All right, Great Britain is North-South LONG.
Anyway, the trip that MS Tripplannerorwhatevertheheckthesoftwareis told me would take four hours and 50 minutes took six hours and thirty minutes. After work. With very little sleep. I drove up the M5 from Cheltenham, to the M6, past Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Blackpool, and into Scotland. Got 'petrol', then proceeded onto M74, to M73, to M80, to A91, to Stirling. Listening to BBC Radio the whole way. 80s music. Dry repetitive news (think CNN Headline News without the commercials). Augh! I had left work at three in the afternoon, planning on having dinner in Stirling, after the typical POETS lunch (stuff from vending machine and convenience cantina). So I was absolutely famished. And cranky. And sore. And retaining water in the ankles. Ugh. I must have stunk too.
I pulled into the Express by Holiday Inn in Stirling, after some time driving around Stirling, moods ranging from panic (I'm Lost!) to zombiedom (I'm Asleep!). Got checked in, a lovely Scot lass at the desk made sure that I was okee. I tried to get the Internet going. Wait... wait... no confirmation! I called the desk and got a jovial Scot who was all too happy to tell me that he dinnae ha' the authoriteh tu du anehthin' abuut the compuutehrr. Persahveer, he said. So I
tried again, showered, waited, and tried Internet again, ... dammit! And again! All right, I was hungry and it was 10:15. I went back to the desk and asked where I might get something to eat for dinner. I got a blank look. I asked again. "Ooooo!" The lass informed me that there was a Nando's chicken and a Frankie and Benny's New York Grill just 'ruund the cohrnehrr. (All right, I'll stop.) These are two of the same chains that keep me alive in Cheltenham. I was disappointed. Apparently the Express by HI is on the 'wrong' side of town for the traditional eating establishments. I asked for a map and directions to a restaurant. I had read about the Settle Inn and its quaint old-town surroundings, so I asked how to get to St. Mary's Wynd. Another blank look. The staff there had no idea where that was! They looked on their Internet (GRRRRR!) and found me some directions.
Driving around downtown Stirling at night, on ice, is an experience. Tons, and I mean a LOT of young Scots milled through the pub district, running out into the road, carousing and falling on the ice. However, I did not see a likely eatery, nor did I find 'St. Mary's Wynd'. I finally chalked the experience up to posterity, and, not wanting to brave the pandemonium of a college bar strip while exhausted and starving, I meandered my way back to the hotel. On the way back, I got two visual treats: Castle Stirling at night (there are floodlights set into the cliff) - Wow!, and the small burg of Bridge of Allan, just to the north of Stirling - a happy accidental detour. Two blocks from the hotel, I happened across a Burger King. Fine. I had not eaten at Burger King (other than some jalapeno/cheese poppers when Ihling was jonesing for a Whopper in December) yet. I got a double bacon something or other and some fries and a ginormous soda. I also ordered a luxury millionaire's pudding, but I cuunae have one, as the ice cream machine was broken. :-(. I raced back to the hotel and scarfed the food. Not bad, about the same as what we get here, except - the fries were actually CRISPY! I paid later for it, though.
The Internet was still hanging. Try again. And again. Finally, I thought it might be the company card, so I tried my personal card. No dice. G'ah! To the pay-computer in the lobby! I checked my personal email and sure enough, the transaction went into my personal card! WTF? I took the login/password down and returned to my room. After the login, the Internet was hobbling, but functional. Wow! I retrieved my corporate email and saw that eight 8 acht ocho huit otto charges came through onto the corporate card (! @ 9.99 GBP per shot!). I immediately sent an email to the ISP (The Cloud), my corporate admin assistant, and the credit card company that these were duplicate charges and should not be applied as the sessions would not be used. I figured it out on Saturday, by the way... The Cloud's protocol is such that it must suspend on any 'dead' time on the connection (like waiting for a web page). My workaround: make a voice IM call to myself and mute the speakers. That kept the connection alive. Anyway, Friday night, it really sucked and frustrated me enough to call it a night (11:30).
When my alarm went off, I wasn't sure what to do first. I settled for eating 'breakfast', a bowl of cereal - I figured I'd get something more substantial later on. I knew I wanted to see two things today: Castle Stirling and the Wallace Monument. I had hopes of getting to Castle Campbell, but I know how these things work, and two major sights a day are about right for me. I knew
the two landmarks in Stirling opened at 9:30, so I had plenty of time. I sat in the hotel car park and studied the map. I could see the Wallace Monument from the HI, and I knew from my meandering experiences the day before that the Castle was behind me and off to the left. Wow! There was snow on the tops of the hills! But the car park had melted, more or less, so the roads were ostensibly ok. I took a good look at the foothills to the Highlands to the North. I knew that I would be coming back to Scotland to explore those slopes, glens, and their lochs, and uncover their secrets and charm. But unfortunately, not this weekend. So I gave 'em a silent nod and agreed with myself to bide my time so I could do a proper treatment some day (or week, or month) on vacation. What a magical sight, to see the mists and fogs spilling through the glens and valleys into the plains. Snow dusted hilltops, whose pale imitation I hadn't seen since North Carolina in the winter 4 years earlier. (I had been to Alaska since, but that's way more rugged and jagged, and a different kind of romantic).
I wound my way to the Wallace Memorial, a very straightforward and well-marked path from
A91. It looked like it wouldn't be too crowded and reasonably easy to get to, and I had an hour or more to kill before it opened, so I decided to scope out the Castle too, and then decide what to do first. Sigh. I took off from the Monument, and immediately got horrendously turned around in Stirling. You'd think a fricking CASTLE cut into a MOUNTAIN of ROCK 100 feet high or more would be easy to find! I ended up to the south, in a town that looked like a series of housing projects (sorry Bannockburn, village of). I did find a free car park to turn around in, though! Free parking is like gold in the UK. And so, I got to Castle Stirling, 5 miles or so from the Monument, in about 35 minutes. I just parked in the Castle car park and paid the guy his 2 bob (don't use 'quid' in Scotland!). Since the Castle wasn't open at the moment, I decided to take a little walk around town to see what I could see. Driving up to the Castle had treated me to old cobbled streets and stone buildings and shadowy alleys, half-seen.
I hopped/hobbled down the hill from the Castle. I passed the Portcullis, a fancy restaurant, the
graveyard (awesome!), Argyll's Lodging (more later!), the Jail, two burned out stone shells - homes of a moneylender and a merchant, and came to a series of what looked like 150-year-old townhouses. Between each entrance was a 5-foot square archway into different courtyards. Since there were no gates, I figured I'd walk in and take a look around. The alleys UNDER the townhomes twisted into private courtyards, which all came together into a 'common' court at the center of the city block. Amazing! Each block was like its own little fort. Obviously, these areas were still in use, strewn with household garbage and barbecue grills and other rubbish, but to someone who hasn't said 'boo' to 3 of 6 of his neighbors in the past 6 months, it seems a very community-enhancing way to live. Still lots of privacy, the Scots cunningly designed the courts to be closed, yet open. I slunk back out to the street before they started a 'Kill the Yank' parade.
Seriously, the strongest emotion I picked up from the Scots I met was bemusement, not anger. Even when I went into my atrocious Scottish accent with George later at the Settle Inn (hey! HE was doing an 'orrible New York accent, followed by a not-too-bad Southern (US) one), noone got touchy or upset. I think they save their anger for sport competitions and the English. Two things I learned about Scots this trip that I find very admirable, and contrast with what I have picked up from the English: 1. They laugh at themselves, often and loudly. Therefore, they are not afraid to make gaffes or mistakes. I would go so far as to say that Scots find themselves genuinely hilarious, and a great cultural pursuit is to put oneself in as funny a situation as possible. 2. They are the only people I have met thus far that would say "Och! See that wee rock up there? Aye, the one jutting 100 feet straight up! Let's we go build a castle on top! Nae, roads are for pansies! Well, get on with ye! Go!" And yes, they do use 'wee'. I got a 'wee' map at the Castle, and was offered a 'wee' bit of 'tatties with The Haggis, ... :-)
Some of the townhouses had been converted to businesses - a bagpipe seller/repairer, a grocer, Boy Scout association, and the like. I stopped an gazed for a while at a post with a Unicorn on
top. The plaque on the wall nearby said this was a rallying point for the old town in case of fire or other emergency. It also noted that the crier would come here with relevant news and that occasionally such news (mostly about Taxes, I would expect) incited riots from this point. Hm. Well. I wouldn't want to be a Royal Crier in Scotland, don't think. How many of those do you think they went through? How did they advertise for the position? "Well, there's *international travel* involved, expense account, *harrumph*no life insurance*harrumph*, ...." "Damn and damn, Your Majesty! We've lost another Crier, and this one was so promising... yes, torn limb from limb again."
I eventually wandered down to the base of the rock that the Castle was built on, and proceeded along St. Mary's Wynd (yes, it's RIGHT THERE, south face) around the hill, and up and down some public paths that crisscross the Castle mount. Now, I remembered seeing The Beheading Stone on the map, but I guess I didn't put two and two together, so I kind of stumbled across it,
following the Mote Hill trail. :-) Nice views from there of the hills. Even though the Castle is directly next to Mote Hill, the view wasn't quite right, so I descended and walked along the back road (north face), up another footpath, until I reached the cut-road between the Castle and graveyard. So peaceful and quiet, and the altitude was a little higher than the road, so it was still a bit glazed, and the sun played whimsically over the frozen rivulets and also the towering castle walls directly above me. The trees cooperated and sent shadows skittering across the graveyard with every breeze. It was a great quiet moment. Then a few cars whizzed by, so I walked on. I came to a guide sign to the old Castle district, and what caught my eye was the last entry on the sign, about the local history (they're all great, but the last caught my attention):
Harry Turbine's Museum: Castle attendant Harry Turbine
used to lie in wait for unwary tourists. Holding a roll of tickets, he looked 'official' in his black waterproof coat and peaked cap. He invited tourists to visit his museum on Penny Millar's Slap, a lane which ran from the Esplanade to Ballengeich. His museum turned out to be a collection of junk that had not sold at the local auction. When business was quiet he moved to Station Road where he issued unofficial parking tickets to unsuspecting motorists.
Ha! That says a lot about the character of this town, probably more than a novel would. Unfortunately, Penny Millar's Slap is no longer there, or at least I couldn't find it.
From that stretch, it was a quick climb back to the Castle car park.
Into the Castle I went.
Anyway, the trip that MS Tripplannerorwhatevertheheckthesoftwareis told me would take four hours and 50 minutes took six hours and thirty minutes. After work. With very little sleep. I drove up the M5 from Cheltenham, to the M6, past Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Blackpool, and into Scotland. Got 'petrol', then proceeded onto M74, to M73, to M80, to A91, to Stirling. Listening to BBC Radio the whole way. 80s music. Dry repetitive news (think CNN Headline News without the commercials). Augh! I had left work at three in the afternoon, planning on having dinner in Stirling, after the typical POETS lunch (stuff from vending machine and convenience cantina). So I was absolutely famished. And cranky. And sore. And retaining water in the ankles. Ugh. I must have stunk too.
I pulled into the Express by Holiday Inn in Stirling, after some time driving around Stirling, moods ranging from panic (I'm Lost!) to zombiedom (I'm Asleep!). Got checked in, a lovely Scot lass at the desk made sure that I was okee. I tried to get the Internet going. Wait... wait... no confirmation! I called the desk and got a jovial Scot who was all too happy to tell me that he dinnae ha' the authoriteh tu du anehthin' abuut the compuutehrr. Persahveer, he said. So I
tried again, showered, waited, and tried Internet again, ... dammit! And again! All right, I was hungry and it was 10:15. I went back to the desk and asked where I might get something to eat for dinner. I got a blank look. I asked again. "Ooooo!" The lass informed me that there was a Nando's chicken and a Frankie and Benny's New York Grill just 'ruund the cohrnehrr. (All right, I'll stop.) These are two of the same chains that keep me alive in Cheltenham. I was disappointed. Apparently the Express by HI is on the 'wrong' side of town for the traditional eating establishments. I asked for a map and directions to a restaurant. I had read about the Settle Inn and its quaint old-town surroundings, so I asked how to get to St. Mary's Wynd. Another blank look. The staff there had no idea where that was! They looked on their Internet (GRRRRR!) and found me some directions.Driving around downtown Stirling at night, on ice, is an experience. Tons, and I mean a LOT of young Scots milled through the pub district, running out into the road, carousing and falling on the ice. However, I did not see a likely eatery, nor did I find 'St. Mary's Wynd'. I finally chalked the experience up to posterity, and, not wanting to brave the pandemonium of a college bar strip while exhausted and starving, I meandered my way back to the hotel. On the way back, I got two visual treats: Castle Stirling at night (there are floodlights set into the cliff) - Wow!, and the small burg of Bridge of Allan, just to the north of Stirling - a happy accidental detour. Two blocks from the hotel, I happened across a Burger King. Fine. I had not eaten at Burger King (other than some jalapeno/cheese poppers when Ihling was jonesing for a Whopper in December) yet. I got a double bacon something or other and some fries and a ginormous soda. I also ordered a luxury millionaire's pudding, but I cuunae have one, as the ice cream machine was broken. :-(. I raced back to the hotel and scarfed the food. Not bad, about the same as what we get here, except - the fries were actually CRISPY! I paid later for it, though.
The Internet was still hanging. Try again. And again. Finally, I thought it might be the company card, so I tried my personal card. No dice. G'ah! To the pay-computer in the lobby! I checked my personal email and sure enough, the transaction went into my personal card! WTF? I took the login/password down and returned to my room. After the login, the Internet was hobbling, but functional. Wow! I retrieved my corporate email and saw that eight 8 acht ocho huit otto charges came through onto the corporate card (! @ 9.99 GBP per shot!). I immediately sent an email to the ISP (The Cloud), my corporate admin assistant, and the credit card company that these were duplicate charges and should not be applied as the sessions would not be used. I figured it out on Saturday, by the way... The Cloud's protocol is such that it must suspend on any 'dead' time on the connection (like waiting for a web page). My workaround: make a voice IM call to myself and mute the speakers. That kept the connection alive. Anyway, Friday night, it really sucked and frustrated me enough to call it a night (11:30).
When my alarm went off, I wasn't sure what to do first. I settled for eating 'breakfast', a bowl of cereal - I figured I'd get something more substantial later on. I knew I wanted to see two things today: Castle Stirling and the Wallace Monument. I had hopes of getting to Castle Campbell, but I know how these things work, and two major sights a day are about right for me. I knew
the two landmarks in Stirling opened at 9:30, so I had plenty of time. I sat in the hotel car park and studied the map. I could see the Wallace Monument from the HI, and I knew from my meandering experiences the day before that the Castle was behind me and off to the left. Wow! There was snow on the tops of the hills! But the car park had melted, more or less, so the roads were ostensibly ok. I took a good look at the foothills to the Highlands to the North. I knew that I would be coming back to Scotland to explore those slopes, glens, and their lochs, and uncover their secrets and charm. But unfortunately, not this weekend. So I gave 'em a silent nod and agreed with myself to bide my time so I could do a proper treatment some day (or week, or month) on vacation. What a magical sight, to see the mists and fogs spilling through the glens and valleys into the plains. Snow dusted hilltops, whose pale imitation I hadn't seen since North Carolina in the winter 4 years earlier. (I had been to Alaska since, but that's way more rugged and jagged, and a different kind of romantic).I wound my way to the Wallace Memorial, a very straightforward and well-marked path from
A91. It looked like it wouldn't be too crowded and reasonably easy to get to, and I had an hour or more to kill before it opened, so I decided to scope out the Castle too, and then decide what to do first. Sigh. I took off from the Monument, and immediately got horrendously turned around in Stirling. You'd think a fricking CASTLE cut into a MOUNTAIN of ROCK 100 feet high or more would be easy to find! I ended up to the south, in a town that looked like a series of housing projects (sorry Bannockburn, village of). I did find a free car park to turn around in, though! Free parking is like gold in the UK. And so, I got to Castle Stirling, 5 miles or so from the Monument, in about 35 minutes. I just parked in the Castle car park and paid the guy his 2 bob (don't use 'quid' in Scotland!). Since the Castle wasn't open at the moment, I decided to take a little walk around town to see what I could see. Driving up to the Castle had treated me to old cobbled streets and stone buildings and shadowy alleys, half-seen.I hopped/hobbled down the hill from the Castle. I passed the Portcullis, a fancy restaurant, the
graveyard (awesome!), Argyll's Lodging (more later!), the Jail, two burned out stone shells - homes of a moneylender and a merchant, and came to a series of what looked like 150-year-old townhouses. Between each entrance was a 5-foot square archway into different courtyards. Since there were no gates, I figured I'd walk in and take a look around. The alleys UNDER the townhomes twisted into private courtyards, which all came together into a 'common' court at the center of the city block. Amazing! Each block was like its own little fort. Obviously, these areas were still in use, strewn with household garbage and barbecue grills and other rubbish, but to someone who hasn't said 'boo' to 3 of 6 of his neighbors in the past 6 months, it seems a very community-enhancing way to live. Still lots of privacy, the Scots cunningly designed the courts to be closed, yet open. I slunk back out to the street before they started a 'Kill the Yank' parade.Seriously, the strongest emotion I picked up from the Scots I met was bemusement, not anger. Even when I went into my atrocious Scottish accent with George later at the Settle Inn (hey! HE was doing an 'orrible New York accent, followed by a not-too-bad Southern (US) one), noone got touchy or upset. I think they save their anger for sport competitions and the English. Two things I learned about Scots this trip that I find very admirable, and contrast with what I have picked up from the English: 1. They laugh at themselves, often and loudly. Therefore, they are not afraid to make gaffes or mistakes. I would go so far as to say that Scots find themselves genuinely hilarious, and a great cultural pursuit is to put oneself in as funny a situation as possible. 2. They are the only people I have met thus far that would say "Och! See that wee rock up there? Aye, the one jutting 100 feet straight up! Let's we go build a castle on top! Nae, roads are for pansies! Well, get on with ye! Go!" And yes, they do use 'wee'. I got a 'wee' map at the Castle, and was offered a 'wee' bit of 'tatties with The Haggis, ... :-)
Some of the townhouses had been converted to businesses - a bagpipe seller/repairer, a grocer, Boy Scout association, and the like. I stopped an gazed for a while at a post with a Unicorn on
top. The plaque on the wall nearby said this was a rallying point for the old town in case of fire or other emergency. It also noted that the crier would come here with relevant news and that occasionally such news (mostly about Taxes, I would expect) incited riots from this point. Hm. Well. I wouldn't want to be a Royal Crier in Scotland, don't think. How many of those do you think they went through? How did they advertise for the position? "Well, there's *international travel* involved, expense account, *harrumph*no life insurance*harrumph*, ...." "Damn and damn, Your Majesty! We've lost another Crier, and this one was so promising... yes, torn limb from limb again."I eventually wandered down to the base of the rock that the Castle was built on, and proceeded along St. Mary's Wynd (yes, it's RIGHT THERE, south face) around the hill, and up and down some public paths that crisscross the Castle mount. Now, I remembered seeing The Beheading Stone on the map, but I guess I didn't put two and two together, so I kind of stumbled across it,
following the Mote Hill trail. :-) Nice views from there of the hills. Even though the Castle is directly next to Mote Hill, the view wasn't quite right, so I descended and walked along the back road (north face), up another footpath, until I reached the cut-road between the Castle and graveyard. So peaceful and quiet, and the altitude was a little higher than the road, so it was still a bit glazed, and the sun played whimsically over the frozen rivulets and also the towering castle walls directly above me. The trees cooperated and sent shadows skittering across the graveyard with every breeze. It was a great quiet moment. Then a few cars whizzed by, so I walked on. I came to a guide sign to the old Castle district, and what caught my eye was the last entry on the sign, about the local history (they're all great, but the last caught my attention):Harry Turbine's Museum: Castle attendant Harry Turbine
used to lie in wait for unwary tourists. Holding a roll of tickets, he looked 'official' in his black waterproof coat and peaked cap. He invited tourists to visit his museum on Penny Millar's Slap, a lane which ran from the Esplanade to Ballengeich. His museum turned out to be a collection of junk that had not sold at the local auction. When business was quiet he moved to Station Road where he issued unofficial parking tickets to unsuspecting motorists.Ha! That says a lot about the character of this town, probably more than a novel would. Unfortunately, Penny Millar's Slap is no longer there, or at least I couldn't find it.
From that stretch, it was a quick climb back to the Castle car park.
Into the Castle I went.
Album link: Facebook "Twinned City"
[GJF: Written 26 January 2009]
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