And Once Again in Pictures: Spain

Click on the picture for the album from my Barcelona weekend!

Barcelona Revisited

Scotland Trip: Favorite Quotes

As those who've known me long enough in real life know, for about 15 years now (!) I've kept a running log of funny quotes from friends and things overheard, known (mostly just to me) as the Archives. I'm not necessarily recording these "for" anything – I just like capturing those moments and being able to revisit them later. On this trip, though, someone saw me scribbling things down, and assumed it was material for a blog post. Which made me think, huh.

So maybe I'll start adding Archives to my travel blogging or maybe I won't, but in any case here are some favorite quotes from the Scotland trip:

* Scott (one of the guys from Aberdeen we met on the West Highland Way) asks us, "Didn't you see the two people sleeping? [along the hiking path] We think they were German." Everyone wants to know what he's basing that on and he says it's "Because they woke up and said 'Achtung!'" We all laugh at the idea that all Germans wake up in the morning and the first thing they say is "Achtung!" Then Kat and Maike say to me, What, you've been living in Germany for five years and you still don't do that?

* Scott tells us about someone in Qatar asking him where he was from; he said Scotland, but that didn't register at all, then U.K., but that didn't register, so he tried, "You know England?" "Yeah, yeah." "It's north of there." "Oh... [long pause] You wear skirt?"

* Walking out on the coast by Ness, at the northernmost tip of the Isle of Lewis, we see a gloomy-looking old water tower with a sign reading, "for sale by auction." Tim says he'd like to buy it, just so he could be an evil overlord and have that as his fortress. I laugh at the idea of being the evil overlord of...the Isle of Lewis. Tim agrees, "Mwa ha ha, I will take ALL the peat!"

* Also, Tim talks about hearing some guys speaking in Gaelic, and then suddenly out popped, in English, the phrase, "the Donald Trump of the Outer Hebrides," followed by the conversation continuing in Gaelic. He says he really wished he could have understood more of that conversation!

Edin-burra

I had such a fabulous time in Edinburgh (correct pronunciation: see title) and I'm not sure I can even explain why. I guess it was just the right mix of great people and interesting places, plus it doesn't hurt that nearly every building, it seems, looks like a castle.

After two weeks of darting around the Highlands and the islands, I spent most of a week simply hanging out in Edinburgh, working some of the time and exploring the rest. My friend Elena let me stay at her place the whole time and gave me a key so I could wander in and out as I pleased.

The first couple days were spent mostly working from my laptop at cafés around the city. Chief among these was the Spoon Café Bistro, which actually turned out to be a lovely place in its own right, but first crossed my radar because it is...the site of the former café where J. K. Rowling wrote some of the first Harry Potter book.

Yes, that's right, I specifically sought out the café where J. K. Rowling wrote. And made a point of going there, and writing there. It was a terribly fangirl moment. And I'm mostly not ashamed.

Spoon Café Bistro, my office for the week:


The great thing about the café is that there's no advertisement of the Harry Potter connection, aside from a small plaque outside, and no one really seems to bother about it. (Unlike another café in town which claims to be the "birthplace of Harry Potter," and has that title splashed all over the place.)

I also enjoyed another café, Artisan, which sported this sign:


Edinburgh turns out to be a literary city all around (not just in the realm of young adult fantasy novels) and completely by accident, one entire day of my explorations was literature themed.

There were the Burns monument, the Sir Walter Scott monument and the Writers' Museum (dedicated to native sons Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns). The new parliament building with a copy of a 13th century (!) parliamentary document in it, the National Library with an exhibit on censorship through the years and the Central Library with an entire floor dedicated just to Edinburgh, Scotland, and the Gaelic and Scots languages. The antique map shop (they thought California was an island for 120 years or so!) and the antique children's book shop.

And I learned that Sir Walter Scott thought playing chess was a "waste of time," because it was time that could be spent learning a new language. Love!

What can I say, any city that builds its greatest, most ornate monument to a novelist is okay my book. The Sir Walter Scott monument:


Then there was the Royal Oak, a little bar with a musicians sitting around drinking a pint and exchanging tunes. And the City Café, which essentially looked like a diner, but with very British food (beans on toast, mushrooms on toast...) And the bar at the super posh Balmoral Hotel, where I tried not to laugh as the obsequious doorman even pulled out my chair for me, even though I was there in the only outfit at my disposal: jeans and hiking boots.

And of course there was Indian food, because you have to go for Indian food when you're in the U.K. And the really good bra shop because, well, ditto.

And oh, did I mention that everything in the city is grand and historical and looks like a castle? I'm not even usually the type for going gaga over castles (you do get over castles, once you've lived in Europe for a while) but, wow.

But as always, most of all I enjoyed the people I met.

There were Elena and her friend Elias, both from Greece, who took me to the Royal Oak, and as we were listening to the Scottish musicians, a random Canadian and his Spanish friend started chatting with us, and then a very drunk Scottish guy wandered over and started speaking to Elena in GREEK, and as all our jaws dropped at this improbable development, Elias turned to me and said, "See? I told you the strangest things happen at this bar."

I met up again with Tim, world-traveler I crossed paths with on the Isle of Lewis, who joined me for an Indian buffet lunch, and with Alan, who I've determined is either a friend of a friend or a friend of a friend of a friend, depending how you define it, but in any case took me and another visiting American on what seemed like a tour of all the kinds of places you could possibly go drinking in Edinburgh, including in his kitchen with his strange but entertaining flatmates.

And on my last day, I came across a band busking on the street: three young guys on drums, electric bass and...bagpipes. And it was awesome.

Gratuitous picture of Edinburgh Castle (the actual castle, not all the things that just look like one) at night:

Updates from the Isles III

The next morning a lovely English couple, Andrew and Pippa, gave me a ride from the Uig hostel over to the ferry pier, which is inconveniently located on the other side of the bay and, as usual on Skye, none of the bus and ferry schedules coordinated with one another.

Destination: the Isle of Lewis, one of the Outer Hebrides, an arc of far-flung and low-populated islands further off the coast than Skye, which belongs to the Inner Hebrides. Where a significant portion of the population still speaks Gaelic!

The "Isle" of Lewis is actually only half of an island - the other half is Harris, which is likewise known as the Isle of Harris. Even life-long residents couldn't explain this to me, so I'm content to allow it to remain a mystery.

Lewis is all dramatic, windswept coast and moorland dotted with lochs. As an added bonus, it possesses standing stones! Real, true, very exciting standing stones!


Another momentous thing happened on Lewis: I rented a car.

I rented a car, something I'd never done before. I rented a car in Europe, where I'm anxious about driving, since I have next to no experience doing it here - pretty much the only time I drive is during the couple weeks each year I'm back in the US. And I rented a car in Britain, where you may remember that they drive on the WRONG SIDE.

I didn't really want to do it. But, for one thing, the Outer Hebrides are deeply Protestant and everything shuts down on Sundays - even the buses. I arrived on a Saturday and had to leave on a Monday. And for another thing, the anxious-about-driving, oh-no-I-couldn't-possibly-rent-a-car-I'm-fine-sticking-with-buses-honest-I-am thing was reaching epic, avoidance-tactic proportions, and I decided it was time to do it and break through the mental block.

So I rented a car on Lewis and I survived!


The first day of driving around alone and seeing the sights (standing stones, ancient fort, restored traditional house complete with peat fire, jaw-dropping double rainbow, lots of expanses of moor and sky and pounding coast) was fine, but for the second day, I recruited travel buddies at my hostel: Rachael, cop-in-training from Newcastle, and Tim, round-the-world traveler and blogger from Montana. The sights are a lot more fun with friends!

Together, we drove up the the northernmost tip of the island, which looked like this:


This week I'm back in Edinburgh and loving it - but that's a post for another day.

Updates from the Isles II

My last day on the Isle of Skye I spent around Uig ("you-ig"), a small village around a bay, whose highlight was the Fairy Glen, where a walk of a mile or two down a tiny country lane led to a bizarre landscape:

of strange little conical hills:
and little groves of twisted, tangled trees:


I later saw the Fairy Glen described as "Tolkienesque," which seems fitting.

Updates from the Isles I

I swear, Scotland has the most unpredictable weather I've ever seen. You know how a lot of places claim various versions of "If you don't like the weather, wait 15 minutes"? Well, in Scotland, it's actually true.

As we left Kinlochleven (Kat and Maike to head back down to Glasgow, I to points further north and west and insular), it was the first time we actually saw what the place looked like, as days of ceaseless, pounding rain finally gave way to sunshine.

I still had some sunlight in Fort William, but by the time my train headed out toward the coast, it was pouring down so hard, I just barely got a glimpse of the Glenfinnan Viaduct as we went over it. I packed away my sunglasses - only to step out in Mallaig, on the coast, to blinding sunlight. Dig the sunglasses back out again...

Storm clouds were rolling in, though, and the first fat drops of rain started falling as we boarded the ferry to the Isle of Skye.

(Clouds over the ferry terminal)

On Skye, as I hung around on a pebbly little beach waiting for the next bus, I kid you not, one half of the sky was a stormy gray and the other half was blue with puffy clouds. There was also a rainbow. But of course.

I think I've seen more rainbows in a couple weeks in Scotland than I usually see in a year, because it's so often rainy AND sunny simultaneously.

(Stunning full-arc double rainbow, seen later on in my trip)

On Skye, I did what I apparently do best: travel alone but not alone, because I can't seem to help but make new travel buddies everywhere. In this case it was Jenny and Kristine, two outgoing and funny Californians in my hostel dorm.

It's strange how sometimes encountering other Americans while traveling makes me want to run screaming (especially if they're the obnoxiously loud sort), but sometimes there's this undeniable immediate connection, even despite myself. I suppose there are some things about sharing a common culture from birth that just can't be substituted. Also, I miss the American sense of silliness. But that's a thought for some other post.

Jenny and Kristine had a rental car, while I had done more reading up about where to go, so we combined forces and spent the day exploring the north of the island, climbing up to the rocky pinnacle known as the Old Man of Storr, tracking down the basalt columns that are sort of a counterpart to the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, laughing ourselves silly over some supposedly prehistoric "standing stones" that turned out to be a couple of rocks by the side of the road, and just generally enjoying the wild, wonderful coastline of Skye.

(Intrepid Americans in front of Kilt Rock, some of the basalt columns)

There's more to say about Skye, as well as the next islands I visited (even further out west! even more isolated-ly island-y! even more people speak Gaelic!) but right now I've got to run. Stay tuned for part II...

The West Highland Way

Day 1:

Drymen-Rowardennan, 14 or 15 miles

Through the countryside and up a row of rounded hills collectively known as Conich Hill, for the first view of Loch Lomond. Conich's peaks also align with a string of islands running through Loch Lomond, all along a tectonic fault line (which I didn't even know existed until now) that separates Scotland's Lowlands and Highlands.

It turns out 14 miles is just a couple miles over the limit of the amount of walking I can enjoy in one day, and by about mile 12 I was ready for it to be OVER. Almost didn't manage to drag myself out into the rain again for the half mile walk back from our hostel to the village's one pub.

Days of walking and evenings in the pub, this will become a theme.

A glimpse back at Loch Lomond:


Day 2:

Rowardennan-Inverarnan, 14 miles

Beautiful views of the beautiful loch (and it turns out "loch" can mean either a lake or a sea inlet, just in case you were wondering), mossy, gnarly fairytale forests, climbing over rocks and through little streams. A whole herd of wild (and pungent) goats.

Lunch outdoors in the sun overlooking the loch, dinner at the old and atmospheric Drover's Inn. Slept at a place that had "wigwams," which, though I have doubts about their authentic wigwam-ness, were still fun as little wooden cabins.

The goats:


Day 3:

Rest day, lazy breakfast at the Drover's Inn (can we fit THREE pub stops into one day, we wondered, breakfast, lunch and dinner? Yes, we can!) Skipped ahead by bus to Bridge of Orchy, where we stayed in a hostel with one of the coolest concepts ever: built into a tiny town's converted train station. On a still-in-operation tiny town train platform. Run by a real character who used to be CEO of a railway company and regaled me with stories of his journeys on trains and ocean liners and even the Concorde.

All along the way, we crossed and re-crossed paths with other hikers doing the same route at various paces. This night, we fell in with three Scottish guys from Aberdeen, and had a roaring night at the pub with them. Lesson learned: If you allow Scottish guys to buy you a round of whisky just once, they will not stop buying you rounds until the pub closes for the night and throws them out!

With the Scottish guys in Bridge of Orchy:


Day 4:

Bridge of Orchy - Kingshouse, 13 miles

Everyone else seems to be doing 21 or 22-mile days, and thinking nothing of it. Conclusion: 12 or 13 is my perfect amount, thanks!

The day's walk was through a stunning moor landscape, wild expanses of grass and stark, dark mountains, with not another person (or road) in sight. Rain, rain, rain and wind.

The King's House Hotel was the only accommodation for miles, but it was also the perfect place to arrive after a day of slogging through rain and puddles, soaked through to the skin. I had an adorable single room down a labyrinthine corridor, everything carpeted and old and just a bit worn down, but it a pleasant way.

That night, a middle-aged Dutch guy who has a folk band and a Scottish teenage girl who plays traditional fiddle were practicing together in the hotel bar; when I asked about borrowing the guitar for a few minutes when they weren't playing, the guy insisted I come join them, and we exchanged a few songs, trying to find things we could all sing.

Kat had been bugging the guy to play the Loch Lomond song (you take the high road, and I'll take the low road), which he insisted he "didn't know" and was "just for tourists." But just as we were going to leave for the night, it turned out another man - the fiddle player's father - actually knew the verses to the song, and the Dutch guy played and the girl fiddled and everyone left in the bar sang along on the choruses.

The moor:

Day 5:

Kingshouse - Kinlochleven, 9 miles

Up the "Devil's Staircase," which was in fact neither devilishly difficult nor an actual stair case (both of which I'd been expecting), just a steep switchback rise up to the highest point of the West Highland Way. So that was actually fun, but the rest of the day's walk wasn't - it was raining harder than ever, and the path resembled nothing so much as a flowing stream, to the point that I gave up even pretending to try not to step directly in the water.

Was tired and cranky by the time we arrived in Kinlochleven, an unlovely former industrial town that wasn't visible through the rain anyway... But that night I went to bed early and slept for 11 hours, and am pleased to say that simple fact turned my mood around 180 degrees!


Days 6-7:

Kinlochleven

That was the end of the West Highland Way for us; we stayed put for a couple days, while hiking comrades from earlier points on the path caught up and passed us. We didn't do much - the tail end of an Atlantic hurricane brought torrential rains that didn't let up for days - but Kat and Maike enjoyed the indoor climbing wall, and I spent a day happily doing a couple translations from the climbing hall cafe. In the evenings, we again hung out in pubs and met locals.


Last day:

Kat and Maike departed for a last night in Glasgow before they fly out; I'm heading further north and west. Currently in Fort William (the actual ending point of the West Highland Way) and who did I run into on the town's main street? Some of the Australian hiking group we'd met one of our first days on the path. Of course!

Got a train to catch, over the Glenfinnan Viaduct (aka the "Harry Potter bridge") and out to the Isle of Skye. You'll hear from me anon!

If It's September It Must Be Scotland

And suddenly it's September, and Scotland.

Oh gosh, let's back up.

As I've mentioned, my almost constant travel in the last months has been a deliberate choice, an experiment in how much it's possible to work and travel, seeing more of the world while staying more or less available for translation assignments. I think I can now conclude that having only four weeks between fairly major trips is a wee bit nuts... two months between trips might be more realistic! Heh. My nomadic, netbook-toting life.

First came:

I. The Interregnum

...which in my case I'm defining as "the period between the rule of two different journeys." It was a wonderful four weeks in Berlin, full of friends and concerts and events and conversations, but it was also pretty crazy to be barely finished unpacking and photo-sorting and blog-posting about the last trip before leaving for the next. The "next" is actually made up of two parts, first of which was...

II. Barcelona

...in which my friends Nadia and Gerard got married! It was a beautiful wedding, very international (guests were American, Spanish, Serbian, German, Palestinian and probably various other things I'm forgetting), very quirky (decorations crafted out of recycled things) and very fitting to the personalities of two funny, curious, off-beat people who make a very good pair.

I also got to see Jose, a former apartment mate who moved back to Barcelona from Berlin and now has a great job, despite the odds against that for a young person in Spain right now.

Plus, there was a bit of time to explore the city, even work half a day from a nice cafe, and just enjoy one last hurrah of true summer before fall descends. Swimming in the Mediterranean - or anywhere, really - isn't something I was expecting to get to do again this year, so I was grateful.

And one little bonus fact: Spain, including Barcelona, is the very first place I traveled in Europe, the first place I went abroad aside from Canada and the first time I traveled without my parents (it was a chorus trip), so obviously it made a big impression. This was the first time I'd been back, despite living in pretty close proximity for five years.

I have only the vaguest of memories of that trip 13 years ago (staying up late and walking along wide boulevards... singing a Spanish mass outside the Sagrada Familia...) but there was still something both comforting and exciting about coming full circle, adding a grown-up, here-mostly-to-visit-friends experience of the city to that time as a wide-eyed and desperately excited first-time traveler.

Did I say wide-eyed and desperately excited? I think I still am. And this is no less evident in...

III. Scotland!

At the point Nadia told me she was thinking about getting married in September, I was already committed to this hiking tour in Scotland with a couple of German friends. (What can I say...Germans plan far in advance.) I was lucky that the two events didn't quite overlap, but the timing was close enough that it made sense to fly straight to Scotland from Spain. (And let me tell you, setting off for a hot weather wedding and a rainy weather hiking tour at one go is an interesting exercise in packing!)

I flew into Edinburgh late at night, and was lucky to be able to stay with another old friend - Elena, a Greek friend I also know from that first year in Germany, who now has a teaching position at the University of Edinburgh. Hadn't seen her in about four years!

The next morning, I headed straight out for Glasgow (I'll be back in Edinburgh at the end of the trip), had a few hours there to check out the city (I swear, nearly every building in Scotland is a castle, or at least looks like one!) and meet yet another friend, Honor from Canada, for an abbreviated walking tour of the university area and a game of Scrabble in a cool cafe.

In the evening, I took a bus up to Drymen (pronounced "drimmen," go figure), starting point for our walking tour, and found my travel partners - predictable in any Scottish village - at the pub. They're Kat (friend of a friend from Berlin and walking tour planner extraordinaire) and Maike (a friend of Kat's). Maike is a German who lives in America, while I'm an American who lives in Germany, not to mention that Kat is German but studied in Aberdeen and is soon moving to Cambridge...which makes it all rather complicated when people innocently ask where we're from.

We're walking the West Highland Way, Scotland's most famous and frequented long-distance path, but only sections of it.

So far, we've spent two days mostly along gorgeous Loch Lomond. Today is a bus hop ahead and a rest day. Tomorrow, we start the next leg, toward Kinlochleven and Glencoe.

It rains most of the time, but somehow it doesn't really matter when you're decked out in rain gear anyway, and a misting rain actually makes for more comfortable walking weather. The mountains are gorgeous, the pubs are quaint, and I've even tried vegetarian haggis, which doesn't seem like it should be possible. My feet hurt, but other than that I'm very happy.

You'll hear more from me along the way...but not until the next place I have internet access. And there will be pictures, if I can ever find anywhere with wifi. (I'm writing this from a hotel's ancient desktop computer, which froze up in panic when I tried to connect my camera to it.)

You take the high road and I'll take the low road, and we'll meet again on the bonny banks.