We were hoping to find our own "Mrs. Graham" here in the Highlands, and it seems we found ourselves in a whole commune of them {with maybe a strong spattering of Geilles}. In researching our trip, I found through AirBnB you could stay in "wee whiskey barrel" on the North Sea. Sounds creative and adventuresome, right?
Weel, hell slap it intae ye. It was perhaps a might more than we reckoned for.
Don't get me wrong, the day was great... woke up to a traditional Scottish breakfast. Downed some black pudding and coffee so strong it would put a Louis La'Amour cowboy to shame (the pudding was great...the coffee needed several small pitchers of cream to get down). Thus fortified, we went hiking...saw some Scottish "coos' and sheep. Climbed up a waterful and cut across some fields (tangent...they grow Brussel Sprouts here!).
It was my turn to drive, this time up through the highlands. It was...well...breathtaking. I kept picturing scene after scene of Gordons, Grants and Chisolms warring, raiding and trekking up and down the hills that I was flying over at 70mph.
What could go wrong! Our car GPS had been possesed of a devil since the beginning, so it's been quite fortiutous that my phone has unlimited international data. We've been using the all knowing Google Maps with satisfying results, so we were confused when it led us way out of the main village where we thought we were staying. We were even more convinced it was wrong when it dumped us into an odd conglomeration of trailers, sod houses and other "unique" dwellings. But no, no...we caught sight of an outcropping of whiskey barrels (they're hard to miss) and went in to meet our host Shanti. In short order we got the double sided stack of laminated household rules "absolutely no shoes and please don't use the TV unless you're lazy", and a wee old neighbor lady who I'm sure couldn't understand why it took two lassies so long to figure out how to back the car out of her rubbage bins (the parking break is a schizophrenic button and reverse is in a weird place). Speaking of, they turn the wifi off at midnight for the health of the household, so I've got ten minutes to finish this up.
We had planned on exploring some old cathedral ruins and a distillery, but since we were so far off the beaten path, there wasn't enough time before the sun went down. No problem, our ever gracious host reccomended we walk the beach to the local fishing village. He said to follow the path through "The Foundation" (what this place is called) and there was no way we could get lost as long as we kept going straight because eventually we'd run into the north sea where we could cut left to the fishing village. Well, these aren't exactly San Diego beaches and we did get hopelessly lost in the dunes and trees before being rescued by a nice lady with her horse. I'm assuming the North Sea inspired a fair bit of Norse mythology because there was no doubt this was Odinn's domain and he wasna terribly pleased to two interlopers from the sunny lands. We got a nice facial exfoliation and had to walk at a near ninety degree angle in order to walk up the beach without being blown out to sea. Just when we'd given up hope of ever seeing civilization again we came across "Kimberly's Inn" where again, time had stood still for the last several hundred years and we were welcomed into a fire, ale, and fresh seafood "Buckie caught it himself this morning". Nothing ever tasted so good.
By now it was dark, rainy and there was no way we were ever going to survive the several mile trek back through the dunes unless Thor himself showed up to escort us. Our host had said that it was an easy walk the front way around from the fishing village to "The Foundation" (when we told the Mistress at the Inn where we were staying she made that distinctly scottish sound at the back of her throat and said "Ye'll be fine, juist keep yer heid doon.". Good to know.
The north shore of Scotland at night may be the scariest place I've ever been in my too short of a life. The wind wasn't just freezing and fierce, the trees here are these knobby twisted things with long arms that twist down in the wind. Throw in a penchant for stone walls and walkways, no streetlight and rows of abandoned looking houses (Do people actually vacation here?) and you have a general idea of our thirty min walk home.
That's right, THIRTY minutes of Andria and I clutching each other like some sort of scene from Stranger Things as we stumbled our way home with my trusty phone guiding the way and her phone acting as flashlight. We did make one wrong turn down an abaondoned driveway with a big stone arch and gate (you can't make this stuff up). My phone chose this particular moment to shout out "turn left in three hundred feet" and Andria and I both screamed and peed our pants. Literally (well at least in my case).
We were never so glad to see our hippie commune and whiskey barrel.
I'm not sure our hearts have slowed down yet, but we've locked all of the windows and doors (and checked them twice) and have got to get some sleep before our vegan breakfast in the morning and then it's off to more ghosts and castles (but hopefully not any more wrathful Odinn nights).
