Part 1. Never Travel on Boxing Day.
Back in the year 2008, I was a second year student in University of Nottingham in England. Knowing that I would ‘enjoy’ the Chinese Spring festival in between exams, I decided to make the most of my Christmas holiday by traveling to the northern part of Great Britain. So the plan was to invite some friends to clean up my fridge on Christmas day and go for a 10 days journey in Scotland with two Chinese classmates. However, I was told on Christmas dinner that the two classmates who had already booked the trip (350 quid) didn’t bother going any more, since they felt like falling ill after a visit to London and thought Scotland would be cold as hell. My expectation of the journey went a ‘30% off’, yet I insisted on going alone.
The departure date was 26th Dec, known to the Brits as Boxing Day, a day that the whole country is mobilized joining a shopping carnival with seemingly promising Sales on everything. Well, not everything, it was certainly no good bargain on public transportation because it is also a day that train engineers and airport shuttle bus drivers go shopping, which left me the only option to take a coach to Edinburgh. I saved 50 quid by booking National Express to Sheffield and Megabus Sheffield to Edinburgh instead of taking National Express from Nottingham to Edinburgh directly. Clever me. The problem was that in order to catch the legendarily cheap Megabus, I needed to travel to a sub-urban transportation hub far from where I get off National Express.
The greater problem was, I began to question myself whether I would make an effort going or not. So ‘mafan’- an ‘inconvenient’ or ‘troublesome’ situation I constantly encounter in this country but are not able to express in their language. I walked to Nottingham coach station in early morning, left myself enough time to escape the trip at any time (luckily I didn’t). Exhaustion, that’s the word one would comment on such a long coach journey. However, when I arrived in Edinburgh in the evening, when I breathed in the freshly cold, lively and festive atmosphere of the city, I felt as refreshing and exciting as vampire sucking blood. The time, efforts and ‘mafans’ in getting there were definitely worth it.
Part 2. Edinburgh - Loch Ness.
The gathering venue was just opposite the hostel I stayed at. While we were waiting for picking up the welcome pack, I was surprised by the massive pieces of luggage many travelers had with them - it made sense when we greeted each other and found that half of the group were Aussies. Apparently they are well prepared for the cold - for many of them a big challenge in itself. Apart from Aussies, there were a few Canadians and Americans, a couple from Peru, and an Asian girl, me. I don’t really remember if there was an English guy in the group. Judging from the fact that the guy always being mocked at by our Scottish guide was an Australian, I here assume that there wasn’t anyone English.
The tour departed in Edinburgh, crossed the lowlands and highlands on the way to Isle of Skye, and then back via a different route. We kicked off the trip to Loch Ness with a lecture by our tour guide about the true ‘Deep Scottish Love’, ‘the kind of love that you can only experience when you love someone Scotisher, and someone Scotisher loves you’. During the three-days tour this statement was repeated hundreds of time, appearing at the beginning and ending of every fairy and legend. That’s why after so many years I can still remember every single word.
The weather was fine with clouds ever-present to keep the landscape new and changing. We went across yellow and steadily growing hills up to Perth and Inverness; by the afternoon we arrived at Loch Ness. Loch Ness is long and narrow, so lots of room for Nessy to hide. I didn’t think Loch Ness was more beautiful than the scenery I saw during the day through the window, but the van did not stop at nameless scenery - the universal drawback of joining a group tour. However, there was nothing stopping us fellow group members to give an appreciation at the touristy spot. All of us, apart from an Australian lady who always held herself aloof, did a funny ‘Nessie Haka’. According to our tour guide it is a ‘ritual’ to evoke the appearance of Nessie. Unfortunately, we saw nothing strange but grey water and cloudy sky, or, fortunately, it might have been more than we bargained for.
It seems that the locals have a certain amount of affectionate indulgence for the Nessie; there were shops, sculptures, exhibiting centres dedicated to Nessie - after all the commercialization of the legend brings tourist dollars. We then headed for Highland Clan Centre, a cold stone cottage. The dark, cold, and archaic feeling of the house resembles what I felt in Tibetan houses. The clan man demonstrated how kilt is made with a big dirty tartan, again the flexible way of waring cloths in hush and changeable climate reminded me of clothing in Tibetan regions. Arguably Tibetans are more civilized since they wear underpants.
When the clan man pulled a dirty tartan out of a dark wooden cask, the huge cloth wholly covered me (I sit on the ground before the cask), it took me some effort to get out of the mess. Everyone bursted laughing. Arh!!! We were told that in ancient times, people hold urine in that wooden cask to soak the tartan to keep warm. (What?!). I couldn’t imagine how it could possibly keep warm that way, and till today, I contributed this part of the story as my mis-listening of his Scottish accent. It made me feel better when we were told that Prince Charles and Madonna were among the ones who have used this piece of dirty tartan during their visit to Clan centre.
We stayed in Morag’s Lodge. It is within walking distance from Clan Centre, however the less than two minutes walking was a memory so undeletable because the air was so humid and freezing, even for someone who grew up in North East China. I suddenly felt thankful that my friends who are really afraid of cold weather didn’t come. My room is called ‘Trainspotting’, much better than ‘Shallow Grave’ I have to say.
Part 3. Fort Augustus - Portree.
We left Fort August on a very dark, moist, cool morning and made our way to the Isle of Skye. This morning we had a chance to saw the magnificent view of sunrise above mountains and lakes and real winter wonderlands. When we were driving in circle up on a mountain, the Aussies were obviously turned on by a sign of ‘Kangaroo here’. I can totally understand them by just imagining a sign of ‘Giant Pandas here’ on this innominate Scottish mountain. Down the mountain, we arrived at Elian Donnan castle. It was once the home to a Scottish highland clan (MacDonalds?), arguably the most filmed castle in Scotland. From the castle, it’s only a couple of minutes down the road and over a huge bridge to the Isle of Skye. And it was there, for the first time, I saw the Atlantic Ocean.
My first real feeling of the Isle of Skye was a face full of freezing water. The tour guide told us the faerie of the stream and to his immense credit most of us followed his word like sheep, getting down on the ground and dipping our faces in the stream for 10 seconds. According to the Deep Scotish Love faerie, the stream was blessed by the King of Fearies himself and dipping your face into the freezing water could bring you eternal youth. The beauty promise was just overwhelming, have a look at the photo to make sense of it all. An Australian guy who tried to break the ice surface of the steam was just too heavy for it and got himself soaked in the freezing creek, thus our talkative Scottish tour guide was provided some extra material to mock him about.
At noon we went to Portree, a lovely small village with a tiny harbor and a town center. It was like normal Sunday times, very few people on the streets and very few cars on the road, except, of course it is an island of Northern Scotland and I assume everyday seemed to be just like this. It feels somehow uncanny to wander in an empty town, for the only people you see on the streets are those you see in the coach. Portree seemed to be a good place for filming the film version of the opening scene of Miyazaki’s Spirited Away. Or could it be that the residents went to watch ‘Pride of Portree’ playing quidditch game in British and Irish Quidditch League? We found the only running business was a bar and a small supermarket. I had a Chocolate Éclair at the bar and bought some snack for the rest of the day, then we headed out into the wilderness of Skye.
Part 4. Isle of Skye:The ‘Kissing-Gate’, the Curse and the Saucy Mary.
In a blessed weather, we headed for the Quiraing and Trotternish area of northern Skye. The sky was absolutely blue and clear of any clouds, and I think it well deserves to make it the name of the island. We stopped on the way to look at some cliffs, such as the ‘kilt rock’, and every time I stepped off the bus I instantly felt the bitter cold and ferocious wind of the Hebrides, which was exactly the kind of feeling I was looking for. Once our tour guide ‘ordered’ us to queue up in a ‘boy, girl, boy, girl…’sequence when getting off the bus and people were all like ‘what is it all about?’ - we nonetheless followed his word like what we did this morning. I guess it must be just another ritual of Scottish superstition, later, it turned out that the reason of this queuing was that we needed to go through a low wooden fence which would allow only one person pass every time. According to our tour guide, you can only pass it with a transitive kiss - the person before you kisses you, you go through the gate and turn back to kiss the one behind to award him/her a permission to pass.
After a long ‘kiss and pass’ ritual and after being gazed at by other travelers, we finally made our way up the cliff to have a better view of the sea: slate blue ocean, pale blue skies, ancient ruins at the seaside, a faint margin of the mainland. Our tour guide must be very pleased to watch us conducting his order while choking down the tendency of laughing out loud at us docile ‘Honorary Scots’. I forgot to mention that our tour guide, let’s call him Daniel from now on, in the beginning of the trip made all people on the bus ‘Scots (Honor)’. Thus during the trip we can experience the true Deep Scottish Love and with empathy we can have a better understanding of their (I mean ‘our’) enormous pride in the history of Scottish invention and discovery, for instance, the steam engine, telephone, penicillin, radar, golf, first working television and colour television, pedal bicycle, etc. - even though Alexander Graham Bell left Scotland at the age of six. I remember during my CCTV-5 Vancouver Winter Olympic immersion I was told that curling was also invented in Scotland. How marvelous! Pity though they didn’t win a medal in the Game...
Changes in weather are fast and unpredictable. When we reached the romantic ruin of Duntulm Castle, the sky was completely covered in clouds. The way to the castle is on the cliffs along Score Bay, where with the presence of clouds we saw some magnificent view of glorious sunshine. The castle perched in a dramatic cliff-top location looking out towards the Outer Hebrides. An isolated stone wall with a hole facing the sea attracted my attention. When I curiously approached it I was suggested by Dan not to do so, while he kept the reason to himself. Dan is virtually a walking (and talking) encyclopedia of Scotland. He is very passionate about his homeland and very knowledgeable. Wherever we visited he kept us informed all the time on all associated histories, the myths, the faeries and the Deep True Scottish Love, ‘the kind of love you can only experience when you love someone Scottisher and someone Scottisher loves you’.
Certainly I would not have got these if I had gone on my own. Of all the things told, I am particularly interested about ghost stories, like this one about Duntulm Castle. The castle was abandoned in the 18th century for a nearby more comfortable residential castle. The local legend said it was because the castle was haunted by ghosts. First of this kind is the screaming, raving spirit of Hugh Macdonald. He was the cousin of Donald Gorm Mor who was the Chief of the Clan MacDonald of Sleat. Hugh’s plan to assassinate the Chief was found out and he escaped dressed as a woman. Unfortunately, he was later captured and was imprisoned in the castle dungeon. Hugh was given only salted beef and no water which slowly starved him and drove him raving mad before dying a lingering and agonizing death. The horrid folktale says he tried to eat his own hands before the end and there are still marks of his scratch on the interior walls.
I went down into the dungeon, it is a semi-underground cave, extremely narrow and low like a cube, allowing only squatting or sitting with at most two people. From the stones’ apertures I saw the ever present sea view which was the only thing the prisoner could see during his miserable days. Occasionally, the weeping of Margaret who was shunned by her husband after she lost an eye in an accident can also be heard. Other hysterical screams heard at Duntulm Castle are thought to be from a nursemaid who was cast adrift in the sea on a small boat, because she ‘accidentally’ dropped a baby, son of the clan Chief, out a window and onto the rocks below. Dan told us that from that time the window was cursed, which is that hole on the wall I tried to have a look through earlier. He said anyone who looks through that window won’t have any children that survive. Thank you very much, but nothing prevents me from taking a picture of it and passing it on...
After a spectacular drive through some extraordinary geological scenery, we arrived the Quiraing Mountain. We climbed up a mountain table and together consumed three bottles of whisky, the Glenlivet, Jura, and Talisker. Frankly, I’m not an expert in spirits, not even a beginner. If not of sharp contrast, usually I couldn’t tell the good from the less good. So what I can tell about the whisky I had was only a comfortable and warm feeling in the stomach. The setting sun had boundless beauty, but the stunning view was behind me, and behind the mountains that we just went through. Yet there was nothing to be disappointed. The remaining glow penetrated the cloud, rendering a colorful and stratified sky. The westering sun projected its blazing red horizontally onto the Storr. The western skies and nearby mountains were all suffused with crimson. At dusk, we drove a sinuous way down the mountain heading for our lodge on the eastern edge of Skye.
In the van, Dan played the song ‘Santa’s a Scotsman’ again and again, the easy tune and funny lyrics soon became a haunting melody. Obviously I was not the only one who found the melody irresistible, all the genuine and honorary Scots on the bus merrily began to sing out loud in chorus ‘Santa's a Scotsman, come on make a fuss, too many pies not enough exercise of course he's one of us’. One song after another, the bus became a roaring Karaoke cruise along the roads of Skye. The spirits did have some effects after all. I looked out the window, hearing the cheerful festive songs, seeing the tranquil and somber solitude of crepuscular Skye. Suddenly a mixed feeling of ecstasy and nostalgia flooded.
The coach had calmed down when we arrived at Kyle Akin village. The narrow strait between the Kyle Akin and Kyle of Lochalsh is the shortest distance from the island to Britain. We gratefully dumped our bags at Saucy Mary’s Lodge. The hostel is named after a Viking princess who is famous for making money from passing ships by suspending a heavy chain from her castle in Kyle Akin to Kyle of Lochalsh on the Scottish mainland. Predictably the sailors began to sail the long way avoiding the tollbooth, so determined to win back her market, Saucy Mary added some extra service with the charge: she would show them her nipples on the way past. Now, the rumor goes that any female who imitates Saucy Mary will have beautiful breasts.
After dinner I went out alone, it was f-f-f-f-freezing. Hogmanay was approaching, but the village seemed not of perceivable festival mood, so I took a walk towards the seaside. All lumination was left behind. I was guided only by the sounds of the rhythmic sea waves. Unexpectedly I found myself stood under a star-filled sky. Going alone wasn’t something bad after all. Live entertainment started less than an hour after dinner and I went back to rejoin the group at the Bar. How many times can you see lined up ladies facing the sea flash their nipples in freezing weather, well, from behind? Later that night, we ladies decided to imitate Saucy Mary for the promise of beauty. We had ‘Saucy Mary’s nipple’ (exclusive shot of the bar: Grenadine, Sambuca, Baileys) together. Once again we followed the ‘ritual’...
Summer in India will enable you to immerse yourself in this fascinating culture with its very hands-on and diverse programme. Next to a programme of seminars and language trainings from Monday to Fridays, there are skills trainings and field trips as well as overnight excursions on the weekends and a possible extension of two weeks to six months to pursue your own individual project.
Can you tell us something about yourself: Where do you work/study, how does this project connect India and Germany?
As employees of a German company, how do you use German at work?
