“This is a city of shifting light, of
changing skies, of sudden vistas. A city so beautiful it breaks the heart again
and again.”
-- Alexander
McCall Smith, 2006
For our second
day in Edinburgh, we had booked spots on The Hairy Coo highlands tour, which is
an all-day tour of the sights and towns in the Highlands. The tour is tip
based, meaning it is essentially free then you tip whatever you feel like
they’ve earned when you get back to the city at the end of the day, whether
it’s five pounds or 40.
A dusting of
sticky snow had fallen throughout our first night there and had transformed the
city, leaving the buildings and streets of Edinburg frosted white. We set out
from our hostel at eight in the morning and wandered slowly through streets that
were still nearly deserted, sleepily enjoying early morning Edinburgh before a bright
orange bus came into view; a spot of color on an otherwise colorless street.
Russell, our
guide for the day, stood beside the bus stamping his feet and rubbing his hands
together. He was tall but stooped slightly, as if he were quietly apologizing
for his height, and looked to be in his mid to late 20’s. His hair, which had a
sort of shaggy curl to it, just brushed his brilliant orange shirt collar and
he wore a blue and green checked kilt, which I imagine did not help with the
cold. Despite the chill weather and the prospect of driving a small bus full of
strangers around frozen roads in the Scottish highlands for the next 10-12
hours though, he smiled warmly as he checked us in and recommended we grab a
cuppa to go from the café next to the bus before we set off.
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| Our tour route |
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| The stops on our route in the order we visited them |
Ten minutes
later, holding large cups of steaming tea and Scottish pastries, we boarded the
bus and took the two remaining available seats. We had to separate since the
bus was nearly full, so Maggie took a place near the back and I took a seat in
the front row. We contented ourselves with making faces at each other from
opposite ends of the bus since we couldn’t talk, and alternated between
sympathetic faces and ridiculous ones, much to the annoyance of some of the
passengers between us.
Russell started
the bus and we trundled through Edinburgh before breaking away from the city
into a countryside that was thickly coated with frost and blanketed by a chill
winter mist. He kept a running commentary going, introducing himself and
briefly outlining the locations we would visit and the accompanying Scottish
history. He had majored in Scottish politics and loved all things Scotland,
particularly history, and had been leading tours in Scotland for several years.
The Fourth Bridge
The countryside
was beautiful and the snow, almost entirely untouched, made it seem more like a
painting than a scene from real life. Before long we were pulling into a
parking lot that looks out on the famous Forth Bridge and the Firth of the
Forth below. The bridge is a railroad bridge that opened in 1890 and remains
one of the most famous landmarks in Scotland.
The bridge
requires almost constant maintenance, and it is said that it was painted every
day since it was opened because once the paint job was finished and the
painters reached the end of the bridge, they had to immediately start again on
the other side. This gave rise to the colloquial expression in Scotland
“painting the forth bridge,” which means one is doing a never-ending task. The
painters had recently completed a paint job using a new type of paint though,
epoxy glass plate paint, which would last for 20 years, meaning the phrase had
been rendered ironic a few days before we arrived.
The Fourth Road
bridge is an automobile bridge that was opened much later in 1964, and can be
seen crossing the same Firth several hundred feet away. A small village crawls out
into the ocean at the entrance to the Forth Road Bridge, spilling past the wall
that runs next to the river and out onto a small outcrop of land. The mist had
cleared a bit over the river, but the snow had thickly dusted the buildings
that were visible on either bank, and the cold bit at our fingers and noses as
we took photos of the firth.
“Quick, let’s
get back on the bus! I’m taking that dude’s seat, I don’t even care,” Maggie
whispered after we had gotten our fill of photos but just before our fellow
tour-goers had.
“But I feel
bad!” I hissed back as we hurried back toward the bright orange bus.
“Would you
rather come sit in the back where I was?” she asked, most likely knowing what
my answer would be.
“Hell no - your
view looked like it sucked,” I said, giving in to her plan. “That dude can move
to the back if he doesn’t beat us to the bus.”
Five minutes
later, the rest of the group slowly trickled back on, taking their original
seats as people always do in these situations. The man that had been sitting
next to me hesitated slightly but didn’t seem incredibly bothered. Of course
maybe it was his English politeness that stopped him from tutting at the usurpation
of his seat.
We settled back
into our seats, pleased to be out of the wind and sitting together as Russell
pulled the little orange van out of the lot and continued on to Stirling.
Wallace Monument
The National
Wallace Monument was completed in 1869 on top of Abbey Craig near Stirling,
which, as Russell explained, is one of the most important strategic cities in
Scotland. Its position makes it the “gateway to the highlands,” and it was the
site of several major battles fought by Wallace and Robert the Bruce during the
War of Scottish Independence. The monument at the top of the Craig is an
elaborate, sandstone tower that rises 220 feet high and looks out over the
scene where William Wallace won the Battle of Stirling Bridge, turning the tide
in the First War for Scottish Independence against high odds. 
On the day we
visited, the hill and tower were hidden in a cloud. There is a short hike up steep
switchbacks on the monument trail, and as we were one of the first groups to
visit that day, there was still a blanket of snow covering the craig and hiding
the path.
It sounds a bit
slippery doesn’t it? It was. But, by adopting a shuffling trot that looked 100%
ridiculous, I managed to be one of the only members of our group who did not
leave with a brand new butt bruise. Maggie did videotape my trip up and down
the hill, either with hopes that I would fall or so that she could poke fun at
my trot later. Either way, I was incredibly pleased to have kept on my feet,
and no I will not be posting the video.
Statues of
Wallace stared sternly down at us from several points on the monument and giant
stone thistles rose in braided circles, all visible to varying degrees through
the mist. The view from the craig was pretty much fog, but the cold was
invigorating and the mist-shrouded monument seemed to whisper of a history much
older and prouder than most I had previously encountered, so I very much enjoyed
the monument.
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| What our view should have included from the craig... |
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| What our view actually included from the craig |
Doune Castle
Doune Castle, a
medieval stronghold that was damaged in the wars for independence, had been rebuilt
as the current structure at some point in the 14th century. In a
country dotted with as many castles as the UK is, the residents aren’t as
keenly impressed with each towering structure as we Americans tend to be.
Rather than the stuff of legends, castles are merely the stuff down the road
for many British people.
This castle had
something special to boast about though since it had been used as the filming
location for more than one of the castles in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
It was the castle at the beginning where the French men threw insults at King
Arthur, the castle in the scene where the Knights of the Round Table sing and
dance, the castle in the wedding scene and in several other scenes. Only one
other castle was used in the movie to represent “Castle Aaaaarrrrrggghhh” at
the end.
Like the rest of
the highlands, the castle was blanketed in snow. We stomped around all four
sides to get the entire effect and remember the movie. A nearly frozen stream
and frosted farmland behind the castle made the scene feel timeless, and then
we were pulled back into the 21st century with a trip to the inner
courtyard and the gift shop before running back to the bus.
Callander, UK
We stopped in
the small highland town of Callander for lunch, and Russell made several
suggestions for which restaurants we should visit, including stopping by Mhor
for a steak and haggis pie for those of us who were feeling particularly
Scottish.
I bet you can
guess what Maggie and I ate.
We walked up one
side of the high street and down the other before settling in at Mhor
Restaurant and Tea Room, which was situated in an enchantingly old building.
The dining area was split into a restaurant dining room and a tearoom/bakery.
Naturally we gravitated towards the second, wasting no time in getting a hot
cup of tea and something sweet while we waited for our steak and haggis pies.
The town was
much like many other small towns throughout the UK: very old, full of charm and
cobblestones and a hodgepodge of old buildings made from stones so worn that
the buildings seem to blend in with the wilderness around them. Blue sky was
just starting to peek through the cloud layer and the mist had melted almost
completely, allowing the town and the surrounding hills to be bathed in an
enchanting mid-morning light. It’s exactly the kind of town I could see myself living
some day.
Loch Katrine
Loch Katrine, the
setting for Sir Walter Scott’s fictional poem The Lady of the Lake, is a large loch nestled in the hills of the
Scottish highlands. In winter, the small islands in the lake and the banks all
around are frosted with snow but the bare trees are covered in green lichen and
the bushes keep their small green leaves. Even in the middle of winter,
Scotland is still stubbornly and unyieldingly green.
Russell led us along
the path around the lake, drifting between each of us to help take photos and
ask a few questions about our lives. We didn’t meet anyone else along the path,
and the lake was mostly still and glass-like, reflecting the half blue sky and
trees above it.
As the rest of
the group members and I were looking at the idyllic loch and the island in it,
Maggie was apparently staring the other direction because she bounced off the
path and gleefully ordered me to take her photo in front of an old, knobby
tree, which then started a new trend. Once we were finished a majority of the
other group members followed suite and queued to pose beside the same tree
while Maggie and I moved on to dignified jumping photos in front of the loch.
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| Maggie doesn't jump. She levitates. |
Highland Cows
Our final stop
was usually the most popular, Russell pointed out somewhat grudgingly, which
confused me at first because I hadn’t been paying attention to what the last
stop actually was. Maggie and I had been torn between staring lazily out of the
window and taking photos of ourselves in the rearview mirror while seeing who
could make a better hair moustache.
Once Russell
pulled up in front of a fenced off field and I looked out of the window to see
a dozen or more of the coolest looking highland cows trotting eagerly towards
the fence to say hello, I understood his statement.
“I’ve taken
people on month-long hiking tours of the highland, we’ve camped at the most
historic places in northern Scotland and seen some truly amazing sights, but
they only start to squeal and take a thousand photos when we come over that
last hill and see these cows,” He said. “All of Scotland and people just want
to see cows. Well, anyway, watch out for the horns. I don’t want anyone getting
gored…”
Once the safety
instructions were over, we climbed out of the bus and approached the fence.
Russell led the way and gave an affectionate pat to a cow that lowed at him in
recognition, or possibly because it wanted a piece of bread from the loaves in
his hand.
We all spread
out along the fence, avoiding the big cows’ tongues as they tried to lick our
hands and faces and trying to reach the baby cows who were cuddled up against
their moms.
They were
entirely adorable, but I have to say after almost getting gored (Yes, fine, I
had been warned, shut up.) that the historical sites scored slightly higher on
my list.
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| This photo was taken immediately after the cow swung its head unexpectedly, nearly goring my face. |
Elephant House
After returning
and giving Russell all of the money in our wallets, Maggie and I sheepishly
returned to the Elephant House yet again for dinner and a pot of hot tea,
which, incidentally, was the perfect end to our day. Nothing revives the soul
like tea.
Other Pictures
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| I see what you did there. |
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| Being an art major, Maggie is ever ready to create art when she sees an open pedestal. |
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| "Megan, take my photo!" "Okay...why were you standing like that?" "Because I was holding the castle!" "Oh whoops - do it again, I totally didn't get that the first time..." |
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| "Better?" "Much. Why would I just stand like that? What's wrong with you?" |
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| "Maggie, I want one!" |
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| So unicorns do exist... |
I love milk. I
always have. If I had to pick one beverage to drink for the rest of my life, I
would pick milk.
When I’m at
home, I go through about a gallon of milk on my own each week in my tea, in my
cereal, but mostly just in a glass. When I was in the UK though and ordered
plane milk or drank a glass of milk, most people commented. “What are you
drinking? Why are you drinking that?
Why isn’t there tea in your milk?” I don’t think I saw a single adult drinking
milk in London apart from myself.
The aversion to drinking
milk only seemed to grow as I travelled east. The weirdest reaction I got was
in Bulgaria. After convincing waiters that, yes, I did just want plain milk,
they served it to me with sugar packets.
London-isms
Tosser - Idiot (i.e. “He’s a complete Tosser.”)
Chuffed - Proud, pleased
Gutted - Devastated (this isn’t always used
incredibly seriously. i.e. “I was gutted that Liverpool lost last night!”)
Blimey! - Goodness! (i.e. “Blimey, that was fast!”)
Lost the Plot - gone crazy
Hoover - Vacuum
Sorted - Arranged
Dodgy - Sketchy, suspicious
Tad - A little bit (i.e. “It’s a tad nippy today.”)
Nutter - A crazy person
Knackered - Worn out, exhausted
Nicked - Stolen
Nosh - Food
Zed - Z
