The bagpipe and drum CD playing during breakfast almost made me jump out of my chair and start marching around the table. Gail lifted one eyebrow, "Go ahead," she says. Fortified by my porridge and kippers, I threw on my pack and marched out to the car instead, the maddening tune playing over and over in my brain. We talked to the young couple from Kentucky again this morning. Turns out they are from Tennessee. Oops. Kentucky, Tennessee, Maine, Florida, Arizona... my apologies to middle America, or what we so affectionately call "Not California."
It is funny to listen to people answer the question, where are you from? We say "California" and everybody smiles and nods, even the shop keeper in Albania.
But people from other states?
"Where are you from?"
"Tennessee."
Blank stares.
"It's in the United States, in the middle."
Blank stares, maybe a polite smile.
"You know, Elvis Presley is from there?"
Then, a huge, knowing smile breaks out, and the people say, "ahhhh, Elvis! Yes, Tennessee, by Hollywood! California!!"
Exasperated looks on the faces of the Tennessee people, then another try, "United States, Tennessee, kind of near Florida or the east coast."
A thoughtful look, a nod of the head and, "But you go to California, yes?"
We are delayed on our way to Ft. William by a terrific head-on crash, on a curve in the narrow canyon. Hey, I recognize that car! That's the guy who passed us (though I myself was speeding) about ten miles back. Their car was spun around, slammed into the trees facing the wrong direction. These narrow roads are not for the faint hearted, and are really unforgiving. You just go when it's clear; drive patiently when you are behind a shy driver.
Though we have driven this road before in the rain, it is all new to us on the sunny, hot day. It is a scorching 24 degrees (that is 75F to you Celsius virgins) and we stop and hop out of the car for anything. War memorial, lake overlook, free WC... any excuse to get out.
On the cutoff to Ft. William, there is a pullout looking over Loch Garry. We stop for a photo, and there is, of course, the requisite bagpiper blowing his notes to the wind.
Along the loch, around a corner and the mighty Ben Nevis heaves into view, dark black with snow clinging to the cracks and summit.
At Ft. William I step out of the car and, by god, there is a bagpiper playing the old standard, "wa wa wa wah wah wah wa..." So I march over to the Park-N-Pay machine, drop in a pound and march back. We walk past The Church of Scotland (I have no idea what the COS is, but it's everywhere; guess I should google it.) and into the sturdy little town. The main street is closed to pedestrian only traffic, people are lounging about in the sun; An accordion player, thank god!
But no! He is playing bagpipe tunes.
A young fiddler stands down a block, scratching out off-tune bagpipe tunes.
A young blonde guitar player starts up with...
I cringe...
Breakfast at Tiffany's! Oh there is a god!
Further down I stop for a beef and horseradish takeaway; what happens is they takeaway my money and forget to serve me. I watch, drooling, as they slice the beef, roasting in nice, thick juices, serving sandwiches to the guy before me, the ladies after me, the people outside. She finally looks at me, "Help 'ya?"
Uh, yes, I'd like my sandwich. Roast beef and horseradish.
"Aye." And just before she cuts it for me, she dumps a litre of water in the nice, thick beef broth, cuts my slices and serves the now tasteless, dripping beef into a sorry soggy sandwich. I choked down two bites and dropped the rest in the trash. I sweartogod the food in the UK sucks.
Loch Linnhe runs right along the town, Ben Nevis is right there, so every other shop is an outdoor supplier. The others are all wool or whisky dealers, with pubs between. We pull in for a beer and sit out in the sun, drinking and watching Scotts go by.
Back on the road to Oban, I pull over to see Castle Stalker, on an island in Loch Laich. We arrive in Oban, follow great directions to the guesthouse we are staying at (one huge, well appointed room, we are the only guests) drop our stuff and walk down into the cute harbour town. It is still really warm and we are just basking in the sun. It seems crazy, but after all the rain, I am almost too hot. For the first time we are eating outside tonight, on the sidewalk down at the harbour at the Cuan Mor Restaurant. OK, I stand corrected, we ate outside the first night in London, before the rains. So here we sit, Gail us sketching the buildings behind me, I am looking around and writing a little, taking time out for a prawn cocktail and then later seared scallops from the Isle of Mull. Gail is having the local grilled salmon, and we ordered a whole bottle of French wine to celebrate our good luck. The sun is going down over the harbour and I am thinking that this just might be a memorable meal. The nice day, the sun, eating outside, good wine and food... yes, this is pretty sweet. I wonder if I'll remember it in a week?
We return to our room where I decide to "revisit" the Edradour single malt. Yup. Still good. Notes of vanilla I missed the first time.
Late note: Church of Scotland is a Presbyterian Church, founded by John Knox in 1560 when they broke from the Catholics. They claim 9% of the Scottish population as members. Huh. Lots of churches for so few people.
Late note #2: It turns out our host is famous! His name is Colin Campbell, and he has several albums on the wall of the dining room, and his CD is for sale. I didn't ask if they have downloads on the iTunes store. Anyway, they toured all over, performed in a famous theater in London (can't remember the name - too much scotch) but Frank Sinatra performed on the same stage, he was proud to point out. For a while they had a TV show which shot to number six in the ratings! But the really cool thing is, when he talks about it all, he takes off his glasses, his eyes light up and sparkle, and he becomes very animated. A dream life, now a fading memory except to him.
Late note #3: Andy what's his name won the tennis thing and it is a HUGE deal here. They are talking Knighthood.
Late note #4: To get this story you need to know two facts. First, European bathrooms are pretty small, tight by US standards. Second, a lot of bathrooms in colder places (mountains in Italy, Switzerland, Scotland) have towel warmers. They pipe hot water into these floor to ceiling towel racks, so you have a warm towel upon exiting the shower. So, this morning I dropped something on the bathroom floor, and when I bent to pick it up I backed into the towel rack and branded my butt. It still hurts to sit. Great, burned my butt in Scotland.