Scotland - As we saw it
The first word that came to my mind and slipped out of my lips when it came to planning a trip across Scotland was 'Scotch'. All heads in the room turned to me and gave me that familiar glance that I am too used to now. Believe me, it's just the reputation; I don't even like the taste or smell of Scotch. Other words that followed were Vikings, Castles, Witches, Lochs, Loch Ness monster, Glens, Fells, Boats, Kilts, Bagpipes, Ghost stories, horse-driven carriages, Kings, Counts, Earls, Barons, in whatever sequence of hierarchy and indeed Harry Potter film shoot locations. Here's a detailed account of a little off-the-beaten-path adventure drive through the Scottish Highlands.
Before we left for this trip, we were given two directives, yes directives, one was to have the British staple delicacy of Fish and Chips, and the second was to visit a distillery. Distilleries were on our list, too. Let me clarify again, I do not like the taste or smell of whiskey, but when visiting Scotland, a Scotch tour is a must.
Beginning of the journey at Manchester
The weather was most favourable as we touched down on this foreign soil at around 4:00 pm their time. The funny thing was that we were chasing the sun all along. We boarded in Mumbai at 6:00 am our time and flew to Istanbul for a 3-hour layover. After six hours of flying, we reached Istanbul at 1:55 pm their time (4:25 pm our time). It was my first longish International flight; the earlier one was the local-feel Mumbai-Colombo a couple of years ago, and I wanted to be just too careful with everything. Ignoring what the other companions said, I quickly found my boarding gate for the next flight and went through the security process to sit in front of 'my gate' in Istanbul. Mumbai airport allows you a lot of freedom after you reach your gate. You can stroll around for your burgers, coffee, shopping, anything from chocolates, books, perfumes, snack boxes, gifts, cars, bulldozers, skyscrapers, well, anything, and then quietly return to your place in front of the gates and peer into your phone to look very busy. Here in Istanbul, the hungry us were in for the rudest shock; that once you go through all the security and all, you are in a barnyard and can't go anywhere. Needless to add, the other hungries wanted to devour me in their hangry state. I avoided eye contact, a trick I learnt from my perpetually drooling Labrador. Relief came with the boarding announcement, delivered in the sweetest of voices and accents.
Manchester Airport touchdown was at 4:05 pm (8:35 pm our time). In awe, I admired the systems there. From the non-refundable one-pound fee for luggage trolley, to shuttles running from the terminals to the locations nearby, to the proximity of the rent-a-car village, everything was just so perfectly fitted into the system. We boarded a bus to go to our rent-a-car vendor. James helped us with the necessary formalities, and we were on the road in no time. James also advised us to fill our water bottles before we left. And thanks to him, because the highway or the motorway, as they call it, had no dhabas gaping wide-mouthed at the passing motorists. James, you forgot to advise us to use the toilets before leaving, though! 'Services' came to our rescue and were just too familiar, especially to us who frequent the Mumbai-Pune expressway. Is there an English word for "itrana", because that is precisely what I did every time I poured myself a medium cup of Latte from the Costa Coffee machine!
These guys, the locals, love to label their diagrams, I'm so sure, because they label every little detail all across the town and motorways! Signboards reading where to stop, where to park, where to overtake from, where to drive, which lane goes where, what's the name of the road (obviously, their road names are not as long as Dharamveer Swarajya Rakshak Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj Mumbai Coastal Road, they manage with M65, A9 and so on), services in 900 yards, then three dashes before services, then two dashes and then one dash before you turn towards services. Very helpful for first-time visitors like us. But since they do not have paan wala and chai wala, they'd better have the signboards fill in for them.
A pleasant drive, which led to a wild-goose chase to our abode for the night. We were booked to stay at a Coachman's Cottage, and Google Maps directed us to The Coach Cottage. We fed the address I know, but let's blame the maps, please, because none of us will own up to feeding in the wrong destination. We kept texting our host to get directions and help. She said she left her dustbin on the main road so we could identify her place. And guess what, everyone in this little village, Holmsrook, Cumbria, Lake District, leaves their dustbins outside, and all the dustbins are identical! A snaking road with hedges as tall as walls, trimmed like a handsomely groomed man's beard, made its way all around the village. It scared the lights out of me to be driving with the help of our headlights alone, with no streetlights and no other people around. With much left and right, forward and backwards, asking around at a restaurant and defiantly being told "we are not serving food, love", we finally found our cottage. The host waved at us and probably used some expletives under her breath and walked away to her own warm and cosy home somewhere around the place, but our excuse is that we were new to the land, so we unapologetically smiled.
Finally, in our cosy little abode, with a living room cum dining room cum kitchen before a bathroom, before a bedroom, we went to and fro trying to gather the size of this whole arrangement. One bed, which would fit one of us badly-behaved, reckless sleepers and a mattress that could not fit anywhere in the remaining room. And, hungry people who found no restaurants on the way and the one they found was not serving food, love(!). The time was 10:00 pm (2:30 am our time), and the only Co-op in this village was already closed, so no bread or anything else. Moms came to the rescue, and we dined on laddoos and mathris, along with some cashews and a hunger-suppressing tea.
Slept peacefully, because we had chased the sun so much that our day became 26.5 hours long! The morning was beautiful, dew-soaked foliage surrounded the cottage, geese flew past with their joyful honks, and I missed our Flamingos back home then. We captured the morning with our phone cameras, with the husband capturing those moments with the help of his favourite gadget - the selfie stick. As we bade goodbye to the lovely cottage, we discovered that you can't bid goodbyes to real people here, as you don't meet or see them.
Next stop: A village cleaner, prettier, calmer, more pristine and immaculate than any village I have ever seen, the town/village of Coniston.
We headed to an unknown place which would serve us breakfast. As I have already mentioned, the hopes of finding eateries along the way had already died the previous night with that one statement, "We aren't serving food, love". We went on in hopes of finding a "services" sign along the motorway and were ready to eat any food they would be serving. So, we came upon a highly surreal, picturesque 'village' with a lovely name called Coniston. Apparently, a very popular outdoor adventure activity paradise in the Lake District! On the way, although we did not chance upon an eatery, we saw scenes that were a never-ending reel of beautiful posters; everything seemed unreal. The pastures were greener than the greens found in the paint boxes, sheep placed decoratively on those pastures, carefully picked with tweezers and gently put on the green grass, and just too many in number. 'Shaun the Sheep', all of them. And indeed, the people here know that these sheep are a big attraction, so why would they have them as souvenirs in all the gift shops in Coniston?
We parked in a parking space and had our first experience of paying for the parking on our own through a machine, also a first experience of a toilet which you can use only after paying for the use, and a first experience of a breakfast staple called a sausage roll, which soon became our favourite too! We walked around the village, visited a co-op store, and bought some bread and cheese after a terrible dinner fiasco the previous night. Milk was something that was available in all non-milk varieties, like Soy, Almond, and Oats, but not in real milk. We wanted our desi masala chai, and the kid wanted the milk masked as coffee. On enquiring, we found out that the regular and real milk is called the 'tea-milk' here and comes in 1L jerrycans. We stocked up for a couple of days, filled our tummies with the rolls and coffee and decided to carry on with our journey to the home of William Wordsworth, the poet whose poem Daffodils is still a part of every English textbook in India!
Next Stop: Dove Cottage, Grasmere, Lake District
What did I click the most on this trip? Well, the sheep, the roads and the landscape. I clicked the streets, the houses, and the shops too. As I was video graphing the road, we neared the village where Wordsworth once walked, breathed, wove words into beautiful poetry, tales and sonnets. We parked in the parking space of a hotel there and walked to the cottage, which was locked. Then we walked up to the museum, housed in the next building, and that's where, on a Monday, we read the rude notice: 'closed on Mondays.'
Since we came prepared for a 30-40 minute break here, we decided to walk around the cottage and soak in the sights and the smells of the Wordsworths' village.
Next on our itinerary was a very famous gingerbread store, Sarah Nelson's Gingerbread House, a local bakery. The place was hunger-inducingly fragrant. A mix of vanilla, chocolate, and ginger teased our olfactory senses. An orderly queue waited patiently outside the door of a tiny cottage, which boasted of the presence of this business since 1854. A group of tourists, who had arrived in a large coach with a guide, waited there. One customer at a time, so as not to crowd the tiny and neat bakery. As our turn approached, we pored over the menu to see what we would buy and, with the lady, in a milkmaid's attire, at the counter's help, picked Gingerbread of course (!), blueberry and vanilla fudge, ginger fudge and rum butter. Fancy names, delicious to the core, sugary to the hilt and in desi terms, sorry for ruining it with a desi comparison, Mysore Pak in various flavours. We loved the Gingerbread and could gather why the place was so famous. After the purchase, we walked over to the graveyard behind the cabin and paid homage at the graves of Dorothy and William Wordsworth.
Another must-visit spot ticked off the list, and we were on our way again through prettier roads and greener surroundings to meet our friends from Mumbai who now call Keswick their home. The warmth was exuberant as we mingled with old friends, munching on delicious nachos with guacamole and salsa, and savouring a local beer. A little exploration of the lovely surroundings, of old bridges, brooks, springs and lakes (what else will you find in the Lake District, huh), and we bade goodbye to PEOPLE.
More motorways, greenery, sheep, rain and rainbows, and we made our way to the heart of Scotland, Edinburgh. Here began our exploration of the Scottish Muirs, Glens, Fells, Kirks, Castles and Lochs. Read that again, please, and with an accent this time. Yes! That's exactly how it sounds :)
Edinburgh: From no people to just people people everywhere!
Our journey was indeed incredible, as we left with our stomachs and hearts full of great food, warmth, hospitality, and affection. As we reached Edinburgh, we decided to go to our hotel and ask for the car parking before checking in. This was the first hotel we were staying in, well, it was the second night only yet. We expected a warm and cosy heritage hotel, as the hotel was located in a heritage building and was referred to as a 'house hotel', having been converted from a residential building.
We left hubby dear in the car and walked over to the hotel to find assistance with check-in, parking and other information. And the door of the house hotel would not open! We knocked on the door and rang the bell, but there was no response. We then called the phone number given on the website, and thankfully, a sweet, feminine voice answered the call. She asked us to check our email for check-in information! Since we did not have any such email, she obliged with a WhatsApp of the same. In this people-less hotel, the door would open with a code, which is what we soon discovered. We made our way in, having crossed the first hurdle, and looked around for the reception or concierge. None were there, next was another code to be punched on a board with tiny doors stuck all over it. That was their key rack, apparently. We punched the code in on a tiny keypad on that contraption and, with a plop, opened a small square box. I was expecting a small bottle of something which would read 'drink me', but to my utter disappointment, there was no Alice in Wonderland happening here, and we found a key to our room. We scrambled our way up to the first floor to find a clean and warm room whose windows overlooked a garden across the street, and we could see our car parked on the side with the husband plonked on the driver's seat, peering intently into his phone. We went back to him, equipped with fresh information and experience and helped him park the car, unload the luggage and struggle our way to our room.
This was our first experience with contactless check-in. We walked around the block a little to see if we could find something to eat, but then resorted to making a rum-butter sandwich each. The next morning, after enjoying our tea/coffee and freshening up, we went down with our luggage and deposited the key again where we had found it, and voilà, that was the unceremonious check-out!
While we loaded and packed the boot of our car, we asked around for directions to the Edinburgh Castle. The best way was to take a bus as parking wasn't readily available around the Castle. We took the number 5 from Academy Street to the Royal Mile. Walked around admiring the beauty of the architecturally marvellous Scottish capital, and made our way into a cafe on the Royal Mile. We knew we liked the double sausage rolls and did not attempt to try anything else. Some coffee to wash it down, and we embarked on our walk to explore the history of Scotland. With minimal time at hand, we just walked around, hopping in and out of the stores along the path. Learnt about Harris Tweed, Royal Mile, Ghosts and Witches, Kilts, Scottish Cows and the long-forgotten phone booths which now stand like props on the walkways of the Royal Mile. We walked the Royal Mile to the Castle and back to the Cathedral. At the end of the walk was the historical Tron Kirk Market, where locals sold handmade artefacts, jewellery, honey, incense, and other such knick-knacks. Housed in a heritage building with very high ceilings and stained glass windows, the market was buzzing with energy and activity. We made our way out and went looking for a bus to go back to our car. We boarded the double-decker again, and I sat on the top floor in front, making videos of the road ahead as we made our way back to our stop. There, we visited the TESCO store, our lifeline for the rest of our days in the UK. We stocked up on more bread, biscuits, bread spreads and chocolates. Back to the car and set our map to the Blair Castle, which was on the way to our next destination, Inverness.
The Blair Atholl Castle
I must admit that we made that very touristy cliché mistake of not visiting all the castles that fell on our itinerary. We also, like most of the tourists, assumed that all castles must look the same. Which obviously is not true.
So, another scenic drive with all the colours all around, and we were guided by Google Maps to take the National Cycle Route. Now, isn't that interesting?! Off this route was located the beautifully white pearl of a castle, The Blair Atholl Castle, surrounded by immaculately kept gardens, a grove, a burn (Scottish for a stream), pastures with the ever so lovely Scottish cows grazing and lazing around. Tickets and a map in hand, car safely parked in the free parking space, we excitedly made our way to the Castle, crossing a bridge over the burn. A privately owned castle, beautifully preserved, with a rich history and a wealth of exhibits and owners comfortably living in South Africa, the museum and the Castle kept us deeply engaged for an hour. As we made our way from room to room and explored the first manually operated model of an elevator, I became curious about the hierarchy of ranks in the British Royalty. This was a castle of Earls whose recorded history dates back to 1457. Now, where do the Earls rank in the scheme of British Royal ranks? A Google search revealed this sequence: Queen/King, Prince/Princess, Duke/Duchess, Marquess, Earl, Viscount, and Baron, in that order, from highest to lowest. Pretty high in the nobility, the owners of this Castle are. Wooden stairwells, life-size portraits, rooms preserved in their full settings, bedrooms, living rooms, dining halls, tea rooms, dressing rooms, artefacts, armoury, trophies, bone china, cross sections of old tree trunks showing their age in the concentric rings, there was too much to see, read, absorb, process and remember. A well-thought-out one-way tour brings you to the souvenir shop and then to a cafe before you exit the Castle.
Next were the deer park and Diana Grove, named after the Roman Goddess of the Hunt. The grove, true to its name, is a quiet jungle with trees that must be centuries old and skyscraper tall, growing randomly wherever they decided to plant themselves. The burn running through the grove, lichens, moss, and ferns screaming about the purity of the air, and an eerie silence that you imagine, because you grew up reading these British books that had eeriness in the 'estates' where corset-wearing, blush-cheeked ladies wandered off. The grove was easily a place for an hour or more of wandering, but the time was not that we had much of, so we retraced our footsteps back to where the car was parked.
As we hit the road again and crossed the National Cycle Route once more, my mind wandered to the joy of cycling and imagining myself on these scenic routes, with perfect roads and well-mannered motorists. Another rainbow broke my chain of thoughts, and I got back to reading the signboards as we made our way to the apartment that waited for us in Inverness, another small town in Scotland.
Inverness: The town around the River Ness and a Castle on a hilltop, nicknamed the Capital of the Highlands
After an exhaustive viewing of Blair Castle, we headed towards Inverness, our destination for the night. We reached our lovely Druid B&B apartment and were met by our chirpy host upon arrival. The apartment was cosy, carpeted, with a sloping ceiling, a well-equipped kitchen, a tiny living room, and a tinier bedroom, all on the first floor, with the ground floor being just a stairway landing.
We checked in before sunset and decided to explore the little town's nightlife, if any. Apparently, there wasn't much to see and experience at night. No food joints open past 9 pm, and the ones that do serve alcohol and some snacks, but not proper meals. One steak place was open, and after looking at the menu and realising that only one of us had a thing for steaks, we decided to simply walk around. The Castle, glowing in the light of the full moon, looked right out of a fairy tale. The bridge over the River Ness, with the reflected city lights on the calm waters of the river, painted a beautiful picture. We hopped to the nearest Tesco, our newfound love picked up more snacks and a bottle of Chablis, and returned to our lovely homestay.
Ate and drank well and snuggled into our cosy beds. The morning was pleasant, and I walked around in the cold air to capture some lovely shots of the sunrise. Managed a few golden clicks before rushing back to the room. After having breakfast, we had become smarter till now and planned our meals ahead, and we set out to explore the town during the day. The previous night's exploring helped, and we reached just where we could find a place to park the car and walk around the riverside. First was a second-hand book store called Leakey's Bookshop, a haven for bookworms. Next was a church with an adjacent graveyard, a poignant reminder of faith, life, and death. Then the river, and we discovered that crossing a road is so easy in Scotland. All you have to do is press the button on the pole, wait till the lights change and cross over, no jaywalking. The Castle was undergoing renovation and was closed to tourists, but the tourists were all too happy to just walk around this extremely beautiful town. A kilo or more of pictures were clicked, and then we rushed back to where the car was, to head to the next destination, which was the end of the Earth, as popularly proclaimed when we mentioned the place: the northernmost tip of Britain's mainland at John O'Groats.
On the way was the must-have experience of visiting a Whiskey distillery, and lucky were we to be visiting the famous Glenmorangie distillery. We got to take some great pictures, taste some exclusive whiskies, and learn about Highland Scotch. They convinced us to buy an exclusive single malt that was available only at the distillery and nowhere else in any store. After spending a couple of hundred Pounds and feeling the stab of this expenditure deep inside, yet feeling happy about the daru we carried with us, we continued on our journey to the "End of the Earth". What remained from the "must-do" list was the Fish and Chips meal, now that the distillery visit was ticked off.
We grew a little tired of the monotony of the drive and were looking for the 'Services' sign, which did not appear since this wasn't one of those Motorways. Nonetheless, we reached another small town called Wick and found some amazing superstores along the motorway. A coffee each, a Snickers spread for our breads, a Doritos in the most unusual flavour and a couple of more snacks, and we were set for the rest of the hour before we reached the "End of the Earth”.
An unusual Destination: John O'Groats
I often say that if you wish to explore a destination well, travel by road. The best decision we made for this trip was to rent a car. It gave us the freedom to stop and go as we wished, see the countryside, and click those Rainbows along the way. We also met many Shaun the Sheep, waved at people when we crossed paths on a narrow road, and yes, this was something that left us in total awe. The people in the villages of Scotland were extremely polite; they would wait if they saw an approaching vehicle. They are blessed with the virtues of politeness, patience, and the happiness of the heart. We too soon picked up the waving gesture of acknowledging the other and thanking people for giving way.
As we headed towards John O'Groats, the farms showed us another feature, very typical of the Highlands: rolls of hay left on the farms to dry. They make neat rolls of hay and leave them scattered on the farms for drying. In some farms, these dried rolls were kept wrapped in black plastic, neatly arranged on the side for a truck to forklift and carry away.
The portable traffic lights were another little amusement for us. It sounds silly, but these were the things that really amused us. The lane discipline, no honking, no rush, giving way, waving with the right hand, portable traffic lights at places where the roads were under maintenance, and people who stopped at these road signs diligently. If you had to take a break along the highway, you had to wait till you came across a service lane with a P sign. Then there were these cattle grids on the way, which were simply metal grills fixed to the roads, preventing cattle from one farm crossing over to another.
The road was scenic, the car was very comfortable, the company was fantastic, the playlist on spot, and yet, one got a bit tired of driving and being driven around. We took a brief stop at a store in Wick, which I mentioned earlier.
After this brief refreshing break, we moved on to reach John O'Groats. The check-in time was 4 pm. Imagine, guests in India get upset if you give a check-in time of 12:00 noon during the peak tourist season. We reached the hotel, parked the car, and after seeking directions, walked over to the John O'Groats signpost, the biggest attraction in this coastal village. The seas were too choppy, the winds wild, and the food expensive, yet the whole experience was magical, to say the least.
After clicking another truck-load of pictures, we went to the cafe nearby to grab some burgers. The food was too delicious, we had chicken burgers and a portion of "dirty fries", as they called their cheesy loaded fries. In all of Scotland, the portion sizes were large. You could eat really well, still saving a whole meal for the next time, not that it stays edible for that long, just saying by way of expression.
We had a lot of fries left, which came as side dishes on all the plates. I asked the cafe owner to give those to me as takeaway, and he happily obliged.
We saw the memorial dedicated to the seafarers who lost their lives at the wild sea of John O'Groats, the faraway lighthouse and a foghorn that served as an alternative to the lighthouse when the latter became obscured by the sea fog.
This was a place which we just did not want to leave, but slowly had to make our way back to the hotel. We read on the internet that this is also a place where one can witness the Northern Lights. I kept a vigil for most of the night in hopes of seeing the place "where the lights touched the earth". What is that expression? YKIYK.
Dinner was leftover fries, as we had no will to step out of our cosy room, the place had become very cold suddenly.
The next morning brought a culinary adventure to us. Breakfast was included with our room tariff, and we, like good guests, perched ourselves quietly in a corner of the restaurant. With just one sprightly, petite server, we wondered if we were spoiling our guests in India by always being at their beck and call. Well, our server was efficient and after seating us in that corner, she brought us printed pieces of paper which were actually scribbles of the menu. We had two options. No, not 'take it or leave it,' but actual options on the menu: a light breakfast and a full Scottish breakfast. Kids, I must say, are smarter sometimes, only sometimes. The kid ordered a light breakfast, and the couple ordered a full Scottish breakfast. Her light breakfast arrived first, for obvious reasons, it lacked the exotic black pudding, and it did not have Haggis either. And our plates came loaded with bacon and Sausages, a sunny-side-up egg, a disc of Black Pudding, a Tattie scone, baked beans, grilled tomato, Haggis, Mushrooms, and Toast.
I deconstructed (that's a fancier word for rummaged) that plate within minutes, ate the mushrooms, bit into the bacon, kept it aside, made the sun of the sunny side up flow out of what looked like a white crepe, nibbled on the scone, took a forkful of Haggis, but did not touch the black pudding, wanted to keep the best for last. I survived the breakfast and looked forward to my dessert, puddings are just that, right? Just as I took a small portion of the pudding in my mouth, I discovered that puddings can be salty too! The black pudding was salty and sticky; it coated the insides of my mouth, coating my teeth and gums. While I was still reeling with this shock, husband dearest decided to use Google power to decode the Full Scottish Breakfast. He started reading aloud while I was still struggling with the very sticky black pudding, stuck in every corner of my mouth. He read, "Scotland's famous savoury pudding made with sheep's heart, liver, lungs, oatmeal, and spices." And I quietly looked at him with a silent plea asking him to STFU. Then he added, "This was Haggis, the kheema you liked." Before I could process the information, he further added that the black pudding was made of beetroot, turnip and potatoes. Oh, the clingy fellas who do not wish to die inside my gut are a bunch of bored vegetables! I took assistance from a glass of water to shove those guys down, and spared the rest of the veggies, which were scrambling for space in that tightly flipped disc of a pudding. Phew!, I loved the Epigamia, though it wasn't a conventional Scottish Breakfast content. It takes time to develop a liking for a new cuisine. I had already begun to like their chips (French fries, but much thicker), and I loved their coffee. That was great for a start.
Moving on, after downing our breakfast and reloading the car, we headed towards the Castle of Mey, the summer home of the British Royal Family. We traversed beautiful countryside, Shaun the Sheep everywhere, occasional deer and a farm of alpacas. Constant companion was the ocean on our right, absolutely stunning and gorgeously Sapphire blue. We reached the beautiful Castle, perched on a rock by the sea, surrounded by gardens, orchards and farms. We arrived a bit too early and had to wait another hour before we could be allowed to see the Castle. We decided to take some pictures of the lovely surroundings and then head to the Duncansby Stacks, another popular attraction in John O'Groats. Google Maps guided us through another set of beautiful country roads right up to where a lighthouse stood guard on the edge of a cliff. The ocean, wherever we met, was choppy, wild and touched by rocky shores; we did not encounter any sandy beaches on this part of the island. So, here we were, at the historic lighthouse, still shrilling its wind-piercing calls. More pictures, more dogs without leashes, more runners, and more walking later, we came to where three monsters lay pinned by three triangular rocks, which are the Duncansby Stacks. Once these monsters were attacking the land, and now they are its guardians; no one dares disturb them. Folklore is always so interesting to hear.
This was indeed a magical place; we didn't want to leave anytime soon, but we had a few hours of driving ahead of us to our next destination, an equally fascinating place —the home of the Loch Ness Monster. A few more pictures, and back to the car, half a chocolate and off we went to unravel the truth behind the monster.
Loch Ness: A century-old lie (almost, since 1933) that made a destination out of a single building housing a hotel.
We were booked to stay at the Loch Ness Drumnadrochit Hotel, the centre of the whole of the Loch Ness legend, so to speak. The hotel looked very pretty in the photos, but we were given a room in a separate building behind the hotel, more like an apartment block and less like a hotel. First, coffee. By the time they served coffee and we made ourselves comfortable in the room and the car park, it started to rain. I dashed across to the Loch Ness Exhibition Centre to inquire about the tickets. We had time and could join the evening show. I bought the tickets, as expensive as a luxury meal would have cost us. With great anticipation, we went into the centre. The TV and Disney-filled formative years of my not-so-little-anymore girl, and my passive absorption of all of those shows, made us just too excited about the Loch Ness Monster. Hubby dearest was playing along, occasionally smiling. We took a picture under a green screen to appear scared of the monster, which they would later sell to us in three different backgrounds, another money-making tactic.
The show began, and we were herded from one room to another, living through the story of the monster, hearing about all the sightings and quashing of those sightings, and eventually led to a room where we were asked to vote on whether we believed the story, did not believe it, or should they continue looking for the monster. I must give it to them for a fantastically gift-wrapped lie and managing to sell it day after day, year after year, decade after decade to thousands and millions of tourists. They wouldn't have managed to keep people in this town for a single night otherwise. The lake isn't visible from where they created this "experience"; there are no other attractions, no market, no shopping (except for the monster in its various toy, stationery, and keepsake avatars), no place to walk around, no cafes, and nothing at all to keep one amused. We felt scammed, but that also became an experience, and that thought provided us with some comfort. How would we have known without actually experiencing it?
Loch Ness done and dusted and painfully kept away in the attic of the experiences lest the husband remembers and reminds and make us feel guilty of spending those valuable pounds, ever rising in value against our humble rupee.
More motorways, more Costa Coffee and more picturesque surroundings. We were next headed to Glasgow. On the way, we fell upon a quaint town called Stirling, home to a beautiful hilltop castle called Stirling Castle. You can see this Castle from the motorway itself. We decided to take a short detour, drive past the castle gates, convince each other that we had seen enough castles and we would get late for our next destination, click horrible pictures from the moving car and drive straight to Glasgow. We did exactly that!
Glasgow: Felt closer to home with a Chor Bazaar and a museum.
We drove into Glasgow and were welcomed by a Rainbow, the fifth, I guess, in the trip so far. Neil's homestay was easy to locate. In a lovely and quiet neighbourhood, this was half of a two-storey house. Very beautifully and cosily done up, the home features Wi-Fi, TV, a well-stocked kitchen, a bathroom with luxury amenities, a sofa-cum-bed in the living room, and is decorated with pretty lamps and artefacts. We loved this home. We decided to keep it a lazy day. After checking the house out, we walked around the neighbourhood, scouring for food, actually, and maybe some beer. Found a "Kebabs and Curries" outlet, which was a departmental store run by an Indian couple. How do we know it? No, they weren't too excited to see us; it was just that the lady at the counter admonished "Vivek", who seemed like her dear everybody, as she rolled her kohl-lined eyes a couple of times at him. We bought some beer, more snacks, a frozen pizza and a can of "tea milk". Back at our abode, we decided to Netflix Saiyara with our respective drinks, snacks and that pizza. We burned the pizza, but still ate it. This isn't a movie review section, so I won't comment on Saiyara, but the beer was excellent, and so were the snacks. We slept in our comfortable beds after hitting our heads in the overhead storage space, and woke up to the Tom-and-Jerry-esque bumps on our foreheads. Husband made breakfast; he asked me to specifically mention it here: bread, spreads and cheese with warm mugs of milk and warmer smiles. Okay, he assembled the breakfast. And in no time, we were ready to leave from there, first heading to The Barras Market and later to Kelvingrove Museum.
The Barras Market was a mix of Chor Bazaar, a local Indian shopping arcade and Sikar House Market of Jaipur. They sold everything from furniture (mostly old) to collectables, apparel, utensils, knitwear, vinyl records, Gothic accessories, hats, old movie posters, and a variety of edibles. A Japanese bakery sold some exotic-looking cookies and sushi. An Indian grandmother sat in the pretentious sun and crocheted away, selling some lovely scarves and beanies at her little shack. Another Asian gentleman made strawberry shakes at the corner store. A fabric supermarket invited me so lustily that I felt I was a seamstress from an era gone by. I shook myself out of a trance and back to reality and walked over to a "rare book store", why rare? Because it sold "difficult finds" and banned books. We walked further ahead, silently thanking the Car parking attendant who warned us against the "thugs" of the market. We arrived at a city square surrounded by beautiful Gothic heritage buildings. Many pictures were taken here, and as the skies nudged us with a light drizzle, we rushed back to our car.
As we bid farewell to the lively car parking attendant, he informed us about his friend, who coached a football team in Chennai, and also about the delicious Indian snacks his friend had brought for him. Next on our itinerary was the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. In a very beautiful, massive heritage building, this is a Museum which is not for a quick visit but a whole day at leisure as you glide from one room to another, one floor to another, one era to another. Indian soldiers, Rani Laxmibai, a wooden carved door from undivided India's North-West region, a mounted Royal Bengal Tiger and the quirky art on a truck from India were sure to catch our attention. What pained me to see was the mention of the 1857 struggle, as a derogatory "mutiny" with a "Lucknow medal" for awarding to those British officers who quashed the "mutiny", dedicated to the revolt. We decided not to stay any longer and made our way out. A few more photos, and our road now leads us to Leeds. Scotland done, re-entry into England.
Leeds: A University Town
A peaceful, rain-soaked town, Leeds, welcomed us. We lost our way a couple of times and soon found ourselves magically in between the aisles of a Tesco Superstore. More shopping, mostly eatables and drinkables, and went to our apartment for a relaxed night. Hunger pangs made us change our plans, and some twenty-odd minutes later, we found ourselves at the local McDonald's. The cheapest burger was a cheeseburger, which I thought I might like. Upon further inquiry, it was revealed to us that a cheeseburger is essentially a beef burger, the staple of which is beef. Other options were the same as Indian options - Grilled McChicken, Maharaja Mac, spicy chicken, and the like. Burgers done, back to our apartment, and we slept so well.
We spent the next morning taking a walking tour of the town. Along the way, we met a gentleman wearing a "septy" over his head, the funniest thing I saw on this entire trip, well, second only to the reaction to the Loch Ness fraud on the husband's face before this. We roamed the little town on foot, traced our way again and again to Tesco, Morrisons, Co-op, Boots and Primark. The town is a University town, students from around the globe roam the city, and buildings are mostly student accommodations or part of the University faculty. So, this was Leeds, or part of it; the rest remains unexplored for another trip.
Last chance in this trip to tick off the fish and chips
Our return flight was from Manchester Airport, and we did not really explore Manchester except to learn that Manchester United is one team that is red, and Manchester City is another that is blue. Fish and Chips was still pending, and we ticked it off just in time, at the hotel we stayed at that night, the Crowne Plaza. I am not much of a seafood person, so I ordered myself a plain and simple Margherita pizza. Apparently, fish and chips aren't so easy to love. A batter-dipped, deep-fried whole fish on a bed of thumb-thick finger chips, accompanied by tiny bowls of boiled peas and tartar sauce and a basket full of other sauces, isn't very palatable. I shared my pizza with him, and quietly made note of the "wastage" to counter the Loch Ness monster attack if it ever is directed at me :)
Another meal option that I loved at the airport was the wraps and granola bowls at the Prêt à Manger outlet.
Turkish Airways served us a lot of food, including Hindu meals, as they were called (no beef, only chicken or lamb), Turkish and French wines, coffee, tea, and evening bread and butter. Their on-flight entertainment was good too; I watched four movies on my long-haul flight.
Back home, it felt really wonderful. Scotland has my heart, I will definitely go back to John O'Groats and explore the Isle of Skye and Fort William the next time, and will stay for a couple of extra nights in Edinburgh as well. I won't be trying the fish and chips, but I will be shopping at Tesco again and walking around the pretty towns and villages.
