We started out that morning with a leisurely drive through the Lake District. This little detour on our way to Scotland was mostly an homage to my late grandmother Josephine, who spent years travelling abroad in the grand style but somehow never made it to the Lake District. Her last trip overseas was with my family to the Virgin Islands and when she got home she quietly announced that it would be her last trip abroad. My father asked her if there was anywhere else she wanted to go and she replied "I always wanted to see the Lake Country." So, of course, we went to see the lakes just for her.
The Lakes are gorgeous. Ike and I stopped along the way to throw rocks into the water and think deep thoughts. It was very peaceful. We turned Northeast and headed towards Scotland by about 10:30 in the morning. I was excited about the evening ahead; we were staying the night in a castle!
We crossed the Scottish border around noon and drove straight to Stirling for lunch. There was still the matter of figuring out exactly where Ethie Castle (our home for the night) was located. I was under the vague impression that it was somewhere around Pitlochry, the Victorian resort town I visited last summer and fell madly in love with, in Perthshire. We drove around Stirling looking for a car park and/or a Thomas Cook and were extrememly fortunate to find both within reasonable walking distance. We wandered through a pedestrian area of Stirling in what must be the shopping district because I saw another Topshop and a huge, underground shopping center called The Thistles. (Fun fact: though commonly admired as the national flower of Scotland, the thistle is in fact just a prickly weed. The actual flower of Scotland is the bluebell and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.)
After a quick lunch of takeaway pasties -- ham and cheese-filled dough pockets -- and a short tour of Stirling's finest purveyor of soccer equipment, we popped into the tourist information center to use their internet. I did a quick google search for our castle and was amazed to discover that it was in fact located about sixty miles East of Pitlochry on the Eastern coast. So, we rearranged our itinerary a bit and headed back to the car.
After a couple hours of driving I realized we still didn't know *exactly* where we were going, and with the North Sea fast approaching I was more than happy to whip out my BRAND NEW RAZOR PHONE WITH ITUNES to call ahead and get directions. The woman who answered the phone sounded like she had just carried a torch through a musty dungeon, so I was properly enchanted and excited about what was waiting for us down the road. She proceeded to give me a set of the most bizzare directions I have ever heard, and had she said 'next you'll have to swim the moat' I wouldn't have been surprised. We made it to Ethie Castle without incident (and without a moat swim) just as the sun was setting. The land on the Eastern coast is flat and mostly made up of farmland and might as well be Iowa, so it's hard to get lost because you can see your destination (especially if it's a castle with a giant turret) from five miles away.
We received an effusive welcome from the proprietess of the Castle and her lively pack of Jack Russell terriers. Everything was all so quintessentially British and lovely; there was an umbrella stand in the hallway next to which sat two pairs of muddy wellington boots. I dropped my bag in our guest room (all done up in Laura Ashley of course) and set off down the road for a walk.
I walked away from the castle past a field full of highland cows (called Hairy Coos) and turned left into the woods. I stepped high through the tall grass that was growing along an ancient stone wall and slowly crashed my way into a clearing. My efforts were rewarded with a tiny, perfect pond, complete with an old loch system and broken-down waterwheel. The trees grew close to the water and their limbs brushed the surface of the pond along the edge. It was the most beautiful little glen I have ever seen.
I must have been overwhelmed with beauty because nothing can explain the violent fall I took as soon as I turned around to head back. Not only did I step in a hole... I sunk thigh deep in the softest topsoil on earth. It was like sinking into a pothole filled with freshly baked brownies. I threw my arms out in shock, grabbing for something to break my fall, and took firm hold of a mysterious green and pink plant. Luckily its branches saved me from certain death, but it stung the hell out of me in the process. So, let's be honest. I grew up in the mountains of western north carolina. I was shut out of the house from 8 in the morning until about 6 every night, so I've seen my fair share of wild shrubbery and poisonous things-that-will-kill-you. I've been stung, cut, whipped, needled, and punctured by any number of bizzare vegetation, but there was nothing that could have prepared me for the mortal pain I experienced at the hands of this strange plant. My skin bubbled up immediately and I limped back to the castle with visions of my first days at St. Andrews being totally ruined because I had giant melon-sized boils dangling from the ends of my arms ("Run away from the boil girl!"). I was pleased to discover that all it took was a twenty minute shower and a little crabtree and evelyn to clear the bubbling right up. So, if anyone reading this can identify what the hell I grabbed onto, I would be most interested to find out.
Scrubbed up and utterly famished, Ike and I got directions into the village for dinner at a place called The Chance. If you're anything like Anne Battram and you think in puns I imagine this would be a great place to have dinner. A dinner conversation might go something like this:
"Oh, I think I'll have the lamb."
"Are you sure you want to chance it?"
(Ba-dah-dum!)
The village was completely dark and desterted except for the bright, inviting windows of The Chance and a lone boy kicking a dark-colored object (which may or may not have been a human head) at an alley wall. It was definitely "bring out your dead!" country, and unlike any other town I've visited in Scotland in terms of drear and foreboding.
Despite its forbidding surroundings, The Chance was a singularly top-notch place to have dinner. Every table was full (perhaps explaining why the boy had no one to play with), and my meal (meat and potatoes becoming a theme) was excellent. There was a huge table of maybe sixteen women eating together so it was very, very loud inside. I had strawberries and cream with shortbread for dessert and life was looking pretty sweet. It was almost possible to forget my nervousness about arriving at St. Andrews the next day.
We slept soundly that night at Ethie Castle. I can say with confidence that it was the quietest place I have ever passed a night, and I bet you could chalk that up to the four-foot thick walls and/or the drawbridge. It's easy to see why people were so busy building castles back then; they definitely provide an unparalleled sense of security.
We got up early for breakfast in the 14th century banquet hall. There was already a merry little fire built in the Buick-sized fireplace and two place settings were arranged next to it at the massive oak dining table. The aforementioned pack of dogs joined us at our feet, and I ate my bacon and pretended I owned the place. It was every child's ultimate fantasy realized. We planned on being in St. Andrews when the dorms opened at 10, so with an equally effusive goodbye from the lady and her dogs we hit the road and drove South to St. Andrews.
