Scottish bits and bobs

The entrance to the men's and women's loos at the Scottish National Museum of Contemporary Art.

We're in Istanbul at the moment, poised to leave for a catamaran sail on the Aegean with friends, and in two weeks we'll be back in the states.  Done with this chapter.  Very odd, very wonderful thought:  settling down.  There's precious little time for anything on this Turkish leg of travels, but here are a few Scottish bits and bobs somewhat organized last week.

Beautiful caterpillar near the SW coast of Scotland.

This is one huge leaf, in a botanical garden on the Isle of Arran.  Weird place for this tropical plant.

These golden evergreen shrubs were in the same botanical garden. 

Scotland's native squirrel, red with lovely tufted ears.  It's being killed off by a virus carried by the introduced American gray squirrel.

These two barn owlets are visible by live cam at http://bit.ly/1bmYIC4  if you're interested.  They were adorable, in SW Scotland at a RSPB bird sanctuary.  

The Scots truly love their national dish haggis (recipe includes sheep's pluck, oatmeal, lard, and onions, usually in a sheep's stomach).  And their black (blood) pudding.  We tried, and tried, and didn't learn to appreciate either.  They say that haggis has huge regional differences; perhaps, but they all start out on the same taste note, which appears to be an acquired taste.  On the other hand, their kippers, their smoked haddock and other fish, their porridge and ale, their soups, puddings (desserts) and pies were outstanding.  Great food in Scotland.  And some strange.

Haggis in intestinal bag balls in front.

Didn't try it.

I asked a Scotwoman we got to know, and this wording doesn't carry the same load it does in the US.
Didn't try the dish. 

Steve, rubbing the toe of philosopher Hume for luck, right near the National Library of Scotland.

The white mound, behind Steve and to the left in the top picture and enlarged just above, is Bass Rock, the home of the largest Atlantic Gannet colony in the world (or so they say).  Over 150K breed there.  They and their poo are what makes it white.  As you can tell, the water was too rough for us to take the boat out to see them.  Whaaat?  True - they cancelled the boat trip out to see the gannets due to rough water at the harbor entrance, much to our disappointment.

At the same broad beach ( in North Berwick, on the coast SE of Edinburgh) there was this cool man made tidal pool - washed out twice a day by the sea, very nice.

This was nice to see.  And a surprise.

And on the other side, the Scots were out there with their witch torturing and confession producing thumb screws from the 1600s;  for those of us who've hammered our thumbs, the efficacy is obvious.  These below, from a wide collection of torture devices/witch producers at the National Museum of Scotland.

These Scottish chimney pots were pretty adorable.

Street performers in Edinburgh.  The piper played only the pipes.  The guy on the left was playing a banjo when I first got there.  Lovely combination of instruments

This sculpture in the Scottish National Museum of Contemporary Art was fragrant.  Each "leg" of porous stretchy soft material was filled with a different spice, softly re-arrangeable, fragrant.

We went to a cielidh while in Edinburgh -- dancing to local live music.  Loved the skirts flying -- most of which were kilts on menfolk.  Lots of casual energy and fun.  

Musicians on break.  

We met lots of goats -- many sort of scary.

"Dr. Livingston, I presume" lived for awhile three doors down from our place in
Inverkeithing, a royal burgh just outside of Edinburgh.

Dumfries & Galloway and a bonfire

A peat bog with "hares tail cotton grass" gone to seed.

We debated about how to best use our last two weeks in wonderful Scotland, and finally decided to continue this slow travel approach, focusing on only three small areas in our last two weeks in Scotland-- Dumfries, The Isle of Arran and the highland town of Inveraray -- and so ditching so much of this amazing country including the  awesome Orkney Islands, the Hebrides, the Shetlands, the northern highlands, sigh.  Not an easy choice.  Dumfries was an easy choice, as it's the chosen home of environmental artist Andy Goldsworthy, with the hope of getting to get to know Goldsworthy's land and inspiration a bit.   So live two dreams:  riding a Clydesdale, seeing Goldsworthy works in his inspirational countryside.  And more.

Me on Alfie, in a dream state.  It was wonderful.  Big feet, big clopping sound, long stride, such power and height.

One of the foals we met while at the (wonderful) Blackstone Clydesdale Farm.   Bonnie, all legs and bounce. 

  We drove from the Clydesdale farm through Andy's town of Penpont (this, on a ridge, edge of town).

And proceeded to Striding Arches, below, one of a four part work of his in the Scottish National Forest surrounding Penpont.  The other three are on hilltops, accessible only through some serious hiking around a 10 mile circuit.  To get to just this one we had to drive along a tiny gravel road for 7 miles.  

And inside.   The arches are about striding,  how folks live, move on.

One from a distance.  

The land that inspires and pleases him above and below -- it's gorgeous.  Digitalis flowers on the right.

And another Goldsworthy (Three Cones) stumbled upon while walking through Dumfries after dinner one night (cones were of stone, apparent gold coloring is from the setting sun).

Another day we drove around the southern coast here, which is a huge, huge sandy tidal flat area.  The sign below was pretty exciting.  And watching the tides go and come underlined this.  The quicksands are real.  

And we hiked around in an unusual a peat bog, supposedly tick-central, and it had a lovely plant called "hares tail cotton grass" en masse.  The cotton bits/seeds stuck to the other plants as they took flight on their seeding attempts -- with rather odd frosted results.  Almost like a giant spider should emerge.

Little pine encased in cotton floss.

And one final thing -- we went to a festival in Moffat, a little town 30 miles north of Dumfries, which has an annual gala during which the good townfolks follow a pipe band out of town to a field that's had a huge bonfire readied, and they light it with their torches and dance til the wee hours.  Fun stuff.  I haven't seen a fire like that ever, and can't imagine how it could possibly work in the US.  Fire laws alone.

On their way, marching to a pipe band.  

Into the field.

Us and the fire.

The fire engaged and the dance beginning.


We leave this morning for our final stop in Scotland -- Inveraray and its highland games.  Can't believe it's almost over! 

Codpieces, ramsheads and salt at work

A British nobleman of the 16th century.

As we've noted before, the Brits are into their history in an engaging way.  It's fascinating stuff, and complex beyond my American comprehension -- the intermarriages and international marriages, the changing loyalties, the changing royalties, their kids (and their lack of them), the national alliances and allegiances, and then add in the religious elements that came and went with great passion and violence.  Nonetheless, it's fully studied, widely known and respected here.  Their societies (National Trust, Scottish Trust, English Heritage, etc.) take themselves and their pact with the culture quite seriously. So we've come to accept that when it's out there, it's fully researched and authentic.  

So we were both stunned to see this guy (above) standing in the fantastic Stirling Castle, with his um quite noticeable codpiece.  After gawking a bit, I awkwardly asked for further explanation and got it:  these were quite the style in Henry VIII's time; they were functional (slipped off for urinating), were comfortable, showed off one's manhood in a good light, and were the norm among the nobility.  Coloring makes a difference, still, I don't know how I'd missed this fashion statement before -- it's not easily missed. 

A more modest codpieced costume.  

Stirling Castle (Scotland) also had a Regimental Military Museum.  Fantastic bagpipe music throughout, kilts, military history, great bravery detailed, with lots of medals and the stuff of regimental folks, the officers of which were typically of high birth and quite used to the finer things of life.  Here are some of the accoutrements of life among these officers when not on the battlefield.

This is a snuff box on casters.  It'd be wheeled around the officers dinner table after dinner.  The horns were hollow to hold the snuff, spoons and rakes were stored above the horns.

These lighters would also be on the dinner table for cigar lighting.  
The spheres on the front held lighter fluid and wicks.  The
view is looking straight down at them.

Snuff spoon, nose shovels and rake, with a foot to brush away any fallen powder.  Handy.  

Another rams head snuff box, on casters so it could get around.

This is a military kilt sporran made of a whole badger.  The sporran is the little purse worn  on the front of  a guy's kilt.

The town of Scarborough is on a promontory on the NE of England.  The area's been settled since the Bronze Age, and now is the site of lovely abbey ruins that were initially ruined in the reformation, then hit in WWII; the military establishment used the area for defenses, visible behind the ruins, below.

The cemetery was fascinating, especially seeing the ravages of the airborne salt water on the soft limestone used for headstones in the 1700s.  Below, the writing's been almost melted away on the one on the right; the left one in granite is fine.

Going . . .

 . . . going . . .

 . . .gone.  

Newcastle-upon-Tyne was a delight.  We stayed in an airbnb room, with a family in their home, and with their cat.  Below is the little lane that leads to their house.  The guy, Nigel, was a brewer and knew the brews of the area, recommending a little pub that we finally found.  It had not only great microbrews (best we've had since Portland), but also played vinyl on this old turntable.  Great place.  We didn't have Newcastle Brown there, but it was an option; it's popular there, but sales in the states are higher than here.

Pub turntable, at work.

The little lane to our Newcastle-upon-Tyne lodging and soft, sweet Buttons, below - a delight to live with a cat again for a bit.

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