Scotland 2014

Christmas Day 2013 I was gifted a full-on panic attack.  An explosion of sadness, fear, laughter and loss of breath.  Embarrassing as it was, the result concluded a solo adventure to Scotland about six months later.  I was lost, depressed, realizing numbing agents only make things tolerable in the short run.  I had been saving money for a trip for some time, unsure of which direction to take.  On Christmas following my hysterics, I spoke with my grandparents who expressed to me how much they thought I would adore Scotland - having been there a year or so prior to notice many youthful backpackers on their trip.  I held onto that suggestion and booked a flight to Edinburgh a couple of weeks later.

Travel expands ones consciousness.  Travel opens doors in your mind, taking you completely out of your element and comfort zone if you let it.  Travel allows you the time to look inside without the distraction of friends, family, television, work & obligation.  During my trip to Scotland I felt very alone, but brought to tears so many times, overwhelmed by the beauty found in the landscape and precious detail in every little living thing that my sensors could grasp.  Thank you divine nature.

Upon departing my aircraft I found my way to a bus heading in the direction of the train station.  At this point, after months of research, I made one clear contact and planned to stay at Sillyearn Croft as part of the WWOOF program for two weeks.  After grabbing a throw-away phone I hopped on a train to Inverness, the capital of the Scottish Highlands, where I found a decent hostel.  The hostel was decent in appearance & cleanliness, but considering the exchange rate, still not very worth it.  From Inverness Ihop on a bus to Forres in the morning.  I won't be meeting my contact until later that afternoon/early evening, but I am a little paranoid to rely on public transport.  I went to the Falconer museum & napped in Grant Park that day.  The park had a 'Britain in Bloom' display, my favorite piece a hedge-sculpted beaver.  One aspect of the museum that I adored was that they had articles on display that you could as an individual express through touch.  I had the opportunity to place my bare mits on an Asiatic Elephant skull. 

Peter & Liz treated me like family.  Liz picked me up from Forres after her work day and took me for ice cream in Cullen - a house-made vanilla cone with chocolate wafer.  We arrived at Sillyearn to meet a few other WWOOFers - two ladies from the States and one from Spain.  They toured me around the gorgeous property in the country near Keith & introduced me to Oidhche - Gaelic for 'night', Oidhche is a beautiful black lab that we took for walks in the woods behind the property...or rather he would walk us, knowing exactly where to go.  I worked the next couple weeks picking ripe delicious berries, weeding the horrible thistle, hay bailing, feeding chickens & collecting their eggs.  One of the most rewarding moments was around family supper time, when I got to go into the greenhouse and pick beet greens for the nights salad.  Peter took us on excursions to the Strathisla Distillery, castle ruins Boyne & Findlater & Cullen beach.  Strathisla is the oldest continuously operating distillery in Scotland since 1786 in Keith, Moray.  I can't say that I have such a refined palate yet for aged beverages, but even at an amateur's level the taste variances between the whiskys were fun to sip.  Peaty, honey, vanilla, cherry.  Boyne's current residents comprise mostly of snail and to my discomfort, the stinging nettle.  Liz invited us to play Scottish folk songs around the dinner table - introducing us to the Bodhran.  She also taught us how to felt - using some of her sheep wool - they had a flock of about 35. 

During my stay at Sillyearn, I thankfully was able to secure a place to stay and work for another two weeks just an hour or so away at Burgie Estate in Forres.  Burgie is managed by Hamish, a delightful human being with a contagious laugh - a much appreciated laugh brought out even in stressful situations.  Hamish is a plant man.  He owns and operates an Estate on the property that is frequently rented out to large families on holiday.  He rents land to farmers to raise their livestock.  He rents stables for horse trials and upkeep to the best of his ability Burgie castle, which dates back to the 1600s of the Dunbar clan.  With all this under his wing, I believe still that his heart is kept in the arboretum.  I spent two weeks living in one of his old caravans by myself.  I was the only WWOOFer there for a week and with Hamish out of town for half of it, I made friends with the swan.  Our lady swan originally had five young, but by the end I was only singing to one.  I would leave the caravan in the morning to spend time in the arboretum weeding and mulching around saplings whilst singing poorly to the swan friends.  I realized quickly how few lyrics that I could actually remember for my audience.  I can't imagine they minded too much to listen to my dreadful vocals of Bohemian Rhapsody, The Chauffeur and Parabol on repeat.  Hamish had a couple of bicycles I borrowed to bike 9+ miles for wine & adventure.  I biked to Findhorn - a magical commune filled with inviting company, spirit, art, architecture and beach.  The forest and dunes I had to hike through to get to shore danced in front of my eyes.  I collected some soft stones that day to bring back to our tortoise, Giger, that Nic had adopted while I was away.  A few days later I went to an agricultural show on the Black Isle.  It reminded me of the times I spent in 4-H club as a kid, though I had never raised sheep, steer, swine or duck.  Later in the week Hamish suggested I take the bike to the Gregorian Monastery - lovely idea - he drove me and the bike in his truck miles down the road so that I could have a thrill ride downhill for awhile.  I brutally admire the stained glass of monastic interpretation and cold stone of the interior.  After my stay I kept biking in the opposite direction from where I came as to avoid climbing the hill back up for miles.  Easy he said.  Ha.  Apparently the streets don't all have names.  Why?  "Because everyone knows where they are going."  I got severely lost.  Very understanding of maps, I knew in which direction I was supposed to head, but had no concept of the twists and turns of the various unmarked roads.  I remember clearly speaking to Nic on the phone, guiding him to open Google Maps on the laptop back home in Sarasota.  I had somewhat of an idea where I came from and knew that I was soaking wet from biking in the start of a tropical storm very near a blue silo.  "Uhh...there are a lot of blue silos on the map honey".  I didn't want to, but had to turn back the way I came - a hill too steep for me to bike miles up in the storm.  I would get back in dark with no flashlight.  No streetlight.  Biking insanely, salty tears mingling with the splash of rain water on my face a truck pulled to the side of the road and it was Hamish, laughing & loading the bike back in the truck.  That night I met another WWOOFer, a beautiful girl from Italy.  The next day a few more from Spain.  My two weeks were up and a couple buses later I made my way to the Isle of Skye.

The remaining ten days or so of my trip were spent touring around.  Unfortunately the weather was dreary and wet the entire time, but I made a good time of it.  The bus ride to Skye really highlighted the beauty of the Scottish highlands, my face plastered to the window.  I stayed at the Isles Inn Hotel & Pub in Portree, which I highly recommend.  It was only a few dollars more than a hostel, but I had my own room & hot breakfast...conveniently located above the bar.  They served a traditional Scottish breakfast in the morning - I had poached eggs, toast & jam, potato cake, baked beans, hot tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, sausage & juice.  The first night of my stay in Portree I drank at the bar and closed the place down with a new friend, Keith, a tour-guide.  While he pounded Laphroaig all night, giving me drunken history lessons and pro tips a crude map was created in my journal, supposedly guiding me to Faerie Glen.  After my breakfast I asked a bus driver if he knew where Faerie Glen was.  He immediately thought I was talking about the more popular Faerie Pools, but he thought he had an idea of the Glen.  I got on the bus to Uig and he dropped me off at a small intersection.  "Up that way?, I asked".  "I hope so", was his reply.  Considering my rainy day options, I figured it was worth the walk anyhow - and I found it.  Passed pretty green farms, and grazing sheep I was told no whistling (the faeries cannot and it makes them angry).  Keep your hands out of your pockets (it makes you look untrustworthy).  And do not take anything from the Glen or back luck will fall upon you.  I climbed up the tallest rock of the Glen and had to sit down, bracing myself from the wind that I thought may blow me over.  Ass on rock gave me the most pleasant view of two waterfalls in the distance.  The following day was even more wet.  I spoke with the cleaning gal at the Inn that morning asking for hiking suggestions - she pointed me in the direction of an exceptional local trail that she tries to take her kids on once in a while.  The view was so positively outstanding that I broke down in tears.  Standing on a ledge - the effect the wind had on the movement of the rain waves was transcendental.  It felt as if I had eaten a fistful of psychedelics, how the waves tickled my brain.  Off in the distance I could see a waterfall and decided...I am going to walk to it, and I did.  That evening I had a cold seafood platter - smoked salmon, smoked mussels, battered langoustines, squid, smoked haddock, boiled potatoes and salad. 

A couple days and buses later I was in Aviemore, staying at the Aviemore Bunkhouse.  The hostel was dreadfully manged, but the pub next door - The Old Bridge Inn - was warm in decor & food was spectacular.  This wasn't my first time trying the Cullen Skink, but theirs was topped with mussels and filled with more seafood than cream.  De-fucking-lightful.  Aviemore seemed to be more of a posh tourist shopping and skiing destination.  Not my favorite flavor, but I found immense joy in hiking around the Cairngorms.  The mountain I hiked up for the day eventually turned into cloud.  I could barely see in front of my face. 

Glasgow was a hoot.  I am not much of a city-dweller, but went for the art & goth scene.  I had made arrangements via couchsurfing to stay with a local film student, who blew me off last-minute.  I spent way too money bunking my dirty hippie american ass in a hotel downtown.  I immensely enjoyed drinking bottles of red wine in my hotel bath tub, swimming the pool in the gym and buzzing in the sauna.  The modern art museum was free had held some unique exhibitions, but the Cathouse Club was my jam that night, dancing the night away to metal tunes with a bunch of Scottish youth.  One gentleman I spoke with, barely 20 with long black hair, had dreams of moving to Norway for more progressive culture and L.A.R.P. events. 

I could not have asked for a better end to my trip.  My life partner, Nicolas, years ago at his brother's wedding met a Scotsman by the name of Bill.  Nic's sister-in-law's godfather.  I met them in Edinburgh during the Art Festival.  Huge and spread out, there was so much to see and so many visitors.  I can't say I had too much energy at the end of my trip, but found the perfect exhibit.  We went to the botanic gardens where there was a social documentary photography show.  I greatly enjoyed the rest of my time at their home, listening to stories, petting their collies and watching the songbirds visiting their feeders.  I had an easy flight until the plane was left circling the Chicago-area.  Bad weather prevented us from landing so we had to re-fuel and land instead in Michigan.  We sat on the plane for another 5 hours or so, thinking I might miss my flight back to Tampa.  The plane took off and landed again in Chicago, creeping up to the terminal.  I made if off the plane and rushed through customs as fast as possible.  It was a shit show.  My mother had been in Chicago days prior visiting her sister and booked the same flight back to FL with me.  I raced around the airport, found my mother to only realize that our flight to FL was delayed last-minute.  We ordered some wine, and boarded the plane hours later.  Both of us fell asleep and got woken up a little after midnight to the captain informing us that we could not take off.  We slept that night in the airport.  Caught a plane to Sarasota the next morning, after it being delayed again.  I showed up to the doorstep of my apartment in the same dress I had worn for a couple days, miles of grime.  A red and black striped thing that still pleases Nicolas to this day.  Hardly able to believe I was standing in front of my partner I didn't know how to touch him and soon we had to drive back up to Tampa to grab my bags, my mother's vehicle and grandparents who just got off of a flight from Alaska.