Three Nights in Scotland

Hello again, after a long while...

I came back from Scotland two days ago. Yes, we picked Scotland over Cornwall in the end, not that I’m complaining however. Even though I am a very ‘been there, done that’ person, the land of Lord of the Rings style greenery, tartan and haggis is never boring.

I didn’t get to do a lot of writing during my holiday, because when you’re holidaying with my brother, you hardly get time to sit back and chill and even when you do, you are too exhausted to do anything.

Our first stop was Edinburgh. We spent the hours strolling down streets lined with the usual shops you find in large cities, walking past hot boys in skinny jeans and girls in Topshop dresses, checked shirts and hot pants. But despite the typical features of a major British city, the sandstone buildings and turquoise domes were beautiful to look at. The most impressive building was Edinburgh castle, a stately house on the basalt plug of Castle Rock. The last time my brother and I went to Edinburgh with our dad and cousin, we managed to climb up the Rock and explore. Yet this time, we couldn’t. We needed to buy tickets to enter the castle and it was closing time. Yes, boo times indeed. We then explored the gift shops, which were filled with teddy bears in tartans, Celtic jewellery and whiskey bottles. In one of these shops, they played a Scottish version of Coldplay’s Clocks, in which the piano bit was replaced by bagpipes. Since I am not a music snob, I can honestly say, it was a very good version. The bag pipes gave the song a grand elegance, whereas the original was very indie and enchanting in a Peter Pan sort of way. And no, I am not making the comparison to the fairytale because it was used in that God awful film version with Jason Issacs.

The next day, we drove all the way to Oban. I have been there before in 2006, so I was not really blown away by the boats, the blue roofed buildings and the Coliseum like I was the first time. But still, the beautiful surroundings and peaceful ambience was still refreshing, despite the rainy weather. They took my mind off plenty of the things that bothered me before I went on holiday. The boat ride was particularly pleasant. The wind howled in my face as the boat rolled as though it was belly dancing. I was surprised that I did not feel sea sick, like I always did before. I actually threw up when my family went on a fishing trip in Torquay a few years ago, resulting in the fisherman deciding to turn back to the port. Perhaps my stomach is getting stronger these days.
We saw seals resting on rocky mounds, fish farms and derelict castles sitting isolated on tiny grassy islands. I saw one stately house on one of these mounds, which I guessed must belong to someone very rich. I had to remind myself that the house must get extremely cold in the winter to prevent myself from getting a tiny bit envious.
After that, we went to the Coliseum or McCaig’s Tower as they call it. The man who was driving the boat told us that John Stuart McCaig, the second son of Malcome, built the tower to provide employment for thousands of unemployed people in the area. In addition, my brother mentioned to a fellow passenger that McCaig built the tower because he was impressed by the Roman Coliseum and wanted to replicate it. Whether that is true, I am not entirely sure.
Anyways, the climb up to the tower was a tiring one, as it was one very long and steep hill. It was not as lovely as the last time, where I was able to sit in the shade making a daisy chain and waving at children who smiled at me. Unfortunately this time, the grass was too wet and my sister-in-law was getting very bored.

The following day, we drove to Fort William to climb Ben Nevis, a mountain I had climbed and conquered back in 2006 when I was fitter and stronger. I was not too keen on this at first, for I have been living like a typical student for the past four years – drinking, smoking socially, trading fruits for chocolates and cakes and sitting on my arse as I stressed about writing an essay that Gerry Carlin wouldn’t fault (which always failed). But I eventually decided to go along so I could walk off the ghastly double chin I had developed as a result of too much fast food and English breakfasts since arriving to Scotland. The drive was much more pleasant, as I looked out of the window and marvelled at the shimmering grey lake, forest embellished hills and mountains. As melodramatic as this sounds, the idyllic ambience was heightened by the fact that we were listening to Athlete’s Beautiful in the car.
As for the strenuous climb, I could not believe I forgot how ridiculously difficult it was. I was panting a quarter up the mountain, hoping that my sister-in-law would also give up and demand that we climb down. But surprisingly, she was just as fast and able as my brother.
My brother decided that he and his wife will climb up without me, assuring me that I will make it to the summit if I moved at my own pace, despite my sister-in-law’s pleas that he shouldn’t force me. So I cursed and swore under my breath as I climbed three quarters up the mountain, before fatigue overtook me, which prompted me to call my brother. He and my sister-in-law were nearing the summit and he felt it was best if I began my climb down. Even though I felt a little disappointed that I let the Ben the bastard win, I didn’t feel too let down, as I met a few hot Scottish and Irish guys on the way up and down and the fresh air and much needed exercise made me feel refreshed and healthier.

We spent the last day in Glasgow, which I was not up for because my legs were in pain from the mountain climbing and I was beginning to feel a little home sick. The city did not have the pretty ambience that Edinburgh, Oban and Fort William had…in fact; it looked like any other English city. Not to mention, we got in trouble with the barmaid because my sister-in-law bought me a glass of Pimms and I did not have my ID. It is one of those occasions where I curse bar staff, but I understand now that she was simply doing her job.

I am glad that I am back in England now. Not that I did not enjoy Scotland, because I did. But as the old clique goes…there really is no place like home, even if it is a grubby little craphole like Dudley. :)