Memories of Auld Reekie (Edinburgh) (Mar'11)

In no particular order

* Falling in love with the overwhelming beauty of the city on day one
* Seeing a drunk man piss on the street at 6AM on my second day in Edinburgh (and wondering if I had made the right decision to come here)
* Trying to avoid the volunteers for UNICEF/WWF etc on Princes Street and in front of Surgeons' hall
* Loving the Jazz Festival and hating the Fringe
* Studying the menu of the overpriced cafes/restaurants of George Street
* Feeling out-poshed at Douglas Crescent

* The air-freshener in the loo of the National Gallery
* Being able to walk from one end of Edinburgh to the other without being tired
* Going for a Ceilidh with a rather well-coordinated woman and my un-coordinated feet
* Sunset view of the city from Calton Hill
* Watching the city being awash in colour / tartan during a rugby match
* buying a 5£ hang-drum CD on The Royal Mile
* Wondering whether to love or hate the Parliament Building
* Drinking Tea (posh pinky and all) at Jenners
* Watching women in the smartest of formals, but with white trainers, rushing to office
* Eating Vanilla Ice Cream during the interval of the classical music concerts at Usher Hall
* Sitting next to the woman with the most tantalising perfume at Cameo (I never got to see her face!)
* Avoiding the back part of the top decker of the buses because of the hoodies
* Visiting the quaint teahouses with their old clocks and lace table-cloths
* Every coffee shop in Edinburgh claims to be where JK Rowling wrote 'parts' of Harry Potter
* Cycling from Edinburgh to Linlithgow and then having a complaining backside for days
* The 'Pride of Scotland' souvenir shops - all owned by Indians - and constantly playing 'Going Home' or the 'The Gael'
* Auld Lang Syning, whilst seated, at the Edinburgh Tattoo
* ' Large vegetarian breakfast' at The Standing Order (with the exceptionally tasty Lincolnshire sausages)
* Rajma chawal at 16/1
* Meeting interesting people in the evening classes (The prize goes to Juliet who worked as a codecracker for the resistance during WWII)
* The overwhelming silence and beauty of Greyfriars cemetery
* Being disgusted by a pizza with anchovies at Dario's Restaurant
* Not ever having gone for a ghost tour
* Going for a jam session at the Royal Oak
* Eating Chickpea Curry at the Filmhouse bar followed by a great film
* The man with silver face doing the robot dance in front of BHS on Princes Street. Only the tourists stopped to see his act. The Edinburghers had no time for him.
* switching the lights of my room off at 20:00 to avoid going for a post-drink nocturnal visit to the cemetery/Arthur's Seat
* Watching the Big Issue guy try very hard in front of TESCOs
* The Georgian houses of new town
* Running along the Water of Leith
* A rare perfect summers day
* Wondering how the Taxi Driver's credit card maching works in front of A&E
* Walking home at night through a silent and surreal snowfall
* Having remarkably well-priced drinks at 'The Dome' followed by a photo-shoot through a foggy Edinburgh winter's night
* The beautiful ceilings in all the pubs of Edinburgh
* Discussing Yeats/Pound at The Black Medicine
* The never ending tram works
* Watching a Chelsea-Arsenal match at Peartree
* When the NHS guy came to pick up one un-named individual, he was shocked to see another un-named individual sleeping on the floor (bacchanalian excesses and all). And then being subjected to a third un-named individual's school and college 'stories'
* In a pub quiz at Southsider trying to figure out all chemical elements with 'M' in their name
* (sadly) knowing Edinburgh Airport inside out
* Wandering in the Closes on The Royal Mile
* 48-hour road trip to Newcastle/York/Cambridge/London/Berwick upon Tweed/Hadrian's Wall
* I got to hear the 1 O Clock gun for the first time after four years in Edinburgh
* Pastel coloured houses in Dean Village
* Watching the drunk (and injured) people at A&E
* The spring in the step that the daffodils on the Castle slope brought about
* 60p Pizza Roll at 'The Piemaker'
* Bumping into a drunk homeless man with a ferocious dog. The man, stoned out of his wits, still managed a "sorry pal"
* Planning to for months and then finally going to The Jazz Bar
* Visiting Mary Kings Close on my last day at Edinburgh
* Showing Edinburgh off (with lots of pride) whenever someone visited
* Shaking hands with Sir Sean Connery
* Trying to decide whether the teller at RBS or the checkout girl at TESCO was the second most beautiful woman i'd ever seen in my life
* Sniggering at the tourists posing with the bellhop at The Balmoral or with Bobby's statue
* Loving the intimacy of Queen's Gallery
* Wondering what the f*** is the purpose of the giant TV screen in front of the Sheraton Hotel
* The satisfaction of climbing Arthur's Seat every time (even though it's only 823 feet)
* Aloo Parathas at Kebab Mahal
* So small a city that you bump into people everyday
* Goths at Hunter Square
* The woman at Double Dutch
* The cutest possible babies in pink/blue peering out of their comfortable/cosy prams
* Cricket in the Richmond Lane Park
* Sighing on seeing the Castle (from Princes Street, from Grassmarket, from Greyfriars cemetery, from the corner of Princes street and Lothian Road, from Calton Hill, from Arthur's Seat, from wherever one could see it). But visiting the Castle (and hating it) only when some visitors came to Edinburgh
* Reading a book (or falling asleep) in Princes Street Gardens on a (rare) sunny day
* The chimes of the bell tower on Lothian Road
* Watching the college types running about / playing frisbee in the Meadows
* Coffee shop hopping from 'Elephants and Bagels' to 'Black Medicine' to 'The Elephant House' to 'Beanscene'

to be continued...

Being Academic... (Nov'2010)

Thanks to St. Andrews (God bless him!), we got a Monday off and I decided to spend the long weekend in Oxford. The previous evening (Friday) it started snowing and by Saturday morning (when I took my 6 hour train to Oxford) Edinburgh and its surroundings were pretty much covered in white. The train journey was extremely stunning especially when the sun rose and cast its rays over the white carpet.

Oxford is a university town – the city is one veritable university campus. Oxford Uni has 38 colleges (Trinity, Balliol, All Souls, Christchurch, New, Queens, Jesus....).
Much ink has been spilt on the hallowed portals of Oxford University and the Kings, politicians, writers, thinkers, philosophers, adventurers, scientists, and mathematicians that have studied there so I will spare you the list.

Many of the colleges are closed to public (the nuisance that we make!), but others cleverly charge an entrance fees for tourists. The first college I visited (after forking out £6/50) was Christ Church College which has the largest quad – Tom quad – so named after the bell of Tom tower (designed by Christopher Wren). This bell rings 101 times every night at 9:05 because at one point ‘turn in’ time used to be 21:00 (Oxford time was 5 minutes behind GMT) and there were 101 students at the college then. Oh Tradition! Charles Dodgson (Lewis Carrol) befriended Alice, the daughter of the Dean of Christ Church college – and ‘Alice in Wonderland’ came to be. The Dining Hall for this college was apparently the inspiration for the Dining Hall in the Harry Potter school. Apart from CC College, I also visited Exeter, Jesus, Magdalen (pronounced 'Maudlin'!!), Trinity, and Balliol. Each college has certain standard accoutrements – a library (out of bounds to lesser mortals), a dining hall, and a chapel. Optional features include halls of residence and quads (courtyards), and porter’s lodges. You do see lots of people cycling around (as the cliché goes) but not in plus-fours or tweed jackets.

A very Oxonion terminology is 'coming up' and 'going down'. You 'come up' to Oxford for the term and 'go down' to London after the term-end (assuming you were from London). Those who are expelled (for example, Richard Burton the explorer) are 'sent down' !!!!

The main research library of the University is the Bodleian library which is also a copyright library (i.e. it is legally bound to receive every book published in the UK – like The British Library) – apparently the library has 11 million items over 120 miles of shelving (most of it underground!). The library building also houses the ‘Divinity School’ which was used for oral exams for degrees – the student would stand at a pulpit on one side of the room – and the professor at the other end and the (oral) ‘exam’ could take days (relatives and friends were allowed to observe).

Ashmolean Museum (named after it’s first benefactor Ashmole) had a great collection of artefacts and paintings. The museum has a lovely collection of Mughal and Indian art. A great exhibition on the ‘Pre-Raphaelites’ was on when I visited. But I liked the ‘Pitt Rivers Museum’ far better. This museum houses the archaeological and anthropological collections of Oxford Uni. Given that so many British adventurers / explorers in the 18th 19th century were from Oxford, you can imagine how rich this collection is. I especially enjoyed the dino fossils while deftly avoiding the snake / reptile corner...

All students at Oxford are given their degree at the Sheldonian Theatre (the first major commission for Christopher Wren). I went for a nice Beethoven / Brahms concert there – the acoustics are really nice and it was a perfect (though the seats were uncomfortable) location for a concert.

The town has a number of well-known pubs – 'The Turf Tavern' (the oldest in Oxford) and the ‘Eagle and Child’ which JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis used to frequent every Tuesday (they were known as the ‘Inklings’). A nice drink there and I was ready for my train back to Edinburgh...

Scotland meet Scandinavia. Scandinavia meet Scotland... (Sept'09)

My "Am visiting Shetland and Orkney soon" was met with a universal, “...but why?”

Not only that, I was forewarned about the lack of things to see and do and the cloudy, cold, and extremely windy conditions that lay in store. Having regularly braved all these elements in Edinburgh for the last three years, I asked myself “Why not?” And I subjected Dad to it too.

Shetland is a group of over 100 isles (of which only about 15 are inhabited). Given its unique location (equidistant from Norway and Scotland), these islands have an interesting history. In the 15th Century (when Shetland was part of Norway), the islands were pawned to Scotland with the caveat that the Norwegians retained the right to redeem them back whenever they felt like. So far the Norwegians haven't redeemed them (and seeing the number of Fish & Chips shops they probably never will).

The islands are an interesting mix of Scottishness and Norwegianness - names of most of the places are derived from old Norse (e.g. Shetland’s old Norse name is Hjaltland) and Scandinavian / Viking influence is visible just about everywhere (apart from the unexplainable craze for football which definitely comes from Scotland!).

The biggest island of the Shetlands is called ‘Mainland’ and its ‘capital’ (if that is what a town with a population of around 8k can be called) is Lerwick (old Norse: muddy bay). I expected it to be like any other port / fishing village – dirty and smelly and full of rough sailor types with tattoos of anchors and rudders and wheels. Fortunately, Lerwick was a very pleasant, neat, clean, and compact town. The main thoroughfare, Commercial Street, did not have the obligatory Marks and Spencer, Boots, and Carphone Warehouse (which make all British cities, towns, and villages look like carbon copies of each other). Instead Commercial Street had narrow steep lanes (called Klosses and Lons) which gave the town a very very unique feel. The most interesting bits were the 'lodberries' where boats can be bought directly near the street for loading / unloading (a bit like Venezia). Shetland has a number of Brochs which are Iron Age round towers – what they were built for still seems to be unclear to historians - either they were military structures or were simply big homes. The most famous of these are the Broch of Mousa and the one at Lerwick (Clickimin Broch).

However, the best thing about Lerwick turned out to be the Indian restaurant there (ok ok, that is a very Indo-centric view. The restaurant was Bangladeshi anyways. Not that anyone could tell). It was a frightfully simple affair but the food was far better than any of the ‘award-winning’ Indian restaurants I’ve eaten in in the UK. Good food does travel far.

Shetlandian wildlife is quite diverse - birds from Europe, Scandinavia, and occasionally even from across the Atlantic can be found here. Unfortunately, we had just missed the Puffin season when thousands and thousands of these birds (with their bright beaks) can be seen on the shores and cliffs. We were, however, able to regularly spot seals and otters.

Dramatic cliffs, sea stacks, beaches, and hills make a very compelling landscape on the Shetlands. Because of high winds very few trees survive so the islands are virtually tree-less. Spotting a tree can be played as a game if you need to kill time. And it is also said that if someone switched off the winds Shetlanders would just topple over.

The western-most bit of ‘mainland’ Shetland is Eshaness from where one gets magnificent views of the Atlantic and the nothingness beyond - fortunately one couldn’t do a Sarah Palin and see America/Canada from there. The lighthouse at Eshaness is extremely dramatic – at the top of a cliff with choppy seas below. This light-house, like most in Scotland, was built by the Stevenson family who specialised in building lighthouses (until a certain Robert Louis made the family famous for something else!).

Travel between the isles is (naturally) by ferries and ferry timetables are, to say the least, extremely complicated. This was compounded by the fact that when we were travelling the times had just moved onto the ‘winter’ timetable and no one was sure if the timetable had moved or was about to move. In this confusion, our best adventure was saved for our last day when we decided to visit the island of Unst which is two islands north of ‘mainland’ Shetland. Anyone who has tried to sightsee UK by public transport will tell you of the impossibility (and foolhardiness) of doing so - it took us 6 bus journeys and 4 ferry journeys to get to Unst and back (all in one day!). Unst is UK’s northernmost inhabited island and almost everything there has a ‘UK’s Northern-most ___’ sign on it. The most famous landmark of Unst is a bus-stop called ‘Bobby’s bus stop’ that is thoughtfully furnished by the neighbours with a sofa, curtains, books, computer, TV etc. The irony of it all is that buses hardly ever run on Unst (welcome to the UK!).

Our next stop was the Orkney Islands which are much closer to mainland Scotland – this group of 70 Islands, of which 17 are inhabited, are only 7 miles (at their closest point) from Northern Scotland. It is said that Shetlanders are fisherman with crofts (small farms) and Orcadians are Farmers with boats. Whilst Shetland had a more dramatic scenery, the Orkney landscape is more gentle as the islands are flatter (don't ask me about tectonic plates etc). But this flatness is more than made up by the presence of numerous very well-preserved Iron Age burial sites and houses. Apart from these sites, there a number of stone circles and standing stones, the most famous being ‘Ring of Brodgar’ which was believed to have been put up between 2,500 and 2,000 BC. No one knows why these were set up but they’re believed to have been ritualistic in nature. Let your imagination run wild about what sort of rituals were carried out there. However, the pièce de résistance of the Orkney stone age sites is Skara Brae which has extremely well-preserved neolithic houses where one can see 'furniture' and jewellery, ritual objects, and tools. A window indeed into a world long gone by.

Whilst on Shetland, we were reasonably lucky with the weather – it was cloudy most of the days but didn’t rain (that is ‘reasonably’ lucky in Scottish terms). However, we were subjected to the worst of Scottish weather on one of days on Orkney when it rained and rained and rained. Thankfully the Sun God (notice the capital letters. Can’t make Him/Her angry) smiled on us the next couple of days.

Can travels in Scotland be complete without a visit to the friendly neighbourhood Distillery. In Orkney's case it was the Highland Park Distillery – supposedly the Northernmost distillery (that damn adjective again!) in Scotland. According to Michael Jackson (a Scotch expert, not to be confused with Paris’ late father), this is 'the greatest all-rounder in the world of malt whisky'. Since it was the start of the off-tourist season, Dad and I were the only ones on the ‘tour’ and I was at my irritating best with lots of questions. Though I still can’t figure out the difference between barley and malt!

That was the last thing we did on our Island-trip before heading back to Edinburgh which was comparatively sunny (not an adjective used to describe the ‘burgh).

A सास-बहू tale in the Scottish Highlands

(with due apologies to Ekta Kapoor)

I had booked a weekend away in Culrain when I was desperate to get away from Edinburgh, the festival, and the crowds. The festival (thankfully!) is over but then I anyways went this weekend.

Culrain, which in itself is a back-of-beyond village (actually not that – just a group of wee houses), is about an hour and a half by train from Inverness (which is a 4 ½ hour train ride from E’burgh). Rather a far way off to see a collection of houses, you would ask.

Culrain is known for Carbisdale Castle which has a rather colourful history behind it. The Duke of Sutherland (whose family owned tonnes and tonnes of land in the area) decided to marry a widow and this new bride was not too popular with her in-laws (probably they watched a Hindi film too many). When the Duke copped it, he left everything to his wife which, naturally, displeased her in-laws. To get back they got her incarcerated on charges of faking the Duke’s will. After some discussions (to which Ekta Kapoor probably was privy), a settlement was reached and the in-laws agreed to fund a castle for her! On the condition that she would not build it on the in-laws land.

Being the wily woman that she was, the Duchess got the castle built just where the estates of her in-laws ended. And to add insult to injury, she decided that:
1. Her castle would have one room more than that of her in-laws (Dunrobin Castle).
2. The clock tower would have clocks on three sides only. The fourth side, which overlooked the in-laws land, was kept bare-faced.
3. The location of the castle was such that the in-laws could not miss it whenever their train passed. The desperate in-laws then decreed that the window shutters in the carriages had to be lowered whenever the train passed from in front of that castle.
Clearly too much सास-बहू happening!

After the widow died, the castle passed onto a Norwegian shipping magnate whose family then gifted it to the Scottish Youth Hostel Association. Long story short, to stay in that castle-cum-youth-hostel was the reason I went to Culrain over the weekend.

Staying at the castle is, to use a cliché, a destination in itself. It is not a hostel in the usual sense of the word i.e. it is, thankfully, not full of smelly students. It has large lounges with marble statues and paintings, imposing staircases and fireplaces, and a huge library (with hardbound editions of obscure old books). The place apparently also comes with its own set of ghosts – the man who plays the pipes, children crying, a dying soldier, and the standard-issue Woman-in-white ghost. Fortunately, I did not have the pleasure of meeting or hearing any of these people from the netherworld.

For a change, I was the youngest person in my bunk-room of 12. All the other 11 were, co-incidentally, cycling from the southern tip of UK (Land’s End) to the northern tip (John O’ Groats) which is over 1000 miles! And most of them would end up completing it in 12-13 days. That certainly put in perspective the 21 miles I recently cycled between Edinburgh and Linlighgow (especially given that my feet and backside complained about it for days afterwards).

When I was asked, “Are you also cycling from North to South?”, I had to sheepishly say that I was only there to laze around and possibly do some walking. So that is exactly what I did – there were quite a few trails around the area and my hillwalking-in-windy-conditions skills were tested to the limit. I didn’t succeed completely as I came back with a cold!

(Sept, 2009)

Of trains and seals...

I've always enjoyed train journeys. Given that I take the train to Stirling for work (a 53 minute ride one way from E'burgh), I should be bored of travelling by the iron tracks. Not me!

This week-end, I took the train from E'burgh to Mallaig (a six and a half journey!). Upto Glasgow it wasn't a very inspiring journey, but the section from Glasgow to Mallaig is referred to as the 'West Highland Line' and is one of the most picturesque train journeys in the UK (in the world, some would argue).

The carriage I was in had its usual suspects - old couples, white track-suited (with hoods) youngsters with Irn Bru and beer cans in their hands, and Italian / Spanish tourists adding some colour to the otherwise silent journey. At fist the scenery was not too exciting, but slowly one could see the terrain changing and people started putting their books into their bags and taking out their cameras. But, as anyone who has tried to photograph beautiful landscapes through the closed window of a moving train knows, the moment you click a bunch of trees will materialise and block the view. And as soon as you switch off the camera, the trees will disappear and a clear view will appear - which you could have photographed easily if you had not made the mistake of giving up. After a couple of tries to photograph the turning-even-more-beautiful-by-the-minute scenery, I philosophically kept my camera aside and just took in the scenery.

From Fort William onwards the landscape became even more breathtaking - lochs, bens, glenns, streams, waterfalls, hills, wee towns, rocky inlets, and then as we neared the coast, beaches. Of course, this was enhanced by the obligatory sprinkling of horses, cows, and sheep.

Closer to Mallaig, the train passes over Glenfinnan Viaduct - made famous when Hogwarts Express was shown passing over it in one of the Harry Potter movies. They stopped the train over the viaduct and announced the Harry Potter connection and let everyone take photographs!

Mallaig is on the western end of Central Scotland and is used as a base to explore Isle of Skye and what are known as the 'Smaller Isles' of the inner Hebrides (Rum, Canna, Eigg, and Muck). It is a wee fishing village and there are some nice walks from where one can get dramatic views of the sea and these isles topped by clouds (this is Scotland, remember). Morar, about three miles south of Mallaig, had some beautiful beaches.

At the hostel I was staying in, I met this elderly gentleman who does surveys in the ocean. His job is to spot (and photograph) whales, dolphins, seals, and porpoises. His enthusiasm for his work was so infectious, that I actually enjoyed his monologue on the difference between Seals and Porpoises, Minky (sp?) Whales and Sperm Whales, Bottlenosed Dolphins and Atlantic White-sided Dolphin. He then proceeded to show me videos of the dolphins and whales he had spotted over the last 6-7 years. Inspired by him, on my walks next morning, I kept on looking at the choppy waters to see if I could spot (and identify) some of these creatures I had learnt about. And lo and behold, I spotted a group of seals. Fortunately, no one was around to see the embarassing look of glee on my face.

And then in true Scottish summer style, it started raining heavily and my plans of going on more walks in the area were (predictably) scuppered. I was first forced to kill time by taking a ferry to and back from Skye. Then, I took my custom to the local establishment ('The Marine Bar') where I rubbed shoulders, over a beer, with the fisherman who were engrossed in a game of football which I didn't particularly care about.

The train back from Mallaig was a disappointment as it was raining non-stop (rather heavily, by British standards) and I could see nothing but rain drops and dark clouds out of the carriage windows. So I put my camera in my backpack and took out my book.

Whiskying, Castling, and Hill-walking

Given that the Edinburgh festival is on and apparently about a million tourists visit this city of only 0.5 m, there is a non-stop traffic jam on the pavements. So not wanting to entangle myself with the tourists here, I decided to become one in the North-western Highlands.

I have seen a fair bit of the (beautiful) countryside of Scotland, but as
the train chugged away from Inverness, I was taken aback by the what I saw - lush green open fields, gentle hills whose tops are perpetually cloaked by misty clouds (as is usually the case in bonnie and wet Scotland). The sheep were in full force as were the horses who were trotting and cantering at what seemed to be a slower pace than normal. The countryside is punctuated with a large number of lochs (lakes) and the train journey to Golspie was as picturesque as it gets – a lake on at least one side of the train tracks, and cute wee train stations (a la Barog in Himachal) where many times the platform was at the edge of a loch. Across the lake you could see a tiny collection of houses that is, in this part of the world, ambitiously called a town.

After a rather long journey (6 and a half hours from E’burgh and its tourists), I finally reached Golspie where I was the only one to disembark. The lady at the B&B had helpfully given me clear directions on how to get to the B&B from the station and had assured me that it would not take more than 6-7 minutes. But after about 20 minutes of walking, panic set in as there was no sign of the B&B and the signal on my mobile was predictably dodgy. A police car passed me twice – perhaps because they were rubbing their eyes in disbelief at the sight of an Indian, with luggage on his back, mobile in his hand, and a frown on his brow in this wee fishing village in the back of beyond of Scotland. But fortunately, after about 5 minutes of holding the mobile in all sorts of different ways, I finally did get a signal and immediately called the B&B. When I told the lady that I was lost, she first laughed and then scolded me for not knowing my left from my right (“Remember, I clearly told you ‘turn left from the train-station’. Why did you turn right?”). She then promised to send her husband to pick me up in a “Grey Honda”. Minutes later a van (which was not–so-Grey and not-so-Honda) stopped next to me and a rather dishevelled and confused man (look who's talking) asked me to get in. Before I started imagining shotguns under the front seat, he told me that the son had taken the ‘Grey Honda’ which is why he had come in the van.

The main attraction in the area is Dunrobin Castle, a 12th century construction belonging to the Sutherland family which once owned over 1.3 million acres of the surroundings. The castle, renovated in the 18th c, was the usual too-many-opulent rooms (187 to be exact) affair. But the icing on the Scottish-castle cake was the well-manicured gardens that overlooked the sea. These gardens have a daily Falconry show where I learnt the difference between Hawks, Falcons, and Owls. The chappie conducting the show was making these birds land on peoples heads (much to the amusement of the others). Since I wasn’t sporting a cap or a hat, I was spared the feel of talons on my head. Phew…

From Golspie, I visited Dornoch, whose claims to fame are two-fold
1. It was in Dornoch that, in 1722, Scotland’s last executed witch was consigned to a vat of boiling tar
2. Madonna got married at the nearby Skibo castle (given the state of her marriage now, or the lack of it, I don’t think too many people visit the castle).

I instead headed straight for the local inn which was choc-a-bloc and everyone was huddled around an old radio - you know, the TV-sized ones with wooden panelling and the large dials. At first I thought that someone finally broadcast Churchill's speech telling them the war was over. But it was the start of the Scottish and English football seasons and everyone was listening to the commentary (Don't ask me why the inn didn't invest in a TV). After a nice heavy lunch, I pushed myself to the other attraction in town – the Dornoch Cathedral which had some decent (though recent) stained glass windows (apparently Madonna’s son was christened here).

Then it was off to Glenmorangie distillery which is easily one of the more picturesque distilleries I have seen. After a wee dram, I was faced with a predicament that anyone who relies on public transportation in the UK confronts. I had no way of reaching the nearest town ‘Tain’ so I had to walk along the highway (my complaint letters to the Mayor of Tain and the Head of the Glenmorangie Distillery are in the post). After risking life and limb, I reached the rather charmless town of Tain from where I took a bus back to Golspie. I added a Scottish touch to my day by dining at the Golf Club (the mint lamb cutlets weren’t a patch on the cutlets of ‘India Coffee Home’!).

The highest point in the area is Ben Bhraggie – given that my train was on Sunday afternoon, I decided to leave the ascent for Sunday morning. When on the appointed morning I opened my curtains, I saw the most common sight out of windows in Scotland – a heavily overcast sky with rain. So that was water poured over my plans to do a bit of hill-walking. Over the heavy breakfast (where I had an extra glass of orange juice), I prepared myself for a morning of sitting on the sofa reading my book and watching the rain drops pattering against the window panes. But by the time I had finished my coffee, the sky had cleared and the sun had made an appearance (‘In Scotland?’, you may ask).

So off I was, with my best hill-walking demeanour, to reach the top of Ben Bhraggie. Fortunately, the path was well sign-posted, and despite my best attempts to get lost, I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the top which has a huge statue of the first Duke of Sutherland. The duke was a rather unpopular figure, since he had cleared the area of the farmers ('crofters'), so the local tradition is to go to the top of the ‘summit’ (394 m! This is UK, remember) and then relieve oneself on the statue. I had no such plans when I set out, but as I got closer and closer, the extra orange juice I had for breakfast was ‘pressurising’ me to stick to local traditions.

To avoid answering nature's call (on the Duke or elsewhere), I diverted my attention by enjoying the countryside. It helped that I was crossing lush green fields where one could see horses and beautiful vistas of Golspie bay and the sea. And when I finally reached the top I was blown away – literally! It was extremely windy and I had to struggle to keep myself from being blown off. So I sought refuge behind the gargantuan statue of the Duke. I was only 15 metres from the place from where I would have started the descent but every time I took a few steps in that direction, I lost balance (you weren't there so you can't imagine how windy it was). I imagined getting stuck there forever, or getting thrown of the cliff after losing my balance because of the wind (“Indian missing. Last seen flying over Golspie”).

I will spare you the embarrassing details of how I finally got down. After a rather hasty descent, followed by a nice pub lunch, I reached the ‘un-manned’ (i.e. the station is so small that we won’t even bother paying someone to work there) train station at Golspie and then back to E’burgh (and its tourists!)

Learning to cycle

It didn't take me long to figure out that I'm not Lance Armstrong (and that wasn't because I don't have Sheryl Crow as a girlfriend).

Having invested in a (second-hand) bicycle recently, I've been putting my pedalling skills (or lack there-of) to good use. Whenever the weather holds up during weekends, I try and head out for an 'expedition'. If anything, these outings remind me of my creeping age, slowing body, and fast-disappearing stamina.

The first trip was within Edinburgh itself along the 'Water of Leith'. I always rue the fact that...

It didn't take me long to figure out that I'm not Lance Armstrong (and that wasn't because I don't have Sheryl Crow as a girlfriend).

Having invested in a (second-hand) bicycle recently, I've been putting my pedalling skills (or lack there-of) to good use. Whenever the weather holds up during weekends, I try and head out for an 'expedition'. If anything, these outings remind me of my creeping age, slowing body, and fast-disappearing stamina.

The first trip was within Edinburgh itself along the 'Water of Leith'. I always rue the fact that E'burgh is in some senses a very un-European city - it doesn't have a tram system (one is under construction, by the way) and that it lacks a river with beautiful bridges. The closest thing we have to a river is the 'Water of Leith' which Carl Lewis wouldn't have problems in clearing at most places. But there does run a walking/cycling path along this 'Water of Leith' and I decided to make full use of it to lose my 'cycling-in-edinburgh' virginity. The 'Water' runs at a slightly lower level than the town, so it seems rather well-hidden behind buildings and parks and has its own versions of mini gorges and ravines. The path mostly runs along the 'Water' though at places it moves away from the 'Water' and one wrong-turn can land one in a totally different direction. I had to swallow my manly pride a couple of times and ask the way - but that was, I reasoned, part of the adventure. I covered about 6 X 2 miles that day and the next morning my body protested in more ways than one.

A couple of weeks later, after my energy and courage were replenished, I decided to embark on the next trip. This was slightly out of town - from Edinburgh to South Queesnferry (for the pedantic, there IS a North Queensferry too - across the Firth of Forth which flows into the North Sea). South Queensferry, 10 miles from Edinburgh city centre, has a pretty continental village-like ambience complete with cafes and quaint bookshops. One particular second-hand bookshop, where you paid whatever you felt like for books, was run by an extremely old woman with a pirate-like eye patch - she didn't have a parrot on her shoulder instead she was accompanied by a huge but thankfully docile dog. After having bought a couple of books (and probably paid more than I normally would have), I exited the shop to the out-of-tune melody of a bagpipe. It was a wedding party that was arriving - in vintage cars. It was interesting to see all of a wedding party in skirts! Queensferry is also known for the 'Hawes Inn' made famous by R.L. Stevenson as the location where David Balfour was 'Kidnapped'. After hanging around for a while, and having successfully evaded kidnappers, I headed towards the Forth Road Bridge (which is open to vehicular traffic). From there one gets spectacular views of Edinburgh and the Forth Rail Bridge. Apparently, painting the bridge is a never ending task - by the time one finishes, it's time to restart. I topped up this tiring journey by a surprisingly nice Indian meal in a restaurant - yes, we're slowly taking over their culinary habits!

A third 'expedition' (last week) was along the coast north of Edinburgh for which we took the train to Kirkaldy in Fife. Unfortunately, trains here have limited spaces to keep bicycles - my friend had got on the train at the stop before mine and called me to tell me that all the 'bicycle spaces' were taken. I decided to do the Indian thing and get on the train irrespective of whether I was allowed on or not. As the train approached the platform, I deftly maneouvred myself onto the spot where the carriage with the cycle spaces would stop. As I got on the train, I saw from the corner of my eye that the guard (TT) had spied me getting on with the bicycle. I was quite sure that he would ask me to get off. After the train doors shut, it didn't move - one minute passed - two passed - and by now I was sure that the guard was making his way towards me to ask me get off the train. Sweating with nervousness, I braced myself for a Gandhi-at-Pietermaritzburg moment. Fortunately, no such thing happened and the train left the platform with me on board. Much relieved, I enjoyed the scenery (even though it is all the same - yellowing rape-seed fields, sheep, cows, and greenery that hurts the eye). Forty minutes later we found ourselves in Kirkaldy - a town like any other - with beautiful flowers, quaint houses ('hooses'), and a pedestrianised town centre with the usual Waterstones, WH Smith, Boots, and Superdrug. We were spoilt for choice for our pre-journey visit to the loo - McDonalds or Marks and Spencer - naturally, we erred against the side of fast-food consumerism.

Till now the clouds had sided with us by being absent, but the moment we got on our bikes, it started drizzing. Naturally, I can't explain the wet fear and trepidition that crept into our hearts. However, fortune and dry skies favoured us intrepid cyclists and the skies cleared in about 10 minutes and then it remained sunny for the rest of the day (some kind of record for Scotland, I'm sure). The 'Fife Coastal route' runs from St. Andrews to Edinburgh and as the name implies, the sea is never far away. Running parallel to it is the 'Fife Coastal Path' which is meant for walkers. And the rail track also runs along side the 'route' and the 'path'. So sometimes the train track is next to the coast, sometimes the 'Path' (for vehicles) and sometimes the 'Route' (for vehicles). We flitted between the 'Path' and the 'route' as we made our way towards Edinburgh. It somehow seemed that we always made the wrong decision as whenever we went on the path it was either too narrow to cycle on, or too steep. So we ended up walking - or carrying our bicycles over steps. One stretch saw us on the beach where the tires refused to budge - and this was immediately followed by an extremely steep flight of stairs where we had to lug our precious equipment (I'm talking about the bicycles!) on our shoulders. As we breathlessly reached the top, devoid of any energy to carry on, we were rewarded by a neat downhill stretch of two miles where we didn't have to pedal even once. What the God Taketh, he giveth back!

One one such narrow stretch there was a family in front of us - they were being trailed by their young daughter (about 3-4 years old - complete with pink jeans, a pink jacket, pink shoes, pink helmet, and a pink bicycle with pink fluffy ribbons hanging from the pink handles). I patiently waited for her to give me way. I even rang the wee bell I have on bicycle for precisely such eventualities (being blocked by tiny girls in pink!). But she didn't budge and kept on furiously pedalling - and I kept on cycling behind her in slow-motion. Her parents noticed my predicament and told the little one to give me way. As I overtook her and smiled at her, she gave me the most disgusted look of 'how dare you overtake me'.

Apart from that, we had few noteworthy encounters. There were plenty of sheep, horses, small towns, yatches, ruins and green fields that broke the beautiful monotony of the journey. The most common sight was that of a walkers with their dogs - they (the owners) are now required to clean up after their canine pets. So they all have an abundance of plastic bags (full of, or awaiting, poop) in their hands.

Near Aberdour castle was the sign for St. Fillans church that proudly proclaimed that 'This 12th century church is open to visitors'. The church was small and had no 'Pieta' or 'Last Supper' or a Sistinesque ceiling but it did have an indescribabe charm to it. It was perhaps a combination of its compactness and the fact that one could smell the history of a few centuries in its interiors. Reluctantly we continued our journey.

After covering about 12-13 miles, we decided to take the train at Inverkeithing. The platform had an unusual number of cyclists waiting to board the train - same story different station. Fortunately there were two trains in quick succession to Edinburgh. So with a bit of clever Desi maneouvring, I did manage to get my bike onto the train. And thus ended the third of my cycling adventures.

A bit of this / that

Last weekend was 'Open Doors Day' for most Castles and Abbeys in Scotland. I used that as an excuse to do some long overdue, though hectic, sightseeing. On saturday morning, as I stood at the bus station and looked at the departures board, my choice lay between Jedburgh and Melrose - both with medieval (unused now) abbeys that I wanted to point my camera towards. The Bus for Jedburgh was 15 minutes before the bus to Melrose - so it was a pretty easy decision to make. 15 minutes saved is a quarter of an hour earned!

As the bus sauntered towards Jedburgh, I admired the...

Last weekend was 'Open Doors Day' for most Castles and Abbeys in Scotland. I used that as an excuse to do some long overdue, though hectic, sightseeing. On saturday morning, as I stood at the bus station and looked at the departures board, my choice lay between Jedburgh and Melrose - both with medieval (unused now) abbeys that I wanted to point my camera towards. The Bus for Jedburgh was 15 minutes before the bus to Melrose - so it was a pretty easy decision to make. 15 minutes saved is a quarter of an hour earned!

As the bus sauntered towards Jedburgh, I admired the capacity of the Scottish countryside to impress despite having seen an awful lot of it over the past year and a half. Jedburgh is a town in the borders area (between Scotland and England) and because of the animosity between the Scots and their English neighbours, the area has a preponderance of walls, castles, and churches (where you prayed in case your castle was in danger of falling to the approaching armies). I was looking forward to immersing myself in a bit of medival abbey-spotting. But about 15 minutes from Jedburgh, our bus came to a halt behind a long row of stationary cars (usually roads in Scotland are empty, considering that the entire population of this 'country' is only one-third of Delhi).

On craning our necks and squinting our eyes we realised that an accident had taken place just a few seconds before we got there. The driver immediately radioed his office, or wherever it is that he is supposed to call when he finds himself behind an accident, and grumblingly infomed his interlocutor that 'it might take a couple of hours'. That put into perspective my decision not to use the loo just before boarding the bus for this 2 hour (now perhaps double of that) journey. I tried to take my mind off of all things aquine and found myself looking at the cars in front of us turning around and going back. The road was narrow so our bus driver decided against trying such a maneouver for the bus he was commanding. So now we were the first vehicle from the accident site and had to unfortunately witness all that was happening in front of our eyes. There were a couple of cars that had crashed into each other (at highspeed, naturally). All the occupants seem to be unhurt, though dazed. One of the cars had a family - the father and young daughter kept on going round and round their car when we realised that there was someone still trapped in their car. The ambulances came, as did a fire brigade, and it took them the better part of an hour to free the woman from the car. There was pin drop silence in the bus as we saw the firemen slowly saw away the car. We were not close enough to see how badly the woman was hurt but it was not difficult to imagine her agony. The doctors tried to get her husband to go into the ambulance but he refused to move from there.

It certainly put a lot of things in perspective as one is reminded that life can take a sudden (and ghastly) turn any moment. After an hour, they finally prised the woman and took her into the ambulance. Hopefully, she is all right now. A policeman then came and chatted with our bus driver and said that the road would still take a few hours to clear. He over-rode the protests of the bus driver and ordered him to make a U-turn. With a lot of difficulty, and some dexterous maneouvring, he did manage to do the seemingly impossible and we took a detour through a small dirt road which turned out to be a blessing in disguise at it was an extremely pretty journey with small streams, bridges, and cherry Blossom trees and rows and rows of Wordsworthian daffodils which were straight out of a Turner or Constable masterpiece. To remind us of the variety that mother nature has to offer, we also passed a Donkey Sanctuary whose occupants also seemed to be serenely enjoying the lush green countryside. They probably thought of us what we thought of them! A bunch of asses!

Finally, we reached Jedburgh, two hours later than scheduled. Jedburgh is like any other Scottish town (I struggle not to call it a village). It has a well-known 12th century Abbey and a house that is marketed as 'Mary Queen of Scots House' even though she never stayed there but only visited it on a couple of ocassions. I spent a leisurely few hours admiring the Abbey and the serenity that seemed to be all around because I was the only tourist who was brave enough to visit it that day. As I waited at the Bus station to catch the bus back to Edinburgh, a woman with an equally dour-looking dog decided to start a conversation with me. I couldn't make out who was more terror-inspiring, the woman or her bitch. Not being accustomed to seeing someone of my colour (or lack of it), she enquired as to what I was doing there. On being told that I had come to visit the Abbey, she opened her eyes wide and said, "But why? Its Crap!". That made me feel like my friends at the Donkey Sanctuary and I sulked during the journey back.

Optimism surfaced the next day (sunday) as I decided to do some more (crap?) sightseeing again. I decided to visit Doune and Stirling Castles (Stirling is where I work and commute from Edinburgh everyday). Taking a train for Stirling on Sunday morning didn't seem too inviting a prospect but I braved it anyways. From there, a 30-minute mini-bus ride bought me to the village of Doune whose claim to fame is its eponymous castle. And the castle is known in history not for having being built by the Duke of Albany or because it was a hunting retreat for Mary, Queen of Scots but for the fact that 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' was filmed there. Fortunately, I was not the only visitor that day and I enjoyed exploring the castle right next to which runs a pretty river (stream?). Sadly, my only disappointment was that I did not see John Cleese, Michael Palin et. al running around with banging coconuts. Also missing were the French hurling insults down the wall!!!!

My next stop was Stirling. It is a mini-Edinburgh as those of you who recall one of my previous mails - the same concept as Edinburgh - a high-castle (almost in-the-air) at one end of town that gives it a very fairy-talesque appearance. I ambled around a bit in town before heading for the castle. Called, naturally, Stirling Castle, it has been refurbished over the years - but despite its reasonably re-touched interiors, it has a charming air to it. There is more to explore in this castle (than its E'burgh counterpart) and it affords views of the country-side and mountains.

I also visited Argyll's Lodging (home of the Earl of Stirling, and at one time the most modern house in Scotland (in the 17th century, that is). Amongst its many rooms, there was one which had a very ornamental looking receptacle for...er...early-morning bodily functions. A little girl stared at it for a while, unable to figure out its purpose in the grand scheme of things. She then turned to her mother and demanded an explanation for this strange looking chair. The mother, visibly embarassed, whispered something into the girls ear who then uttered a disguted 'ewwww'. Apart from that, the house didn't have much to write about.

(Apr, 2008)

...and we're back (on a cycle!)

Contrary to what some of you have insinuated, it HAS been a bit hectic (academically) ergo I have'nt been able to file my reports for the last few visits (Windsor and Nottingham. And no, i didn't get to meet HRH or Robin Hood respectively).

The last few days was a 'field trip' of my class

Contrary to what some of you have insinuated, it HAS been a bit hectic (academically) ergo I have'nt been able to file my reports for the last few visits (Windsor and Nottingham. And no, i didn't get to meet HRH or Robin Hood respectively).

The last few days was a 'field trip' of my class to Firbush, which is a University maintained 'Outdoor Activities Centre'. Though the trip was entirely voluntary and not a formal part of the curriculum, I did go (I can see a few raised eyebrows among those who know that I am definitely-not-the-outdoor-type. Don't worry, I didn't do much to change that sobriquet).

The centre is situated across Loch Tay (Loch, for those who have forgotten, is vernacular for 'Lake') which is about two and a hours away by road from E'burgh. Gently rolling hills, sheep, crystal clear waters, snaking roads next to the lake was what one would expect in such a place. And that is what one got. The only dampener was the weather (This is Scotland, remember). We didn't see the sun at all during our entire sojourn and it was raining (vernacular for drizzling) all the time. So I didn't feel guilty about not participating in the wind-surfing, kayaking, canoeing and sailing activities that were planned for us and that many indulged in.

For me, it was mainly about reading a book, playing Rummy and Yahtzee, and swinging my rusty arm over the table tennis table. In between these activities, we were made to do a couple of writing exercises so that the trip didn't completely degenerate into a drink-fest! (which nonetheless it did).

Yesterday, a few of us decided to attempt a complete round of the lake on cycle (besides the obviously beautiful sorroundings, the incentive was that a pub on the other end of the lake had an original handwritten poem by Robert Burns). The only hitch was that the entire round was around 30 miles (yes, T.H.I.R.T.Y). With an If-Lance-Armstrong-can-do-it,-why-can't-I spirit, I also joined in, overlooking the fact that (a) I haven't cycled for ages and (b) I've never ridden a cycle with gears (the one I got yesterday had 21 gears).

Anyways, after the first two minutes on the road, i was thinking to myself 'I can do this'. However, in the third minute itself, I realised how wrong I was when the gentle incline became a steep one and while i kept on trying all sorts of permutations and combinations with the gears, I dropped behind the others - panting and imagining various eventualities ranging from a heart attack to slipping and falling into the Loch. But I persevered and the hard work on that incline was rewarded with a steep descent which was really exhilarating - cool air, no strain on the leg muscles, a view of the loch, green trees and the occassional bleat of the lamb or the sheep. Bliss truly!

This bliss was obviously short-lived when it was shattered by another steep incline. This non-stop combination of inclines and descent tired me out quickly and after about 7 miles I excused myself and turned back (I know, I know, shame on me!).

On the way back I stopped at the local village - called Killin (which inspired many an obvious shop name there - 'Killin Time' and 'Killin Cutz'). The beauty of the town was that it was at the head of the lake and the main road there was right next to a beautiful waterfall with hills in the background. I did a bit of obligatory souvenir shopping and peeped into the local pub (which was thriving because of the business it got from some of my course mates!). The pub had a fire place and a life size model of a granny knitting! She didn't seem to pleased at seeing me, so I quickly retreated.

After cycling a bit more, I headed back to our centre, where we ended the day with an obstinate bonfire that initially refused to light up. But once it relented, it was really beautiful to sit next to it with the lake behind us and the gentle rain falling on our head. Fortunately, no singing took place so I didn't have to face the embarassing request 'please sing a few songs from India'.

Before sleeping, I prepared myself to get up with sore muscles (had done a total of 20 miles, remember) and sure enough, early in the morning, when I was admiring the view of the lake from my room window I found out about muscles in my thighs that I never knew existed!

We drove back to E'burgh and reached in time for lunch today. And ofcourse, when I looked up the weather forecast for the Firbush area I cursed (clear sunny skies tomorrow. Damn!). Anyways, atleast E'burgh will also be sunny and I can enjoy the cherry-blossoms which are in full bloom here.

(Apr, 2007)

Robbie Burns / Newcastle

To avoid the cold that still hangs in the air, I decided to head South this time. It was off to Newcastle for a day during the weekend. Catching the early morning train proved to be quite a task given that the previous night I had been working out at a Ceilidh (which followed a rather formal Burns' Supper).

Skip the next three paragraphs if you already know about Burns' supper (or don't want to know). Robert Burns, for those philistines who have never heard of him, is THE...

To avoid the cold that still hangs in the air, I decided to head South this time. It was off to Newcastle for a day during the weekend. Catching the early morning train proved to be quite a task given that the previous night I had been working out at a Ceilidh (which followed a rather formal Burns' Supper).

Skip the next three paragraphs if you already know about Burns' supper (or don't want to know). Robert Burns, for those philistines who have never heard of him, is THE national hero of Scotland. He is a hero not because of his love for the women (lassies) or his love for a tipple but it is his poetry that has shaped and inspired Scottish culture for over 200 years. Robbie Burns' birthday (25th Jan) is celebrated with a special supper in his honour. The one I had gone for was a rather formal sit-down affair. All were out in their best Kilts and tartans. The sight at the men's restroom was interesting - all urinals were being used by men 'in skirts'. It made a kodak moment but for fear of being branded perverse, I did not take out my camera and take the award-winning photo. And no, I didn't don a kilt - not because I am shy of displaying my legs in public, but because it was really cold! So i just wore a tartan tie (my clan for the night was 'Drummond of Perth').

Coming back to the supper - it has a fixed format in terms of what is served and also the sequence. The fare at the dinner is typical Scots - Haggis, Neeps and Tatties and there are speeches and toasts flying all round. The meal commences with a 'Selkirk Grace' followed by recitation of Burns' "To a Haggis" (Yes, the gentleman composed an ode, of all things, to Haggis!). The gentleman reciting the poem cut the Haggis rather dramatically with a sword. This was followed by a speech on the man himself and how he and his poetry have shaped Scottish culture - this speech, naturally, mentioned his love for the lassies. So it is only fitting that it was followed by a 'Toast to the Lassies'. Since the toast is usually followed by a "Reply BY the Lassies", most men make it a pretty non-caustic speech. But the toast to the lassies that day caused a minor flutter when instead of making jokes about women, the speaker ended up questioning the sexual orientation of the Scottish Politicians (you know, the Brokeback Mountain type jokes). He forgot that one of the tables had an assortment of Scottish MPs who were squirming in their chairs. The "Reply by the Lassies" was given by a very cute grandmotherly lady who, in the presence of her husband, talked at length about the questionable skills of men in the bedroom and the inability of men to say "I love you" (which is why they send flowers and chocolates, was her reading of the situation). The women laughed out loud and the men politely nodded (Most were thinking, "Not me. I am good in bed!").

The dinner was followed by a Ceilidh which I thought would be a tame affair given that the average age that day was around 60. But Scots never cease to amaze - they all showed that age cannot be a hurdle in enjoying oneself (especially after one has had more than a dram of whisky). The Ceilidh went on till late and "Auld Lang Syne" (with what all Ceilidhs end) was sung only at half past two. Hence the difficulty of getting up at 0630 the next morning to catch the train.

Given its history as a shipbuilding and a coal-mining town, I had expected Newcastle to be a dingy industrial town. It was a surprisingly pleasant blend of the old and the new. The town has a very Victorian and Georgian looking city-centre and across the Tyne (that is why it's called Newcastle-Upon-Tyne), it has the futuristic looking 'Sage Gateshead' (the concert hall) and the 'Millenium Bridge' that give the city a very modern touch. The latter is world's first tilting span bridge (whatever that means) - it opens and closes like an eyelid to let ships pass through. In fact there are seven bridges across the Tyne all very close to each other that gives a very crowded look to the river. But the walk along the river Quayside is a very pleasant one (fortunately, it was a clear sunny day that allowed me to enjoy the views).

The city derives its name from a wooden castle built in the 11th Century. That 'new' castle doesn't survive anymore as it was replaced by a 'newer' one in around 1170 (So the new castle is actually the older one!). The train line runs between (yes, between!) the Castle Keep and one of its gates. The main church of the town (St. Nicholas Cathedral, 13-14th Century) did not impress this just-been-to-Italy visitor.

Newcastle has a number of good galleries and museums. The Laing Art Musuem had some stunning Victorian paintings - John Martin's 'The Bard' and 'Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah' had me staring at them for quite a while. But the most interesting exhibit I saw was at the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art which is housed in an old brick flour mill (one got great views of the river and the city from the top of this building). This particular exhibit was called "Working Class Hero", a tribute to John Lennon. It was set up in the staircase and consisted of around 25 TV screens at different levels right upto the sixth floor. Each of these TVs had a Lennon fan giving his/her own loud rendition of the Lennon's entire "Plastic Ono Band" Album. Since the album consists of a lot of screaming and howling, the effect is extremely amusing and ear-shattering. To complete the Museum spree that Newcastle sent me on, I also went to the 'Discovery Museum' - which had many exhibitions on subjects as diverse as 'People', 'Army', 'Science' and Fashion.

The city centre is called Monument as it has a towering monument to Earl Grey (Yes, yes. Of the tea fame!). The area seemed to be the Hyde Park of Newcastle with people distributing 'Free Hugs' and giving speeches on 'Racism' (courtesy Ms. Shetty, I presume). There was a gentleman who was not so gentlemanly when he was shouting at the top of his voice and giving a 'Only Jesus will save' kind of speech. When I passed through the area again a few hours later, he was still going strong...The city centre also houses Grainger Market which, apparently, at one point was Europe's largest under-cover market.

I was very curious to visit 'Seven Stories', a museum devoted to Children's Literature. It was a slight walk from the city centre and I took a bus. On boarding it, I requested the driver to let me know when the stop for the museum came. Seeing a reassuring 'sure' emanate from his lips, I dug into my guide book (I have, btw, become a 'Rough Guide' convert!). When I looked up after a while, I realised that all the passengers were staring at me - the driver had been shouting for two minutes from across the bus - trying to tell me that my stop had come. I apologized to all in the bus and quickly ran off before anyone could say 'dumb Indian'.

At the museum, when I bought the entry ticket, the lady at the counter warned me to be careful of Pirates. What? Pirates? Here? She saw my I-don't-want-to-see-the-Museum-anymore look and clarified that the theme for this weekend was Pirates and all children were asked to come dressed as Pirates. To see 3-4 years old with swords, eye-patches was a cute sight (not to mention this one wee one who had a stuffed parrot on her shoulder!). Very menacing indeed !!!!!

It would have been sacrilege not to pay homage to Newcastle's most famous export, Newcastle United. The stadium is situated close to the city centre and a quick walk got me there and an even quicker chat at the Coffee shop there disappointed me. The stadium tours for the day were over (these are only held on non-match days). So to atone for my sin, I visited the Official Newcastle Club shop and then plonked myself for a beer in the Shearer Bar (Yes, it is named after the most famous player of NU). I tried to imagine the situation in that bar (or for that matter, any other bar in town) when NU wins an EPL match (not too many of those this year - NU is currently at 12th position in the Premiereship!). Maybe I will visit it in the near future for one of NU's home matches.

I ended this trip with a nice Italian style pizza at a Trattoria called Uno's. The pint of Peroni ensured that I slept on my train journey back...

p.s. - The residents of this city are called 'Geordies' and every fourth one sports the black-and-white stripes shirt of Newcastle United. Go Magpies Go!

(Jan, 2007)

Bird-watching at Linlithgow

Feathered ones, btw.

A day in Linlithgow was what was destined for me today. By now I have learnt not to make my travel itineraries conditional upon weather. It was raining in the morning and I was in two minds but as they say back home "Dekhi Jayegi!". So off I went.

But the bit of early-morning indecision resulted in my doing my best impressions of vintage Seb Coe...
Feathered ones, btw.

A day in Linlithgow was what was destined for me today. By now I have learnt not to make my travel itineraries conditional upon weather. It was raining in the morning and I was in two minds but as they say back home "Dekhi Jayegi!". So off I went.

But the bit of early-morning indecision resulted in my doing my best impressions of vintage Seb Coe (or Milkha Singh. take your pick) on the streets of Edinburgh as I just about made it to the bus. The first few minutes on the bus (when I was purchasing the ticket) reminded me yet again of my accent (or lack of a Scottish one!) as the bus-driver and I got into a discussion about who would give the change.
Me "I will give the change"
(What he heard "Will you give the change?")
He : "Ok. I will give the change"
Me : "What? I will give the change"
(What he heard : "What? Will you give the change?")
He : "I WILL GIVE THE CHANGE"
(What was probably thinking "How did this fellow get the visa?")
Anyways, he finally gave up with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders and I did reach Linlithgow after a one-hour ride (15 miles from E'burgh, pop : 13k).

I was waiting for the "Grand Dame of Linlithgow/Stirling" to get onto the bus (those of you who remember my "Trip to Stirling" mail will understand. The rest of you obviously dont read my mails!). Anyways, the sole semi-interesting person on the bus was a dead ringer for Colin Firth. Too scared to elicit a Mark-Darcyesque response, I did not ask for an autograph! How could I forget? The only noteworthy incident during the bus ride was that the driver honked once (yes people, he honked). I even noted the time (10:41 am) and the place (Kirklisten) of this momentous occurence.

This time of the year (post-autumn, early winter) sees the leaves doing an amazing dance of colours. Everywhere fallen leaves of all hues and colours add a touch of surreality to the beautiful countryside. I refuse to believe that the beauty of the fallen leaves is natural. I am sure there is an army of people who work at night and arrange the fallen leaves casually, yet artistically, on the green meadows, pavements, and roads. And today the intermittent dew and rainwater on these leaves made every nook and cranny a photo-op.

Helios was playing hide and seek with Zeus - at the first hint of rain I would seek out the dry safety of the indoors of a shop. But as soon as I would reach inside, the sun would come out again. This conspiracy between the sun and the rain made me run three times. Then they gave up and it was sunny for the rest of the day. For the record, it was NOT fun while this hide and seek was being played.

Linlithgow's claim to fame is that Mary, Queen of Scotts was born here. There is a beautiful palace ("Linlithgow Palace". Duh?) built in the early 15th Century that dominates the city. This palace was destroyed in a fire in the 18th century and is said to lay in ruins but I thought that it was still in pretty good condition. Next to it is the St. Michaels Church consecrated in the 13th century. One of the gentlemen at the church decided that it was his duty to show me every corner of the church (He probably wanted to kill time since I was the only tourist!). He made me read Latin engravings on some of the pillars, and showed me mason's markings one of which was a Swastika. He then asked me the significance of the Swastika in Hindu mythology. I am extremely ashamed to report that I semi-cooked up a story and told him (Forgive me God for I have sinned. I told an untruth in the house of God). Anyways, he also showed me parts of the wall which bore the effects of the ire of Oliver Cromwell's troops (when they stabled their horses here, in the church, in 1646).

Inside the church, someone was playing the organ - which normally I find very soothing, but this gentleman's organ playing skills were as advanced as my guitar-playing ones and I had to beat a hasty retreat from the church despite the nice man wanting to show me each and every brick/stone of the church.

The church and the palace are situated right next to an extremely pretty lake ("Linlithgow Loch". Innovative name?). This Loch is a bird sanctuary with a large number of ducks, swans and other birds - I say 'other' because I am no Salim Ali but my untrained eye can report that the variety was mind-boggling.

At one point I was surrounded by birds on all sides and I felt as if I was part of Hitchcock's movie. Fortunately, these birds were friendly and did not attack me even though I was the only one not feeding them! And despite their not-so-apparent displeasure, I hung around the birds for a very long time enjoying the views of the loch, the church, the palace alongwith the background music of the ducks and swans (fortunately I couldn't hear the organ-player from the church in the distance!).

Then it was off for a dekko of the "Union Canal" (a 32 mile narrow canal which links Edinburgh to Falkirk Wheel and passes through Linlithgow). There is a narrow path along the canal that is very popular with cyclists for a day trip from Edinburgh to Linlithgow and back. There is a boat ride, which I missed (yet again. It was the ferry last week!). So I walked for a bit along the canal and almost broke my foot as I tried to take a photo from a precarious position.

Then I ambled back into town. Surprising the town has an extremely busy road with traffic that would rival some places in India. A late lunch was at a Pub called (no no not "Linlithgow Pub") "The Four Mary's". The baked macaroni and cheese was simply the best I have had in a long while. And I slept in the bus on the way back (courtesy the pint of Stella) so i missed the sheep, the leaves and the second ever honk in Scotland (if it did happen!).


Good to Know
- Those born in the burgh of Linlithgow are sometimes called Black Bitches (Don't ask).
- The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month marked the signing of the Armistice (on 11th Nov., 1918) to signal the end of WWI. It is celebrated as "Remembrance Day" on the second sunday of November. It is also celebrated as Poppy Day and everyone wears and artificial poppy on their lapels. So all Edinburghers and "Black Bitches" have poppies on their lapels.

(Nov, 2006)

Edmund Hillary was at Arran

This weekend, it was a mixed-bag trip to the Isle of Arran (two hours by road from E'burgh and then a one-hour ferry ride).

First the better-to-forget-quickly part - our bus developed a puncture on saturday morning so we missed our ferry to Arran. It was actually quite dramatic - we were about five minutes from the ferry terminal and we could see the ferry depart from the harbour in front of our eyes. That sight certainly got...

This weekend, it was a mixed-bag trip to the Isle of Arran (two hours by road from E'burgh and then a one-hour ferry ride).

First the better-to-forget-quickly part - our bus developed a puncture on saturday morning so we missed our ferry to Arran. It was actually quite dramatic - we were about five minutes from the ferry terminal and we could see the ferry depart from the harbour in front of our eyes. That sight certainly got a lot of blood-pressures spiralling.

Anyways, we had about three hours to kill in the port town of Ardrossan. Even a usually-optimistic piece of literature like the LP calls Ardrossan run-down and ramshackle. Spending three hours in this town (after having irritatingly missed a ferry by a few minutes only) was not a very pleasant experience. The only silver lining that pleased my sub-continental heart was the obligatory 'Indian Restaurant' (yet again!). We didn't see very many people in the town - I guess no one would wants to make use of the advantages that come from being an Ardrossian!

After three not-so memorable hours we were finally on the one-hour ferry to Arran. The Island is said to be a mini-Scotland in that it offers all that Scotland has for the visitor - stunning countryside, beaches, meadows, gently rolling hills, castles, a brewery, a distillery and, last but not least, SHEEP!

The port town, where the ferry lands, is Brodick and has a castle, a bay, a chocolate factory, a cheese farm and an aromatics factory (that is a mouthful!). The castle is closed during this season so our first stop was the small but rather expensive chocolate factory. I saved money and avoided the calories by resisting temptation! Am regretting it now when i see the photographs of the chocolates.

Since it was a saturday, the bus schedule was less frequent than what it would normally be. That hindered our movement around the island. We (after waiting for a bus that never showed up) finally decided to take a round-the-island bus trip. The view of the sunset was mindblowing and the Island somehow reminded me of Capri (though no one would agree with me!). We also passed through Blackwaterfoot (which has since, for raisons francaises, been renamed 'waterproof'!). This place is famous for "Standing Stones", a group of upright stone slabs erected more than 6000 years back, and "Kings Cave" where good ol' Robert Bruce had his run-in with the tenacious spider.

We were staying in the northern-most part of the Island in Lochranza. The youth hostel was choc-a-bloc and the next morning saw a few of us trudge it up (at 0700 hours, mind you) to the 13th century castle of Lochranza which apparently is the inspiration for the castle in Tintin's "The Black Island". After a misty session of photography near the castle and a heavy breakfast back at the youth hostel, we ventured out to get our share of adventure for the day.

After considering various walking options (apparently there are more than 18 well trod walks on this island) we narrowed our sights and hiking boots on Goatfell - the highest point on the Island. This trek upto Goatfell is around two and a half miles (one-way) from the main road that encircles the island. The hike up and down was expected to take approx. 5-6 hours so we decided to risk it (to make up for the lost sightseeing the previous day) even though we had a ferry to catch in the late afternoon.

Eleven of us started it and two dropped out pretty soon. Seeing some of them disappear into the distance and keeping an eye on the time, we vacillated between trudging on and turning back. Instead, we left our backpacks in the meadow and moved up fast (speed and time, as Einstein reminded us, is relative). Lo and behold - as soon as we discarded our backpacks behind a large stone (something that I would have never done back home!), we gained in speed and confidence and the ascent did not seem as formidable as before. We did have a near fatal fall (I am not joking) about half an hour from the summit when a sudden gust of wind almost blew both of us from the top. They would have found our bodies years later and parallels would have been drawn with the Mallory-Irvine debate (do your own googling!) as to whether we were on our way to the summit or on our way back.

Thereafter we learnt our lesson and decided to give the wind the respect it deserved. Whenever the wind picked up, we would immediately sit down (as if it was gunfire and not the wind!). About 20 minutes from the top (it was a very steep climb at that point), we saw the others returning. They egged us on with promises of breathtaking views. But we were also told that it was very very windy and foggy with hints of drizzle. Then after a serious what-if conference we decided (with a heavy heart and ample regret) not to risk life and limb and turned back from our version of the 'Hillary-step'. So mountaineering glory evaded us (for the record we would have done it had it not been for the wind, the clouds and the paucity of time) and it was indeed a sad day in the annals of mountaineering history.

The climb back was not as easy as we had anticipated and since we had time on our hands we stopped every ten minutes for a photography and movie session. Once we found our backpacks where we had left them, we had a little luncheon picnic in perhaps the windiest conditions I have ever encountered.

On our way back we bumped into a princess (who was bothered by bugs in her shoes and not peas in her mattresses), a lady who walked backwards and someone who refused to budge in the crazily-fast-blowing wind (but still wanted the poor photographer to run around at considerable danger to his precious life) and a surprisingly happy-looking sheep in a revolving sheep-cage.

Back on the road, we tried a Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert to get to Brodick to catch the ferry. The first 9 Arranians (i wonder that is what they are called. Not to be confused with countryment of Ahmedinejad) who saw two tired mountaineers with their thumbs begging for a lift increased their speed on seeing us (some of them even had the gall to wave at us while denying us a ride!). Fortune finally smiled at us and we got two rides in a row. So now I can list Hitchhiking as another one of my skills (after hiking!).

For the record, we did not miss the ferry back from Arran and all of us reached mainland Scotland in one piece (albiet tired to the bone). But sadly by the time we reached E'burgh, the Guy Fawkes firecrackers and bonfires were over (Though I believe that some amateurs did manage to burn down a portion of Arthur's Seat and tested the skills of the local fire brigade!).

(Nov, 2006)

A Stirring trip...

I took a random bus out of Edinburgh today (the sun was fortunately kind on my travels yet again, and the sheep were still there in the countryside!) and after a close-to-two hour journey , I landed in a town called Stirling (pop : 43k).

First a bit about the bus journey - We passed through a town called...

I took a random bus out of Edinburgh today (the sun was fortunately kind on my travels yet again, and the sheep were still there in the countryside!) and after a close-to-two hour journey , I landed in a town called Stirling (pop : 43k).

First a bit about the bus journey - We passed through a town called "Three Mile Town"!!!!!!!! Considering that it had around 10 houses, the appellation certainly did not refer to its width!. Anyways, at Linlithgow (another pretty town halfway between E'burgh and Stirling, I plan to go there for my next jaunt, btw), an extremely elderly lady got on. She was dressed in a large overcoat and had a tartan muffler wrapped around her head (straight out of 'To the manor born'). This lady seemed to be pretty well known, for throughout the journey, whomsover got on the bus tipped their hat or cap and hello-maam'd her. As we got off at Stirling, she almost gave me a dirty look, as if to reprimand me for not knowing and acknowledging the grand-dame of Linlithgow (or Sterling).

According to the LP, Stirling is a lot like Edinburgh with a castle on a mound that towers over the rest of the city. I could see the castle from a distance as we approached the town, but from within the town itself the castle is a rare sighting (unlike at Edinburgh, where the castle is almost visible from just about anywhere).

I must say that I was more than overwhelmed. The old part of town has a really remarkable feel to it (though the new part had its share of McDonalds and Burger Kings to kill the ambience) with narrow meandering cobblestoned inclined streets with only an occasional vehicle to disturb the peace and quiet. Though there is not much to see at Stirling but the tranquil ambience (maybe it being a sunday helped) really made my day. The gently-inclined streets remind one of the the walk to Piazza Michelangelo in Firenze or even the stroll upto Montmartre in Paris ("Merde", the French would say. In disgust at the comparison. And not describing something their little poodle just did on the sidewalk!). The falling autumn leaves, and the sun playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds, added to the beauty of the place. The random bus did turn out to be a boon!

The castle looked nice from the outside and the view of the town, the river Forth and the countryside from the castle mound was very picture-postcardish but I didn't go inside the castle - my student budget could not afford the hefty entrance charge!

Instead, I did a take-away lunch from the Marks and Spencer Food store. Chicken Caeser Roll and a Chocolate Dessert (with 4 different kinds of chocolates - all those calories just melted in my mouth!). I can still feel the chocolate on my tongue. And my slightly-portruding paunch is proof of the KiloCalories consumed.

I did make some obligatory visits to the recommended places - Church of the Holy Rude (Parish church of Stirling for over 500 years), Mar's Wark (an old 16th C renaissance style house), Argyll's Lodging (a tastefully refurbished 17th Century aristocratic house), Cowane's hospital (which now hosts Ceilidhs and concerts. They have a family-tree database. Contrary to popular belief, Chatraths do not trace their ancestry to any Scottish Clan. We don't have a clan tartan either!). I skipped the Wallace Monument (devoted to a Scots hero, Wallace, slain by the English in the early 14th C) as it is slightly out of town.

But what i enjoyed most was walking (and getting lost) in the old part of town and generally soaking in the atmosphere. I did not feel like coming back to E'burgh (also because the week starts again tomorrow!).

I tried very hard to do an exercise we have been asked to do for class. Basically it involves eavesdropping in on the conversations of people so as to give us a sense of how people talk. My attempt at doing it in Stirling was a big failure. First, I would trail the people whose conversation I intended to eavesdrop on, then i would try to match my walking pace with theirs, and then when all was co-ordinated, I would discover that I could not understand a single word they were saying - the accent was too thick for my liking, or understanding!!!!! So, I gave up after a few attempts before I could hear the following "Officer, there was this Asian guy following us. Arrest him."

So before that eventuality occured, i took the bus back to my castle-on-a-mound-in-the-centre-of-the-city city. But I must confess, Stirling is prettier!



P.S. - Colours : In Scotland every little girl under the age of 6 or 7 wears (or is made to wear) atleast one item of clothing in Pink. And the front numberplate of every car is white while the back one is always in yellow (something to do with lights falling on it perhaps?)
(Oct, 2006)

Diwali in Dundee (lesson in trivia)

It is cloudy, muggy, misty, rainy and foggy on most days of the week but saturdays (the day I travel outside E'burgh) have always been sunny ever since I arrived in bonnie Scotland. Now that I have mentioned it, I can expect next saturday to be depressing, misty with a lot of rain! Wanting to make use of the sun today, I decided to spend the day in Dundee.

Dundee is about 61 miles north of Edinburgh and is situated...

It is cloudy, muggy, misty, rainy and foggy on most days of the week but saturdays (the day I travel outside E'burgh) have always been sunny ever since I arrived in bonnie Scotland. Now that I have mentioned it, I can expect next saturday to be depressing, misty with a lot of rain! Wanting to make use of the sun today, I decided to spend the day in Dundee.

Dundee is about 61 miles north of Edinburgh and is situated on the Firth of Tay (what is a firth? you might ask. Later). As soon as I stepped in the bus, the sun played truant. And thanks to a mist during the ninety minute bus drive, i did not get to see any sheep or cows!

Despite the fact that it is Scotland's fourth largest city, Dundee has a princely population of 1,50,000 only (a crowd which we, in India, can collect in less than the time it took Roger Bannister to run the mile.). Dundee is famous for 3 Js - Jute, Journalism and Jam. And there is an India connection too.......Read on......

The main city square is like a trafficless square of any European City - people sunning themselves, musicians strutting their stuff and women running from one designer store to another whilst precariously balancing large shopping bags in their hands. There was a band playing soothing music (the main lead was a xylophone!) that added to the general laziness of the ambience. Somehow this band caught the fancy of all the toddlers in the area and most of them flocked to where the band was playing, and one could see kids of all shapes and sizes trying to show their best dancing moves with the proud parents looking on. The square had a farmers market today with the agriculturists selling cheese, breads, jams and even home-brewed beer!

The statue in the city square is not of Walter Scott or of Robert Burns (like in all the other Scottish cities) but of 'Desperate Dan' from the comicbook The Dandy. Thats "J No. 1". Show of Hands. How many have read 'The Beano' series of comics? 'The Beano' is published by DC Thomson Comics which is based in Dundee. Apparently DC Thomson is the largest employer in Dundee and it also publishes 'The Dandy'. (Btw, this 'J' is for Journalism for those who are wondering!)

Dundee is sometimes called the "City of Discovery" because "The Discovery" is afloat here in a protected dock. The ship "RRS Discovery" was built in Dundee in 1900 for the Polar Expedition to Antarctica in 1901 but now the ship has been converted into a museum. The ship was captained by Robert Scott, one the most famous Dundonians.

William McGonagall is another Dundonian who is famous (but for the wrong reasons!). He is often referred to as one of the worst poets in the English Language (I thought that epithet was reserved for me in poetry class!). He is criticised as being deaf to poetic metaphor, unable to scan correctly, guitly of churning out inappropriate rhythms, having weak vocabulary and ill-advised imagery (all of which I am also culpable of in my writing!).

Coming to "J No. 2". Jute. Dundee was once one of the richest cities of Britain - Dundonians owned most of the Jute mills in India (not a happy reminder for us) and thanks to this, in the 19th and early 20th Century, Dundee apparently had the maximum number of millionaires per head of the population (in the whole of Britain!). But the fortunes of this city also reversed with the decline of the Jute Industry.

For lunch I walked into a shop called "Fat Jackets". The menu listed "chilli and cheese" and "Cheese, Mayonnaise and Eggs" and other such options. Thinking them to be sandwiches I ordered one. Now I am not one who is adventerous as far as culinary options are concerned. but lunch turned out to be a mis-adventure. "Fat Jacket" was a fat (naturally) unpeeled boiled potato which was cut into two and then filled with the topping I had selected. Only 1 million calories. Fortunately I was walking throughout the day so hopefully some of the illeffects would have worn off by the end of the day.

Lunch brings me to "J. No. 3". The invention of marmalade jam is credited to Janet Keillor of Dundee in the late 18th Century. Apparently, a Mr. James Keiller bought a cargo of Seville oranges very cheaply from a Spanish ship. But the oranges were so bitter that no one was willing to eat them as fruit. So his ingenious wife made them into a jam, and breakfasty history was born! The Keillor factory existed till 1988 when it was shifted to England.

Dundee has it own version of Arthurs Seat. It is called "Dundee Law" (affectionately known as DunLaw)- the highest point in the city. From the Mt.Everest-eque height of 174 metres, I got a 360-degree view of the city, and the Firth and the 2 bridges - Tay Road Bridge and the Tay Rail Bridge. The latter was the longest bridge in the world (another piece of trivia) when it was constructed in 1887 but it was destroyed in a storm 2 years later when a train was passing on it. Mr. McGonagall penned "The Tay Bridge Disaster" when it collapsed.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
Apparently 75 and not 90 people died in the accident. So one can add inaccuracy to the list of Mr. McGonagall's poetic shortcomings!

One of the biggest churches in Dundee is St. Mary's church and there seemed to be an unusually high number of weddings today as the bells were peeling for most of the afternoon. I saw one couple step out of the church and it was interesting to see a couple where both the bride and the groom were wearing skirts!

Dundee Contemporary Arts Museum had an interesting exhibit on "Killing time" which had real sets of a house, a meadow, a stage, and a basement. Another section had film shots of these sets which depicted people waiting and doing mundane activities. The exhibition was supposed to be an experiment in 'the experience of time'.

I ended up killing so much time there that I almost missed my bus back to Edinburgh! Very filmi, bag in one hand, camera in the other!

So what is a Firth?
It is the Scots word used to denote various coastal waters in Scotland. It is usually a large sea bay, which may be part of an Estuary, or just an Inlet, or even a Strait. It is cognate to fjord, which has a more narrow sense in English, whereas a firth would most likely be called a fjord if it were situated in Scandinavia. Bodies of water named "firths" tend to be more common on the east coast, or in the southwest of the country, although the Firth of Lorne is an exception to this.

(Oct, 2006)