Well, our journey east (well, at least it's east to us) to Scotland begins in a week and a half and I've been busy rechecking our reservations and ordering companion books for David and myself. I must have searched through at least 50 books about Scotland or written about a Scot to find the four we'll bring with us to Scotland. I travel with books about a place I'm visiting because it opens the place up to me in a way I wouldn't expect. In this case, I'm bringing three books, and my husband just one. Usually it's the other way around, as he often overpacks on the book front. I just couldn't decide on one alone. So I've three: The Hunt for Rob Roy; The Road North; and The Big Grey Man of Ben Macdhui. Dave has decided his one book will be The Man Who Saw the Future: William Paterson's Vision of Free Trade...which fits with Dave's preoccupation for books of the economic historical ilk. I'm always excited to begin a new book, and the prospect of it aiding me in considering the Scots in a new way is magical. But more on these books later. Right now, I have to pack. We're going to try and only bring carryons...we'll see how that turns out... On the way towards Glen Coe we saw enough cut down forest to turn anyone into an environmentalist. We were kind of appauled at the state in which forests were left after deforestation--they looked worst than burnt forests. It was a shocking sight. But we were soon overtaken by the coming beauty of Glen Coe. It really was stunning. Huge granite-topped cliffs plunged to the boggy ground with waterfalls streaming off their precipices and the valleys below pregnant with deep streams. It was green and lush and moody and just what I was expecting of the Highlands. One has expectations of a place before a trip and I definitely knew in my mind what I hoped it would be like, and so far the reality of the place has not let me down. I was remarking to Dave how much I love "moody" places--when clouds are low and there is impending mist and the light is dimmed I feel there is a "moodiness" to the weather. And I love it because it sparks my inspiration. And one of the things I have looked forward to in traveling here for this vacation is to have time to paint and write and read. And sometimes I just need a little inspiration for that. So, we knew we'd be coming back through Glen Coe in a week or so, so decided to save the Lost Valley hike for until then. It was another half hour when we arrived at the Corran ferry, our "shuttle" to the Ardamurchan peninsular, problem was that we had forgotten to exchange money at the airport and the ferry operator only accepts exact change for passage (meaning no credit cards--only paper money). With no bank open at this time and no ATM in sight that works with our particular card, we were forced to detour north to Fort William to go to a supermarket for an ATM and exact change. Being that the ferry leaves every 15 minutes, we arrived back to another ferry awaiting us to embark on the absolutley shortest ferry ride in the world. It has to be. I mean, literally, they can hardly take money from all the onboard passengers in the cars before they are letting cars off on the other side. The ferry spans Loch Shiel at its narrowest and it seems to my American mind that it would behoove everyone if a bridge was built. But what do I know of these things? So anyway, we left the ferry and headed towards Stontian--a most lovely and picturesque village (and on eof the larger in Ardamurchan which means only that it has a police station, a high school, and a library) where i told Dave I could see myself living. It's at the head of Loch Sunart and every evening the tides push the water in with the force of a river, and during the day the tides pull out the water revealing a lovely sandy shelf near the village. The view from here is incomparable and as we approach the tree canopied entrance to Kilcamb Lodge, the sun threw its light on the hills around us and everything glowed. In that instant I imagined clansmen from generations ago taking great delight in the sun which seldom shines here. So there was Kilcamb Lodge--finally--after a long day of travel and the stress of one lane curvy roads and the strange encounter with a stag and with the short ferry and, oh, I forgot to mention the seaweed eating sheep. Yes, that's correct--seaweed eating sheep. Just as you disembark the ferry and follow the road along the water there are the reputed seaweed eating sheep that eat the seaweed on the loch bottoms when tide is out. Very unusual. So back to Kilcamb. A lovely spot on the loch with views across the loch to the hills. Its an old lodge--infact perported to be the oldest stone building in Scotland being built in the 18th Century. Now a 3/4 star hotel, I picked it for its location and the fact that its known for its cooking. So after settling in we had dinner there and halfway through the meal remarked that eating together without a child in tow is a forgotten experience but one which tonight we cherished. After all, we were here for us--to vacation and have time for ourselves. We missed our son, but enjoyed our dinner just the same.
