Return to Inverness

Two years ago, when Kimberly and I arrived in Scotland, we fell off the train in Inverness. It was the first stop on our tour of Scotland. Everything was new. New country, new city, new adventure! Of all the places we went in Scotland after we left Inverness, none could compare with the amazingly lovely time we had here.

When David and I arrived in Inverness, it was getting late. We had been on a ferry and a train since 11:00, and we didn’t arrive at our B&B until almost 21:00 that night. We’ve travelled further, but only across an ocean. It was dark, and to arrive back at the same B&B I left two years earlier, we were working from an incomplete map and my vague memories of how to get there.

The next morning, while David stayed in to get some alone time and catch up on sleep, I went out to try and refresh the memories of how to get around. It is the same town. I remembered many places we walked, stores we visited, restaurants, photo opportunities, the streets and even Galbraith Parking Lot. Why I remember it, I do not know, (it is, indeed, a parking place for someone’s vehicles, not even at a store). But as soon as I walked past it yesterday, I knew I was on the right street. I found the castle, the tourist information centre, the cheesy tourist shops. After a couple hours, satisfied that I could still navigate the city, I went back to get David.

We ate a late lunch at an Italian restaurant I wish Kimberly and I had known about. Then we wandered around, getting to to know more of Inverness in the evening.

All the while, I felt something was missing. Inverness is equally as charming, the river equally as beautiful, the shopkeepers equally as friendly, as it was two years ago. I have dreamed about coming back to Inverness since I left. What could it be?

Then I realised: it is not new. The feeling of new adventures and exploration is not here. Two years ago, I was seeing it for the first time. David and I arrived in Aberdeen and in Orkney, the newness was with us. Here, though, I am rediscovering. Inverness is not home, so I am still unsure where things are. I am still lost all of the time. I still don’t know where to buy groceries. But, since I have been here before, I have a nagging feeling that I should know all this (which is unreasonable, since we were only here three days in 2009 -- not long enough or recent enough to answer the demands my brain is putting on my memory).

Inverness is beautiful town on the River Ness. With 100,000 residents, and the largest shopping area in the whole of the Highlands, I should call it a city, but it has such a smaller feel to it. We spent today out of town at the ruins of Urquhart Castle, but will be back to continue exploring Inverness tomorrow. or Tuesday. In a couple days, I expect Inverness will be again, the city I loved from two years ago. Only this time, I expect it will be even better, as it will feel just a little more like home.

September 20: Outings

In addition to food food, we were shown great hospitality. Yesterday, Malcolm and Stuart, along with Malcolm’s dog Sam, drove us out to Scapa Flow. A large harbour in between the Orkney islands, it was used as a base for the royal navy in the early twentieth century.

Near Kirkwall is a beach where Stuart takes his metal detector and goes treasure hunting. We hiked along a cliff near the bay, then down a trail to the shore then decided to walk back along the shore. Until we ran out of shore. We could turn around and go back. It was no more than an extra mile out of way. But, as is the way of things, we decided to keep going. Across the slippery seaweed, onto a small ledge of rock, and across to climb the rock wall back to the trail on the cliff.

Whew! We made it.

Today Malcolm drove us -- and Sam -- to see the barriers and the “Italian Chapel” built by Italian POWs, during WWII, in their spare time. What spare time did they have? Most of their time was spent building “Churchill’s Barrier”, rock wall (cement block walls) in between the islands surrounding Scapa Flow. A massive project, and one I cannot even imagine the work that went into it. Dropping cement blocks into the ocean, where the current might catch the block and drag it seventy feet from where you put it. And at night, or on Sunday mornings, scrounging leftovers or garbage, begging or trading for materials to create a chapel. Photos of it will be on Flickr soon. It is a metal shed, painted like a Cathedral, and with handmade wrought iron gates and a stone baptismal font. It is even more amazing than the Barricades.

We continued on along the coast until we came to the Tomb of the Eagles. In the 1950s, a farmer discovered on his land a Neolithic tomb and a bronze age building. Today they are a heritage site, but still on the family’s land. The family runs tours of the area. The tomb is so named for the eagle talons found buried in the tomb. Several bodies were also found in the tomb, along with tools, ornaments, and pottery. The tomb is around 5,000 years old.

Such wonders! The oldest of the old -- my favourite things to study. Many things found in the tomb we can only imagine what they were used for. A stone cube, for example. Black stone, smooth, rounded edges, about five inches on a side. Small indents on four of the sides. It remains a mystery.

In between exploring the perimeter of Scapa Flow, we visited the Orkney Wireless Museum, where David taught me about Crystal Radios, transistors, and where I beat him playing Pong. We read the log of Gunther Priest, a U-Boat captain who snuck into the harbour and sank the HMS Royal Oak. It was this action which caused the building of the barriers already mentioned, built by POWs.

One of two places I wanted to make sure I visited on this Orkney trip is Scotland’s northernmost distillery: Highland Park (The other place is a well-preserved Stone Age village called Skara Brae. We’ll get there on Thursday). The distillery opened (legally) in 1798, and early drawings of the site show not much has changed since then. It has expanded, though not in a jarring way. It is still a small/medium distillery by Scottish standards, and it blends the two well-known tastes of whisky in a compromise most people can agree on.

Many island distilleries, most notably, on Islay, add peat smoke to their production, making the resulting whisky taste like campfire. The north-eastern area of mainland Scotland called Speyside makes a much lighter, and often much sweeter whisky. Highland Park takes some peat and some sweetness, making a perfect mix of the two regions. It is not my number one favourite of the whiskies, but it is a close second (more on the number one favourite next week when we visit that distillery).

As this entry is already longer than all the others by half,I will close for now. The past two days have been very busy, and without internet. The next couple days will slow down again, and perhaps will give you time to catch up on all this reading!

September 20: Seafood for Breakfast?

Lobster for breakfast? It seems decadent, even unreasonable, to be eating lobster for breakfast, yet there we sat with scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, and lobster surrounded by sweet tomatoes plucked that morning from the garden. Come to think of it, the lobster had been pulled out of the ocean only the night before, also.

At Eastbank House B&B, our host was Malcolm, and the chef Stuart. Stuart works on fishing boats at night, and cooked for us in the morning. Monday we woke to freshly caught haddock, sautéed in butter, served with a poached egg. That was good, and a local dish. However, last night, Stuart was out catching lobsters. Most of them get shipped off to fancy places in London, but any that look as if they won’t survive the trip to London get to stay right here in Orkney. It was delicious. The salmon, also, came from Orkney. Thinly sliced, and lightly smoked -- it melted in the mouth, just the way salmon should.

Although I have had many delicious breakfasts, and many strange combinations of food early in the morning, I have never had a breakfast so delightful. I probably never will again.

September 18: Ferry

Anyone who has known me long enough to be with me on a bridge knows that I am not a fan of water. The way most people would describe my feelings toward water include the words “phobia” or “paranoia.” I beg to differ, as I tend to reserve those words for my feelings towards bees and wasps.

It is true that I do not like swimming. I have failed beginner swim lessons more times than I care to remember. It is also true that I do not like aquariums, especially those tunnels in which fish swim above my head. I do not even like bridges which have holes in the floor and I can see the water under me. Admittedly, now that I write it out, those characteristics all reek of phobia.

In spite of all that, I love boats. My dream is to take a transatlantic cruise, or even an around-the-world cruise. David and I contemplated taking a cargo ship to Scotland, but the price was twice what it was to fly, and I thought flying was too expensive. Even waiting for last minute deals on cruise ships proved to be only beneficial for people sailing in October.

Perhaps it sounds crazy -- even crazier than merely being scared of drowning. But, for some reason, boats are not included in this phobia.

Because I do not get the opportunity to travel by boat very often, when I have the chance, I travel by ferry. This morning, we said good-bye to beautiful Aberdeenshire, and boarded the ferry for the northern isles of Orkney. It is a six hour journey up the coast of Scotland. The “ferry” is huge, having cabins for the longer journey to Shetland. Several restaurants and lounges occupy the same level as us. We are confined to level six, as level five is only cabins. Below that, I am assuming, are the automobiles and luggage and such.

The lobby where we entered is all wood panelling and glass chandeliers. I imagine we are travelling in the twenties, in the heyday of the transatlantic passage. I expect to run into Bertie Wooster anytime I turn the corner. But, as this is a ferry, not a grand Transatlantic Adventure, I suppose I won’t run into Wooster, Jeeves, or even Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie.

We are out to sea now, the coast just visible to our west. The gentle roll is enough to put me to sleep, except I am in a chair, and am too excited to sleep anyway. There is enough to do just watching out the window.

September 17, 2011: Haggis and Other Scottish Foods

This morning for breakfast our hosts, in their hospitality, made sure we were able to try two Scottish dishes. They specially prepared two small portions for us to sample. On the plate were two rounds, like sausage patties. One a dark brownish-red: black pudding. The other a mottled light brown, looking much more like a sausage does indeed look: haggis.

I didn’t expect haggis to come pressed in a tube like Bob Evans. Why not? It is, like American breakfast sausage, ground-up animal insides, with added spices and a bit of oatmeal for filler. Of course, traditionally, it is cooked inside a cow’s stomach, which made me think we would be getting something that looked more like stuffing from inside a turkey.

And the results?

Haggis tastes like sausage. The oatmeal added a bit of texture that I did not like, but the taste, while different than Bob Evans, still reminds me of breakfast with eggs. I am not a fan of breakfast sausage, so I may be biased against haggis. Yet, it is all right. I may try it again, just to see the regional differences, but I do not foresee myself pining for it once we return home.

Black pudding, on the other hand, I have tried before. To be fair, I gave it another shot, but I still do not like it. It is a heavy food with a crumbly, meaty texture. The taste is difficult to describe, for if you have never eaten blutwurst in Germany or partaken of foods which include blood in their ingredients, then....there is nothing to which I can compare it.

I suppose I should not leave you with a bad impression of Scottish foods. Stereotypes and Hollywood do that enough as it is. If you are ever in Northeast Scotland (and are not allergic to fish or milk), try the Cullen Skink. It is a soup made with fresh Haddock. If you can see the ocean anywhere in the town, chances are, the Haddock came straight out of the water that morning. The soup is reminiscent of clam chowder, only better. I only say better because I am from Iowa, and the clam chowder, or at least the clams, would have come straight from the can. Here, though, eat the soup.

Week One: Aberdeenshire

Day four. (That was Wednesday -- I am behind in posting, though I write a little everyday). Don’t worry, though, I won’t be counting all the days of the trip; I’ll lose count around day eight or so. For now though, we are enjoying the beauty of Abderdeenshire. In the middle of farmlands, in the area called Buchan, is a 130-year old farmhouse owned by Beverly and Alan. They have made it their mission to make sure David and I are taken care of. I am sure they are as hospitable with everyone, but they treat us as if we are their only guests.

Yesterday. Alan drove us to the local bus hub of Peterhead. From there we caught a bus to Cruden Bay and Slains Castle, the inspiration for Stoker’s Dracula. Overlooking the ocean, Slains Castle is now a ruin, although some would say it was ruined 200 years ago when major renovations all but destroyed the original 16th century structure. Bram Stoker frequently spent his vacations in Cruden Bay, finding inspiration, not only for Dracula, but other writings as well.

The cliffs, overlooking the North Sea, are both gorgeous and treacherous. David had no fear, traipsing straight to the edge and photographing the Bullers of Buchan -- rock formations jutting out from the cliff walls. I stayed firmly on terra firma, watching the waves from a safe distance. The weather was in our favour yesterday, staying sunny and even warm clear up until evening.

Thursday, however, was not so warm. Today has been chilly and rainy, as we imagined Scotland would be this time of year. We spent the day in nearby Mintlaw, which means not that doctors were once required by law to only prescribe peppermint for ailments. No, “Mintlaw” is Gaelic for “flat place.” The draw is a place called Aden Park, with a farmhouse museum, replica of a farmhouse, ruins of many historic buildings and easy walking trails through the woods.

As the internet is slow in our B&B (the only inconvenience in an otherwise fabulous place), I have only uploaded two photos to flicker thus far. When we are somewhere with faster internet, I’ll put more on, and will be able to mess about getting them straight to my blog. In order to save time on an already slow connection, today is just text. Again. Sorry! Until I can get things on the same page here is where to go: www.flickr.com/photos/stsebald

September 1: The Trip Begins

The trip began on Monday with a thunderstorm. We loaded up the back of the pick-up truck, "And the rain, rain, rain came down down down in rushing, rising rivulets". So, we unloaded the truck and let our things dry off. Thankfully, our electronics were fine, but my old-fashioned notebook needed some time in the sunshine. When Megan got off work, we headed out for eastern Montana and Grandma Green s house for a couple days.

On Wednesday, we packed up the truck again, on the road to the train in Williston. It was only two hours late, which is normal for arrival in Williston. It is common for the train to gain time back in North Dakota overnight.

When the station attendant announced the train was only 8-10 minutes away, everyone piled outside, watching the lightning storm. As long as the rain holds off for ten minutes....but there it came. The storm blew in on winds that knocked us off our feet, sending luggage flying and rain pelting us through coats and hats. The train didn t arrive. The rain slowed down. The train didn t arrive. The rain tapered off. The train didn t arrive. We stood, dripping on the platform, waiting. After half an hour. people started wandering back inside. Finally, forty minutes later, we could see the train come around the curve.

Forty-five minutes after the train was 8-10 minutes away, the doors opened. Laying out to dry in the overhead luggage rack went the pillows and blanket David and I planned to use during the night. I managed a cup of hot mint tea, while we sat in the observation deck watching the lightning. By then, the storm was miles away, but the lightning put on a beautiful show. From inside and far away!

This time, though our computers and camera were still dry, all our books were wet. And my poor, old-fashioned notebook is almost past repair. One more storm and I think I ll have to throw it away!

Currently, we are somewhere in Minnesota, and about five hours behind schedule, which will not be a problem if the suburban trains are still running when we get in. We may be in for more adventures.

As long as it doesn t rain.