Over the Hill and Far Away

Applecross Pass

 Portree, Isle of Skye

The 9th Fairway

It was time to say goodbye to the Isle of Skye – maybe I should just become a poet – and make the long drive up to Ullapool, a tiny fishing village on the upper reaches of Northwest Scotland. It was more of the single-track roller-coaster for most of the way. We had at least one stop to make - two people we met in Glencoe told us that Applecross was one of the most beautiful places on the west coast of Scotland, so we figured we’d have to check it out on our way north.

It turns out that everyone is afraid of Applecross. Our B&B host, people in town, everyone. You’re going where? Applecross? Have fun with those roads, mate. It was never anything that was said – it was always the looks and reactions to the word Applecross. So as we set out, here we were thinking we were headed to Scotland’s version of the Bolivian Death Road.

As we got closer and closer we saw fewer and fewer people, but the vistas were astounding as always. Big rolling green mountains rising straight out of glassy lochs, with the odd white house or two dotting the edges were a constant traveling companion. We did pass a golf course at one point, and JP and I looked at each other and said why not. We could probably use the practice anyway. It was a 9-hole course on the shores of a giant loch. As we pulled up two Scottish guys were just getting ready as well. We dropped our 15 quid in the box (clubhouse was closed – all honesty policy here at this highland golf course) and teed it up with these two Scottish guys, Rodrick and Gary. The next 9 holes were one continuous trash talk experience, Scottish style. Two guys who really didn’t care how well they did, as long as they beat the other on each hole. And they didn’t stop with each other – they were sure to let JP and I get an earful. The course itself is probably the Scottish equivalent of a municipal course back home, with astro-turf tee-boxes and everything. Except the views from these holes made it deserve the cover of Golf Magazine (the last pic above is the view down the 9^th hole fairway).

Rodrick and Gary were no different about Applecross. They severely questioned our sanity (or seemed to), but we pressed on. We did find out from Rodrick, who has climbed every Munroe in Scotland (a week ago there were 510 of them, but one got demoted, so now there are 509 – they are any mountain above 914.2m), that Applecross is the highest pass in Scotland – somewhere around 2000m. They also were quick to mention that there is a very sharp turn in the road. It was at about this point that JP and I realized that any drive farther than 10 miles is a serious expedition for any person in the Highlands. Granted, our B&B lady grew up across the street from where she is now and her parents now live next door, so for her any drive farther than the stop sign probably calls for a packed lunch.

Applecross wound up being no worse (it was, in fact, not as bad) than the drive over Guanella Pass in CO. We had great views of the entire valley on both sides. It kind of felt like the Continental Divide in a way, with rivers running down both sides. The rest of the drive to Ullapool took us through towns with a population of 17 (that still had town names and signs) on some of the remotest spits of land I could imagine a town to be. I figured that you could do just about anything out here and no one would know. Or care, for that matter. The views out the front doors of these homes though, wow.

We made it to Ullapool, a giant, bustling supermetropolis – relatively speaking – sitting on the shores of the Atlantic. It’s a great little town with all of the main buildings lined up along the waterfront. Our inn was no exception. Check-in was at the bar (Arch Inn primary function = pub). The walls are full of pictures of the local soccer team, dating back several decades. The size of the town really sinks in when the age range in the photos is about 25 years.

Today we went for some ‘hill-walking’ at the recommendation of the guy running the local outdoors store. He said it would be a great hike – that he does it all the time – but the last bit has no trail. We should have picked up on that. The last section was 100% bog.  But it was ultimately worth it, as he said it would be – we had a 360-degree view of the area. Not quite the level of the Old Man of Stor, but we’ll cope.

We capped off the day with a little MNF – that does mean Monday Night Football, but not in that sense that it would mean watching the Eagles destroy anyone they play. It was Man U. v. Tottenham, and after a while I got the feeling that everyone in the pub was rooting against Man U. The complete silence after Man U went up 3-0 kind of explained that one. But it was great to see the local crowd and watch a little footy local style.

We’re off to Edinburgh in the morning to meet the other two Americans at the airport – let the trash talking begin. Especially now that we’ve picked up the local flavor.

The History of Golf

Rain. Wind.

Street Sign #1

Street Sign #2 - this one isn't quite as obvious

We woke to sunlight. I almost took a picture of it, since it was so unusual and I could barely remember what it was. We broke our fast with a big breakfast that included the mythical haggis. I ate it, spewed it all over the restaurant and passed out. No in all seriousness it’s very good, and I recommend that you all try it.

The drive to skye was defined by stark but stunning vistas of rounded, tree-less mountains. We passed glassy lochs multiplying the mountain views by two, ringed by one or maybe two houses. Not bad living quarters. The roads wind enough for an audi or a bmer to be a pre-requisite.

Our stop of the day, once we made it to the island, was at the Pinnacles of Stor. The main pinnacle is named the Old Man of Stor. Now this was the second old man we’d come across in as many days (the first mountain on our ridge tour was also named the Old Man). That’s a lot of old men. I guess that’s like the Devil’s Throat phenomenon in Argentina – every park there has one. The hike up wasn’t quite the 8 hour trek of the day before. Rather we wandered up to the pinnacles, threw some rocks at other tourists and chased some sheep. Soon we found ourselves hopping a fence (it was allowed) and walking away from the crowds. Eventually we had owhere higher to go. We looked around and had a 360-degree view of the Isle of Skye. It is perhaps the best view I have ever seen. I felt as if I was in Middle Earth watching Theoden ride across the plains of Rohan. We looked in another direction though and thought we saw the clouds of Mordor – a storm was brewing, and we were just a few hundred feet below the clouds. Better not stay long, unless we wanted to learn how to fly. But wow that view is second to none. Islands dotting the bay in one direction, ocean in another, and mountains growing out of the water in another. We just couldn’t get enough.

It’s probably a good time to explain to you the history of golf. Scotland, from what JP and I have been able to discern, is a giant fairway. There is soft carpet-grass everywhere. The top of this cliff where we had this view was no exception. Few trees, lots of grass and many sheep. The sheep are a key element because you need a ball. Infinite Empty Grass + Petrified Sheep Turds = 600 year old sport. I can just imagine sheep herders throwing back some whisky, taking a stick and whacking some sheep turds at some distant fence post. Aye laddie, I’ll bet you a cow you can’t drive it 250 yards!

Dinner saw us hit up the local joint, where it seemed as if every toothless fisherman pulled up for a pint. The stories that these guys have under their belts have to be one of a kind. Believe me though when I say Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire playing in the background was a bit out of place.

Day 2: rain storm. Sorry, make that rain hurricane. We found a hike, and being the brave (read: stupid) souls that we are we decided to go for it. The rain was fierce, but that’s if and only if the wind let it fall. The wind was the strongest I have ever felt. It was literally blowing both of us around the path. We trudged a bit farther, saw some neat rock formations and old rock walls, and turned around. On our way back we saw some waterfalls that were blowing upwards. Houston? Is it a problem if no water from a waterfall is hitting the ground?

The rest of the day saw us trying to dry off as we explored the rest of the island. For some reason the grass next to the roads must be the sweetest, as all the sheep on the island seem to stand within three feet of the pavement. Or maybe they just want to moon us as we drive by. While trying to avoid these woolly animals we stopped in Portree, the island’s biggest town, before heading over to the east side of the island to check out the Talisker Distillery and a castle.

The night was a relaxed one – although I have to mention that we did catch a few minutes of a game show on TV. Never in my life have I seen a game show where you can get every question wrong but still win the most money possible. Unbelievable.

I’ll bet they would have guessed the history of golf though.

           

Long Memories

The day began with  me busing back to the airport to meet JP. All went well and we were off to pick up our car from the rental lot. Our car turned out to be the size of a fisher-price walking car that you see in elementary school playgrounds, but we made it work. After almost hitting five different things on the way out of the lot, we found ourselves on the way to Glencoe.

If you know what the road signs mean here in Scotland, drop me a note. Signs like ‘heavy plant crossing’ still have me scratching my head. I’m waiting to see the fern on the side of the road grow legs, jump the 500 year-old wall and run across the road in front of the car. The majority of Scottish roads (or those we’ve been on so far) are two lanes and are lined by stone walls or hedges, with rolling green farmland on either side. That doesn’t stop the 18-wheelers rolling through at about 60 mph, with a 2-foot gap between us and them. Adrenaline on tap.

We stopped in a small town – Callander – for lunch. It was our first glimpse of rural Scotland not from behind a pane of glass, and it was great. Everyone was very friendly. I was very aware of my accent, and it seemed like everyone around me was as well. JP and I definitely got some looks. Yes, we’re American and yes, we threw your tea on the harbor. Lunch was a delicious mince and tatties (I’ll let you figure that one out) and we were on our way.

We rolled into the Glencoe valley and were instantly blown away. The formations are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. First off, there are essentially no trees. The mountains curve into a bowl-like valley and then go back up again on the other side, forming an epic panorama. Without any trees it’s very hard to gain perspective on how big these mountains are.

We found our inn, right smack in the middle of the valley and more than you could ask for. Scottish hospitality at its finest with three pubs on the premises. We decided to drop everything and go for a run, and we found ourselves running down a dirt road that was probably there since 1250. We headed up the canyon at one point, not really knowing where we were going, and popped up into an expansive valley high up in the mountains. It was invisible from down below – we found out later that we happened to wander into the Lost Valley. Apparently a local clan hid all their stolen cattle up there, which makes perfect sense. On our way back we ran passed two guys having a Guinness in a parking lot in front of a camper, with one of the guys playing a bagpipe. Can it get any more authentic? We figured in the US it would be PBR and Tim McGraw blasting from the speakers.

This stolen-cattle family has something of a violent history. In the entrance to the inn there is a sign that says, “no huskers or campbells”. Glencoe is known in Scottish history for the Glencoe Massacre of 1692. Long story short a member of the Campbell family betrayed the local clan, the MacDonald’s (the very same that hid all the stolen cattle up in the Lost Valley). So here we are in the US with 250 year-old ideas about government and justice. Here in Scotland they have 350 year-old grudges. Lesson of the day: don’t piss off a Scot.

Dinner was a steak n ale pie washed down with a Scottish casked stout (phenomenal), followed by a whisky tasting event. They essentially had six shots lined up on the table for drinking within the hour – that would basically be considered binge drinking in the US. And here we were watching some guys at the table next to us clean up the place. Talk about getting drank under the table. We tried many different types – the 30-year-old whisky was great (of course). Two tips: never put ice in your whisky, and adding a drop or two of water is fine and almost expected. It changes the taste (whether for the better or not is up to you).

Day 2 in Glencoe saw us go on an 8-hour scramble up on one of the ridges bordering the valley. The highlight was walking a 3000-ft ridge for several hours. Midway along the ridge is a series of pinnacles that you are forced to scramble over to keep going. In the winter, people ice climb it with ropes and ice picks. The ranger at the visitor center said ‘ah you’ll be fine laddies!’ (alright I added the laddies, but he could have said it). We were scrambling up (and down) these pinnacles of rock with about a 1000-ft drop on either side. The ridge at times was about 3 feet across with similar drops – I tested my knowledge of the French language several times, and made up new words of my own. The views, though, from the top were absolutely incredible. Long valleys, lochs in every direction and waterfalls that made the valley look like Milford Sound dominated the landscape. We had the pleasure of having the company of the Scottish Royal Airforce a few times throughout the day – a fighter would occasionally buzz the valley. It will probably be the only time I will ever say that I was standing higher than a flying fighter jet. Bring it! I have the high ground!

We worked our way along the ridge, watched some mountain goats bang their heads together and then lost the trail as we tried to head down the mountain. We eventually found it after some creative trailblazing, and worked our way back to ‘the best pub in the world…probably’ that was our inn for a deserved pint.

Off to the Isle of Skye tomorrow – hopefully the heavy plants will cross the road quickly.

Run This Town

“If you want a linguistic adventure, go drinking with a Scotsman.”

So said one of the greatest authorities on knowledge, Robin Williams. After a night of no sleep and several movies, I found myself in… Chicago? New York? Maybe we never left Dulles? As I got off the plane in Heathrow I felt like I could have been in any major US airport. The staff looked the same (although maybe a little smaller), all the signs were in English, and Accenture and HSBC were ramming their advertising campaigns down our throats. As soon as one of the pleasant-looking staff talked to us though, I knew immediately that I was in some other corner of the world. Which corner was something I was still trying to figure out, as I understood maybe 25% of the words coming out of his mouth.

Eventually I made enough sense out of what he was saying to figure out that the glass sliding doors wouldn’t open into the terminal and we would have to take a series of emergency exits/call a few audibles to make our way to the baggage claim. Welcome to London! We eventually made it and I successfully navigated the re-check-in process and journey to my gate for the flight to Edinburgh. I grabbed a sandwich from a café and as I was standing there, the man behind me comes up and asks if they have any spirits. I had to look again and then look at my watch 3 times – it was only 7:45am. Go drinking with a Scotsman. Right. Sometimes you just gotta get it going early on a Tuesday morning.

I wound up sitting next to a Scottish girl on her way back from working at a summer camp in Virginia for the last few months. It was fun to trade war stories from my GAC counselor days and hear what she thought about staying in the US. After calling some more audibles to get around some more sliding doors that wouldn’t open (is someone trying to tell me something?) in Edinburgh, I found myself on my way in a double-decker bus (the stories, myths and legends are true – they’re all double-deckers. I’ve always wondered, and still do, how fast you’d have to drive one to tip one over) into the heart of Edinburgh.

I too early to check-in at the hostel, so I dropped my bags and cruised into the center of town to check out the highlights. I found my way to

Prince Street

, which is one of the main drags through town. Think

Rittenhouse Square

in Philly for the type of feel – busy street, but upscale with greenery around. Now Edinburgh Castle is theoretically the biggest draw in town. Since I’ve never seen a castle outside of Japan before (and something tells me European castles aren’t going to look quite like Nijo-jo in Kyoto), when it popped out from behind some buildings I was pretty blown away. Not really because of its sheer height, but mainly how it sits on top of a massive cliff. It looks basically like an old university on top of a mountain with a few cannons coming out of the windows. Penn might look like that if students decided they wanted to go on strike.

I wandered through the Prince Street Gardens and worked my way up Mt. Everest to get to the castle’s gate. As I was nearing the final turn, I saw what looked like a soccer stadium erected in front of the castle. I was reasonably confused, but I figured if there was any country that would build a soccer stadium more or less on top of a castle, it would be the UK. As I wandered through it, I realized it was too small for soccer. I found out it was for the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo, one of the many shows put on here at the annual Edinburgh Fringe festival, one of the biggest arts festivals in the world. 

If I could describe the castle, I would call it a small, old-style university crossed with Disneyland’s Alice in Wonderland. The line for entry tickets was at least 45min long. Once in, though, it was pretty cool. It has the feel of a walled 10^th- century village (which it is), with many stone buildings (which in the 10^th century would be the equivalent of the Chrysler Building) and cobblestone paths. I wandered through a war memorial (mainly WWI), the Great Hall, and some old living quarters. I also stood in the 30min line to see the Scottish Crown Jewels. The pieces were absolutely incredible. The handiwork, detail and overall beauty are second to none. However the lines and Alice In Wonderland-esque figures on the walls in the hallways we inched forward in were not so great. For something so important to the national culture and identity, I was hoping for some introductory exhibits that were a little more on par with the items they were describing - not something I’d expect to see in Pirates of the Caribbean.

After grabbing a sandwich for lunch I walked down the Royal Mile, the most famous street in Scotland. For the month of August, it is overrun with the Fringe festival. Anything from street performers to artists to improve, theater or comedy could be found either on the street or in venues along the way. I stopped to watch some street performers, some of whom were alright and others who were awesome. The street itself is a winding downhill cobblestone road lined with centuries-old stores. I felt like I was moving back in time as soon as I looked away from the polka-dot umbrellas and canon DSLRs.

As soon as I got back to the hostel it stopped raining and the sun made an appearance (of course) so I decided to go for a run. Let me tell you, running is the best way to see a city. Hands down. Make sure you know how the streets work though, otherwise you’ll get run over. I successfully got lost amongst the maze of cobblestone streets & stone homes and even found myself running along a creek. Not bad. It was nice to get away from the tourists and see where the locals go. I went wherever I felt like it. I have to say though that Edinburgh is the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. A lot of cities have old districts with stone buildings and cobblestone streets. The thing about Edinburgh is that’s the entire city. Everywhere you go. Granted my teeth are still chattering from the bus ride on the roads but I’ll deal.

All in all a great first day. Too bad I feel like a country hick with my American accent. Time for a little Chicken Fried.