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ladyofastolatLet's just flash back a few months, to the holiday planning stage. It came to pass that the only time we could both manage a week off was midsummer. "I don't want to go anywhere hot!" I said, with feeling, remembering how we got roasted in Kent last July. "Where can we go where we're likely to miss the heat wave that we will surely be having in mid June?" Thus was Scotland decided upon.
Yesterday, while I was shivering with cold, despite wearing several layers and a waterproof, I laughed bitterly at this memory. The day we left, I went into Millets and bought some sturdy walking sandals, and a good waterproof. One of these got constant use.
Anyway, here is a ridiculously long write-up of nine days' exploring castles, birds, scenery, passing places, rain storms, breakfasts, stone circles and ballad sites. I don't expect anyone will want to read it, but I want to write it, so I have the memories.
Friday 15th June: An amusing flight, and a confusing car park
Pellinor worked all day, but I didn't. We met at Southampton airport at 5. "I'm afraid the plane is running two hours late," they cheerily told us at check-in. The irritation of this was alleviated by my noticing that the machine that weighed our cases was made by "Defiant Weighing." I didn't notice any defiance, though. Perhaps we cowed it into docility.
The plane ended up loading us onto it at around 7.15, which was barely half an hour late. We then got told an enormous and convoluted saga about the lateness of the plane. It was something to do with a previous flight diverting to Exeter, the second officer having to drive home to Bournemouth, where he only reached his starving wife and mother at 2 in the morning, and a new second officer having to drive through wind, rain, floods and bandit attacks in order to reach the airport on time. "Is he after an agony aunt?" asked the chap sitting behind me.
We sat there in the plane for a while, unmoving. "Um… This is just to check. Everyone is going to Edinburgh?" they asked us. We all nodded. More impasse. Ten minutes later: "Please could you all check your boarding passes to make sure you should be on this flight to Ediburgh, and not any other flight to Edinburgh?" One chap rather sheepishly left the plane. "He was probably from Glasgow," said the chap sitting behind me. "We're better off without him."
After this little saga, we finally took off, and arrived at Edinburgh an hour later. We picked up our hire car, and prepared for a quick trip to our hotel.
Ten minutes later, we were still in the car park.
"Exit," the signs kept telling us, confidently. Naively, we followed them, only to get into a dead end. We reversed, turned, tried again… and found another dead end. At one point, we could clearly see two "Exit" signs next to each other, pointing in opposite directions. We started wondering if this was some gnoll ambush. Were some of the "exit" signs hastily scrawled in still-wet paint, under which were faintly lurking the words "beware, traveller. Here lies awful doom?" Or was the true "exit" sign visible only to Scots, while we were being lured to fall into some huge pit that held only English bodies?
We eventually escaped by following the one yellow "exit" sign, and ignoring all the white ones. The white ones, I can only conclude, merrily pointed in the actual compass direction of the exit from the airport in general, regardless of any local barriers.
So then for a quick dash over the Forth road bridge, to our boring-looking hotel near Dunfermline. We could have accessed the Internet in our room had we brought a laptop. So near, yet so far! We refrained from drinking blude-reid wine, since the hotel shockingly didn't provide any on its free hospitality tray, and so to bed.
The king sits in Dumferline toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"
Saturday 16th June: Soggy castles, wells, rocks, birdies – but no lunch!
Breakfast was only a continental one. What outrage!
We then headed north in the rain. By the time we passed Perth, I finally worked out that the reason the CD player wasn't working was that I hadn't switched it on. As we passed Dundee, I thought I saw a tiny smear of blue sky, but it might have been a mirage.
We stopped at Dunnottar Castle, near Stonehaven, which I have clear memories of, from a holiday I had in my teens. It is on a very impressive site on the cliffs, and is incredibly photogenic. Sadly, most of it was shrouded in rain and gloom, and all our camera batteries decided en masse to go on strike. We explored the castle in the rain, with the guide book being furtively ripped out from under my coat whenever we reached the shelter on any arch. I clearly remembered a scary well, full fifty fathoms deep. No well was marked on the plan, so Pellinor was making harsh accusations about faulty memory. But sure enough there was a scary well, full… er… a few fathoms deep, but very wide – technically a cistern, in fact. Oh well.
Drenched unto the skin, we ended up leaning out of a window, watching the angry sea crashing on the grisly fiendly rockes blake below the window. There were lots of kittiwakes charging around, including some teenage ones who kept trying to alight nonchalantly on the rocks, despite the fact that a gale was trying to whisk them away to Norway. Then we saw puffins! What badly designed birds they are! Their little wings go nineteen to the dozen, and their huge big orange feet stick out like dinner plates, as they haul their podgy bodies oer the raging deep. Sadly, the lack of camera means I have no proof of these birds, but I can assure you that I saw them. They were, in fact, doing a perfect rendition of Jockey to the Fair, thus proving that Morris dancing is the original and best form of dancing, even practiced by Scottish birds when they think themselves unobserved. Oh, for a camera to record this…
Back to the car, then, cold, wet and hungry. "National Trust properties always have tea rooms," we declared, and headed for one. We spurned Crathes, since the notice outside seemed far more proud of the gardens than of the castle, and headed for Craigievar. It had no tea room. (Crathes did have one, we found out.) I hastily munched on some gift shop chocolate, and then we had a guided tour of the tower house. "I normally challenge children to see how many cockerels they can find in the house," the guide said. Being competitive, Pellinor and I both started some frenzied cockerel counting, but were beaten by a ten year old girl. Pellinor ought to have won, but he didn't have enough strength of character to stick to his guns regarding a bedspread covered with putative cockerels.
Still cold, wet and soggy, we headed for the hotel, which was near Chapel of Garioch, and rather lovely. It was our most expensive hotel of the week, but it was worth it, since we had a large suite, full of comfy counches. We also had magic blue lights in the bathroom, that came on as soon as you even thought, "I want to go to the bathroom." Definitely Ancient technology. We had a very good dinner in the hotel, with background music of a piper from the wedding that we happening elsewhere in the building. After dinner, we strolled through the grounds, finding a secret walled garden, and experiencing Magic Rain. It was falling. We could clearly see it falling. However, none of it reached our heads, or put even a speck of wetness on us.
Despite out hotel being at the fit o'Bennachie, we couldn't see it.
As I cam' by the Garioch land.
And doon by Netherha',.
There were fifty thoosand Hielanmen.
A-marchin' tae Harlaw
Sunday 17th June: Bird central, relatives, wardrobe malfunctions, and Dunnottar once more
We headed south again, roughly retracing our steps, though this time getting tangled up in a sea of roundabouts near Aberdeen. Near Stonehaven, we stopped at Fowlsheugh, a spectacular RSPB reserve, which is the motherlode of all seabirds. There were literally tens of thousands of them lining the cliffs. No puffins, though.
Then to Montrose, to meet up with an uncle, a cousin, and two children of said cousin. I'd not seen them for 25 years. "I'd have recognised you anywhere," they told me, and proceeded to scrutinise me, and announce which relatives I took after. Strangely, we were eating in an Australian restaurant, in Scotland, where I had Mexican food. This felt a little bizarre. After dinner, we strolled on the Links, and the sun even came out. Pellinor bonded with the two boys, over boisterous play on the adventure playground, but he was so boisterous that he ripped his trousers in an embarrassing place. The two boys took great delight in pointing this out, loudly and frequently.
We parted at 4, after a lengthy demonstration of the fact that Scots are as bad at goodbyes as the English. ("Why are you all standing doing nothing in a car park?" the boys asked.) We then headed north again, stopping off at the nature reserve at St Cyrus, which was one of my ancenstral homes. (Kinneff and Catterline, near Stonehaven, are others. My ancestors must have been a hardy bunch to live on that rocky coast.) Since we now had a working camera, we stopped at Dunnottar again, though the castle itself was now closed. I wandered around taking pictures, but then the mist came in from the sea, and the castle vanished.
Now you see it…
Now you don't.
Since we'd had such a large lunch, we didn't have dinner, just stopped at a petrol station to grab a bottle of wine and some biscuits. We caught most of the Doctor Who repeat, and then watched a Dimbleby going on about Scottish buildings, including Craigievar.
Monday 18th June: Many castles, a distillery, but no nail clippers
We headed off to Kildrummy Castle first, where the lady in the ticket office very much liked to talk. Unfortunately, she seemed to work only in one mode – i.e. very talkative – so chatted to every customer for at least 15 minutes, even if there was a queue standing behind them. The castle was full of very annoying American tourists, who climbed all over the ruins, then shouted excitedly at each other across the site. Grr! Then to the small tower house at Glenbuchet, which was free to get to – a small, fairly intact ruin, just sitting there in the green. I preferred it to Kildrummy, since it was easier to imagine it as it once had been.
We then drove excitedly through Rhynie and Auchindour. ("There lived a man in Rhynie's land, and another in Auchindoir. But the bravest man amang them all, was Lang Johnnie Moir.") Past Tap o'Noth, the hillfort where the giant Jock o'Noth lived. Then to Auchendoun, riddled with song.
As I cam' in by Fiddichside, on a May morning
I spied Willie MacIntosh an hour before the dawning
Turn agin, turn agin, turn agin, I bid ye
If ye burn Auchindoun, Huntly he will heid ye
Auchendoun was held by Edom o' Gordon, but was burnt in reprisal for the killing of the Bonnie Earl of Moray (and Lady Mondegreen ;-) ). The Baron of Brackley was also killed in these reprisals, and has his own ballad. It is now a dramatically situated ruin in the hills, though the effect was marred a bit by the scaffolding and green netting all over it, and the workmen crawling over its roof.
We then went to Dufftown (which surely must crop up in the Simpsons somewhere?), and to Balvenie Castle, which seems to have been rather like Harrenhall in the bad luck that befell anyone who held it. Then we decided to take a break from castles, and went to the Glenfiddich Distillery, for a late afternoon lunch/dinner, and then a free tour. They offered free tours and free tastings, and didn't even breathe a word of the existence of a shop, let alone try to push us to buy. It was all very nicely done.
Still not finished with our touring, we took advantage of the light evenings, and headed slowly back via a stone circle at Easter Arquothies, and an inscribed Pictish stone nearby. It felt rather like the olden days of Arthurian pilgrimages – heading into the wilds to go to some old monument that no-one else ever thinks to visit.
And, like all true Arthurian tales, we now had a quest – to buy nail clippers. We were both being driven mad by too-long nails, and stopped off at the Asda at Huntly to try to find some, but the shop sold everything under the sun, except nail clippers. We got some local fruit wine, though, to end the day with.
Tuesday 19th June: Bennachie, archaeology, but no dophlins.
Now auld Johnny Moir, and young Johnny Moir,
And Jock o Noth, a’ three,
And LoA, and Pellinor,
Went a’ to Bennachie.
We packed up and left the hotel, but didn't get far, since we went only a few miles away, to the Bennachie visitor centre, since Bennachie had at last consented to reveal its top. There I spent half an hour sitting on a beanbag, listening to some very nicely done storytelling (a recording, not live) about the giant, Jock o' Bennachie (auld Johnny Moir, in the ballad), and others. Jock sleeps still in a hidden cave under the mountain, but none can find the cave, or its key.
We strolled bit of the way up the mountain, where the signs did their utmost to lose and betray us, so that we came to suspect that we were heading to some terrible doom. Strange sculptures littered the lower slopes, including an organic-looking wooden keyboard, which we took as proof that squirrels have blogs.
After Bennachie, we went to a nearby "prehistory park", which was okay, but needed to be better maintained. It was riddled with school children.
We headed north, towards the Moray coast, where I also had ancestors. (Elgin, Pluscarden and Dallas.) We visited a wildlife place, but failed to spot any dophlins. We also visited a Pictish fort at Burghead, though this was a lesson in reading leaflets properly. We'd picked up a whole range of excellent leaflets about prehistoric sites, and Burghead looked interesting, and en route. However, we'd failed to notice the little "now covered by the modern town" markings on 90% of the map. Oops. Still, it was a nice headland with a good view, even though the visitor centre closed just as we arrived, and the interesting-looking underground well was locked. We chose not to knock on the door of nice Mrs McWhatsit down the road, to get the key.
Then we tangled with the Inverness rush hour, and headed down Loch Ness towards our next hotel, a few miles from the shore. It seemed to be a one-woman operation, but she was very nice, and so was our dinner.
Wednesday 20th June: Castles, mead, soldiers, and dophlins
It was raining quite heavily in the morning, but, nothing daunted, we headed into the wilds to see a chambered cairn. Disdaining the mud, I crawled inside. Pellinor wimped out, perhaps afraid of ruining another pair of trousers.
We then returned to the tourists' beaten track, and headed to Castle Urquhart, where we got pretty wet. It was swarming with American tourists with cameras and umbrellas. I soon took a hearty dislike to both, since every step put one in great danger of losing an eye, or getting in the way of someone's photo.
The rain eased a little, but not much, as we headed over cloud-covered uplands that were doubtless very scenic, and on to the place that Moniack mead comes from, familiar to many here. We sampled all their fruit wines, bought one bottle of mead, and declared our intention of ordering more by mail order once we got home.
The rain and gloom made wild Scottish lochs and mountains a less attractive option, so we headed back through Inverness to Culloden. Or, rather, we intended to, but missed the turn, so decided that this was fate's way of deciding that we were to go to Fort George instead. This is a large fort on a headland, built in the 1750s, and little changed over the years. It is also still functional, which was a little unsettling. There we were, wandering through these barracks, never knowing if an open door was going to lead to a museum room, or the bedroom of some strapping young soldier.
From the ramparts of the fort, we saw dophlins!
We then headed back through Inverness, by way of a Tesco the size of the Isle of Wight, where we were at last triumphant in our quest for nail clippers. At dinner, for the first time in my life, I chose the vegetarian option – a very nice brie and spiced plum tart. After dinner, we played The Awful Green Things from Outer Space in the hotel lounge, much to the confusion of the landlady, and the delight of her cat. Dice are fun to chase across the room!
Thursday 21st June: Jumping fish, and yet more castles
We packed up and left the hotel, deciding to take the long route to Kyle of Lochalsh. This took us past a waterfall – the Rogie Falls – so we stopped to investigate. Beside the falls was a salmon ladder, built so the fish could leap up the falls in small, easy stages. Or so it said. In fact, the game designers had made it far too hard. Either that, or the fish were too impatient, and were trying the jumps before they had levelled up sufficiently. Each fish seemed to take four or five attempts before it could master just one of the jumps – and the ladder contained several dozen. It appeared to take them about five minutes to recover their health and energy after each failed jump. And then, of course, there was surely a Boss Fight awaiting them at the top, before they could jump through the portal into the next level. I only hope there was a save point half way up.
We left the falls with rather more midge bites than we approached them with, and headed west through the wild countryside, stopping at occasional viewpoints, since it had become quite sunny by now. We were getting rather thirsty and in need of cake. "Oh, National Trust properties always have tea rooms," we declared, and headed for Strome Castle. Thus turned out to be a titchy, tiny little ruin in the middle of nowhere, that was destroyed in a clan battle after "some silly women" accidentally poured water into the gunpowder, and then the silly men very loudly berated them, causing the enemy to hear the entire sorry tale. This was also the site of some Magic Rain, but this time it was large rain drops falling from an entirely blue sky.
Eilean Donan Castle – the castle of a million postcards – was rather more on the tourist trail. Although scenic outside, inside it was very much the product of the imagination of an early twentieth century gentleman, but not without interest. The heavens opened enormously just after we arrived, and it was still raining as we headed to Kyle of Lochalsh, and our hotel. It cleared a bit after our quick bar dinner, so we could wander along the coast and enjoy the rather lovely views of Skye.
Friday 22nd June: Atlantis and Skye
"Oh came ye frae the Highlands man,
Oh cam ye a' the wey?
Saw ye McDonald and his men
As they cam in frae Skye?"
In the morning, we headed out to buy tickets on the Stargate Atlantis. This didn’t leave until 11, so we headed off to sit at a nice viewpoint, and get eaten by midges for an hour or so. The Atlantis trip ("not associated with any other boat in Scotland that claims to have a glass bottom!") took us around the loch for an hour. We stood on deck for the first half, watching seals, herons and the like, then went below to look at forests of seaweed through the glass bottom.
After we returned to terra firma, we headed over the Skye Bridge. Skye is really so close, it does make one wonder why they didn't bridge the gap until recently. It also makes me wonder about some of the songs. "Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the w… Oh, we're already there."
It was sunny and lovely, with all the mountains and the sea lochs giving it a really wonderful appearance. Pellinor wanted to visit some famous sword maker who lived in the middle of nowhere, so we headed into the middle of nowhere. On the way, we saw a golden eagle! Yay! Unfortunately, by the time I'd wrestled out my camera and Pellinor had stopped the car, it was almost gone, so I can't prove that it really was a golden eagle, but it definitely was, so there.
For the last few days, we had been seeing castles that had been attacked by the McDonalds of the Isles, so it seemed only fair to get their side of the story, by visiting the Clan Donald museum at Armadale. When I was little, I wanted to be Lord of the Isles when I grew up. I was most put out when I discovered that Prince Charles held that title, so it wasn't likely to happen for me. However, I now know that the Lord of the Isles defeated the King of Man. King of Man is an even better title, so I think this title will be my aim now. (Though Margrave of the Horizons runs it a close second.)
At the end of the afternoon, we headed through the wilds, on a narrow, precipitous road, to an otter hide. It was aptly named, since they did. We did see lots of seals, though, but the sneaky little rotters never showed themselves. Judging from the notes in the visitor book, this is the usual story.
We decided to go to Plockton for dinner, since it's a touristy place, and likely to be full of nice pubs. It poured incredibly en route – but still seemed nice on Skye, thus proving conclusively that islands are better places to live on than the mainland. We ate in a very nice pub – the Plockton Hotel – which had good food, good service, and was thriving. The restaurant manager was charging around like a mad thing, meeting, greeting and smiling.
Saturday 23rd June: A long drive
Most of this day was taken up with driving south, through mist and gloom. We did a small detour to try to find "the Dark Mile", from DK Broster's book of the same name, but the most likely-looking road was closed, as was the Clan Cameron museum. I did wonder if the name was made up for the book, but I've looked it up and found reference to it elsewhere. I should have done my research properly on this.
South again. South. South. We stopped briefly at Glencoe for tea and a bookshop-browse, went over the sinister and evil Rannoch Moor, and ended up at Killin, where we went to a folklore museum, and wandered over the waterfalls. Then to Callendar, where we were in a very nice family-run hotel (The Poppies Hotel), which I can very much recommend. Its restaurant was full, though, so we ate in a pub in town, then drank too much from the hotel bar, while watching Doctor Who, and played games.
Sunday 24th June: Home again, home again… via a battle
We had planned to go to the re-enactment of Bannockburn, so go we did, even though the rain was coming down in bucket loads. We were one of the first to arrive, but the car park field was already so muddy that people were getting pushed in. The rain eased a little, but it was still very muddy. We watched an archery display, some falconry, and a very good demonstration of western martial arts.
Then, cold and wet, we slunk away, and went to Linlithgow Palace, which is really interesting and full of towers and passageways to explore. Sadly, we couldn't spend long enough there, since the flight was waiting.
There was some huge show next to the airport, so traffic was awful. The car hire people tried to charge us for damage that had been done – and recorded – before we got the car, and then tried to charge us nearly £60 for not having a completely full tank of petrol. Pellinor drove out again to fill the car up, while I went to the terminal and joined the queue, and waited anxiously for him to catch me up.
The flight was more or less on time, though it was a bit worrying when the pilot told us that they had lost Southampton. "Several previous planes have failed to find it," he said, "but don't worry! We've got enough fuel for two hours of searching." Luckily, he did manage to find Southampton, and we landed at 8.15, and were on the ferry at 8.45, thanks to some very heroic – and rather scary – driving by a taxi driver.
And thus home, at 9.30 ish. Phew!
All in all, it was a really good holiday. Although it rained on several days, we had quite a lot of fairly good weather. I did a nice lot of reading – a book on ballads, and several SGA novels – and didn't actually miss the Internet half as much as I thought I would. The thing I most missed was the chance to look up facts that emerged from conversation or from the things we saw.
I definitely want to return to the north-east, which is just littered with castles. (300 per acre, a guide book tried to tell us. Perhaps most of them are the castles of the little folk.) I would also love to return to Skye and the area round there, since the sea lochs give it a really lovely appearance.
Yesterday, while I was shivering with cold, despite wearing several layers and a waterproof, I laughed bitterly at this memory. The day we left, I went into Millets and bought some sturdy walking sandals, and a good waterproof. One of these got constant use.
Anyway, here is a ridiculously long write-up of nine days' exploring castles, birds, scenery, passing places, rain storms, breakfasts, stone circles and ballad sites. I don't expect anyone will want to read it, but I want to write it, so I have the memories.
Friday 15th June: An amusing flight, and a confusing car park
Pellinor worked all day, but I didn't. We met at Southampton airport at 5. "I'm afraid the plane is running two hours late," they cheerily told us at check-in. The irritation of this was alleviated by my noticing that the machine that weighed our cases was made by "Defiant Weighing." I didn't notice any defiance, though. Perhaps we cowed it into docility.
The plane ended up loading us onto it at around 7.15, which was barely half an hour late. We then got told an enormous and convoluted saga about the lateness of the plane. It was something to do with a previous flight diverting to Exeter, the second officer having to drive home to Bournemouth, where he only reached his starving wife and mother at 2 in the morning, and a new second officer having to drive through wind, rain, floods and bandit attacks in order to reach the airport on time. "Is he after an agony aunt?" asked the chap sitting behind me.
We sat there in the plane for a while, unmoving. "Um… This is just to check. Everyone is going to Edinburgh?" they asked us. We all nodded. More impasse. Ten minutes later: "Please could you all check your boarding passes to make sure you should be on this flight to Ediburgh, and not any other flight to Edinburgh?" One chap rather sheepishly left the plane. "He was probably from Glasgow," said the chap sitting behind me. "We're better off without him."
After this little saga, we finally took off, and arrived at Edinburgh an hour later. We picked up our hire car, and prepared for a quick trip to our hotel.
Ten minutes later, we were still in the car park.
"Exit," the signs kept telling us, confidently. Naively, we followed them, only to get into a dead end. We reversed, turned, tried again… and found another dead end. At one point, we could clearly see two "Exit" signs next to each other, pointing in opposite directions. We started wondering if this was some gnoll ambush. Were some of the "exit" signs hastily scrawled in still-wet paint, under which were faintly lurking the words "beware, traveller. Here lies awful doom?" Or was the true "exit" sign visible only to Scots, while we were being lured to fall into some huge pit that held only English bodies?
We eventually escaped by following the one yellow "exit" sign, and ignoring all the white ones. The white ones, I can only conclude, merrily pointed in the actual compass direction of the exit from the airport in general, regardless of any local barriers.
So then for a quick dash over the Forth road bridge, to our boring-looking hotel near Dunfermline. We could have accessed the Internet in our room had we brought a laptop. So near, yet so far! We refrained from drinking blude-reid wine, since the hotel shockingly didn't provide any on its free hospitality tray, and so to bed.
The king sits in Dumferline toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"
Saturday 16th June: Soggy castles, wells, rocks, birdies – but no lunch!
Breakfast was only a continental one. What outrage!
We then headed north in the rain. By the time we passed Perth, I finally worked out that the reason the CD player wasn't working was that I hadn't switched it on. As we passed Dundee, I thought I saw a tiny smear of blue sky, but it might have been a mirage.
We stopped at Dunnottar Castle, near Stonehaven, which I have clear memories of, from a holiday I had in my teens. It is on a very impressive site on the cliffs, and is incredibly photogenic. Sadly, most of it was shrouded in rain and gloom, and all our camera batteries decided en masse to go on strike. We explored the castle in the rain, with the guide book being furtively ripped out from under my coat whenever we reached the shelter on any arch. I clearly remembered a scary well, full fifty fathoms deep. No well was marked on the plan, so Pellinor was making harsh accusations about faulty memory. But sure enough there was a scary well, full… er… a few fathoms deep, but very wide – technically a cistern, in fact. Oh well.
Drenched unto the skin, we ended up leaning out of a window, watching the angry sea crashing on the grisly fiendly rockes blake below the window. There were lots of kittiwakes charging around, including some teenage ones who kept trying to alight nonchalantly on the rocks, despite the fact that a gale was trying to whisk them away to Norway. Then we saw puffins! What badly designed birds they are! Their little wings go nineteen to the dozen, and their huge big orange feet stick out like dinner plates, as they haul their podgy bodies oer the raging deep. Sadly, the lack of camera means I have no proof of these birds, but I can assure you that I saw them. They were, in fact, doing a perfect rendition of Jockey to the Fair, thus proving that Morris dancing is the original and best form of dancing, even practiced by Scottish birds when they think themselves unobserved. Oh, for a camera to record this…
Back to the car, then, cold, wet and hungry. "National Trust properties always have tea rooms," we declared, and headed for one. We spurned Crathes, since the notice outside seemed far more proud of the gardens than of the castle, and headed for Craigievar. It had no tea room. (Crathes did have one, we found out.) I hastily munched on some gift shop chocolate, and then we had a guided tour of the tower house. "I normally challenge children to see how many cockerels they can find in the house," the guide said. Being competitive, Pellinor and I both started some frenzied cockerel counting, but were beaten by a ten year old girl. Pellinor ought to have won, but he didn't have enough strength of character to stick to his guns regarding a bedspread covered with putative cockerels.
Still cold, wet and soggy, we headed for the hotel, which was near Chapel of Garioch, and rather lovely. It was our most expensive hotel of the week, but it was worth it, since we had a large suite, full of comfy counches. We also had magic blue lights in the bathroom, that came on as soon as you even thought, "I want to go to the bathroom." Definitely Ancient technology. We had a very good dinner in the hotel, with background music of a piper from the wedding that we happening elsewhere in the building. After dinner, we strolled through the grounds, finding a secret walled garden, and experiencing Magic Rain. It was falling. We could clearly see it falling. However, none of it reached our heads, or put even a speck of wetness on us.
Despite out hotel being at the fit o'Bennachie, we couldn't see it.
As I cam' by the Garioch land.
And doon by Netherha',.
There were fifty thoosand Hielanmen.
A-marchin' tae Harlaw
Sunday 17th June: Bird central, relatives, wardrobe malfunctions, and Dunnottar once more
We headed south again, roughly retracing our steps, though this time getting tangled up in a sea of roundabouts near Aberdeen. Near Stonehaven, we stopped at Fowlsheugh, a spectacular RSPB reserve, which is the motherlode of all seabirds. There were literally tens of thousands of them lining the cliffs. No puffins, though.
Then to Montrose, to meet up with an uncle, a cousin, and two children of said cousin. I'd not seen them for 25 years. "I'd have recognised you anywhere," they told me, and proceeded to scrutinise me, and announce which relatives I took after. Strangely, we were eating in an Australian restaurant, in Scotland, where I had Mexican food. This felt a little bizarre. After dinner, we strolled on the Links, and the sun even came out. Pellinor bonded with the two boys, over boisterous play on the adventure playground, but he was so boisterous that he ripped his trousers in an embarrassing place. The two boys took great delight in pointing this out, loudly and frequently.
We parted at 4, after a lengthy demonstration of the fact that Scots are as bad at goodbyes as the English. ("Why are you all standing doing nothing in a car park?" the boys asked.) We then headed north again, stopping off at the nature reserve at St Cyrus, which was one of my ancenstral homes. (Kinneff and Catterline, near Stonehaven, are others. My ancestors must have been a hardy bunch to live on that rocky coast.) Since we now had a working camera, we stopped at Dunnottar again, though the castle itself was now closed. I wandered around taking pictures, but then the mist came in from the sea, and the castle vanished.
Now you see it…
Now you don't.
Since we'd had such a large lunch, we didn't have dinner, just stopped at a petrol station to grab a bottle of wine and some biscuits. We caught most of the Doctor Who repeat, and then watched a Dimbleby going on about Scottish buildings, including Craigievar.
Monday 18th June: Many castles, a distillery, but no nail clippers
We headed off to Kildrummy Castle first, where the lady in the ticket office very much liked to talk. Unfortunately, she seemed to work only in one mode – i.e. very talkative – so chatted to every customer for at least 15 minutes, even if there was a queue standing behind them. The castle was full of very annoying American tourists, who climbed all over the ruins, then shouted excitedly at each other across the site. Grr! Then to the small tower house at Glenbuchet, which was free to get to – a small, fairly intact ruin, just sitting there in the green. I preferred it to Kildrummy, since it was easier to imagine it as it once had been.
We then drove excitedly through Rhynie and Auchindour. ("There lived a man in Rhynie's land, and another in Auchindoir. But the bravest man amang them all, was Lang Johnnie Moir.") Past Tap o'Noth, the hillfort where the giant Jock o'Noth lived. Then to Auchendoun, riddled with song.
As I cam' in by Fiddichside, on a May morning
I spied Willie MacIntosh an hour before the dawning
Turn agin, turn agin, turn agin, I bid ye
If ye burn Auchindoun, Huntly he will heid ye
Auchendoun was held by Edom o' Gordon, but was burnt in reprisal for the killing of the Bonnie Earl of Moray (and Lady Mondegreen ;-) ). The Baron of Brackley was also killed in these reprisals, and has his own ballad. It is now a dramatically situated ruin in the hills, though the effect was marred a bit by the scaffolding and green netting all over it, and the workmen crawling over its roof.
We then went to Dufftown (which surely must crop up in the Simpsons somewhere?), and to Balvenie Castle, which seems to have been rather like Harrenhall in the bad luck that befell anyone who held it. Then we decided to take a break from castles, and went to the Glenfiddich Distillery, for a late afternoon lunch/dinner, and then a free tour. They offered free tours and free tastings, and didn't even breathe a word of the existence of a shop, let alone try to push us to buy. It was all very nicely done.
Still not finished with our touring, we took advantage of the light evenings, and headed slowly back via a stone circle at Easter Arquothies, and an inscribed Pictish stone nearby. It felt rather like the olden days of Arthurian pilgrimages – heading into the wilds to go to some old monument that no-one else ever thinks to visit.
And, like all true Arthurian tales, we now had a quest – to buy nail clippers. We were both being driven mad by too-long nails, and stopped off at the Asda at Huntly to try to find some, but the shop sold everything under the sun, except nail clippers. We got some local fruit wine, though, to end the day with.
Tuesday 19th June: Bennachie, archaeology, but no dophlins.
Now auld Johnny Moir, and young Johnny Moir,
And Jock o Noth, a’ three,
And LoA, and Pellinor,
Went a’ to Bennachie.
We packed up and left the hotel, but didn't get far, since we went only a few miles away, to the Bennachie visitor centre, since Bennachie had at last consented to reveal its top. There I spent half an hour sitting on a beanbag, listening to some very nicely done storytelling (a recording, not live) about the giant, Jock o' Bennachie (auld Johnny Moir, in the ballad), and others. Jock sleeps still in a hidden cave under the mountain, but none can find the cave, or its key.
We strolled bit of the way up the mountain, where the signs did their utmost to lose and betray us, so that we came to suspect that we were heading to some terrible doom. Strange sculptures littered the lower slopes, including an organic-looking wooden keyboard, which we took as proof that squirrels have blogs.
After Bennachie, we went to a nearby "prehistory park", which was okay, but needed to be better maintained. It was riddled with school children.
We headed north, towards the Moray coast, where I also had ancestors. (Elgin, Pluscarden and Dallas.) We visited a wildlife place, but failed to spot any dophlins. We also visited a Pictish fort at Burghead, though this was a lesson in reading leaflets properly. We'd picked up a whole range of excellent leaflets about prehistoric sites, and Burghead looked interesting, and en route. However, we'd failed to notice the little "now covered by the modern town" markings on 90% of the map. Oops. Still, it was a nice headland with a good view, even though the visitor centre closed just as we arrived, and the interesting-looking underground well was locked. We chose not to knock on the door of nice Mrs McWhatsit down the road, to get the key.
Then we tangled with the Inverness rush hour, and headed down Loch Ness towards our next hotel, a few miles from the shore. It seemed to be a one-woman operation, but she was very nice, and so was our dinner.
Wednesday 20th June: Castles, mead, soldiers, and dophlins
It was raining quite heavily in the morning, but, nothing daunted, we headed into the wilds to see a chambered cairn. Disdaining the mud, I crawled inside. Pellinor wimped out, perhaps afraid of ruining another pair of trousers.
We then returned to the tourists' beaten track, and headed to Castle Urquhart, where we got pretty wet. It was swarming with American tourists with cameras and umbrellas. I soon took a hearty dislike to both, since every step put one in great danger of losing an eye, or getting in the way of someone's photo.
The rain eased a little, but not much, as we headed over cloud-covered uplands that were doubtless very scenic, and on to the place that Moniack mead comes from, familiar to many here. We sampled all their fruit wines, bought one bottle of mead, and declared our intention of ordering more by mail order once we got home.
The rain and gloom made wild Scottish lochs and mountains a less attractive option, so we headed back through Inverness to Culloden. Or, rather, we intended to, but missed the turn, so decided that this was fate's way of deciding that we were to go to Fort George instead. This is a large fort on a headland, built in the 1750s, and little changed over the years. It is also still functional, which was a little unsettling. There we were, wandering through these barracks, never knowing if an open door was going to lead to a museum room, or the bedroom of some strapping young soldier.
From the ramparts of the fort, we saw dophlins!
We then headed back through Inverness, by way of a Tesco the size of the Isle of Wight, where we were at last triumphant in our quest for nail clippers. At dinner, for the first time in my life, I chose the vegetarian option – a very nice brie and spiced plum tart. After dinner, we played The Awful Green Things from Outer Space in the hotel lounge, much to the confusion of the landlady, and the delight of her cat. Dice are fun to chase across the room!
Thursday 21st June: Jumping fish, and yet more castles
We packed up and left the hotel, deciding to take the long route to Kyle of Lochalsh. This took us past a waterfall – the Rogie Falls – so we stopped to investigate. Beside the falls was a salmon ladder, built so the fish could leap up the falls in small, easy stages. Or so it said. In fact, the game designers had made it far too hard. Either that, or the fish were too impatient, and were trying the jumps before they had levelled up sufficiently. Each fish seemed to take four or five attempts before it could master just one of the jumps – and the ladder contained several dozen. It appeared to take them about five minutes to recover their health and energy after each failed jump. And then, of course, there was surely a Boss Fight awaiting them at the top, before they could jump through the portal into the next level. I only hope there was a save point half way up.
We left the falls with rather more midge bites than we approached them with, and headed west through the wild countryside, stopping at occasional viewpoints, since it had become quite sunny by now. We were getting rather thirsty and in need of cake. "Oh, National Trust properties always have tea rooms," we declared, and headed for Strome Castle. Thus turned out to be a titchy, tiny little ruin in the middle of nowhere, that was destroyed in a clan battle after "some silly women" accidentally poured water into the gunpowder, and then the silly men very loudly berated them, causing the enemy to hear the entire sorry tale. This was also the site of some Magic Rain, but this time it was large rain drops falling from an entirely blue sky.
Eilean Donan Castle – the castle of a million postcards – was rather more on the tourist trail. Although scenic outside, inside it was very much the product of the imagination of an early twentieth century gentleman, but not without interest. The heavens opened enormously just after we arrived, and it was still raining as we headed to Kyle of Lochalsh, and our hotel. It cleared a bit after our quick bar dinner, so we could wander along the coast and enjoy the rather lovely views of Skye.
Friday 22nd June: Atlantis and Skye
"Oh came ye frae the Highlands man,
Oh cam ye a' the wey?
Saw ye McDonald and his men
As they cam in frae Skye?"
In the morning, we headed out to buy tickets on the Stargate Atlantis. This didn’t leave until 11, so we headed off to sit at a nice viewpoint, and get eaten by midges for an hour or so. The Atlantis trip ("not associated with any other boat in Scotland that claims to have a glass bottom!") took us around the loch for an hour. We stood on deck for the first half, watching seals, herons and the like, then went below to look at forests of seaweed through the glass bottom.
After we returned to terra firma, we headed over the Skye Bridge. Skye is really so close, it does make one wonder why they didn't bridge the gap until recently. It also makes me wonder about some of the songs. "Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the w… Oh, we're already there."
It was sunny and lovely, with all the mountains and the sea lochs giving it a really wonderful appearance. Pellinor wanted to visit some famous sword maker who lived in the middle of nowhere, so we headed into the middle of nowhere. On the way, we saw a golden eagle! Yay! Unfortunately, by the time I'd wrestled out my camera and Pellinor had stopped the car, it was almost gone, so I can't prove that it really was a golden eagle, but it definitely was, so there.
For the last few days, we had been seeing castles that had been attacked by the McDonalds of the Isles, so it seemed only fair to get their side of the story, by visiting the Clan Donald museum at Armadale. When I was little, I wanted to be Lord of the Isles when I grew up. I was most put out when I discovered that Prince Charles held that title, so it wasn't likely to happen for me. However, I now know that the Lord of the Isles defeated the King of Man. King of Man is an even better title, so I think this title will be my aim now. (Though Margrave of the Horizons runs it a close second.)
At the end of the afternoon, we headed through the wilds, on a narrow, precipitous road, to an otter hide. It was aptly named, since they did. We did see lots of seals, though, but the sneaky little rotters never showed themselves. Judging from the notes in the visitor book, this is the usual story.
We decided to go to Plockton for dinner, since it's a touristy place, and likely to be full of nice pubs. It poured incredibly en route – but still seemed nice on Skye, thus proving conclusively that islands are better places to live on than the mainland. We ate in a very nice pub – the Plockton Hotel – which had good food, good service, and was thriving. The restaurant manager was charging around like a mad thing, meeting, greeting and smiling.
Saturday 23rd June: A long drive
Most of this day was taken up with driving south, through mist and gloom. We did a small detour to try to find "the Dark Mile", from DK Broster's book of the same name, but the most likely-looking road was closed, as was the Clan Cameron museum. I did wonder if the name was made up for the book, but I've looked it up and found reference to it elsewhere. I should have done my research properly on this.
South again. South. South. We stopped briefly at Glencoe for tea and a bookshop-browse, went over the sinister and evil Rannoch Moor, and ended up at Killin, where we went to a folklore museum, and wandered over the waterfalls. Then to Callendar, where we were in a very nice family-run hotel (The Poppies Hotel), which I can very much recommend. Its restaurant was full, though, so we ate in a pub in town, then drank too much from the hotel bar, while watching Doctor Who, and played games.
Sunday 24th June: Home again, home again… via a battle
We had planned to go to the re-enactment of Bannockburn, so go we did, even though the rain was coming down in bucket loads. We were one of the first to arrive, but the car park field was already so muddy that people were getting pushed in. The rain eased a little, but it was still very muddy. We watched an archery display, some falconry, and a very good demonstration of western martial arts.
Then, cold and wet, we slunk away, and went to Linlithgow Palace, which is really interesting and full of towers and passageways to explore. Sadly, we couldn't spend long enough there, since the flight was waiting.
There was some huge show next to the airport, so traffic was awful. The car hire people tried to charge us for damage that had been done – and recorded – before we got the car, and then tried to charge us nearly £60 for not having a completely full tank of petrol. Pellinor drove out again to fill the car up, while I went to the terminal and joined the queue, and waited anxiously for him to catch me up.
The flight was more or less on time, though it was a bit worrying when the pilot told us that they had lost Southampton. "Several previous planes have failed to find it," he said, "but don't worry! We've got enough fuel for two hours of searching." Luckily, he did manage to find Southampton, and we landed at 8.15, and were on the ferry at 8.45, thanks to some very heroic – and rather scary – driving by a taxi driver.
And thus home, at 9.30 ish. Phew!
All in all, it was a really good holiday. Although it rained on several days, we had quite a lot of fairly good weather. I did a nice lot of reading – a book on ballads, and several SGA novels – and didn't actually miss the Internet half as much as I thought I would. The thing I most missed was the chance to look up facts that emerged from conversation or from the things we saw.
I definitely want to return to the north-east, which is just littered with castles. (300 per acre, a guide book tried to tell us. Perhaps most of them are the castles of the little folk.) I would also love to return to Skye and the area round there, since the sea lochs give it a really lovely appearance.
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Date: 2007-06-25 05:00 pm (UTC)This made me laugh: The castle was full of very annoying American tourists, who climbed all over the ruins, then shouted excitedly at each other across the site.
Do you suppose anybody at Caernarfon thought that about us when we were there? ;-)
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Date: 2007-06-25 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 08:23 pm (UTC)Ahem.
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Date: 2007-06-25 05:56 pm (UTC)Sorry, I'll type more later, but it seems you had the same talkative lady (with a rather thick accent?) as we did. Though since she offered water to our dog, I can't hold her chattiness against her. Luckily for us, we were the only ones there when we visited -though an annoying party of American tourists (complete with kilt and bagpipes) were arriving as we left.
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Date: 2007-06-25 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 06:04 pm (UTC)It is good to hear the familiar placenames again - a reminder that places like Cragievar and Glenbuchat aren't just little bubbles of fantasy that burst when the holiday ends.
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Date: 2007-06-25 09:41 pm (UTC)Thanks for the castle recs! We didn't make it to all of them, but it was good to have some guidance to help narrow down the dazzling array of castles on the map.
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Date: 2007-06-26 07:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 09:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 08:14 pm (UTC)Which SGA books did you read? So far I've only read the Martha Wells ones, but I did enjoy them a lot.
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Date: 2007-06-25 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 10:50 pm (UTC)When you say 4 episodes, is that to the end of season one or have you got season two as well?
While I'm asking nosy questions :-), have you found the Retrograde series by Martha Wilson yet? I think it's the best Atlantis gen I've read. It is an AU that spins off just before the end of season one but I love how she portrays and develops the characters.
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Date: 2007-06-26 07:23 am (UTC)Thanks for the fic rec. I'll take a look this weekend. I've been reading some fanfic - long, plot-filled angsty-hurty gen - but am being very cautious so as to avoid season 3 spoilers. I also have a vague story idea in my head, but I don't want to write anything until I've watched all episodes. Even though the story is an AU that spins off from early in season 2 (probably), I'd be afraid of contradicting bits of character backstory revealed in later episodes.
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Date: 2007-06-25 09:01 pm (UTC)Sorry for my countrymen. We do not have any old structures in this country, since the Native Americans were pretty nomadic or only built temporary shelters, for the most part. There's a certain fascination in something more than a few centuries old.
I love the pictures as well. One day, I'll have to make it out to Scotland myself. The pictures and movies set there are so beautiful, I imagine it must be even more incredible in person.
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Date: 2007-06-25 09:48 pm (UTC)Scotland is great - though rather prone to be gloomy and damp, with all the lovely scenery hidden behind cloud.
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Date: 2007-06-26 03:09 pm (UTC)