Scotland!

Okay, there is a TON to say, so bear with me if it's very long or if it takes me a bit to finish this post.

Let's start back in Dublin...

Wednesday night:
I have been failing at the social aspect, and so Kari and I decided to go out Tuesday, which was switched to Wednesday. Anyway, I had a bad headache, and didn't want to drink because I had a 5 am cab to catch. At the time, Kari had a Spanish roommate who had Spanish friends. They take their time, so we don't roll downtown until well after 10 (10:30?) When we're on the bus, we meet these local girls who tell us to go to certain bars. They get off the bus, and a man leans over to us and says, 'Don't go there.' We had guessed the bars were gay bars, and we were right. Can you say catty? So, then another group of girls offered for us to follow them to a club. Well, the boys (Spaniards) have short attention spans, so that didn't work.

We ended up at Temple Bar, the bar, also IN the neighborhood called "Temple Bar". Yes, confusing, but it is one of the most famous pubs in Dublin. It was actually not that bad, especially for being a tourist trap. Speaking of which, just before we left, we ran into some females from Philly who said they'd been having a time of it trying to find good pubs/bars because they felt the locals kept pulling their leg (as had happened to us earlier that night.) So, we gave them a few hints as to where they should go, because we did know a little bit. In thanks, the girl bought Kari a Paulener, (I though it unkind to receive a pint just for doing something so simple.)

The Spaniards were: Carlos (17) from Saville, Inigo (23) from Saville, and Sancho (late 20's) from no idea, Barbara (26). Sancho's English was the worst. Carlos and Inigoand Barbara spoke good English, but Inigo was best at picking up the humour/subtleties. At one point, Sancho was pretty gone and while posing for a picture he gave me a big kiss on the cheek. he's married, and said dancing was okay-- I'm not so sure his wife would have agreed, but they all thought dancing was totally harmless. Then again, maybe they don't dance like Americans do...

Anyway, we run into some schoolmates, and leave the bar. We wander a bit, and by this point I'm getting annoyed because it's late, I'm tired and far too sober to be dealing with a large group who is far from sober. So, I get a cab back to Shanowen. Pack, sleep for two hours, and then get up at 5 for the cab...

Thursday
I took the cab with Camille, so we split the price. We both went through the airport together, since it was a first for both of us (going out of Dublin airport). When we left security, we asked a guy for directions. he assured us we were doing everything fine, and so we went to our respective gates. My gate, which was way out in th boonies, was sizzling hot. And there seemed to be a delay, so there was lots of waiting.

I get up the guy who takes your ticket, and he looks at mine far too long. He says, 'I can't let you on.' For a minute I think he's joking, but then when he doesn't admit to the prank, my heart drops. Apparently, with Ryanair, you need to get a stamp on your boarding pass saying your passport is okay.

Now, your boarding pass has a small advisory disclaimer that says, and I quote: All non EU passengers MUST go to airport bag drop/visa check desk before going through security to have their travel document/visa checked for validity or travel will be refused.

Okay, BUT, it does not say where. We passed the bag drop, noting there. They usher you into security! So, when we got there, we're showing our passports the whole way, to more than one person at more than one stop. There is no clear sign for visa checks. There is no part of the airport or queue for these checks.

Anyway, I zoom back through security, and ask frantically where the visa checks are. No one knows. I talked to three people at security-- who all tried to push me back through security despite my protests that I'd already tried that--before I stopped asking security. So, then I ask anyone I can find. I started asking where Ryanair was, rather than the visa checks, since the latter seemed to confuse them. No one knew where Ryanair was. One guy told me area 4 and 5 (it was 7 and 8). At 4 and 5 I asked the guy there, and he was quite rude: 'I don't work for them so why should I know?' Because you work right next to them! Jeez. So, long story short, it takes me FOREVER to find Ryanair, and then I had to ask them where the visa check was. Bottom line: ran out of time. Game over.

I was pissed. There's no way to sugar coat it. I yelled at the visa check girl, which I felt really bad about three minutes later. Ryanair SUCKS, but it's not her fault. Anyway, I went to go get another ticket. Only other time was a 6 something evening flight. So, I went back to Shanowen and crawled into bed at 8 am.

Kari and I took the same flight that evening. As we were walking from the place the airport bus drops off at (Waverly Bridge), we saw a swarm of people. Men and women in neon vests that said "Army tattoo". Huh? What was everyone doing just standing? It was very confusing and disorienting, making reading street signs a difficulty.

And then there were drums... and as we inched down George St or something, we saw men in kilts. Oh, yeah. Bagpipes and all. We didn't stay, because we were tired, it was dark, and personally, my mood was a bit crushed. So, we got to the hostel, went to our respective rooms, and passed out. Have to say, the hostels all weekend were nice.

Friday:

We got up and boarded the bus (#1). Kari and I weren't originally scheduled on the same bus, but we got it worked out. Unfortunately, it also meant we were the last ones on, so we didn't get to sit together. I got a seat in the very back, next to two Canadian cousins, and a couple who were from New Zealand but had been living in London the last year. 

We drove up north, our first stop was in Dunkeld. We stopped in Pitlochry. It was all about looking around, seeing each village, and stocking up on any food or whatnot because once we reached Skye there was no market or anything.  We saw some amazing views. Our guide, Colin, was awesome. he told great stories and myths in his amazing Scottish accent. (Born and raised in Edinburgh.)

We drove through mountains, and finally went through Inverness.  On our way, we stopped off at Lochness. Oh, yes. Our tour guide is mentioning swimming in Lochness the entire time, and honestly I thought he was kidding.  Hard to tell with the accident. But then, he asks out loud who will go swimming in Lochness, and of course Kari screams like a crazy American. I asked her if she was serious, and she said she was. So, I got to thinking... of course I would do it, if our guide was serious. I had no idea it was even possible-- people were allowed to go swim in Lochness? Apparently. (Little trivia: Lochness stays almost the exact same temperature throughout the year.) So, I was thinking... I hadn't brought a swimsuit (Scotland is cold, if you didn't know.) I hadn't even brought a suit to Ireland.  I could go in clothes, but I only had one pair of pants. I had only one pair of pj's. Obviously, I couldn't go pantless the whole weekend. And the hostels... well, that's sleeping with seven other people of all sexes. Sleeping in the nude might not be appropriate, even if it was Europe. This was a problem.  So, I ask Kari how she plans to do it, because I know her clothing situation is the same as mine. She she was going to go in her pj's and just sleep in underwear. Hmm... well, I could go into more detail, but I'll refrain.

So, the two Americans are the two crazy ones to jump on the bandwagon. By the end, the two Canadians and the New Zealand male end up joining in, but we were the pioneers (so much historical irony.)  So, Kari and I tiptoe out to the edge of Lochness. We're huddling in on our selves, feeling quite exposed. Mind you, there's a whole bus of people watching us.

We gave our cameras to people, and immediately the girl who has mine starts taping us (I wanted a video). So, Kari leaps in... now, let me explain the Lochness. There is no sand. It's rocks. Not even really stones, but rocks. Slabs or earth. Very little moss. Surprisingly, especially for a lake that houses a prehistoric creature (Oh, I believe in Nessy), the water is clean, clear, and the rocks are sharp and slick, but not slimy enough that the edges are covered in moss. So, it hurts. We're wearing socks, but really we should have worn shoes. It wasn't the cold or all the eyes that was the hardest part, but the rocks. So, I tiptoed carefully.  I would have stayed in there a while, but Kari jumped out kind of quickly. She splashed around and then was done. I was still wading out when she was done. I was only wet up to my waist, which was completely unacceptable. So I dunked my head and tiptoed back. Given more time, and if I had known others were going to do it, I would have actually swam as far as I could, because the first 30 feet are too shallow and rocky to really swim/go under fully.  The dynamics of the Lochness surprised me, so I wasn't prepared as I should be. I thought, especially when the idea of swimming was suggested, that it would be, well, swimmable. 

Anyway, Kari and I get on the bus and now need to worry about changing out of our wet, wet clothes and into dry ones. Problem is, the bus had windows... sparing you all some details here. Let me just say, this is where it got very X-rated and European. We get off the bus so the male New Zealander can change. We realize, by the time the Canadians are on the bus changing, that we could have spent more time in the Lochness, and that, oh yeah, the bus has curtains! Awkward.

We finally get to Skye, and it's immediately straight for dinner. I have a headache, and feel quite dirty and tired. We eat some Haggis (Kari's new favourite.) Two Quebecians join us, Josene and Emily, who become our friends for the rest of the weekend.

So, I ended up sleeping without pants all weekend... luckily, everyone in my room went to bed late and got up late, opposite of me.

Saturday:

So, we're out by 9, and this time get seats together, about the middle of the bus.  We start off, and the weather is horrific. Colin suggests if the weather doesn't get better, that we can Skye and head off for other things so we still make us of the time. We all agree, since Skye seems to be one of those places best enjoyed with visibility. 

Our first stop is a lake, where Colin tells us a story, that leads to him telling us we need to put our face in the water for seven second or three times, and we'll have eternal beauty. Colin's whole premise for all these dares (Lochness and the lake so far) is that we get a shirt. Obviously, we all get a shirt at the end. Kari and I do every single dare. So, we hold our faces in this freezing river for seven seconds. Very, very refreshing. 

Luckily, the weather turned around and was quite nice. We saw some beautiful hills and rivers running down the mountainsides. As much as we didn't want to admit it, by the end of the trip Kari and I agreed that Scotland is more green and has more hills with waterfalls than Ireland. 

We stop off a Portree, an adorable fishing town. Again, only place for supplies so we get some food here. Got some good pastries. At this point, we've bonded with Josene and Emily. 

We go to some cliffs, and I have to say, while I love the Cliffs of Moher, there were crazy cliffs in Scotland.  The wind was intense. Same wind as with the Cliffs, but this time we climbed down the side of them. As we left the top of the cliffs, the wind was not bad. It was steep, and that was the only scare. But once we got down to the bottom, there was a gorgeous waterfall that turned to a river, and some castle ruins. Pictures of this are amazing.

But then we had to climb back up. That was not good. It would have been fine if we hadn't been in a bit of a rush, and I knew I wouldn't make it if I didn't just do it fast, like a bandaid. The whole entire time in Europe, and even now, I've been fighting off being sick. Guess my body just isn't used to all the travel and change of climate so quickly and constantly. Anyway, as I'm trudging up this hill, going as fast as I can, not thinking about it, just grabbing and pulling myself up, not looking down, just pushing up. The wind going back up was worse, and by the time I hit the top, where the wind is the worst, I was in pain. My sinuses are very pissed off, and I felt like a coke addict because I could feel mucus dripping down the back of my throat. I was quite the mess, and the wind was painful. My lungs hurt incredibly bad, because I was inhaling more than I could exhale. Like oxygen poisoning or something. Colin kept asking if I was okay.  I was pretty nauseas for the next couple of hours.

Anyway, we see some more amazing hills and all.  We went to another wind-infested cliffs with a castle. I walked about a bit, but didn't hang out long, let alone go down to the bottom where the good view of the castle was. Kari did. People were leaning forward, at a sharp angle. In pictures it looked like they were flying or falling, but that's how strong the wind was, it held people up even with all of their weight.  

Like this, but more: 

So, anyway. We stopped off at a whisky tasting. Colin told us the real way to taste whisky was to hold it in your mouth for ten seconds, swallow, then take the rest. Kari did it. I couldn't. We had something that was a whisky version of baileys, and that was actually okay (Kari and I stole a second one of those.)

Then, it was on to the Faerie Glenn. That was my favourite part of the entire time in Scotland. Words cannot describe. There was a heart shaped area where inside the rock-heart were little trinckets people leave. It's a token you give to the faeries, in exchange for them granting you a wish of love (i.e. someone you like will like you back, or your current someone will like you more, etc.) I didn't leave anything, because I am a singleton at the moment, so it doesn't apply. There was also a spiral or rocks, and you walk into the spiral thinking of bad things, make a wish and leave something once you hit the centre, and then think of good things when you come out. Kari and I did this. Then there is this sharp ridge that's high up, you climb up and walk this ridge, and then there are a bunch of rocks you have to squeeze through or under, and then you are this flat top, that looks out over the entire glenn. Gorgeous.

By this time it was late and we were exhausted, so back to Kyleakin (where our hostel is in Skye), and we go to the pub with Josene and Emily. We had some good food. Kari, impatiently, jumps up and needs to go for a walk after we're talking. It was good to share cultural differences. Josene needed to email her boyfriend every night, so Emily and I walk her to the other half of the hostel (two parts within five minutes walking of each other), and then Emily and I walked around. English is her second language, but she is by far one of my favourite people I met while in Europe (the first probably being Dagmar in Germany...)

Sunday morning, at 9, Kari and I find ourselves at the front of the bus. Score, worked our way up to the front. We see Eileann Donan Castle, which is lovely, but it was rainy. We drive through several glens, and stop off at Glen Coe (famous for a massacre and its beauty).  We went to the Wallace Museum, and climbed to the top. Very beautiful, but we didn't go inside because you had to pay. William Wallace is a Highland hero.

We get into Edinburgh, and Kari is dropped off at the airport. I think I have two hours before I need to be at the airport, so I start wandering around Edinburgh, trying to make up for my lost Thursday.

I'm downtown, mildly lost trying to make my way somewhere, and then as I'm looking at a map, and BOOM! I mean, boom. It hit me like a sneeze. 10:45 flight does not mean the 10:45 I'm thinking it means. I look at my clock, and it's almost six thirty. Kari's flight was 8 something. I flee over to the train station to catch a bus to the airport. That takes too long, so I get a taxi. I swear the taxi driver thought I was crazy, but he gets me there by 7. I run up to the Ryanair lady, and rather stupidly, ask, 'Can you tell me what time my plane is at?' 10:45 AM. anti meridiem, as in morning. 

So, I get another ticket. I fly back to Dublin. I get a taxi, and my taxi driver is talking about how Americans are lucky because we have free health care and our drugs are super cheap. I don't say a word. I crawl into my bed and pass out. 

I need to not fly Ryanair ever again. Even after all that, I bought a ticket from Frankfurt to Berlin with Ryanair, thinking, "c'mon, what else can go wrong?" Oh, boy. 10 kilos is really not a lot of weight at all...  Point is, Ryanair makes a killing off of me, and not because I don't know how to fly, but because America is not an internationally friendly culture.

America needs to switch to the metric system and 24 hour clock, pronto. And not just in the medical, scientific, and military world. I mean, those three are taken care of, what about the civilians?! Ugh.

Scotland was amazing. I miss Ireland, too.