New Semester Approaches

The start date of the new semester is coming up very quickly and I have to admit that I'm not quite ready to start the grind yet.   Since I returned from Scotland it seems that there has been little R & R time.  It has been hectic; back to work, trying to get things set up and ready to go in new directions as well as getting used to the time change again.  For the longest time I was in some strange kind of time warp, not quite U.K. or B.C. time.  I think I'm finally getting a little closer to B.C.

Postings are now up for Peer Tutoring, which is one of the things I was interested in taking on this fall, as well as the writing opportunities that are coming my way.  I have a full course load this fall, looking at four more for the winter semester, then graduation in April.  Well, actual grad will be June, but you know what I mean.  Somewhere in the mix, I'll have to make the decision as to when, where and whether I'll try to enroll and get accepted for either SFU or UBC.  Right now, that's looking a little far ahead for me, but it's going to have to be dealt with sooner or later.  I wonder what kind of impact the difficulties with Douglas and China are going to have on my ability to be accepted in either.  That is a question that has been on my mind since the news broke last winter.  Just what repercussions are there going to be?  However, since that is beyond my ability to control, I can't waste time worrying about it.

Another Milestone Reached!

OMG!  I still  have to be medicated everytime I think about this one.  Carl, the old fart and I, celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary yesterday.  And that doesn't include the year and a bit we were "living in sin", as it was known back then.  As I had mentioned in an earlier post, I had bought our rings in Galway when I was there.  We had both lost ours somewhere along the lines years earlier and I had thought it appropriate to exchange new ones for our 35th.  That was if we could come up with new contract terms.  After that length of time, the original vows require amendment to reflect the reality of things.  I had refused to have "obey" in the first ceremony anyway, but there were still a few changes to be made.  Obey,  my %$#*.

In any case, after we got rid of the children, it doesn't seem to matter how old they are, they still have a habit of walking into the middle of things, we struck a new deal and exchanged the rings.  It feels odd to have a ring on that finger after all this time.  I'm sure it does for him as well.  The honeymoon over, he's now headed back up to Sorrento for the week to finish a job up there.

Back in the Land of the Living?

I've been back home for just over a week now and am gradually getting used to the time change.  Adjusting to U.K. time was considerably easier than the opposite.  Even so, I'm still like as not to need a sudden nap and will do so at the drop of a hat.  Makes it interesting at work.

As a result of my trip and my experiences in this last semester of school, I've made some decisions and some changes.  One relates to work and changes in earning potential.  I did some research on the potential for professional blogging.  It appears to be a viable idea, though as with everything else, will take some time to work up to decent $'s, if at all.  As a backup plan and one I came across while conducting my research, I decided to kill two birds with one stone.  There are a number of companies that require blog, article, review and similar writers.  By getting a job with one or two of these companies, I figured I could hone my writing skills, improve my own blog writing and earn some money in my newly chosen career choice.

I applied for a couple of these slots; the one is no longer taking this approach or so they say.  It could have been just a polite reject.  The other, however, asked for a sample of my writing after reading my blog then followed up with a request for a couple of very quick corrections.  No sub-heading on the intro or conclusion and to remove the title quotes from the body of the piece and re-submit.  I think, from the correspondence, that I have a new job, but not entirely sure at this point.  I'll have to wait for confirmation.

One of my goals upon my return was to start writing my childrens' books and have started that.  If I can turn out a decent product, the potential for publishing seems to be pretty good from the research I've done on that subject.

There are a couple more plans in the background.  I can't do anything about them yet, but I plan on applying to become a peer tutor and also to look into writing for The Other Press.  That's the Douglas College newspaper.

So, all in all, I am putting my money where my mouth is.  I've done a lot of yapping about the changes returning to school has brought about and the impact this trip has had on me.  Talking about it is one thing, now it's time to act on it.

Home, But Still Moving On

T’is home, I am and glad to be here.  It was a phenomenal trip and one that I am glad I took, but it was time to be wrapping it up.  I missed all of my babies, two legged and four.  Now, the only trick is to get used to the time change and all things Canadian again.  It’s amazing how quickly one adopts the customs; habits, language usage and the way things are and work when overseas. 

If I had to sum up in a couple of words the effect and outcome this trip has had on me, I would have to say “success.”  This past semester has stretched my boundaries in so many ways.  Much of it was way out of my comfort zone and I am proud to be able to say that I believe I met those challenges and did well.  Personal narrative, poetry, blog writing, performing arts, playwriting, map reading, mineral identification and figuring out where north is – yes, I even managed to figure that out.  None of these things were in my repertoire previously, but it had gotten to the point where I’d hung my ass so far out on the branch, that I figured I might as well go all the way.  There was nothing to lose and everything to gain.  I’ve always been one to push the envelope, to one degree and another, but this whole plan of returning to school, going to Scotland and then travelling around the countryside on my own exceeded the limits all the way around.  It’s not the easiest thing for someone my age to do as a “first.”  Thank you, Calvin, Christine and Susan.  I have learned much more from you all than curriculum.

In looking at this experience in that way, I’ve also gained some affirmation, courage and hope in my ability to succeed at the goal I set out for myself when I returned to school.  At the time, the plan was to give myself the chance to get there, not necessarily attaining it.  Now, I have more of a belief that I can succeed.  So much so, that I have made some choices that will take me closer to that and allow me to work towards those career choices.  Carl, bless his boxers, supports me in this as he supported me in my plan to return to school and in trundling off overseas.  I may just keep him around for a while longer.

Looking Homeward

Today it’s off home, I am.  It seems as if I have been here a long time and I suppose I have been.  There are more than a few things that will seem odd when I get back to Canada.  I’ve gotten so used to the way things are and work here.  Just everyday things that become the norm.  Like looking the opposite way for cars when crossing the road or calling chips “crisps.”  Toilets that flush from the wall.  Even escalators run the opposite way around and up is down.

I’m looking forward to getting home.  I miss everyone and my babies.  No doubt Padge will be pissed off for the first five minutes or so, until she forgets why.  Wiggy will just boink and wag himself off his feet.  It’s going to be hard getting back into the normal routine.  And that may not be a bad thing.  After all, going back to school, making this trip, it is all about change.  There have been a few very positive pointers that show me that that change is possible.  My review has been deemed “publishable” and the suggestion put forth that I try to do some work for The Other Press.  The blog has also been a positive and I may be able to parlay that into something as well.

School for September is all set to go.  Classes are registered and my funding for the term is approved.  I would like to do some peer tutoring.  My marks qualify me for it and I am a good teacher.  I just have to decide what to do in other areas and that decision won’t be made until Carl and I have a chance to talk.  If I can write for the paper and tutor…..

As my grandfather would say, “Well, there you go.”

The Search

It was a bit of a scramble getting out this morning.  Not that I’m not very good at packing and unpacking, it was more trying to get everything in, then trying to get out of the place.  By the time all was said and done, I decided that I was taking a taxi to the station, rather than walking.  I’d done quite enough walking, thank you very much.  To get to both Templemore and Galway, I had to get to Heuston Station, which is a good 3 k from Trinity College.  As bus schedules are a little sketchy, I ended up walking. 

Having said that, I did enjoy Galway yesterday.  There are no end of little shops in the “tourist” zone, some with a lot of junk and others with some unique items.  After searching nearly every jewellers in the area, I finally found my ring.  I’d gotten Carl’s pretty much right off the top, buying it even though there was no match to it for me.  But, I liked it very much and I thought he would.  In the end, I got a ring that was somewhat similar to his and that was as good as it was getting.

That called for a sit-down and a pint.  The pint demanded something to eat to go along with it.  I still needed to get back to Dublin in time for the storytelling that evening.  There was still a bit of time after all that, so I meandered around the town a little more, finding a few music stores that demanded my attention.  One had a beautiful Irish harp that I would have given my eyeteeth to own, but they were expensive and there’s always the getting it home problem.  So, I contented myself with a drum.  The word doesn’t quite describe it adequately.  It’s the traditional Gaelic handheld drum with a beater.  I have to admit that I’m still pining for the harp, though.  It’s a good thing I had to get the hell out of Dodge before much longer.

Back in Dublin, I walked once again, not so far this time, to the Brazen Head pub.  It’s the oldest pub in Ireland, built in 1160 or thereabouts.  The evening featured dinner, traditional music and some storytelling – faeries and the like.  The singers were great, mixing song and humour and everyone got very involved very quickly.  There’s no room for being shy in Ireland.

Today now, I am starting my trek back home.  From Dublin to Belfast, then Belfast to the ferry, to the bus, to the train, arriving in Glasgow tonight.  It promises to be a long day.

Templemore

Having gone to Peterhead to visit the place where Carl’s people were born and lived, it was my turn to do likewise.  So, it was off to Templemore.  Normally, it would be an hour and a bit to get there, but yesterday’s trip took almost twice that.  It seems that one of Irish Rail’s trains broke down on the track.  I did make it eventually, but not before having to hear one too many pre-recorded announcements, hoping that I’ve had a “pleasant and enjoyable trip and thank you for choosing Irish Rail.”  By the time I was into over an hour’s delay, it became a tad annoying. 

Church of Ireland

These days, Templemore has grown to a population of about 19,000 bodies.  The first place I visited was the Church of Ireland, not catholic, but close to in terms of pomp and ceremony.  After wandering the graveyard, I was able to locate a couple of gravesites.  There may have been more, but as in Peterhead, many weren’t readable any longer.  Most of the Fitzgerald family left Ireland over two hundred years ago now.  Even so, it was an experience being in the place where my 4x great grandparents were born and walking the same streets they did.

Downtown Templemore

The town itself, especially the downtown core, is an attractive place.  Most of the shops are well cared for and for the most part, seem to be thriving.  Moving out of the immediate area, though, there are many empty and boarded up places looking to be let or bought.  There are some industries on the edge of town, but a couple of those have shut down as well.  Like everywhere in Ireland and Scotland, the best cared for are the pubs.  Oh, and the bookmakers.  Yes, bookies are legal in both places.

I asked around a bit, to see if there were any surviving Fitzgeralds left in the town, but seems not.  If the cemetery is any indication, the last couple died back in 1957 and 1973, both named John and apparently single.  I would have liked to go to Roscrea as well, as that may have been the Talbot site, but being a Sunday, there was no way to get there other than walking or thumbing a ride.  Neither was high on my top ten list of things to do.  The only things open in the entire town were the groceries and the pubs, so after a few hours of exploring, I headed back to the rail station for a return to Dublin.

Tomorrow, Galway and I did un-cheap and book the story-telling for tonight.  It leaves my time in Galway rather short, as I have to back in Dublin and to the Brazen Head by 6:30.  I had intended doing laundry last night after I got back from Templemore, but was more than a bit too tired.  Nor will I be able to do it tonight, as the show isn’t over until 10:00 p.m. and I really should catch 7:35 back to Belfast tomorrow.  There is a later train, but it cuts it a bit close to the time I have to catch the bus for my ferry back to Glasgow.  I’ll have to buy a top or two or go topless.

Update:  The storytelling evening at the Brazen head was just a blast.  There was no such thing as strangers sitting beside one another at the tables.  Combined with a great meal, a bit of the irish history, song and stories, it was a more than enjoyable evening.  The web-site address is http://www.irishfolktours.com/ if you'd like to check it out.

Dublin

The train to Dublin was jam packed and standing room only.  There was a group who was either continuing Friday night’s party or had started up again early Saturday morning.  Made worse by the fact that there was a bar on the train.  They weren’t obnoxious, just loud. 

Golem

The city itself was a zoo with hordes of people rambling around, not paying the slightest bit of attention as to where they were going and what they’re doing.  The weather was beautiful, which no doubt contributed to the volume.  It was the first day that I was able to wear a tank top and wishing that I had shorts.  I am hoping that today will be the same.

It’s almost a different country here.  The Euro is the accepted currency, unlike Northern Ireland which takes either Euros or the pound sterling.  As I had only sterling, I ended up having to go the exchange and convert what I had into Euros, even to be able to check into Trinity College, where I’m staying.  It is also the location of the Book of Kells. 

Freddie Lives

Anyway, after checking in, I headed back out again to go over to the wax museum.  It was well done and covered a bit of everything, from famous authors to the Battle of the Boyne and assorted musicians and actors, Irish or not.  Michael Jackson was included –obviously non-Irish and Jack Nicholson – Irish.  After meandering my way through there, I wandered around town for a while to see what I could see.  Like Inverness, the city is interrupted by a river and the port is not far from the city centre.  It wasn’t long before I realized that getting out of the city was going to be the priority, disliking crowds the way I do.

There is a bar a bit away from the campus that features dinner, music and storytelling.  The only night available to book is Monday, so I started to reserve it, then thought twice about the charges.  It’s not that it’s that outrageous – I’m just throwing one of my cheap fits.  That, even though I’m nearing the end of my trip and having been extremely frugal all along, decided that I would be a little less so.  You can take the woman away from the money, but apparently you can’t take the money away from the woman.

Looking Towards the \Port

It’s a habit that comes in handy at times.  Though I hate to categorize and generalize myself with the rest of my sex, I do gravitate towards bling.  There were more than a few pieces that would have ended up in my baggage had I not reminded myself that, outside of the ring and necklaces that are never taken off, I don’t wear jewellery.  Anything that I might have bought would have ended up in my jewellery box and wouldn’t see the light of days for years on end, so there was little point in buying it.  It’s a sad, sad thing.

Tomorrow, I’ll be seeing where I can escape to, outside of the city.  I had thought to head to Templemore, but my initial searches indicated no way to get there on a Sunday.  My ticket for the train back to Belfast is booked already, as is my ferry ride back to Glasgow.  The only thing that I really need to worry about is my hotel stay for my last night in Scotland before heading home.  It’s hard to realize that it’s coming to an end.  It will be good to be home, but now very different.  I’ve been so long here that things Canadian will seem as odd as they did when I first arrived in the old country.  But, I miss everyone and it’s time to get home.

The Titanic a Century Ago

I did take the on-off bus yesterday, but somehow or another managed to lose my ticket after the third stop.  It was okay, though, as I’d seen what I really wanted to see.  There were a couple more would have like to’s, but as it was already 3:30 and the last tour out was only an hour away…  I’d waited for quite a bit for the bus that I had lost my ticket on, which was taking its own sweet time in showing up.  Finally deciding to say the hell with it, I headed out on foot.  There were a couple of things that we’d passed at the beginning of the tour that I wanted to check out, too.

Titanic Visitors Centre

The highlight of the tour was the stop at the dock where the Titanic was built.  They’ve built a huge visitors centre at the site where her keel was built.  It’s supposed to be shaped like her bow, but as the tour guide remarked, it looks more like the iceberg she hit.  It’s quite the place, in any case.  They run some walking tours and also an indoor tour that takes you through her story.  As I’d already been to the Titanic exhibition in Victoria a few years back, I gave that a pass.  After wandering about the centre for a bit, I walked over to the slip.  There are few signs that remain.  The ramps, the gantry rails and the iron uprights are the only things left that mark her birth.  At the head of the ramps, there is a memorial to all those that lost their lives; two long stretches of glass with names engraved on them.  So many that they fill the heads of both ramps for their entire width.



After waiting for a thundering storm to pass (no pun intended), it was time to head to my next stop.  The pump house and the dry dock slip where she was graved and fitted for her boilers, propellers and the like.  The visitor’s centre there also held tours and that one I decided to take.  The guide was beyond excellent. A true lover of the Titanic, he made the place come alive not only with his words, but with photographs that had been taken at the time.  With those, I could visualize her sitting there, swarms of men fitting her out for her maiden voyage.



The Titanic Dry Dock



The tour took us to the bottom of her slip 44 feet below.  With her keel on the bottom, she rose to three times the height of the White Star building nearby.  Her anchors were nearly the size of one of the support buildings beside the pump house.  Even with the photos, I had a hard time comprehending the size of her.  Like my guide, I’ve been fascinated with her since I first read about her when I was eight or nine.  That’s never changed.  I watch and read everything I can get my hands or eyes on.  To be at the place where she was is indescribable.  Even now, the pride in her building shines through the eyes of Belfastians.

I’ve known about her end for years.  I’ve read about her beginning for years, but to be here….

The Irish Sea

The "Pod" on the Stena Ferry

So, I was yammering on about the ferry service between Cairnryan and Dublin and the difference between the Stena Line and BC Ferries.  I took some pics just to be able to show you what I’m on about.  But, that’s really the end of that subject and on to a new one, which is crossing the Irish Sea and the first glimpse of Ireland.

One of the Portraits on Each
Stair Landing

One of the things that tends to be in the forefront here and in Scotland, is the Second World War.  It’s not something we think about in Canada, other than on Remembrance Day.  Here, there are constant reminders, whether it be the remains of prisoner of war camps, the barriers built between the North Sea and the Atlantic or pillboxes, look-outs and radar stations.  It was real here in Europe, not something we read about or hear about or see in the movies.  When crossing the Irish Sea yesterday, I couldn’t help but think and envision German U-boats patrolling the waters, ready to torpedo any ship that crossed their paths.  I could see the men struggling in the freezing waters.  It was a sobering thought, to say the least.

The Shores of Ireland

The ship was roughly an hour out before I could catch the very first glimpse of land on the horizon.  Even then, it was more of a wish than a reality.  Gradually, it became clearer and before much longer I could make out the fishing villages on the shore with the houses clustered together and painted in bright colours.  It had been a sun and cloud mix coming across and hazy in the distance, but just before we reached harbour, the sun came out and shone on the hills above Belfast.  There’s a reason that Ireland is called the Emerald Isle.  It really is as green as green can be and I’m very much looking forward to going south and away from the city.  Friday, however, I’ll be hopping the on-off bus and touring around, including the Belfast Shipyards where the Titanic was crafted.  I’ll be likely to be needing some more money by the time I get out of there.

The Orkneys and the POWs of WW II

The last couple of days have been hectic, to say the least.  Wednesday was taken up with wandering around Kirkwall before catching the 4:15 back to Inverness, arriving about 9:00 p.m., then yesterday up and off again by 5:30.  This time off to Belfast.  What an expedition that was!  First, there was the train from Inverness to Perth, then from Perth to Queen St. station in Glasgow.  Hop a bus to Glascow Central, where I caught the train to Ayr.  From Ayr, it’s a bus to Cairnryan for the ferry.  I have to tell you, the Stena Lines ferry service makes B.C. Ferries look like a complete joke.  More about that later.  The crossing is just over two hours and I arrived at the Belfast Port.  Another bus to the city centre and finally the hotel.

Back to the ferry.  The place is like a floating hotel.  On the uppermost deck, there are cabins and a spa.  There are lounges and living rooms all over the place, with comfy chairs, sofas, tables and the like.  There is a great playroom for the kids, a video arcade, a mini-casino, cinema and shops that carry everything from the cheesy souvenirs to designer perfumes and jewellery.  There are a couple restaurants and a bar.  And the price of all this, you ask.  The entire trip, start to finish, all ten hours of trains, busses and ferry was a whomping £ 38.  That translates into about CAD $65.  Hello, B.C. Ferries – take note.

Interior of the Italian Chapel

Change of direction and back to the Orkneys.  I traipsed across the Churchill Barrier Wednesday morning to check out the Italian Chapel.  The Italian POWs were given a couple of quonset huts to use for a chapel, but felt that the inside was a little lacking.  With the okie-dokie of the commander of the camp, the POWs then put their skills to use and beautified the interior.  With quite a bit of ingenuity, they made the place quite incredible.  The lanterns hanging from the ceiling on the centre aisle, for example, were made from bully beef tins.  The place is really quite spectacular, given what it is and what materials the POWs had access to.

Lantern From Bully Beef Can

I met up with a very nice lady as I waited for the bus back to Kirkwall and we ended up chatting about the chapel and the camp.  Based on what I had read at the site, it didn’t seem to me that the POWs had had such a bad time during their tenure there and I asked the lady about that. 

“Aye,” she said.  “They had a good time of it.  I have a brooch that my father had them make for me for my birthday.  They very often made and sold things to the villagers.”

She went on to describe the brooch and to tell me more about life in the camp.  Apparently, even their families were allowed to visit them.  It’s certainly a far cry from what I’ve heard about other POW camps in other parts of the world – Japan or Germany.

An Oldie But A Goodie

My tour around this part of the Orkneys yesterday was all about the ancients.  I grabbed the hop-on, hop-off as planned.  It made quite a number of stops, but there was only three that I really wanted to check out.  Really, there was a few more, but I figured I could only cope with the three.

Skerrabra

I started out at Skerrabra.  This is the old name, the new is Skara Brae.  This is a Neolithic village approximately 5,000 years old, located in a cove in the Ness of Brodgar.  It isn’t a large place – about ten dwellings – so the population at the time may have been around fifty to seventy-five people.  These weren’t cave dwellers by any means.  The homes contained shelves and various nooks and crannies for storage of belongings.  Beds were constructed similar to a cradle and would have been filled with soft materials and skins used for blankets.  They made jewellery, pottery and other necessities in a workshop building.  It’s quite an incredible place and just to remind you how far back these people existed, there are a series of marker stones that take you back in time as you get closer to the ruins; first man on the moon, for example, then going back to the birth of Jesus, the Pyramids of Giza and so on. 

Ring of Brodgar

The second stop of my tour was at the Ring of Brodgar.  This is a site similar to Stonehenge and just as mysterious.  The stones are set in a perfect circle, 140 meters around with an outer ditch surrounding it and several burial mounds a short distance away.  There are two entrances into the ring opposite one another, but neither are where two sets of stones are placed closer to one another than all the rest. Interestingly enough, there is a row of single stones leading off down the road towards another smaller ring at Stenness.

Stromness was my last stop of the day.  This is a fishing village built into a cove and a steep hill.  The streets are a combination of cobble and flat limestone.  They are very narrow and twist and turn in every direction.  Alleyways and closes shoot off in every direction, some to another street and others to homes.  The Northlinks Ferry lands and can take you up to the Shetlands, if you’ve a mind.  I would have loved to have done that run, but the timing didn’t work out.  There are only specific days the service runs.  All in all, it’s a beautiful little town, but it would be harsh living in the winter months.  As everywhere I’ve been on the island so far, the wind blows incessantly.  The only difference is in the intensity.

One more quirky note that I forgot to mention in yesterday’s post.  Just down the road a bit from where I’m staying in Holm, there is a totem pole.  It came about as a result of some type of project, but the work was done by some of the carvers of the Squamish First Nations.  Go figure – halfway around the world in a tiny wee burg like Holm and you find a piece of home.

Can Only Go Up From Here

The Highlands are a far cry from Edinburgh and Aberdeen.  Even Inverness, which is a fair bit north from both, hasn’t a patch on what I’ve seen on my way to the Orkneys.  It’s a bit of a jaunt to get here; almost five hours all told, including a forty minute ferry crossing from John O’Groats.  The name comes from a Dutchman who started the original ferry service, I don’t know when and charged a groat for the crossing.

Once I got to Kirkwall, things went downhill pretty quickly.  I headed to the St. Ola hotel to check-in, only to find that my booking had been balled up.  The Kirkwall next door had a room available, but at the not so cheap price of £ 90 per night.  I’m not Scottish for no reason and that was a lot dear for my pocketbook.  The place did have “free” WiFi, so into the bar I went, purchased a Tennants (beer) and fired up the laptop.  One of the places I had considered booking did have a room available, so arranged for that, hopped a bus and headed back to St. Mary’s, Holm to the locals, and checked in.  Wonderful place, the Commodore!  All the comforts and more than I got out of the Ramada in Inverness.

After getting settled, I meandered off down along the coastline, then down the Graemeshall Path.  The shore is all upthrust shelves of rock, black mostly.  On top, looking out to the North Sea are the remains of the World War II defences.  There are a series of barriers across four of the channels that would have allowed free access between the sea and the Atlantic Ocean prior to World War II, but were built to provide safe harbour for the naval fleets that anchored here.  Churchill had ordered the construction and Italian POWs built it.  There is an Italian Chapel that was put up for them on the far side of the barrier.  I haven’t crossed over to see it yet, but it is supposed to be a “not to miss.”

Today I’ll be heading back into Kirkwall and catching a “hop on, hop off” to tour around Stromness, the Bodgard Stones and Skerrabra.  Both of the latter are Neolithic sites and I am looking forward to it.  This posting and yesterdays are going to be up late, as WiFi access is hit and miss in this part of the country.

Not a Dolphin to be Seen

This will be a quick post today, as I’m off to the Orkneys, Kirkwall to be exact, and have to be leaving in a bit.  I did make the Dolphin and Seal Centre yesterday, though I do think I was led astray by one degree and another.  The Centre wasn’t quite what it was set out to be.  Shades of the Merkinch.  I think I’ll have to be passing by any more of these “reserves.”

I had to walk to the blasted place, somewhere in the range of three or four miles.  It ended up being that far, as I followed the A9 route, not knowing the shortcut.  You can imagine how long that took.  Once I arrived, I found that there are no trails or specific sighting spots and the “Centre” a wee building stuck in a corner of the Visitor Information Centre.  Well, now.

I did take the path down to the Village of North Kessock, which lies on the Beauly Firth, underneath the North Kessock Bridge.  On the other side of the bridge is the Moray Firth.  Anyway, I sat for a bit, pulled off a few shots, not of dolphins or seals, however.  Once semi-recovered, I started back over the bridge towards Inverness.  This time I had the shortcut, so was a much easier and quicker walk.

In the evening, meaning about 11:00 p.m., I set out again, wanting to get some night shots of the city.  Being so far north, it’s still relatively light even at that time of the night.  It’s a good thing I have nothing better to do than sit on a bus and ferry for five hours today.  I’m looking forward to the Orkneys.  While the cities are beautiful, I’ve had enough of them for a while and am needing some uncivilized landscapes.

If Ye're in a Rush...

I decided to do the hop-on, hop-off sightseeing bus tour for my second day in Inverness.  The first few stops were places that I had already been the day before or were close enough that I could easily visit on my own.  I had my sights set on the Merkinch Nature Reserve and the factory outlet shops at the very end of the tour.

Firth at the Merkinch Nature Reserve

Hopping off the bus at Telford Street with only a vague reference of the reserve being beyond the Caledonian Canal, I decided to take the comment literally and headed towards a marina on the canal.  I had a vague idea of where it might be once I got there, but figured that discretion is the better part of valour and the better plan would be to ask.

An older gentlemen manning the reception centre was only too glad to help, even going so far as to look up and print off the directions for me and virtually ignoring another man who had come in. 

“Stay away from these houses here, though.  They’re not a good place for you to be around” he tells me.

“Excuse me,” the other man broke in.  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have an appointment to fill up at eleven.”

“Well, then, fill it” he’s told.  I had a hard time holding back the snort until he left the office.  My gent had this “Are you a total dolt?” look on his face and the other was decidedly put out that he was to do the fill himself.

Got...an....itch!

Armed with my maps and watched over by my benefactor to ensure I got started off in the right direction, I set off.  It wasn’t a hugely long walk and I got there without mishap.  I had to cross the railroad track, which was guarded on both sides by a tall picket fence.  Rather than wood, the pickets were made of steel and gates on either side provided access.

As a nature reserve, the Merkinch was pretty much a dud, but it was nice walk and there were some beautiful views of the firth.  Outside of a bunny and the prerequisite mallards, there wasn’t much else to be seen in the wildlife department.  Next stop, the James Pringle Woolen Mills.

Happy Canada Day!  It’s 6:30 a.m. July 1^st here, even though it’s about 10:30 p.m. June 30, there.

Aberdeen to Inverness

The train station at Aberdeen is quite amazing.  Victorian style, with metal archways and glass walls and ceiling, it must be two and a half to three stories tall.  The floors are white and flowers grow in hanging baskets at both ends.  I was greeted on my entry by one of the locals, soon to be joined by a second.  Though two legged, these were of the feathered variety.  Pigeons, hoping to be fed, rushed me as quickly as their overweight waddling would let them.  Once assured they were getting no breakfast from me, they staggered off to the next potential sucker.



Gull at Aberdeen Station



I had just managed to offload all of my assorted crap and got myself sat down, when a seagull marched up and demanded something or another.  I talk cat, but not gull, but I figured he was after the same thing as his pigeon friends.  He didn’t look like he was any more need of food than they.  Entrance stage right, a man runs for the platform, startling said gull.  Bird also runs, wings outspread for balance.  Bird then decides he has gone far enough and it’s undignified anyway, so calls a halt.  Almost.  The trouble is that the floors are marble and as he puts the brakes on, he skids and just about ends up landing on his tail feathers.  If a bird can have any kind of look on its face, it was priceless.  I near piddled.

The trip to Inverness was uneventful.  I got the right train and as there were no changes, didn’t have the opportunity to have another “oops.”  As Calvin said, no railroad jail this time around either. 



The River Ness



It seems the further up country I travel, the more I love the cities I’m seeing.  I liked Edinburgh very much, but Aberdeen more.  After a rocky introduction, when I was expected to pay 20p to have one, I decided that Inverness takes the cake.  And for some unknown reason, the mall charges an extra pound 30 for the privilege of eating your lunch in the food court.  Despite what our nattering Loch Ness guide had to say, there is a lot to do and see here.  The city is split by the River Ness, but foot and road bridges every few blocks connect the two.  There are walks for miles along each side of the river and footbridges let one cross over to the Ness Islands.  The walks and bridges are strung with lights for the evening hours.  I didn’t see them lit, as I was in my bed in a coma by then.  Nor am I likely to see them, as dark comes late here.

A Visit to the Past

After catching up on some rest for the remainder of Wednesday, I was pretty much ready to rock and roll again on Thursday.  The plan was to go to Peterhead (pronounced Peterheed) and see for myself the place that Carl’s people originally called home.



Houses Along the Harbour Road



I caught the 6:3-ish city bus back down to Union Square – the bus and train stations are side by each – and was in time to catch the 7:30 to Peterhead.  Whiling away the time until the bus arrived, I chatted with two other passengers.  One was for Peterhead and the other, unknown.  We talked of Canada and the places they knew.  One instructed me on the proper pronunciation of “Peterheed.”

It was not quite an hour and a half ride up.  Through the villages of Boddam, Cruden Bay we went.  Farmlands mostly, with the lane and a half roads most often seen in British television shows.  Past HM Prison Peterhead and what a cold, harsh place the old buildings would have been in the winter, then arrival at my destination.

St. Peter's Church

Peterhead is the largest city on the northern east coast, having a population of about 19,000.  It lies on the North Sea and now, as then, it is a fishing town.  The fish market on the harbour lies in the same place now as it did over one hundred and fifty years ago.  The streets are paved with cobblestones and wind here and there, with wynds and closes.  I located St. Peter’s Church, where the Mackie family had been christened, married and from where they were sent off to their maker.  Thanks to a very helpful lady, I was also able to find the Old Churchyard Cemetery, where I spent a soggy hour or two locating the few remaining Mackie headstones.  Though I am not a Mackie born, it was still an incredible feeling to walk the same streets and see the same things that they had.  The connection was there and I am happy beyond words that I will be able to pass on the Carl, the kids and the grandkids a sense of the place from where they came.

After I had my fill of wandering around, I stopped at a wee shop for a swiss and bacon baguette, then headed back to the bus interchange for a return to Aberdeen.  More chat about Aberdeen later.

One of hundreds of jellyfish
on the beach of Peterhead Bay

Aberdeen, Here I Come

I arrived safely in Aberdeen yesterday after only a minor to-do.  Seems that I managed to hop onto the wrong train at my change in Dundee.   It was still heading to Aberdeen, but instead of Scotrail, I ended up on some East something or another.  Even so, I’m not sure that I should have been on Scotrail; they use partner trains.  The conductor helped in this oops, as when I queried, he almost threw me and my baggage on the coach.

As I headed to Aberdeen, it gradually clued in that I might have made an oops and I began to worry about the ticket check.  The train peeps come through the coaches and request your tickets, or if you haven’t one, you can purchase from them.  Much as I told myself that the worst that could happen was that I would have to buy another ticket, I was managing to work myself into a tizz.

The moment came.  I heard the dreaded word; “Tickets, please.”    But then, he was gone as quickly as he came, almost running through the coach.  Perhaps he was giving advance warning and would start at the front of the train and work his way back.  I was in Coach B and there were few people on the train.  If he was coming back, it should be within the next ten minutes.

Fortunately for my nervous system, he never returned and I reached Aberdeen in a somewhat more settled state.  It was raining and very foggy – like that never happens here.  I checked into my hotel – what luxury compared to the Pollock Halls dorms.  A fridge, TV, a tub I could stretch out in and a much comfier bed.  I treated myself to a tub, then laid down for a nap and woke up at 8:00 p.m.  It had stopped raining, but I had no intention of heading out and about.  Tomorrow would do for that.

Should Auld Aquaintance Be Forgot....

Today is our last day in Edinburgh and everyone scatters to the four corners.  A few are returning home; others are off to London, Spain, Ireland, Switzerland, you name it, someone is going there.  Mixed emotions are the order of the day.  Sadness at leaving, but glad to be getting onto the next phase or home to family and friends.

Yesterday.  I’m not sure how to describe yesterday.  Stress filled, yes.  A stretching of the boundaries ever further than before, yes.  The cohesiveness of the group dynamic restored, yes.  As the last part of the Capstone Project, we had to bring our narratives alive in a spoken word performance.  In groups of three or four, each had to weave their own story into the others and perform it in front of all.  For many, this proved to be the hardest task yet.  For myself, I had already gone so far out on a limb with so many things this term that one more wasn’t going to hurt, so I might as well go for it with guns blazing.  All did an incredible job and we should all be proud of ourselves.  It’s not an easy thing to put oneself out there like that.  It shows a degree of trust in self and those around you.  Douglas College Scotland Field Study School – YOU ROCK!

Dancers at Prestonfield House

Once that was over and done with, we had some time before our wrap up dinner which was scheduled for the Prestonfield Restaurant.  It was to be an evening of food, song, dance and storytelling.  Everything about it was incredibly moving, skilled, humorous and fully involved all those present.  I couldn’t help but be a part of what was being enacted on stage.  The food was excellent and I even managed a wee bit of the haggis.  It wasn’t the taste of the stuff, so much as the texture, not to mention my self-restricted rule of rights for first refusal to eat innards.  Things that slime along the ground and innards – two things that need to be staying where originally placed and that don’t belong in this human’s digestive system.  Those along with any unidentifiable food.  If I can’t identify it, I don’t eat it.  I know this restricts the possibilities of opening up vast new opportunities for food love, but I’ll risk it.  As everyone knows, this eating thing is not high on my list of priorities.

Some of our stories are over for the time being.  Mine will continue a little longer.  I, too, leave Edinburgh today, heading to Aberdeen, then to Inverness.  After that, it depends where the wind takes me.  The next week or so, I’ll be sticking pins into the map to find the place I go to next.

Food for Thought

Unicorn at the top of
 one of the Mercat Crosses

I’m close to wrapping up term now.  Yesterday was basically our last free day  in Edinburgh, we have regular classes today, Capstone presentations tomorrow, then a wrap up dinner.  After that, everyone scatters to the wind.  To be perfectly honest, it’s past due time.

Has this trip to Scotland been a life-changing experience?  That’s a difficult question to answer.  It’s the culmination of a long held desire to see the old country.  For the rest, it remains to be seen.  Despite the words in my Winds of Change piece, once home it again becomes a case of “no time.”  I had been and still am, seriously considering dropping the Centre from my client list.  That frees up some time, but being able to eat is good, too.  Okay, so I’m not much of an eater.  You get my drift.

Would I do another field study school?  Now, that’s an easier question to answer.  I’m sorry to say, this one is ending on a sour note.  It’s unfortunate, but there it is.  Perhaps in a while, I’ll be able to set it aside.

For the rest, I’ve seen a lot; done a lot.  I’ve heard the stories and seen the places; can hear the clashing of sword against shield, the trapdoor of the gallows crashing open.  Burke and Hare, the infamous providers of fresh corpses to the medical school, are just there in the pub, plying their next victim with drink.

“Guardie loo” comes the call from somewhere in the upper reaches of the tenement next door.  Never look up with your mouth open is good advice when travelling the streets of the city.  Cart wheels rattle against the cobblestones, passing some poor soul locked in the stocks at the Mercat Cross.  Down at the Nor Loch, a witch trial commences.

I’ve gained enough fodder to keep any imagination well fed.  Will I put it to good use?

In Search of the Perfect Shot

Edinburgh Dawn

This morning, as I had hoped it would, dawned clear.  It had rained during the night, so everything was still dampish, but as far as I was concerned, that was just fine.  The morning light, combined with colours made soft by the mist, just adds an extra element to a photography shoot.  And that had been my plan for the wee hours of this morning.

If there has been one thing that has frustrated the bejesus out of me, it’s having had to battle for a decent shot.  Tourist shots are one thing, quality quite another.  So, being that I have nothing better to do at 4:00 a.m., I decided that I would haul myself out and about, wander around Edinburgh and get some of those shots I was after.  No one other than cabbies and drunks were likely to be up at that time of the day, I reasoned.

I did sleep in a little past 4:00 a.m., courtesy of the fire alarm once more blasting me out of bed earlier in the night.  It wasn’t until forty-five minutes past that time that I threw on some clothes, set the kettle to boil for a coffee to go and lit out the door.

Past Arthur’s Seat I went, debated whether to climb or no, then past Holyrood Palace, the Parliament Buildings and ended up close to Calton Hill.  I wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of climbing that either, but then I hadn’t been thrilled about the earlier shots I had gotten.  By then, the sun was on the rise and I knew it would be coming over the horizon of the North Sea which could be seen from the top of the hill.  Up I went, at about the same speed as the “little engine that could” and got my shots.

The City at Dawn

On the return, I had a choice to go back the way I came or to go the opposite way down a steep flight of stairs.  Since the morning’s jaunt was all about wandering aimlessly, I opted for the stairs.  At the bottom I was met by a gorgeous little calico cat who demanded love and attention.  Being up for some cat love, too, the pair of us sat on the walk and purred at each other on the rub-bys.