England and Scotland for Dad's 70th
Day 10 - Saturday - Scotland
Local Hero day!
I wake up at 6:45, according to Jonathan's clock,
needing no
alarm. It's half cloudy outside, but that's Scotland. The
sun is peeking through in breaks. I wait for Rod, Rhona and Dad
to finish in the bathroom before I take a bath, then go downstairs to
breakfast where Rod has informed me that my tardiness has cost me
porridge. Fine, I tell him, it makes him and Rhona fight, which
he completely denies. (I've sworn off Rod's porridge -- oatmeal
--
since my last visit when he was excitedly telling at other family
members to stir it, oh, it's getting ruined, thank you very much --
Rod, a longtime resident of Scotland is still English, his Scottish
family reminds him.)
At last I enjoy my traditional Alpen cereal
with toast and Rhona's homemade raspberry jam (last time it was
homemade strawberry jam), while Rhona makes sandwiches (salmon on wheat
bun for first sandwiches, "dreadful" -- according to her -- peanut
butter
sandwiches for anyone but her for the second) for our picnic. We
all load up on layered clothing, them assuring us the weather will get
worse the more west we go (and telling Dad not to worry about an
umbrella, the wind will negate the usefulness of that). Rod loads
the picnic basket into the trunk of their
soon-to-be-replaced-with-a-newer-1990 Saab, I play with the groovy cat
from next door (Rod calls it "that daft cat" but she rolls on her back
and lets me rub her tummy while she holds my wrist with her non-clawing
paws -- gotta take advantage of playing with a nice cat like that), Dad
and Rhona step out of the house and we're off!
We tool down the road, through Edinburgh suburbia,
admiring the
rhododendron gardens peeking over stone walls, out into the country by
fields of sprouting crops and blooming gorse (those yellow flowers we
were admiring yesterday -- alternating blankets of bright yellow and
green) and fields with sheep and their lambs running to and fro.
The further along we go, Rhona points out bluebells, the elusive flower
my friend recommended seeing ("but you have to be out in the woods") --
they're everywhere! Along with the occasional bursting with color
huge rhododendrons.
Rhona drove the first part of the way, me sitting to
her left, the
menfolk jabbering in the backseat distracting her train of
thought. (Rod and Rhona together are a hilarious couple -- she
correcting him at every turn, him making faces or bad jokes whenever
she talks -- being in a car with them was an altogether new experience
for me.)
We drive into the lower part of the highlands and
stop at a nice little
woolen gift shop for morning snack. Rod and Rhona have coffee,
Dad and I have tea, and we all have what I consider perfect scones
(big, fluffy, with sweet fruit) (in Scotland, "scone" rhymes with
"gone") and tasty rhubarb-ginger preserves. The gift shop is full
of cute highland trinkets, featuring Wallace and Gromit sheep purses,
scratchy sweaters, heather this and that -- nothing to compare with
being
in Scotland.
In the parking lot, Dad tells me he wants a picture
with Rod and Rhona with that beautiful view behind them.
"What,
here?" I ask, the view not nearly what Rod, Rhona and I are wanting to
show him.
"Yes!" he says.
Okay, so Rod and Rhona step out of
the shop and Dad tells them, and Rod says, "What, here?" So I
take a nice picture of the three of them with the mountain behind them
and we move on, Rod driving this time.
Now we're really getting into the highlands,
gorgeous huge green
mountains sloping downward into lakes (or lochs, since this is Scotland
-- but I couldn't begin to keep up with all the names -- Loch Sleigh,
Loch Leigh, Loch Sleight, Loch -- and then it becomes a series of
throat clearings with the intermittent Loch thrown in. Ben Nevis
for "Mount" Nevis, Moor means "big," etc.).
Finally we stop at
the Bonnie Prince Charlie monument (Rhona pointing out along the way
places in the hills where he and his troops probably hid, or where Mary
Queen of Scots first arrived from France), and we get out. It's
almost raining, tiny pearls of moisture beading here or there on our
clothes. I snap the picture of Dad, Rod and Rhona I was thinking
of when we were back at the one-hill parking lot. We walk up the
bluebell-laced trail to the top of a hill, which is an even more
spectacular view, I get a great picture of Dad with the highlands and
loch behind him. To the right near distance, there's an old
railroad bridge reaching between hills.
We walk back down to the
visitor center, where I eye Loch Ness Monster-shaped shortbread
(tempting, but just too touristy on this gorgeous scenic day).
Rod hands me a book, A Short History
of Scotland, and tells me that's
what I need, so I buy it along with some more film. During all
this, we overhear 5 young travellers talking with the shopkeeper (they
went off on their own and missed their bus. They're stranded,
period -- you'll have to break up the group to find rides back, they're
told). The shopkeeper tells us she can't understand how people
can wander off around here like that -- it's dangerous, unless you know
what you're doing. It's too easy to get lost, especially when the
fog comes down.
We continue tooling down the road, more gorgeous
scenery, more lochs
(with the occasional person fishing), more mountains.
We
find a nice spot next to a loch to pull off the road for our in-the-car
picnic. Rhona doles out the sandwiches and makes instant soup
from our choice of soup packets and a thermos of hot water. It's
brilliant. She passes, as promised, on the peanut butter &
homemade raspberry preserves sandwich, and distributes caramel crunch
bars for dessert. Rod is obsessed with objects in the water near
some rocks. Seals? Mermaids! I cheerfully suggest (another
Local Hero reference).
We decide, especially after they get out
of the water and walk around, that they're divers. Rod conjures
some more stories about them, and Rhona says this is what he always
does, having to pry and make things up when it's really none of his
business. Rhona smiles and tells me our goal location is
less than 15 miles away! Yea!
England and
Scotland for Dad's 70th
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