Beanies and Broonies

Scotland, March 2007


Castle Stalker

Coast line on the Isle of Skye

Castle Eilean Donan

View from house we stayed, somewhere between Oban and the Isle of Skye, right on a loch

Farm on the Northern-most tip of the Isle of Skye

Wilna and Pauline on the edge of a loch, this one particularly good for stone skipping

Hamish on the wire bridge crossing we were all to shakily experience

Castle owned by the Campbell's, a formerly powerful clan in Scotland but infamous for siding with the Red Coats (the English)- can anyone remember the name of this Castle?

Hiking on the Isle of Skye

One of many rainbows

I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more...

Geese at our accommodation, a 600 year-old Castle outside of Sterling. They know they're about to get fed last night's leftovers

All bridges should be more than just practical, no?

View from that arched monument?? Arggh! I wish I had written the names of these places down! Anyone know?

Portree, Isle of Skye

The old Abbey in St Andrews

Eilean Donan Castle and my fave pic

Gem, that beanie came in handy, it never left my head. A summer gift that turned out to be prophetic. Thank you!

Group on top of Arthur's Chair, overlooking Edinburgh and bay to the North Sea

Our destination on the Isle of Skye walk, Brodach an Stoir

Kate, Pauline and I at Loch Ness, like penguins, trying to stay warm

Um, this is not how to stay warm. The boys jumping into Loch Ness. (At the next hostel I checked into I read somewhere... that had I had a picture of me in Loch Ness, I would have gotten one night's free accommodation! Might have been worth the agony. Then again...)


In London, without much thought I booked a spot in a group tour (Wild in Scotland) over the internet. I think I liked the name but admittedly didnt read much about it. Right time, check. Right price, check. Gets me out of London, check. Two weeks later I was checking into a hostel on the Royal Mile, Edinburgh. I had just walked over North Bridge, past Edinburgh Castle and Abbey and some of the most beautiful architecture- gothic, medieval, Victorian- I had seen in Europe so far. High on anticipation, I had a feeling this would be a great (or "crackin'" as they say here) week. My feeling had been right.

While pretty cold, windy and wet for most of the time, the Scottish people and landscape warmed everyone up. We would walk through fog, mist, rain, bogs and marshes- with the treasure of a waterfall at the end of our very own rainbow. J. R. R. Tolkien and Lewis Carroll must have been here. The scenery is just out of their books, though they wrote from, and were apparently inspired, in Oxford. I went to Oxford, but there I couldnt imagine the Shire, mountains or forests from Lord of the Rings, nor the fantastical and magical places Alice visisted in her dream/drug-like adventure. Here it is easy. There is even talk of Broonies, tiny elf-like creatures with hairy faces who live beneath the moss-covered mounds dotting the Highlands. I wonder if they have blue eyes? Everyone else in Scotland seems to. One must be careful though- accepting an offer of tea from a Broonie could be hazardous. Twenty minutes underground will, in the real world above, be twenty years- the opposite effect to walking into wardrobes.

Hairy coos (hairy cows) are less elusive, but their cousins, the mystical flying fairy-hairy coos remain undetected. It doesnt stop one from believing though. Here, the magical could be real. The unlikely quite plausible. Is it this fog and mist? Perhaps it's the prehistoric-looking Caledonian pines that manage to grow strong and twisted anywhere? Is it the way the Scots tell their stories, rolling "r's" like the French but with such melody and lightness in their voices coupled with a twinkle in their eye that it hypnotises anyone who will listen. Is it the remoteness of this place, the hardships that one can imagine living off this land before modern times would have brung- does that make this place feel like anything is possible? We hear all about Bruce's, McLeod's and Campbell's, William Wallace, warring clans and deceitful acts, the English (definately hear a bit about them), saints, the Picts, the old Gallic language and the geography. The myths and legends here have no end and were bourne in times when answers, irrational or not, were answers.

Boys dive into icy Lochs emerging as men. Well, that's the theory and Im sure it would have at least put hair on the chest. We all laughed at the look of shock on their faces once submerged. Um, you didnt expect it to be cold? Others in the group dipped heads into freezing rivers with the promise of prolonged youthfulness. I hope it worked. I, on the other hand, chicken when it comes to that ugly four letter word- COLD- avoided these opportunities like the plague and will just have to resign myself to plastic surgery. But they say laughter keeps one young, and if that is the case, the week took ten years off.

We were a motely crew but easily found common ground on this land. Hamish pointed out that it was the group dinners, preparing and cleaning afterwards that brought us together. I think it was the alcohol. No, only kidding, we really didnt drink that much. Probably beacuse we knew we would miss something the next day if we did. Even the delicious Scottish whisky was nipped sparingly, mostly atop windy mountains after a long, cold hike. It worked wonders to warm us up before flying back down, our arms out to catch the wind, our ponchos makeshift sails.

Stuart, our group leader, proud of his country and funny even when being serious, showed us the Highlands and Lowlands with an energy and happiness we couldnt have been more grateful for. We were introduced to real, single malt whisky, haggis, freshly chucked salt-water Loch Fynne oysters the size of our palms as well as remote, off-the-beaten-track places a traveller would otherwise never see. Some places were tourist hubs, but only because they really couldnt be missed- the William Wallace Memorial (complete with statue of the man that looks a hell of alot like Mel Gibson); Eilean Donan Castle- location, location, location!; the oldest living thing on the planet- a Yew tree more than 3000 years old, growing still and peacefully in a cemetary; Culloden Battlefield- you can feel the thousands of lives lost there; and Rosslyn Chapel- a place of such beauty, secret codes and religious symbollism that it leaves the pagean questioning his/her beliefs.

Of course all the Lochs (lakes), Bens (mountains) and Glens (valleys) that have become world famous were on our list. Ben Nevis, the highest point in the UK, couldnt be seen for the weather, but Loch Ness was eery and beautiful. The sky was light blue (albeit momentarily) but the waters of this magical Loch did not seem to reflect the sky at all. They remained a wonderful cobalt blue, like dark-denim jeans. I can see how this Loch is separate to the others not merely for the whispers of deep-sea monsters, it's this colour which is otherwise so rare in nature.

The number and calibre of inventions, it's true for such a small country, is astounding! One museum suggested the contributions to modern-day humanity come second only to the Romans. It was a Scot who invented Penicillin, the electric light bulb, the induction coil, encyclopaedias... the list goes on. What I loved about these lists though, that without fail things like the 18-hole golf course (invented in St Andrews) and the tennis court, would always be mentioned, sprinkled in for those who had no idea what an induction coil was and to keep the important things in life in mind. So, who invented the 9-hole golf course? Or the 19th hole? I hope whoever it was, if it was not in fact the Scots again, remembers to be proud of this too.

I am falling all over the place. Falling for places, for people and literally, falling. My last day, walking down the circular stone steps of our castle, pack on back, socks on but no shoes, I fell yet again. I thought the fall in India had taught me a lesson. Particularly when, the first time, I told my dad from a phone booth in Varanasi that I had fallen and now my back was black and blue. His repsonse- "Helga, why did you do that?!" Im not sure Dad. "Well, dont do it again." Ok Dad, I wont. I never was a clumsy child. I have said those words so often since being away, to anyone who will listen. I need to tell them- Yes, Im falling over all the time, Im walking into things, but Im not usually like that!! Must be because Im so distracted with being in these weird and wonderful places. On the plus side, the bruises leave me a colourful reminder of time and place. So, this country is behind me now but the bruise on my behind remains. It's shaped like a map of Scotland, or was that one of the Lochs we came across?