The Flight and the Return

In the Botanic Gardens

We settled back into Edinburgh for the last few days of my family’s trip and of my time abroad. We visited Stirling Castle, Edinburgh Castle, and the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens, and it all seemed like a dream after such a long semester.

We drove to airport on June 3rd, and rushed in, since my family had an early flight directly to Newark. I had a flight that had been booked with my original flight, so it was later in the morning, and had a layover in Heathrow. My first flight was delayed, however, because Heathrow was ‘temporarily full’. Anxious, I eventually boarded the plane and flew into London’s enormous airport, and ran. I took a shuttle, went through another security checkpoint, and emerged into an incredibly long hallway in the correct wing only to look up at a monitor that told me, in terrifyingly red-colored font, that my gate was CLOSING. I ran. As fast as I could, I ran. Bags flying to and fro, I ran down a hallway that seemed to go on forever, so long indeed that I needed to slow to a fast walk at one point in time. But I was determined. I thought to myself ‘I will run back to America if need be’, and I ran until my lungs could do no more, until at last, there was my gate. I managed to run into the end of the line for checking tickets, and very soon found myself boarding the plane back home.

After a long flight, it was announced that we were arriving into JFK, and I looked out of the window and saw, for the first time in five months, baseball diamonds. Personal swimming pools. SUVs. I saw things that I had hated, and I was surprised at how happy I was to see them, just for the fact that they were so characteristically American. I still remember getting off the plane, and entering the citizen line, passport in hand, and being called to one of the customs booths, where a stern man looked at my documents, and seeing a vagueness in my declarations, asked, “What gifts did you bring back?”

“Um... I don’t know, just some little ones, I-” Stumbling, exhausted and trying to remember...

“Like what? Come on, start listing” How fast he talks!

“Um, okay, ahh... a stuffed animal, some books, a bottle of whiskey...” He jots them down as I talk, and before I go on, he stamps my passport.

“Welcome home.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

Using only public transit (which I love dearly), I traveled seamlessly from the airport to Greenwich, where my grandparents greeted me with a warm meal and a warm bed, which I collapsed into at once. The following day, never stopping my momentum, I moved into Connecticut College for my summer research. I was greeted by my friend and roommate for the summer, Corey, who was still in his pajamas, which, as I think of it now, was quite the contrast to my state of mind. And my first major act in America was to go to a Dinosaur Park with Corey and Kate, which was appropriately hilariously fun, and made me feel that I was very much back home.

I quickly settled back into life in America, with brand new perspectives on the country, my lifestyles, my friends, and my life in general. It was a semester with good and bad, and it was a semester that I needed.

Thanks for reading.

Best Regards,

Riordan

Fields of the Dead, Valleys of Life

Dollar Glen, a second time

The second big highlight for our visit into the Highlands of Scotland was our visit to Culloden battlefield. This field was were the Jacobite rebellion faced off against an English army for a war-ending battle. The Jacobites were Scotsmen fighting for independence, armed with claymores and fierce battle cries, not to mention bagpipes. They had been marching all night, however, and they were hungry and standing almost knee-deep in marshy land, which was not their favored terrain. The army of the English (most of the army wasn’t actually English, it was primarily comprised of mercenaries of different nationalities) were armed with rifles, and had the advantage of land, nourishment, and numbers. It was a massacre. The Scottish were soundly and utterly defeated, and the few survivors were forced to give up their weapons and their clan system, along with their whole way of life.

We arrived on another sunny day in May, to find a field no longer as marshy, but otherwise seemingly frozen in time. There were flags set up on each side to help visitors see where each side took their stand, and the historical museum set up by the field had an excellent explication of both sides of the rebellion and the events of this momentous battle. Most significant on the field were the headstones that marked the mass graves of the dead, which were primarily separated by clan. Most poignant for me was this marker:

The field was peaceful, but eerily quiet. There was a definite aura that something worth mourning had happened there. I am told that it holds a similar feeling to that of the beaches of Normandy.

After that spiritual experience of sorts, we headed back towards Edinburgh, stopping first in Dollar Glen. This was my second visit there (the first is detailed in an earlier post), because I knew that I had to bring my parents there, and it was another excellent visit. The lushness of that valley, and of the castle that nature is slowly reclaiming astounded me to no end.

We explored the castle, its gardens, and the wild abundant forest around it with joy and renewed energy, even with the mountain trek still making our muscles ache. It was a lovely trip, and the glen secured its place as my favorite in Scotland, aside perhaps from Holyrood Park.

Brendan and Mom enjoying the sunny day at Castle Campbell

Ben Nevis

At the end of the week, we were all cosy and established in a Bed & Breakfast in Fort William, and we decided to undertake the task that we had planned for months in advance: climbing Ben Nevis, a 4,500ft tall mountain, the highest peak in the British Isles. After a very filling Scottish breakfast, we suited up, and headed out, ready for anything.

Now, there is only one path that begins the trek up the mountain, and it is a relatively steep but well-worn one that leads up to a small loch in the mountainside, which is where mom decided to spend her day, which turned out to be a wise decision. My dad, my brother, and I all forged boldly ahead, away from the main path. You see, the main path continues up the mountain in a challenging way, but a way that is not as challenging as the other possible way, which is... frankly, more dangerous. Thus, the main path has been dubbed the ‘tourist trail’ or the ‘pony path’ by the locals, and those names make more intrepid explorers shun the path, despite its difficulty.

So we set off in the opposite direction of the tourist path, circling around the mountain to a valley (pictured at the top) where we could look up at its snowy peak, and around at all of the gushing streams and rugged terrain, dotted by sheep and deer alike. We quickly discovered that there was no discernible path through this valley or up to the peak from the valley. None whatsoever. So, we ventured the length of the valley, and looked up around us to discover that our only feasible option was to climb up a very steep slope in order to reach its ridge, which we could then walk along up to the peak.

Lucky us, the slope was covered in scree. Not just small loose rocks, but big rocks the size of my head that looked quite solid, but would give way just when you most needed them. The three of us made very slow progress, climbing on all fours, all but scaling this slope. About halfway up, my dad knew that it had been a bad idea (as he told me later, thankfully) but he also knew that the only worse idea would be trying to go back down. So, we forged ahead foot by foot, rock by rock, and breath by breath. When we reached the top, we exhaustedly collapsed and broke out the Kendal Mint Cake, which is essentially a block of flavored sugar that UK mountaineers use, and that I would never eat in a normal situation - but in that situation, it was the best thing ever.

As we rested, a Scottish couple came casually trotting along the ridge with their dog bounding on ahead of them. My dad asked them how they had come up on the ridge, looking so effortless, and they responded that they had taken the path, of course. They pointed down the ridge, which eventually tapered down to a place at the very beginning of the valley - which we had ignored when we headed directly into the valley. Oh. We just climbed up... never mind.

Sugar rushing through our systems, we stood once more and ventured along the ridge. This ridge:

I hardly knew how to separate Lord of the Rings from reality here, and part of me didn’t want to. Luckily, there was no Saruman trying to BRING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN! Mom had given us all rules when we departed for the peak: no frolicking, bird watching, or unnecessary rock climbing, which corresponded to each of us in particular - I’ll let you guess which one corresponded to which person. We didn’t do terribly well there, and I was accused of breaking the first rule when I started scrambling across the ridge, giddy with LOTR and mint cake. After the ridge, we were greeted with another rocky slope entirely devoid of a path, but this time the rocks were secure. All the same, we were just so tired...

But suddenly, there it was. The summit sprung up on us quite unexpectedly, and it was actually quite flat, and came complete with the ruins of an observatory that was maintained at the end of the 19th century. It was also covered in snow, and we very much appreciated the cool winter setting in the midst of the warm May day. We took the tourist path back down (because we aren’t completely insane), and on the way down both my father and brother frolicked a bit - and I have proof!

It wasn’t just me.

At long last, we descended the mountain to find my mother, quite anxious due to the two rescue helicopters that had been called to the mountain that day, and due to the fact that we were gone for seven hours. But we reassured her, collapsed into the car, and were swept away to a pub, where we ate a hearty meal, and I ordered a glass of rum, on the rocks.

We Ate Jam and Bread for Dinner

Castle Campbell

Upon returning from Belfast, Brendan and I had some time to spend in Edinburgh as our dear parents traversed the seas of Scotland in pursuit of the finest whiskey. So we switched into frugal mode, something I was already well versed in from living in a country whose currency was stronger than my own. I introduced my brother to the wonders of the local bakery, Peckham’s, which he quickly came to love. It’s a classy place, with all types of spirits, locally made ciders, and freshly baked loaves of bread. And tiny jars of jam, which we bought along with the bread and that was... most of our meals, actually.

We made a quick trip to the Royal Veterinary School for Brendan’s sake, but it wasn’t terribly impressive. In fact, it seemed that the best part of the trip was this addition to my album of humorous signs:

The best choice we made of the whole visit was to go to a little place called Castle Campbell. I found it in my Historic Scotland member handbook, which said that it was located outside Stirling and was only accessible through a forest glen. I saw the words ‘strong footwear required’ and I was determined to go. We had to take two buses to get there, and there was a bit too much time waiting in each station due to unlucky timing. At one point I even turned to my brother and told him ‘I really appreciate you riding buses and waiting in stations with me all day’. But no amount of unfortunate timing mattered once we stepped into the tiny town of Dollar, which had maybe one rotary. As we walked through the town towards the castle, we enjoyed many a friendly greeting from various elderly people who seemed to be the only residents of the town.

We passed through a narrow opening in a stone wall, followed a path through a lovely park along a babbling brook and, of course, a golf course, and then all at once it was there. A hidden, isolated paradise of green. The forest glen amazed me and my brother both, and I cannot really describe how incredible it was to be there without a care in the world, enjoying the country for its beauty after the rocky semester of rainy weather and depersonalized education. We spent the majority of our time in the glen, actually, and when the castle peeked over one of the cliffs it came as a surprise to us.
We finally did venture to the crumbling structure, and we were greeted by two kindred employees and a virtually empty place to explore. And explore we did. The castle amazed me, but the gardens were even better. Flowers of so many shapes and kinds, from rhododendrons to roses to tiny intricate ones I didn’t know the name of. I took many a picture of everything, and I was saddened to leave.
The next day, Brendan and I got up early and finished packing the rest of my room, and I happily left those freshman dorms forever. We headed over to the bus station, running a bit with all of my semester’s worth of luggage, and made our way to Glasgow on an intercity bus. This was my first visit to Glasgow, and it was a strange experience, because we had one goal: make it to the Botanic Gardens to meet our parents, since they were flying into Glasgow from Islay (the isle of Laphroaig). We boarded a bus, thinking that we would just know when we were in the gardens, as they are rather self-explanatory. Luckily, we had asked the driver, and he called out the stop on a seemingly random street, which the gardens were hidden behind. We camped out on a bench with all of our things, only to find that these gardens were the playground of the local boarding school, so my brother and I took turns walking through the greenhouses as the unlucky one stayed behind to watch the bags and get giggled at by much too young schoolgirls and being glared at by much too wealthy schoolboys.

Our parents came at last to the rescue, and we quickly boarded our rental car and headed north, to the lochs!

A Brotherly Visit

Whew. Almost didn't post for an entire month. Good thing I'm more on top of it than that... by a couple of days. Posting in quick succession now the rest of my adventures, which were numerous at the end. Enjoy, and thanks for continuing to come back!

Exams finished, and about a week of not a whole lot to do, my brother came to visit! He arrived into Edinburgh on a Friday, and our plans were already made for that weekend. We awoke on Saturday and headed straight back to the airport, but this time for a more local flight. We flew to Belfast, Northern Ireland on Saturday afternoon, a flight that ended up seeming shorter than the time we spent in the airports.

Upon arriving in the Belfast airport, we saw the best advertisement in the world. In a long stretch of tunnel to the street exit, both walls were covered in a continuous image of an apple orchard. Every few feet, there were little statements wishing you to enjoy this simple walk through the orchard, and relax just for now, and only at the end was there a small wooden table with a pint of Magners on it. Quite lovely really. And I drank Magners as much as possible just for that.

Didn't manage to get a picture of the wall, but this was at the end (and the only part of it online)

We took the bus into Belfast and found our youth hostel, tossing our things down and heading out into the city. We did a fair amount of walking, and I was the most impressed by the Queen’s University, but not too much else. That may have been influenced by the fact that it was drearily cloudy (but no real rain, as usual) as it had been in Edinburgh ALL week long, despite the fact that I finished exams right before that week. I know, right? This lack of being at the center of a world is irritating me. Anyway, I was pretty depressed by so much drear, but the sun did peek out a bit when we found the Botanic Gardens, which made me a bit cheerier. After a dinner at a restaurant a bit too nice for the clothes we were wearing, we went to bed for an interrupted night’s sleep due to our fellow hostel goers, and awoke early the next morn for our bus tour to Giant’s Causeway.

The weather for this day was still scattered and cloudy, but enough so to let the sun shine and dance among them, so I was contented. The bus took us to all manner of places on our way north, including a famous distillery where I bought a small book of Irish Songs, and a castle whose most important feature was its murderholes (according to our guide). We also passed very close by to County Antrim, where our great-great grandparents hailed from. I learned much more about this from my Grandma Peggy just recently, and I wish I had known all I do now when I was there, but I enjoyed the country all the same, which I hope showed them good respect. And I did wonder if they'd ever been to the Causeway...
A stranger natural phenomenon I am not sure I have seen. It looked like someone’s attempt at abstract art turned into solid geometrically shaped rocks. Brendan and I clambered over them excitedly, noticing the worn ones, the differently shaped ones, and then, in one area, the ones sheltering and harboring flowers. But then I discovered that one of the amazing parts of the Giant’s Causeway is the surrounding countryside, which was beautiful. It had that familiar rugged quality that Scotland did, and with the scattered clouds and teal sea lapping at the rocks, it was quite beautiful.

We made one more stop on our way back down to Belfast, which was at a well-known rope bridge. Now, Brendan and I were excited for this, because we both had unrealistic and different expectations. I expected it to be terribly dangerous, with two ropes on each side to hold onto, but differently spaced wooden planks to step across, kind of like the one in Shrek or countless other movies with great chasms and rope bridges. Brendan, on the other hand, thought it would be a bridge with two ropes on each side and one thick rope along the bottom to walk across. Sadly, we were both very disappointed by the actual thing. Not only was it a double reinforced bridge with what looked like traces of steel on it, it had solid wood planks without any spaces in them, and webbed rope all along the sides. AND it cost £5. I guess the days of needlessly endangering one’s life are over (editor’s note: or are they? stay tuned for the Ben Nevis post). So we passed on that one, with its long lines which reminded me a bit of a Dr. Seuss book.

The star-bellied Sneetches had stars upon thars.