Day 26: Loch Ness & Culloden

A comfortable breakfast and a return to the seat in front of the fireplace made it very hard to leave our hotel. A smattering of rain troubled me but Loch Lochy gave way to an even more stunning area under the veil of legend - Loch Ness!

Cazy bore my chosen playlist with patience and zero complaints. I put him through Silly Wizard all day - a must for highland driving! Cazy pointed out that the lyrics of "The Ramblin' Rover" matched our intended journey in reverse, i.e. "frae Orkney down to Dover". We passed event walkers and irritating weekend drivers then arrived under lessening rain at Urquhart Castle. The view of the loch was glorious even under a struggling sky.

After entering Historic Scotland’s entrance and finding relief in the bathroom, I led Cazy out of the gift shop/cafe onto the platform overlooking the ruins of the castle (an exhibition inside had furnished our expectations of the layout).

We descended the ramp to enter the ruins via the dugout moat and rain began to strike back with a vengeance. My broken umbrella was useless so I went with what works - the rain jacket. We were intrigued by the trebuchet reconstruction (a world first that took place in 1998) then went through the gatehouse. Limited shelter offered me a chance to bemoan about my SLR’s large lens surface. You can climb modern stairs up to the next level.

Loch Ness beckons you into the ruins of Urquhart Castle.

The Grant Tower to the left retains its narrow stone steps for three out of five levels. When the wall failed me on my ascent, I could easily pull myself up on the steps. 

The view from the Grant Tower

The rain continued as we explored other less sheltered parts of the ruins, including the Water Gate through which I imagine the Lords of the Isles gained access to the castle when they raided it. Urquhart Castle was breached in many raids so I wonder if they should have foregone the Water Gate all together.

Maybe the Loch Ness Monster was their first defence! :D

The Water Gate scandal of the 1500s ;)

We hastened to the cafe and warmed up before hitting the gift shop. I wish I’d bought that purple woollen scarf but I already have a silk one at home!

We drove from there, sadly never sneaking a glance at the fabled Nessie - unless you count the many pictorial signs and sculptures dotted about the towns nearby.

We passed through Inverness on our way to Culloden Moor. Snow covered the peaks in the not-so-distant horizon and wind battered us as we struggled into the visitor centre. The exhibition at Culloden is very good - one wall follows the Whig timeline and the other wall follows Bonnie Prince Charlie. Weapons and various items were showcased. My favourite parts of the exhibition were: 1) the four-walled cinema that smushed us right in the middle of the brutal battle between the Jacobites and the English military and 2) a floor screen outlining the battle Age of Empires style (except this one came complete with cloud cover!).

We joined a guided tour outside where we were hit with a stark reminder of the ghastly winds. It was surreal walking through scenery I had viewed on Two Men in a Trench and slightly exciting too - I was able to marry images of archaeological work with the apparently undisturbed scene before me.

Desolate and windy: let's totally pitch a battle here!

A farmhouse stands there at Culloden, marking the buildings used by the king’s men as shields. Red flags signal their line and blue flags wave from a little distance away, marking the Jacobite line. Perhaps because I knew a lot from Two Men in a Trench (which pioneered archaeology on the site), perhaps the guide was simply above average, but I really felt the battle, really sensed the sadness and anger and foolishness and pride.

Leanach Cottage

The clan cemetery is frighteningly large compared to the marker for the English (merely two small ditches nearby - the Mackintosh clan ditch alone was 30-50 feet). After the tour, I made sure Cazy took a photo of me beside the Cameron stone, which marks the grave of Neil Oliver’s kinsmen.

The clan grave markers stand ever vigilant.

We bailed shortly thereafter to the gift shop. In the car, I despaired that the satnav knew nothing of the nearby Clava Cairns but Cazy spotted signs for it before we’d even left the private road that lies on Culloden Battlefield. 

The cairns are Bronze Age in date and are still very substantial, stowed among mystical green-sprayed trees. One stone was on the opposite side of the road, completely separate from its fellows. The whole place reeked.

“Do you smell vomit?” Cazy asked me worriedly - he thought he’d stepped in something.

I allayed his fears. “Yes!”

It looks a lot better than it smells!

Everywhere we went in the cairns we smelled vomit. While I would have liked to linger and re-enter the centres of the round cairns, the stench forced us into a hasty retreat. The cairns cannot have been used to protect anyone - defences are usually built on hills and this is a wind-sheltered valley. Few bodies have been found here. It is so cold and so close to the battlefield. I wonder if a clansman hid here? Did the English find him and slaughter him among these trees? Was the last scent in his nostrils one that reminded him of vomit?

Ancient and mysterious.

Arrived at the hotel in Inverness - very pleasant. I lazily ordered room service.

Sleep sleep.

Day 25: The Highlands

I was woken to a text message on my phone at 7:30am. This vaguely annoyed me but the shower transformed me into a human being.

Breakfast was nice - most people seem to eat before 8am here. I dashed down to the shops to buy some cheap noodles for dinner and had a battle of wills with the girl on the register (she was unsure if my English £20 note was genuine - I had to pay in 20p coins) before I sped back to the hotel.

We left about 10am. Rain funnelled down the windshield, making me glad I had altered the day’s itinerary, also reducing the amount of driving Cazy had to do. We ignored muddy Loch Leven and the out-of-the-way Crannog Centre and took off for Fort William in the highlands. 

Glencoe

The day was wet, cold and miserable. Glencoe offered a cafe haven with wifi where I discovered online that Jeremy Clarkson was at Pitlochry, only twenty minutes away. I resigned myself to Cazy’s more realistic hunt for the railway viaduct at Glenfinnan - this was used in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets when Harry and Ron were flying the Ford Anglia.

It was far too miserable for us Muggles to get any closer.

Scotland’s scenery has not disappointed in the slightest. Cazy says it reminds him of New Zealand which is no surprise - both countries were violently crushed by tectonic movement, giving way to gorgeous snow-capped mountains. I love it here. Pity about the rain.

After a drive-by at the viaduct (avoiding the pay and display parking), we located the hotel on Loch Lochy - nearly missed it because of the screwy satnav and the curve of the road. It’s a lovely, pricey place built in 1880 as a hunting lodge (there’s a recent deer head mounted on the wall). 

The views are wonderful - we can see the loch from our bathroom window and a mini-waterfall tumbling away beneath the downpour from the bedroom window.

The extremely hypnotic scenery behind Loch Lochy.

Now we are basking by the fireplace in the residents’ lounge. Scotland is an ancient land and I feel...a tug at my heart here. Write tomorrow.

Addendum 10:20pm. Met a nice couple in the residents’ lounge while we imbibed and used wifi. One was a Turkish artist who carves and paints dizzying wooden sculptures that draw the eye ever inwards. His wife is from Glasgow and was able to recommend the most breathtaking sites in the highlands to us. They had both witnessed me roaming around outside with the SLR earlier.

Converted Cazy to my Diet Coke/Malibu mixer. This alcoholic beverage seems to be a new invention to those I order it from.

James (who checked us in) served us the drinks. He seems pleased that he has been invited on a hunt with the owner’s son “next time”.

He thought we were from Yorkshire!

Day 24: Stirling

I slept poorly and felt like the dead upon waking. Even my morning shower had little effect. After breakfast upstairs and a phone call to Mum, we walked up to Stirling Castle, bypassing the Old Town Jail, the Church of the Holy Rude and Argyll’s Lodgings. 

The view from just the castle’s car park was fantastic itself. The Wallace Monument rose in a misty landscape that could very well have been a painting because of the ethereal quality it exuded. On the other side, we had a great view of the Church of the Holy Rude and its graveyard.

We bought audio guides and entered the castle whereupon we were immediately given vouchers for a free tour of Argyll’s Lodgings at 11:30am. In the meantime, we visited the castle exhibit (which championed the importance of Stirling Castle - overlooking a still-standing bridge that controlled access to the highlands) then wandered through Queen Anne’s garden. Again, we found awesome views which a film crew also admired. They appeared to be scouting the area - their clapperboard had “The Stuarts” slapped across it. By now, hideously loud school groups were pouring through the gate.

The Inner Gate before the onslaught of school children.

Grimacing, we passed through yet another gate (the Inner Gate, a sign declared) and viewed canons pointing towards the all-important bridge. There were some nooks and crannies to explore (towers, tower ruins, wall walks) which we did before checking out the Great Hall - it was in a building that is a silly creamy yellow eyesore. The building has been restored to its original “King’s Gold” colour which I supposed looked impressive in the 16th century but it’s ghastly now. Cazy defended the colour. Differing tastes, obviously.

People like that colour? Seriously?

The Great Hall was nicely restored inside - the new Stirling heads cheerfully looked down on us from the ceiling in the king’s chambers. We rushed down to the castle entrance and joined the guided tour. Our affable Scottish guide (silver hair in a long ponytail and nose a large long honk) took us past the graveyard and across the road to the pink-washed Argyll’s Lodgings. First built about the same time as the castle, it was modified and expanded in the 17th century.

We trod through the courtyard into the lower hall and inspected the old fireplace before traipsing through the kitchens (one fireplace had the oldest remaining stove of its type in Scotland). Plastic meat, bread and cheese attempted to give the kitchens some extra life. 

We walked up wooden stairs from the 17th century (platform style, not narrow because the wooden hoop skirts came into fashion about that time) into the upper hall (refurbished, but still containing its original cupboards and fireplace - these had been screened off while it functioned as a hospital). We also entered the study (it had three generous windows) and the master bedroom (they had a “thunderbox” - early ensuite? Haha!). A father and son who lived here were both executed at different times.

Burn, baby, burn.

There was a lacklustre exhibition downstairs which we gave a cursory glance before heading for the door. We were stopped by the guide and doorman who wanted us to return the 11:30 slot tickets but we had bent them. Tsk - they should have told us beforehand! :D

I will note here our Argyll Lodging’s guide’s disdain for 17th century townhouses being demolished in the 1950s and 1960s for car parks.

We returned to the castle and attempted the vaults though we were ambushed by cawing children and puerile activities. We browsed the Great Hall’s connected areas - the rooms belonging to both the king and the queen. These rooms had been appropriated for military use until the 1960s.

We then viewed the original Stirling heads in an exhibit (stripped of paint but still just as perverse) before departing via a quick trip to the ridiculously overpriced cafe and the glorious gift shop. I was amused and thrilled to see two of Neil Oliver’s books there - he is Stirling’s favourite son! Pity he’s in Canberra right now. Grrr.

I could totally live here.

We bought “Deluxe Scottish Ice Cream” from a van outside and nibbled the cones as we headed for hotel. Cazy needed to charge his battery and we both needed lunch. We had food and hot chocolates at the Old Town Cafe, which was nice - nicer than most of Old Town. Many shops lie vacant and unloved.

We returned to the Church of the Holy Rude. Photography was allowed inside (for a donation) which was excellent because it was amazing inside. Columns, arches, stained glass windows and a very impressive ancient wooden ceiling. Mary of Queen of Scots worshipped here and this is where her young son was crowned James VI of Scotland. Tattered and frayed banners hang over tourists and worshippers alike.

Mary Queen of Scots looked up at this ceiling!

Not a large church but it was very grand and echoed with the past - and it possessed a talkative and cheerful caretaker who turned any questions about the church into a grand conversation. After buying wares from him, we toured the scenic graveyard (the oldest gravestones date to the 16th century - I did not locate one until much later when I perused my photographs).

Creepy.

We then climbed up Lady’s Hill, a rocky hill opposite/alongside the castle where the ladies of court used to watch heroes-in-training in the tilting yard below - before graves spilled into the gap, of course. A lovely view. I lingered there while Cazy raced (unsuccessfully) to record a clock tower gonging four o’clock. We met by the mercat, spotting a walking tour of two people with a very animated man in costume.

Okay, that King's Gold stands out waaay too much in the background.

We chose the Corn Exchange on the Corn Exchange (how amusing) for dinner which was pleasant though they could have done with less auto-tuned songs in their playlist. We left - I paid the tip in pennies. I also left a pound to soothe any irritation this might have caused. 

Cazy wishes me to record a bad joke I cracked in front of the waitress. My brother remarked, “I don’t know how Margaret Thatcher did it on four hours sleep a night.”

“Heh, she’s getting twenty-four now,” I quipped before I could check myself.

The waitress and my brother laughed. Went back to the hotel and Cazy said that my words were too morbid. 

Anyway, watched TV shows then went to bed.

Day 23: Stirling

A slow start. We managed to pack ourselves into the car with our (three!) suitcases by 10:45am. I look forward to returning! We stopped by a Shell petrol station (I shamed myself by buying six Tunnock's Teacakes!) then took a scenic route to Stirling (we got stuck behind a truck for ages!).

The crags around Stirling are gorgeous though wind turbines crowd onto one of them. The Wallace Monument peeks above the trees on its hill, the head of it quite visible - more visible than Stirling Castle as you drive towards the city. Rain dogged us as we neared the monument much to my distress, but it petered off as we emerged from our car.

Quite a pleasant visitor centre - and a pleasant walk up to the monument (you can choose to amble up a gentle winding path or trek up a steeper option). There is a courtesy bus to and from the top. The monument was tall, thrusting into a blue sky, a spire that reaches just as Scotland reaches for the meaning of freedom in a character called Wallace. 

Why, yes, I have climbed the 246 steps inside.

Our dizzying climb inside was conducted on a narrow winding staircase - this involved one person having to flatten themselves to the wall if someone was travelling the opposite way. There were three levels inside - respites from the dangers facing us on the stairs! 

Be wary of backpacks when squeezing past others on those stairs.

First level - boards explaining the William Wallace legend and a scarily good screen positioned on a body that was filled with the face of an actor playing the defensive Wallace. We gawped at his actual sword which was on display.

On the next level was the “Hall of Heroes”. Here lived busts of stones from the 19th century (the monument itself was built by the late 19th century), constructed in the likenesses of famous great men including Robert the Bruce, William Wallace, David Livingstone and James Watt!

Level three was filled with boards providing a history on the monument’s construction. All funds were raised by the public. Wallace is more than legend. Cazy ascended to the roof after me. So windy!! But it was worth it for the excellent views of Stirling.

Stirling

I burst down the stairs so quickly I felt out of sorts - nearly bowled over other people climbing the narrow steps in the process - and hit the gift shop. We meandered down to the other gift shop via a lookout and a costumed performer who caught my eye, much to my embarrassment. We bought more souvenirs and chilled in the cafe before heading to our hotel in the heart of Stirling Old Town.

We passed the town wall which is very distinctive - very exciting! The hotel then made me furious as they gave us a double room despite my booking requiring a twin. Then the next room they gave us was also a double! I had to keep lugging my stuff backwards and forwards and so ended up a sweaty, raving mess beside Cazy’s cool. Finally, the last room was split into a twin and we dumped our luggage before seeking the city walls on foot.

I abruptly lost my way so Cazy took us through the shopping centre where we found a niche among the shops that contained the remains of a wall tower (free admission!) which gave as a sign that we were in the correct area. We left the shopping centre and found the wall then followed it all the way up to where our hotel was. The wall was right below our hotel window - how did I miss that!?

The city walls

We later did dinner at a nice Italian restaurant and briefly walked in Old Town (so many vacant shops - and some suspiciously young girls smoking). Back to the hotel - I finished Broadchurch! Did not expect that killer.

Cazy had a hilarious time in the shower - I rang reception to discover we were doing the right thing to turn it on, though it did not seem to be working. Cazy tried again - fully clothed - and was splattered. 

Hehe.

Night.

Day 22: Edinburgh

The day started slowly and we left the hotel late in the morning, each of us heading to Debenham’s. My journey took me past The Hub where I picked up our Beltane Fire Festival tickets while Cazy went to figure out where the hire car needed to be dropped off. He hit queues; I didn’t. He made me wait.

Anyway, we bought a teal suitcase and dropped it off at the hotel. Thereon we had separate journeys! I trawled through three second-hand bookshops and only came away with one purchase - published in 1805. It appeared to be an etiquette book aimed at princesses. There were many older books but they did not catch my interest like this one.

I made my way to the Royal Mile and browsed the cashmere stores, set to the soundtrack of buskers playing bagpipes and even a didgeridoo. I would return to give money to the latter because he reminded me of home.

A lot of the Royal Mile shops are tourist traps - either the items only have a tiny percent of cashmere or they are 100% cashmere but do not originate from Scotland. Very glad I look for these things. My scarf from Edinburgh Castle is the real deal!

Admiral Ackbar's opinion on the Royal Mile: "It's a trap!"

I eventually sat in Cockburn Cafe which was empty (unlike the Royal Mile cafes) but for a stressed manager on the phone and his meek cashier (wife?). She was very pleasant. Food was nice. Why is this place empty?

I intended to sit in another cafe so returned to the Grassmarket area where I accidentally walked into a high end cashmere store - genuine and pricey! I recovered in a fudge shop where I received a distressing phone call - the Scrabster ferry is kaput so we need to take a different ferry to Orkney!

Argh. New accommodation booked. Rang brother to discover he was on the Edinburgh vault tour.

Later, we left the apartment at 8:30 for Carlton Hill where the festival was. The gates opened at 8pm which we should have observed. The queue to get in was not bad (they were checking bags for glass and then decanting alcohol from glass bottles into plastic cups) and we passed several torches that flamed beneath mocked up cattle skulls. 

A sign of things to come...

The sky was not yet black though it was 9pm. Disappointingly, there was already a huge crowd gathered near the Parthenon monument and the runway leading to it. We had to stand on a hill further away to see anything. People smoked near us which was unpleasant - over the night, three scents were pervasive: tobacco, weed and charcoal (the latter from the torches).

The show began with drumming that never became annoying, rather it was a beat echoed in our chests and it carried the performances through lulls (during which portaloos, drink stalls and a fish and chip shop grew tails of thirsty and starving Gen Xs and Gen Ys).

Poor lighting, great distance, fire dancers = strangely intriguing photo.

The main performance moved onto a patch of ground between us and the Parthenon and they passed by us. We had a very good view and I nearly clobbered a drummer with my telescopic lens. I very shortly afterward gave up on the camera altogether because I was relying on poor lighting from the flames of Beltane and scattered street lamps. We followed the procession to a wide celtic-designed arch that was lit by flames.

The May Queen

We were stopped short and told we could not pass through the arch. The crush of trying to move back frightened me so I escaped into nearby shadows. Cazy followed. Before that, two girls had climbed a tree to get a better view and a security guard shouted them down.

Instead of worrying for their safety, he stressed, “It’s an endangered ash!”

I sympathised with the tree, although it had jabbed me with a leafless branch.

We passed a bonfire, stumbling over grass and path in our attempt to follow the goddess. Instead, we mostly watched the red-painted performers who wore only loincloths (including the women).

After this, we gave up on following with poor vantage points our only reward for our efforts. We returned to the main area. Cazy bought a drink for himself and a Tunnock’s Tea Cake for me. We descended a nearby slope and watched the red-painted dancers. One woman with short hair and four thin dreadlocks at the back of her head straddled a canon (a replica, I think) and swigged from a large container of red liquid (mock blood was Cazy’s guess). We then walked to the Parthenon and had to climb the hill again to see.

We moved across to the other side of the Parthenon and we squinted as the May Queen danced - very hard to see more than that. Finally, fed up and teetering on sore feet, we made our way down to Waterloo Place in the dark, though we did pass the lit skulls again. A 20-30 minute walk later (we ignored the long queue of taxis outside the event) we were back at the hotel before midnight.

Sleep came and it was wonderful. Obviously I’m writing this a day later!

Quote of the night which came from someone standing near us 10-20 minutes before we left the festival: “Fuck off, Brian!”

I guess you had to be there to find that funny!

Day 21: Edinburgh

I woke up feeling slightly better but managed to freak out over the bathroom lock. Naked and bruised, I located my towel and re-entered the bathroom, deciding not to lock the door. I will not be trapped again!

I washed my hair in the difficult shower and had breakfast. Cazy and I left a little before 9am and made it on foot to our hop on/hop off bus stand fifteen minutes early. While I took photos of a statue of David Livingstone, Cazy investigated Waverly station.

"Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

Our bright pink red City Sightseeing bus turned up and we sat in the open area on the top deck. The audio tour was very well timed (perhaps spurred on by a GPS system?) and initial traffic made it easy to photograph sites without fear of blurred images. We departed the bus at Edinburgh Castle (we could have walked there from the hotel!) and were amazed at the mammoth size of it as we approached.

Edinburgh Castle from below.

Once inside, the audio tour took us around. The castle is built on a huge volcanic rock. We climbed the Lang Steps to the top level and it was incredibly windy. We didn’t bother with the War Memorial (a snobby decision - it wasn’t old enough to interest us!) and focused on David’s Tower, Scotland’s Royal Honours (crown, sword and the Stone of Destiny which is often featured in fiction) and the room where Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to the first king of Britain. Many things are fragile in that area - flash photography is disallowed.

A commanding view of Edinburgh.

We had to race from the Honours (miraculously kept from Oliver Cromwell and found in a locked chest in the 19th century - people had been worried that the Honours were lost) to see a musket demonstration. It was loud and smelly. The heavens began to spit rain at us so I attempted to open my umbrella - this was a mistake. The wind nearly blew me away Mary Poppins style - and at that moment, the musket fired. What a fright! We hid in the toilets for five minutes until the sun re-emerged.

The musket demonstration two minutes before a downpour.

We roamed through the Foog Gate (this was after seeing Mons Meg, a 500-year-old canon that was extremely popular with children and cameras) then peered at a few “newer” buildings (19th century hospital, etc) and adjourned to the cafe. Once done there, we watched the bigger gun firing at one o’clock before spending far too much at the gift shop (I may or may not be the owner of a 100% cashmere tartan scarf).

We located the bus stop and were picked up shortly thereafter. The tour entertained us until Holyrood Palace which is impressive but overshadowed by the immense crags behind it. It’s a humble-looking royal residence and I was delighted to recognise parts of the grounds from the Time Team special which featured Neil Oliver.

A palace fit for queens of past and present.

The palace's paintings are well looked after (despite being slashed two centuries ago) but the tapestries are faded and dull. Audio guides led us through the rooms where photography was not allowed. We saw the dining room (the queen has sat at that table!) and the cushy chairs made for her grandparents in the throne room.

I liked seeing where Mary Queen of Scots and her husband lived. This was in the oldest part of the palace (noticeable from the outside by the rougher stones) and the floorboards creaked and snapped so consistently I had to pause the audio tour during the worst spells. The wood smelled more in this “unlived” area of the palace.

Holyrood Abbey: chunkier than Whitby Abbey.

Afterwards, we studied the ruins of Holyrood Abbey and I geeked out over the lump in the grass outside because Time Team excavated it on the behest of Elizabeth II who used to play on that little hill. The archaeologists found a seal for letters buried within. The audio tour doesn’t tell you that!

See, I didn't make it up!

Again, I bought too much stuff and was relieved that we were leaving because huge tour groups were starting to turn up. Back on the bus we went (a two minute wait!) and we were conveyed back to Waverley Bridge station via Dynamic Earth (no one departed or boarded the bus at that stop!) and some awing views of Holyrood Park.

Upon arriving "home", I discovered I definitely killed the washing machine but the lovely people at the hotel washed and dried our clothes. I love it here!!!

I made pasta…and I'm currently watching Broadchurch on ITV player (a treat that I will have to give up once my IP address lands me firmly in Australia).

Ciao!

Day 20: Alnwick Castle & Edinburgh

Writing this on the next day. We left Newcastle at 9:45 and I fretted as the rain started in. Mercifully, by the time we reached Alnwick, the rain gave way to blue skies streaked with clouds.

We doubted the satnav but after we passed under a stone arch in the town (had to let another car through the narrow opening first) we found the entrance to Alnwick Castle. After parking for free on the road, we entered and decided on a historic tour but were unsure if we should partake in broomstick lessons (Alnwick Castle is where Harry Potter first rode a broomstick!!).

We gazed up at a statue of Harry Hotspur (some legendary ancestor dude in the Percy family - they’ve lived there for 700 years and counting!) upon leaving the ticket office. In our search for the inner bailey and keep, we passed the gift shop and went under an arch, finding ourselves beneath the clock tower (we found out later it used to be the water tower).

Hogwarts! I mean, er, Alnwick Castle's keep.

Here was the keep, large and surrounded by a gully in the grass (in its previous life this gully was a stake moat - pleasant!). A grassy part of this area was roped off (for the Duke’s second daughter’s wedding in a couple of month's time) and here we saw a very large, very fluffy black and white cat who appeared to be lord and master of Alnwick Castle. It chilled out near where Daniel Radcliffe had stood many, many years ago!

“Is that cat from Harry Potter?” a cute girl asked her mother nearby.

Crookshanks's dapper tuxedo-wearing cousin.

We walked under another arch to the other side of the keep and were talked into taking a ticket/slot (free) for The Lost Cellars. The state rooms were still closed and the historic tour was not until 11:30 so we explored the area, climbing the curtain wall and enjoying the view of the surrounding countryside before closing in on the state rooms and taking photos of the medieval well. A casually dressed man in jeans and a cream-coloured jumper emerged from a nearby door marked "private" and headed for a black Land Rover. 

We paid him no heed, leaving that courtyard and heading back out. The black car followed us and continued on, presumably heading outside the castle. I wondered if he was a member of the Duke’s family because I’d seen a nearby sign stating “family vehicles only beyond this point”.

The Lost Cellars vendor informed us that we’d just seen the Duke of Northumberland! A Percy!

The courtyard sans the aforementioned Duke.

The tour was very informative (the guide pointed out circles on the ground that marked the underground Whistling Tunnel - it kept the food warm between the kitchens and the tables. The servants had to whistle to prove they weren’t eating the food!). I particularly enjoyed the guide’s tales about the first Duchess (the Percys started as Lords, then Earls) - what a character!

As we went back to the broomstick area, we saw young kids waddling around with brooms between their legs - I’m glad we didn’t do that! The guide led us to the Barbican (a very old entry gate which was so scary no one tried to barge in through there - portcullis, murder holes, etc). Then, as we were finishing up, a red Ranger Rover left the state room courtyard, driven by a woman. This was the current Duchess!

The Barbican's second door - never breeched by marauding Scotsmen.

Parts of the curtain wall date to Norman times. The castle started its life as a wooden motte-and-bailey design. The current heir (he remains Earl until he’s Duke) is single! We discovered this vital piece of information in the state rooms - we crammed that visit in. The state rooms had family areas which included a chapel which has not used since the 1970s. Mostly these rooms are a showcase of collections and family photos.

We dashed to the cellars for the silly ghost performance. The actors were okay but it wasn’t scary. They relied on screens to provide images of ghosts and one of the actors pretended to be mysteriously interested in blood before being  revealed - surprise! - as a vampire. 

Cazy and I recovered in the cafe and then spent too much in the gift shop. I had to buy The Ballad of Chevy Chase for the amusement factor. We had spent almost three hours there when we left, crossing over a bridge belonging to the castle. 

The bridge.

I napped but awoke for the crossing into Scotland! Holyrood Park rose like a sleeping giant before we even got close to Edinburgh. Jaw dropping beauty. So vast, more impressive than a castle. I too would choose to put a city here!

After a maze of roads and a naughty satnav (we ended turning around outside Holyrood Palace - and the Scottish Parliament!) we found the hotel. 

I did a load of washing and visited an odeon (we bought 2 tickets for a later session of Iron Man 3) and a convenience store. A Scotsman in his 20s packed our groceries and, after eyeing the large quantities of fruit, remarked, “This is the healthiest shop I’ve ever seen.” 

That night I managed to break the washing machine. Defeated, I retired to bed.

And tomorrow has already happened!

Day 19: Hadrian's Wall

After breakfast, we made for Housesteads Roman Fort on Hadrian’s Wall. We arrived at quarter to 11 (would have been there sooner but the satnav took us over a railway crossing which played party to a crawling freight train - then some idiot parked right in front of us - English roads, sadly, rely on common sense) and had to pay and display (£4).

Annoyingly, the visitor centre was still in scaffolding despite the website’s promise of it being open in by then! To top it off, there were portaloos in the car park.

We trudged the long route up an immense slope to the fort, dodging clusters of tiny half-spheres of ice and piles of sheep shit. I began to regret not bringing an extra jacket.

The fort, even in ruins, was very impressive, crowning the ridge, though it seems owned by sheep now. We made for the museum which doubled as a ticket office (loos notable by their absence). The OVP continues to be amazing. The museum pieces are quite good - did not watch the video.

Housestead's Roman Fort

We ventured out to the fort and swiftly froze. My ungloved hands worked furiously on the SLR but still ached before they went numb. We started at the vicus (more sheep shit ahoy!) then entered through the south gate. This part was rebuilt in the 17th century to protect against raids. I geeked out over a worn step (the telltale dip in the centre of the stone a sign of many feet over the centuries). Who else had stood there? Other tourists hoping for a similar revelation?

We walked through the commander’s house. I briefly hid in the granary because the wind kept biting into me. The ruins sufficiently protected me for those few seconds. I reached the north gate and caught my second glimpse of the infamous wall (the first glimpse had occurred in the car - earlier we had driven past a piece of the wall in suburbia that I’d looked at months ago in Google street view!). It lay beneath the steep slope leading up to the fort. Irritating tourists were walking on it, ruining my photos.

The latrines - in my house, this is known as the "library".

We brushed past the east gate and several lumpy patches of grass and weeds before reaching the latrines. Noticeable by the plumping, they were positioned in a corner so all the crap flowed downhill away from the fort. There were (still present) water basins made out of stone in the centre, presumably to wash one’s hands?

Back to the south gate. As we passed a hypocaust, Cazy seemed bemused by it so I informed him, “Hypocaust!”

“In English,” he requested.

“...hypocaust!” I repeated, grinning.

Hypocaust!

There was a hospital (two other tourists seemed surprised that the Roman Empire wanted to keep their soldiers in good condition) which we stepped into before viewing the many, many barracks. We doubled back to the west gate, pausing at the bakery. The gate closest to the infamous wall was locked in with fencing. After watching overs leap over, so too did we. I was determined to leave the fort via a gate like a Roman, damn it!

Then up we went to that beckoning piece of Hadrian’s Wall (connected to the fort). A track ran alongside it into a grove of trees but there also appeared to be gravel in a central dip on the wall. I was shocked when Cazy started walking on it but I was also drawn to the lure of trampling over history.

More tourists than soldiers have walked this wall.

The trees shaded us and I shivered. The walk revealed a very sharp drop to the valley below on one side of the wall. The gradient was much more pronounced on this side of the fort. We saw a lake through the trees. We stopped at a rise in the wall, took photos and returned to the museum.

Sandwiches and souvenirs for both of us. Hot chocolate for me - and I also braved the portaloos back at the car. Not bad - they flushed. This basic was operated by a pedal. 

Next we drove to Corbridge “Roman Town”. Mercifully, parking was free. Cazy used these facilities - he was smart to wait for this opportunity! The OVP got us in and we enjoyed the museum. The kids can follow stuffed lions around to learn about the Romans - someone had stuck one of the lions on an ancient sculpture which made me smile.

I can has history?

Outside awaited sun but it was still a little chilly. The audio tour was very informative, leading us down Staingate Road - AN ACTUAL ROMAN ROAD. With drainage gutters down the side. Very impressive columns proved to be the entry to the granaries - not something cooler. But still epic! There was an effective ventilation system in place to keep corn dry.

Get your mind out of the gutter!

We traipsed past a courtyard area which had held the first fort on the site - a wooden structure that burned early on. Then we were taken through the ruins of the barracks and workshops before I was directed to a “temple”. I was far more interested in the strange hill in the workshop area. I stood on the temple’s worn entrance stone - I like adding pressure to the weight of history.

The mysterious hill.

I then got to descend very small, very narrow steps from ground level to an underground cellar (it's now bare beneath the blue sky!). When Cazy came over, I jokingly suggested it was either used for grog or treasure.

We left after the audio tour tried to sell us membership to English Heritage. 

I was awed by the two sites and wondered why some people I know aren’t excited about Roman Britain. I sure am!

The Romans overpowered the populace for 400 years. Australia has only been around for 200 years...there is a much different perspective on invaders here in Britain. 

Bad dinner choice afterwards. But now thinking of bed…

Night.

Scotland tomorrow!!!