Scotland, Day Three: Road Sheep, Rocks and Beaches

Morning in the breakfast nook.

Below, breakfast for the sheepies.  Same as supper, same as lunch.

Mmmmm.  Grass.

We head out for an adventure, and see some road sheep.

These road sheep need some help with their equipment.

These road sheep are taking over the town of Bunessan.

You'd need a fast ship to get away from them.

We find a stone thrift shop - yay! A thrift shop!!! -  and drop in.

Aaron is still looking for a kilt, as we were unable to find one in Edinburgh

since, as you may remember, the Salvation Army was closed due to lack of volunteers.

These are some nice wool pants, but not quite the thing.

Oh, look!  It's a real Scottish kilt just waiting for us!

We eat at the Bakehouse, and have a fabulous lunch of broccoli soup and

mushroom tarts.  Also a couple of games of UNO.

I can't remember who won.

Then we go searching for one of the Mull Walks that we've read about and have directions for.

They say:  Turn off the Craignure to Fionnphort road just before Bunessan, signposted to Scoor. 

Keep going along a gravel road at the end of which there is a parking space.

No problem, we think.

A hour later, we think differently.

This sheep refuses to give us any advice.

Finally we happen to come upon three bovine buddies

and they help us.  The directions should have said, turn at the place 

where three cows drink from a magic bathtub.

The directions also failed to mention that the gravel road goes on for miles and miles,

and the actual gravel isn't the American version, which is made up of small 

pebbles, but instead is a nasty mix of small razor sharp mountains in the guise of stones,

tire-shredding and bone-rattling.

Finally, in the distance we see the ancient church and cemetery that we were promised.

This was purported to be an "easy" walk, and so it is, in spite of the perilous

anxiety-ridden drive that goes before it.  They also said it goes down to the water,

which appears to be in the distance, a kind of boggy inlet.

Fun!

Here is the ancient place of worship.  A bit worse for wear, but the more awesome for it.

A place of stone, earth and sky.  What more could a supplicant want?

This is perhaps the strangest "headstone" I've ever seen.

It says, "Hic Iacota Mariota Filia...Here lies Mariota daughter of..."

with an eight-sided flower on the left side.

And it's not stone, but a wooden plank.
Mysterious!
Whose daughter is she?
Why the wooden plank?

Well, we move on.  Above, Aaron gets arch support.

Below, he documents the wonder of it all.

Some headstones are protected by iron fences, some are slabs as thin as paper.

And some have arcane imagery on them that seem to hearken back to the Celtic past.

This one reminds me of Chinese Shang era 12th century BCE bronze vessel imagery.
Right?

(Photo from Christie's online website)

And here is a strange one that seems to be reaching out from the past.

And here is one with beautiful abstract patterns.

I would like one like this someday.

After the cemetery, we turn our attention to the sheep again...

...and continue our "easy" walk, which actually is easy, and I am informed by Aaron that it appears to go up the hill, away from the water

that I thought we would visit!

And so we go up, up, up, over a rise, and there lies a scene of shimmering beauty!

The ocean!

In all its glory!

 A small sheep appears to be ignoring its mother who is calling loudly from the field beyond

something that sounds like

BRAAAAD!  BRAAAAADDDDDD!

Or perhaps she's saying "BRAAAAATTTT!"

The baby sheep reminds me in attitude and pose of the baby seal I saw earlier in the summer

on the other side of the ocean, in Montauk,

also apart from its mother who was nowhere in sight (fortunately).

The baby moves a few feet, and stays there for the next hour.

I think he/she will be fine.  I won't call 911 this time.

Aaron is drawn magnetically to the sea.

Wow!

But now what's happened to Aaron?

Look! He's on the rocks,

and chunks is guilty!

Just like on the sign we photographed on our former trip to Scotland, oh, those long

years ago, in May of 2001.  Such innocents we were then - only guilty chunks

to be concerned about.

Andrew dug up this picture and posted it to remind us of old times.
Too bad he couldn't be here, too!
And all the rest of you slackers!
Next time.

Aaron rises to climb again.

One wrong step, and it's all over.

Or so I worry from down below.
I feel like that mother sheep.

But all is well, and we meditate on the magic sea.  He's on the high road...

...and I'm on the low road.

Reminds me of a song.

Sandhenge!

We leave the beauty of the beach, sadly...

...and we leave the sheep...

This sheep has such a pleasant voice, I thought I'd share it.

...to follow the singular road back to our house in the mist.

Which we find easily, this time.

Scotland, Day Two: Arrrrgghhh and Awe!

I awake in our Ashgrove suite, and the skies are blue in Edinburgh!

We have a (free!) Scottish breakfast

and with a crafty use of the rasher of toast,

we make a sausage, bacon, tater-tot and baked bean sandwich for lunch on the train.

We say goodbye to the Ashgrove, but we'll be back in a short week for another night.

Across the street, the Donaldson School is still for sale.

The property has not turned into rows and rows of tick-tacky houses (made of stone)

overnight.

Aaron is yearning for a kilt, for Hal Thompson, but these are a bit too pricey.

We search out other options, alas, the Salvation Army is looking for

volunteer workers on Friday mornings, so isn't open!

The Starbucks by the Haymarket doesn't understand my need for half-and-half.

I have to get a special little cup of it.

Finally, we're on the train, leaving Edinburgh for the Isle of Mull, via Oban.

We pass through the suburbs, made of brick, not stone,

and play a game of portable Scrabble.

I don't remember who won.

The four hour trip passes quickly...

The nearer we get to Oban, the more it rains.

In Oban, we board the ferry to Craignure in Mull...

...and bid a quick adieu to Oban, we hardly knew ye.

It rains and rains, and rains as we moodily traverse the waters... 

...but finally we arrive in Mull, pick up our rental car,

and out comes a fabulous, yes, rainbow - just for us - that we see

through the windshield wipers.

And then the sun comes out, and blue skies once again grace the skies over Scotland,

at least our small part of it, as we search for a grocery store, which everyone has

said is just down there as they airily wave their hands in a general direction.

So we end up going miles out of our way in that general direction

before we head back to Craignure and find out it was about 500 feet from

the ferry in the guise of what we thought was a gas station.

This is only the beginning of our directional mishaps!

Let me note that I have planned this trip to the letter,

printing out schedules and reservations and phone numbers

and yet, I forgot a couple of things.

Small things, like how to get into the place where we're staying,

the Beach House on Mull.

We call the number I've carefully written down

and about fifteen minutes later the lovely mother of the rental agent

calls and says the key will be under the mat under a piece of plastic.

Of course.

What I forget to ask her, however, is how to actually get to the place!

OMG!

Here is how organized I am, all of this in a nice folder that I take everywhere

so everything will go smoothly.

Yet for the most important part of our trip,

all I have is this map of Mull with one orange marker on it, which is our special place.

So we should have no problem finding it!  Right?

The man at the tourist information place is puzzled by our map.

He's never heard of the Beach House.

The woman there is more knowledgeable, she says it's 

actually pronounced "Be-Ach" with a "k" sound,

and isn't it part of the Pennyghael estate?

If so, there should be signs, beige and red, marking it.

Fine.  All is well.

Aaron and I drive on.

Speaking of driving, 

which Aaron is doing, but of course he must do this on the left side of the road.

So after I got into the drivers side by mistake, we all laughed.

(One of our many dumb Yank mistakes, which I will list later.)

But not only does Aaron have to drive on the wrong side of the road,

the car is a stick shift, which he has to do with his left hand!

He asked the efficient, friendly woman who delivered us the car

if it's an automatic, as he didn't automatically find the clutch - oh, right, there it is!

 In general we are inspiring confidence.

So on we go, into the light, down the road which the agent has informed us is mostly

a one-lane thoroughfare.  One lane!  So there are rules and protocols,

the most important of which is to never pull into the right hand pull-over areas,

because that is where cars coming the other way will pull over

when they see us, and we could cause a head-on collision.

Ha, ha.  Silly Americans, causing a head-on collision!

We are only to pull over on the left hand pullover areas, which are every mile or so,

or more often in curvy areas, which are actually most of the road.

If there is no left hand area, we are to stop dead where there

is a right hand pullover and let the other car veer into that  

and pass us!  Right?  No problem!

And so we continue to drive into the light, Aaron concentrating on the

narrow road and me madly snapping pictures so he can see what he missed later.

Heather!  In bloom!

Mist, clouds, craggy hills!

Moors!  Trees!  Sheep!  Lochs!

We eventually begin to realize that we can't find our destination.

There are no signs.  Aaron thinks he sees the place up on high hill,

but it appears that there's no way to reach it.

We go back and forth, mile after mile.  Back and forth.  Mile after mile.

The problem is, we don't have google maps, or my old emails which might
shed light on the situation

because they charge millions of dollars for data upload

so we've turned off our cellular functions.

But, we decide, to hell with the money,

turn them on, but then they don't load because the signal isn't good enough!

I call the number I've carefully kept a record of, saying, uh, how do

we get to the place????

but they don't call back!!!
We go back and forth, mile after mile.

The sun is going down!  It's getting dark!!!!

We'll never find it!  We stop in several places,

knocking on doors which are answered by, say, men in undershirts

and suspenders, but no one has heard of the place.

They say, try down the road.  Maybe they'll know.

We begin to think it's a big cosmic joke.

But not funny.  Will we sleep in the car?

Have to get a room in the nearby B&B?

NO!!!!

Finally my phone rings.

But then I lose the signal and it stops.

Then it rings again.

I scream to Aaron, STOP!

He pulls over into a pullover spot,

and it's the kind lady on the phone, the mother of the rental agent again,

a bit befuddled by our total idiocy,

what, we're still looking for the place, three hours

after the ferry ride where she spoke to us last

about where the key was?

Oh, my.  

Well, she says, look for the green kennel (dog house)

which we have actually seen, but didn't dare go up the driveway

because it seemed to be a private place,

but that's it.  That's the road.

We do as she says, and voila!  Here we are!!!

The mists rise and let us through.

Look how happy Aaron is!

We go outside to catch the last waning rays - good thing the days are so long - and have a glass

of wine in our beautiful yard overlooking the Loch of Scradain.

Awe and Ahhhh!!!!

And, magically, the first Scrabble letters I get in our new place spell out my name

in a kind of Scottish-y way!