Scotland

Scotland is NOT merely part of the UK. If you accidentally make the mistake of lumping the Scots in with the United Kingdom, they will very politely insist that you are wrong. The Scots have a tradition and a history that is all their own. And, if you give them a pint and an inch, they will tell you all about it.

Last night, at the Hotel Calendonian, we stood in queue to get a couple of pints behind some rowdy revelers who were celebrating the local Ross County team's victory over the bigger, more experienced Celtic team. It was, as I said last post, a major deal. One of the drunken revelers saw us standing there looking sheepishly out of place and struck up a conversation about where we were from and why we were there. When he found out we were Americans, he bought us a couple of glasses of Scottish whiskey. After I downed mine like a shot, he looked at me and said, "What kind of animal are you?! It's not a god damn cheeseburger, man... bartender, pour 'im another!" which the bartender kindly did. He took my arm, and, like a marionette, proceeded to position me properly and said, "Now, lift yer arm like so. Bring the glass to your lips. Take a wee sip. Now say, 'ahh, that's a mighty foine taste now, 'int it? Lovely". Which I did. And it was. Then he bought us some crisps: Haggis and Pepper for me, Cheddar and Onion for Lupe. Then he proceeded to sit next to us and ask us where we were from again. We had a laugh. The locals had us on for a bit but, being as we are not folks to take ourselves too seriously, we laughed along and it endeared us to them. He then told us he was going to give us a proper piping... lifting a wooden chair upside down over his shoulder like a pair of bagpipes and pretending to tune the contraption. He asked for requests. Then he said, "I cannae do anything new though. So, no Beyonce, ken? O! But I can do a foine Lady Gaga, if ya like!" We laughed. He was hilarious. What a welcome.

After he and his bunch left us alone to wander the streets of Fort Augustus, a kinder, gentler man came over and sat next to us asking us what we were doing in their fine village. We chatted him up over pints and, after an hour or so, we shared introductions. His name was Duncan. He is 50 years old, with 5 kids, working as an electrician. He was very curious about our perceptions of life in America having never been there himself. He was baffled as we talked racism, politics, education, poverty, and all things in between. Later on, he and the bartender, Mike, regaled us with a history lesson of the Jacobites, Bonnie Prince Charles, the war with England, and all the rest. They were very interested in what we had to say about London. They were surprised how much we liked London. Duncan said, "The problem with London is that it's full of English!" Laughter ensued.

This is what it's like to travel to Scotland. The most openly and sincerely friendly people in the world. No joke. Everywhere I have been in my travels in these past four months has been full of people of all ken and kind and here, at the very last leg of my journeys, I come to find the Scots: a people of history and pride and identity who welcomed us with an ease unlike any I have experienced before.

The Highlands are rich in scenery, akin to the Canadian Yukon in scale and scope. The hills are heathered, spotted with big, fluffy sheep and burly cows and horses of pure strength and muscle. The people are sardonic, sly, and speak so fast it's hard to keep up. They also know their shit when it comes to their shit. They can name members of the clans and their spouses, share news from neighboring areas, and can trace their heritage back generations and generations. The Lochs are sheets of cobalt sitting stoically between mountains of golden rock. They sit completely still: glassy and cold. One of them has a monster in it, apparently. The pubs are lively. Filled with local music that is in no way a put on for the tourists. These people are real. As real as it gets. And they are so very fucking awesome.

Scotland is unlike any other place. And I've seen some places, believe you me. Next time we come here, we're renting a car and a tent and wandering the countryside like the locals. Absolutely lovely.

So that's Scotland. Gorgeous. And worth visiting more than just a stop-and-see. I'll be back, no question.

Now I am in the hotel across the street from the airport. I fly out of Glasgow in a mere number of hours now. Back to home. Now that I've met people who live in their home so well, it makes me look forward to getting back to my own home place even more than before.

I think that I have one more blog in me when it comes to the whole Travel Around the World thing. Call it a recap. Or a review. I've done enough "Holy Wow!"-ing and hotel description, I think. I need time to reflect on what the hell has just happened in this far-too-quick/far-too-long four months of jaunting around the world. When I get back to Portland, I will need a day or two to soak it all in, all the while looking for a new domicile to inhabit so... bear with me one more time, Dear Friends. I will tell you what I think if you give me time to think it.

Once more then no more... til next time I travel again.

Thanks for your patience.

-d@n