Braveheart

Planning an excursion for a Sunday is always risky. Proper university etiquette dictates that Saturday night is for drinking and carrying on and so fourth. Scottish university etiquette dictates that Saturday night is for drinking and drinking and drinking and maybe some carrying on if you don't feel like drinking anymore. Being the sophisticated lady that I am I do not partake... much. I had my heart set on returning to Stirling, actually seeing the city and making it back to Edinburgh sans stab wounds. Also I desperately wanted to visit the William Wallace Monument, which looks a bit like something ripped from the pages of J.R.R. Tolkin. Nearly half of my party dropped out of our adventure before it even began early that Sunday but the jolly remaining three musketeers ventured forth.
We hopped on the train and arrived in Stirling without much incident. After finding coffee and breakfast on the main street we began to explore. We didn't have a plan, which incidentally usually leads to the best stories. Whether or not that is true for this story is up for you to decide. After walking up an unfairly steep hill and passing by the irrevocably haunted Highland Hotel we found ourselves in a graveyard that was, for lack of a better phrase, hauntingly beautiful. We exchanged pleasantries with a potentially intoxicated local and began pursuing the gravestones that made the Boston Tea Party look like a current event. It was a quiet and serene place that didn't seem to bothered by the passage of time. There was a hill in the far corner that offered us a picturesque views no matter which way we turned. The castle, the countryside, the entire church yard and beyond. We explored the city a bit more before deciding that it was time to take on the Wallace Monument.

William Wallace Monument

Athos, Prothos and Aramis... Not in that order.

After locating the bus stop we set off for Wallace Monument. I discovered all too late that I wore the wrong shoes for full on mountain climbing, which seems to be a running theme within my adventures. Scotland is chock full of absurd hills that make me feel comically out of shape. If I don't return to the flatness of Florida with the legs of a mythical champion there is no justice. A trail wound up the side of the hill and after shedding my jacket and cursing my sweater we arrived at the top to a lovely view of Stirling, some very patriotic Scottish flags, and one of the coolest monuments I have ever seen. Upon entering said monument we discovered, much to our horror, a narrow spiral staircase. The tower contained five parts; the foyer and gift shop, a three part museum, and the viewing platform at the very top. Also a 246 step spiral staircase. The museum bit was a bit anticlimactic, the only truly interesting part was the horrifying display in the first room. An actor's face was projected onto a featureless dummy for the sake of reenacting William Wallace's trial. Truly nightmare material, you had to be there. We visited the other rooms which were probably fascinating but the last stop put them to shame. The very top of a monument set on the top of a hill overlooking a small city in the middle of the Scottish countryside has a view some would die for. Again I'm failed by my limited vocabulary, another running theme. Stirling sat tucked in the hills and fields looking impossibly small, neat gold and green fields blanketed the ground like a quilt, massive grey hills rose up on all sides, and a sunlit river weaved through it all. My hair did violent battle with the wind as my friend and I stood in the middle of the unreal surroundings talking about how insane and wonderful everything is. I still find myself wondering how this is all real.

I can see my flat from here! I kid, my eyesight is rubbish.

FREEDOM!

Going down the stairs was like something out of a Hitchcock film, but once back on Earth we decided that the best way down the hill was the longest and least populated trail. I almost gave up on my plan escape Stirling unscathed. The trail went deep into the surrounding forest over hills and far far away. 10 years later we finally emerged stronger and wiser for the experience and proceeded to take the tourist center by force. We decided to end our journey in the best and most Scottish way possible at Baker Street pub with fish and chips, haggis neeps and tatties, and beer. Stirling is a truly beautiful city and as we raced home I was a bit distraught at the thought of that trip being my last visit. Oh how wrong can one be.

Here it goes again....

Letters From Home

Friday morning two bright orange envelopes made their way through my mail slot and unceremoniously onto the undeniably ratty carpet of my little flat. As much as this beautiful city charms me the little piece of home that found me thousands of miles away kept me warm as I walked through the rain on that increasingly cold October morning. I'm slowly building a small gallery of greeting cards on the shelf over my desk. Lined up in order of arrival each one reminds me of what I have waiting for me on the other side of the pond. Little ink hearts "We love yous" and "We miss yous" etch themselves in my mind and follow me around as I wander. Phone calls and video chats keep me close but on those days when I just can't seem to find the time those little hand written messages are there and suddenly and just for a moment there isn't an ocean between us. If I'm being honest I'm really not homesick and I'm not counting the days until my return. I truly love this old city and am enjoying every moment of my time here, but at the same time there are certain things that just can't be replaced.

                           

Holy Highland Cows Batman!

The streets of Edinburgh were empty that morning. It was relatively early the sky was clear and the morning blue was striking in contrast to the stone grey city. The air was soft and cool with the promise of a mild afternoon and the streets were silent save for the quiet conversations of my travel companions. We hit the Royal Mile and found a line of buses parked on the street almost like a rescue convoy ready to take us out of the eerily empty city and into the safety of the majestic highlands. After checking in we wasted no time in boarding our bus and settling in for the ride from the center of Edinburgh to the world famous Loch Ness. The bus drove through the city passed several famous landmarks and historical sites and out into the suburbs filled with tiny cottages and green back gardens. In a surprising amount of time we were surrounded by the rustic Scottish countryside with ancient rolling hills still softened by morning mist and fields filled with fluffy white sheep.

Stop #1was in a wee village where at any point you could see from one end to the other. We grabbed a few coffees and wandered around for about 20 minutes before pileing back on the bus for Loch Ness.

Loch Ness is massive. We barely caught to ferry before it embarked, we took seats on the top deck and prepared for the inevitable and glorious battle with the infamous monster of the lake. A recording played over a sound system fought with the wind for the attention of our ears and spouted off random facts about birds and Jacobites. Through the hair blowing unceremoniously in my face I watched the nearly black blue water froth and the hills cloaked in mist, in pure Scottish fashion, pass by. The air was freezing and clean, it smelled like fresh water and forests. Ahead of us the loch seemed to go on indefinitely, through fog and rain the black hills and dark water simply faded into legend. The loch is about 25 miles long and in our ferry moving roughly at the same speed of an old one legged sheep we covered maybe .3% of it. Our trusty vessel sailed out to the remains of Urquhart Castle where we docked for only long enough to fully grasp how beautiful it was from the upper deck of a boat before turning into the waves and heading back. We considered throwing someone overboard to attract the great Loch Ness Monster but decided to procure some swords and shields and come back later. Back of the pebble coated beach I rolled up my sleeve and dipped my hand in the water only to find it was absolutely frigid, imagine my surprise! I couldn't resist. In the tourist center we played with stuffed Nessies and grabbed some lunch before getting back on the bus.

Me, my battle companion and dear flatmate, and my friend Katie.

In a moment of unadulterated childish excitement I forgot about my camera and regrettably did not get a picture of the first great big fuzzy Highland Cows I saw since my arrival. It was a fleeting moment but I would like to believe that as the bus rushed past its enclosure I bonded with the great furry beast. Please trust me when I say it was majestic and adorably and extremely ginger. The Commando Memorial was situated on top of a hill surrounded by mountains silhouetted against the bright overcast. From the top of the hill you could look out at the untouched countryside disappearing back to the mountains on all sides. This was probably the coldest and wettest stop on our adventure and I was hesitant to pull out my camera for fear of water damage. We didn't stay at the monument long and soon were back on the road toward Skyfall for a last major stop: Gelncoe.

The bus flew down a road that wound between dark mountains and I eagerly watched the scenery expecting to see a dragon crawl out of the clouds down the side of the mountain and try to set the bus on fire. I was honestly slightly disappointed that it never actually happened. The bus pulled over and we had arrived in one of the most breathtaking and mystical looking places I have ever seen. Awe inspiring? An understatement. Small streams and waterfalls flowed down the sides and to the green valley below. For several minutes I forgot about the camera in my hand and was lost in the sheer indescribable beauty. While I took several photos not one of them could possibly contain the words needed to accurately describe the scenery.

Glencoe

Prior to our arrival our guide gave us a brief history lesson on Glencoe and the massacre of the MacDonald clan by the Campbells. A favorite legend amongst the locals involves the evil Campbells taking advantage of the MacDonalds hospitality for 10 days before slaughtering the lot of them for no particular reason. The more likely story involved the Campbells being sent by permission of the king to wipe out the MacDonalds in order to set an example for all other highland clans of the power of the crown. The cunning plan backfired and led to everyone hating the king and excluding him from their reindeer games and so fourth. Historian I am not. 
After Glencoe we stopped very briefly near Stirling Castle but because of the time could neither go in nor stay very long. The sunset recolored the large rolling fields in the most elegant way. We stopped one last time at a tourist spot to refill the bus and use the facilities, made dinner plans, and bought more postcards. Returning to Edinburgh felt like returning home after a long day, bone tired and thoroughly chilled my flat never felt so warm.

Stirling Castle

I had this song stuck in my head throughout my time in the highlands