7 Days in Scotland: Day 6
Jun. 10th, 2014 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aryanhwyAfter my nearly perfect meal the night before, I wake up not ravenous. Instead, I avail myself of the same breakfast that I'd had at our hotel in Elgin (the two are owned by the same chain): cinnamon French toast with maple syrup and bacon. Today our walk is leisurely, entirely flat and only 9 miles. We will finally, after nearly a week, be walking right down by the river.
As we head out of town following a slightly different path than we'd come in by, we find the street we should have gone to find supper the night before; it's one block over from the High Street, and seems to be quite the hoppin' place. However, neither of us feel to badly about where (and what) we ended up eating!
We cross the bridge and decend the stairs at the other end to the river side. As we walk, we regularly see fishermen down in the river; and also signs outlining etiquette:
After not too long, we realize that while we are on a path, we are not on the path. We scramble up an embankment and then pick out a path along the edge of what we think is a barley field until we eventually find our way to where we should have been all along. For some long stretch, the path goes through a farm which is quite the Big Do. They have sheep, cows, chickens, plus crop fields, and a number of signs up along the path marking out their status as a conservation farm, and discussing how they rotate their herds, or what they plant in the fields, to make their fields havens for wild birds and small game. It's heart-warming to read about these efforts.
We pass from this farm into another, and looking up see a strange structure in the distance:
We are not sure what it is, but Joel thinks it's a castle, and we decide to go find out. The fences here are not barbed, so it's easy to hop them and head up the hill. We come around at it from the back side and find that the front is full of construction equipment and "do not get too close" signs. We poke our head in the trailor to see if there's anyone who can tell us about it. Joel was right: This is a castle, Castle Roy, to be precise, one of the oldest of its type in the country, dating from the 12th C. The castle is in the process of being partially restored, so that the walls that are in danger of giving way can be supported. When we come around to the front, we see signs telling more about the history of the castle, and find something that first amuses us and then entices us: In a program to help raise funds for the restoration, square yards of ground within and without the castle itself are being sold! Ownership of land in Scotland entitles you to be called a "laird". You cannot do any improvements on the land, but you are allowed free entry to your plot with a guest, and you know what? A square yard is enough to have a picnic. Of course, we assume the costs are far too high. Nevertheless, I snap a picture of the URL.
By now, we are not far from Boat of Garten, where we intend to eat lunch. Boat of Garten appears from the outskirts to be a swanky, expensive, golfing town, and the main hotel downtown is testament to the city's glories:
The pub is offering a soup and salad special for lunch, which sounds fantastic. There are a few other people inside, but no one minds that we take up a large corner, divesting ourselves of gear and shoes. The waiter chats while taking our order, and upon hearing that we've come from Germany, his response is "Well, someone's got to live there". We laugh, because we have gotten such varying response to this fact on our trip!
From Boat of Garten, we walk through ancient pine forests, forests which have never been cut or cultivated in parts. It is amazing how old everything feels, old and still, even though the sun is shining, birds are singing, and there's a fair breeze. We pass through boggy marshes, one of which is like a mirror:
We arrive in town the earliest we've ever made it to a destination; it's not even 5pm. Our bed and breakfast is down what appears to be the main street, and we are welcomed with fresh tea and the most amazing Scottish shortbread with chocolate/caramel topping that I've ever had. Neither of us feel any compunction about eating it all. Internet access is best in the lounge, so we linger there while we drink our tea, Joel catching up on his mail, me poking around on my phone. Out of curiosity, I go to the website for Castle Roy. I am shocked to find how reasonable the prices -- 25GBP for a plot outside the castle, 50 or 70 for one inside; it is only if you want one of the 9 in the tower itself that the price jumps to 1000GBP. That's a bit much; but we're not looking above our stations. We like the idea of being able to contribute to the restoration of the castle, and decide that a square yard within the courtyard is within our means, and would make a lovely anniversary present. Soon, we will be landowners!
We leave to walk around the city to find a place for supper, and find, coming up the walk as we're going out, a face we recognize! The man who was on the same train as us, whom we saw at the bus stop the next morning was not a local to Elgin, to rather another hiker. He'd been making roughly the same treck as us, but without the extra spur to Glenlivet and Tomintoul that we did. He confesses our route may have been better: The part we skipped was so muddy the day he walked it, it was up to his knees. He suggests to us the family restaurant up the street, rather than the hotel down the street, and ultimately that is where we end up. We quickly realize this was an excellent decision: The place is packed and remains so all night long, amazing on a Monday night in a sleepy tiny town.
As we walk back to our lodgings, I stop a moment to savour the beauty.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be the last day of our journey. Our plan has been to walk from Boat of Garten to Aviemore on our final day, a walk of a mere 6 miles which should have been easy to do before our 11:30 train. But I calculate the pace we've been going the last few days, and realize that in order not to miss it, we would really need to leave by 7:00am, and neither of us want to get up that early. We look at the schedule at the bus stop; maybe, just maybe, we should wimp out and take the bus for our final leg, so as to ensure we don't miss our train. We are disappointed, but I argue that I would rather end the journey on a pleasant, relaxed note rather than with the stress and rushing of wondering if we'll get there on time.
We have walked around 80 miles. It has been quite, and empty, peaceful and calm. We have walked in silence, we have talked. We have mapped out a new alternative for our future that neither of us would ever have dreamed before doing this. We have walked in the sun, we have walked in the rain. Walking in the rain makes me think of being on a journey, on a quest. It reminds me of SCA events, where the rain is no reason not to continue to do the things you need to do, because they need doing. Poems have wandered through my head, and I look forward to revisiting my favorite book ever when I get home. We have learned to pick out the smell of distilleries on the wind, and to locate them on the map each evening. We have eaten well and slept like the dead. We have seen the heather moorlands that previously existed only in books. We finally know what gorse is.
As we head out of town following a slightly different path than we'd come in by, we find the street we should have gone to find supper the night before; it's one block over from the High Street, and seems to be quite the hoppin' place. However, neither of us feel to badly about where (and what) we ended up eating!
We cross the bridge and decend the stairs at the other end to the river side. As we walk, we regularly see fishermen down in the river; and also signs outlining etiquette:
After not too long, we realize that while we are on a path, we are not on the path. We scramble up an embankment and then pick out a path along the edge of what we think is a barley field until we eventually find our way to where we should have been all along. For some long stretch, the path goes through a farm which is quite the Big Do. They have sheep, cows, chickens, plus crop fields, and a number of signs up along the path marking out their status as a conservation farm, and discussing how they rotate their herds, or what they plant in the fields, to make their fields havens for wild birds and small game. It's heart-warming to read about these efforts.
We pass from this farm into another, and looking up see a strange structure in the distance:
We are not sure what it is, but Joel thinks it's a castle, and we decide to go find out. The fences here are not barbed, so it's easy to hop them and head up the hill. We come around at it from the back side and find that the front is full of construction equipment and "do not get too close" signs. We poke our head in the trailor to see if there's anyone who can tell us about it. Joel was right: This is a castle, Castle Roy, to be precise, one of the oldest of its type in the country, dating from the 12th C. The castle is in the process of being partially restored, so that the walls that are in danger of giving way can be supported. When we come around to the front, we see signs telling more about the history of the castle, and find something that first amuses us and then entices us: In a program to help raise funds for the restoration, square yards of ground within and without the castle itself are being sold! Ownership of land in Scotland entitles you to be called a "laird". You cannot do any improvements on the land, but you are allowed free entry to your plot with a guest, and you know what? A square yard is enough to have a picnic. Of course, we assume the costs are far too high. Nevertheless, I snap a picture of the URL.
By now, we are not far from Boat of Garten, where we intend to eat lunch. Boat of Garten appears from the outskirts to be a swanky, expensive, golfing town, and the main hotel downtown is testament to the city's glories:
The pub is offering a soup and salad special for lunch, which sounds fantastic. There are a few other people inside, but no one minds that we take up a large corner, divesting ourselves of gear and shoes. The waiter chats while taking our order, and upon hearing that we've come from Germany, his response is "Well, someone's got to live there". We laugh, because we have gotten such varying response to this fact on our trip!
From Boat of Garten, we walk through ancient pine forests, forests which have never been cut or cultivated in parts. It is amazing how old everything feels, old and still, even though the sun is shining, birds are singing, and there's a fair breeze. We pass through boggy marshes, one of which is like a mirror:
We arrive in town the earliest we've ever made it to a destination; it's not even 5pm. Our bed and breakfast is down what appears to be the main street, and we are welcomed with fresh tea and the most amazing Scottish shortbread with chocolate/caramel topping that I've ever had. Neither of us feel any compunction about eating it all. Internet access is best in the lounge, so we linger there while we drink our tea, Joel catching up on his mail, me poking around on my phone. Out of curiosity, I go to the website for Castle Roy. I am shocked to find how reasonable the prices -- 25GBP for a plot outside the castle, 50 or 70 for one inside; it is only if you want one of the 9 in the tower itself that the price jumps to 1000GBP. That's a bit much; but we're not looking above our stations. We like the idea of being able to contribute to the restoration of the castle, and decide that a square yard within the courtyard is within our means, and would make a lovely anniversary present. Soon, we will be landowners!
We leave to walk around the city to find a place for supper, and find, coming up the walk as we're going out, a face we recognize! The man who was on the same train as us, whom we saw at the bus stop the next morning was not a local to Elgin, to rather another hiker. He'd been making roughly the same treck as us, but without the extra spur to Glenlivet and Tomintoul that we did. He confesses our route may have been better: The part we skipped was so muddy the day he walked it, it was up to his knees. He suggests to us the family restaurant up the street, rather than the hotel down the street, and ultimately that is where we end up. We quickly realize this was an excellent decision: The place is packed and remains so all night long, amazing on a Monday night in a sleepy tiny town.
As we walk back to our lodgings, I stop a moment to savour the beauty.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be the last day of our journey. Our plan has been to walk from Boat of Garten to Aviemore on our final day, a walk of a mere 6 miles which should have been easy to do before our 11:30 train. But I calculate the pace we've been going the last few days, and realize that in order not to miss it, we would really need to leave by 7:00am, and neither of us want to get up that early. We look at the schedule at the bus stop; maybe, just maybe, we should wimp out and take the bus for our final leg, so as to ensure we don't miss our train. We are disappointed, but I argue that I would rather end the journey on a pleasant, relaxed note rather than with the stress and rushing of wondering if we'll get there on time.
We have walked around 80 miles. It has been quite, and empty, peaceful and calm. We have walked in silence, we have talked. We have mapped out a new alternative for our future that neither of us would ever have dreamed before doing this. We have walked in the sun, we have walked in the rain. Walking in the rain makes me think of being on a journey, on a quest. It reminds me of SCA events, where the rain is no reason not to continue to do the things you need to do, because they need doing. Poems have wandered through my head, and I look forward to revisiting my favorite book ever when I get home. We have learned to pick out the smell of distilleries on the wind, and to locate them on the map each evening. We have eaten well and slept like the dead. We have seen the heather moorlands that previously existed only in books. We finally know what gorse is.
