A strange thing happened to me the other day. Janet, a fantastic, fun, sane, totally NORMAL Aussie friend I made in Turkey, spoke these words: "You know Helga, I really need to get myself some sandals like yours." Ha! I could not believe my ears! I looked down at my dusty feet, wrapped in my dusty brown sandals and cautioned her. I said, "You realise my friend, that when you take this step you will then officially, unequivocally be a backschmacker. Realise, before you make the leap, you may even be mistaken for a German backschmacker, the worst kind." Now I come from a place where for years my friends have subtly and not-so-subtly disparaged my choices in footwear. There came one day when some friends- who I wont name- all got together, sat me down and began a conversation that ended with an honest threat of throwing one pair of my particularly loved, worn sandals in the bin.
Janet, I thank you for appreciating my sandals. I at last feel validated. But I must warn you again to consider the move from your own current and stylish footwear to sandals like mine. They will be more comfortable, true, but unless you have disappointing feet that are so used to comfortable shoes after 26 years wearing nothing else, it may not be worth it. I looked enviously at your shoes all through Turkey and only wished I could get away with the black, studded, dainty little leather thongs you were sporting. Plus they matched your new handbag! I understand you have just started on your travels, but like a traveller's tattoo, you may regret taking up this trend.
On another note, my comfy sandals did serve me well recently. I have had alot of feet woes while travelling, the clincher being a broken metatarsel in Amsterdam that required a hospital visit in Turkey, walking for 4 weeks with a crutch (useful for pointing at things but not so sexy in a bar), and still today walking with limp, popping anti-inflammatories like they are going out of fashion, and wrapping my foot up each morning in a dirty, tattered bandage. I broke this metatarsel not from falling or being run over, but from walking. That's right, walking with a backpack. Apparently girl's feet can get these stress fractures from doing nothing more than what humans have been doing for millenia. Who knew? So Janet, in retrospect, I wish you sandals like mine. Just please dont get feet like mine.
Wednesday
Saturday
Book ahead
I have been OS for 7 months now- it feels like that long, it doesn't feel at all like that long. Like a good book travelling has kept me enthralled, each new place a new chapter, each unexpected adventure a turn-paging twist. People are characters, mostly welcome friends, some less lovable but all add their part, lending well to the story.
I met Helen in Barcelona and we hopped around Iberia together, a schedule determined by some must see places, Easter accommodation troubles (who knew the Spanish were so Catholic?) and my grandmother's 80th birthday/surprise family reunion in Alsace. So after a week of Gaudi, tapas and shoes- Catalonians must live off shoes for where there were literally hundreds of shoe stores, we had no hope of finding a single supermarket- we flew to Porto to rehydrate on its namesaken fortified wines in cellars, wine bars, restaurants, our hotel room.. wherever we could really. Then to Lisboa to climb steep hills to anything worth visiting, to spend the sunny days exploring or just sitting in great art deco cafes, and when we were not eating the natas (Portuguese tarts) to spend hours looking longingly at them through glass shopfronts, guessing and predicting, contrasting and comparing. Each night, back down to earth (aka our dingy hotel room) after a delicious dinner of fish, wine from the Doura and of course, our new friend, Port. I loved the bachalau, a smoked cod and potato dish and was delighted that the winter tradition of roasting chestnuts on the streets does not stop here when spring arrives.
In Sevilla oranges hang from pregnant trees for the picking. The flamenco dancer sends shivers down my spine- she so severe, tormenting and uplifting all at once. Ahh.. Granada. Little Morocco. We went for the Alhambra, but having not prebooked tickets weeks in advance, we queue as if for a rock concert, with no guarnatee that arriving well before dawn will be rewarded by entry. And it is decidedly the most wondrous of Moorish palaces and gardens! Madrid, our final Iberian fling, with its wonderful Prado and Rena Sofia museums and truly cosmopolitan air, was full of bravado, like their churros (how they eat fried batter dipped in chocolate first thing in the morning!), caring only for the present.
Oma's birthday in Strasbourg was all about family for never have so many of us been in the same place at the same time. It had been 35 years since all five of her children were together! We drive the wine road, visiting castles and villages, we eat flammenkuchen (aka tarte flambe) when we dont choose the white asparagus we find pleasingly in season. Munich. A naked English Garden, surfers making the most of a man-made wave, WWII history, the Hofbrauhaus and beer-I dont drink it, but I did here. A new city rebuilt as old. Then to Nuremburg for a couple of nights in Bavarian heartland.
A few days later we are in the midst of our transnation bike journey across Austria, more than 350km in 6 days, Passau to Vienna. What a ride! Every bend along the Danube, a new backdrop. The regions we visited I think showcased the best of Austria, natural and historical. I only have to sing and Hel magically gets re-energised and dashes further ahead. Songs from the Sound of Musıc she fınds most energisimg for some reason.
In Vienna we arrive and notice others with the same awkward gait, the same bruised tailbones and sore joints. They must have ridden here too. A beautiful baroque city, the capital of the former Austro-Hungarian empire, the home of the Hapsburgs, the kaffeehaus and Freud, of course. The Belvedere housed some wonderful artworks, my favourite are the Gustav Klimt pieces (his paintings actually glow-gold). I enjoy my first experience of a symphony orchestra and wonder why I had not been before. Oxidised copper green rooves, domed shaped, of the palaces and art houses, and the nature-inspired art nouveau touches stick in my memory.
We're so close, we might as well go... to Budapest. A hostel-come-Buddhist retreat is our home for 3 nights and the city reveals itself as a mixing pot of Eastern and Western Europe, full of history, struggle and, of course, wonderfully beautiful. We eat goulash and salami. Paprika is in everything. We sip on Unicum- a strong, herbal aperitif, and I go on a search the house of Szabo marzipan, but find only small boutiques that sell the sweets, they dont offer the showcase it deserves. Helen checks out the natural spring Turkish-style baths famous here.
South to Llubljana, capital of Slovenia. This city is filled with medieval architecture. We stay near the Dragon Bridge and I feel like Im in an episode of She-Ra, complete with dark forests, castles and fire-breathing mythical creatures. The people are wonderful, even on the surface. I read somewhere that Slovenian sounds like Russian dripping with honey. I think it sounds even sweeter. We see a puppet show, visit the castle, relax by the river and sample some fantastic Slovenian reds (in the wine bar, Hel bumps into someone she knows!). Our last day in Slovenia is spent at Lake Bled, a window-lake, so clear it is like peering into an aquarium. The famous lake island and church can only be reached by boat. The most appealing boats are the Slovenian-style gondolas, with huge red-faced men manouvering upright oars to take us and a dozen others across. I see why this lake is the holiday spot for the outdoorsy, nature-loving Slovenians.
Croatia, from where I write this, is similarly a very happy discovery. We visited Split, an ancient palace-turned-city at the entrance to the Dalmatian Coast, Hvar Island for a real Adriatic, relaxing few days (sadly, the lavendar fields were not blooming), and now Dubrovnik. This coast is perfect for island-hopping by ferry. When we took the bus one leg we did briefly enter Bosnia, a hassle as we had to scurry for passports in our packs, underneath the bus. These former Yugoslavian countries appear to have healed well since 1991, though I wonder how- depite politically- Croatia differed before. The grey igneous mountains would have stood just as majestically, the waters would have shimmered all the same, and people dont change all that much.
Here I write postcards home asking someone to invent a way to transplant Berlin to this very spot. The water beckons, even when fully clothed, I want to jump in. Beaches without sand, while taking a while to adjust to can be suprisingly comfortable, like lying on a Masseur sandle. No need to rinse feet or shower at all really. The salt on my skin reminds me of home and I leave it there as long as possible. The Old Town in Dubrovnik was bombed only 16 years ago but when climbing along its high walls, circumventing the city, this is hard to fathom. I feel so at peace up here. The view cannot be described, photographs will not do it justice.
I catch the plane for Dublin tonight and look forward to 2 weeks exploring another corner of the world. Forget eco-tourism, the country promotes alco-tourism and while Guinness does not take my fancy, I am a devoted fan of Baileys and will be quite content visiting Ireland's second-most important institution after the Church.. the Irish pub.
Storks nestıng near the Orangerie, Strasbourg. These bırds are the emblem for Alsace.
Family at Oma's birthday, all together after 35 years.
Towns on the Wıne Road have the cutest little houses- not German, not French- Alsacian.
Helen, a Cosmopolitan, in Vienna, about to eat handmade asian noodles. She's happy.
Canola oil fields are brıght yellow this time of year. A break from the bike.
Fındıng some shade in Croatia.
In the gardens of the Alcazar, Sevilla.
Had to go to the Freud Museum in Vienna.
Outside La Sagrada Familie, Barcelona. Honeycombed Gaudi wonder. Unfortunately under construction, all of Europe seems to be.
Helen and I, fountain in Lisboa.
Ahh.. Dubrovnik, the Old Town viewed from the town wall.
Sign reads: WHY CALL IT TOURIST SEASON IF WE CANT SHOOT THEM? He he he. Vıew from Park Guell, Barcelona.
Our hotel rooms were sometimes restaurants and laundries too! Love the toilet paper for serviettes.
Drew, architecture student actually being paid to travel the world! Having a drink on Hvar Island.
On ferry, view over to Split.
Porto at night.
Dinner in Madrid. Stumbled upon this locals restaurant and got alot more for our Euro. And delicious!
Magic trick: Nata, nata, nata, I turn you into nada, nada, nada.
On the Danube bike trail.
Houses covered in what looks like Delft plates in Porto.
View over Granada from the Alhambra. Magıcal. While taking it we knew the depth could not be translated to the two dımensional. This was 1000 times more magical in reality.
Neuschwanstein. Ludwıg II and his obsession with Wagner led to it. A love story but no fairy tale.
Beautiful Budapest. View from Pest over Buda. Largest building is the Hungarian Parliament. Spectacular.
I met Helen in Barcelona and we hopped around Iberia together, a schedule determined by some must see places, Easter accommodation troubles (who knew the Spanish were so Catholic?) and my grandmother's 80th birthday/surprise family reunion in Alsace. So after a week of Gaudi, tapas and shoes- Catalonians must live off shoes for where there were literally hundreds of shoe stores, we had no hope of finding a single supermarket- we flew to Porto to rehydrate on its namesaken fortified wines in cellars, wine bars, restaurants, our hotel room.. wherever we could really. Then to Lisboa to climb steep hills to anything worth visiting, to spend the sunny days exploring or just sitting in great art deco cafes, and when we were not eating the natas (Portuguese tarts) to spend hours looking longingly at them through glass shopfronts, guessing and predicting, contrasting and comparing. Each night, back down to earth (aka our dingy hotel room) after a delicious dinner of fish, wine from the Doura and of course, our new friend, Port. I loved the bachalau, a smoked cod and potato dish and was delighted that the winter tradition of roasting chestnuts on the streets does not stop here when spring arrives.
In Sevilla oranges hang from pregnant trees for the picking. The flamenco dancer sends shivers down my spine- she so severe, tormenting and uplifting all at once. Ahh.. Granada. Little Morocco. We went for the Alhambra, but having not prebooked tickets weeks in advance, we queue as if for a rock concert, with no guarnatee that arriving well before dawn will be rewarded by entry. And it is decidedly the most wondrous of Moorish palaces and gardens! Madrid, our final Iberian fling, with its wonderful Prado and Rena Sofia museums and truly cosmopolitan air, was full of bravado, like their churros (how they eat fried batter dipped in chocolate first thing in the morning!), caring only for the present.
Oma's birthday in Strasbourg was all about family for never have so many of us been in the same place at the same time. It had been 35 years since all five of her children were together! We drive the wine road, visiting castles and villages, we eat flammenkuchen (aka tarte flambe) when we dont choose the white asparagus we find pleasingly in season. Munich. A naked English Garden, surfers making the most of a man-made wave, WWII history, the Hofbrauhaus and beer-I dont drink it, but I did here. A new city rebuilt as old. Then to Nuremburg for a couple of nights in Bavarian heartland.
A few days later we are in the midst of our transnation bike journey across Austria, more than 350km in 6 days, Passau to Vienna. What a ride! Every bend along the Danube, a new backdrop. The regions we visited I think showcased the best of Austria, natural and historical. I only have to sing and Hel magically gets re-energised and dashes further ahead. Songs from the Sound of Musıc she fınds most energisimg for some reason.
In Vienna we arrive and notice others with the same awkward gait, the same bruised tailbones and sore joints. They must have ridden here too. A beautiful baroque city, the capital of the former Austro-Hungarian empire, the home of the Hapsburgs, the kaffeehaus and Freud, of course. The Belvedere housed some wonderful artworks, my favourite are the Gustav Klimt pieces (his paintings actually glow-gold). I enjoy my first experience of a symphony orchestra and wonder why I had not been before. Oxidised copper green rooves, domed shaped, of the palaces and art houses, and the nature-inspired art nouveau touches stick in my memory.
We're so close, we might as well go... to Budapest. A hostel-come-Buddhist retreat is our home for 3 nights and the city reveals itself as a mixing pot of Eastern and Western Europe, full of history, struggle and, of course, wonderfully beautiful. We eat goulash and salami. Paprika is in everything. We sip on Unicum- a strong, herbal aperitif, and I go on a search the house of Szabo marzipan, but find only small boutiques that sell the sweets, they dont offer the showcase it deserves. Helen checks out the natural spring Turkish-style baths famous here.
South to Llubljana, capital of Slovenia. This city is filled with medieval architecture. We stay near the Dragon Bridge and I feel like Im in an episode of She-Ra, complete with dark forests, castles and fire-breathing mythical creatures. The people are wonderful, even on the surface. I read somewhere that Slovenian sounds like Russian dripping with honey. I think it sounds even sweeter. We see a puppet show, visit the castle, relax by the river and sample some fantastic Slovenian reds (in the wine bar, Hel bumps into someone she knows!). Our last day in Slovenia is spent at Lake Bled, a window-lake, so clear it is like peering into an aquarium. The famous lake island and church can only be reached by boat. The most appealing boats are the Slovenian-style gondolas, with huge red-faced men manouvering upright oars to take us and a dozen others across. I see why this lake is the holiday spot for the outdoorsy, nature-loving Slovenians.
Croatia, from where I write this, is similarly a very happy discovery. We visited Split, an ancient palace-turned-city at the entrance to the Dalmatian Coast, Hvar Island for a real Adriatic, relaxing few days (sadly, the lavendar fields were not blooming), and now Dubrovnik. This coast is perfect for island-hopping by ferry. When we took the bus one leg we did briefly enter Bosnia, a hassle as we had to scurry for passports in our packs, underneath the bus. These former Yugoslavian countries appear to have healed well since 1991, though I wonder how- depite politically- Croatia differed before. The grey igneous mountains would have stood just as majestically, the waters would have shimmered all the same, and people dont change all that much.
Here I write postcards home asking someone to invent a way to transplant Berlin to this very spot. The water beckons, even when fully clothed, I want to jump in. Beaches without sand, while taking a while to adjust to can be suprisingly comfortable, like lying on a Masseur sandle. No need to rinse feet or shower at all really. The salt on my skin reminds me of home and I leave it there as long as possible. The Old Town in Dubrovnik was bombed only 16 years ago but when climbing along its high walls, circumventing the city, this is hard to fathom. I feel so at peace up here. The view cannot be described, photographs will not do it justice.
I catch the plane for Dublin tonight and look forward to 2 weeks exploring another corner of the world. Forget eco-tourism, the country promotes alco-tourism and while Guinness does not take my fancy, I am a devoted fan of Baileys and will be quite content visiting Ireland's second-most important institution after the Church.. the Irish pub.
Storks nestıng near the Orangerie, Strasbourg. These bırds are the emblem for Alsace.
Family at Oma's birthday, all together after 35 years.
Towns on the Wıne Road have the cutest little houses- not German, not French- Alsacian.
Helen, a Cosmopolitan, in Vienna, about to eat handmade asian noodles. She's happy.
Canola oil fields are brıght yellow this time of year. A break from the bike.
Fındıng some shade in Croatia.
In the gardens of the Alcazar, Sevilla.
Had to go to the Freud Museum in Vienna.
Outside La Sagrada Familie, Barcelona. Honeycombed Gaudi wonder. Unfortunately under construction, all of Europe seems to be.
Helen and I, fountain in Lisboa.
Ahh.. Dubrovnik, the Old Town viewed from the town wall.
Sign reads: WHY CALL IT TOURIST SEASON IF WE CANT SHOOT THEM? He he he. Vıew from Park Guell, Barcelona.
Our hotel rooms were sometimes restaurants and laundries too! Love the toilet paper for serviettes.
Drew, architecture student actually being paid to travel the world! Having a drink on Hvar Island.
On ferry, view over to Split.
Porto at night.
Dinner in Madrid. Stumbled upon this locals restaurant and got alot more for our Euro. And delicious!
Magic trick: Nata, nata, nata, I turn you into nada, nada, nada.
On the Danube bike trail.
Houses covered in what looks like Delft plates in Porto.
View over Granada from the Alhambra. Magıcal. While taking it we knew the depth could not be translated to the two dımensional. This was 1000 times more magical in reality.
Neuschwanstein. Ludwıg II and his obsession with Wagner led to it. A love story but no fairy tale.
Beautiful Budapest. View from Pest over Buda. Largest building is the Hungarian Parliament. Spectacular.
Thursday
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?
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?
Tuesday
Deutschland & La France
December 2006-January 2007
Blankenau, the town where my Oma Christine lives, not far from Frankfurt
Oma's nursing home
Oma and I, my last day with her
At a Weinachtsmarkt in Fulda, the closest large town to Blankenau
Me in front of Christmas tree in Place Kleber, Strasbourg, "Capital de Noel"
Famous gothic cathedral (Munster) in Strasbourg while decorations light up to transform the city
Christmas decorations at Chez Yvonne, a famous Alsace restaurant
Place Kleber at dusk
Christmas with the family in Strasbourg, Alsace. L-R front row: Hermann (Christian's partner), Oma Fernande, Aunt Renee, Uncle Christian, Thebaut. L-R back row: Didier and my cousin Patricia (Thebaut's parents), Aunt Gaby
St Nicholas turned up. Thebaut guessed right away it was really my Uncle Christian
Nancy, where my Aunt Gaby lives, is the birthplace of Art Nouveau. I spent a week there before Paris. The next few pics are all Nancy
Blankenau, the town where my Oma Christine lives, not far from Frankfurt
Oma's nursing home
Oma and I, my last day with her
At a Weinachtsmarkt in Fulda, the closest large town to Blankenau
Me in front of Christmas tree in Place Kleber, Strasbourg, "Capital de Noel"
Famous gothic cathedral (Munster) in Strasbourg while decorations light up to transform the city
Christmas decorations at Chez Yvonne, a famous Alsace restaurant
Place Kleber at dusk
Christmas with the family in Strasbourg, Alsace. L-R front row: Hermann (Christian's partner), Oma Fernande, Aunt Renee, Uncle Christian, Thebaut. L-R back row: Didier and my cousin Patricia (Thebaut's parents), Aunt Gaby
St Nicholas turned up. Thebaut guessed right away it was really my Uncle Christian
Nancy, where my Aunt Gaby lives, is the birthplace of Art Nouveau. I spent a week there before Paris. The next few pics are all Nancy
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