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Published: September 9th 2007
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Ben Lomond
The view over Loch Lomond looking at Ben Lomond. As the weeks in Scotland continue to roll by we our all settling in nicely. Something about the pervasive culture of drinking has forced me to consume more than what might be considered healthy, but isn’t that what these cross-cultural experiences are all about it. Even Camille is along for the ride. When she was asked for her rhyming words this week, she replied “beer-near and wine-fine.” She also lost her silver matchbox car this week and when asked where she might have left it, the answer was “at the local”. The local is the term used for your neighborhood pub. Yes I know; we are wonderful parents!
After work on Friday I met Elizabeth at a friend’s flat in downtown Glasgow. We had a nice time visiting and planning our Thanksgiving menu. While I am excited about having plans for Thanksgiving, I will miss the day after routine of cleaning wine off my shower curtains, scraping food out of my carpet, cleaning dishes with coagulated fat built up on them holding down the urge to vomit and getting ready for leftovers that night only to repeat the whole process again the next day. I don’t think Iona and Kingsley
understand how we give thanks yet.
Saturday we woke up to a beautiful day and headed out to Oban. Oban is a resort town on the west coast of Scotland. It has a population of about 10,000 people and can increase to about 25,000 when in full swing. The drive up along Loch Lomond and Loch Awe was incredible. Steep hills and sunny blue skies made the ride go by fast. Unfortunately once out of the car we never saw the sunny blue skies again. That was all right though because Elizabeth booked us the honeymoon suite at Jeremy Inglis’s Hostel. We didn’t know what to expect, but we knew it had to be good at 10 pounds per person per night. We were welcomed upon our arrival and brought to our accommodations. Upon entering was a box that had a coin slot and I was very excited about the romantic opportunities that lay ahead. Then I realized that was where we deposited the money to have electricity. We quickly realized that we would not be returning to the room until we were walking the streets like zombies. For Elizabeth that was about 9:30, and for me, 11:30 as
I was on a quest to find a pub that I could watch the Duck’s game at, a failed quest nonetheless.
The day was fun though we walked all over town, visited a 13th century castle and chapel, walked up to MacCaig’s tower, and sampled various ales. (See video of Camille’s rendition of God Save the Queen in one such sampling station) We also got caught up in the excitement around town of the Scotland vs. Lithuania futbol match and the coverage of the World Cup Rugby games. Who needs Duck Football anyway? We finished the night off at a Tandoori Indian restaurant that I am at a loss of words to explain just how delicious it was.
Sunday we woke up after a very peaceful nights rest at the hostel. I’m not sure why the door outside our room slammed 200 times during the night, or why I heard glass breaking often, or why what seemed like 15 times loud groups of people gathered outside my window, but I do know that when I woke up to the sound of the door again at 6:30 am I was ready to go.
We headed home and stopped
at The Cobbler for a hike. The Cobbler is a 2900-foot hill that falls 100 feet of being categorized a Munroe. It was a beautiful hike. Unfortunately we only made it about three quarters of the way up before being forced to turn around by the blowing winds, driving rains and dirty looks by other hikers who apparently were not happy with us hauling our two year old up a mountain in treacherous conditions. Tomorrow I head off to outdoor school with my class. I have no idea what to expect. All I know is that I won’t be home until Friday night. Wish me well my friends.
P.S. I still don’t know why Elizabeth never accepted my offer of ten pounds to lick the bedspread at the hostel, sometimes she can be so pretentious!
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Joanna
non-member comment
Hi, Chad emailed us all your blogging site so I thought I would catch a glimpse of my homeland. When reading your blog the mention of "driving rain and gusting winds" had me forcing back the tears of longing for such conditions (not). I was reassured by the fact you have encountered one of the many Scottish cultural traits. Some say,"A true Scotsman wears nothing under his kilt!" actually .... he never refuses a drink!