Central Scotland

At long last, I'm starting to see an end to the blogging about my Scotland trip in October. I'll prolly finish just before starting a new round on my trip to the US in December... I'm lazy, sue me.

After the lovely Isle of Skye I set off down through central Scotland towards Stirling, with overnight stops in Crianlarich (where some old Billy Connolly-lookalike was giving a performance) and Callander (where I spent a wonderful evening singing along to local group "Pure Malt" at their weekly singalong). I made a quick detour again down to Balquhidder, to pay homage to the grave of Rob Roy. As with my first visit there, the grave had coins and other offerings on and around it.


Close up of the headstone. The words allude to the fact that the very name of MacGregor was banned in Scotland for several years. It's something of a defiant fuck you to the Engerlish.


An adorably puppy belonging to the people who ran the place I staid at in the lovely little village of Crianlarich.


I also took a drive through some parts of the lovely Trossachs, one of two national parks in Scotland (the other is the Grampians up around Aberdeen). Here, I saw something quite fascinating in all its sadness. In a field, a highland bull was apparently quite lovesick about a (much larger) cow of a different breed, but she was having none of it. He was following her around, trying to catch her attention, just like a young boy would. He'd stand in her way when she was grazing, try and lick her hide and generally pestering her. Then things took a dark turn as he tried to mount her - which I sadly missed, on account of having turned my back to explain the situation to a small busload of Americans who'd stopped to take pictures of the field. Again, he was rebuffed and was left standing alone in the field with a forlorn, lost look on his bovine face.


"C'mon, why you gotta be like that, baby"


Naturally, I was skeptical of the Trossachs.