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.

Charles Rennie Macintosh and the Glasgow School of Art

Library at the Glasgow School of Art

The Glasgow School of Art building is something else indeed.  Designed by Charles Rennie Macintosh back in the late 1800’s and finished on the early 1900’s, it’s still being used as a functioning art school.  Macintosh was all about Art Deco and holistic approaches to buildings. So, he had his fingers into all the pieces of the pie.  No doubt to the chagrin of owners and contractors alike.

Art Deco has never been my thing, but the top floor rear is much like a sunroom.  It was called then, as it is now, the Hen Run.  This was the area that female students were delegated to when the school decided to go co-op.  Quite the advancement in those days and not one followed by all schools or artists either, for that matter.

CRM Chair

The school has a fair sampling of his furniture – it seems to have become the depository for defunct tearooms or homes.  It doesn’t look particularly comfortable, though many of the pieces are extremely functional.  There’s certainly no lollygagging about or relaxing in most of his chairs.  This is a bit surprising, as he designed a number tea rooms in Glasgow, many of which featured his furnishings.

Lewis Chessman Live at the National

Lewis Chessmen at the National Museum

I saw the Lewis Chessmen in person yesterday at the National Museum.  They are so beyond awesome.  The workmanship and detail is incredible.  I know, I know, but there really aren’t the words to properly describe them.  They are unlike anything else, even the Inuit and First Nations carvings from home.

One could spend days in the museum itself, wandering around and exploring various nooks and crannies.  Everywhere you go, there is something else to see.  The first floor, which was my favourite, was all artifacts about the early peoples, the Picts and Romans, etc.  I find the Picts fascinating.  They were a far advanced people, as far as I’m concerned.  The tools, jewellery, clothing, all of which was not only beautiful, but ingenious.  I’ve said it before and will again.  I don’t understand how the Scots could ever have been considered a backwards, crude nation of sub-human peoples.  The evidence to prove otherwise is all around us.  Has to be an English thing.

There was so little taught and learned about Scottish history.  Braveheart, (despite the attitude over here about that movie), was the first inkling I ever had about my own heritage and gave me pride in that heritage.  Being here and learning about what being Scottish is all about just rounds that out and increases that sense of pride and ownership.  Not that I haven’t been proud of who and what I am, it’s more of a case that I didn’t know just what to be proud of.

Freedom!

Finding Cramond

Cramond Village

Getting to Cramond yesterday was a bit of a chore.  I knew which bus to take, but finding the stop was the fun part.  Nothing is where it usually is because of the road construction up on Princes Street.  However, after much ado, I did find the place.

Most of the village used to be a Roman Fort and at least some of the foundations survive.  There is the obligatory kirk and inn, along with a few houses built into the side of the hill.  The original Cramond, that is; the rest of it has built up over time.  It sits on the River Forth and I would have cruised past it on the boat tour the other day.

Unfortunately, it also lies under the flight path for planes landing at the airport.  Every ten to fifteen minutes.  It doesn’t make for much peace and quiet and I’m sure the residents aren’t any too happy with the situation, either.  To one extent and another, maybe they’ve gotten used to it and don’t even hear them anymore.

I had the chance to speak with an older couple while at the pier.  They were babysitting their grandsons, twins, for their daughter who had returned to work a couple of days a week.  Her dog, as well.  He was a spaniel type, very friendly, very wet and very insistent that I should rub his belly.  We talked for fifteen minutes or so, about this and that and the next thing, then wandered off in our own directions.

Backstage at the Lyceum

Yesterday was a quieter day on the Scottish front.  We were able to get backstage at the Lyceum Theatre in the morning.  The Lyceum is one of the oldest in Scotland and has a reputation for having the best acoustics.  The stage is tilted to a 24° rake, as is the seating area, so there are few seats without a full view of the stage.

The Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh

I hadn’t realized, likely because I know very little about it and didn’t think about it, just how much goes into the back stage production.  One play can have as many as 300 cues that the stage manager has to deal with.  Not to mention making sure that actors and technicians are where they’re supposed to be.  It sounded to me as if the production people are vastly shortchanged on the recognition side of things.

After the Lyceum tour, we were free, except for meeting with Calvin in the afternoon.  I took at least part of that time to get laundry and my PEFA assignment done for Christine.  Both of which, I’m happy to say, are complete.  I’ll just do a brief look-over on the review and make sure I haven’t gone completely off the rails.

Today will also be a quiet day.  We have Geography this morning, then this afternoon is free to check out the museums, explore or tend to schoolwork.  The only thing I have left to do on the school aspect, at the moment anyway, is my revision on my poetry assignment.  Depending on what the weather does, I may or may not get that looked after.

Inchcolm Island Sit-in

For Sunday’s jaunt, I had decided that I wanted to go on the Maid of the Forth cruise, with an hour and a half stop on Inchcolm Island.  The weatherman had promised sun and relatively warm temperatures.  He lied.  Though I have to admit it wasn’t nearly so bad as the night before.  I had also intended to catch the 10:15 boat tour, but between the weather, the homework and trying to figure out how to get there, it just was not going to happen.   I had intended doing a couple of other tours that day, which was why the early start.  They were similar to the others I had already done, so I settled with putting off the tour until the next departure, did some homework and cursed the weatherman until I had to leave.

Waverley Station and the bus terminal are side by side and I could take either mode of transport.  Getting up there was easy enough – I’m pretty okay with the bus now, though knowing that I have to get off at such and such stop isn’t really helpful when you don’t know where the stop is, the one previous or the one after.  Anyway, got the bus, got the right stop, got to the train station and decided that I had pushed my directional luck as far as it would go.  Dump the bus, take the train.  To Dalmeny Villlage.  The train, unlike the bus, kindly lets you know the next stop before you get there.

I arrive at the village safely.  I am told by the brochure to take the foot path to Hawes Pier.  As there appears to be only one footpath, I set off and immediately run out of that directional luck I was talking about.  Eventually, I do manage to get to the pier and in time for the departure I wanted.  Fortunately the ticket people understand sign language because talking was out of the question for the immediate future.  No wind.

Inchcolm Abbey

I sit topside, outside and manage not to toss a bunch of rude and yappy German students overboard.  Score one for my patience level.  We make Inchcolm Island where there is an old and partially ruined Abbey that was built in 1285.  Much of it is in excellent condition, though and it’s possible to climb into the tower and go through the various rooms.  It really is an amazing place.  I find it difficult to believe it was a “men only” place.  At one time and another, it had been extensively renovated – rooms added, windows closed in, etc.  Usually, it’s the female sex who prompts the renos in any household.

Gull Chicks and Mum

The island is also home to enough gulls for Alfred Hitchcock’s movie The Birds, as well as cormorants, puffins and myriad others.  The gulls are nesting at the moment and a tad cranky.  I had gone down to sit at water’s edge while waiting for the boat and a mama gull set up the warning call for her chick.  I sat, she sat, the chick sat.  Soon enough, another chick poked along, so it joined the sit-in as well.  The boat arrived and I re-boarded, again sitting topside, long enough to catch a few shots of some seals plopped on a large green channel buoy.  One waved on the way by.

Grey Seals on the River Forth

The Saga Continues

As mentioned, there was no room at the inn for the seven of us that were waiting for our nine o’clock tour and we were forced to huddle under the main door of St. Giles.  The wind and rain had gotten even worse than it had been.  We talked about cancelling and re-booking for Sunday night, as we already had another tour scheduled with the same company just beforehand.  The idea was nixed – likely because we had already waited so long another few minutes wasn’t going to hurt any more or any less.

Considering everything, the time passed quickly and one comment led to another as so often happens.  Few of them were fit for the doorway of a church.  Apparently agreed upon, by some “power that was.”  From inside the church, the organ played:  “Dah, dah, da da-h-h.”  Oops!

Occasionally, a person or two would ramble by and ask if we were waiting for a tour.

“No,” we’d answer.  “This is the refugee centre.”  Or, just for a change, the homeless shelter, we’d say.

The Murder and Mystery Tour - Janet, just
before the hanging.

Finally, the time for the tour came around.  I was wearing my parmeuse (a long wrap) but instead of throwing the one end over my shoulder as I usually do, I pulled it over my head and down the front to make a hooded cape.  Scared the bejesus out of some poor girl when we got to the meeting place.  I assume she thought I was part of the tour.

The jaunt was an outdoors walk, an hour and a quarter long and seldom did the wind and rain let up.  Everyone toughed it out, amused by the Mad Monk and Lyell the dead highway robber – sorry, can’t remember the last name.  The Monk not only amused us, he terrorized and flashed anyone walking down the street as we made our way from place to place. 

No Rest (Food or Water) for the Wicked

As you know, I’d activated my Edinburgh Pass on Friday, so Saturday was to be a continuation of the time travel through the history of the city.  I had originally intended a couple of different things to do, but decided I didn’t want to be in the weather again for a bit and I had homework to do.  After much yap and back and forth, a number of us decided to meet up for four o’clock and do the Edinburgh Dungeons tour.

Camera Obsura - The Martian Hands

To my great disappointment, no photographs were allowed and there was a fairish line-up to get in.  Always a good sign, to my way of thinking.  It was well worth the wait.  The tour began with a mock trial, which resulted in death sentences for four of our group; one for cross dressing and cavorting in pink knickers, the other three for crimes against fashion.  Two of the four were fortunate enough to be chosen for other nefarious stunts and pranks throughout the tour.  At the end, it was all for naught; the whole bunch of us were hanged.



Camera Obscura Star Gallery With a Twist



Camera Obscura was the next stop on the agenda.  It consisted of light shows, optical illusions and some very cool things to do.  It was enjoyable and I hesitated for quite some time in the gift shop, trying to decide whether I going to spend £27 on a pinhole camera with all the bells and whistles.  Finally I decided not, as I’d already made a bunch of cruder versions at home.  Not to mention I can’t work with the chemicals to develop the film anymore.

There was time to kill between the Obscura Tour and our next show, so we tried to find a place that was warm, dry and where we would be able to get something to eat and drink.  No go on that one, so we ended up huddled under the arches of the St. Giles Church.  But, that’s another story.





Still Directionally Challenged

Inside the Time Travel Machine

I activated my Edinburgh Pass on Friday and prepared to do some walking and some tours.  Not so much walking as I ended up doing, but I got where I was going eventually.  It would have been quite nice if it hadn’t been for the weather.  Rainy, windy and not any too warm, so I wore a sweat shirt, my fleecy and my wrap.  Overall, it wasn’t too bad, except for my hands.  Had I decided to warm them on someone else during the underground vaults tour, they would be certain that a ghost came through and touched them.  But, that’s a different part of the story.

Off I set to the Dynamic Earth building.  I’m not sure what I expected and initially I was a little disappointed, but in the end it was great.  I didn’t stay for the show afterwards, but the rest of it was very well done, so I’m sure it would have well worth watching.  I was taken back in time, rattled by earthquakes and explored in the Challenger aircraft.  The flight is 3D and incredible.  There were more than a couple of times I was sure I could reach out and touch a shark or a dinosaur; they were that close and realistic.

South Bridge Vault

Having completed the tour, I turned to my map.  Bad plan.  I probably would have been far better off without looking.  In any case, after wandering all over the city and seeing a few parts of it I could have quite willingly have done without, I finally found my second stop.   The Underground Vaults tour.  I had a little time to kill, so went through some of the shops and grabbed a sandwich until it was time.

The tour was very good and our guide, Kimberley, even more so.  A little bit of a thing with a powerful voice, she took on her part wholeheartedly.  The vaults were built under the South Bridge and after being closed up in the mid-1800s, they were completely forgotten until re-discovered by accident.  Initially meant to be storage for the merchants, the damp and wet destroyed much of their stock, so the vaults were left to the homeless and the criminals.  The chambers are said to be haunted.  I can’t answer to that, but I know that something tugged at the sleeve of my fleecy.  When I turned, no one was there.

Stirling - The Gateway to Scotland

Rear building of Stirling Castle

Thursday saw us on a trip to Stirling Castle and mastering the intricacies of the Waverley Station.  Which was quite a bit easier than anticipated.  Of course, our tickets had already been purchased for us, so that was likely to have been the hardest part, anyway.

The town of Stirling is built on steep, winding cobblestone roads that seem to meander off in all directions.  It’s a very old place; described as being the gateway to Scotland.  It is where battles were fought, lost and won.  Even in death the two armies are separated.  In the old cemetery atop the hill beside the castle, the English are buried on one side, the Scottish on the other.  In one section of the grounds, some are laid out as if creating a stone dance.  It just may be.

The castle itself is amazing.  I never expected that it would be almost another small town unto itself, though perhaps I should have.  Everything needed to be self-sufficient is there, from barracks to breweries, stables and laundries to the living quarters of the royals.  Walls surround the site with walkways to watch over the town and any approaching armies.  The wind, when it comes up, finds every nook and cranny to peer into.   It is not a place I’d choose to live, especially in the winter months.

Cell in the new jail in Stirling

The town jail was the next and last stop for the day, except for the getting home part.  This jail was actually the new jail.  The old was the tollbooth, named as the worst prison in “England”.  And so the new one was built; modelled on advanced thinking and rehabilitation.  There are only 57 cells in the new jail and each holds only the one prisoner. The have a bed and a chamber pot.  Supposedly heaven, compared to the twenty-five in a single cell with not a pot to pee in they were housed in before.  Nor were they segregated in the Tollbooth; men, women and children were tossed in to make do as best they could.

I was surprised and queried the reason for so few cells.  Given everything I had read about crime and punishment (no pun intended) at that time, I had thought that far more cells would have been needed.  More often than not, prisoners were shipped out of the country on a regular basis to Australia or a myriad number of other countries.  Canada, the warden kindly pointed out, got very few.  Likely because the English had other plans for us.

By the Seat of My Pants

After yesterday morning’s abysmal failure to climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat, I decided to give it another try in the evening.  For the second day running, we had a beautiful day.  It wasn’t too hot; the sun was shining.  What more could I possibly ask for?  Other than the clouds to stay away until the evening, so I could get a shot of the sunset from the top of the volcano.

Anne Marie, Laura and Sarah agreed to go with me.  What with everything and the cold on top of it, I wasn’t sure I could make it on my own – at least safely.  Come hell or high water, I was going anyway, but it felt better to have them along.

The trek began at just after 7:00 p.m.  Sarah and Laura had gone out to eat and would meet me part way up.  They’re much faster, so if I could get a bit of a head start, we had a much better chance to capture the sunset.  As it turned out, Anne Marie stuck her head out the door just as I was leaving.  After I explained what was happening with the others, she decided to come along with me.

Atop Arthur's Seat

The higher we climbed, the more of the city we saw spread out below us.  Many of the locals and tourists alike had made the same decision to take advantage of the “gift” day.  Cars, bicycles, hikers, joggers made their way to the summit at various speeds.  We weren’t the fastest.  I’m not sure we weren’t the slowest, but it didn’t matter.  We were getting there and along the way had plenty of time to take photos and introduce ourselves to the bunny population.  They’re breeding like……rabbits.  I’m not sure if there is any other breed that reproduces so quickly.  Mice and rats, I suppose.

By this time, I’m sounding more like a hole-y squeezebox than not.  My legs are less than pleased and I knew that very few, if any, of my body parts were going to be anywhere near happy with me in the morning.  Finally, with a “little help from my friends” I made it.  I made the summit!  You’d think I’d scaled Everest. When I found out that the Seat was only 822 feet high, I do have to admit to being a bit disappointed.  I thought it was much higher than that and it surely felt like it.  Somehow it didn’t seem to be much of an accomplishment after all.  I gave myself a mental slap upside for that thought.  It shouldn’t and doesn’t matter how high it was – I did it and I’m proud of myself.

The Tranquair Centre

Between yesterday and today, there has been quite a bit happening.  Our instructors were very fortunate in getting a hold of a lady who is heading up the reconstruction project and management (I believe) of the Mansfield Traquair Centre.  This is an old, old church which, after the original pastors all died, was sold to the Baptists who used it for a number of years.  From that point, it was sold to a business corporation who, unfortunately, left it to rot.  The neighbourhood stepped in, raised the funds and restored the church.

So, what’s so great about restoring the building?  The murals inside.  They were all freehand paintings done by one woman over a period of eight years.  Nor are they the stereotypical religious murals that would expect to see.  These combine some whimsy, humanity and a bit of sly humour.  And they are incredible.  The restoration of the paintings took a team some two years and in the end, there was only one section that had been damaged beyond their ability to fully restore it.

The National Portrait Gallery was the next stop.  Some of the paintings we had viewed in class were on display.  The photos, in no way shape or form, came close to the originals I saw in the gallery.  The Oncologists, for example.  It wasn’t possible to take photos in the galleries, but in the portrait, much more detail was visible and what could easily be taken as being creepy in the photos was actually sadness in the original.

This morning’s trek was to Arthur’s Seat.  You can see all of Edinburgh from there.  It was a bit of a go over for me and I didn’t make it to the top.  I did get some nice shots, though and there’s a few of us that are going to go back up tonight for the sunset.  I’m sure the sun will shine again while we’re here, but if it doesn’t……

Freedom!

Our guest speaker last night was truly wonderful.  Very much at home, extremely knowledgeable with that Scots outspokenness and the lines that sneak up on you and make you laugh.  Though I think we knocked him off stride there for a minute or two. 

Each of our classmates, or as many as possible, were given the flag of St. Andrew’s; the national flag of Scotland.  The plan was to wave the flags, all of us at the same time and shout “FREEDOM”.  The reason why is a tad bit of a long story, but I’ll condense as much as possible.

Before we left for Scotland, one of my instructors from last semester was good enough to come in as a guest lecturer.  You will have read about her in a previous post and she is the daughter of Dr. T. Cowan.  Anyway, while there, she spoke of her daughter, at four years old visiting her grandfather, waving a St. Andrew’s Flag and yelling “Freedom” in her biggest voice.  Apparently Grandpa enjoyed it very much.  

I and my classmates thought it would be a great idea to replicate that, as “Grandpa” was our guest speaker.  The rest of the plan was to get a shot of all of the students, flags up, surrounding Dr. Cowan and send it to his daughter, Karen.  It went off without a hitch; everyone was very enthusiastic.  Ted had a good belly laugh and then had to have a minute or two to recover. 

I’m so glad it went over well.  I know that Karen will very much enjoy the shot.

Shiraz

It was a quiet time on Sunday.  Some went for walks, others dealt with homework.  I did a little of all.  Well, a little walk, a little homework and a lot of nap.  Today is a non-travel day – we’ll be back in regular classes for the day.  But, I have to tell you about Shiraz.



Shiraz



He is the unofficial dorm cat.  A big, beautiful black boy with a constant purr, a red collar and a tag with his name on it.  He also has his own Facebook page.  Shiraz hangs out in the downstairs laundry when he can’t get into the dorms.  When I came back from breakfast this morning, he was waiting outside the doors.  As I approached, he sauntered up to the glass and pawed at it, then turned to look at me and meowed just to be sure that I had gotten the message.  Being able to speak “cat”, I had.  Not that he hadn’t made it plain enough.  There was just one hurdle to be overcome.

The ladies were in the reception area and as he’s not to be in the dorms, we had to get by quickly before we got caught.  I explained the situation to him, telling him that, while I understand that, as a rule cats prefer to meander rather than move quickly and directly, this time he was going to hustle.  We got through the reception area and the first set of doors into the ground floor hallway, then through the stairwell doors.

He followed me up the first two flights of stairs before he reverted into cat mode and expected me to carry him the rest of the way up the stairs.  I told him that I’d split it halfway, but I wasn’t going to go back down to get him.  He’d have to come to where I was and I’d carry him the rest of the way.  That’s the way it went.  Shiraz snuggled in for the ride and we made it safely back to my room.

He’s now snuggled up in my fleecy, sound asleep, but is going to have to come back downstairs with me for classes.  If he stays up here, the cleaning ladies will find him and boot him back outside.  Neither one of us will like that much, although sooner or later he will have to go out for his business and for lunch.  It feels much more like home now that I have a fur ball curled up beside me.  I miss my own babies, so it helps that Shiraz is here.

Update:  Some of my class has cat allergies, so Shiraz had to stay upstairs in another student's room.  She put a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, with the idea of keeping the cleaning people out.  As it turns out, to no avail.  We got busted, but even that was pretty funny.  One the dorm ladies came into class with an announcement about the cat.  Initially, everyone thought she was talking about Kat, but she meant cat, so it was pretty funny until the confusion got sorted out.  I did "fess up" about being the smuggler and gave the dorm crew a very nice thank you card before departing to make up for my bad behaviour.