Beautiful Scotland


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May 4th 2009
Published: May 4th 2009
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I don't know if I've ever been anywhere more beautiful than this. I expected crossing into Scotland to be something like crossing into Quebec -- with a huge sign, waving flags and completely different signage to let you know unequivically that you are in a different nation. But the route my bus took from London to Edinburgh had nothing of the sort.

But still, without the signage, you knew beyond a doubt that you'd entered Scotland. You turn a corner and all of a sudden the landscape bursts open with lush rolling green (so green!) hills, sheep pastures and castles in the distance. Just as you'd expect. Only more beautiful than you could have imagined.

I left London after only 2 days, taking the bus directly to Edinburgh. You would think that with 20 weeks I'd have plenty of time to kill. But I don't. I feel somewhat pressured to get walking by May 18 -- already pretty deep into the more crowded season for walking the West Highland Way, but it's the best I can do. This leaves me with only 2 1/2 weeks to see as much of southern Scotland as possible. One or two days per city.. it's not enough and I wish I could slow it down a bit. But no matter.

I spent one night in Edinburgh -- there was no room over the Bank Holiday (Mayday) weekend so I had to book elsewhere and will return here for 2 days next week. The city is like one big stone castle.. breathtaking... unlike anything else I've seen. The cobblestone streets around the castle are flanked by 3 story high stone buildings all ajoined, interrupted by looming stone churches here and there. But even away from the castle, it seems like there's a castle, stone church or monument everywhere you look. Why did they stop building cities like this?

After a gruelling 10 hour bus ride, I didn't feel like eating alone so I decided to invite another girl at the hostel to eat with me. Uncharacteristic of me, I know. Something about travel, perhaps it's the desperation for companionship outweighing the fear of rejection, or perhaps because you know the other person is hoping for companionship just as much as you are -- but it is so much easier to befriend people as a backpacker. You have such an easy open -- 'what country are you from', next thing you know, you've made a friend.

Her name was Francia. She's from a small town in East Germany and is studying to be a speech pathologist. She had excellent English, developed from spending one year as an au pair in Washington D.C. She hopes to move to the US someday and laments that her small town near the Polish border offers no hope to young people.

'There are no young people there,' she said. 'They've all left.' She came to Edinburgh for the weekend to run a 10K race as a mental break after finishing her MA thesis. I didn't get the chance to say goodbye to her. I had to leave early the next day.

I left for St. Andrews and spent a lovely Saturday looking at stone ruins of what had been a primary seat of Catholicism -- of the church prior to the Reformation. Now there's not a single Catholic church in the town... something that caused me some difficulty the next day.

The next day (Sunday) was hellish. I left early for Perth -- the only place I could find accomodation. But it turned out to be one of those travel days that are bound to happen... where the bus schedule is reduced, where you're stuck with your awkward pack all day, where you arrive in town after everything's closed, where you can't find a Catholic church or any open church for that matter. Where you wish you had just stayed put.

But it did end okay. I'm writing this on paper on Sunday night from the home of a lovely gentleman out in the countryside in Perthshire -- a small village north of Perth amongst farmlands and in view of the mountains. The hostel here was booked so I was put up for the night with the neighbour. I knew this in advance so I'd brought a bottle of maple syrup to give him in thanks.

He was very pleased... I don't think he's had any before. I was almost too shy to offer it to him, except that the damn thing weighed so much and has been such a bane for me that it nearly got left -- deliberately -- at several points along the way. It was forbidden to leave this place with me.

I had wanted to see Scone Palace while here. My great grandfather's name was 'Scone' which apparently only means he was from around here and that made it a somewhat obligatory destination. I also hoped to see what had been 'Ruthven Castle' (thinking of you, Fiona) but after such an ill-fated day today and no foreseeable way to store my backpack, I might skip it altogether and head straight to Melrose tomorrow.

It happens. This is how I managed to spend 3 months in India and skipped the Taj Mahal... sometimes the destination doesn't outweigh the pains of getting there.


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4th May 2009

Who am I
I plan to follow your trip through your blogs. I know it will be very interesting. You seem to be a cool young lady. Who am I....your father's cousin...My mom is Yvonne, a sister to your grandmother Anna. Tante Anna is also my godmother. So, Valerie ....we are family. Enjoy your trip, take care and I will meet up with you at your next blog posting.
4th May 2009

Already so interesting. I look forward to future posts!
5th May 2009

Explorer
Way you go girl. You are quite an explorer. Enjoy!

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