Welp. It’s been a while. So much has happened, don’t know where to start. Feels like constant motion since leaving Socal on the 24th. At the moment we’re in a 300 year old Scottish hotel near Loch Ness, trying to deal with the 19 hours of sunshine each day (light till almost 11pm, nice and sunny at 4am) and resultant difficulty sleeping. Between eternal sunlight and jet lag, sleeping is a big issue. Same as it ever was.
The flights over were fine – Iceland Air business class was about what I expected. You get what you pay for, and I thought it was a fair trade. Our first two days in Scotland were…eventful. Picked up at Glasgow by friend Annette, got settled in at her place after Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride through 1000 roundabouts, then took a nice walk through her Glasgow suburb of Milngavie. The Scots have made “Milngavie” unpronounceable, so I’ve given up trying. But it’s a lovely little town and I wish US suburbs were more like it. Walkable, bike and hiking trails, a walk-only retail area several blocks square. I don’t have any pictures of it at the moment for reasons I’ll explain shortly.
Our first full day here we made a pilgrimage to Annette’s hometown of Dunoon, with lots of stops along the way to visit places mentioned by K in her book Puck’s Fairy Glen. That was a lot of fun. The drive around Loch Lomond was beautiful, and our first big stop, Benmore Botanical Garden, was superb. Giant redwoods and a profusion of flowers, all nestled in 600 pristine acres of valleys and hillside. So much to see there – it was a perfect example of Scottish environmental ethic – they really take preservation seriously.
After the Benmore hike and a stop at the title-centric Puck’s Glen a mile away, we went to Dunoon to retrace her characters’ journey, then to visit Annette’s family for an afternoon tea.
The trek around downtown Dunoon was cool, and the best was an unexpected visit we got in The Clansman pub. We were there because that’s where her characters started their journey, and because I wanted a Guinness. While there on the patio, in pops the roughest-looking quartet of locals you can imagine. Like characters straight out of Mad Max – shirtless (the guys), sweaty, bizarre haircuts and tattoos, one guy with a bloody nose and heavy attitude. Their attached girlfriends were equivalent. Most days I would cross the street quickly, just based on looks, but today I figured “what the hell?”. I said hello, we started a conversation. They were just returning from a three day punk festival (Punk on the Peninsula, held in Dunoon, who knew?) and were happy to talk about it. They were curious why an elderly yuppie-looking American was there, and I explained our book tracing journey. We got along great; they were really nice people. I left sad that I had judged them by look at first, and happy that I had broken out of my normal bubble. I didn’t get a picture of them as I should have, as I didn’t think fast enough to come up with a rationale that wasn’t a bit exploitive. But they’re safely in my memory, for what that’s worth.
The visit to Annette’s family in Dunoon was great, though a bit fuzzy in the aftermath. Turns out her brother-in-law is a scotch aficionado who seldom has a drinking buddy these days, so I obliged him. Also turns out that a Scottish afternoon “tea” can be quite a boozy affair – lots of little snacks on a rotating lazy susan with tower/tray, and a long menu of drinks. Tea optional. We all had a great time and then designated driver Annette carted us back to Glasgow, including a nice ferry ride across one of the ubiquitous bodies of water.
The final big event of the last few days was the loss of my Sony camera on the train. Long story short, my backpack popped open on the train from Glasgow to Inverness, lots of shit spilled out, just as we were leaving the station in Glasgow. I scooped it all up (or so I thought). After arriving at our quiet ancient hotel in Inverness, I readied for an evening photo walk, and…no fucking camera. It took a while to figure out what had happened, but I was pretty sure I’d never see it again. I went through the 77 stages of grief very quickly, as my primary sightseeing activity these days is/was photography. We contacted ScotsRail, and some honest passenger had found it under a seat (my old seat area) and turned it in at Perth, about 2 hours away from where we are now. ScotsRail is either going to put it on a train to Inverness today where I can retrieve it, or we’ll swing by Perth in a few days on our way to Edinburgh. All’s well that ends well, and I will be happy to get the Sony back. Though the backpack and I have taken our last journey together – popping open and regurgitating contents is a capital offense in backpack land.
Last photo for this post – a magnificent tree planted in front of our hotel in approximately 1700. A humbling thought.
