Edinburgh is a LONG way from Dunoon (where we are currently staying). Or, rather, it is when my father does not go the speed limit (70 MPH) because every else drives maniacally. We woke up at 6 AM because Dad wanted to avoid the crazy traffic that comes with big cities. We went on Sunday to also avoid this trend.
I don't remember most of the trip because I was asleep in the car. I do remember seeing, through the car window, a graveyard that must have had as many tombstones as my home town has live people (50,000).
It was amazing.
The day looked up from then on. Literally. The entire trip was a bit of an uphill battle as we parked...somewhere (it was probably illegal, but we weren't caught) and walked 1.5 miles to Edinburgh Castle.
The capitol of Scotland is beautiful, full of fantasticly old buildings and churches that are older than the USA. Unfortunately, most of these churches have been converted into shops, cell phone cites, witches covens (yeah, seriously) because the churches are no longer populated in Scotland. Rumor has it that this is the same w/ all of Europe. Sad.
Anyway, we went up to the castle, which puts to shame every other castle I have seen thus far. It's...huge. An entire city (small, granted) lies within the castle walls. Several memorials, museums and exhibits are here as well.
We were walked around by a guide who had a great accent, so, on the sly, I recorded his entire presentation. I have no idea if I was allowed to...
Apparently, Edinburgh Castle rocks and the current line of English monarchs exist thanks to...a Scot taking the throne (James the 1st of England, and the 6th of Scotland). We saw the Scottish crown jewels (the steel for the sword is like 400 years old!) and the "stone of destiny," which is this ancient throne that Scots used to sit on to be crowned king...until the bloody English invaded Scotland, took the stone, and then put it under THEIR monarch's chairs. Well, the Scots got it back in 199(something) and will loan it to the English when the next king is crowned.
It was great. I saw a great war memorial and museum, saw dozens of awesome swords, decided the sword I want for a character in a movie that I and Kyle Cowgill are writing (you know the one Kyle. By the way, no one up here has heard of "him." Go figure).
We spent 2 hours in the castle, left the city...while I was navigating. Several times, i almost got us lost because, well, I'm not used to Scotland yet. but we got to the right place...finally.
And what was the right place? My ancestors' castle, Carrick Castle. Now, when I saw "castle," I mean "tower," and by "tower," I mean "ruin." It was...disappointing. Oh well. It made for some nice pictures and bragging rights (how many of YOU guys' families own a castle?).
Dad and I ended the day by walking around Dunoon and then finally watching Pan's Labyrinth on the tele. Surprisingly, both parents liked it. I think it helped that I warned them that it was rough...I went to bed after reading 30 pages of "Starship Troopers." You guys have to read it. It puts the movie to shame.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Scotland, Day 10
A much better day than yesterday. We left the Coach House, the apartment that we had been staying in. Our hostess, Mrs. MacDougall had been the “perfect” hostess and we’ll miss her. Right before we left, she brought out her husband’s kilt and other paraphernalia and insisted I try it on for a picture.
It was awesome. The man was about a 30” waist, whereas I am a 34” waist, so…it was a bit snug, but I figured out how to “kilt myself” without any help. The picture looks cool. She declared it “lordly” and said, as she had the entire trip, that I looked so Scottish. This is an ironic phrase, since I haven’t seen a single Scot that looks anything like me. In the places we had been thus far, I can count on two hands the number of red heads I’ve seen. I suppose they all left for America.
We left the house and travelled south-west to a place called Oban. We had heard that there was some sort of faux-Coliseum, called “McCaig’s Folly.” The folly laid in trying to go to see it. The streets of Oban are more confusing than the streets of New Orleans (pre or post-Katrina. Take your pick). We finally found a parking place, got out, and were immediately drenched by a pervading mist that passed for “rain.”
We put on our slickers, but the damage was done. We were waterlogged the entire two-mile hike to the tourist center to get directions and then up to the tower, which was ironically on the top of this ginormous hill. Of course, we had to climb up the @&$! thing, all 200 steps of it. We all hated life by the time we got to the top. Mom’s back, Dad’s knee, my flat feet. All were aching.
The coliseum thingy looked cool. It was built of sandstone (I figure) but had been leaking some sort of rock-juice (yeah…don’t ask) so that all of the walls were covered in this sickly white…ooze. I call it “coliseum thingy” because it was only sort of like the coliseum. There were no places to sit and barely anything to see. Waste.
We then traveled another 50 miles (I fell asleep) to the place that Dad was stationed 30 years ago, when he was with the Navy. The town – called Dunoon – is a lovely little bay-side city with buildings that have not changed since they were built in the turn of the century (the 20th, not the 21st).
Our new apartment is gigantic as it was made to accommodate 10 different people, but it was all that was available. It’s nice to have some leg room, but it is weird to have a miniature bathroom in my bedroom.
We walked all up and down Dunoon (by this point in the trip, my calf muscles are larger than my thighs were at the beginning of the trip and my thighs are as big as my waist, which has shrunk a bit), seeing the various sites that Dad remembered, seeing the places he lived, but we couldn’t see where he had worked because the Navy had left the area and taken their toys (buildings) with them.
On the way back, we stopped at a fish & chips shop for dinner (none of us wanted to cook). It turns out that this was the same shop that Dad had often visited when he was stationed here. The food wasn’t bad. Mom and I got chicken & chips because, well, I’m “allergic” to fish and Mom just doesn’t like it. Dad, however, went the fully traditional route and ordered fish & chips. I suppose I should explain to the more ignorant of my readers that “chips” is British slang for “fries.” They are like miniature steak fries. It’s like they heard of “French fries,” scoffed at the idea, and made something better.
We took the food back to our apartment and watched the last Lord of the Rings movie. Well, part of it. We got tired and went to bed right after the first big battle.
We had to get to bed early because tomorrow we are going to Edinburgh. I’m so excited!!!
It was awesome. The man was about a 30” waist, whereas I am a 34” waist, so…it was a bit snug, but I figured out how to “kilt myself” without any help. The picture looks cool. She declared it “lordly” and said, as she had the entire trip, that I looked so Scottish. This is an ironic phrase, since I haven’t seen a single Scot that looks anything like me. In the places we had been thus far, I can count on two hands the number of red heads I’ve seen. I suppose they all left for America.
We left the house and travelled south-west to a place called Oban. We had heard that there was some sort of faux-Coliseum, called “McCaig’s Folly.” The folly laid in trying to go to see it. The streets of Oban are more confusing than the streets of New Orleans (pre or post-Katrina. Take your pick). We finally found a parking place, got out, and were immediately drenched by a pervading mist that passed for “rain.”
We put on our slickers, but the damage was done. We were waterlogged the entire two-mile hike to the tourist center to get directions and then up to the tower, which was ironically on the top of this ginormous hill. Of course, we had to climb up the @&$! thing, all 200 steps of it. We all hated life by the time we got to the top. Mom’s back, Dad’s knee, my flat feet. All were aching.
The coliseum thingy looked cool. It was built of sandstone (I figure) but had been leaking some sort of rock-juice (yeah…don’t ask) so that all of the walls were covered in this sickly white…ooze. I call it “coliseum thingy” because it was only sort of like the coliseum. There were no places to sit and barely anything to see. Waste.
We then traveled another 50 miles (I fell asleep) to the place that Dad was stationed 30 years ago, when he was with the Navy. The town – called Dunoon – is a lovely little bay-side city with buildings that have not changed since they were built in the turn of the century (the 20th, not the 21st).
Our new apartment is gigantic as it was made to accommodate 10 different people, but it was all that was available. It’s nice to have some leg room, but it is weird to have a miniature bathroom in my bedroom.
We walked all up and down Dunoon (by this point in the trip, my calf muscles are larger than my thighs were at the beginning of the trip and my thighs are as big as my waist, which has shrunk a bit), seeing the various sites that Dad remembered, seeing the places he lived, but we couldn’t see where he had worked because the Navy had left the area and taken their toys (buildings) with them.
On the way back, we stopped at a fish & chips shop for dinner (none of us wanted to cook). It turns out that this was the same shop that Dad had often visited when he was stationed here. The food wasn’t bad. Mom and I got chicken & chips because, well, I’m “allergic” to fish and Mom just doesn’t like it. Dad, however, went the fully traditional route and ordered fish & chips. I suppose I should explain to the more ignorant of my readers that “chips” is British slang for “fries.” They are like miniature steak fries. It’s like they heard of “French fries,” scoffed at the idea, and made something better.
We took the food back to our apartment and watched the last Lord of the Rings movie. Well, part of it. We got tired and went to bed right after the first big battle.
We had to get to bed early because tomorrow we are going to Edinburgh. I’m so excited!!!
Scotland, Day 9
Today was pretty boring, so I won’t write much about it. We went to Inverness, a city about the size of Corvallis, but with much more history and cooler architecture. Unfortunately, rather than wander around, we spent the time letting Mom shop. Dad and I were bored out of our skulls, but we had spent most of the trip doing what we had wanted to do and had dragged Mom along. It seemed only fair that she get her turn.
Mom tried to get me to go into a store and try on a kilt. Fortunately for the rest of you, it didn’t work.
Later that evening, Dad and I hiked up a trail in the hopes of seeing a 2500 year old fortress. Couldn’t find it, but had an awesome experience of hiking w/o Mom. We ran up the first hill and immediately regretted our decision. Huffing and puffing our way up for the next 10 minutes, we barely even noticed the scenery until we hit a viewing point at the top of the mountain. From their we could see the entire Loch. It was one of the best times in the trip for me.
Mom tried to get me to go into a store and try on a kilt. Fortunately for the rest of you, it didn’t work.
Later that evening, Dad and I hiked up a trail in the hopes of seeing a 2500 year old fortress. Couldn’t find it, but had an awesome experience of hiking w/o Mom. We ran up the first hill and immediately regretted our decision. Huffing and puffing our way up for the next 10 minutes, we barely even noticed the scenery until we hit a viewing point at the top of the mountain. From their we could see the entire Loch. It was one of the best times in the trip for me.
Scotland, Day 8
Dad’s sick. He has some sort of cough-guck in his throat and chest. However, he’s a trooper (always has been), so he sets aside his personal discomfort for the good of the family, which involved taking them on a six-mile hike into the middle of nowhere to be eaten by ghosts. I’ll elaborate.
Last night, over coffee, tea, and pomegranate juice (coffee and tea disagree with me), Sarah (our hostess’ friend) had mentioned that there was a lovely trek through the mountains that ended at a haunted house where she had seen some woman that was supposed to have been dead and where some other guy had seen a bunch of ghost-soldiers slowly march into the loch (lake).
Throwing caution to the wind, we went to this spot and embarked on the journey. Now, the ladies hadn’t told us how far out we had to drive to get to the spot to start walking, or even how long the walk was, so we just shot from the hip on this one. We drove on single-lane roads past construction sites and dodging speedy drivers until we found a dead-end that had a little road for pedestrians, but was “unsuitable for motors.” We got out of our car, prayed a bit that my laptop wouldn’t get stolen, and started walking. Just like Ben Nevis, the trail was covered in poo, only this time, it wasn’t limited to just sheep poo, but deer and cow poo as well!
I’ve seen cow poo back in the states, but since Scottish cows are different then our cows, Scottish poo is much grander. To put it bluntly, it’s roughly the size of a two-year-old child and smells pretty much the same. No one had the guts to take a picture of the poo, so you’ll have to take my word for it: it was epic.
We saw a lot of sheep on either side of the trail and took several pictures. I had never seen a sheep up close before, so I did not realize that they were racially insensitive. I mean, you have these white sheep…with black faces. How much more racist can you get than being a white guy with a black face? I’m surprised that the NAACP hasn’t executed Robert Downing, Jr. for wearing a black face in the movie “Tropic Thunder.”
Anyway, we passed the Aryan sheep and saw some spectacular hillsides from the bottom looking up (more pictures that I will post later). We finally got to the haunted house area, but some inconsiderate twat had put a fence with a gate and made a half-hearted effort to lock the gate. They claim the reason was “dangerous buildings: keep out,” but I think it’s because the Scots are afraid of ghosts.
We…bypassed…the gate and crept around quietly until we realized that we were alone (although, Dad and I did find about 50 used shotgun shells that had been recently discharged). We looked around the building – which must have been 300 years old – and saw that it was less haunted than haunting. It had a depressing loneliness about it. More pictures, will post later.
The day ended with a rather disappointing chicken fajita for dinner. We also caught the tail end of “Along Came a Spider,” which I think is the only movie that Morgan Freeman actually “starred” in. He, as always, stole the screen and made everyone else look like a “B” actor.
Last night, over coffee, tea, and pomegranate juice (coffee and tea disagree with me), Sarah (our hostess’ friend) had mentioned that there was a lovely trek through the mountains that ended at a haunted house where she had seen some woman that was supposed to have been dead and where some other guy had seen a bunch of ghost-soldiers slowly march into the loch (lake).
Throwing caution to the wind, we went to this spot and embarked on the journey. Now, the ladies hadn’t told us how far out we had to drive to get to the spot to start walking, or even how long the walk was, so we just shot from the hip on this one. We drove on single-lane roads past construction sites and dodging speedy drivers until we found a dead-end that had a little road for pedestrians, but was “unsuitable for motors.” We got out of our car, prayed a bit that my laptop wouldn’t get stolen, and started walking. Just like Ben Nevis, the trail was covered in poo, only this time, it wasn’t limited to just sheep poo, but deer and cow poo as well!
I’ve seen cow poo back in the states, but since Scottish cows are different then our cows, Scottish poo is much grander. To put it bluntly, it’s roughly the size of a two-year-old child and smells pretty much the same. No one had the guts to take a picture of the poo, so you’ll have to take my word for it: it was epic.
We saw a lot of sheep on either side of the trail and took several pictures. I had never seen a sheep up close before, so I did not realize that they were racially insensitive. I mean, you have these white sheep…with black faces. How much more racist can you get than being a white guy with a black face? I’m surprised that the NAACP hasn’t executed Robert Downing, Jr. for wearing a black face in the movie “Tropic Thunder.”
Anyway, we passed the Aryan sheep and saw some spectacular hillsides from the bottom looking up (more pictures that I will post later). We finally got to the haunted house area, but some inconsiderate twat had put a fence with a gate and made a half-hearted effort to lock the gate. They claim the reason was “dangerous buildings: keep out,” but I think it’s because the Scots are afraid of ghosts.
We…bypassed…the gate and crept around quietly until we realized that we were alone (although, Dad and I did find about 50 used shotgun shells that had been recently discharged). We looked around the building – which must have been 300 years old – and saw that it was less haunted than haunting. It had a depressing loneliness about it. More pictures, will post later.
The day ended with a rather disappointing chicken fajita for dinner. We also caught the tail end of “Along Came a Spider,” which I think is the only movie that Morgan Freeman actually “starred” in. He, as always, stole the screen and made everyone else look like a “B” actor.
Scotland, Day 7
Monumental decisions were reached today. Bacon OR eggs? Well, I’ve never been a strong supporter of the Egg Movement, so I cast my ballot for bacon. It was a delicious decision.
After rifling through the hard details of the day, we had to decide what we were going to do with ourselves. The logical thing would have been: stay home, watch TV, eat potato chips (called “crisps” over here). However, the Dickasons have never been accused of being excessively logical, so we decided to hike up the tallest mountain in Scotland.
Ben Nevis (the tallest mountain) is barely taller than a foothill in Oregon. It is 1300 metres (yeah, they spell stuff funny over here), which is roughly 4,000 ft. Mt. Hood laughs at Ben Nevis. However, it is much easier to get up this mountain than it is to get up Mt. Hood. Why? Because we took a trolley up to the top.
We drove the 20 miles (not kilometers. Great Britain does not like kilometers) south to the Ben Nevis park (or something like that). In reality, it’s just a bunch of parking spaces and a trolley system that goes up the mountain. We debated for a while: should we pay the 18 pounds ($36) to ride the trolley? Once again, our better sense was overridden by our desire to do something that was really cool.
We purchased 3 tickets and went to the trolley-car-area. So that they can have a continuous stream of people going up the mountain, the cars are constantly in motion, so you have to get into a moving trolley car. Kinda unnerving. We rode up (Mom occasionally being so rude as to talk while Dad and I were enjoying the quiet scenery. Shame on her) and dismounted at the top. Now…I kinda lied when I said that we went to the top of the mountain. In reality, we only went halfway up, because that’s as far as they allow tourists to come during the non-snowing season (it’s usually a ski resort). There were two trails, however, to two separate cliffs. Both trails were absolutely riddled with sheep crap.
You see, the Scots like their sheep so much that they let them wander everywhere and over everything, including mountainous paths that tourists would be walking on. Therefore, you couldn’t walk 10 feet (3 metres) without almost stepping in little pellets o’ poo that strongly resemble (but don’t smell like) chocolate-covered peanuts. I’m getting hungry right now just thinking about it (the peanuts, not the poo)!
The view from the first (and slightly less arduous) trail was beautiful. We almost got to push some other tourists down the cliff, but they turned around before I could sneak up on them. We ate lunch while looking out over the valley and opposing mountains.
We then retraced our steps so that we could hike on the second cliff. As we approached the fork in the road that led to the two cliffs, a class full of German high schoolers (secondary school) stepped out of the lodge. I was filled with dread at the prospect of having to share OUR path with a bunch of loud people that didn’t even speak my language! Fortunately, the chose the trail that we had just come from.
The second trail was less of a path and more of a climb as you had to walk on very rocky, uneven terrain to get near the top of the second cliff. Dad and I were fine, but…we kinda had to drag Mom along. Eventually, we left her for the figurative vultures and went off on our own (she came up later). The top held one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. We have pictures of it (which I’ll be posting some time after we get back), so I won’t elaborate.
The trip back was easier, if more boring.
So ended Ben Nevis (By the way, in Gaelic, “Ben” means “mountain.”) and so (more or less) ended our day. Dinner was spaghetti with a healthy viewing of the Simpsons (Apoo cheated on his wife with the Squishy Lady!!!)
Our hostess invited us to coffee and tea at 8 PM. I took my tape recorder and was able to record the entire conversation. Most of the conversation was one-sided as Buddy’s friend (Buddy was our hostess) dominated the evening with her views on…everything, but especially why she hated Margaret Thatcher and why she thought private ownership of property was a bad idea. Father delivered a brilliant reply by saying “Actually, the ability to own property was one of the reasons we Americans rebelled against you Brits.” She wound down after that.
Around 10 PM, I started yawning. Remember that I am still not used to this place’s time system, so it was easy to get tired. We finally left (though I had a lovely time with the ladies and recorded 2.25 hours of wonderful dialogue), but I left with the impression that I had wished that Buddy’s friend, Sarah, had let Buddy talk more. By the way, I have no idea why our hostess goes by the name “Buddy.” She doesn’t SEEM crazy…
After rifling through the hard details of the day, we had to decide what we were going to do with ourselves. The logical thing would have been: stay home, watch TV, eat potato chips (called “crisps” over here). However, the Dickasons have never been accused of being excessively logical, so we decided to hike up the tallest mountain in Scotland.
Ben Nevis (the tallest mountain) is barely taller than a foothill in Oregon. It is 1300 metres (yeah, they spell stuff funny over here), which is roughly 4,000 ft. Mt. Hood laughs at Ben Nevis. However, it is much easier to get up this mountain than it is to get up Mt. Hood. Why? Because we took a trolley up to the top.
We drove the 20 miles (not kilometers. Great Britain does not like kilometers) south to the Ben Nevis park (or something like that). In reality, it’s just a bunch of parking spaces and a trolley system that goes up the mountain. We debated for a while: should we pay the 18 pounds ($36) to ride the trolley? Once again, our better sense was overridden by our desire to do something that was really cool.
We purchased 3 tickets and went to the trolley-car-area. So that they can have a continuous stream of people going up the mountain, the cars are constantly in motion, so you have to get into a moving trolley car. Kinda unnerving. We rode up (Mom occasionally being so rude as to talk while Dad and I were enjoying the quiet scenery. Shame on her) and dismounted at the top. Now…I kinda lied when I said that we went to the top of the mountain. In reality, we only went halfway up, because that’s as far as they allow tourists to come during the non-snowing season (it’s usually a ski resort). There were two trails, however, to two separate cliffs. Both trails were absolutely riddled with sheep crap.
You see, the Scots like their sheep so much that they let them wander everywhere and over everything, including mountainous paths that tourists would be walking on. Therefore, you couldn’t walk 10 feet (3 metres) without almost stepping in little pellets o’ poo that strongly resemble (but don’t smell like) chocolate-covered peanuts. I’m getting hungry right now just thinking about it (the peanuts, not the poo)!
The view from the first (and slightly less arduous) trail was beautiful. We almost got to push some other tourists down the cliff, but they turned around before I could sneak up on them. We ate lunch while looking out over the valley and opposing mountains.
We then retraced our steps so that we could hike on the second cliff. As we approached the fork in the road that led to the two cliffs, a class full of German high schoolers (secondary school) stepped out of the lodge. I was filled with dread at the prospect of having to share OUR path with a bunch of loud people that didn’t even speak my language! Fortunately, the chose the trail that we had just come from.
The second trail was less of a path and more of a climb as you had to walk on very rocky, uneven terrain to get near the top of the second cliff. Dad and I were fine, but…we kinda had to drag Mom along. Eventually, we left her for the figurative vultures and went off on our own (she came up later). The top held one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. We have pictures of it (which I’ll be posting some time after we get back), so I won’t elaborate.
The trip back was easier, if more boring.
So ended Ben Nevis (By the way, in Gaelic, “Ben” means “mountain.”) and so (more or less) ended our day. Dinner was spaghetti with a healthy viewing of the Simpsons (Apoo cheated on his wife with the Squishy Lady!!!)
Our hostess invited us to coffee and tea at 8 PM. I took my tape recorder and was able to record the entire conversation. Most of the conversation was one-sided as Buddy’s friend (Buddy was our hostess) dominated the evening with her views on…everything, but especially why she hated Margaret Thatcher and why she thought private ownership of property was a bad idea. Father delivered a brilliant reply by saying “Actually, the ability to own property was one of the reasons we Americans rebelled against you Brits.” She wound down after that.
Around 10 PM, I started yawning. Remember that I am still not used to this place’s time system, so it was easy to get tired. We finally left (though I had a lovely time with the ladies and recorded 2.25 hours of wonderful dialogue), but I left with the impression that I had wished that Buddy’s friend, Sarah, had let Buddy talk more. By the way, I have no idea why our hostess goes by the name “Buddy.” She doesn’t SEEM crazy…
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Scotland, Day 6
Today we went to Urquhart Castle. As castles go, this one was largely unimpressive. It was a smaller castle – or was smaller than I imagined a castle should be – with, what seemed to me, a boring history. I suppose I have grown too accustomed to the intrigue and battles that I read in my books and find “real” history to be a drag. Pity.
My dad summed it up well for us: Castles are neat, but in the end, they are just big, empty houses. For which one has to pay $40 to enter.
Did I fail to mention earlier that everything here is a gigantic tourist trap?
We watched The Simpsons today, which made Dad and I feel more at home. The rest of the day passed smoothly. I don’t think you need an account of what we ate, the poor conditions of the roads, or any of the other things that I have harped upon thus far.
My dad summed it up well for us: Castles are neat, but in the end, they are just big, empty houses. For which one has to pay $40 to enter.
Did I fail to mention earlier that everything here is a gigantic tourist trap?
We watched The Simpsons today, which made Dad and I feel more at home. The rest of the day passed smoothly. I don’t think you need an account of what we ate, the poor conditions of the roads, or any of the other things that I have harped upon thus far.
Scotland, Day 5
Today began like any other day: once again, I awoke from slumber far too early, and once again, I had a few hours with which to occupy myself before my parents likewise awoke and we could actually do stuff. I used my time to read (The Canterbury Tales) and write the events of the previous day.
When Mom finally woke up, she began to cook a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. I have since learned that there is nothing tastier pig-product in this world than Scottish bacon. It is thick with very little fat and has extra smoky flavor. So tasty!!!!
Today was going to be a lazy day as we were not going to drive anywhere. We felt that the Scottish roads were too tough on Father’s nerves, and, since we don’t want him a nervous wreck in one week when he has to return to work, Mom and I agreed to let him off the hook. So we walked around the Loch.
I have said it before, but it bears repeating: Scotland is a beautiful nation and is never more beautiful than up here, by the Loch Ness and in the Highlands. The hills are either covered with trees or brown-and-purple heather. It is not inaccurate to say that Scotland is like the Willamette Valley in Oregon, but all of the beauty of that small portion of Oregon is stretched out and multiplied throughout this entire nation. Well, technically Scotland is neither nation nor country, but do not tell that to a Scot. They’ll take your head off!!
We hiked up a very long and steep mountainous trail that happened to be right behind our house (more or less). Twice, father and I almost fell down the mountain, and one time, we did fall a distance and skidded. We have the cuts and bruises to prove it! Both parents took marvelous pictures of the forests with rocks as old as Creation sat covered in inch-thick moss and spider webs that glistened on tall, stately grass-stalks.
We reached the top of the mountain, gazed West out over the Loch and let out a collective sigh. Imagine looking upon Crater Lake and its still beauty, but, instead of a round lake, imagine it like a river that stretches as far as the eye can see with 1000 meter mountains all around. As I said earlier, the mountains are not as tall as Oregon mountains, but they still make an impressive sight.
While Mom napped after our expedition, Father and I hiked down to the Loch to see if we could find Nessie. We did see a large ripple under the water, and we are claiming that that was the great monster, herself.
The day ended peacefully (read: boringly) as we watched some British television and waited for it to grow late enough to go to bed. This nation has a drowsying effect on a person.
When Mom finally woke up, she began to cook a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. I have since learned that there is nothing tastier pig-product in this world than Scottish bacon. It is thick with very little fat and has extra smoky flavor. So tasty!!!!
Today was going to be a lazy day as we were not going to drive anywhere. We felt that the Scottish roads were too tough on Father’s nerves, and, since we don’t want him a nervous wreck in one week when he has to return to work, Mom and I agreed to let him off the hook. So we walked around the Loch.
I have said it before, but it bears repeating: Scotland is a beautiful nation and is never more beautiful than up here, by the Loch Ness and in the Highlands. The hills are either covered with trees or brown-and-purple heather. It is not inaccurate to say that Scotland is like the Willamette Valley in Oregon, but all of the beauty of that small portion of Oregon is stretched out and multiplied throughout this entire nation. Well, technically Scotland is neither nation nor country, but do not tell that to a Scot. They’ll take your head off!!
We hiked up a very long and steep mountainous trail that happened to be right behind our house (more or less). Twice, father and I almost fell down the mountain, and one time, we did fall a distance and skidded. We have the cuts and bruises to prove it! Both parents took marvelous pictures of the forests with rocks as old as Creation sat covered in inch-thick moss and spider webs that glistened on tall, stately grass-stalks.
We reached the top of the mountain, gazed West out over the Loch and let out a collective sigh. Imagine looking upon Crater Lake and its still beauty, but, instead of a round lake, imagine it like a river that stretches as far as the eye can see with 1000 meter mountains all around. As I said earlier, the mountains are not as tall as Oregon mountains, but they still make an impressive sight.
While Mom napped after our expedition, Father and I hiked down to the Loch to see if we could find Nessie. We did see a large ripple under the water, and we are claiming that that was the great monster, herself.
The day ended peacefully (read: boringly) as we watched some British television and waited for it to grow late enough to go to bed. This nation has a drowsying effect on a person.
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