This morning I ordered way too much breakfast. The B&B where I was staying had a menu with lots of delicious sounding breakfast options: sausage, fried/poached egg, bacon, tomato, mushroom, porridge, toast, tea, cereal, etc. The rule of serving size in the US is thus: the nicer the establishment, the smaller the portion. Since the B&B was so nice, I figured I should just check the box next to just about everything to ensure that I got enough to eat. Not my best idea ever.
While I ate, I heard a loud “mow!” emanate from the kitchen, with a quick “How did you get in here?” in reply. That conversation went back and forth as I smiled to myself, quietly enjoying the universal ridiculousness of cats, alone in the small dining room in the Highlands of Scotland.
the clouds fled
Back in my room, I grabbed my coat, purse, and camera, and started out down the hill toward the town. The day was glorious. No one could have asked for a more perfect balance of sunshine, offshore breeze and drifting, puffy clouds. I passed an older man with a small dog, who said (with a fabulous accent), “Lovely mornin’ isn’t it?” I agreed heartily, and he continued up the hill, singing softly to himself.
I walked to the dock, and wandered around until I got up the nerve to ask a local where I could find the ferry to Kerrera. The man said, “That’s the one,” and pointed out a very small boat that was just pulling away. I would have to wait another hour until the next one. I meandered around town, did some window shopping for souvenirs for friends and family, bought a ticket for the Oban whiskey distillery tour, and sat in the sun until the 11am ferry arrived.
As we neared the island, the man sitting next to me on the boat pointed out a house with grass on the roof. “Women’s work, ” he said. His rather overweight friend looked down at him and said, “Such cheuvanism!” The seated man joked, “The man trims the lawn, the woman trims the roof.” I said, “That’s because the men are so fat, they’d break the roof.” He indicated toward his friend as an example and laughed. His largish friend gave his body a glance, and said with a straight face, “Specimen. Perfect specimen.”
next time i’ll have to walk to the castle
At Kerrera we were left to ourselves. I hiked for about an hour and a half, first to the monument (a small obelisk on a high spot on the northeastern end of the island), along a low cliff, down and then up a short steep rise to the top of the hill. There I rested on the roof of a run down brick and mortar shack until I got my breath back, and cooled off a bit. I couldn’t find where the seals are said to be, so I went down the other side of the hill, along a path peppered on both sides by little yellow wild flowers. I stepped off the path to step over a barbed wire fence to get back to the dock. I waited about a half hour for the Nessie Hunter to arrive. There were only two of us on the ride back. I bet everyone else was hiking or at the cafe.
I arrived Back in town just in time to catch the beginning of a very small parade of bag pipers in traditional regalia playing the tune we all think of when we hear bag pipes in our heads. That was quite a treat. Their outfits (costumes? uniforms?) included a kilt with a pin designating their clan, and a small knife tucked into their right socks. My favorite member of the parade was a very old man, hunched over but still marching in time, and playing his pipes.
I went back to the seafood shack for more oysters (delicious), and a rather bland prawn sandwich. I had spotted a striking tartan pin in the window of a jewelry shop, and headed back to see how much it was. Blah, 88 Pounds! I told the lady I’d have to think about it, and went to find some ice cream. It was a beautiful summer day in Oban, and there was a little street fair of some kind at the round-about in front of the train station. All the kids had painted faces and very tempting ice cream; I couldn’t resist.
Cappuccino gelato cooled me off some more (a boy with a Spiderman painted face stood behind me in line and was very proud when I complimented him), and I realized that a tartan pin was something I had been looking for the whole trip. So I decided to get it (it’s the only souvenir I’ve bought for myself) and wear it on my coat when I got home.
The whiskey distillery had some of the best smelling hand soap I’ve ever used in a semi-public bathroom, but their whiskey tastes like rust and sand. And it’s pretty expensive, so I’ll just count myself lucky that I’ve dodged a costly indulgence. At least it came with a free glass, which I plan on giving to Scottish Friend when I visit her after I leave Oban.
whitefish bait is apparently small, and highly judgmental. it watched me.
Dinner was more fish and chips at the same place, seated indoors at the restaurant this time, then it was back home to relax for a couple of hours until around 830, at which point I forced myself to get my shoes and coat on, and head back out to a bar that hosts live traditional Scottish music and dancing for the whole group (I wasn’t in the mood to go out dancing without a partner, and I’m still missing Boyfriend a lot, but when am I going to be in Scotland again?). I got there a little before halfway through the show, and volunteered for the first group dance I heard mention of. It was fun; the women run around the line of men and vice versa, then the first couple facing each other joins hands and prances down the middle of the isle (picture a traditional Scottish version of Soul Train) to rest at the end, at which point the woman go running hand in hand round the men again and it all starts over with everyone clapping and smiling. A good time to be had by all (except that I was the only American- everyone else was German or French, so I couldn’t follow conversations, it I felt surprisingly isolated in a room full of people). I drank a Strongbow while the music and dancing continued, and immediately came to the conclusion that the Irish Uilleann pipes are better than bagpipes; sweeter to listen to, and not so ear piercingly loud.
I passed a bar on my way back home that was loud a packed, and seemingly the only place open past 10 in the whole town. I was a little hungry (for food and human interaction), but walked by without going in (the ladies were very stylish, and I was in day-old clothes, jeans and sneakers), and headed up the road toward the B&B, admiring the first view I’ve had of he bay in the darkening twilight.