Indulge in Your Passions

I knew it when I signed up for this trip.

Today’s date has been circled with big, bright, red circles for weeks. As much as The Husband and Twin Son loved the varied places we have visited so far, and even if they truly enjoyed the tastings across Ireland and now Scotland, a pilgrimage to the Royal Mile in the heart of Edinburgh was the real whisky attraction. A full mile of whisky shops, pubs, tasting bars, and Scotch accouterments dot a beautiful cobblestone street extending from Edinburgh Castle at the top to Holyrood Palace at the foot. It took the four of us a bit of hiking through the downtown core to find it, but find it we did and suddenly the boys had discovered Disneyland.

Valhalla. Gan Eden. Nirvana. Heaven. B’olam Ha-ba.

The question wasn’t whether or not they were going to sample and then buy but rather what rare types and how many bottles. It was to be expected. If fate and fortune had found me in rare music mecca, I would have behaved much like they did today. When one’s passion is suddenly splayed out in front of you and every conceivable option is available for the taking, it is so very difficult to control one’s emotions and impulses. I’m so very happy that they didn’t even try. It is a rare day when there are so few words to describe unfettered joy.

We wandered into each and every shop and tasting bar. I managed to slip out for a bit of Scottish souvenir hunting while they indulged and imbibed but I was around to witness their fun. The guys left the shops empty-handed with promises to return. They wanted to experience all the rides before making final decisions.

They finally stumbled on their brass ring. A small and less than impressive store at the end of the mile called Cadenhead’s proved to be their unicorn come to life. The blackboard at one end of the shop provided a whisky that melted his tongue, he threw me a glance that was so electrified I thought he might be on fire. Once again, I will leave it up the connoisseurs to express their opinions and their delights. Let’s just say there was a lot of good sips taken today.
open ledger of what was available. The proprietor was more than eager to allow them to taste whatever struck their fancy and the looks on both of their faces reminded me of the first time by boys tasted ice cream. When The Husband found one particular

I have never been so happy to give up a day of vacation to drinking as I was today. Everybody should be allowed to indulge themselves in their passions and hobbies from time to time. Today was a day when I got to see a giddiness in The Husband that was fun and beautiful. I have no doubt that we will return to Edinburgh for another productive stroll along the Royal Mile.

We leave the British Isles tonight and sail on. Tomorrow is our last sea day. We will chat again from Normandy, France.

The Greyness of Scotland is Lovely

Loch Ness

There is a definite authenticity factor to be considered when a day in the Scottish Highlands comes complete with a very light drizzle, a greyness that is the colour of wet steel, and a mist coming off of the braes in the distance that is eerily reminiscent of a highlight reel from Brigadoon. It is almost as if the locals purposely provided the atmospheric backdrop for our journey. The spring heather on the hills (yes, it really does exists) is still brown and damp but come summer it will illuminate the mountains with swaths of purple and white. Oh, how I wish I could see that.

The Great Glen of the North was our gateway to Inverness, Culloden, Loch Ness, and Beauly. Fans of Outlander (both the books and television series) will be well acquainted with the names and the historic battles waged here. The Battle of Culloden in 1746, saw the Highland Clans and Jacobites band together with the impetuous and foolish Bonnie Prince Charlie in an attempt to overthrow the government forces and send them packing back to England. The massacre that ensued is legendary and it was the last military battle ever fought on British soil. The Highlanders of today still mourn the loss of their clansmen and the Culloden Moor is today a museum and ancient burial ground. I happened upon the gravesite for Clan Fraser and couldn’t help but think of Jamie (Yes, I am an Outlander aficionado.) and his kinsmen fighting for the honour of Scotland. Without venturing too far into this time-warping thing, it doesn’t get too far afield to imagine what could have happened had the idiot Charlie been smarter and successful in his bold endeavour. He would have restored his father to the throne of England and Scotland, sent George II scurrying back to Germany, George III would never have ascended the throne and the entire American Revolution might never have occurred. Just a ‘pondering.

We headed through the picturesque landscapes passing all manner of wildlife on our way to Inverness. North Atlantic seals, Shetland ponies, pheasants, partridges, and even a few “Heilan Coo” (that’s Highland Cow to those not familiar with the local dialect) were visible. The surrounding area is dotted with old ruins, castles, and enough fabled monsters, witches, and kelpies to fill several children’s books. Inverness, which likes to call itself the gateway to the heart of the Highlands, is a quaint town marked by Inverness Castle. A castle has stood here in one incarnation or another since 1057. The Ness river runs through the town south to its famous Loch.

Which brings me to what is possibly the biggest tourist scam ever perpetrated on visitors to any country on earth. I used to think that designation should rightfully belong to the people of Pisa and their dumbass sinking tower. Nope! I was mistaken. Keeping alive the story of a fabled water creature that cannot be categorically proven nor disproven, even using the brilliance of modern science, has moved Loch Ness to the top of my list. The Highlanders are brilliant. They draw people to the lake, which is actually quite eerie and mysterious in the Scottish mist, in busloads. They try and sell them boat tours (of what I am still not sure) and regale them with stories of sightings and drownings and other magical mumbo-jumbo.

And then….

They point you to the gift shops.  And of course, we buy. Who wouldn’t buy their new granddaughter a stuffed Nessie? What am I? A complete monster?

Our guide Ian told us that he hopes they never prove or disprove it. The tourism boom just to stand at the shores of the lake is phenomenal and frankly a whole lot of fun.

A few side notes from our day.

**I won’t discuss the haggis that I watched Twin Son and His Better Half eat for lunch. This vegetarian could barely imagine it. The cauliflower was delicious.
**I sometimes forget just how beautiful the world can look in the rain. While I wouldn’t want to spend 80-90% of my time in the gloom, there really is a lovely sheen to the earth in the mist of this area.

**You have to know that you have a really good guide when he regales you with Scottish Mouth Music toward the end of your trip. I love hearing all of these old tunes that eventually made their way to the Appalachians and other areas of North America. This Scottish folk music, like its Irish cousin, is the basis for much of our Country, Bluegrass, Delta Blues, and eventually Rock and Roll.

**Men in kilts is a look that I could learn to like. Not as unattractive a kit as one might imagine.

You Take the High Road

Our introduction to Scotland came in the wee small hours of the morning. It was well before 7:00am when I first heard that unmistakable drone that replicates the sound of a cat mutilating a squirrel. (We should have only been so fortunate.) Pipers and their “instruments” met us at the pier right outside of our cabin. Being the morning person and the all-around positive soul that she is, The Better Half jumped onto her balcony to take photographs. I, on the other hand, utter a few nasty epithets, prayed for a nasty case of chapped lips to blight them both, and hid underneath my pillow.

Yup. 

Welcome the f*** to Scotland. 

Where the men proudly show off their hairy legs even in the dankest and Moorish of climates and the women wonder to themselves how they ever could compete with such a look.

We arrived in Greenock, outside of Glasgow, in brilliant sunshine and warm spring temperatures. Every single person we met today, told us that this weather is a treat and very unusual. The Scots, much like the Irish, are infatuated with the weather. We Canadians thought that we cornered the market on climate bitching? We’ve got nothing on the residents of the British Isles.

Today’s excursion featured a quick trip to Loch Lomond, home of the famous song and then the alcoholic portion of our trip continued at Glengoyne Distillery. The market research and product testing need to continue otherwise we can’t write-off this vacation, right? Imagine an eye-rolling emoji in this space.

In all seriousness, I had acquiesced to a certain amount of tasting on this trip and I did promise to partake. Glengoyne is a beautifully picturesque place just outside of the Scottish Highlands. A still independent distillery in a world of conglomerates, we were treated to a full tour and tasting of the wares. The rest of this post will answer some basic questions.

Did you actually drink Scotch in Scotland?

Yes, I did. A 12-year-old that The Husband implored me to finish and an 18-year-old which I poured into his glass when his back was turned. Honestly, it is all just furniture cleaner to me and the subtleties are lost in the burn in my throat.

Can you taste the difference in various brands or whisky? (no “e” in Scotland because they like pissing off the Irish.)

Me? Hell no. Remember that furniture cleaner thing. My whisky palette is stuck in the development of a child despite the fact that The Husband is a collector of the stuff and owns hundreds of individual bottles and brands.

Is there really a difference in taste between Irish and Scotch whisk (e) y?

Apparently so but who knew?

Is there a really a difference in taste between Isla, Scappa, and Highlands?

Apparently so but who knew?

Will there be other tastings on this trip?

Not formal excursions to any distilleries but we are headed to a street in Edinburgh known in whisky circles as the Royal Mile where I’m told that the brands and drams flow like the Nile. I plan on searching out Outlander paraphernalia while the boys drool and shop. Claire and Jamie forever.

**Sea day tomorrow. See you all from Inverness on Monday.

The Great British Isles Pilgrimage

Planes, trains, automobiles, boats, and buses.

It is the mantra that condemns all of us who suffer (and I mean suffer!) from chronic motion-sickness to the fiery bowels of hell or at the very least, the sterilized bowl of a flushable toilet. But it is also the chant of the world-traveller and without the aforementioned modes of transportation, we screamers of "stop the world, I want to get off" would be confined to our bedrooms and bathrooms at home for a lifetime.

I resolutely and absolutely refuse to suffer such a parochial fate. The world is a wide and wondrous place and there are so many locales yet for me to explore. And so, I drug-up, eat the dreaded ginger, take medication prescribed for chemotherapy patients, (no...seriously!) down copious litres of tomato juice, (It helps me. Go figure?) and bind my wrists with prophylactic sea bands, all in the name of adventure and travel.

The Husband, ever my support, would rather sit at the back of the plane, train, automobile, boat or bus rather than deal with a puking Dawn, but he has grown ever more humane about my issues over the years and would rather travel with me than without, so he does everything short of disavowing me in order to make my travel comfortable when the plague strikes. He has come a long way from that time in Capri when he pretended that I was the wife of the guy on the other side of me. He has upgraded us, Amex-ed us, business-classed us, mini-suited us, and purchased me my very own stash of sickness bags, all in the name of travel and adventure.

And so we are off again, motion-sickness be damned. We are going to Britain to meet the Queen and wish a hearty Mazel Tov to Hank and Meg. Ok. Not really. Instead, we are about to explore the lands of leprechauns, kilts, James Joyce, Maeve Binchy, J.M. Barrie. J.K. Rowling, and many many angry British subjects who wish that England would just go Brexit themselves and leave them alone in the EU. We will walk in the footsteps of Victor Hugo, Robert Burns, Robert L. Stevenson, and all of those members of the Night's Watch who have defended the Wall and Castle Black. (Game of Thrones for you newbies.) And for good measure, we will trek across volcanic rocks and geysers in Iceland.

Apparently, I will be forced to taste all manners of whisky under the guise of corporate research, and I will be subjected to the cat-strangling cries of bagpipes on more than one occasion, but it is all in the name of travel authenticity.

I will be keeping up with the goings-on through this space. Follow along if you choose and if you don't, well that's ok too. This is my way of keeping a travelogue and remembering what we saw. A few photographs will accompany these missives. The cast of characters on this voyage are The Husband, Twin Son, and His Better Half. I will tag them as well on Facebook when I post these updates.

Lock up the whisky. We're coming for you, Ireland and Scotland.