Thanks for reading along.
Next trip: ?
|
|
Yes it is.
The photos for the entire trip have been updated and posted, links to hotels and some attractions added, and the corrections made to the blog posts. Look back by choosing the country from the CATEGORIES list ----------------------> or simply click the button below to start back at the beginning. Thanks for reading along. Next trip: ?
0 Comments
Haste ye back, Nessie! This is what happens after five wee drams of Scotch.
HASTE YE BACK. This is the sign you see as you drive out of many Scottish villages. Out of the whole UK, I think Scotland was the place I liked best. Our luck with the weather really turned when we got to Scotland. If I didn't know better, I'd be thinking it is the warmest, sunniest part of the UK. The people have this tough quality about them I really like, and yet they are gracious hosts. The scenery was beautiful, sometimes dramatic in the mountains, peaceful in the deep fir forests and lakes. The best food overall so far has been here (but that is still not saying much). All that said, I am not going to return because the way I figure it, I have only so many travel days left in my lifetime. A set number of hikes to take, bottles of wine to drink and meals to consume, and I would rather be wearing my legs out walking in the Dolomites, filling my quota of glasses with good, cheap French wine, using my lifetime calorie count up with great Italian food, and spending my few dollars seeing other places. Scotland, and the UK, has been interesting and fun, but not so much to return again. For me, once is enough. And before you get on my case about Northern Ireland being part of the UK also, I know it is. It is just easier, for mobile writing purposes, to lump all of Ireland together now as we travel. Well, we are off to Ireland where we hope to see real live Leprechauns, eat Lucky Charms every day, see the Irish Spring soap factory, and drink lots of Irish Whiskey with an "e. 10 July 2013 This morning at breakfast, we struck up a conversation with the two Norwegians next to us. One now lives in Sweden, he is the talkative one. His friend now lives in Northern Iceland. Icelandic guy is bent over, head almost on the table, holding his coffee cup like a life saver thrown to a man drowning in whisky. "So, did you spend yesterday tasting whisky?" I asked. He cracks one eye open. "Yup." The conversation off to a smooth start, I ask where in Iceland does he live, and he fills us in on life in north central Iceland. "We are the capital of the north, with 16,000 residents, so we have everything, you know, a university, ... but there is one thing I really miss that they have in Reyjkavik... KFC." Gail and couldn't help it, we burst out laughing, and the discussion soon turned to Starbucks; the Norwegians puzzled by the popularity of bad coffee. Their plans for today: they are very excited to spend the day at Laphroig. The whole day. All. Day. Drinking. At this part of the conversation the Icelander threw off his hangover, the sparkle entered his eye, and they were making excited plans. Mary, eyes twinkling under her red hair, brought my full Scottish breakfast and looked at Gail eating her cereal, yogurt and banana and asked sweetly, "Aren't you going to eat any breakfast, dearie?" I ducked, trying not to laugh: Gail was eating a big breakfast! We left Islay in heavy fog. The CalMac ferry was even better than the last one, with a huge casino type light fixture in the bistro area, comfortable coffee shop, full restaurant on the fifth deck, a glassed in children's play area, an adults' play area (slot machines), gift store, a quiet lounge, lots of seating nooks, a sixth floor observation deck, elevators, and showers, actual showers in the bathrooms. It was fun to just wander around the ship looking at everything. Just yesterday everyone was out on deck sunning themselves, today everyone is inside huddled over coffee or whisky (Some of these people are hard core!); the wake disappears about 100 yards behind the ship, all the islands are invisible. We drive off the ferry, into the sun, head back the way we came, then turn off to Inveraray. Quick break in this town to see the waterfront and different buildings, then we are back on the road to Glasgow. A news report on BBC tells of a mom who had her baby while trapped on an elevator. She named the girl Ella, of course. We got to Glasgow, checked into our hotel, and were dropping the key off in the lobby when we ran into Rick Steves. It is nice to see he really does stay in the places he recommends. "This is next year's guidebook," he said, holding up a notebook. We asked, and he graciously posed for a photo with us before we started off into the city. We were just like tongue tied groupies with a star. We ate dinner al fresco at Amarone, in Nelson Mandela Place (square). Gail got a salad and a pizza with tomato, lettice and parmesan; I ended up eating most of it. I got a great Italian sausage pasta. Bonus: good wine! A Primitivo from Puglia. The wine popped, and the waitress said, "It's a very satisfying sound." Some guy around the corner provided dinner music, beating on bongo drums. At least he is not playing bagpipe tunes! Our waiter spent two years in the US, Kansas of all places, on a soccer scholarship. One of his teammates still plays for the Wizards. All in all a very good meal. After dinner we walked over to George Square, and then down to the river. Glasgow seems to me the most "European" city we have been in so far this trip. It is a combination of the architecture, the people and the dining outdoors. Where Edinburgh was more grey block and stern, Glasgow is red sandstone, more ornate, warm, interspersed with modern buildings and classic Roman or Greek lines. The population seems younger, but that is just my impression. There is a lot less emphasis on tartan and whisky and bagpipes, thank god. We sat on the steps of a store and watched life go by: A toothless clarinet player, playing with such feeling, so much tone; I have no change so tell him that sure sounded so smooth. He asks where we are from, and breaks into The Star Spangled Banner (jazzy, big band version). I notice a surprising number of drunks out by 21:00. I don't want to be famous enough to have a statue, for two reasons: first, pigeons sit and shit on your head for centuries, and second, people do funny things to you, like putting a cone on your head. Kids on bikes jumping and doing tricks, just like at home. A man walks by and says hi, so we both say hi before we realize he is on his cell. The double decker busses here are white. A homeless man is taking out his change of clothes and setting up his sleeping bag in front of an abandoned storefront. The street performer in the next storefront over, with great acoustics, "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone." Two girls, lovers, stroll arm in arm past a couple making out in the alley. The grey girl: grey hair, grey tight pants, grey sequined top, listening to her iPod, oblivious. Two huge new backpacks sitting side by side on a bench, in front of the co-op, their owners sprawled out on the facing bench drinking a cold beer and eating chips for dinner; backpacking through Europe. I wonder: will they hostel or sleep in the park? I wonder how the Norwegians are doing after a day of drinking? Thus ended our last day in Scotland. 9 July 2013 We left Oban early to catch the 9:45 ferry from Kennicraig to Islay. It was only about 60 miles if that, but the road is so twisty it takes us 1.5 hours to get to the port. Along the way we saw two red deer stags, almost the size of the coastal elk in California. The road goes around still lakes and ocean inlets, through fir forests, with high hills on all sides. We are on the state subsidized Caledonian MacBrayne ferry (CalMac) which is the only lifeline to these outer Hebrideas Islands. There are trucks full of all the supplies for the islanders, and a handful of cars scattered among them. The ferry has five decks, plus the captain's steering area (bridge?) above all that. There is a full restaurant lounge, a café bistro lounge (I am there now, drinking a cappuccino and writing before heading out on deck to look for whales), a sitting and kids' play area, a luxury recliner chair lounge, a TV area, and then five different seating areas outside. This is a big ship. This is a great way to travel. It is a 2.5 hour crossing to Islay; we should arrive in time to drop off Buddy and walk to the Ardbeg Distillery for the 14:00 tasting. Ot is a special tasting, every Tuesday, and you get to taste ten, twenty, thirty and forty year old single malt. This is why we came to Islay. After that we plan to walk the three miles back to town, stopping at two other distilleries along the way: Lagavulin and then Laphroaig. So we passed the slow hours sitting out on the deck of the ship, soaking up the sun with the Scotts. Everyone was putting on shorts, flip flops, unbuttoning shirts and taking off sweaters, for this is Scotland after all, and we all started dressed for a storm. I kicked off my shoes, reading, barefoot and shirt half opened, lulled into laziness by the throbbing of the engines. I looked up to see the return ferry passing on our left; small islands floated by, some with lighthouses; a whale came to the surface and hung there a while; birds bobbing up and down in our wake; the sky blue and cloudless, fading to sliver where it met the light blue water. We are just really lucky to have this weather for the crossing, and I have great hopes for today on the island. I finished my fourth book, The Yellow Birds, a powerful book about the war in Iraq, by Kevin Powers. Now I am on to a brilliantly funny book by David Sedaris, Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim. Coming to Islay I could see the three distilleries right down on the shore as we passed, their names painted in huge black letters on the white sheds. Well, we disembarked the ship and it was one minute to our B&B. Port Ellen is a very small town. Two restaurants, a small Spar (7-11), one grocery co-op, and of all the crazy things, one Baptist church. Think about it. The big business on Islay is whisky. Who on the world attends a Baptist church on an island where everybody works for the distilleries? We talked with our hostess, Mary, then headed out three miles to Ardbeg. Ardbeg. Up till now my favorite single malt. Well, all the tours were full for today. Not just the special decades tasting, but all the tours. I explained we had come from California, made a special trip here just for this (about sixty miles out of our way, plus the ferry and B&B costs) and besides, as a loyal Arbeg buyer and committee member, not to mention I had emailed them back in March when I set this part of the trip up... Fowkin' MARCH and they hadn't replied, not to mention the email I sent last week... and the tours are all full? I asked to speak to the supervisor, and waited a half hour just to be told by the same kid at the register that nothing could be done. Well, I have to tell you I was NOT happy. You know how there are those things you set up or plan, and then anticipate doing? This was one of those things. Suddenly I am not so much of an Ardbeg fan. What to do? So we headed back down the road to Laphroaig (say Lah froig) where we were welcomed with open arms, and free tastings of five of their whiskies. Free. Really. They also had a special food and whisky pairing at 15:30, would we like to attend? (Yes, duh!) And, by the way, here is a free (mini size) bottle of our most popular, ten year old scotch... All this and we had just wandered in. OK, so I wanted to compare others to Ardbeg, and suddenly I was quickly becoming a fan. We signed up for the food tasting, and went up the road to Lagavulin. Another warm welcome, and sure, they have a 17:30 tour. So we zipped back to our guesthouse, made a 19:30 reservation at one of the restaurants, dropped Buddy off and hitched a ride back out to Laphroaig with Mary. We started with a ten year old Original Cask Strength whisky. It tasted powerful, smoke and peat, with a bite at end. Then we tried Triple Wood, which is aged in three different casks. It is full flavored, smooth, with no bite and slight smoke and peat flavor. We walked into a private tasting room with two other people and our whisky guide. We started with the standard, ten year old whisky, paired with stilton (blue) cheese. That was an amazing taste combination. Gail, who is really not a scotch or strong cheese fan, loved it. The next pairing was the Half Cask, small barrel mix of 5-11 year old whisky, with an orange slice. Neither of us liked this at all, not straight or with the orange. Finally, we tried an 18 year old paired with good dark dark chocolate. That was pretty good, but the ten year with blue cheese was best. We walked a mile up to Lagavulin where we took the tour. We got to eat some malted barley, and taste the wort out of the yeast barrel. After the tour we tried Distiller Edition Double Cask, the "sweety and peaty" whisky, and the Standard sixteen year bottle. Both were too harsh for us, though they were better cut with water. It's a two mile walk back to Port Ellen, but it was a warm evening. We both agreed that the Edradour whisky from the small distillery we visited A couple days ago was best, but that Laphroaig made today into a fun day anyway. That blue cheese idea is worth exploring when we get home. As we come into town we walk past the elementary school; the design looks just like a distillery, of course. It is the equivalent of a K-8 school in the states. Mary wanted to further her education, so she had to go live in Oban and attend high school there, coming home only on holidays. Many of the townspeople only attend through eighth grade, then go to work. We had a really nice, slow dinner at The Islay Hotel. Gail ordered sea trout, which came with an interesting and delicious potato that was layered with cheese. I had the special seafood medley, which included lobster, oyster, fresh sweet scallops, langoustine and haddock... and, of course, a generous chunk of Gail's sea trout! We walked out of the restaurant about two and a half hours later and into the cold, foggy night. 8 July 2013 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. |
I have switched my recent travels to InstaGram, simply because it is easier to post photos and videos.
Click the button below to follow. Archives
January 2024
Categories
All
AuthorThis is me, at home in Northern California. like the photos?
Please credit me, and link to my website. please note:
This website is best viewed on a desktop or laptop computer. |