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Magazine
A walk on the wild side
No big cities, no expensive hotels and mega museums, but a quest
for the real heart of Scotland. ADITI DE's recent adventures as a
low budget traveller.
``YOU are here during the coldest, wettest July even on record,''
says our tour guide Sue, 27, pushing back her long blonde hair,
pouting into the rear view mirror. ``But our skins are waterproof
and we will not dissolve.'' Her bonny face breaks into a smile at
the 22 international passengers, mainly from Canada and
Australia, seated in her Mercedes-Benz coach with picture-view
windows.
We are on a six-day ``Compass Busters'' tour of Scotland with
Haggis Travels, recommended by leading tourist guidebooks such as
Let's Go, Lonely Planet and Rough Guide for backpackers and low-
budget travellers. Why? We find out as our sunny yellow coach
bounces along, as the hesitant chatter among initial strangers
builds into a community.
We skirt around big cities such as Edinburgh (our point of
departure and arrival), Glasgow and Dundee, we skip the expensive
hotels, we dodge the mega museums — all in search of the
real heart of Scotland. We take wee walks into the cloud-kissed
hills, gaze deep into the crystalline waters of the lochs or
lakes below, meditate upon waterfalls that spring thick with
salmon, take tea breaks in the misty drizzle, even commune with
the shaggy highland cattle or ``hairy coos''. By the end of tour,
I know one thing for sure. Scotland exists.
It first crops up at the memorial to the giant William Wallace,
the patriot who dared to take on Edward I of England in battle at
Stirling Bridge in 1297. This ``guardian of Scotland'' proves a
hero to Sue, who says, ``If it had not been for Wallace, we would
have still been a part of England.'' Remember the 1990s Hollywood
blockbuster ``Braveheart'', which made Wallace come alive for the
uninitiated?
At the base of this tallest European monument to an individual
stands a travesty of history. It is a tacky statue of actor Mel
Gibson as Wallace, encapsuling today's marketing soul. As we
ascend the soaring stairs to joust with history beyond Walter
Scott, Rob00 Roy and Robert Bruce, the weathered tower of the
monument soars above the glens (valleys to non-Scots) in thickly-
forested countryside, as the river Forth runs through it. It is
the stuff of history, folklore and public memory. I make it mine
for the moment.
Scotland, all of five million strong, comes alive through Sue.
She initiates us into the four Jacobite uprisings, unravels the
origins of James VI of Scotland (who ruled over England, as
well), demystifies the concept of clans, and demonstrates the
famed Highland Charge under ``Bonnie'' Dundee at Glencoe. As she
talks, it is easy to imagine the crescendo of Gaelic chants, the
cascading notes of bagpipes, and the swooping down of highland
warriors upon the English forces. Equally vividly, she rustles up
the Massacre of Glencoe in 1692, when the Campbells — under
English orders — killed all the MacDonalds under 17, their
hosts, for failing to promptly sign a letter of fealty to William
of Orange.
Glencoe initiates us into Scottish naturescapes. We trek up rocky
paths towards rugged peaks shrouded in mist, over lichen-covered
winding ways, stopping to drink deeply out of pristine mountain
streams. Each walking at our own pace, we find ourselves
enshrouded in an unfathomable mystique. The enchantment continues
at the Quiraing on the Isle of Skye, its boggy, steep terrain
offering tantalising glimpses of cloud-frosted hills that
overlook crystal-clear glens, their flora clearly visible even
from a height. Breathing in great gusts of fresh air, we allow
city life to blur into oblivion.
Up north at Inchnadamph, we climb a rock-encrusted trail to the
Bone Caves, once the repository of polar and brown bear remains.
Atop the squared hilltop we spy the silhouetted form of a stag
with magnificent antlers. A wind buffets me as I near the caves.
I am pushed three steps sideways for every one forward. For a
fleeting second, my blood chills as I register the drop below. I
sit on the ledge and watch the sun play with incandescent shadows
of deep green, as red deer graze in the distance. Slowly, I wind
my way back to the safe haven of the bus.
On another day, we are stilled into silence by the gorge at
Corrieshalloch that is 1.2 km long and 60 metres deep over the
river Droma, by the 150-foot Fall of Measach, fed by glacial melt
waters. On the suspension bridge that spans it, the late evening
sun traces patterns on the gushing waters, surefire balm for
urban eyes. Meandering through the green-hooded Torachilty Woods,
we watch the Atlantic salmon leap upwards into the Rogie Falls.
As we drive, Sue hones us up on the Great Glen of Scotland,
formed by four lakes carved out by ice floes from the continental
drift. By day six, we can chant our way through: ``Loch
Linnhe ... Loch Lochy ... Loch Oich ... Loch Ness''.
The distancing continues in the shadow of Ben Nevis, Britain's
highest peak at 1,392 m, where Himalaya bound mountaineers
practise for hardiness because of its unpredictable weather. With
its distinctive tree lines running down the valley, Glen Nevis
was the scenic location for ``Braveheart''. ``It is a good movie
that tries to condense 50 years of Scottish history into 3-1/2
hours of footage. But in one scene, a double-decker bus goes by
in 1297,'' grins Sue, adding that the original Wallace never wore
a kilt, but trousers and a tunic because he was not a highlander!
How do we summon up the courage to wander into gorgeous glens for
a coffee or a panic? Weren't we in trouble for trespassing? Our
steps are guided by the Scottish law that allows us the ``freedom
to roam'', including the right to camp on the green without
denial by the owners. Isn't that incredible?
Our group samples local brews at pubs and nurtures
transcontinental bonds at hostel kitchens around Scotland before
crashing out in dormitory-style bunk-beds. The brave hearts among
us opt for the national dish of haggis. What is that? Originally
made by hungry peasants from the heart, lungs and liver of a
sheep/calf, boiled in the animal's stomach with oatmeal and
seasonings, its modern version of minced lamb tastes much like
desi-style kheema, served with potatoes and turnips.
Scotland, we learn, produces 180 types of single malt whisky,
some of them 100 proof, each the purest product of a single
distillery. As for blended whiskies, the locals despise them as
the dregs of the keg. Sue warns us, ``Do not ever go into a pub
in Scotland and ask for a single malt with a Coke or lemonade.
You will be sent right back to the border.''
To complete our culinary education, we learn that Scotland's most
popular soft drink is not Coke or Pepsi, but Irn-Bru. What is
that? A vivid orange iron-fortified soda pop that is a certified
cure for a hangover. We all give it a try.
Cross-border strains surface as we drive down the scenic road to
the Isle of Skye, past the grotesque North Sea oil rigs that
enrich the British treasury. ``If we had been independent, we
would have been the eighth richest country in the world now,''
Sue notes.
Can Scotland ever be experienced without its castles? We do not
even try. We stop at the scene of the film, ``Highlander'' —
the Eilean Donan Castle, originally built to defend Scotland from
the Vikings, until they were vanquished in 1255. This property of
the MacCrae clan from 1263 to 1719 was restored to the tune of a
quarter of a million pounds in 1995 on the basis of a vivid dream
by Farquhar MacCrae. The castle's 14-inch thick walls seem
impregnable, but what is more riveting are its secret passageways
and spy holes around the space where the clan heads met to
discuss Jacobite plans in secret. It is impressive, apart from
bilious looking green jellies and stuffed pheasants in the
kitchen.
Another morn, we drive past the wind-carved Four Sisters of
Glenshiel peaks to Loch Ness. Despite tall tales from a
professional monster spotter, none of us caught a glimpse of
Nessie in that 23.6 km long, 900-foot deep wilderness of water
which has a surface temperature of 50 C. Those adventurous enough
to venture in for a dip are out in minutes flat.
Soon, we are caught up in the storm of history once more at
Culloden Moor, 8 km east of Inverness, where knee-high heather
and wild grass covers the battlefield where Bonnie Prince
Charlie's last Jacobite army was defeated by William Augustus'
troops in 1746. All around the site are stones commemorating
those who died in battle, clan-wise. In the aftermath of the
battle, in a bid to Anglicise the highlands, three draconian
edicts were issued: no plaid, no bagpipes, no Gaelic. Could there
be a more complete bid at ethnic cleansing?
As we listen to Sue, I look around. And find tears unshed in the
eyes of strangers. Would we feel stripped of identity without our
language, our native dress, even music that is uniquely ours?
More local insights surface at the Clansman Centre, a 17th
Century living museum at Fort Augustus. Seated within a stone
cottage with earth floors, patched with heather, roofed with
turf, we listen to how highland families shared their space with
livestock, while vegetables, water and entrails cooking over a
peat fire turned into a Scottish broth.
But a major revelation was still in store. Highlanders originally
wore a stretch of plaid, often vegetable dyed, that was draped
and pleated to form a skirt with pockets. The loose ends were
tied over the shoulder to hold it in place, with a shirt
underneath. While camping in the cold outdoors, the plaid could
double as a sleeping bag. ``You are wearing your own survival
kit,'' quips our live presenter. The kilt was a recent notion,
revived at the initiative of Sir Walter Scott.
What of the sporran, the little leather pouch worn with the
plaid? It often contained some oats. A hungry highlander would
hold a handful tightly in a mountain stream until it swelled
enough to form a meal, thus giving rise to the notion of the
``tight-fisted Scotsman''.
Six active days later, I do not miss the sun. I am at home in the
mists. I am glad I have not taken a big city tour of Scotland,
the histories and the mysteries, the folklore and the facts, have
blown my urban preconceptions to smithereens.
I bring home a traditional double-handled Scottish gift in pewter
for special people — a bowl of welcome or friendship, called
a quaich. The stuffed Nessie toys, the whisky fudge, the kilts
and swords, seem too touristy for me. Scotland lives. I have
inhaled its essence. I would like to raise a toast to it with
single malt whisky in a quaich.
* * *
Travel tips:
How to reach Haggis Travels: www.radicaltravel.com or
www.haggisadventures.com
Reaching Edinburgh from London: Coach (29 return), train (39
return) and cheap flight options are available (www.easyjet.com
or www.go-fly.com)
Travel budget: A six-day Scottish tour costs 139, while a three-
day flexi-tour option costs 49. Other details available at the
site.
Hostel budget: Plan to between 8 to 14 per head per night for
bunk-bed accommodation. Some hostels include breakfast. Bed-and-
breakfast and double room options are available on request.
Essential information: All hostels provide crisp, starched bed
linen. But do remember to carry a towel along. A warm/rainproof
jacket and sturdy, comfortable walking shoes are a must. So are a
hat, scarf and gloves during the colder months.
Recommended hostels: Oban Waterside Lodge, Kyleakin International
Hostel (Isle of Skye), Carbisdale Castle (reportedly haunted!),
Morag's Lodge (For Augustus).
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