I’ll Take a Large Order of Scotland. But Hold the Haggis.

Carolyn J. Rose

 

Thanks to the movement of tectonic plates in the Great Glen, the advance and retreat of glaciers, and the endless work of wind and water, the Scottish Highlands are a magnet for geologists as well as tourists. Set the science and scenery to music courtesy of a piper playing on the roadside, and the experience is unique.

The last time we were in Scotland, twelve years ago, I had only one close encounter with haggis and that was at a “Scottish Evening.” That tourist-geared event featured pipers, dancers, and sample plates of haggis, neeps, and tatties. This time, haggis seemed to be everywhere: on the breakfast buffet, as a stuffing for chicken breast, as a pizza topping, and a potato-chip flavoring.

I can’t digest red meat, so I had a sound reason to pass, and plenty of other culinary creations on the menu. (A shout out to the NorthLink Ferry from Scrabster to Stromness where I had some of the best mac and cheese EVER!)

 

Scotland has some pretty comprehensive nutritional standards, so I found less sugar and salt in many commercially made foods. Cheetos, those crunchy, cheesy curls didn’t taste the same. (Note: this will be important later.)

 

My 77^th birthday kicked off with a visit to Dunrobin Castle. 

By this time we were a little crispy (as in not quite burnt out, but getting there) when it came to castle interiors, so we strolled the grounds. Being a gardener, I appreciated all the hard work that went into maintaining the grounds. Not having to do that work made the experience even more enjoyable.

 

I’d brought along a guide to birds of the UK, but except for a hooded crow, most birds I spotted were too far off or too fast for me to identify with any certainty. 

The crow had a taste for the granola bar I was gnawing on and hung around until the crumbs were gone.

 

In Dornoch, we browsed a bookshop, bought a mystery by a local author, marveled at the huge mural in Greens Restaurant.

(Can you find Madonna and Guy Ritchie?) After ogling the mural, we treated ourselves to yet another scone. And, yeah, I slathered on butter. Plenty of butter. After all, we had a long bus ride to Scrabster to catch the ferry to the Orkneys. And, at the time, I had no idea mac and cheese would be served on board.

 

The next morning we woke up at the Ayre Hotel in Kirkwall, gobbled our way through another massive display of choices on the breakfast buffet (croissants and more butter!) and headed off into the distant past.

 

But first, a few wonderful dry stone walls and a quick stop to see what you can create with a little imagination and a whole lot of lugging and lifting. (For more information, check out Friends of Stoneworks, Orkney)

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And then another quick stop at an honesty box because, after all, it had been an hour or so since breakfast and it was cool and windy and we required the insulation provided by a brownie or two. And, yes, Mike paid for them. (For the record, I’m sure he would have ponied up even if he hadn’t had an audience.)

We were glad of that insulation and our puffy jackets when we reached Skara Brae where wind whipped off the sea and scoured the headland. 

The Neolithic site, revealed after a storm, seems to have been abandoned just last week instead of thousands of years ago. With a little net surfing you can learn much more about the site and perhaps form your own theory about why the inhabitants departed.

 

And you can do the same kind of research for the Ring of Brodgar, but I’ll tell you now that the stone ring is older than Stonehenge and the Egyptian Pyramids.

 

About half the original stones are still standing. Stark against the sky, they continue to mark off the seasons. 

The Standing Stones of Stenness are believed to be even older. Only a few are still upright, some having toppled to the weight of years and others through the actions of a landowner attempting to discourage trespassers. Fortunately, I wasn’t considered a trespasser and could walk among them and touch them, putting my hands where others had when they were set in place. I won’t go all woo-woo on you, but I will say I felt compelled to keep my hand there for at least a full minute.

 

After Neolithic history, we had a taste of less distant past as we traveled along the sheltered waters of Scapa Flow to the Italian Chapel. Built by prisoners of war, it’s a monument to their beliefs and know-how and creativity.

On the ferry to Stromness, we cruised past the towering sandstone sea stack known as the Old Man of Hoy, 

 

In Stromness, which serves as a gateway to Scotland's most legendary Loch, Mike’s mission was to find a cup of good coffee and mine was to explore the local hardware store. I am, as many of you know, my father’s daughter, and I love to prowl the aisles of a hardware store.

But this is what I came for. If you look past the trebuchet and the ruins of Urquhart Castle, you’ll see Loch Ness. It’s been on my bucket list since I first heard a tale about the cryptid rumored to inhabit its depths. And I had a plan to bring Nessie to the surface and settle the debate once and for all.

 

Unfortunately, that plan depended on a bait no fabled monster could resist—Cheetos. But, as mentioned before, Cheetos acquired in Scotland didn’t have as much kick. But, kicking myself for not bringing superior bait from home, I tried, holding up the bag and silently pleading with Nessie to rise from the dark depths.

 

And perhaps she—or maybe he or maybe they—did. Monster-viewing conditions weren’t prime. The sun emerged as we got underway and the wind picked up, creating waves and whitecaps and splintering reflected light.

 But you can’t say I didn’t try. I squinted and peered as we cruised the length of the loch. Well, except when I was chatting and laughing with MadDog and Wildcat, fellow tourists. If you can’t find a monster, then find friends.

 

Later I consoled myself by watching sheepdogs do their stuff, rounding up a flock and spinning the sheep left and right as the shepherd directed through commands and body language.

 

Meanwhile a hairy cow (to locals, it's pronounced "Horry Coo") named Anita wandered among the members of our tour. She’d been hand-raised and seemed unaware of her size and the damage she could do with those horns.

 

And finally, as we headed back to Edinburgh to prepare for another long day of watching reader boards, trekking along concourses, and cramming into shuttles, we stopped near Falkirk to see the Kelpies. 

These towering sculptures command the horizon and attention. But what are Kelpies? Well, by now you should be good at research, so I’ll let you find that out for yourself. (Mike thought Kelpies were a long- forgotten breakfast cereal.)