Just because I've left the cold, rainy recesses of Scotland doesn't mean that I've finished posting my various adventures across its misty moorlands. I've yet to regale you with tales of my trips to Stirling, Paisley, The Great Glen, Skye, and Orkney, or of the amazing birthday bash my fabulous flatmates threw in my honour.
Such posts will be forthcoming, but I'll have to ask for a little patience on your parts: naturally, I have yet to finish the two papers that are due for submission on 15 January, so those will take priority until next week when I can squirrel away some time for blogging.
Hope everyone had a fantastic holiday break and ushered in the new year with a bang. (Mine was spent playing backgammon and Trivial Pursuit with my mum and da, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.)
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
So long, and thanks for all the fish...
You and I will meet again,
When we're least expecting it.
One day, in some far off place,
I will recognize your face.
I won't say goodbye, my friend,
For you and I will meet again.-- Tom Petty, "You and I Will Meet Again"
My girls left this morning; a heart-wrenching silence has since settled on the flat. Fortunately, we three ladies of Flat G have already started planning for road trips between Vandy, Bama, and Hotlanta, meeting somewhere in the middle.
However, the prospect of seeing them again does little to assuage the pain of their leaving. That's because their departure is a symptom of a larger hurt--my own imminent congé from Scotland. I'm not ready to leave, and with my flight out from Edinburgh looming on the horizon, I fear I'll come to resent the ties to Alabama that are ultimately responsible for my return.
Damn you, Alabama! Sure, you made the best experience of my life possible; but as with every deal made with the Devil, there has been a hell of a price to pay.
My other friends will continue to trickle back to the States over the course of the week, and I've started steeling my resolve for the farewells both to them and to the Scottish friends I've made, both student and non-student alike. I hope that this cloud will lift when I see my family at the gate in New Orleans, when I get back to T-town and settle into my old routine. I hope I'm wrong in feeling that coming home is a mistake.
Excuse me, Hume's metaphysics and moral philosophy require my attention and my face seems to have sprung yet another leak.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The Highlands, Part Five: Glen Coe
[Note: If you're not up-to-date on your Jacobite history, now might be a good time to review the Culloden post a few entries back, else you might get lost. Given time constraints, I'll not be able to recap.]
Glen Coe, a narrow, steep-sided valley near Rannoch Moor, is often referred to as the "glen of weeping" for two reasons: 1) during the rainy months and first spring thaws, runoff cascades down the mountains, creating the illusion of crying hills; and 2) it is home to the village of Glencoe, the site of the most infamous breach of Highland hospitality in Scottish history.
A view of the valley in late September (my first visit), before the fern and heather started to die back.
In 1691, following the unsuccessful Jacobite uprising of 1689-90, William of Orange offered pardons to all Highland clans who had participated in the botched rebellion, provided they swore allegiance to the newly instated monarchy by the first of January, 1692. Those who did not pay fealty to the king, however, would be treated as enemy combatants and suffer grave consequences.
View of a pass through the valley as the sun sets in the distance.
Many of the Highland clans chose to await word from their "true" king--James II, living in exile in France--before proclaiming loyalty to the appointed magistrate. James, upon realizing that the seeds for revolution and his campaign to regain the throne would not ripen before the deadline, granted the chiefs permission to take the oath in mid-December. For the clans who lived in remote areas, such as the MacDonalds of Glencoe, James' authorization came too late; delayed by topography, wintry weather, and misinformation, clan chief Alastair MacDonald arrived in Inverary five days after the deadline. As such, the MacDonalds of Glencoe were not included on the list of clans who had sworn allegiance to the crown.
A view of the same pass through the valley, taken in late October when the fern begins to turn red.
In one of the more vile acts of retribution committed in British history, William enlisted the help of the Campbells of Loch Awe, who had battled with the cattle-thieving MacDonalds for at least a century. As per William's orders, the Campbells and a contingent of crown troops visited the MacDonalds of Glencoe and sought refuge from the winter weather, knowing full well that the tradition of 'Highland hospitality' would ensure the rival clan's entrance into the MacDonald compound.
The Buttresses of Bidean nam Bian, complete with Scotland's trademark mist.
For three weeks, nearly 120 Campbells and government troops dined at MacDonald tables, danced with MacDonald women, and slept in MacDonald beds. Then, in the early morning hours of February 13, 1692, the Campbells awoke and slit the throats of the MacDonald men. The women and children were driven from their village into the snow-covered hills as their homes were set ablaze. All told, 38 men were murdered in Glencoe, and another 40 women and children perished in the cold.
In the grand scheme of Scottish clan rivalries, 78 deaths is not a staggering body count. To wit, cattle raids and various feuds resulted in far more bloodshed and often continued unabated for decades. However, it was not the blood of 78 innocents that has marked the Campbells since the Glencoe massacre; rather, it was the exploitation of the tradition of Highland hospitality. Even today, over 300 years later, Highland grannies caution their grandchildren not to marry into a Campbell family. According to a tour guide of ours, there is a hotel near the village of Glencoe whose front desk bears a sign reading: "No Solicitors, No Salesmen, No Campbells."
Glen Coe, a narrow, steep-sided valley near Rannoch Moor, is often referred to as the "glen of weeping" for two reasons: 1) during the rainy months and first spring thaws, runoff cascades down the mountains, creating the illusion of crying hills; and 2) it is home to the village of Glencoe, the site of the most infamous breach of Highland hospitality in Scottish history.
A view of the valley in late September (my first visit), before the fern and heather started to die back.
In 1691, following the unsuccessful Jacobite uprising of 1689-90, William of Orange offered pardons to all Highland clans who had participated in the botched rebellion, provided they swore allegiance to the newly instated monarchy by the first of January, 1692. Those who did not pay fealty to the king, however, would be treated as enemy combatants and suffer grave consequences.
View of a pass through the valley as the sun sets in the distance.
Many of the Highland clans chose to await word from their "true" king--James II, living in exile in France--before proclaiming loyalty to the appointed magistrate. James, upon realizing that the seeds for revolution and his campaign to regain the throne would not ripen before the deadline, granted the chiefs permission to take the oath in mid-December. For the clans who lived in remote areas, such as the MacDonalds of Glencoe, James' authorization came too late; delayed by topography, wintry weather, and misinformation, clan chief Alastair MacDonald arrived in Inverary five days after the deadline. As such, the MacDonalds of Glencoe were not included on the list of clans who had sworn allegiance to the crown.
A view of the same pass through the valley, taken in late October when the fern begins to turn red.
In one of the more vile acts of retribution committed in British history, William enlisted the help of the Campbells of Loch Awe, who had battled with the cattle-thieving MacDonalds for at least a century. As per William's orders, the Campbells and a contingent of crown troops visited the MacDonalds of Glencoe and sought refuge from the winter weather, knowing full well that the tradition of 'Highland hospitality' would ensure the rival clan's entrance into the MacDonald compound.
The Buttresses of Bidean nam Bian, complete with Scotland's trademark mist.
For three weeks, nearly 120 Campbells and government troops dined at MacDonald tables, danced with MacDonald women, and slept in MacDonald beds. Then, in the early morning hours of February 13, 1692, the Campbells awoke and slit the throats of the MacDonald men. The women and children were driven from their village into the snow-covered hills as their homes were set ablaze. All told, 38 men were murdered in Glencoe, and another 40 women and children perished in the cold.
In the grand scheme of Scottish clan rivalries, 78 deaths is not a staggering body count. To wit, cattle raids and various feuds resulted in far more bloodshed and often continued unabated for decades. However, it was not the blood of 78 innocents that has marked the Campbells since the Glencoe massacre; rather, it was the exploitation of the tradition of Highland hospitality. Even today, over 300 years later, Highland grannies caution their grandchildren not to marry into a Campbell family. According to a tour guide of ours, there is a hotel near the village of Glencoe whose front desk bears a sign reading: "No Solicitors, No Salesmen, No Campbells."
Monday, December 04, 2006
Sloth
Allow me to apologize for my absence these past couple of weeks. As finals week back home nears, I'm sure many of you can appreciate how the workload of the average university student increases exponentially come term's end. (Okay, so the workload isn't really any bigger, I've just been catching up on everything I didn't do while I was farting around the Scottish countryside these past few months. So sue me.)
To make amends for my journalistic sloth, which was spawned by a brief bout of intellectual sloth, I give you:
A sloth. But not any ol' sloth, oh no. This may very well be the cutest damned sloth in the world. Aren't you a lucky bunch?
And one more time for good measure: sloth.
To make amends for my journalistic sloth, which was spawned by a brief bout of intellectual sloth, I give you:
A sloth. But not any ol' sloth, oh no. This may very well be the cutest damned sloth in the world. Aren't you a lucky bunch?
And one more time for good measure: sloth.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Fear not, adoring public...
...I'm not dead. Well, not yet, anyways.
I apologize for the thin blogging of late. I've been swamped with schoolwork, essays, and presentations out the whazoo, so the vast majority of my time is devoted to drooling drowsily on one of my suggested reading texts, doing pilates in effort to stay awake, jumping to the kitchen for my seventeenth cup of tea for the day, or crying in front of my computer. (That last bit's only a little true...)
Seriously, what idiot takes challenging classes when studying abroad? Oh yeah, that's right, ME. Stupid ambition.
I apologize for the thin blogging of late. I've been swamped with schoolwork, essays, and presentations out the whazoo, so the vast majority of my time is devoted to drooling drowsily on one of my suggested reading texts, doing pilates in effort to stay awake, jumping to the kitchen for my seventeenth cup of tea for the day, or crying in front of my computer. (That last bit's only a little true...)
Seriously, what idiot takes challenging classes when studying abroad? Oh yeah, that's right, ME. Stupid ambition.
Monday, November 20, 2006
The Highlands, Part Four: Loch Ness
No visit to Scotland would be complete without a visit to the most famous body of water in the world, Loch Ness. Located in the northeast of Scotland, it is one of many lochs that dot the Great Glen, a fault line that stretches from Fort William to Inverness.
Contrary to popular opinion, Loch Ness is not the largest loch in Scotland, nor is it the deepest. At 22 square miles and 740 feet deep, the loch lays claim to second prize in those competitions. However, the combined depth and surface area make Loch Ness Scotland's largest loch by volume; one of the tourist industry's favorite factoids is that Loch Ness contains more fresh water than the whole of England and Wales, combined.
Our trip along Loch Ness began in Inverness where we boarded a ferry that would take us down the Caledonian Canal, which links the east and west coasts of Scotland through a chain of lochs.
Sheep grazing in a pasture that overlooks the canal as we chugged toward Fort William. The weather was glorious, if a bit nippy.
One of the 29 locks (not loch) along the canal. This picture's for my dad, who's an engineer and, thus, the nerdiest man I know. Don't worry, old man, I've got more lock photos for you to look at when I get home; I'm sure you'll tell me all about the science behind them. (In all honesty, I miss my geek father and his long-winded explications of the finer points of concrete construction.)
Only a small fraction of the canal's length is man-made; nearly 70% of the journey is sailed through Loch Douchfour, Loch Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy.
The view as we entered Loch Ness. Though the sun was shining and there was minimal cloud cover, visibility was hampered by the ever-present Scottish haze.
Approaching Urquhart Castle, which sits on the bonny banks of Loch Ness. Urquhart has a long history stretching back to the sixth century when St. Columba, credited with bringing Christianity to Scotland, visited on a mission. Interestingly enough, the first recorded sighting of the Loch Ness monster was in 585, when one of St. Columba's followers was gobbled up by the beast before the missionary's very eyes. Clearly, Highland hospitality was but a fledgling notion at the time.
A quasi-aerial view of the ruins. Again with the blasted haze. Scotland, we've got to talk about this crap. It's ruining my scrapbooking prospects.
Looking over the castle grounds and the loch from the visitor's centre.
I know you're all itching to ask the $64,000 question: Did you see Nessie?
Coming to Loch Ness, I was convinced that the Nessie malarkey was just an ingenious ruse to get superstitious tourists to drop a fat wad of cash on "Nessie cruises" and cheaply made trinkets. After all, an undergraduate degree in both biology and philosophy would lead me to consider any and all accounts of a plesiosaurid creature existing in modern time with a healthy dose of scepticism.
However, after visiting the loch and reviewing my photographs from the trip, something turned in my heart. Two photos, taken but a scant few seconds apart, show something quite peculiar. Take a look and decide for yourselves.
Frame one: Taken from the top of the main tower at Urquhart, which is the site of most Nessie spottings
I'm sure you all can see rippling wakes across the water. Nothing out of the ordinary, as boats traverse the loch very regularly, right? The next photograph, however, shows something else may be responsible for the waves:
Whisky, Tango, Foxtrot?! It's a bloody plesiosaur! For the non-paleontologists and cryptozoologists in the audience, we can tell this creature is a plesiosaur from its long, peg-like teeth, adapted to catching and consuming slippery marine prey.
[Note: In case it wasn't already bleedingly obvious from my MS Paint shenanigans, I have two essays due in a week and I'm avoiding them like the plague. Procrastinators unite...tomorrow!]
Contrary to popular opinion, Loch Ness is not the largest loch in Scotland, nor is it the deepest. At 22 square miles and 740 feet deep, the loch lays claim to second prize in those competitions. However, the combined depth and surface area make Loch Ness Scotland's largest loch by volume; one of the tourist industry's favorite factoids is that Loch Ness contains more fresh water than the whole of England and Wales, combined.
Our trip along Loch Ness began in Inverness where we boarded a ferry that would take us down the Caledonian Canal, which links the east and west coasts of Scotland through a chain of lochs.
Sheep grazing in a pasture that overlooks the canal as we chugged toward Fort William. The weather was glorious, if a bit nippy.
One of the 29 locks (not loch) along the canal. This picture's for my dad, who's an engineer and, thus, the nerdiest man I know. Don't worry, old man, I've got more lock photos for you to look at when I get home; I'm sure you'll tell me all about the science behind them. (In all honesty, I miss my geek father and his long-winded explications of the finer points of concrete construction.)
Only a small fraction of the canal's length is man-made; nearly 70% of the journey is sailed through Loch Douchfour, Loch Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy.
The view as we entered Loch Ness. Though the sun was shining and there was minimal cloud cover, visibility was hampered by the ever-present Scottish haze.
Approaching Urquhart Castle, which sits on the bonny banks of Loch Ness. Urquhart has a long history stretching back to the sixth century when St. Columba, credited with bringing Christianity to Scotland, visited on a mission. Interestingly enough, the first recorded sighting of the Loch Ness monster was in 585, when one of St. Columba's followers was gobbled up by the beast before the missionary's very eyes. Clearly, Highland hospitality was but a fledgling notion at the time.
A quasi-aerial view of the ruins. Again with the blasted haze. Scotland, we've got to talk about this crap. It's ruining my scrapbooking prospects.
Looking over the castle grounds and the loch from the visitor's centre.I know you're all itching to ask the $64,000 question: Did you see Nessie?
Coming to Loch Ness, I was convinced that the Nessie malarkey was just an ingenious ruse to get superstitious tourists to drop a fat wad of cash on "Nessie cruises" and cheaply made trinkets. After all, an undergraduate degree in both biology and philosophy would lead me to consider any and all accounts of a plesiosaurid creature existing in modern time with a healthy dose of scepticism.
However, after visiting the loch and reviewing my photographs from the trip, something turned in my heart. Two photos, taken but a scant few seconds apart, show something quite peculiar. Take a look and decide for yourselves.
Frame one: Taken from the top of the main tower at Urquhart, which is the site of most Nessie spottings
I'm sure you all can see rippling wakes across the water. Nothing out of the ordinary, as boats traverse the loch very regularly, right? The next photograph, however, shows something else may be responsible for the waves:
Whisky, Tango, Foxtrot?! It's a bloody plesiosaur! For the non-paleontologists and cryptozoologists in the audience, we can tell this creature is a plesiosaur from its long, peg-like teeth, adapted to catching and consuming slippery marine prey.[Note: In case it wasn't already bleedingly obvious from my MS Paint shenanigans, I have two essays due in a week and I'm avoiding them like the plague. Procrastinators unite...tomorrow!]
BREAKING NEWS
Scotland is cold and rainy.
Also in today's news:
- Water is wet.
- Sky is up.
- France surrenders.
These stories and more at 11.
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