So yesterday I took a bus along the Royal Deeside, thus named because it is a road built alongside the Dee River so that the Queen could easily get to her residence (and by residence I mean castle) in Balmoral. You know that exquisite scene in the movie The Queen, where she is at the Balmoral Castle, in the highlands, and her life is in shambles, and suddenly she looks up and there's a magnificent stag just standing there, peacefully? Trust me, it's a turning point in the film. Here-- you can watch the scene yourself: the first 3:30 takes place where I was yesterday:
Here are some of the pictures I took from the little day trip. You can see more of them on my Photobucket site, in the Scotland album. [My my, isn't THIS a media-savvy post?]
The Castle at Balmoral (the Royal Family's residence in Scotland)
Crathie, the small village outside of Balmoral Castle
It was wonderfully freeing, especially because I made my own way to the top, avoiding all the tourist routes. In fact, I don't think there were any "designated trails" on the hill I climbed. All the better. And no chance of getting lost (yes, I know it's what you were thinking) because I could always see the Dee, and Balmoral castle below me.
On the way to the top I got in some good rock climbing (on rocks so old that they crumbled, much to my simultaneous amusement and terror), some self-portraits in the forest and at the summit (including one of me putting a stone on the Cairn--or the Ebenezer, perhaps-- at the top), walked through fields covered in 8 inches (at least!) of ancient undergrowth, and in the process of all this managed to coat myself in sufficient quantities of dirt, moss and other unidentified foliage, thorns (yes, lots of thorns--especially near the crumbly rocks), and of course I managed to find some sort of goo to get all over my jeans. I shall save the water in which I wash this climbing outfit then put it into an oaken barrel along with some wheat kernels, and let it sit for 30 years, and then proceed to distill my very own single-malt whiskey. I shall call it "Elisiker", and it shall belong to the Eliselay Scotches--akin to Islay whiskies, but...woodsier.
I had a great deal of fun on the hike. I discovered lots of enormous slugs (which I poked with a twig), the ruins of a small house or shed, lots of deer tracks (and poop), and a small meadow near the peak in which I laid me down amongst the wildflowers and whispery mountain breezes for a wonderful nap...until it started to snow. I climbed several fences, trespassed through a few backyards, stumbled through two boulder fields, walked smack into an expansive marshy-swamp (but escaped before my shoes were completely soaked), and saw the biggest bunny I have ever seen on this earth. I sang old gospel songs all the way down, eating raw sugar-snap peas (which I took one at a time from my pack) between verses.
After my hike the weather turned blustery and bone-chilling, so I took the bus to a quaint nearby village called Ballater. I found a little coffee/tea shop where I sat at a table with two older women from Aberdeen, who were on a day journey in the highlands. They tried to share their tea-cakes with me but I politely declined, explaining that I was drinking coffee and it didn't seem appropriate to eat teacakes whilst drinking coffee.
Then I got back on a bus (no Misadventures with Public Transport the whole trip! I'm a little frightened about what this might mean for my Hungary and Germany tips...you have to understand how this peculiar type of Karma works for me, I guess..) I day-dreamed all the way back to the Union Street Bus Station in Aberdeen, watching the River Dee flow merrily alongside the road. The world was new again.
Today I had much work to do, so I revisited the "secret" cafe, whose name is actually Kilau (see the photo album link above for a few pictures of the coffee shop, as well as my study partner, Julie). During the research I realized that I will only be in Scotland for little more than 48 hours. I packed up my things and headed out in search of a record store, because I had to buy the Stornoway album before I left--it's a Scottish band I mentioned before, and you can't get the album on iTunes. I found a store called 1-Up, which is my new favorite thing in the world. I wiled away the afternoon there, delighted by the large selection of great Indie albums, as well as many favorite bands both old and new-- until closing, at which point I had to make the painful decision to purchase the following (but a subset of the many more I wanted to purchase):
Sigh No More (Mumford & Sons)
Fire: The Jimi Hendrix Collection
Gold (The Velvet Underground)
The Very Best of Nina Simone
The Sound of The Smiths
London Calling (The Clash)
and, of course, Beachcomber's Windowsill, by Stornoway.
While I was finalizing my purchases with the slowest sales clerk I have ever encountered (she even read, with care, all THREE of the receipts generated by the sale), the other sales clerk explained that she and my cashier, Princess Thorough-Pants, were sisters, and that their dad had owned this shop since the 1970s. She also told me they had vinyls downstairs in the basement that I should check out..but unfortunately it was already closing time (well, it was PAST closing by the time Captain Slowface finally handed me my bag). I will do my darnedest to get back to this magical musicland before I leave. I've already listened to the Smith's album (perfection) and the Stornoway album (haunting, beautiful, and very Scottish). I'm finishing Nina Simone as I type. Love me some Nina.
Right now I've gotta get back to work. And by work, I mean half-assed editing of various grant proposals (bleeech) combined with simultaneous full-assed listening to...oh, who should be next? Let's go with Velvet Underground. Yes.
