Scotland II: lochs and the library
Aug. 21st, 2006 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selenakTaking advantage of the fact Edinburgh is one wi fi friendly city, and exploiting the time before I leave it again for internet-less countryside:
One of the most helpful items on this journey was the Bed & Breakfeast guide published by AA. Through it, we could pick our B&B’s and after the mistake early on call one or two days ahead of time to book them. (Or not; sometimes you have to go through three or so addresses before you hit the one not already booked out.) The one in Fort William was the first time we got the very first address we picked, and it was really beautiful and well deserving of its five red diamonds, but it was also the first one where the landlady didn’t allow me access to her computer in order to mail my reports. Due to, as she said, confidential information being on her computer, which I suppose you can’t argue with. Ah well.
After a great Sunday breakfeast we continued our exploration of the Highlands at Loch Druich. It was a great way, full of magnficent landscape though alas one we had to admire between clouds and rain. Dad commented he hadn’t imagined Scotland in another weather anyway (which turned out to be slander, but more about that later). The reason we were heading towards Eilean Donan Castle and not, say, Glenfinnan which I was slightly too embarassed to ask for, as my aged parent teases me about my fandoms anyway, was that this was his Scottish dream castle, and I must say it deserves the accolade. It’s build somewhat into the loch so that during high tide, it’s completely surrounded by water. Even during low tide, which is when we saw it, it seems to emerge from the waters like some sort of ancient beast. Mind you, we weren’t the only ones to admire this sight by far. Several busses of tourists were there as well, which meant visitors of Scotland, by and large, were apparantly earlier risers than those of England & Wales.
From Loch Duich we drove on to Loch Ness, and given the sheer size of this particular lake, I’m not surprised Nessie managed to remain hidden. Thankfully, there are some rather solid attractions as well, like the ruins of Castle Urquhart – though just from the outside, as those busses were hard on our heels, and the way those ruins blended with the scenery was the main point anyway. As we went on to pass through Inverness, we reached the most Northern part of our journey. Suddenly there are signs admonishing everyone in French and German in addition to English to stay on the left side of the road which to me seemed a little late – surely anyone who had made their way to Inverness had gotten the point? – except that it then registered Inverness had an airport of its own, which of course changed things.
Despite his avowed hostility against royalty, the AP made a side trip to Balmoral, which meant a rather long drive through the countryside, as Victoria, the first Royal to settle down here for the holidays with her Albert, apparantly really had meant the getting-away-from-it-all idea. When we did reach the place, we didn’t get to see the castle proper as the Royals were in residence, but never mind, the scenery was fun.
While we went on to more crowded ways, Dad noticed the wires which had replaced the small stone walls as means of keeping cattle of the road, and found himself aesthetically offended. He likes those narrow walls. (So do I, in fact.) Next we arrived at Castle Drum, which did have a visitable interior, and a thoroughly decorated one, too. The library was mixed enough to come across as the genuine article, while the old doll’s house made me think of all kind of Edwardian tales for children. Less pleasant was the sight of “HE has his eyes on you” and “Think of Him who made you” embroideries in the nursery; I happen to regard myself as a Christian, but part of the reason why I do is that religion never was rammed down my throat when I was a child. (Instead, it was a subject which I enjoyed at school because the religious education teachers I had always encouraged us to think and debate, and those nuns I had at kindergarden and the priests later on were all lovely people, hence no trauma. I was rather amused when an aquaintance of mine spent his first visit to our house checking in vain for crucifixes and madonnas because he said he was looking for an explanation why I was Catholic, and “childhood brainwashing must be it”. I informed him Dad is an atheist (he has a standard rant about the opium for the masses as well) and never quite understood why I took to religion at school, either.)
The last castle of the day was Castle Dunnottar near Stonehaven. Just when we parked there was such an outburst of rain, the proverbial cats and dogs, so we remained inside and waited for a while till it stopped. That’s the lovely thing about rain on those islands – it alwas stops. (On the continent, it never does once it has started.) So once there was just a little dribbling of water drops, we grabbed our umbrellas, the AP his camera, and out we went, because the castle in question was so worth it. Unfortunately we didn’t get to see Glamis or Cawdor, but Dunnottar is just how I always imagined the location of the Scottish Play to look like – located on red rocks, suspended over the sea, the cry of gulls. Oh, and several Spanish tourists looking rather doubtfully on the rivers some of the paths had mutated to. We challenged their courage and stomped into the muddy rivers, waving our umbrellas, but to no effect. Yours truly and her AP were the only ones making it to the next cliff from which one had a great view of the castle. We were planning to hand over our stuff to the next laundry anyway.
Evening in Edinburgh was pleasant again, full of late, lazy sunlight catching on thouse high, narrow gables the old town centre of Edingburgh consists of. Our B&B being located near said centre, we could walk, and walk we did. Due to the Edinburgh Festival(s) taking place, there city was buzzing, and we saw street theatre left, right and centre while walking the Royal Mile. And people from everywhere around the globe, both among the performers and an audience. There was a group from Uganda who sang and danced so catchingly you couldn’t help but stay and clap along.
Aside from the gables which give Edinburgh its distinctive silhouette, you also can’t help but notice all the chimneys on the roofs. They’re there because apparantly it used to be obligatory for every fireplace or oven to have its own chimney, and they look like organ pipes in their roundness. You want to see cats wandering between them. In the streets, I was struck by the sight of not one, not two but so far four blue police boxes, something I had not seen in England where they went out of fashion ages ago. When I saw the first one, only the presence of the AP stopped me from yelling “THE TARDIS!”
I’d say “thus parents save one’s dignity”, except that veryone on the streets was or seemed to be in such a great mood that we started humming and whistling every five meters anyway. Add to this that our hotel has wi fi which means I’ll be able to catch up with my mail a bit and post travel reports again, and I went to bed with a big, big smile.
Monday was spent apart; the AP went sight seeing and I went working, in the National Library of Scotland, where they keep Victorian painter David Roberts’ journals from his travels through Egypt and Syria. Which are a bitch to decypher with their combination of fadedness, Victorian handwriting (which gets worse the longer the journey takes) and small letters, but still, I can make out fragments. Am feeling charmed by the fact Roberts woke up in the middle of the Nile thinking a cat walked over his pillow and sat on his shoulders. As a cat owner, I can sympathize.
Next to me sits a man with long grey hairs and a wild beard who is going through the personal letters of Jacobite heroine Flora MacDonald, of all the people. Haven’t asked him yet whether he knows she was really an Immortal. (Sorry, Highlander in-joke.) But the treasures of this library really are amazing. They just aquired John Murray’s archive, which means among other things Byron’s letters and some of his journals, but, I remind myself, time is the issue!
Though why in that case I was tempted by the library wi fi to wrote an Arvin Sloane ficlet, Arvin only knows... But now, back to David Roberts!
One of the most helpful items on this journey was the Bed & Breakfeast guide published by AA. Through it, we could pick our B&B’s and after the mistake early on call one or two days ahead of time to book them. (Or not; sometimes you have to go through three or so addresses before you hit the one not already booked out.) The one in Fort William was the first time we got the very first address we picked, and it was really beautiful and well deserving of its five red diamonds, but it was also the first one where the landlady didn’t allow me access to her computer in order to mail my reports. Due to, as she said, confidential information being on her computer, which I suppose you can’t argue with. Ah well.
After a great Sunday breakfeast we continued our exploration of the Highlands at Loch Druich. It was a great way, full of magnficent landscape though alas one we had to admire between clouds and rain. Dad commented he hadn’t imagined Scotland in another weather anyway (which turned out to be slander, but more about that later). The reason we were heading towards Eilean Donan Castle and not, say, Glenfinnan which I was slightly too embarassed to ask for, as my aged parent teases me about my fandoms anyway, was that this was his Scottish dream castle, and I must say it deserves the accolade. It’s build somewhat into the loch so that during high tide, it’s completely surrounded by water. Even during low tide, which is when we saw it, it seems to emerge from the waters like some sort of ancient beast. Mind you, we weren’t the only ones to admire this sight by far. Several busses of tourists were there as well, which meant visitors of Scotland, by and large, were apparantly earlier risers than those of England & Wales.
From Loch Duich we drove on to Loch Ness, and given the sheer size of this particular lake, I’m not surprised Nessie managed to remain hidden. Thankfully, there are some rather solid attractions as well, like the ruins of Castle Urquhart – though just from the outside, as those busses were hard on our heels, and the way those ruins blended with the scenery was the main point anyway. As we went on to pass through Inverness, we reached the most Northern part of our journey. Suddenly there are signs admonishing everyone in French and German in addition to English to stay on the left side of the road which to me seemed a little late – surely anyone who had made their way to Inverness had gotten the point? – except that it then registered Inverness had an airport of its own, which of course changed things.
Despite his avowed hostility against royalty, the AP made a side trip to Balmoral, which meant a rather long drive through the countryside, as Victoria, the first Royal to settle down here for the holidays with her Albert, apparantly really had meant the getting-away-from-it-all idea. When we did reach the place, we didn’t get to see the castle proper as the Royals were in residence, but never mind, the scenery was fun.
While we went on to more crowded ways, Dad noticed the wires which had replaced the small stone walls as means of keeping cattle of the road, and found himself aesthetically offended. He likes those narrow walls. (So do I, in fact.) Next we arrived at Castle Drum, which did have a visitable interior, and a thoroughly decorated one, too. The library was mixed enough to come across as the genuine article, while the old doll’s house made me think of all kind of Edwardian tales for children. Less pleasant was the sight of “HE has his eyes on you” and “Think of Him who made you” embroideries in the nursery; I happen to regard myself as a Christian, but part of the reason why I do is that religion never was rammed down my throat when I was a child. (Instead, it was a subject which I enjoyed at school because the religious education teachers I had always encouraged us to think and debate, and those nuns I had at kindergarden and the priests later on were all lovely people, hence no trauma. I was rather amused when an aquaintance of mine spent his first visit to our house checking in vain for crucifixes and madonnas because he said he was looking for an explanation why I was Catholic, and “childhood brainwashing must be it”. I informed him Dad is an atheist (he has a standard rant about the opium for the masses as well) and never quite understood why I took to religion at school, either.)
The last castle of the day was Castle Dunnottar near Stonehaven. Just when we parked there was such an outburst of rain, the proverbial cats and dogs, so we remained inside and waited for a while till it stopped. That’s the lovely thing about rain on those islands – it alwas stops. (On the continent, it never does once it has started.) So once there was just a little dribbling of water drops, we grabbed our umbrellas, the AP his camera, and out we went, because the castle in question was so worth it. Unfortunately we didn’t get to see Glamis or Cawdor, but Dunnottar is just how I always imagined the location of the Scottish Play to look like – located on red rocks, suspended over the sea, the cry of gulls. Oh, and several Spanish tourists looking rather doubtfully on the rivers some of the paths had mutated to. We challenged their courage and stomped into the muddy rivers, waving our umbrellas, but to no effect. Yours truly and her AP were the only ones making it to the next cliff from which one had a great view of the castle. We were planning to hand over our stuff to the next laundry anyway.
Evening in Edinburgh was pleasant again, full of late, lazy sunlight catching on thouse high, narrow gables the old town centre of Edingburgh consists of. Our B&B being located near said centre, we could walk, and walk we did. Due to the Edinburgh Festival(s) taking place, there city was buzzing, and we saw street theatre left, right and centre while walking the Royal Mile. And people from everywhere around the globe, both among the performers and an audience. There was a group from Uganda who sang and danced so catchingly you couldn’t help but stay and clap along.
Aside from the gables which give Edinburgh its distinctive silhouette, you also can’t help but notice all the chimneys on the roofs. They’re there because apparantly it used to be obligatory for every fireplace or oven to have its own chimney, and they look like organ pipes in their roundness. You want to see cats wandering between them. In the streets, I was struck by the sight of not one, not two but so far four blue police boxes, something I had not seen in England where they went out of fashion ages ago. When I saw the first one, only the presence of the AP stopped me from yelling “THE TARDIS!”
I’d say “thus parents save one’s dignity”, except that veryone on the streets was or seemed to be in such a great mood that we started humming and whistling every five meters anyway. Add to this that our hotel has wi fi which means I’ll be able to catch up with my mail a bit and post travel reports again, and I went to bed with a big, big smile.
Monday was spent apart; the AP went sight seeing and I went working, in the National Library of Scotland, where they keep Victorian painter David Roberts’ journals from his travels through Egypt and Syria. Which are a bitch to decypher with their combination of fadedness, Victorian handwriting (which gets worse the longer the journey takes) and small letters, but still, I can make out fragments. Am feeling charmed by the fact Roberts woke up in the middle of the Nile thinking a cat walked over his pillow and sat on his shoulders. As a cat owner, I can sympathize.
Next to me sits a man with long grey hairs and a wild beard who is going through the personal letters of Jacobite heroine Flora MacDonald, of all the people. Haven’t asked him yet whether he knows she was really an Immortal. (Sorry, Highlander in-joke.) But the treasures of this library really are amazing. They just aquired John Murray’s archive, which means among other things Byron’s letters and some of his journals, but, I remind myself, time is the issue!
Though why in that case I was tempted by the library wi fi to wrote an Arvin Sloane ficlet, Arvin only knows... But now, back to David Roberts!
