Ok, rant over.
Having fought my way through baggage claim, passport control (nightmare!) , customs and car rental, I ventured out onto the road. As with the other times I've been behind the wheel in the UK, the feeling is terrifying at first. This little voice in your head (one of many in my case) keeps whispering "You're on the wrong side of the fuckin road fer chrissakes!" and it's all you can do to keep the car in the right (meaning left) lane. The traffic circles are the worst, and they're absolutely everywhere here. The first few times you feel like you're trying to drive in a mirror, everything about the experience is just wrong.
Anyways, I got up to Inverness just fine, and checked into my hotel, the lovely little Mardon Guest House, where I stayed for two nights last year. It's a cozy little place with just six rooms run by a nice, elderly couple. The rooms are clean, the breakfast is good and there's free wireless. At about £37 per night for a single ensuite it's a bargain. I had a decent dinner at an Indian restaurant and even managed a walk around the center of Inverness afterwards. Sunset on the river Ness is a highly recommendable view!
Today I went driving, first up to the tiny village of Dingwall. The name is Norse, as are many other names in Scotland. I may have mentioned this before, but the Scots are fond of Scandinavians, and many here look to Norway, not London for political impulses. Since the north has almost all of Britain's oil, many see Norway's use of its oil wealth as the ideal for a future independent Scotland. Good luck to them, if only because an independent Scotland would make a Conservative majority that much more likely in what would remain of the House of Commons...
Dingwall's a nice, little place and it has a splendid local museum. The lady behind the desk was cooing when she found out I was Norwegian. She then waxed lyrical about the bonds with Norway, which are quite recent up here - the Dingwall area housed Norwegian troops during WW2, and commando raids into occupied Norway were launched from here. Indeed, her own father had been a participant, and some nameless Norwegian had once saved his life after he'd been wounded by a German bullet. Local girls had married Norwegian troops during the war, and she still had old friends living in Norway. The museum is free, but if you pop in, do put a few coins in the donation box, mmmkay?
The Museum entrance:
The oldest part of the museum is from the mid 18th century:
I swear... you won't find shop notices like this anywhere except in Britain. This is why I love the country to bits:
After Dingwall I drove up to a place called Rogie Falls, on the Blackwater river. I spent almost an hour walking around in the forest, taking in the scenery and breathing the fresh air. The falls are quite nice, and there are some nice views to be had. Blackwater is a salmon river, and on the side of the falls there is a salmon ladder. There's a suspension bridge across the gorge - emphasis on suspense, because that fucker moves when you walk across it.
Outlook from a point shortly before you get to the river:
I feasted on blueberries several times along the way:
The falls and the bridge:
The Blackwater after the falls:
The suspension bridge:
The view upstream from the bridge:
The first vantage point:
The salmon ladder:
The pic's too dark, so it doesn't do justice to the magnificent view this tree really was when I came upon it in the forest:
Here be trolls!
Afterwards I drove to the little town of Beauly, which has a slightly famous priory, or rather the ruins thereof. They started building it around 1230, and it was visited by Mary, Queen of Scots in the 1560s. I had lunch, or whatever you may call it in town. I went into a fish & chips shop and came out with the blandest, palest "chicken and mushroom" pie I ever hope to lay hands, and indeed teeth on. Even the strawberry milkshake was bland, and I threw it away after a couple of sips. Ugh!
The tomb of Lord McKenzie, some old chief who died in 1491. Five hundred years from now you're all cordially invited to stay the fuck away from wherever I'm rotting at the time.
The remains of the priory:
This memorial is not, as you may think, to the fallen of the world wars (such monuments can be found almost everywhere here). Nope, this monument was erected by some local bigshot who fought the Boers in South Africa and although you probably can't make out the text, it's a tribute to the highlander fighting spirit.
I've just rounded off the day by feasting on a very good meal of duck's breast in plum sauce at a pub only two minutes' walk from my hotel. Tomorrow I'm driving north, to the very ends of "mainland" Britain. I hope to post more pics and stuff tomorrow night. Till then, tata!
