Notes From The Travel Journal--Edinburgh

We packed in a few more stops along the driving route before catching the train back to where it all began in Edinburgh. At the top of the fascinating list were the Whaligoe Steps, a man-made set of 365 stone stairs leading to a naturally formed harbor between two sea cliffs. The little harbor once served as a fishing stop and the steps were frequented by fisherwomen toting baskets of herring to be sold in nearby Wick. A cool climb and really pretty views. 

We carried on to the Hill O'Many Stanes then onward to Dunrobin Castle for an amazing falconry demonstration and a great tour of the castle. This was a little taste of Downton Abbey (don't be stupid and not watch this show!!!) and I was particularly into envisioning castle life. Oh yes, we also saw the rooms where Mary Queen of Scots lived before her dramatic beheading. History!

Once we made it to Edinburgh we met up with my cousin Kristin and her family who hiked with us up Arthur's Seat, treated us to delicious tea and scones, and introduced us to Scoland's oldest pub. We experienced the local art and history museums and wandered around town on our own during the rest of our stay. Spectacular city, spectacular country, spectacular trip worth every bit of the bronchitis we experienced upon our arrival home. Bon voyage!

Notes From The Travel Journal--North Coast 500 Part Three

We've had a lot of deadlines at work so my recent writing has taken the form of grants instead of blog updates. Alas. Let's wrap up this road trip, shall we? As per usual with my travel blogs, we're already a month after our return so recapping is a memory challenge and I fear I lost my 0 followers. Let's see how it goes.

Our driving days after leaving Torridon were spectacular and generally filled with lovely hikes, surprisingly Carribbean-esque beaches, delicious food and friendly hosts. Highlights included a death defying (slight exaggeration) climb up Knockan Crag where we were serenaded by two passing fighter jets. I dove for useless cover next to a boulder and Simon attempted to snap a picture of the pilots. We were both rattled by the close encounter but apparently they often use the valleys and mountains to practice their flying. But the views once we made it to the top were worth every second of edge and jet-induced fright.

Onward to some beachside treks, cave explorations, countless beautiful views and a celebratory bottle of champagne in honor of our 8th wedding anniversary, all before heading to our final NC500 stop, John O'Groats, the northeastern most tip of Great Britain.

I know I always rave about our travels, but I really can't recommend this journey highly enough. The scenery is out of this world and the Scottish people in the Highlands were all so welcoming, accommodating, and seemingly genuinely interested in supporting tourism. They were also fascinated by our current election; as two of few Americans we found along the route, it was the first topic of conversation with the Scots. Regardless, I give a ginormous stamp of approval to the North Coast 500. In order to wrap this up before really wrapping it up with a glimpse of Edinburgh, here are some more of the hundreds of photos we snapped along the way.

Notes From The Travel Journal--North Coast 500 Part Two

We spent two nights at The Torridon Hotel, our longest stay on the drive, which we were grateful for as we adjusted to Scottish time and eased into vacation mode. There was lots to discover in the area and after a great night's sleep, we headed off to Sheldaig to catch our morning boat cruise with Torridon Sea Tours. Ken and Gemma welcomed us aboard the perfect little boat and with only 4 other guests, we got underway amidst the bright blue sky and sunshine.

We spotted some seals, an elusive sea eagle, a silly sheep on an island, a daring rock climber and the most beautiful stretch of blue water framed by mountains. Ken gave us some geological info but I would be hard pressed to regurgitate any of that at this point other than to say that the rocks were all quite old. Ha! They also served tea and biscuits on our way back to shore which Simon really got a kick out of.

During the afternoon, we explored two trails at the nearby Beinn Eigh Nature Reserve, delighting in more stunning views before stuffing our faces at The Torridon's pub, enjoying our third sticky toffee pudding of the trip (obsessed), and tucking in before hitting the pavement for the third day of our journey!

Notes From The Travel Journal--North Coast 500 Part One

Apparently and sort of unintentionally, 2016 was the year of the trip. Denmark, Iceland, Costa Rica and finally Scotland! I'm grateful that we were able to jaunt away so often and to such amazing destinations.

Scotland proved no exception. We had heard about this "new" driving route around the northernmost Highlands, the North Coast 500. It was advertised as tiny roads through fields, mountains, and lakes, and I knew this was right up my alley. Then one of Simon's co-workers did it, reporting that of all the many places she has traveled, this was by far the beautiful. Sold! We booked the trip in August, scrambling a bit to pull it all together for our late September departure.

The first 5 days of our adventure included 598 miles of left side of the road driving, 8 hikes, 6 sticky toffee puddings, 2 castles, 1 wedding anniversary, a million sheep, and over 600 photos. We set out from Logan Airport on an overnight plane to Dublin, quick connection to Edinburgh, and train to Inverness where we crashed for a night, grabbed our rental car and hit the road.

We learned quickly what sort of natural eye candy we were in for. Our first day of driving included an easy hike at Roggie Falls followed by traversing the Bealach na Ba, a mountainous pass famous for its windy, narrow, cliffside road. We drove it. Bikers biked it because apparently they were insane. Stunning views from the top then we cruised into Applecross for a beer at the Inn and more beautiful vistas on the drive to our destination for our first two nights on the NC 500, The Torridon Hotel.

Happy Birthday Merwin (The Dog)

Merwin's birthday came around again on Monday. We have no idea when his actual birthday is but September 19 is the day we adopted him, so we chose to celebrate it then. I've been a lunatic about it every year. I've also gotten less and less creative. This year I had dinner plans so rushed home, constructed a horrid looking treat and peanut butter tower and shoved it under his nose. Luckily, my thoughtful parents had sent some presents so the poor hound actually had something to open. Saved the day. Simon made fun of me as I was fretting about the (lack of) plans. He said "Oh yeah, if we don't have anything for him, whatever will he think!? What if we celebrate another day? Gasp!" I finally admitted that obviously this birthday nonsense is not about him. It's about me. 

Screaming In Your Car

It took two hours and fifteen minutes to drive to work this morning. With no traffic, the trip is an hour and ten minutes. With normal traffic it is an hour and thirty minutes. When I finally battled the stop and go nonsense along Route 1 and emerged into Cambridge, I found myself behind a garbage truck. Completely stopped. In a long line of traffic. This was a full half hour after my GPS had optimistically declared I would arrive at my destination. I lost it and belted out a primal scream behind the closed windows of the Outback. Not proud of it. No sir. At the time, it felt like the only way to emit some of that irrational anger that had been building since the guy in the black Camry cut me off as he chatted away on his cell. 

I should be used to this. I should be better equipped at dealing with the stress of these situations. It is useless to get angry. I know it's a waste of energy and emotion. Not to mention how the experience framed the entire day. Upon finally arriving at work, I had to evacuate my cubicle and roam to the stationary shop down the street to drown my sorrows in pretty papers and the scent of hard cover journals. Desperate times. 

I want to be better at not letting these irrelevant things under my skin. They're irrelevant and it's impossible to change them. There are so many more worthwhile endeavors to apply my passion but in the moment, it is incredibly hard to let the silly ones go.

When The Raft Comes In...

...you know summer is truly over. We pulled our floating raft to shore this weekend but not before soaking up the dwindling summer rays on a last sunny afternoon. Even once we had grunted it onto the sand, we lounged on the raft Sunday afternoon after a storm passed and the sun emerged. Can't let it go I guess.

End of summer is always slightly melancholy, but instead of pondering the end, I should reflect on an amazing summer of happy guests, excellent weather, and the surprising realization that despite trepidation in early May, this summer managed to be better than the last. This past weekend was our first since mid-July without friends coming to stay so we cleaned up the shoreline, power washed the deck in advance of a fresh coat of paint (cross your fingers for color success...third time's the charm!), and did a heavy indoor cleaning. The start of school also brings an end to the power boats, jet skis and live-free-or-die target practice as well as the return of the great blue heron and two massive bald eagles stalking the pesky ducks. There is beauty in endings I suppose.

As you can tell, I find it a bit hard to let summer go. Every year, I marvel that season transitions are so difficult for me. After all, it happens every year and I've had plenty of years to practice. Not to mention we all have to face it. Just another example of how change just isn't my thing. 

Sneak Peak - W.S. Merwin's Garden Time

The Wild Geese
W.S. Merwin

It was always for the animals that I grieved most
for the animals I had seen and for those
I had only heard of or dreamed about
or seen in cages or lying beside the road
for those forgotten and those long remembered
for the lost ones that were never found again
among people there were words we all knew
even if we did not say them and although
they were always inadequate when we said them
they were there if we wanted them when the time came
with the animals always there was only
presence as long as it was present and then
only absence suddenly and no word for it
in all the great written wisdom of China
where are the animals when were they lost
where are the ancestors who knew the way
without them all wise words are bits of sand
twitching on the dunes where the forests
once whispered in their echoing ancient tongue
and the animals knew their way among the trees
only in the old poems does their presence survive
the gibbons call from the mountain gorges
the old words all deepen the great absence
the vastness of all that has been lost
it is still there when the poet in exile
looks up long ago hearing the voices
of wild geese far above him flying home

"The Wild Geese" is from Merwin's new book of poems, Garden Time, due out this coming week. According to the summary on Amazon, Merwin wrote this collection while he was slowly losing his eyesight (he's turning 90 at the end of the month). I first read and loved the poem without knowing what he was experiencing but now it seems more powerful. From studying his poems in college, I remember that Merwin often weaves loss of language into his work. That idea that language is inadequate and that ancient tongues are at risk of disappearing with death. Language comes back in this one. The idea that humans have the capacity to communicate with words, we can grieve with language when we lose each other, we exist in words even after we go, but without speech, animals are only present when they exist. He's also alluding to extinction, referring to the "vastness of all that has been lost," whether that is species or trees or language. In the end, "the poet in exile" seems to be Merwin, imprisoned in blindness, hearing the geese fly above.

There is so much wonderfulness in this poem and naturally, I can't begin to adequately dissect it. It has quickly become one of my all-time favorites. There are thematic nods to his other works and the evocation of such loss, in myriad ways, with such beautiful imagery had me at "It was always for the animals that I grieved most."