SKYE HIGH

On September 2 (see how far behind I am?) we embarked on our tour around the Isle of Skye, through low clouds, mist and drizzle.  Our first stop was the pretty little town of Portree, with a harbor that reminded me of the one in the British tv show, “Doc Martin.”

Portree is the main town on Skye. Its name comes from the Gaelic Port-an-Righ, which translates as "King's Port" and dates to a visit by King James V, plus a fleet of warships, in 1540, to persuade the island clans to support him. It had earlier been known as Kiltraglen. The main street running parallel to the back of the harbour is Bank Street, and is best known for the Royal Hotel. In an earlier guise, as MacNab's Inn, this was where Bonnie Prince Charlie bade farewell for the last time in 1746 to Flora MacDonald, who had famously aided his escape and conveyed him "Over the Sea to Skye". The whole harbor looks something like this:

We took a little guided tour by a local resident who had volunteered for a new program to assist tourists.  I think we were her first ones, as she had to repeatedly refer to her notes.  I was, however, able to find the most interesting sights all on my own.
 
We pressed on, stopping occasionally to shoot whatever caught our eye.

As it was my turn to pay for diesel, Chuck ran the tank dry until we had to refuel at Uig, the end of nowhere, at Skye-high prices.  (Sorry.)

Diesel in Scotland was a lot more expensive than we later found in Ireland.  This shows a price of nearly 1.38 pounds per litre, which is 1.06 quarts.  So this translates roughly to $8.85 a gallon.  YIKES!  Keep a light foot, please, Chuck!  Actually for a car of this size and weight, and carrying four people and a boot full of luggage, we seem to be getting very good mileage.  That’s if you can trust the on-board computer.  It says we’re getting right around 40mpg.  Well, that’s the same as my Prius, so I’m suspicious.  I know that my Prius computer is optimistic on gas mileage.  Still, we have to be getting in the mid-thirties at least, and that’s impressive enough.
Our next stop in the guidebook was the museum of life, a group of preserved croft cottages with thatched roofs, perched on a hill high above the sea.  Nothing dramatic, but it was interesting that families continued to live in these homes right up until modern times.  Gad, that must have been a tough life, heating by peat fires (the smell still lingered, powerfully) in these tiny houses.  Loni’s holding her cap because the wind was really blowing.  However, inside the houses, it was perfectly snug.  Amazing.

Inside a few of the buildings, they had really cheesy mannequins that looked like outtakes from the Dawn Of The Living Dead.  The one of the blacksmith was the least cheesy.  I didn’t take shots of the others because after I shot the blacksmith I saw the signs saying “No Photography Inside The Houses.”  Oops.  My bad.  I was intrigued by the way they anchored some of the thatched roofs with hanging stones.

We went on to the view of Kilt Rock and the Mealt Falls, which plunge 60 meters over a cliff down into the ocean.  The Kilt Rock is seen in the background of the left photo, a cliff in which the vertical basalt columns are supposed to resemble the pleats in a kilt, and the intruded dolerite is the pattern.  Whatever.  It’s a pretty sight.  The right shot is from the same camera location, but looking the other way (south).

I took a video of the falls, but it seems mysteriously to have disappeared from my computer. 
At this point, I get to scream.  I started this post yesterday, and worked on it for nearly 3 hours, using Microsoft’s Live Writer.  I was completely done, and scrolling up to spell check, when everything disappeared.  All my work, gone.  I wanted to throw the computer off the nearest cliff.  I was on a roll, with good info and pics.  Gone.  So, tonight (the next day), I’m starting over.  It’s never the same.
We continued our trip past more dramatic mountains, none of which are all that high, but which look much bigger due to lack of vegetation.  They seem more like our Alpine peaks in the U.S. above the treeline.  Again, the little white dots are sheep.  They’re everywhere!

We stopped along the way to explore some other falls, but they turned out to be less than riveting.  However, the cliffs along the shore were another matter.  See the sheep on the hill below the people?

While we were out here the wind was really ripping.  I’m wearing my bought-for-this-trip Tilley hat, which has a dual strap system to keep it on in just about any gale.  One under the chin, and one that goes behind the head.   Really works!

Below is the rock formation known as the “Old Man of Storr,” shot from the moving car.  It’s located on the north of Skye in the area known as ‘Trotternish’.  From this angle, it’s just a big phallus, but I guess from some other vantage point it has some old-man look.  It was created by an ancient landslide.

Out of the high country, we set sail for Dunvegan Castle, home of the MacLeod clan (and Dennis Weaver?  Only oldtimers will get that reference.).

This place was a treat, as it has been the residence of a member of the MacLeod clan for 800 continuous years!  It didn’t always look like this, of course, as it has been added to and reconstructed over the centuries.  The inside is filled with a lot of beautiful furniture and relics from the past.  On display are many fine oil paintings and clan treasures, the most famous of which is the Fairy Flag. Legend has it that this sacred banner has miraculous powers and when unfurled in battle, the clan MacLeod would invariably defeat their enemies.  Must have worked, since they’ve been here that long.  The Fairy Flag itself is just a faded bit of tattered cloth, but they believe in it.  We weren’t able to take any pictures inside the castle, but I was able to shoot some pics out the windows to show the views from within.

It was a very nice location.  I wouldn’t mind living there for 800 years.  One of the most notorious of the MacLeods was Norman MacLeod, who burned and pillaged the Island of Raasay, harassing its inhabitants for many weeks in the late summer of 1746. As a result, he became known as "The Wicked Man".  According to the docent, that wasn’t all of his wickedness.  He is alleged to have gambled away the equivalent today of 20 million pounds, bankrupting the family and destroying his grandson’s inheritance.  To boot, he is believed to have murdered his first wife.  Nice guy.  They still prominently feature his portrait, nonetheless.  One of the grandsons managed to accumulate sufficient wealth to keep the castle in family hands. 
Dunvegan Castle is also known for its five acres of formal gardens which began life in the 18th century. In stark contrast to the barren moorland and mountains that dominate Skye's landscape, the gardens are a hidden oasis with an eclectic mix of plants, woodland glades,  reflecting pools, waterfalls and streams.  I was reminded most of Butchart Gardens near Victoria.  I had to run like hell to get in this picture that I took with the timer.





Done with Dunvegan, it was back to our hotel for a brief stop, then back to last night’s restaurant, Red Skye.  It definitely deserved a return visit.  And, you didn’t think I could omit pictures of food, did you?  I had a starter of chicken liver parfait (!) on brioche, with chutney, followed by roast venison with a juniper berry and red currant wine reduction sauce.  Loni had wild mushrooms & cream over brioche (not shown) and duck in a plum/ginger sauce.  We both had raspberry crème brulee’ for dessert.  Our diets are coming along nicely, thank you.

THE HOLY GRAIL

After Luss (I added a couple of pictures since first posting the previous entry), we continued around the lochs and mountains to the town of Inverrary, which is a pleasant enough village with a dynamite view.

Scotland is filled with vistas like this, so stay tuned if you like them or tune out if not.  I’ll be piling on many more views.  I just wish I had a better camera or could use photoshop like Chuck does to get much better shots.  I wanted to buy the latest Panasonic that just came out before we left, but no one had it in stock, they were only taking orders.  Here are a few shots of Inverrary.  Just down this street we were sucked in to a tea room that featured scones with clotted cream and jam.  This is becoming an arterial disaster trip.  That clotted cream is thick stuff, not the airy whipped cream we get at home.  And I’m just forced to eat it.  Forced, I say!

We returned to our B&B in Stirling and had dinner at a placed called Riverbank.  Loni and I had pan-seared sea bass with an olive tapenade and mashed (taters, but just called “mashed” here).  So good, I had to take a selfie.  We’re finding the food on whole to be quite good, but I’d like to see a lot more veggies.  Everything is priced, numerical-wise, about the same as in the States.  So, we’d see a fish dinner for say $20 in the states and 20 pounds here.  Unfortunately, the pound currently is about $1.70, so that same dinner here is really about $34.  Yikes!  That really begins to add up.  However, I am determined to use up all our cash before we croak, so I’m being quite serene about the whole thing.  Not.

The next day we checked out of our B&B in Stirling.  Castlecroft was an excellent stay, and we recommend it for both location and amenities.  Host Laura cooks a great breakfast and will help you with directions, dinner options, and the like.

Our first stop was Doune Castle, the set for the famous scene in the Monty Python movie “The Holy Grail,” where our stalwarts attempt to take the castle amidst much fractured swearing in Franglais.  We took a look at all sides of the place, and we figure the arrow marks where the defenders were filmed on the parapets looking down at the English swine.

After this interlude, we headed northwest for the Isle of Skye and drove through some of the most beautiful country you could imagine, through the craggy mountains of Glen Col and the deep valley of Glen Shiel.  I’ll just let the pictures do the talking.






And, then there’s my failed attempt at a “stitch” job where I cut off the tops of the mountains.  My camera doesn’t have a true panorama mode.  But, you get the picture.  Scotland is drop dead gorgeous.

Somewhere in the midst of all this beauty, Chuck remembered he was supposed to call ahead to our next B&B to let them know when we’d be arriving.  Of course, no cell service out here, so we had to wait until we exited the mountains to some sort of developed area.  Once he got through, we heard from our would-be host the Scottish equivalent of “oops!”  Sort of like, “acchhh!”  Anyway, he had goofed and booked us for the wrong nights.  So sorry, and he’d try to fix us up elsewhere.  I announced to the car that we were going to end up in a hotel that night.  And, so we did.  The oldest hotel on Skye – the King’s Arms.  At least one portion of it dated from the 1600’s, according to it’s info pamphlet.  I think it was what is now the reception area, as the fireplace (with blaze going full blast) looked ancient and the floorboards squeaked even more in that area.  The common areas and hallways of the whole place had the feel of a backpacker’s hotel, or a hostel with separate rooms, but it actually turned out to be quite adequate.  Very basic, and no B&B vibe for sure, but adequate.  Our view out the window was of the tops of the propane tanks, which you can’t see in this shot.

We did some googling for dinner and decided on Red Skye (at night, sailor’s delight?), which was top rated for the area.  This turned out to be a great choice.  Gourmet food in a rather remote setting.  Absolutely recommended!

Back at the hotel, I repaired to the great wifi in the lounge to write some blog.  I was engrossed in my work, and didn’t notice that the nook where I was working was filling up with people.  I finally looked up and found about 12 locals sitting in chairs in a large arc facing my seat.  Then they started speaking Gaelic, smiling, and all the while looking in my direction.  I don’t know if they wanted my seat, or what, but I was sufficiently uncomfortable with all the attention that I packed up and went up to bed.  Very weird. 

ACH, LADDIE, WE HARDLY KNEW YE

After the Castle, we decided to walk around the town of Sterling.  It, of course, has an old town, and like virtually every other town in the country it is made of gray stone.  And more gray stone.  It’s attractive in a way, but awful drab in some settings.  This one’s not so bad.

I wonder how many millions of feet have trod those stones?  We went off to find a new watch battery for Loni.  We found a combination shoe repair and watch store (??), and the friendly young fellow who took care of us said, in an almost unintelligible accent (we were virtually reduced to sign language) to come back in half an hour and it would be 9 pounds.  When ewe picked it up he asked where we were from.  As we were tourists, he said we wouldn’t be able to take advantage of the warranty that was built into the repair work, so he would only charge us 5 pounds.  Think that would happen back home?  We headed back to the B&B via the lower footpath, encountering some nifty plants hanging into the walkway.

And our B&B, ----, run by the inexhaustible Laura (not pictured).  That’s the castle, looming above.

The following morning, we bid fairwell to Stirling and set course for Loch Lomand and the town of Luss, ancestral home of the Clan Colquhoun.  The “qu” is silent, and we figure it got lost in the translation when they emigrated to the States and pronounced it Cah-hoon’.  Anyway, it seems that the Colquhoun still own much of the land around Loch Lomand, which is news to me as I thought the clan was all but wiped out long ago by the dastardlyl MacGregors.  Hissssss.
In about 1368 Robert, the 5th of Colquhoun, had married the daughter of the 6th Laird of Luss. Her real name is unknown to history, so she is known only as "the fair maid of Luss". More importantly she was also Godfrey's heiress so when Godfrey died her husband Robert inherited through her the Luss Estates along the west bank of Loch Lomond.
The first home the Colquhoun built there, probably in the 16th century, was Rossdhu Castle. All that remains today is a single ruined façade, but it can be seen to have been a solid and easily defensible four-story building. Among the visitors who stayed there was Mary, Queen of Scots, but then it seems she stayed just about everywhere in Scotland, sort of like “Washington slept here.” 
In February 1603 occurred the most notorious event in the history of the clan when the Colquhouns and the MacGregors met in bloody battle in Glen Fruin. Although virtually deserted today, Glen Fruin was populated by perhaps as many as 200 farms. The rich fertile Colquhoun lands were too much of a temptation for the MacGregors whose inhospitable mountainous lands to the north and east had led them into a lifestyleb of raiding their neighbours, stealing their livestock and burning and looting homes.
Because of these repeated raids of the MacGregors and their allies (especially the MacFarlanes), the King had given the Colquhoun clan chief authority to arm his clan in self-defence. There are many conflicting accounts about the immediate cause of the battle. What we do know is that about 400 MacGregors and their supporters set off towards Colquhoun territory. They approached Glen Fruin along the valley of the Fruin Water. The Colquhouns, forewarned, marched up Glen Luss and then turned south down the valley of the Auchengaich burn. When they entered Glen Fruin, they found that the MacGregors had got there before them. They had divided their forces into two and were able to trap the Colquhouns between them.
With their Clan chief, Alistair MacGregor, attacking from the front and his brother John (who was killed in the battle) from the rear, there was no escape. The Colquhouns were driven from the field, back to Rossdhu. Many Colquhoun followers were captured and slaughtered.  At the head of Glen Fruin, a stone commemorates those Colquhouns who died, perhaps as many as 140.
In the latter part of the 18th century, Sir James, the 23rd of Colquhoun, decided to build a new home in the latest classical style within sight of Rossdhu Castle. The result was Rossdhu House. Early in the next century, his son, also James, added two wings and a portico supported by two pairs of columns to create the house that exists today. The Colquhoun Clan chiefs lived here until 1985, after which it was leased to the Loch Lomond golf Club who have refurbished it and restored it to its former glory to become the club-house and headquarters of the club.  Since it is private, we weren’t able to penetrate the woods that surround it, but we did find the huge gate that guards a now-unused entrance, with the clan coat-of-arms flying above.


No one seems quite to know what the Gaelic is at the bottom.  We asked several old souls we met at the church, and each had a different translation.  The internet wasn’t of any help either.  The French motto, “Si Je Puis,” translates to the rather tepid “If I Can.”  Hmmph.  Not exactly blood-stirring stuff.  Anyway, it’s a cool crest, especially the red stag.
Just down the road from the church and village of Luss each summer since 1875 the Luss Highland Gathering has taken place. Since the first year of the Games the Chief of Clan Colquhoun has been the Chieftain of the Games, a tradition that continues to the present day.
Luss is now a Scottish Conservation Village, having been restored to preserve its 18th and 19th century cottages.  It’s quite the tourist attraction.

After exploring the town for a bit, we took a cross-loch cruise to see the sights.

No, the boat wasn’t listing that badly.  I had used my gorilla-pod to take a timed selfie, and I had the camera on crooked.  Does make it look like a rather dramatic turn, though.  Here’s Ben Lomand, looming over the Loch.  This is the mountain the cannon was pointing at when we were at Stirling Castle.

And here’s the utterly beautiful town of Luss.  My forbears chose well!

In Luss there is the 19th century parish church that almost seems a shrine to the Colquhoun, as the stained glass has repeated displays of the coat-of-arms and family names.  The graveyard as well is full of Colquhouns going back to the 1700’s.  Most graves before that were lost or unmarked.  I’m not sure where the given name of Ludovic crept in, but thank goodness it hasn’t been passed down.  “John” (or “JON”) will do quite nicely, thank you.  Ludovic did get part of the crest engraved on his stone, which still looks good after 220+ years.

Ah, sometimes going home is a long, long journey.

FOODIE HEAVEN

This post is out of order, as I’m wayyyy behind in keeping up, but I want to get it up for our benefactors, Meghan, John, and Isla.  Loni was overjoyed to help them out just prior to our trip when their nanny went south on them.  Frankly, she would have paid them for the chance to spend that much time with our first grandchild.  However, with gratitude running amok, M&J set up a fabulous dinner for the four of us (Chuck & Alice, our traveling companions) at Scotland’s best restaurant (as so voted) and Michelin star holder, the Castle Terrace in Edinburgh. 

We sat essentially at the table in the foreground in the picture.  We were a bit paranoid about showing up in street clothes, but we needn’t have worried.  The clientele was in everything from tweed and tie to bluejeans with shirtail out.  And then there was the guy who was suffused with himself, sporting some sort of red and black Chinese-silk dinner jacket that went down to his knees (he was Anglo, reminded me of Robert Downey Jr.).  But, I digress.  We were here to eat!  We chose the tasting menu, as it covered many of the dishes on the a la carte one, so we’d get to taste a representative sampling of the chef’s work.  Glad we did, as we had an amazing assortment of flavors, textures, and colors.  Below, we had:  1) Canapes mimicking r to l) a caper and cumin burger, salt cod barbajuan (??), and Caesar salad; 2) a tomato gazpacho, which got slurped before the picture; 3) a tartare of salmon served sushi style, a top crusting of crackly rice, and a dollop of Wasabi ice cream on top (this photo was of Chuck’s dish and he’s allergic to salmon, so they substituted a whitefish); 4) a seared “hand-dived” Orkney scallop with an olive-tapinade and carmelized onion tart sitting on stripes of pureed lettuce.  Since Loni is allergic to scallops, they substituted a roe deer pate en croute with prune (the dots) and pear puree (look closely, it was shaped like a pear).

Next, 5) a risotto of organic spelt (a dinkel, or hulled wheat) served with crispy ox tongue squares and pinky-fingernail slices of chorizo; 6) roasted fillet of North Sea hake served in an Asian-style broth, and a side of one crab ravioli; 7) Scottish borders wild grouse (shot that day, it was the opening of the season just a few days ago), served with sauteed wild mushrooms, bread sauce and watercress; 8) souffle of strawberries with a chocolate ganache and some mascarpone sorbet (the white ball) on shortbread crumbs; 9) with coffees or expresso, a selection of petit fours to taste like carrot cake, chocolate almandine, and pistachio macaroon. 

We also had a nice sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley (yes, even I had some) to lubricate things.  All of this took about 3 1/2 hours.  We started at 6:30, and weren’t even the first ones there.  What I couldn’t believe was they were seating new parties as we left!  Those folks would be there into the morning!  We were, of course, very happy campers.

That is, until I tried to navigate us back to the train station and managed to bring us full circle back to the front of the restaurant.  I plead lack of brain oxygen from too much food.  We did make it home all right, albeit close to midnight.

THANK YOU JOHN, MEGHAN, AND ISLA!

SCOTLAND, YEA OR NAE?

As I write this (belatedly, as usual), Scotland is less than a week away from the vote on full independence from Great Britain.  The issue, naturally, dominates the news and the landscape is full of YES signs and NO, thank you (that’s what they really say) ones.  It’s instructive that such a divisive issue (running 50-50 at the moment) is debated and reported upon without any of the rancor that we see in American politics.  Rationality and restraint is all you see.  It’s disheartening to see how low our public debate standards have fallen.  OK, enough moralizing, on with the haggis!  As noted in the last post, we have entered Scotland and are in Stirling, home of Stirling Castle.

Sitting 250 feet above the plain on an extinct volcano, Stirling became the strategic military key to the kingdom during the 13th and 14th century Wars of Independence and was the favourite royal residence of many of the Stuart Monarchs.  The first fortification on the site dates to the 11th century. Robert the Bruce raised the original castle after the Battle of Bannockshire in 1314, where he defeated the English king Edward II.  The Great Hall was built by James  IV in 1503.  Much of the castle which exists today, including the Palace (1540-42) and Chapel Royal is Renaissance architecture with a strong French influence.
Many important events from Scotland's past took place at Stirling Castle, including the violent murder of the eighth Earl of Douglas by James II in 1452.  Mary Queen of Scots spent her childhood in the castle and her coronation took place in the Chapel Royal in 1543.
We took off from our B&B, and hoofed it up the trail to the castle, stopping along the way to admire the views over the plain.

At the top, the castle was magnificent.  That ochre-colored building is the great hall, and it was called King’s Gold. At one time, the entire castle was painted the same color, so that it would show the glory of the monarchy shining for all to see.  Some of the coloring is still faintly visible on the rock walls of the castle.

Our guide must have been a frustrated thespian.  His voice rose and fell with great emotion, especially when he had to utter the words, “the English,”  which were voiced with a snarling sneer. He especially enjoyed pointing out the stone devil which forever casts an evil eye in the direction south towards England.

The Great Hall is the largest medieval hall in Scotland, and could host 500.  The roof consists of the equivalent of 400 oak trees, all held together by wooden pegs.  No ironwork.  The present monarchs lack a little something in the reignments department.

All the cannon of the castle point in one direction, towards the crossing of the river Forth below, which the castle was designed to protect.  You can just see the curve of the river in this picture.  The tower across the way is the memorial to William Wallace, the original “Braveheart,” who was a main leader of the Scottish wars of independence before being executed gruesomely by Edward I.

One of the things you see repeatedly in this and other castles are the symbols of the rose and the thistle, representing the union of Scotland and England under James I.

One of the interesting things to come out of our various tours, including this one, was the widespread use of color inside castles and cathedrals.  At Stirling, this was best evidenced by the remarkable ceilings that were centerpieces.  Those shown below are reproductions. 

They also are weaving seven medieval tapestries of the period to hang throughout, depicting “The Hunt Of The Unicorn,” the Belgian originals of which date from 1495-1505 and hang in the Met in New York.  The project that has been ongoing for thirteen years.
 
  The Queen’s Inner Chamber was incredibly elaborate, with the King’s bedchamber not far behind.

A fairly extensive museum celebrated the exploits (which were indeed, incredible) of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, filled with more silver cups, weapons, and memorabilia than you can imagine.  I especially liked the painting by Robert Gibbs of “The Thin Red Line,” documenting the Battle of Balaklava in 1854 during the Crimean War.

All this walking around was exhausting, at least for Loni and Alice.

So it was time to take aim at our destination for tomorrow, Loch Lomand and the town of Luss, ancestral home of the Colquhouns.  The cannon is pointing at Ben Lomand, the mountain that overlooks the Loch.