I tried haggis.
And it was delicious. I also tried pickled herring. Not so delicious. I love trying traditional food, but its really hit or miss. Pickled herring being a FAR miss. But in my time in Scotland, I've also eaten mussels in white wine and cream sauce, venison in cranberry sauce, three cheese pasta, traditional Highland cream over raspberries. Wait, I thought I was suppose to lose weight!
Food aside, it's been an incredible last two days. Driving is still a...treat. We almost made road kill of a chicken. I screamed, the chicken clucked, Pami swerved, and all parties survived (save for my nerves, which were an innocent bystander in the whole ordeal). Then, while on the winding, twisting, beautiful one lane road of the highlands, I managed to tear my eyes away from the deep green hills just in time to scream, "Goat!" It wasn't IN the road, but certainly close enough. Two sheep later, we finally see the triangle warning sign.
I'm sure the Highlands of Scotland must be one of the most beautiful places on Earth. The hills are vibrant green, with grey stones jutting up here and there. At times it looks like a knife has sliced through the earth, splitting open the dirt in precise and clean cuts. Stone walls of the same color divide the grass, and yet they were so covered in time and moss that they look as natural as the cliffs and mist. Mountain tops are either covered in scraps of snow or shrouded in clouds. It's like a dream, so breathtaking that pictures are a poor, horrific, and pathetic imitation. Its both a photographers heaven and hell--so many sights to capture, and each absolutely impossible to obtain. In person, though, its simply overwhelming. When we stopped at the top of the first valley and I got my very first sight of what it means to be in the highlands, I wept. Literally.
It wouldn't be the last time I would cry that day. We traveled to Eilean Donan castle--an old but renovated castle so that it is still currently the home of the Macrae family. You've seen this castle before. Its the same castle used in Highlander, Highlander: End Game, Made of Honor, and a few other movies. Its majestic, but more importantly, its thick and bursting with history. As Pami and I traversed the halls and rooms, we came upon a paper telling about a particular battle. It was so real, down to the details of the mourning wives. That's the thing about historians--its like we have a direct link to the past, an instant upload, if you will. While some may see just old stuff and words, I know that those were once real people, with real tears and screams and thirsts for survival. These are not just old buildings to me. They are as living, breathing, and vivid as anything right here and now.
We traveled over the Skye Bridge onto the Isle of Skye--a rugged and wild cut of land. The hills are higher, the mountains more jagged, the sheep more daring and the cows more hairy. Not only is the Isle of Skye filled with the most awe-inspiring sights, (be it waterfalls into the sea, peaks shaped like grasping fingers, and hills decorated with sheep and creeks), but also ripe with history--from pirates, to revolts, royalty, and legends of Fairy and Phantom folk. Every time you think you've seen it all, that there can be nothing better, nothing more, the next sight rounds the corner and you're left babbling and in tears all over again.
If I died, this would be my heaven.
There is so much to say that a simple blog or scraps of photos could never cover it--never really let you know what its like. I can only imagine its akin to an astronaut trying to explain what its like to walk on the moon. I can only say that this is a place best left to your own eyes.
PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=436632&id=794430163&l=12d48c3f83
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Quest for the Loch Ness Monster
The bathroom looks like a laundry room, but that seems to be the best way to wash undergarments on the road. It only makes it more interesting when the decorated bathroom is just one of many in a castle. If you're going to stay in Scotland, might as well camp out in a castle, right? And this castle is no joke. Nestled between Loch Ness and Lock Lochy, its a beautiful stone castle that retains its old, historical feel.
Of course, getting to our castle was a trip. We landed late, mostly because Easy Jet Airlines is the epitome of anarchy. If ever you run into one of those people who promote anarchy and chaos, point them towards Easy Jet. They'll be quite at ease. That aside (and never mind the fact the airline tore my black knapsack I bought in Iraq and is essentially irreplaceable), we ended up in our rental car and on the road.
Now here's a fun time--two Americans in an English style car, driving the tiny streets of Scotland. If my death grip on my seat belt had been any tighter, I would have snapped the belt in two. It didn't help that we screamed like little girls as we popped a curb to get around a car and every time a truck came from the opposite side, I experienced cold flashes of terror. Did I mention we're driving manual? Oh yes, the fun never stops.
So we bobbed along between pleasant laughs and gasps of fear to the most eclectic radio station ever imagined--the ONLY radio station, of course. First Lionel Hampton's "Midnight Sun" filtered through the static, followed by TLC "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls." Then came a jarring and upbeat Spanish rendition of the World Cup opening song, which seemed a bit odd to hear the wild Spanish-style drums to the backdrop of the Scotland mountains. Then the song switched to bagpipes instead of drums, which felt slightly more Scottish until it was followed up by Elvis. Eclectic indeed.
Aside from the terror-inspiring trucks, the drive along side Loch Ness is breath taking. A light fog hands in the air, casting farther mountains into a deeper purple. Despite the periodic rain, the sky has this rolling gray affect that is wild and beautiful in its own way. We pulled over to take pictures (or, more accurately, Pami placated my wide-eyed, slack jawed desire to take a photo of every knook and turn by pulling over), and as we snapped shots, two young men sauntered over.
"Take a picture with me?" Asked one.
"With us?" We asked back in unison, confused why he wanted a picture with us.
It became fairly obvious that they were American (I find only American man are ballsy enough to walk up to a woman and ask such a thing), and even more obvious they were military.
"What makes you think that," One of them protested.
I pointed to his head. "You're wearing your PT hat." Dead give away.
How is it the first people we meet in Scotland are not only American, but also military? Like find like, I suppose.
Quite by chance, we ended up at the castle ruins of Urquhart Castle--a nearly thousand year old site that has a tortured and sadden history that I couldn't possible tell all here. It was beautiful, even if the ruins were a simple shadow of what must have been a great stronghold. I reached out and touched the stones, knowing that someone, so long ago, had placed them there. Someone had fought there, bled there, and died there. They were stones that practically hummed with centuries of stories. It is enough to make ones head reel as you stand surrounding by the broken walls, shivering in the cool lake air.
We never saw the Loch Ness monster, though we have a few days more to search. In this land where the last threads of the sun are still spinning at midnight, I'm sure we'll be able to track it down.
PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=435772&id=794430163&l=7403d980d9
Of course, getting to our castle was a trip. We landed late, mostly because Easy Jet Airlines is the epitome of anarchy. If ever you run into one of those people who promote anarchy and chaos, point them towards Easy Jet. They'll be quite at ease. That aside (and never mind the fact the airline tore my black knapsack I bought in Iraq and is essentially irreplaceable), we ended up in our rental car and on the road.
Now here's a fun time--two Americans in an English style car, driving the tiny streets of Scotland. If my death grip on my seat belt had been any tighter, I would have snapped the belt in two. It didn't help that we screamed like little girls as we popped a curb to get around a car and every time a truck came from the opposite side, I experienced cold flashes of terror. Did I mention we're driving manual? Oh yes, the fun never stops.
So we bobbed along between pleasant laughs and gasps of fear to the most eclectic radio station ever imagined--the ONLY radio station, of course. First Lionel Hampton's "Midnight Sun" filtered through the static, followed by TLC "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls." Then came a jarring and upbeat Spanish rendition of the World Cup opening song, which seemed a bit odd to hear the wild Spanish-style drums to the backdrop of the Scotland mountains. Then the song switched to bagpipes instead of drums, which felt slightly more Scottish until it was followed up by Elvis. Eclectic indeed.
Aside from the terror-inspiring trucks, the drive along side Loch Ness is breath taking. A light fog hands in the air, casting farther mountains into a deeper purple. Despite the periodic rain, the sky has this rolling gray affect that is wild and beautiful in its own way. We pulled over to take pictures (or, more accurately, Pami placated my wide-eyed, slack jawed desire to take a photo of every knook and turn by pulling over), and as we snapped shots, two young men sauntered over.
"Take a picture with me?" Asked one.
"With us?" We asked back in unison, confused why he wanted a picture with us.
It became fairly obvious that they were American (I find only American man are ballsy enough to walk up to a woman and ask such a thing), and even more obvious they were military.
"What makes you think that," One of them protested.
I pointed to his head. "You're wearing your PT hat." Dead give away.
How is it the first people we meet in Scotland are not only American, but also military? Like find like, I suppose.
Quite by chance, we ended up at the castle ruins of Urquhart Castle--a nearly thousand year old site that has a tortured and sadden history that I couldn't possible tell all here. It was beautiful, even if the ruins were a simple shadow of what must have been a great stronghold. I reached out and touched the stones, knowing that someone, so long ago, had placed them there. Someone had fought there, bled there, and died there. They were stones that practically hummed with centuries of stories. It is enough to make ones head reel as you stand surrounding by the broken walls, shivering in the cool lake air.
We never saw the Loch Ness monster, though we have a few days more to search. In this land where the last threads of the sun are still spinning at midnight, I'm sure we'll be able to track it down.
PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=435772&id=794430163&l=7403d980d9
I've seen London, I've seen France
It was difficult walking away and getting on that plane. I said tearful goodbyes, running back for one more kiss from Mark before I really had to get in the security line. It got only more difficult when the security people took my toothpaste. Come on, people, its toothpaste! I managed to stifle my huff, say goodbye to the toothpaste as well, then set off for my plane. I've flown international before, but thought the sight of a literal and actual bar at the front of first class a good sign.
Sadly, no. First class certainly had enough room to sprawl out. My seat, on the other hand, was too small for a hobbit. But I slept as best I could (as best as any can with their knees pressed up against their chin). Upon waking, I asked the British flight attendant, "Can I have some water?" She blinked at me in confusion, then smiled, "Sure, of course you can walk around." We are speaking the same language, right? I think something got lost in translation.
London itself is rather impressive. It is this fascinating mix of ancient and new, sometimes the two side by side in a way that makes you bling and go "that's different." I'm sure we spent much of the time on the metro, going this way then that until I'd memorized the posters on the walls and my head was spinning with "circle line" "blue line" "universal line." But when you walk out of that subway, and Big Ben (the clock tower) is stretched out in front of you in its intricate and breath-taking architecture, you have to rock back on your heels and go "whoah." I was stunned speechless, head inclined backward as I stared up at the massive golden tower and the many peaks of Parliament. Its more than enough to say, "I'm not in Connecticut anymore."
After going site to sight, and a pint and a half later of local beer, Pami and I ended up strolling through Hyde Park--which is a marvel on to itself. Once you fall into the tall green trees and twisting Serpentine Lake, the sounds of the city literally just fade away and are replaced by an array of birds. Wild grass grows up against old wooden fences, groves of birch trees sporadically decorate the cobblestone path. Hyde Park itself is hundreds of years old, once still the popular site for lords and ladies to pass gossip in carriages and on horseback. I don't think its aged a year since then.
By the end of the evening, with sore feet (lesson one: never try to break new shoes in one a mutli-mile march through London), well fed and ready to sleep (as I had yet to do since the plane), we returned to our itty-bitty room (so small that its two twin beds left no room to walk between and the one tiny window took up the entire wall).
So ended my day in London. Next up, Scotland!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=435693&id=794430163&l=19060e8cb5
Sadly, no. First class certainly had enough room to sprawl out. My seat, on the other hand, was too small for a hobbit. But I slept as best I could (as best as any can with their knees pressed up against their chin). Upon waking, I asked the British flight attendant, "Can I have some water?" She blinked at me in confusion, then smiled, "Sure, of course you can walk around." We are speaking the same language, right? I think something got lost in translation.
London itself is rather impressive. It is this fascinating mix of ancient and new, sometimes the two side by side in a way that makes you bling and go "that's different." I'm sure we spent much of the time on the metro, going this way then that until I'd memorized the posters on the walls and my head was spinning with "circle line" "blue line" "universal line." But when you walk out of that subway, and Big Ben (the clock tower) is stretched out in front of you in its intricate and breath-taking architecture, you have to rock back on your heels and go "whoah." I was stunned speechless, head inclined backward as I stared up at the massive golden tower and the many peaks of Parliament. Its more than enough to say, "I'm not in Connecticut anymore."
After going site to sight, and a pint and a half later of local beer, Pami and I ended up strolling through Hyde Park--which is a marvel on to itself. Once you fall into the tall green trees and twisting Serpentine Lake, the sounds of the city literally just fade away and are replaced by an array of birds. Wild grass grows up against old wooden fences, groves of birch trees sporadically decorate the cobblestone path. Hyde Park itself is hundreds of years old, once still the popular site for lords and ladies to pass gossip in carriages and on horseback. I don't think its aged a year since then.
By the end of the evening, with sore feet (lesson one: never try to break new shoes in one a mutli-mile march through London), well fed and ready to sleep (as I had yet to do since the plane), we returned to our itty-bitty room (so small that its two twin beds left no room to walk between and the one tiny window took up the entire wall).
So ended my day in London. Next up, Scotland!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=435693&id=794430163&l=19060e8cb5
Monday, May 24, 2010
Last Preparations
I forgot how much it takes to get ready to live in another country for three months. Let's forget the toiletries, and the make-up, the converters and batteries. Or the clothes shopping and the eternal quest for cute, flat, walking shoes (which are a mere myth created to plague women with the futile hope for comfort). No, the real issue here is the camera. Two years ago when I was studying in France, I bought a wonderful, amazing, and startlingly articulate camera.
The one bad thing about having the camera meant to capture heaven in a lens is that it must be huge. Like cumbersome, annoying, ready to throw into the Seine River huge. So I thought, surely, after two years of advancing technology and repeated commercials of Ashton Kutcher doing combat roles across a fashion catwalk, surely, SURELY, a smaller, more compact camera must have been created.
Sadly, no. I spent $400 on the Canon Powershot sc20 is. Sounds impressive, no? I think they used all their cool points in the title. There is nothing good about this camera, unless you want a paperweight with an intimidating name. So I sent it packing, with a bit of a huff, and return to the faithful (if clunky) embrace of my Canon Rebel Xti. I'm sorry I even entertained the thought of infidelity.
So with less than two days to go, I nervously anticipate.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Pre-Departure
It's late but I'm usually up late so its not that unusual. The funny part is, I've traveled before. I've been from Russia to Haiti, Japan to France and so many places in-between.
I've been to war.
So is it ridiculous that I'm nervous about heading off to Ireland?
It's not like when I went to France, stepping into the University with barely a word of French under my belt. I'm not so worried about being in another country or a place I don't know. It's not what's in front of me that has me anxious but instead what I'm leaving behind. I'm afraid my dog, Dorian, will be miserable without me. Or that he'll run off looking for me. I'm worried my puppy, Freya, will forget me. I'm nervous my fiance will become a bit too happy with the bachelor-like life.
But, in the end, I'm stubborn as a bull. Or perhaps as much as an Alaskan Malamute (I will miss you, Freya!). I've dug my heels in and refuse to be pulled by the leash. I've set my mind to go. I've set my mind to experience another once in a life time opportunity. So I will go not because I have to, or because people are expecting me to. I go because I'm afraid and simply because I've decided to.
And ask my fiance. Once I make up my mind, I'm a tough girl to deter.
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