Northern Highlands and Loch Ness

My last real day abroad was a trip much further to the north than I had been, going all the way up to Loch Ness. It started exactly as Friday had, going to the Rabbie's meeting spot and finding that, amusingly, Nikola was my tour guide again. Good to know I had a good tour guide, but it meant that I'd heard all her jokes and history bits already. I will say it was funny to see just how much tour guides can go into autopilot. The timing and tone of a lot of what she was saying was spot on from the previous day. The one difference was the size of the tour; where the Western Highlands was almost a private tour, this was a full bus.

Fort Augustus, a town right at the southern tip of Loch Ness.

Anyway, the morning progressed like a fast-forwarded version of the previous day. We swung by

The beginning of Loch Ness

Loch Tullen, Loch Lomond, and Glencoe for photos ops, grabbed snacks at Inveraglus, heard about Rob Roy Macgregor, the Campbells, and all that again. Around 11 though we took a swing up north to head for Loch Ness, and the tour departed for new content. We swung up to Fort Augustus, a small town on the southern tip of Loch Ness, and breaked for lunch and photos of the Loch. I got one last dose of haggis in, as well as trying cullen skink (a Glaswegian smoked haddock and potato cream soup), then walked around the locks (the same type of 'locks' as 'the Ballard Locks') leading to the Loch, then got back on the bus.

Oh, and random fun fact: there are over 30,000 lochs in Scotland, but only one lake, Lake Mentieth. The Duke of Mentieth betrayed William Wallace to the British (not Robert the Bruce, the main mistake Mel Gibson made in Braveheart), and the Scots wanted a way of memorializing his betrayal. 'Loch' is Gaelic for the English word 'lake,' so by naming LAKE Mentieth after him, they're implying that he's not truly Scottish.

The only Nessie I saw all day. Aside from the ones at the gift shop. And restaurant. And bumper stickers.

Anyway, we got back on the bus and headed to Clansman's Harbor (no not THAT klan) to catch a boat that would take us out for a spin on Loch Ness. The ride was fun, but the whole thing was a little too touristy for me. Loch Ness was pretty, so I mostly just watched the scenery rather than the boat's Nessie-hunting sonar. We docked at the ruins of Castle Urqhart (I think that's how you spell it?) to pick up some folks heading back to the harbor, and got to see a bit of a ren fair going on outside the castle. I've said it before and I'll say it again, ren faire's are probably SO much better when there's an actual castle involved.

Her Majesty's Coast Guard

On the way back, the unexpected highlight of the trip was taking part in an impromptu Coast Guard training exercise. The boat captain got on the radio and mumbled something about 'helicopter' and 'landing on our roof,' and bolted out the back door. I (and half of the boat) followed after him, and watched the helicopter hover in so low and close that the spray blew most of us back inside. Getting unexpectedly damp has been a bit of a theme for this trip.

After the ride, we drove through Inverness, then stopped in Pitlochry for a wander before heading back to Glasgow. All said and done, that was about 4 hours of driving end to end, so the leg stretch was appreciated. Unfortunately we hit Pitlochry at 5:30 on a Saturday, so most places were already closed. An ice cream parlor was open and some brave souls grabbed a scoop or two, but it was entirely too chilly for me. I grabbed some photos of the town, then headed back to Glasgow. Nikola gave me another dinner recommendation for a fish and chips spot called The Merchant Chippie in Merchant City, where I got to eat a deep-fried candy bar (a Scottish delicacy that I  wish I could say I hadn't tried before; Scots and Mississippians have a similar penchant for deep-fried goodies). One last greasy meal complete, I headed home to pack for the long road home.

Pitlochry

Western highlands: Oban, Inverary, Glencoe, and Western Lochs

On Friday (the next-to-last day before heading home), I woke up, grabbed breakfast at the hotel, and headed to the pickup point for my tour for the day. This one was with Rabbie's again and, as the title says, went up to the western highlands, in between Glasgow and Oban (pronounced Oh-ben), a fishing port on the Atlantic coast of Scotland. It was a small tour, just me and two ladies also on holiday, Stacy (a pastor in her mid-40s on sabattical from upstate New York) and a Malaysian nurse working in Saudi Arabia who's name I missed. The nurse was quiet and didn't talk much, but I liked Stacy. She was...not exactly what one pictures when you think 'pastor.' She was a whisky-drinking, cigarette-smoking feminist with a penchant for swearing, so I enjoyed talking to her. Once the three of us had met our tour guide Nikola and buckled in, we were off.

Loch Lomonde at Luss

The first stop of the day was Luss, a small village on the shore of Loch Lomonde (the name apparently is Gaelic for 'herbs'). We all walked to the edge of the loch and took some photos of the mountains and water before wandering the village a bit. Like most of the scenic highland villages I visited, Luss seemed to mostly subsist on sheep and tourism, which makes sense given it's location. I poked around a bit, and found a herd of sheep ruminating near the inn. I finally got a clear shot of a highland lamb, which I was pretty happy about (their parents don't like them hanging out near the road, so all I'd gotten previously was some fuzzy photos of them off in the distance). I headed back to the bus and when the other two musketeers showed up, we got back on the road.

Inverary Castle.

Our next full stop was in Inverary, another small coastal city, but we had a couple other pitstops at Rest-and-Be-Thankful Pass and Castle Inverary, which is actually pretty well outside the actual village of Inverary. Apparently the duke who lived there back in the day wasn't happy with it being so close to the village, so he basically demolished the village and rebuilt a new one a little farther away. Can't expect the nobility to be happy interacting with such riff-raff I s'pose. The castle actually looked familiar, since it featured in a Downton Abbey Christmas special as the home of the Crawley's Scottish cousin, Shrimpy. I need to go back and watch that episode to see what else I recognize now.

Rest-And-Be-Thankful Pass

After that, Nikola shuttled us to Inverary proper, where I was immediately confused by the presence

Inverary proper.

of a large fuzzy hat sitting in the parking lot, on top of a box that said, "Have a nice day." I puzzled over it a bit then walked into town, where the penny dropped when I saw a bagpiper with a nasty case of hat hair emerging from a coffee shop. Mystery solved, I walked along the water's edge a bit before picking up some fudge and tablet (a Scottish sweet which I'd never heard of before, but was surprised to find is exactly like pralines, minus the pecans). I eventually realized we were in the region of Argyle, but was greatly saddened when I couldn't find a single pair of argyle socks. Ah well, not like I have a shortage of socks anyway.

Oban.

Our next big stop was for lunch in Oban, but along the way we stopped at St. Conan's Kirk, a little church in the countryside that Conan built for his mother when she was too ill to make it to the main town cathedral. It, like many small rural churches I saw in Scotland, was open to the public, but totally empty of any employees or attendants. We wandered a bit, then got back on the road (with a brief stop to see some hairy coo's) until we hit Oban. Oban's a port city built around a harbor, but since the tide was out it was more a city built around a seaweed and driftwood covered beach. It was still a pretty place though, with a great view of the ocean and surrounding islands.

Nikola gave us a recommendation for a couple seafood shacks on the docks, so I headed that way to get my shellfish on. I got some steamed mussels and langoustine tails in butter (bigger, better, more of them, and cheaper than the ones from Rogano's in Glasgow), and grabbed a seat near Stacy, who had apparently picked the same shack. We started talking, and she said she was writing a book on what the death of a church looks like; what comes after, what happens to the community and relationships it leaves behind, what congregants should do as they turn out the lights, etc. We talked a bit about how several churches in Scotland have been going through that, and she had actually heard about The Well, a program that Queen Anne UMC in Seattle had put together as its own numbers have started to dwindle. It was certainly an interesting conversation, to say the least. Lunch done, Stacy went to check out Oban's whisky distillery, and I wandered the waterfront a bit more before grabbing some shortbread and coffee and sitting in the sun.

Castle Stalker, erstwhile home of the Holy Grail and a rude French knight.

Castle Stalker was our next stop, a tiny castle on an island best known for being where the final fight

Part of Glencoe

scene of Monty Python and the Holy Grail took place. After a couple photos there (and an Irn Bru from the local shop), we got back on the road to Glencoe, one of the more scenic parts of the highlands. If you ever see a British movie set in some gorgeous highland location, it's probably either filmed here or in the Rannoch Moor, next to it. The scene from Skyfall where Bond and M are driving to escape London, scenes from Trainspotting, and a LOT of scenes from Harry Potter were all shot there, and Hagrid's hut used to be as well. Despite the great scenery though, the area has a bloody history. The Campbell clan massacred the Mackintoshs on the order of the king, in a way that inspired the Red Wedding of Game of Thrones. Apparently the name Campbell is still a bit of a taboo in the area, with the only hotel in the area having signs stating that Campbells aren't welcome (though whether they actually will refuse service is up for debate).

The Three Sisters of Glencoe

On the way home, we swung by Loch Tullen and Inveraglus (a town on a different part of Loch Lomonde) for a couple more photo opportunities, then headed back to Glasgow. I asked Nikola for a dinner recommendation, and she suggested Tabac, a tapas place that was half Spanish, half Scottish (the name is from what tobacco stores in Barcelona are called). The food was all served tapas style, but was all Scottish fare (guinea fowl, scallops, salmon, black pudding, etc). The beers were split evenly between Spanish (Estrella Damm, Voll Damm, San Miguel), and a few local Scottish beers. I grabbed a Scottish beer (please see earlier posts and blogs for my attitudes towards Spanish beer), some guinea fowl, gnocchi, and panna cotta, then headed home for the night.

Glasgow

I only dedicated about a day and a half total to seeing Glasgow itself, so figured I'd cram the whole thing into one post.

I woke up late on Wednesday (the 20th), taking advantage of one of the few days where I didn't have a tour or train or flight to catch. Like I said earlier, trains between Edinburgh and Glasgow run about every 15 minutes so I was mostly improvising my schedule.  I'd grabbed a couple souvenirs (...okay, mainly scarves) while out and about in Edinburgh, but had a couple more I wanted to grab, so I figured I'd spend the morning grabbing some last minute goodies, then grab the train to Glasgow around lunchtime. I grabbed one last scarf, a couple little goodies for folks, and a slice of cake and tea, then bought my ticket to Glasgow and was off. 

Buchannan Street.

After arriving, hauling my stuff to the hotel, and checking in, I checked out the Buchanan Street section of the city, which is the core shopping district of City Center. I drooled over a few watches that I one day hope to afford, then bought a hand-sized pie containing God knows what and kept wandering. I eventually ended up heading towards the river (the River Clyde), and thanks to the weather being oddly warm and sunny, half the city was either shopping on Buchanan or stretched out in little patches of grass along the riverbank.

I explored the city center a bit more, then headed back to the hotel to kick back for a while and book a dinner reservation for Rogano's, which I'd gotten recommendations for from Duffy, Anthony Bourdain, and Trip Advisor. It's basically to Glasgow what Gallatoire's is to New Orleans: an Art Deco era restaurant, pleasantly stuck in the days of Downton Abbey. I got langoustines in butter and salmon in crawfish sauce, all served by people in entirely too fancy get-ups. It was tasty, but to be honest it was a bit much. They brought me a set of crab crackers and a finger bowl for the the shrimp. Have you ever cracked open a shrimp's claws? There's not a whole lot of meat there. Dessert was tasty though, and I finally figured out that 'Honeycomb' is Scot-speak

Rogano's was 'soup in a demitasse' level of fancy. 

for 'nut-free peanut brittle.' I'd had a couple desserts advertising they came with it, and was always confused when it didn't have a hunk of beeswax on the side.

Dinner done, I stopped at another Glasgow landmark, The Pot Still. It's a low-key whisky pub that prides itself on having an obscene collection to choose from. The waitresses running the bar were friendly and knew their stuff, so I tried a few things they recommended, then found myself talking to a guy named Graham from Birgmingham (England, not Alabama). He was a super nice dude who travels the country working for an insurance claims company, and uses that to visit as many whisky distilleries around the country as he can. We bought each other a couple rounds and swapped some travel stories before heading our separate ways to crash for the night.

The next morning I again took advantage of the break from, "Oh crap I need to set an alarm for tomorrow's tour," and slept in until ten or so before setting out. Today's goal was to explore the West End (Glasgow's younger, artsier, universitier neighborhood) a bit. I hopped off the metro and wandered through Kelvingrove park, dodging and weaving through the swarm of kids and pets out enjoying the sunshine with their parents. My ultimate goal was the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, but I stopped by a brewpub across the street from it for lunch first. I ordered a burger, then found a sunny spot on their patio.

And promptly got crapped on by a pigeon.

Pictured: Kelvingrove Art Gallery. Not pictured: pigeon poop.

Filing a mental note to eat more fowl the rest of the trip, I postponed basking in the sun for a bit to go rinse the poop out of my hair in the bathroom. Once that was done, I ate my burger, grabbed a coffee,

They also had this thing.

and headed to the museum to poke about for a bit. The museum had a surprisingly good collection, particularly of the big name Impressionists and post-Impressionists, and had a great exhibit on Charles Mackintosh, who was to Glasgow what Gaudi was to Barcelona. Mackintosh was a pioneer of Art Deco in design and architecture a few years before it took off elsewhere, and a lot of Glasgow's biggest sights revolve around his work. Given the short nature of my stay, though, I wasn't planning on seeing the big ones, so I was happy to see at least some of it to get a feel for what he did.

My favorite part though was definitely Dali's Christ of St. John of the Cross. The painting itself is amazing (Dali's religious pieces always wow me; apparently equal portions surrealist painter and devout Catholic make for some amazing ideas), but the history of it is fascinating as well. The gallery purchased it for 8200 pounds in the 1950s, which caused outrage among local Glaswegian artists. Why should the government spend that much money on a foreign artist's work, when the Glasgow School of Art was less than a mile away, with hundreds of budding students just getting started? It turned out to be a smart move, however, as the Spanish government recently made an offer for 80 million pounds for the painting. The gallery turned it down. Another interesting note in the painting's history is that a few years after the purchase, a man had a fit in the gallery, and, believing himself to be Jesus, tore hunks of the canvas out, saying it was because, "It doesn't look like me, it's not what it was like." The gallery spent a few months repairing the painting, and now the only really noticeable indication that it was damaged is a pattern of stress lines in the paint you can see when standing off to the side.

You can see on the of the main tears just to the left of the boat. One of the main points is to de-emphasize the typical depiction of the suffering of the crucifixion (note the lack of wounds and nails) and focus more on Christ as God, ascendant over the world and shining in the darkness.

Thoroughly arted up for the day, I swung by Oran Mor, another Scottish church given a second life after a dwindling congregation had to sell it. This one was turned into a pub, music venue, and art space. This is definitely becoming a theme of the trip, which I'll discuss more in my next post. I walked back down the main drag of the West End, past hundreds of Glaswegians enjoying beer, tea, or coffee in the sunshine, and headed back to the hotel for a bit before dinner. On the way down, I nearly got stuck in the elevator, and rode it up and down a couple times before giving up and when it stopped on the ground floor just grabbed the door with both hands and pulled it open. The manager looked a little...shocked at that, then promptly called the repair guys.

As for dinner itself I took another Duffy suggestion for and went to Two Fat Ladies, a toned down version of Rogano's. Focus was still on Glawegian and Scottish seafood, but was much less overwhelmingly swanky. I scarfed down some scallops and sole, then headed back to bed.

Scallops, black pudding, and parsnips. A just reward for Hulk Smashing open an elevator door.

A hairy coo, a famous grouse, and entirely too many sheep

Day two of my tour's was with 'Highland Explorers,' who run several tours ranging from one day excursions to five-day guided tours. Most of the one day tours are basically aimed at giving a 'Scotland in a day' experience, trying to incorporate various glens, lochs, and cultural aspects for people who want to experience as much of Scotland as possible on a time limit. I went for one called 'Whisky and Waterfalls' since a) I like both of those things, b), almost every tour company ran some version of it, so it must be popular, and c) it covered the southern highlands. My last two days are going to the western and northern highlands, so this seemed like a good way of getting that last quadrant in.

We met at their office on the Mile, and got introduced to our tour guides Duncan and Duffy. And no, I didn't make those names up. Duffy was as loud and Scottish as Scottish could be (he was even wearing a rugby shirt with the Scottish flag on it), and both he and Duncan were bristling with Scottish pride. Scotland recently voted against leaving the UK and you could tell the two of them were still furious about it. "700 years of oppression and submission, and it could've all been over but those bastards went and checked the wrong box! Wallace is rolling in his grave right now." Duffy was also a proud Glaswegian (i.e. from Glasgow), and when he found out I was heading there the next day got really excited. On the way to our first stop, he wrote me up a list of all the things I had to see and do and eat, which was incredibly nice of him.

Pretty monument, though.

Speaking of Wallace and our first stop, our first stop was the Wallace monument outside Stirling. We got an entertaining story on the way up of how a few years ago, in honor of all the extra tourism Braveheart had generated, a new statue of Wallace was commissioned to stand outside the monument. Since there aren't any surviving depictions of Wallace remaining, everyone was all atwitter over what it would look like. When the day of the great unveiling came, the assembled crowds were stunned to find that it looked like...Mel Gibson. The statue didn't last long. They dropped us off at the base of the hill the monument is on, and I hiked to the top. It wasn't hard, but it was definitely steep, so I was winded by the top. There was a lovely view of the surrounding area, but the exhibit in the monument was rather a let-down. The highlight was Wallace's sword on display (a HUGE claymore; from it the best estimate is that Wallace was at least 6'7"), and it was, however, amusing to see even in his monument, the country acknowledge that he was more a symbol than anything else. Wallace won ONE battle against the English, and was then summarily crushed in his second. The second floor nods to this by having an exhibit on the romance of his story and its effect on national pride. But hey, cool sword.

A big-ass sword.

I headed down and grabbed some Irn Bru (Iron-Brew, Scotland's radioactively-orange, bubblegum-

flavored national soda) from the vending machine in the monument's cafe. When I walked back to the bus, Duffy pointed at it and yelled, "Irn Bru, that's my boy!" It's the only soda in the world that outsells Coca Cola in any country, and the Scots are mighty proud of it. We hop back in the bus to go see our second stop, a couple highland cows outside Stirling. Their owner owns a roadside shop next to his fields, and sells carrots and such that you can feed the cows for a photo op. A great business model if you ask me.

We then drove through the highlands a bit to Loch Earn, a popular camping a fishing spot amongst Scots. It had some gorgeous mountains around it, which made for some excellent photo ops. There was also a set of incredibly brave ducks hanging about that came an pecked at our boots looking for snacks. Quick pit stop done, we hopped back on the bus and moved on.

Mountains around Loch Earn.

Next stop was the 'whisky' portion of the trip, Glenturret distillery, where Famous Grouse is based. Was much of the same as the previous days' distilleries (with a bit of cheesy Disneyfied bits thrown in the mix), but still fun to see. We also got to see the monument to Towser, the distillery's former head mouse hunting cat. She'd leave a tally of her kills in mouse tails on the front porch, and from that they estimated that in her 20 year life, she killed between 28 and 29 THOUSAND mice and rats. Obviously she took pride in her work. We took a turn through the gift shop (I got a half bottle of some unaged Highland Park, my personal favorite), then ate lunch at the distillery (they had a very tasty haggis, if I do say so myself).

They also had the world's largest bottle of whiskey, a title they reclaimed from Jack Daniel's on the distillery's 200th birthday a few years ago. 

Moving on, we were then supposed to stop at the Perthshire Hermitage, a forested area with a view of the Black Linn Falls where local lords would take the ladies they were wooing for a romantic getaway. I say 'supposed to' because instead our actual next stop was beside a random back road, as our vans exhaust pipe had popped loose and was dragging along the road underneath us. Duncan and Duffy hopped to (Duffy changing his Scottish rugby shirt for a roadside safety vest), and got it strapped in well enough to make it the rest of the day. We made it to the Hermitage and walked through the douglas firs to the waterfall, where my camera battery lasted just long enough to get some photos of the falls before dying. Still, I grabbed enough to make do then headed back, stopping along the way at a 'wishing tree,' a fallen tree that people made wishes at by embedding coins into the wood.

The last stop of the day was the small village of Dunkeld, a tiny town with a small cathedral worth stopping at. I made a quick round of the cathedral, which I found most interesting for its tiny size. Most of the time when you think 'cathedral,' you think of the main church of a large city, not a small village. The whole thing was just one room, basically the size of the sanctuary of a medium-sized American church. Walking back, I got stopped by two Scottish ladies asking if I was the groundskeeper (apparently I just have that look about me?). As soon as I opened my mouth and said, "No ma'am, I'm just--" they went "OH! A tourist! Not many of your type around here," and went on their way. Accents work both ways I s'pose. On the way back to the bus I walked past a field of sheep and snuck some photos of one grazing nearby. He was NOT happy when he saw me, and scurried off to join the rest of the herd. Upon further inspection, the herd had a contingent of deer along with the sheep, who I'm sure were enjoying the free food laid out by the farmer.

Hard to tell here, but that sheep on the left is giving me one hell of a side-eye. As soon as I put the camera down, he high-tailed it back to the herd.

Back on the bus to Edinburgh, Duffy gave us some advice on where to grab some food and beer around the city, and I took his advice and grabbed dinner in a brewpub (BrewDog) before heading in for the night.

Distillery Day

So I there's no way I was coming to Scotland without visiting at least one whisky distillery. Unfortunately all my favorites (Highland Park, Aberlour, Laphroaig, Macallan, etc) are either way up north, way out in the islands, or both. Fortunately, there are some great distilleries in the south as well, and a company called Rabbie's runs a tour that visits two of them (among a couple dozen other tours, I'm taking two others with them while I here).

The day of the tour (Monday the 18th) I headed down to Rabbie's cafe north of Waverley station, and

'The Kelpies.' We passed them on the way out of Edinburgh.

grabbed some shortbread to munch while we waited to board. While waiting, I eavesdropped on one of my fellow tourees while he packed his wife and son (who had no interest in whisky) off on a Harry Potter themed tour they also ran. Once everybody was onboard, we met our tour guides (Mike, a salty old Scot, and Francesca, a German girl who moved here to be with her Scottish boyfriend) and heaved ho.

After wending our way through the countryside, we drove through Stirling, where we saw Stirling Castle and the William Wallace monument off in the distance (and about 4000 sheep not so off in the distance). While Francesca drove, Mike gave us a running commentary on the history of Scotland, mainly focusing on Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. A lot of the material had been covered already, but it was good to get another take on it all (though since every tour I've been on runs through this material, I'm thinking it's going to get old by them time I finish my tours the next couple of days :P).

Sheep. Two of twenty thousand. Lots had lambs alongside them, but I couldn't get a good shot of any.

First stop of the day was at Glengoyne, which is north of Glasgow and just barely in the Highlands. Literally. The road between the distillery and warehouses is actually the dividing line between the Highland and Lowland regions. If their stills were about a hundred yards further south, they'd be classified as a Lowland whisky. They showed us a video on the history of the distillery (which was utterly forgettable except for the warehouse master, who's dialect was so thick they had to give him subtitles), then took us for a walk around the property. My favorite part of the day was how the smells changed as we walked around. The barley mill smelled like hay, the mash room (where they soak the barley grits) smelled like oatmeal, the wort room (where the beer ferments) smelled like Belgian beer and banana bread, the still house smelled like bananas, and the cask warehouse smelled like musty wood.

Two of their three stills.

It was also funny to see how much of whisky production is based around avoiding the tax man. The 'Glen' in so many scotch producers' names (Glengoyne, Glenlivet, Glenfiddich) is Scots for 'valley.' Back in the good ol' days, folks would set up their stills on the ridges of valleys so they could see tax collectors coming, and have time to pack up and leave. This kept going up until the early 1800s, when the King George IV visited Scotland and asked for a glass of Glenlivet, his favorite whisky. Apparently the king was unaware that Glenlivet was still an illegal operation at that point, and Parliament decided to loosen taxes a bit to encourage more distilleries to legitimize themselves to prevent similar embarrassments. Ian, the guide from the Scotch Whisky Experience, said that if a distillery says it was established in the 1820s or 1830s, it's utter crap. They were probably producing whisky for decades before that, just all under the table. There's also a 'spirit safe' in every distillery, which controls access to the new made alcohol until it's in the barrel, to prevent the workers from siphoning some off tax-free. Only the distillery manager and local tax office have a key to the safe, and the whole thing is made of high-polish brass, so would-be-tamperers leave easily spotted fingerprints. It didn't stop the folks at Glengoyne in the old days though; they'd just post a lookout, fill bottles from the casks, and hide them in the empty casks on their way to the landfill.

On the way out I grabbed a special bottle you can only get at the distillery (The Teapot Dram, named after the copper teapot that the old master blender would carry around and pour workers drams from during the day). Next stop was lunch in the town of Balmaha, on the coast of Loch Lomonde (pronounced Low-mund). We ate at a pub called the Oak Tree Inn, which had an actual log fire roaring in the corner. I joined two fellow tourees, who were South Africans by way of San Diego. The husband worked as a hardware engineer there for a few years, but visa issues forced him out of the states. We chatted a bit while I munched away on fish and chips and black pudding. After lunch, Mike and Francesca led a brief hike up to a viewpoint overlooking the Loch. It wasn't a hard hike, but the rain and wind certainly made it a chilly one.

Pretty scenery though.

Next stop was Deanston distillery in Doune, a TINY town near Stirling. The tour was much the same as Glengoyne's was, but they let us take photos inside the distillery which I enjoyed. Apparently since it's an industrial environment with "fumes and fine particulate matter" in the air, electronics aren't supposed to be used, but it seems that distilleries take that with varying grains of salt. The tour guide also walked us through the barrel warehouse, which used to be a weaving room in the 1800s (the facility went from being a textile plant to a distillery around 1920). The ceilings were huge vaulted stone numbers that funneled condensation down to the corners of the room (gross to think, but a poorly ventilated warehouse full of sweaty people has a lot of moisture floating about, and it used to drip down and ruin the cloth they were weaving).

The mash tun at Deanston, churning away on a batch of barley water.

Back on the bus to Edinburgh, Mike ran us through the story of Mary Queen of Scots, a much different version than the one the English tell. Funny how a different take on the same facts can change a story a great deal. We made one last stop at the Three Bridges area (which has three different bridges from three different centuries crossing the bay north of Edinburgh), then got dropped back where we started, north of Waverley. I dropped my stuff at the hostel, then went for dinner at The Grain Store, a slightly posh restaurant in Grassmarket. I scarfed down some venison and creme brulee, then headed back to the hostel to crash.

The oldest of the three bridges.

Aha! Found it.

So at the National Museum in Edinburgh, I kept seeing the same symbol over and over and over again in Scottish jewelry: a circle with a line through it. Sometimes it was a super simple circle with a line across the middle, other times it was an elaborate Celtic torc that looked like it had been run through with a spike, but it showed up in every era of jewelry from Roman-era Picts all the way up to Victorian times. I was curious what it was, but all the plaques just called it a 'brooch,' which didn't really help.

Like these.

I eventually gave up and filed it away for looking it up later. Today I stumbled across the answer in, of all places, a Disney movie. I'm taking a pair of highland excursions in the next couple of days and to get in the right mindset for it, put on Pixar's Brave in the background while writing a post. I looked up and suddenly got my answer:

They used it to pin together their kilts!

I was very pleased to figure this out :)

Pheasants and Grouse

Fellow tourist: "Do you think we'll see any pheasants or grouse on this trip?"
Tour guide 1: "Oh aye, you should. They're everywhere out in the country."
Tour guide 2: "We'll probably hit one, too. Damned suicidal kamikaze geese, that's what they are."