Whoever holds Stirling, holds Scotland

3 May 2009

Whoever holds Stirling, holds Scotland

I woke up in my cozy bed in Stirling to bright sun streaming through the window and the smell of bacon and eggs from downstairs. I entered the breakfast room to see that the B&B must have been quite full last night as the room was packed with mostly French and German tourists. The waitress was running around breaking a sweat getting all of the delicious breakfasts out of the kitchen. I enjoyed my fried eggs, bacon and toast washed down with some juice and tea, but did not linger too long. I gathered my things after breakfast and headed out to explore this quaint medieval town. I lingered on the street just outside of my B&B. It was a beautiful neighborhood with large houses, many of which had glass conservatories, looking out on a green grassy Victoria Square. The flowers were all in bloom: lilac, tulips, daffodils. The neighbors were out enjoying the day: kicking a ball on the green, chatting on the front stoop, getting bikes out to cycle.

I headed up a hill towards the old city of Stirling. I decided to take the walking path along the outside of the medieval wall. There were little signs posting historic information and overall it was a relaxing way to start the day in the shade from the wall and trees overhead. I walked through a break in the wall and entered the old city by an interesting looking building that had once been a hospital. Across the lane from that was the Church of the Holy Rude and its adjacent cemetery. I took a stroll through the tombstone spotted grass, looking at the many Scottish Celtic crosses, headstones with carvings of skeletons and angels wings. There was a little hill in the cemetery which afforded me great views of Stirling old city and Stirling castle. I could see a few tour buses parked outside the castle so I figured I’d better take my tour before the place was swarmed with tour groups.

Outside the castle, perched on a volcanic crag, is a huge statue of Robert the Bruce, for those of you that aren’t Scottish history buffs or never saw the movie Braveheart, Robert the Bruce fought alongside with William Wallace for freedom from the English back in the 14th century. He was king of Scotland from 1306 to 1329 and is seen as a patriotic hero to the Scots. The pivotal battle which won Scotland its freedom at that time, took place right outside Stirling at the battle of Bannockburn. The Scottish were they unlikely winners in this battle, outnumbered with abouy 6,000 to 7,000 men with primitive weapons who had to fight against the well organized army of King Edwards numbering about 16,000. To quote the movie Braveheart, “They fought like warrior poets, they fought like Scotsmen, and won their freedom.” They in fact butchered about 11,000 of those 16,000 English soldiers, likely propelled by sheer anger and passion for independence from England. From the spot that Robert the Bruce’s statue stands, I could see beautiful views of the River Forth, Bannockburn, and the William Wallace monument set on a hilltop with a backdrop of mountains beyond.

After I paid my entrance fee to see Stirling castle, I opted out of waiting for the guided tour and instead explored it on my own. There are records of some kind of royal buildings at this location back in the early 12th century but the oldest remaining buildings at Stirling castle were not built until the 14th century and the outer defenses of the castle date from the 18th century. Stirling Castle is famous for a number of reasons, it was the site of many crownings of Scottish royalty including Mary Queen of Scotts in 1543. King Edward I occupied the castle in the 1200’s but after William Wallace fought and won the Battle of Stirling Bridge, the Scots regained this fortress. It was said that whoever holds Stirling, holds all of Scotland so this was seen as a very important military fortress. To this day, the castle is still the headquarters of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders which is an infantry regiment of the British army, Scottish division.

I explored the different buildings of the castle including the Great Hall, the Kitchens, the Royal Palace, a Chapel and some gardens. One of the most interesting displays was a newly constructed building where they had master weavers working to recreate old tapestries in the manner that they would have been woven in medieval times. It was quite impressive to watch them weaving away with thousands of strings of different colors, all of this coming together to make a beautifully detailed tapestry. The tapestry was coming to life with princes, unicorns, soldiers & swords, and hundreds of flowers. These tapestries will eventually be hanging inside of the chapel within the castle.

When I finished exploring the castle and enjoying the views of the valley below, I joined a guided tour of the Argyll’s Loding just down the street from the castle. This house is a beautiful pink color with pointed turrets, built in the 17th century. It is actually the most complete 17th century townhouse in all of Scotland. It was inhabited by the 1st Earl of Stirling in the 1630s and then the 9th Earl of Argyll in the 1670s. We were taken on a tour of the different rooms of the home. The upper dining room was one of the most interesting as it had some original wall paintings just on one wall that were actually a trompe l’oeil, making it look as if the wall had roman columns and recessed cabinets. Behind these painted walls there actually were cabinets which they would open when dinner guests came over because the type and amount of china a person had was a true status symbol.

After stopping for a little lunch, a spicy winter vegetable soup, at a café called Crema, I hopped on a bus out to see the William Wallace Memorial. It only took about 15 minutes to get there. On the way out, I passed the William Wallace Pub, Willy’s Backpackers, and the Wallace High School. Obviously you can see that the Scots love William Wallace! The Memorial is a pointed spear like tower built in the 1800s on the top of a hill. For those of you not familiar with William Wallace (although with the popularity of Braveheart, I doubt there are many that haven’t heard of him) he was a commoner who was integral in the Wars of Scottish Independence back in the 1300s. Similar to the movie, it is said the Wallace really joined the fight when he killed an English sheriff to avenge the death his wife, Marion Braidfute. One of the most famous battles he fought and led was the Battle of Stirling Bridge even though the Scots were wildly outnumbered, after which he was knighted Sir William Wallace. Wallace also fought the Battle of Falkirk, another important battle even though the Scots lost that time. He was eventually turned in and imprisoned, much as in the movie, and sentenced to death. His execution was exceedingly brutal, “Following the trial, on 23 August 1305, Wallace was taken from the hall, stripped naked and dragged through the city at the heels of a horse to the Elms at Smithfield. He was hanged, drawn and quartered — strangled by hanging but released whilst he was still alive, emasculated, eviscerated and his bowels burnt before him, beheaded, then cut into four parts. His preserved head was placed on a pike atop London Bridge.” Wallace is still seen as a patriotic hero to Scotland and Braveheart actually did much to rekindle the Scots’ patriotic feelings when it was released in 1995. The memorial contains some history about the War for Independence and even had Wallace’s sword which was almost as tall as I am; from that, they estimate Wallace stood about 6’6” tall. I enjoyed the views from high atop the tower before making my way back to Stirling.

I had one last walk through the old city of Stirling, enjoying the medieval stone buildings before actually going inside of the Church of the Holy Rude. It has one of the oldest surviving medieval timber roofs; the church was founded in 1129, but due to fire, the surviving building is from the 1400s. King James VI, son of Mary Queen of Scots, was crowned as king here in 1567. Fun fact, Church of the Holy Rude and Westminster Abbey are the only two churches still in use in Britain that were used as sites for coronations.

I took the train back to Edinburgh around 5pm and checked into my hostel, Brodies Hostel, which was located right in the middle of the Royal Mile. I had bought tickets to take the Edinburgh Walking Literary Pub Tour that night. It met at a pub on the Grassmarket, but I needed to eat first. The only thing somewhat quick that I could find by the Grassmarket was a “chippy” shop (as in fish & chips and other fried foods). Edinburgh chippies are apparently known for deep frying pretty much anything! Some of the specialties include deep fried Mars bars and Cadbury Cream eggs. I went for the deep fried pizza. Basically they took a small personal sized frozen pizza, painted the bottom of it in batter, and floated it on the deep fryer until cooked. It was both delicious and disgusting at the same time!!

I met with the Literary Pub Tour group at the Beehive Inn. I met the other people taking the tour with me and they were actually all couples, so I was truly the extra wheel. There was a couple from Sweden, England, California (by way of England), and Oregon & Colorado (by way of Italy). It was a pretty fun and lively group and the guides were quite entertaining themselves. They were actually actors. The whole premise of the tour was that the great Scottish writers, including Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson, _____, got much of their inspiration from spending time in the pubs of Edinburgh. One tour guide played the role of the drinker, the pub-goer who was rougher around the edges, and the other acted like the prim and proper, uptight aspiring writing who would not accept that such famous writers would hang out in dark smelly sinful pubs. The tour, as I said, started in Grassmarket and went all the way through the old city to the new city. We stopped at about 4 different pubs for beers and also spent time outdoors at different spots hearing about the history of these areas pertaining to the writers. The tour guides (actors) spent much of the night quoting bits of literature, again with the idea that they were arguing their point about what the true inspiration was for these famed writers. It was really entertaining and I enjoyed hearing the poetry verses and some of the other excerpts, especially as they were said with the lovely Scottish accent. Some of the readings were done in Scottish English, which is sort of like the old English language but different still. It is quite difficult to understand. For the last reading of the night, they did it once in Scottish and once in English and it surely was much, much more beautiful in the Scottish tongue!

We ended the night, of all places, at a lively French bar. I was chatting a lot with the Swedish couple who were there, as we had a good deal to discuss with my upcoming trip to Sweden. They were just very friendly and sociable in general. I have to say I have never met a Swede I didn’t like! The English couple was also a lot of fun; the woman had the stereotypical British dry sense of humor. That night I finally got an answer to a question I had been asking myself the whole time I was in Edinburgh. As you walk through the city, you always get a waft of this distinct smell. It is somewhat like burnt oatmeal or baked grains. I asked the tour guide finally what I smelled all the time. He said it was the smell of brewing beer! It was actually a lovely aroma too!

I walked back to the old city with the Swedish couple and they said our goodbyes as they continued on to their B&B. I headed back to Brodies hostel, stopping in the kitchen on the way upstairs to fill my water bottle. There was a guy sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich and he started chatting with me. His name was Alex, he was from Mexico but apparently had been living in different places in Europe for the last few years, currently residing at this very hostel. The guy must have just smoked a joint because he had the droppy eyelids and was particularly chatty. He told me all about his escapades in Spain, partying too much, getting evicted from his apartment and trashing it before he left. As he kept going on and on about his bad habits, I really wanted to end the conversation and go to bed but I could barely get a word in edgewise! By the time I returned to my room, the other three people were sleeping with the lights off. I felt bad disturbing the quiet in the room as I got ready. At last I climbed up into my top bunk, put in my ear plugs, and went to bed!

Curious Tales of Edinburgh

2 May 2009

Curious Tales of Edinburgh

When I woke up on Saturday morning in Edinburgh, the sun was shining brightly in the blue sky. In the UK, these days are truly treasured! Thankfully the German girls were pretty quiet when they came in late the night before and I felt well rested and invigorated by the day. I took a stroll over to the Elephant Café, a cozy place adorned with many funky elephant statues that claims to be the café where J. K. Rowling hung out around the time that she was writing the first Harry Potter book. Apparently she left a bad marriage in England and brought her daughter up to Edinburgh. They say she spent many a day in this eclectic café working on her first book. The views from the café include a cathedral & cemetery and a private school that is certainly reminiscent of the Hogwarts School so perhaps these views gave her true inspiration!

I had a delicious and hearty Scottish breakfast including scrambled eggs, sausage, haggis, and blood sausage as well as the usual tea and toast. I didn’t exactly love the blood sausage, as truly it does have the irony taste of blood, but I gave it a chance. The haggis I found to be quite good! Admittedly, it was not the true traditional haggis. For those not familiar with it, haggis is a traditional Scottish dish. It was a way for them to use all of the sheep parts that were left over after butchering the good meat. They take what is left, mainly organ meat, and grind it up adding to it oats and spices. Then it is stuffed into a sheep stomach, tied up, and boiled. Doesn’t sound very appealing, does it? But I hear it’s actually quite tasty. I tried a patty version of this, which I assume was the same sort of “meat” ground up with the spices and oats but minus the stomach casing.

I decided to join up with a free walking tour as an introduction to Edinburgh. The tour group congregated outside a Starbucks on the Royal Mile in the old city. There was a pretty impressive turnout so they split us up into smaller groups of about twenty. I was in the group with the Australian tour guide. I have to say I was a bit disappointed not to have a Scot lead the tour, but I have to say this Aussie was quite wacky and entertaining. He led us on a three hour tour of this beautiful and historic city. I certainly will not bore you with every last detail he revealed to us, but there were some particularly interesting stories.

We walked a church and cemetery called Greyfriars. This is the one viewable from the Elephant Café. It is said to be haunted, as much of Edinburgh is. There is one mausoleum in particular that has gathered much attention, in fact the interned man, called Bloody Mackenzie, is said to be a poltergeist. Over the years, people who have dared to enter this round mausoleum have been hurt, thrown against the wall, or down the stairs, by this angry spirit. Next door to Greyfriars is the old prison. It was unique in that it was in outdoor prison so these unfortunate people were forced to endure the cold, damp Scottish winter. They were only allowed to lie face down, there was no standing or really any movement allowed. Apparently if a prisoner spoke or moved, the guards would actually kill the people lying around that prisoner. This was done to invoke fear. Some prisoners actually drowned during heavy rains as they were too afraid to even move their faces to get some air. To add to the spookiness of the cemetery, there are some graves that have basically a cage over them. People who couldn’t afford to hire someone to guard their grave at night (work the “grave shift”) put these in place to protect the corpses from grave robbing which was hugely popular in Edinburgh. It was the only way anatomists and doctors could get cadavers. There was a pair of men that were not just robbing graves, but also murdering prostitutes as they could then sell their bodies to science. When they were finally caught, the head grave robber was executed and the court decided that his body would be used for dissection as well. I suppose that seems like justice!

There is another interesting story at Greyfriars cathedral. This is the story of Greyfriars Bobby. He was a Skye terrier who was the pet, and more or less church dog, of the watchman for Greyfriars, John Grey, in the 1800s. When his master died of tuberculosis, the dog was said to spend the next fourteen years standing at his master’s tombstone. When the dog finally died, everyone felt as if he should be buried next to his master in the churchyard, but apparently it was a rule that one must be baptized into the church to be buried there. So he was buried just outside of the cemetery in the kirkyard with a large tombstone. People still pay homage to Greyfriars Bobby to this day. People leave sticks, dog toys, and much more on his grave.

The Grassmarket was another historic site in Edinburgh. Today it looks like a square in the old city, but it was called Grassmarket because it was where people would bring livestock to buy and sell back in medieval times. It was also the site of hang executions. This led to the tale of Maggie Dickson. Maggie was forced to marry a horrid man, but forever had a love for another man, an innkeeper. She ended up having an affair with the innkeeper and became pregnant. Through some measure of creativity, she was able to conceal her pregnancy, but due to the stress of it all, gave birth prematurely, and the infant died soon after. She left the corpse on the river bank. Somehow when the corpse was found, they traced it back to Maggie. She was convicted and sentenced to execution. The crime was not adultery, not improper burial or murder of the infant, but concealment of pregnancy. There was actually a Concealment of Pregnancy Act in the 1700s, thus it was illegal for a woman to lie about or hide a pregnancy, punishable by death. Maggie, however, did not go easily! As the hearse bumped along the cobblestoned roads after hanging her in the Grassmarket, people heard sounds coming from the hearse casket. Lo and behold, they opened the coffin and found her alive, hence her nickname, “Half Hang-it Maggie.” Since she was pronounced legally dead prior to this, under Scottish law she could not be hung again. If she had been in England, they would have finished her off as their laws said a person must be hanged until dead. She went on to live a long life running an pub right on the Grassmarket square which still stands today, called Maggie Dickson’s.

As we wandered through some of the narrow alleys, or “closes” in the old city, we learned a few more facts. Edinburgh used to be one of the dirtiest most polluted cities in all of Europe. To pack in lots of people in the walled part of the city, the tenement buildings were many stories high. There was no plumbing or running water in those days so people did their business in bed pans. Two times each day there was a designated bed pan emptying during which people would literally dump their bed pans out the windows of the tenements and into the streets. One of the dumping times was at 10 in the evening. At that time, there was a call from the windows to watch out below, before everyone would dump their excrement into the streets. Picture a happily drunk man walking home from the pub in the evening, quite distracted from his alcohol buzz and all of a sudden, he hears the call for bedpans. He has a few seconds to answer out, to tell them to hold up, but his reflexes are slowed from the whisky. He looks up into the sky too late, only to have his face covered in human waste. This is where the term “shitfaced” came from, as the wives would say, “Ugh, the husband came home from the pub shitfaced again!” All of the human waste would eventually run down into a lake in one of the valleys of Edinburgh, right below the castle, which was also, smartly, the source of their drinking water. So no one drank water, instead it was ale and whisky throughout the day. The woman and children were given a watered down version though.

In one of the closes, the tour guide also pointed out a 16th century burglar alarm. In the side of one of the buildings, was the silhouette of a staircase that had since been stuccoed in. People used to build “trip steps” into the staircases leading to their front doors. This was like a mini-step. When it was dark out, the burglar would not see the tiny step, fall, and make a noise loud enough to wake the family and alert them of danger.

We ended the tour in the Castle Garden, which is a nice park set in the valley below the Edinburgh Castle (which would have been the bottom of the poop filled pond which was later drained). Despite it’s dirty past, the park is really beautiful now. It was filled with spring flowers, lush green grass and that day with tons of people enjoying the sunshine. I enjoyed a delicious ice cream at the end of the tour and then made my way back uphill to the Royal Mile in the old city. It then dawned on me that I needed to find accommodation for the night. After making a few phone calls and searching the internet, I realize that Edinburgh was fully booked. Not only was it a Saturday night, but it was a bank holiday weekend for May Day, and the rugby national finals were taking place in town this very weekend! Instead of settling for an overpriced place outside the city, I thought I might see what the town of Stirling, 1 hour away, had to offer. The first few places I called there were also full, finally I got in touch with a woman who sounded quite like Mrs. Doubtfire, and she did have a room left and at a good price. I secured it immediately but she made sure I knew that I could not show up any later than 9pm.

Feeling relaxed that I wouldn’t be sleeping on a bench tonight, I went back to my sightseeing. At the end of the Royal Mile sits Holyrood Palace which has been the principal residence of the Scottish royalty, most namely Mary Queen of Scots and her son King James VI. Next to the palace are the ruins of the Holyrood Abbey built in the 12th century. Unfortunately I did not have time to go inside, so I continued on a bit to the base of Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crags. This is basically a mountain, leftover from ancient volcanic activity, that is located right in the city of Edinburgh. It is treated like a park where people hike, picnic, and enjoy the outdoors while still being in the middle of a city! Since I was pressed for time as I now had a time line to get to Stirling, I didn’t make it all the way to the top of Arthur’s Seat but instead stopped at Salisbury Crags which is about halfway up. The views here were still spectacular and almost for 360°. I could see all of Edinburgh including the spires, castles, and winding streets of old city. There were great views of the Firth of Forth which is where the River Forth meets the North Sea. I could also see all the way to Leath to the south and Fife to the north. The hills and mountains around were colored green and yellow with the gorse flowers. It really is a place to stay and savor the views, and I did for as long as I could.

I took the 7:15 train to Stirling. There was construction on the train lines so I had to get off at Falkirk High and take a bus from there to Stirling. I arrived in the small medieval town of Stirling almost an hour and a half later. Thanks to high longitude, it was still quite sunny. There was barely a person in the streets of this quaint town. I slowly made my way to my B&B, enjoying the sights along the way. The B&B was located in a beautiful neighborhood with stately looking grey stone homes and well-tended gardens. The man who answered the door was elderly and he had a slight swell of whisky on his breath. He showed me to my single room and I almost jumped in the bed immediately. The mattress was good and I had two thick feather pillows and a down comforter. For £28 a night including breakfast, it was a great deal!

Glasgow to Edinburgh

1 May 2009

Glasgow to Edinburgh

After Andrew and I parted ways with Bill, we made a game plan for how to spend our afternoon in Glasgow. It was pissing rain and damp cold, so we figured a museum would be the best bet for now. First we visited the beautiful Victorian museum called Kelvingrove. We checked out some of the famous oil paintings by a Scottish group of artists and then we saw everything from dinosaur bones, to old ball gowns, to an Egyptian sarcophagus. It was truly the most random collection of artwork and historical artifacts ever collected under one roof. We were also lucky enough to hear a live organ recital in the great hall of the museum before moving on to lunch. We ate at a modern looking pub across the street that had a pretty good lunch deal. I tried a salmon and fish pie and washed it down with a local Tennent beer. Right down the road, we found the Transport Museum and joined in on a guided tour by a chipper retired Scotsman. We learned some fun and historical facts about Glasgow and got to take a look at old trolley cars, steam trains and cars. There was an extensive collection of ship models. I never realized that Glasgow was such a huge center for ship building. In 1913 over half of the world’s ships were built in Glasgow. We also learned where the term “posh” came from. When the rich people booked a spot on a transatlantic boat they were choose portside on the way out and starboard coming home so they wouldn’t be in the glaring sun on the whole journey. So you have “Port Over, Starboard Home” which abbreviated POSH.

Now that Andrew and I knew all about Glasgow’s transport, we were ready to board the subway system after already walking onto a model at the museum. We took a short ride back to the center of town and had a 20 minute stroll to see Glasgow cathedral. The cathedral is impressively gothic in nature, which is accentuated by the black soot the covers the limestone structure. During the Industrial Revolution, Glasgow was incredibly polluted, in fact we were told you could barely see a few feet in front of you back then. The porous limestone absorbed the pollution over the years and is now blackened. They could sandblast it to clean it, but this would damage the soft limestone carvings. In a way, it is nice that the black soot remains as it tells a lot about Glasgow’s past. We explored this grand cathedral, including the crypts and underground white pristine chapel. We even got to see a Scottish bride and groom taking wedding shots within the cathedral.

After our look about, I said goodbye to Andrew who needed to go pick up his bicycle that he would use for the rest of the weekend. I stayed in the cathedral district and wandered around the old buildings. Behind the cathedral is the Necropolis, a cemetery on the hill. The sun was finally bursting out of the clouds as I walked through the rows of tall tombstones and Celtic crosses. From this hilltop perch, I had some great views of the city and Glasgow cathedral below. After I was satisfied with my stroll, I headed towards the river and happened to find a creperie along the way where I grabbed a quick dinner. I was the only one in the place as it was about to close up. The Scottish guy working there was really friendly and chatted away with me as he made my delicious crepe. He was from the north western Scottish islands which he said would take 12 hours to reach from there via train, plane and boat. I have to confess that I found it quite tough to understand his thick Scottish accent and had to have him repeat himself numerous times. After I finished eating, I completed my walk down to the river which I must admit was somewhat uneventful. I worked my way back to the city center, passing through the busy shopping and restaurant areas of Glasgow which were beginning to come alive with the Friday evening crowd. I picked up a few snacks at the Sainsburys near the train station before catching my 7pm train to Edinburgh.

The ride from Glasgow to Edinburgh is just a short 45 minutes. I arrived in Edinburgh just as the sun was starting to set. The train station is set down in the valley that runs through Edinburgh. As I climbed my way uphill to the old city, I was instantly taken by Edinburgh’s beauty and it wasn’t just because of the blues and yellows gracing the evening sky. Being in Edinburgh gives one the feeling they are stepping back into medieval times. The buildings in the city are mainly built of gray stone rising a good 10 stories up. The roads are cobbled and lined with lots of cute shops and pubs. Off of each road in the old city are lots of narrow alleyways called “closes.” Right off the Royal Mile, the main drag of old city, I found my hostel, Smart City. It’s very modern interior was a contrast to the medieval front. I was sharing my hostel room with three cute German girls and a couple. After taking a much needed shower, I ventured back out for an evening stroll. A few blocks down the Royal Mile I found Tass Pub which was advertising “the best singers in Scotland.” Inside this cozy pub I tasted a couple pints of local brew and enjoyed the music. There were four men playing traditional Scottish music, which is similar to Irish, but a bit more sublime. Anyone was welcome to join in, use the spare guitar and sing along with these guys in accompaniment. There were a couple locals who gave it a shot and even an American who came with his violin too. This was my first time ever going to a pub or bar alone and I have to say it was a wonderful evening. I sat there on a pub stool right in front of the music, sipping my beer and just taking it all in. I really felt the positive vibes of the men who clearly loved playing their instruments as well as the upbeat pub patrons. I figured I’d better call it a night around 11pm so I could do as much as possible in this beautiful city the next day!

Barely in Glasgow

1 May 2009

Barely in Glasgow

I said goodbye to Dublin on Friday morning around 6am. After packing up every last item and getting rid of the rest, I hailed a taxi to the airport. Mother Nature gave me a spectacular goodbye in the form of a beautiful sunrise. The sky was burning bright red with streaks of pink clouds. I paid my cab fare and dropped off my huge suitcase to the baggage storage so I could travel unencumbered in Scotland (and without paying huge fees for Ryan Air). The airport was swarming with travelers most likely because there is a bank holiday this Monday so all of the Irish were taking advantage of the long weekend. I had already checked into my flight so I went right for security, waiting in a long line to get through. I had plenty of time so I meandered through the Duty Free shops. Eventually I walked to my gate which ended up being quite a trek. I am guessing that because Ryan Air is a budget airline, they are stuck in this distant, dingy wing of the airport. I had to ride at least 4 of those moving walkways to get there.

About 30 minutes later people started lining up to board so I followed suit and was near the head of the line. There was a middle-aged Irish man behind me in the queue, I watched his bags at one point while he went back to get the “wee gift” he had left in the sitting area. Finally I get up to the security and show them my boarding pass. The man makes a bad face, “She doesn’t have the stamp.” That doesn’t sound good, and even worse when he says, “Sorry, you’ll have to get the next plane to Glasgow, you have go back through security and get this stamp on your boarding pass because you aren’t an EU citizen.” Now panic had set in…he did tell me that if I ran and made it back in time, I could still get on the plane. “Run!” he said, “Don’t waste any time!!”

I was cursing Ryan Air as I started my run…why did they have to be in the furthest terminal in the entire airport? Why the hell don’t they keep an extra stamp at the gates? Why did no one in security tell me about this? How come I didn’t need this last time I flew with Ryan Air? I kept on running…up a flight of stairs, pushing past crowds of oncoming passengers, past the 4 moving walkways (which were of no help to me as they were in the opposite direction). I was sweating, my heart was pounding, I was stripping of layers to cool off. My heavy shoulder bag was making me lopsided and certainly didn’t help with my speed as it swung around, bumping into my hips, rubbing the now bare skin of my shoulder. I went back through customs, quickly between panted breath, explaining to the border control what I was doing. “I don’t have that kind of stamp for you,” he said. “I know! I just need to get back to the check-in area!” I continued my run, stopping for a few seconds here and there to catch my breath. Finally I was up the escalators to the Ryan Air check-in desk. I pushed my way past other customers and up to the desk where I threw my boarding card at the woman. She stamped it and said, “Let me see if there is still any room on board…” I assured her that the man at the gate told me he would take me. She double checked and then told me to “hurry up, there are no guarantees!” So I was off on a run again with probably about 10 minutes now until the scheduled departure. Luck must have been on my side because the security line which was a few hundred people deep before was now almost nonexistent. I cut in front of people in line and of course, didn’t forget to take out my laptop, ziplock baggie of toiletries, and remove my shoes. Now that I was through security, I felt a bit more optimistic about making the flight, but I felt like my legs and lungs might fail me. I kept on jogging past Duty Free shops, airport bars, and gate after gate. When I got to my terminal, they waved me on, checked my now stamped boarding pass and said hurry up. The man actually had the nerve to say to me, “Don’t forget to get the stamp next time!” As if I will ever forget this experience!

I finally stopped running when I got outside to the tarmac. I can’t even begin to describe how good it felt to be out in the cool damp fresh air. I walked up the stairs to the plane feeling more than frazzled, and took the first seat I could find. It just so happened that I ended up sitting next to the man who was behind me in line, the one who had the “wee gift.” There was an American guy next to him and we all started chatting about my harrowing experience with making it onto this airplane. The man sitting next to me was a middle-aged Irish man from Galway named Liam “Bill” Finnerty. He is a social worker and was traveling to Glasgow for work. The guy next to him was Andrew Bennett, a sophomore in college at the University of Iowa which was also where he grew up. He had just finished a semester abroad in Spain near the Portugal border. He was heading over to Scotland to do a bike trip from Inverness to Edinburgh before meeting a friend with whom he would backpack Europe for another few weeks. The three of us struck up a conversation about our travels and goings-on. Before I knew it an hour had passed and we were touching down in Glasgow.

Since Bill travels to Glasgow all the time for work, he said he’d show us how to get from the Glasgow Picwick airport to the city center. Right outside of the airport was a train station. The three of us hopped the train together. When the conductor came around to collect money, Bill went right ahead and paid for the three of us! I was touched by his kind gesture. For the course of the 45 minute ride, Andrew and I shared all of our recent travel stories with Bill. His face would light up as he listened to our adventures; he was genuinely interested and excited to hear all about us. When the train arrived in town, we all exchanged emails. Bill was off to work but he said it was such a pleasure to meet us both. It was a lovely way to end my time in Ireland, experiencing the true warmth and friendliness that the Irish display to friend and stranger alike.

Northern Ireland: Castles & Dragons

25 April 2009

Northern Ireland: Castles & Dragons

We woke up in our comfortable B&B bed feeling very well rested. I could already smell the buttery aroma of breakfast being cooked downstairs. After our warm showers, we headed down to the breakfast room and were each presented with a “full fry.” This is essentially the same thing as a full Irish breakfast. We had eggs, toast, sausage, rashers (bacon), tea, and the best thing was the fried bread. Right as we were in the middle of eating, we saw the same Czech guy from yesterday at the table next to us! Our paths continued to cross.

We did not linger long after breakfast because we planned to return to the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, this time to actually traverse it, before catching an 11:00 bus to the Giant’s Causeway. We decided we’d take the long walk along the coast to the bridge and went back by the stucco church where we’d seen the sunset last night. There was a designated coastal walkway that actually cut right though the sheep and horse pastures. It was very quiet and peaceful as we walked along listening to the baaing sheep and the crashing waves beyond.

Our leisurely stroll took longer than we expected and knowing we had to be back in no more than 1 hour to catch one of the very few buses of the day, we picked up the pace. By the time we got to the ticket area where you buy tickets for the bridge, we were really pressed for time. We figured since we had come all this distance, we should cross that famous bridge. To keep track of time, we literally jogged half of the way up steep hills to the entrance to the bridge. I had to climb down one very steep staircase to get to the actual bridge. The wind was whipping all around me and the sea was crashing below. I took one big step out onto the wooden planks of the rope bridge and the whole thing shook. Nonetheless, I felt quite safe on this bridge. I figured if it the salmon fisherman were able to brave enough to cross a bridge here 350 years ago, I would be OK today.

Once you get to the other side, you can walk on Carrick Island and explore a bit, but there was literally no time for that. I did take a moment to enjoy the scenery. With the clearer weather today, I could just make out the Mull of Kintyre which is a part of Scotland. From a nearby island of Northern Ireland, it is almost 16 miles by sea to Scotland. I waited as Ryan gingerly crossed the bridge after me. We had a few pictures, and then had to rush back to the B&B. At this point we had about 15 minutes until the bus would arrive. We did a mix of jogging and speed walking to get back to the B&B in time. It wasn’t that warm, but with the humidity, I was sweating in no time.

We made it back with about 5 minutes to spare which was just enough time to go inside, grab our bags, pay for the room, and even bump into the Czech guy again. After dragging our bags across the street, we finally had a moment to breath after our rushed morning. We weren’t waiting long when instead of the bus pulling over for us, a grey Fiat stopped right where we were standing. It was the Czech guy from our B&B! He said he was heading to see the Giant’s Causeway by way of some other local sites and offered a ride. We were, of course, more than happy to join him.

Our first stop was the Ballintoy waterfront. There were lots of interesting looking rock formations in the water, many of which were easy to climb. I got a chance to acquaint myself with our new travel companion. His name was Olda, and although he was from the Czech Republic, he had been living in Bristol, England for the last couple years working as a mechanical engineer. He traveled to Northern Ireland via Belfast with two friends from Bristol. The couple he was with had opted to head back to Belfast for the remainder of the weekend but Olda preferred to explore the outdoors. He began to tell us about his adventures so far and we shared ours.

Our next stop was Dunluce Castle. Dunluce means “The hill fort of the fairy fort.” This castle is literally built on a cliff that is cut off from the mainland, connected only via a bridge. There are records that a castle was originally built here in the 1200s but Dunluce itself did not come into being until the 1500s. It was owed at different times by two different wealthy clans, one from County Antrim (Northern Ireland) and one from Scotland. The castle has been added to and altered over the years as it’s been lived in by different wealthy clans and families. Now it is just a ruin, with mainly just the walls still remaining. As we explore the castle, all there was above our heads was the blue sky above. In the 1690’s the family who owned it fell into impoverishment and since that time, the castle slowly deteriorated. Out of the remaining windows, there were views of cliffs, ocean, and rocky shoreline below. Many elements of the castle are still well preserved, there are fireplaces, turrets with steps, ovens, and even original stone flooring in one area. The old kitchen and servant quarters actually collapsed into the ocean one night back in the 1600s, taking with it the lives of at least a dozen servants. The castle clearly had a fortressed location, but living in Dunluce was not without risk.

When we finished exploring all of the nooks & crannies of the castle ruins, we walked down the road to try to get some good distance shots of the castle and cliffs. We had to do a bit of trespassing onto some farmland to get the right angle but the cows didn’t seem to mind. We traipsed on the bounciest grass I have ever felt. It almost seemed if you weren’t careful enough, you could bounce right off the cliff and tumble to the rocks below. The views of the castle ruins, shooting out of the jagged cliff were just beautiful and the weather was stunning. When we returned to the carpark, we saw a café called “Wee Cottage” and decided to stop for an afternoon snack. Olda, a man after my own heart, had quite a sweet tooth. We ordered up some tea, which came in a flowery fancy pot, and tried some chocolate cake and sticky toffee pudding. The toffee pudding was one of the best desserts I have had in a very long time!

Olda told us that we were welcome to continue our travels with him as long as we pleased. He had planned to next stop at Mussenden Temple. This temple was built on the Downhill Estate in the 1700s along with Downhill Palace. The temple is a round building that was literally built on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. There is an inscription around the roof of the temple by Lucretius that reads "Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore/The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar." I can see that this would have been a humbling place of worship. Up the hill from the temple is Downhill Palace, also built in the same time by the Earl of Bristol. It is now just a ruin as well with most of the walls still standing but no roof. It was ruined in a fire during the 1850s, later restored only to deteriorate again during WWII when it was used to house the Royal Air Force. It is a shame to think they couldn’t better preserve this mansion. With such a beautiful location on the cliffs it would have surely been a spectacular home. Now just ruins, it has a creepy magnificence.

We took a quick drive a few miles away through the town of Castlerock to the beaches below Mussenden Temple. It was a wide sandy beach on which one could drive a car. There was a girl on horseback, waterfalls from the cliffs below, and train tracks carrying on through a tunnel that went right under the cliff of Mussenden. After we got all of our good pictures, we figured it was finally time to make our way to the main attraction of this part of Ireland, the Giant’s Causeway.

The Giant’s Causeway is a place like no other. Millions of years ago when this was area was highly volcanic, the lava cooled in such a way that it formed thousands of interlocking basalt columns. The columns are very geometric in nature, shaped like pentagons, octagons, and so on. They rise up out of the ocean and appear almost like natural steps. There has been Irish myth surrounding this place for a very long time. The legend goes that Finn McCool was a giant who built the causeway as a path to nearby Scotland to fight the Scottish rival giant there. There are different versions of the story, but basically the Scottish giant made it over the ocean before Finn did. Finn saw that the Scottish giant, Benandonner, was much bigger than he. Finn came up with a plan. He had his wife dress him up like a baby. When Benandonner arrived and saw this huge baby, he realized that if Finn’s baby was this large, the giant Finn must be incredibly huge and strong. So Benandonner ran back to Scotland in fear and ripped up the causeway so Finn could not follow. This is supposed to be why the causeway is jagged pieces of rock. Interestingly enough, there is a cave in Scotland not far across the ocean called Fingal’s Cave and it is full of these same basalt columns that even hang from the ceiling of the cave.

We lingered at the Giant’s Causeway for quite awhile, waiting out a rain shower at one point. Since it was the end of the day, we figured we’d try to get a good sunset at the causeway. Unfortunately, it was not nearly as spectacular as the sunset from the night before. But we stayed on the shore until the sun slipped into the clouds hovering above the horizon. By this time it was about 9 o’clock and we knew that many of the pubs would stop serving dinner around then. We hiked back up the cliffs to the carpark and figured we’d go in search of some pub grub. We never had to get into the car because right near the entrance to the Giant’s Causeway was a cozy little pub. Inside it was so warm with coal fires and there was live music. The three of us found a comfortable table and ordered up local seafood. After stuffing ourselves on the delicious food and recounting our busy day, we figured it was time we found place to rest our heads for the night. There was not a whole lot around this part of Ireland, but we had noticed a B&B just up the road earlier on so we figured we’d try our luck there. It was about 10pm now and when we approached the home, it was fairly dark inside. A tall, older woman came to the door and greeted us warmly. It turned out there were quite a few empty rooms and we had our pick of which one we wanted. After such a busy day, we jumped right into bed, happy to be in another warm and cozy Irish B&B and anticipating another delicious homemade breakfast in the morning.

Bringing a Hangover to Northern Ireland

23-24 April 2009

Bringing a Hangover to Northern Ireland

On Thursday night the endocrinology residents that I work with at Connolly Hospital invited Ryan and me out to drinks and a fancy dinner courtesy of one of the many pharmaceutical sales reps who come to the hospital. Ryan and I arrived towards the end of the cocktail hour at a bar called Ron Blacks. When met the pharm rep and two of the residents, Dave and Ben, who were already a few beers in. Since the pharm rep insisted we get a drink, I ordered a Guinness and Ryan got a gin & tonic…and so the night began! Although dinner was scheduled to begin at 8:30, we ended up staying at the bar well after that as more people showed up and drinks were continually ordered. Eventually we walked the few blocks down the road to a new trendy Italian restaurant called Il Segretto. More drinks were ordered as well as bottles of red and white wine. We had a three course meal. I had artichoke and cheese ravioli as a starter and for my main, a dish whose name was the butt of many of the night’s jokes: Spatch-cocked Poussin. With a name like that, I had to try it. It turned out to be far more ordinary than the name suggested, it was a roast chicken and apparently spatch-cocking was the manner in which they split the breast and removed the spine.

As the wine continued to flow, everyone got sillier and sillier. The pharm rep did a quick talk on the drugs she sells, had us fill out some questionnaires, and then drew our names out of a hat to win prizes. I won a joke gift that is called the Nag-a-gator. It looks like a car navigation system, but all it does it say annoying back-seat-driver type comments when you push the bottom. Ryan won this head massager thing that is actually not a bad prize. One of the interns, Ben, got the funniest gift by far: a giant ballpoint pen the size of my arm that was unmistakably phallic in nature. This gift also sparked a countless number of jokes for the rest of the night. Finally, after all of the wine was drunk and the dessert platter licked clean it was midnight. We watched in awe as the pharm rep paid the €876 bill for 10 people.

It was already much later than Ryan and I ever expected to be out for a “work” dinner and plus, we had booked tickets on a train to Northern Ireland that left at 7:30 the next morning! We assumed that everyone would call it a night, but much to our surprise, the whole group of about eight of us headed over to another lively and crowded bar. It seems that they were not ready to end the night yet. We told ourselves we would be polite and go for one more quick drink. Before we had even finished our first beer, someone had bought us a second round already which of course meant we had to stay and drink longer. Now don’t get me wrong, we were among great company, the residents are a lot of fun, but we were exhausted and dreading getting up a few hours from now. We were so desperate to get rid of our beers without having to chug them and be wasted that both Ryan and I went to the bathroom and dumped some of it in the toilet. When we came back, there was a third round waiting for us. We didn’t really attempt to finish most of that though and finally said our goodbyes. Everyone was well on their way to being quite drunk at that point. I was impressed that they could go out and do this knowing they had to be up early and into the hospital for a long day. The life of a resident is definitely more laidback over here, but still! The Irish definitely know how to hold their liquor and party. By the time we finally got back home, it was 2:30 in the morning and at last we could sleep.

The next morning with only a few hours sleep, we were certainly exhausted. We dragged ourselves out of bed feeling dehydrated and a bit hungover. I thought of the residents who actually had to go into work that day and wondered how they were managing and how much longer they stayed out and more they drank. Luckily we only had a 5 minute walk over to Connolly Station where we boarded the train to Belfast in Northern Ireland. About an hour and a half later we pulled into the station.

Our plan was not to stay in Belfast, but rather to head further north to the Causeway Coast which is the northern most coast of Ireland. We had about 45 minutes until our next train came so we took a stroll down the road and happened to find a wonderful market that only takes place on Friday mornings called St. George’s Market. Inside of this large warehouse type space were antiques, junk, and lots of food including fresh seafood, produce, Irish soda breads, potato farls and scones, farm fresh eggs from ducks, geese and chickens, meats, cheese, and much more. I am a big fan of markets and could spend a couple hours in one taking pictures, looking at the local foods and hopefully having a taste. I bought a few scones and then we picked up an early lunch from a food stand. We had these delicious sausages on floury soft rolls with sautéed onions and a delicious red pepper spread. It makes my mouth water just to think of it. The prices were so much cheaper than in the Republic of Ireland too. Although we were still on the same island and had only taken a 1.5 hour ride, we technically were in a different country as Northern Ireland is part of the UK, uses a different currency and different phone systems just to name a few. The people were a bit different too, still just as friendly, but their accents were quite different, sounding like a mix between Scottish and Irish (they pronounce “now” like “nigh” and hour like “ire.”). Their faces also looked a tad more English than the people in the Republic.

We took the next train north to a town called Ballymena and from there had to take a bus to Coleraine. This was the closest we could get to the coast by major transit. From there on out, we needed to use local buses (which ran very infrequently) or rent a car. Once we arrived at the Coleraine bus station, we found there was a bus headed along the Causeway coast that would leave in about 20 minutes. In the meantime we walked down to other tourist office to see how we were going to fit in all the sights we wanted to see in Northern Ireland that weekend without a car. In talking to the woman there, we found out that frankly it was not easy to get around by bus outside of the heavy tourist season. As we were chatting with the woman in the tourist office, I looked at my watch and realized that we had literally a minute or two to get back to the station and catch our bus. We hesitated for less than a minute, and then I ran down the road with Ryan following behind carrying our bag. The bus was literally pulling away from the station as I approached, I ran after it a bit as it approached an intersection and then I gave up knowing how the drivers won’t open bus doors in the middle of intersections. Ryan was upset that I hadn’t at least tried to get the driver to open the door. We went back to the station and found that the next bus wouldn’t be going that way for another two hours! It was not a happy moment. Coleraine wasn’t a town you needed to spend two hours in and we felt trapped and I think Ryan wanted to strangle me for not planning things better or arranging a car back in Dublin (I had agreed to plan the weekend for us…and it didn’t help that we were cranky and sleep deprived.) I unsuccessfully made a few phone calls to try to find a local rental car. Finally I approached a taxi driver and bargained him down for a ride to the near by Bushmills Whiskey Distillery. We got over there for about £7 which we later discovered wasn’t really anymore than a bus ride for two.

Now that we had made it to Bushmills, my spirits were feeling up again, and it wasn’t just at the prospect of drinking some whiskey. When we emerged from the taxi, we could smell the grainy alcoholic odors in the air. We were already to join the next tour of the distillery when we hit another road block. Ryan and I were dragging around a small rolling suitcase for the weekend. The woman at the desk told is that bags were not allowed on the tour and that due to security reasons they were not allowed to store or watch any bags for us. She must have seen the disappointed look on our faces and she apologized sincerely and handed us each a small bottle of whiskey as a consolation. As we walked out the door, I found myself bursting into tears. It seemed so ridiculous to cry over a whiskey distillery, but it was more the frustration of the weekend so far and the tiredness I was feeling that made me emotional. Ryan calmly walked me back into the entrance and up to the front desk where he bought one ticket for the tour. “I’ll be waiting here when you get out,” he said.

Feeling better now and touched by Ryan’s selfless offer to send me instead, I joined the tour. I have to say it was quite an educational experience. Bushmills is the oldest whisky distillery in the world, begun in 1648 however whiskey was made on this site back in the 1200s. The tour guide led us through the various rooms and stages of Irish whiskey production. First of all, Irish whisky is different from Bourbon or Scotch in that it is triple distilled (versus once for Bourbon and twice for Scotch). The Irish, of course, believe that this makes their whiskey quite superior to the rest. I learned about the complete process. It begins with malted barley which goes thorough the girst. It is then added to boiling hot local river water in the mashtun. After this, the leftover grain is filtered out and sold to local farmers to feed their livestock. To the liquid remains, they add yeast and now it is termed the “wash” and is about 8% alcohol. Then it goes through the triple distilling process. That stillhouse was as hot a tropical island and it seems the fumes alone could get a person drunk! After the third distilling, the whiskey is 85% alcohol but they of course dilute it down. Then they do things like mixing it and getting the color right before it is stored in barrels.

They took us into the barrel storeroom which smelled like a wine cork. They use mainly old Bourbon oak barrels from the US. This gives more flavors to the whiskey. (Brand new Bourbon barrels are burned on the inside to give flavor to Bourbon). Depending on which whiskey they are making, it could age in a recycled Spanish Port barrel or French sherry barrel. The time spent in the barrels also depends on which of their whiskeys they are making, the longer the better and more expensive. Two percent of the alcohol is lost to evaporation. They call this the “angel’s share.” Finally, I got to have my free sample of whiskey. I chose the Bushmills 12 year single malt (single malt means it is pure distilled whiskey vs. having unmalted whiskey added). I liked it more than I thought I would. I had it on the rocks to take the edge off, but it was nice…sweet and a bit nutty.

Now with a little whiskey to take the edge off the day, Ryan and I boarded a bus to a town called Ballycastle which is one of the larger towns on the Causeway Coast. We saw there was a hostel there and figured we could get a room there. Thirty minutes later after a ride down the rugged coast, we arrived at seaside Ballycastle. The hostel as in prime location across from the harbor, but they were full! It was hard to believe considering the town seemed practically deserted. We had hit another road block. The tourist office was around the corner and a very friendly woman helped us find accommodation in the area after learning all of the hostels were fully booked. Since she knew we were there primarily to see the Giant’s Causeway and the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, she suggested we stay in a smaller town called Ballintoy and she found us the last room in a B&B. It felt good to finally have a plan in motion and luckily the next bus arrived shortly.

Ballintoy was more of a village than a town. It consisted of a tiny main street containing two pubs, two B&B’s and lots of farm land from the ocean cliff up to the nearby mountains. We received a warm welcome to the B&B and found a warm and cozy room to drop our bags. It was later in the afternoon at this point with intermittent rain, but we figured we should salvage this rest of this haphazard day and see some of the sights. Just 10-15 minutes up the road from our B&B was the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. This bridge was built a few hundred years ago by local salmon fisherman who wanted to reach the best fishing spot, which was on a rocky island just off the coast. They managed to build a rope suspension bridge that hovers tentatively over the rough rocky sea below on its way to this island that looks more like a mossy boulder.

Due to the inclement weather, the bridge had closed early for the day but we were still able to explore the trails around it and admire the bridge from afar. Ryan decided he found this to be the most beautiful coastline he had seen in Ireland so far. It was certainly rugged and the mist and fog that day gave it a magical feeling as well. We saw ponies grazing in the fields, and huge black slugs out basking in the moisture. While we were taking lots of great pictures, we ran into another tourist who also seemed to be really enjoying the scenery with his camera. He was from the Czech Republic and we took pictures of each other before parting ways.

After a long and somewhat stressful day, we felt damp and cold and hungry as anything. We ended up at the Rope Bridge Restaurant (one of the two pubs) on the road and wolfed down a delicious meal. Ryan had a great burger and had cod which was fried perfectly and tasted wonderful with malted vinegar. We shared some garlic potato wedges which were to die for and some champ (mashed potatoes with leeks) and finished it off with some warm apple crumble.

The sun was beginning to set as we left the restaurant and it painted the sky and fluffy clouds with bright pinks and reds. Luckily we had our cameras in hand and we walked through Ballintoy. The sheep pastures line the street and we walked along enjoying the cacophony of baaing sheep all around us. Right on the coast of Ballintoy sits a simple white stucco church and small cemetery. The dramatic coast with the vivid sunset behind the church was really beautiful and we enjoyed that sunset until it was far below the horizon.

On our way back to the B&B I heard the faint sounds of Irish music drifting out of the other pub in town. We walked into a small and cozy pub with a three person band: guitar, harp and violin. I sipped my cider and enjoyed the lovely and relaxing traditional music. Just as we were about to leave, we ran into our Czech acquaintance and his two travel buddies as it turns out they were also staying in our B&B. We didn’t stay at the pub too long because the idea of getting a good nights sleep was even more appealing after our journey.