Trailblazing Part 3: Taking the Castle

"The only way of catching a train that I have ever discovered is to miss the train before."- G.K. Chesterton

         This trip would take us to Arbroath to see an abbey made of Old Red Stone (yes, that is an abbey with walls of red, or a redwall abbey), have a lunch of smokies, then on to Stonehaven and Dunnottar Castle. Notice the use of "would." Here is a little map of our day, starting at Arbroath.
         Well Chesterton, you said it there. We started out our confusing day by missing our train. We got on the last bus that would safely get us to Leuchars, and after two flexi-stops (pick ups along a route at designated, non-station places), we got there with two minutes to spare. Let me make that a little more accurate; we got there with two minutes to spare according to our knowledge. What we did not know was that our train was actually scheduled to leave two minutes before what we heard. It was a nice hour wait before leaving for Arbroath. We did get there though, just in time to join our professor/group leader (misinformant) and his family for lunch. Arbroath is famous for smoked salmon called smokies. The head, spine, and tail are removed, but the skin and the dozens of covert, hypodermic needle bones lining the meat are left. I have named these bones "the salmon's revenge." Later I'll come up with a better name. But whoever created the skeletol structure of salmon was definitely in a sadistic mood that day. I happened upon the Fife Farmers' Market on my way to the station, so I had a smokie cooked by a father/son tandem (who for all the world looked like Texans) on the oak smoke pit set up next to them (maybe that's why they looked like Texans). We had to get the heck out of dodge pretty quickly, since we arrived an hour late, so we hauled our hindquarters back to the station to catch a train for Stonehaven. To avoid being late, I may or may not have shaved three minutes off our available time to make it to the station. We may or may not have been running through the town (with my compass in my hand). We made it to the station though, with those three hidden minutes to spare, and with no train in sight... As if on cue, the voice from above told us our train would be delayed ten minutes. Not the train we arrived to on the dot of departure: the train that we would make with three minutes to spare was delayed. Irony loves me.
          We made it on board, and headed the next half hour up to Stonehaven (Arbroath is thirty minutes from Leuchars, so it made for a good day to hit two places). We arrived, and headed East. I'm terrible with street directions (as anyone who knows me will attest) but I knew the harbor lay on the East side of town, and our trail was north of it. We were (at least I was) in a bit of a hurry. Dunnottar Castle closes at "5:00pm or sunset: whichever comes first," and we arrived at a little past three. It was just under three miles (again, lateral miles) to the castle, and we are not known for being the speediest when it comes to getting places. After making it to the harbor, using the facilities, and taking a brief and unexpected 5 minute stop in the Tolbooth Museum (an interesting building that has had a varied past, but now commemorates local geology and nautical history), we hit the trail: at what looked like a vertical hill overlooking the harbor. From the harbor we could see the War Memorial, about our 1/3 way mark, which was encouraging (as the walk down from the station had taken about 3/4 of a mile).

Photo Break: There is a lot of writing in this one, so here is a brief intermission.

 The Old Brew House

A ship in Arbroath Harbor

          Really and truly, our trip to the castle was fairly uneventful. It was beautiful, hilly, and much of it was comprised of a two foot stretch of trail between barbed wire fencing and a few seconds of air time above a stone beach. That was neat. Upon arriving at the castle, we celebrated at having made it by 4:30 and with plenty of sun left. As the first of us made it down then up again (the castle is connected to the mainland by a small isthmus of much lower altitude) we were fairly well celebrating. A very welcoming voice greeted us at the door with, "We're closed. Sorry." As I stood there hedging my bets on storming the castle, (they made them near impossible for the small Europeans of the time to scale the walls, but the windows looked quite doable, if unrecommended for one of my length) I decided not to get deported. I may or may not regret having missed an opportunity to claim a castle in the name of Texas. So we explored the cliffs and valleys around the castle, including a cavern under the castle that housed the Scottish Regalia when Cromwell went on his hissy-fit against Charles II. I even brought out my inner goat and went down an incredibly steep hillside to the beach. Along the way, I stumbled upon a small group of ducks (which allowed me to get within a couple of yards to them) in a little creek. After that, we headed back with our dying sunlight. I secretly thought we wouldn't be fortunate enough to have any on the hike back, so I brought a couple flashlights. The group didn't need to know that... We made it back to town with plenty of time for several trains, so naturally, we walked the entire town four times looking for dinner, went back to the harbor, discovered their prices to be ridiculous, then settled on some friend take-out at the Carron: home the the Deep Fried Mars Bar. We ate in the train station, then made our way home from another successful day.
          I should mention that on our way back, it started raining just the town side of the Memorial, so before our final decent, we ducked into some amazingly water proof fir trees, mostly because I wanted an excuse to smell the wonderful aroma of turned loam, wild grasses, and the slightly stronger scent of fresh rain on green firs.

 The Beach in Stonehaven

 Ghost ship rides again

 The Harbor

 The War Memorial

 My Compatriots 

 Yeah, kinda sweet

 Every angle seemed to look better than the last.

 Dunnottar Castle

Notice the last visible line (left), the time (4:34pm), and the sunlight in all of the pictures of the castle.

 The castle from the other side of a small pass we found

The valley I scrambled into (notice the slope)

Quack.

 The group from the ridge I just had to climb

 The castle from the ridge.

Trailblazing Part 2: Bardon Mill and Beyond

Getting near hopelessly lost: my kind of trip.

          Our next venture took some of us down to Durham. More accurately, it had us dropped of on an uninhabited train station with a train full of passengers fading into the distance with confused looks directed our way. That station is called Bardon Mill. Our destination: Houstead, largest ruins left of Hadrian's Wall, the Northern most border of the Roman Empire. The end of civilization. The frigid border of the most hellish perversion of hyperboreans the good citizens of Rome could imagine. The one wall we could not seem to locate. I'm not even going to attempt a map for this. The level of lost we managed and the amount of back tracking we did borders on madness. But we got there. Three snow storms, untold sheep sightings (literally enough to see at least one flock of each of the colors of the rainbow), over a dozen looks at the compass, and a few limekilns later, we made it. We very well may have doubled our walk, but we made it. Luckily, I brought a compass (and someone was helpful enough to remind me that red is, in fact, North), and we all brought a good sense of humor and a hefty amount of desire and resilience.
           From Housetead, we took the cheapest taxi ever across the most frightening terrain of any taxi ride known to man (what they don't charge you in pounds, they make back in sadistic amusement they get from the look of fright on your face) to Haltwhistle, a pleasant little town that our taxi driver (an amiable individual despite his capable and terrifying driving) assured us was geographically sound. By that I mean, "You'll not get lost in Haltwhistle. This is main street. That is all." He couldn't have said it any better. After being dropped off at the train station, we went up to the closest pub. I wanted a pint, and I wanted it badly (there were others in agreement). Upon walking in, all the middle aged men- and dog- stared at us until we left. As badly as I wanted beer, I also wanted food (which was on the top of everyone's mind), and that pub was a bar. So we went to the tea-shop next door and had a lovely little meal with some friendly people who made me feel like I had stepped into the Mad Hatter's tea party, but without the flying china. We made it back to the train in another small wintry storm, and most of our small band hid under the walk over to the next platform: next to the 5,000volt death trap. Then we found the waiting room.
          From there, we headed to Durham for evening song where we were able to sit in the choir loft (actually, in the Masters' seats) for a lovely service. We managed to see the Venerable Bede's remains (rather, the container housing said remains), then grabbed some Indian food before heading back to Leuchars. It was a long and fulfilling day.

Our first sign. A welcome and rare sight.

 The looping, stalking, winter storm to the right.

 Our desperate moment of hiding in a limekiln

while trying to figure out our lost way.

 "Home stretch" to Housestead.

 Hadrian's Wall! I managed to touch it. That's about all

 The cathedral in Durham. Built in the late 11th century.

Trailblazing Part 1: Crail to Anstruther

OK, maybe "Trail Following," "Trail Strolling," or even "Trail Loitering" would have been more accurate. I do still have the terrible tendency to avoid the actual trail: which has inevitably means trouble, normally for those who think I have a clue and should be followed: poor souls. 

Our first hike was Crail to Anstruther in East Neuk of the Kingdom of Fife. St. Andrews is also located in the expansive Kingdom of Fife: in East Neuk. The bus ride there took about 15 minutes. It might have taken more, but our grouchy bus driver made the extra walk into the town seem a little more pleasant than being driven in a warm, mechanically propelled bus. Upon arriving in Crail, we wandered a little while around the town, by the near waterless harbor (tides here swing wilder than Texas weather conditions) until we found the trail head. From there, we set out on our hike along the Fife Coastal path. We had encounters with goats, pauses for rock climbing (more of bouldering), and many, many discoveries of just what "bogginess" is. Here is a little post hike map of our trail and some places that were notable for us (or at least me). Typically I would run up hills, walk the high path (the term "path" is questionable), then scramble back down to the real trail. I have to keep things interesting. Arriving in Anstruther, we walked the seemingly endless road to the Anstruther Fish Bar, which reportedly has the best fish and chips in the UK. The Swan had better. It was a lovely, if cold trip, and true to form, we initiated a rookery to insulate ourselves from the cold.

A brief look back at Crail

 The sea at low tide

 Where I scrambled from my high path to the real one

 The house upon which I walked

 Taking a picture while hanging off of the Coves (intelligent, aren't I?)

A Little Town Along the Coast

True to my nature, here is an anachronistic hodge-podge of things about the town of St. Andrews itself, from the eyes of one man's boots.

Our first full day of St. Andrews several of us spent it like good Catholics: at the Cathedral: well, what was left of it (I'll leave harassing Protestants for another time). It truly is a lovely place. The way the arches of windows manage to stand upon the splintered foundation of crumbling walls is inspiring and breath-taking in a most inexplicable way. Our visit was even graced by the moon's appearance- peaking through the old remnants of the once proud guardians of kaleidoscopic stained glass- despite it being before sunset (which at that time had to be at the latest 4:30). Most all that is left unharmed is the tower of St. Rule (St. Regulus) named after the Patras monk who brought bones of St. Andrew to that spot in Fife after an angelic vision warning him to remove as much as he could carry from Patras to the ends of the Earth before the remains could be transported to Constantinople. Standing out in the cold that day, it sure felt like he hit the jackpot on the "end of the Earth" deal.

 The "warmer waters" of East Sands

 St Rule's Tower (left) with the main spires in the background

Snow drops: proof that no matter how frigid and inhospitable a

place may seem, there is always the warmth of God's Love

and remainder of Beauty enough for a flower to grow.

Perhaps my favorite place here lies just West of the cliffs of the Scores, up on a green hill overlooking sand, stone, and sea. For me, there is no more sublime place this side of my own dear Texas. Sitting on the second to last bench there, I can stare out at the North Sea for an eternity. Days when the high was 2 C, I could huddle down into my coat, Baylor scarf around my face, hands folded inside their opposite sleeves reminiscent of a monk. The weather couldn't effect me there. During dark nights, I was lost beneath the tide of the North Sea, staring too long into the abyss to be pulled out by the elements. On warm days, I cannot help but stroll there. Even when the walk was over 20 minutes from my dorm, I would make the walk up for no other reason than to lose myself in that place. The North Sea has no memory, no cares, no distraction. It IS in the purest and most sublime way unimaginable. And I swear, watch the waves slide along the shore, dance amongst the rocks, or slumber beneath a calm surface long enough, and the sublimity cannot help but bleed into the consciousness. It may be the happiest, calmest, most excited, and most tear summoning place on this isle. It is true catharsis the likes of which cannot be described in word or picture.

So here are some pictures. And words.

 The highest tide I've seen here yet.

I would describe my dorm, but I just recently wound up in a new one, not a week ago. I could not be happier. I was in New Hall, a nice building built in 1993 (even younger than I) settled near all of the science buildings, far away from my home of Edgecliffe, the philosophy building (only about 20minutes at a brisk pace). It's fair to say I hated it. Now I am in St. Regulus, a gorgeous building built as a hotel in the 1880's as hotel. It's a grey stone (possibly Portland stone) building nestled at the end of the long street of Queen's Gardens just south of South street, not 10 minutes from Edgecliffe. The people are very warm and welcoming, and despite my own lack of comfort (having moved in a month after everyone else has gotten acquainted and formed circles), the community is great. Another member of our Baylor group has lived here from the start and she has been kind enough to let me tag along with her to various things, which I could not appreciate more. Hopefully I will find my niche soon, but already I am madly in love with it.

St Regulus Hall from the corner of Queen's Gardens (left) 

and Queen's Terrace (right).

Edgecliffe, the Philosophy building on the Scores

On the left, Moral Philosophy students enter

On the right, Metaphysics and Logic.

My view from the Edgecliffe library.

(not pictured: Hegel, which is on the desk. I promise.)

Playing Catch-Up: Part 3

Let's see if I can't wrap this up and get to Scotland.

The 26th of January was quite a full day. From the Ceremonial Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace,

which was much more pomp than content

To another visit to the museum,

Dinner at Wagamama with Philip Blond,

And, more importantly, saki

Our day was fairly full. What really took the cake was seeing War Horse in New London Theatre. There are no pictures for this. I'll do my best to put words to it. Never though has man brought to life wood and metal and cloth in such a way as to invoke the unrestrained catharsis that this play managed. The twitches, the sounds, the mannerisms of the puppets were so life like that even someone who knows these animals in the flesh would be absorbed by them. The only backdrop was a raised projector screen, tearing horizontally across the stage, reminiscent of the tear left be such a great and terrible war. That's the best I can do. 

The next day, though, was Cambridge: A day of knowledge. A day of tradition. A day of punting. Never in my life had I dreamt that the day would come when I could say I successfully punted a boat. Luckily, it was fairly low impact. In fact, I didn't have to kick anything at all. Punting consists of poling skiffs known as punts (much like small barges in build) up and down the Cam. Unfortunately, I have no pictures myself. My hands were a little occupied with the selection of which bridges to avoid, which to ram, and which to use in my plethora attempts at auto-decapitation. On occasion I even steered. 

We also attended Evensong at King's College before joining an apprentice of Dr. Candlers at Jesus for Formal Hall. It was a lovely meal. 

Our next day was our departure for St. Andrews. From here on out, I'll be recording events as they have come up, instead of three entries for a week. 

Playing Catch-Up Part 2

Bear with me. It's as late as it is early.

          The next leg of our journey was a quaint little village upon the Thames. If I remember right, it's name starts with an L. Here's a quick rundown:

We arrived in King's Cross, settled in to the hotel, then went for food. What we found, was the Swan Pub. What I had, was London pub proper fish and chips, of course, with a pint.

We left the pub feeling toasty and fun, and stumbled upon this: the Marble Arch. after a quick wander through Hyde Park. We returned. Thus was the 24th.

          The next day I went to meet a few people at the National Museum. They were at the National Gallery. It was a nice two mile walk through retail infested streets.

At least I got to see and photographically catalogue my Parthenon Marbles. That is before I finally braved my new best friend (the Tube) for the first time in order to get back, get dressed, and get to the statue of "The WWII prime minister. Participated in one of the last cavalry charges..." as I described Churchill--whose name escaped me--to the armed guards at the Parliament station.

  From there, we made it on time to Lambeth Palace to meet Rowan Williams and have tea...with the Archbishop of Canterbury.

 and his centuries old Versailles Fig tree (which I was able to identify upon request). It reminded me very much of the fig tree that stood in my grandfather's back yard. After twenty years, a limb broke off, and he still managed to graft it back on. He was as much a gardener and tender of flora as fauna, though neither as much as he was to his family. The things a fig can bring back from memory...

That night we ate and drank at the George Inn (pub) with much merriment as merrymaking. "I read aloud the history of the George while drinking heartily of yet another splendid beer whose name I cannot recall".

When we departed, Big Ben was lit up "as green as Pat Neff, as if to toast us Bears Abroad." After stumbling upon Tower Bridge, London Bridge, and the Tower of London (I'm getting a sense of repetition here), we hopped the Tube to the hotel. Thus ended the 25th.