Scotland

(from 2012)

It was strange being without internet access for two weeks. How could that happen in Britain? Travelling to the rurals of lowland Scotland, that’s how.

Like many from England, I used to have preconceptions about Scotland – a land of whisky, haggis, mist, and girls with complexions like the heather.

But we had a two week vacation in Scotland, and yes – it had its moments. A stop-over in Edinburgh and then what is called the Perthshire Amber folk festival.

We flew from London. One hour in the airplane, and five hours at the airport due to fog. There was a crowd of young people with their minders, coming back from a trip to America via London. As we finally came into land at Edinburgh airport, a young voice shouted out “Wha’s tha’ smell?” It was followed by a wistful pre-teen treble: “It smells like home.” This was immediately followed by a dour teenage grunt:  “Naw – it smells like Sco’land!”

My last foray into Scotland was in the 1970s when I cycled from John O’Groats to Lands End – the two points furthest from each other in the British Isles. I caught the train to Wick, cycled to Thurso where I stayed a night, and then took just one day to cycle to John O’Groats to get my picture taken, and then cycled due south back through Wick, Inverness, along the Great Glen, ending up camping on Hamilton Race Track near Glasgow. My memory of Glasgow was at closing time, where I’ve never so many people fighting in the streets and being bundled into police wagons before or since. I put my head down and just pedalled. The second day I had left Scotland some way behind on my journey.

But Edinburgh was a new experience. Actually it was a very positive experience. We did the castle, which is impressive, both for its size and location and also for what they have packed inside it for modern tourists. In a very short time we also crammed in the Camera Obscura, a weaving exhibition, Holyrood House (seeing the spot where Rizzio was wasted by Ruthven and friends), and ended it all off in what was called the Whisky experience – where you are trundled around in barrels, allowed to smell various malts as you learned their history, and given samples to try on the spot. A most pleasant experience. To coin an old joke – I would have made it back to the hotel alright if Mrs Occasional hadn’t stepped on my hand... To follow it up with an even worse one – that night I slept like a log... (pause) ...woke up in the fire place...

But I really was tired at the end of our tourist experience. Shattered. Wiped out. The family all dragged me into an Indian restaurant, but it was very hard for me to stay awake. At the end of the meal they brought us all some mints, and a strange white wrap inside cellophane. ‘Ooh that’s kind of them’ I thought ‘to bring us a sweet pitta-bread wrap to finish with’.... and sank my teeth into a warm wet face cloth they had provided for us to clean ourselves up with before leaving. For the rest of the vacation various family members regaled me with enquires of – ‘fancy another edible napkin?’

Then the folk festival called the Perthshire Amber. The “Amber” suffix came from the autumn scenery in that part of Scotland which really was spectacular. The folk festival could be worth a post of its own – except that if you don’t like Scottish folk music it would bore you to tears. Personally I have always gravitated towards American folk music. To an outsider, America is a land of immigrants (probably all illegal according to the Comanche). But it seems to give the United States a variety in folk music not found elsewhere. But daughter is big into all things folk and Scots artiste Dougie MacLean in particular, and was singing at open mikes and attending instrument and song writing workshops, so we went along – and enjoyed it. Scots folk music has its share of the usual historical ballads (generally against the English) but a considerable amount was pastoral – and none the worse for it.

So memorable moments? I’ve already mentioned the autumn colors. But some oddments. The decorated wheelbarrow procession (Brits really do know how to do ceremonial). Spotlessly clean rest rooms (life must be sad in Britain for that to be a memorable experience). Singers like Edwina Hayes (who writes for Nanci Griffiths) and Julie Fowlis (who sings in the Disney film Brave but does everything else in Scots Gaelic). One’s own daughter at the mike. Discovering a singer-songwriter from Nova Scotia, Buddy MacDonald, whose songs are so accessible (that is, easy for even Occasional to try and sing). Bus tours with sing-a-longs all the way. Grabbing Mrs Occasional’s hand to get across a busy highway in Perth, only to find it wasn’t Mrs Occasional... Workshops for weird guitar tunings, bodhrans, and song writing. A young Scotsman in full national regalia guarding the gate for one event, when snow suddenly came down. “You could do with a coat” shouted someone from the queue – “I ca’ doo wi’ a pair o’ troosers” came the doleful reply.

So it’s back to the internet. A couple of weeks seems a long time in Cyber-land. Old posts are generally dead posts, so I must take up reading them again and try and remember who I am supposed to be on the various blogs and message boards I support under different names.

But it’s also back to a mountain of washing the size of Mount Everest (including for my elderly mother who we left with carers while away). Back to a telephone answering machine full of plaintive patients and religious queries. Back to a zillion emails – 99% junk but some gold as well, requiring urgent attention.

But after just a few hours back, it seems like I’ve worked around the clock on catch-up. And I’m again tired – shattered – exhausted – bushed – dead-beat – worn-out – all-in.

You know – I really do think I need a vacation.