To the far north tip of the Isle of Skye lie the ruins of Duntulm Castle, late of Clan Macdonald, who, not unlike their Macdonald relatives did at Armadale Castle on Skye, punted on their castle in 1732 and built a glorified farmhouse out of its stones a few miles south. Seriously?
Dave the Busdriver tells us a local legend: the clan abandoned the castle after the infant son of a chieftain who lived there fell out of window while in the charge of a nursemaid, dashed on those rocks you see below. Sufficiently bad juju that they set the nursemaid adrift in the Atlantic sea in a tiny boat.
The Isle of Skye continues its artwork clouds, dramatic landscape, and green fields beneath a bright sun. No doubt it’d be just as dramatic beneath the gray clouds and rain. Onward we go.
Gothic pretention, ominous clouds finally forming overhead and drizzling lightly, making Scotland’s green pop brightly in the drizzly downpour. I’m cautious about posting YACIS (yet another cathedral in Scotland) because they are many and they are medieval, and frequently started by hermit monks with practices that make no sense, like total silence. What happens if you get an ouchie? Not even a peep? (thanks, Dave)
The cathedral at Dunkeld is not only the first wholly preserved cathedral we’ve seen–they still observe ceremony there–but it’s got the sarcophagus of the nutjob grandchild of Robert the Bruce; a fella they called the Wolf of Badenoch or the Celtic Atilla for his prodigious craziness in burning cathedrals to the ground and 40 illegitimate offspring by numerous different mothers. What a peach! For that he got a forever tomb in 1405 behind the altar at one of the more beautiful Gothic churches we’ve seen to date. Real true stories!
The Wallace Monument is a glorious 1869 architecture piece perched atop Abbey Craig near Stirling, Scotland, commemorating the life of one William Wallace, he of the blue faced Mel Gibson Braveheart war cries that represent such a fictionalization of what actually happened that our historian bus driver Dave represents the conflicted national pride the locals have of that movie: great for tourism and we love our Will; bummer Mel painted an elaborate deception that confuses the world about what really happened. But hey, it’s the movies!
In the net, it’s a gorgeous monument that works my wide shoulders and legs as I skinny up the turret to the open spire up top, with gorgeous pastoral views to the surrounding area. Who built this crazy stuff anyhow? Why is everyone sweating and breathing like snuffly hogs within the echoey sandstone?
The bus travels through the winding glen above Rannock More, on our way to Glencoe, where our driver cheerfully sits on a granite rock and tells us another tragedy in Scottish history, a rather horrific massacre in 1692. Let’s just say, invoking “highland Hospitality” would give these village folks more than a moment’s pause.
In any case, the Ice Age carved beautiful miracles here, grooved green slopes beneath the continuing blue skies. If you look closely you’ll see the triple tier waterfall midway up the slope, and the folks who live in that white house at the foothills near a creek at the end of a windy dirt road…wait, do I need to say more? It’s a fairytale land, so I’ll let it lie.
The bus drives on northward and we land near the Kelpies, a pair of 50 meter high giant stainless steel horses with rivets as big as canned hams and full of relentless silent judgment looking down upon us all. They went up in 2013, so they’re a new anomaly in a stunning land that cherishes its soot stained historic brick masonry. To my dismay so far, Scotland is enjoying an epic bout of summer sun; more blue sky than clouds this first week. I’m melting in it, while Dave the Bus Driver wears shorts instead of his kilt, and he and the other pale skin types turn lobster red, as we’d all prepared for gloom. It can change, so I’m hoping! Weather is all about timing; one lady said her daughter toured 2 weeks ago and they couldn’t see anything through the constant deluge. Dave says it’s been since June that they’ve actually seen anything close to this, and it’s supposed to be like this all week. Bah. My first world heat complaints fall on deaf deity ears.
This was a fierce traveling day, the 1st of 5 doing a bus tour of the Highlands, Isle of Sky, Inverness. The bus driver–a red bearded chain smoking witty fellow by the name of Dave–kept up an incessant combination of historical reference, random observations that popped into his head, and awful jokes punctuated by a wilting half laugh. A lovely guy, perfect for the international mix on our bus.
The picture of the day is our final destination, Oban, nestled in Oban Bay, one of many quaint towns that has a distinctly European feel, as we grabbed takeaway fish and chips from the self proclaimed “Best seafood in Scotland” and sat down on a bench by the water, nestling in what they told us is a rare respite from rain. The sun fell, the sky sang orange, and I fell willing victim once again to the greatest cliche in photography – the beautiful sunset. But Mein Gott, it was a bit of heaven and I cherished it. Til next time!
Day 1 – Edinburgh, Scotland
On our way here, we took 2 year old WOW Airlines, a low fare bargain airline based out of Iceland replete with lots and lots of purple that charges you for everything and STILL comes out hundreds of dollars cheaper than any other airline. As it turned out, as long as you fuel up in the US with water and snacks and food BEFORE you get on the plane, it’s truly a lovely flying experience…considerably better than any of the US domestic airline hell-on-earth service experiences. Everything at WOW is purple, filled with clever quotes, icy, beautiful blonde Icelandic flight attendants, and friendly service. The space for your legs is very good AND an electric plug beneath every seat *bonus*.
Anyhow…7.5 hrs SFO to Reykjavik, a 2 hr layover, then a fairly quick flight to Edinburgh. Took one of those wacky but efficient UK cabs with the fold down seats for 4, drive past lots of masonry stone houses and castle like structures and actual castles sooted with black streaks over centuries: Edinburgh feels old, venerable, but not rundown at all. Super exciting to see the castle perched up on the mountain off the Royal Mile.
Once my companions and I got settled in, I took out the camera rig and start snapping. A turn down a charming lane or two, and we come across this epic spire. Straight out of a Ken Follett novel – gorgeous!
One final note – to have a pint of stout in a UK style pub is to understand people who care a great deal about beer. When I asked why my Guinness extra cold on draft was taking so long, the bartender replied, “She’s resting. I canna pour you ’til she’s ready.” I shrunk back in my shoes, feeling like the proverbial ugly American. When he brought it out to me a bit later, it had bar none, the best malty head on it I’d ever tasted. Heaven in a glass. Resting, indeed.
Guinness on tap in Edinburgh is bar none, the best Guinness I’ve ever had.
Join me in the coming days on this photoblog for my trials and tribulations through this great and lovely country.
A Tangled Mind In Motion 