two days left and it's back to England. But there's no reason to think about that just yet. There's still Heilan Coos, William Wallace, and the land of Harry Potter ahead.
The guides have also promised us a 'special surprise' tomorrow morning. More news on that later.
Oh, and as for white horses? We've got 35 to go. Right on target so far. The DSL is not far away.
Checking in from Oban
Scottish weather really outdid itself today. After a night in Saucy Mary's, during which most of us got well and truly sauced, we were grateful for the late 9:30 departure.
The surprise? Eilean Donan castle, arguably Scotland's most-photographed castle, and the film site for several movies, including The World is Not Enough, Highlander, and, perhaps the most famous of all, Maid of Honour. Did anyone actually see that? Anyway, we got a guided tour of the castle, spiral staircases, secret rooms and all. It is privately owned, and the family still stays there on occasion. Some people have holiday homes in France, some people have castles in Scotland.
Although there were several outdoor activities planned for the day, Scotland had other ideas and rained us out. Instead, the tour stopped for a couple of hours in Fort William, the 'outdoor adventure capital' of Scotland. Rather than take part in these outdoor activities, most people spent time indoors to escape the rain.
This is going to be a short one - we're now in Oban and people are getting hungry. I'll catch up tomorrow from Edinburgh, where there will hopefully be a quicker connection and I can post some photos.
Feeling the DSL
The sad news: I am back in Edinburgh and the tour is over.
The good news: I am still in Scotland.
I can't say I'll miss being on the bus, though it was an educational experience. Between everyone's random jokes (most of which aren't fit to print), punishments, and bus karaoke, time on the road did pass fairly quickly.
Daily entertainment on the bus came in the form of public humiliation (always a good time, and only one person suffers). On the first day of the trip, Carole had us all write down a punishment. Every time someone was late returning to the bus, they had to draw a punishment, which included the following:
- Run around the bus, waving the Scottish flags, screaming 'Haggis is not porridge!'
- Perform the macarena
- Write a rude word on your forehead
- End every sentence by saying, "Without my pants."
You get the idea.
Yesterday we played 'X Factor.' Each country had to sing their national anthem, and Carole and Colin acted as judges. The teams were as follows:
Australia - the majority of the bus
Canada - roughly four people
Germany - one person
New Zealand - about five people
Slovakia - one person
United States - two people
Scotland - two people
I am ashamed to admit that Keith and I dropped the ball when it came to the Star Spangled Banner. We came in dead last with a score of 2.3, due to the fact that neither of us could remember the words past the fifth line. Humiliation. Sorry, America. Germany and Slovakia both gave a stellar performance, but in the end it was Scotland who ran away with the prize. This could be because of Carole and Colin's breathtaking rendition of 'Flower of Scotland.' It could also be because they were the judges. You decide.
The bus was the place to be both yesterday and today, thanks to the dramatic weather in the Highlands. Oban is right on the Atlantic Ocean, and was so windy, I thought we were going to lose the smallest person on the tour. Luckily, the only casualties were a water bottle and a few hats.
We met in the pub nearest to the hostel, which turned out to be a good night, as well as the cause of a few queasy stomachs the next day. We met some colourful locals, namely William, who claimed to be a distant cousin of William Wallace. He definitely looked like he stepped out of a different time. I also got a few lessons on Scottish accents from my new Scottish pub friends. They were most impressed with my pronunciation of 'Loch,' thanks to Carole's advice - really stress the 'och' part. Use the back of your throat and make it phlegmy. Nice.
I had a good sleep with the soothing sounds of the raging sea outside and the wind battering the windows. The weather today was much like it had been the previous days - wind, rain, hail, sunshine. The full spectrum, as usual. We dutifully trudged off the bus at every photo stop, from Glencoe to Stirling. And, as usual, the scenery was stunning, and worth getting a little bit wet for.
At Stirling, Carole cleared up a few misconceptions for us regarding the movie Braveheart. Here are the ones I can remember:
1. Mel Gibson is short. William Wallace was very tall. And also Scottish, which Mel is blatantly not.
2. Mel's William wore kilts, which the real William would not have done, because he was a lowlander, and the highlanders were the ones who wore kilts.
3. It was not Robert the Bruce who betrayed William, it was the Earl of Monteith (I think). R the B is actually a Scottish legend, and the Scots don't appreciate Mel & Co. tarnishing his memory.
4. Will didn't hook up with the beautiful French princess, because she was four years old.
One thing that was closer to the truth was the movie's final scene, depicting the murder of William Wallace. Apparently, it was even worse in real life, culminating with a Lorena Bobbit-style removal of his goods. Scots were bloody. Were being the operative word here. Saying that, I'm still a Braveheart fan. That 'Freedom' speech gets me every time.
The highlight of everyone's day was meeting Hamish, a genuine Scottish legend. He's got flowing red locks, a solid body, fantastic personality, and the sex appeal of a Hollywood movie star. If he put his face in the faerie stream, the world would probably stop because his beauty would be too much to handle.
Hamish is a fifteen-year-old 'hairy coo', or, in non-Scottish English, a cow. He knew the drill - as soon as we turned up and huddled around him, he ducked his head down to be scratched and started sniffing around for food. He was a big hit with the women.
We capped off the day with a trip to Doune Castle, featured in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Scotland is absolutely rife with castles, which means it is absolutely rife with photo ops - we took the official 'clan' photo here, and then got back on the bus for Edinburgh.
Now I'm back in the SmartCity hostel, still not sure where the week went. London seems like such a distant memory, one that is going to become reality again tomorrow. I've still got photos to add and videos to post, so I can live vicariously through those for a while.
We didn't see 75 white horses, but the DSL was ever-present. If you come to Scotland, be prepared. The Deep Scottish Love is everywhere.