Dinner at the Peat Inn

For David’s birthday, the Colgate students gave him a gift certificate to the Peat Inn, which is a fine dining restaurant about 10 minutes outside of St. Andrews. Last night, we called in Christy and Annette, two of the students that spend a lot of time with the kids, as babysitters, and headed out. Our reservations weren’t until 8pm, so we went into town for a drink at the Central pub beforehand. When we arrived, the place was packed, and we snagged the very last table that was still open. While there, we talked about how the British have the edge over Americans on going out for a drink—this place was full of people who were just done with work or class and who were probably planning to hang out for a few hours with their friends, then would be home in bed at a reasonable hour. That’s a much better system than the way it’s done in the States, where one waits to go out until 10pm and stays until the middle of the next morning, then writes off the entire next day because of a lack of sleep. Or at least that’s how I hear people who go out in the States do it, since David and I can rarely stay up late enough to go.

After our drink, we drove out to the Peat Inn, which is often listed among the best restaurants in Scotland. They have a bevy of awards listed on their website, but upon arriving, one would never guess that the place is so highly acclaimed. Aside from being in the middle of nowhere, it’s not much to look at from the outside either: a low, one-story whitewashed stucco building from the 1700s, built right up against the single-track road, with a wee gravel parking lot off to one side. There’s a tiny wooden door off-center at the front, facing the road, with no window in it, so we gingerly opened it and went through. Once we were inside, though, we realized that it was going to be a memorable dinner! The door opened into an intimate lounge (photo above!), with sets of leather armchairs arranged in small groupings around a huge stone fireplace. A hostess met us at the door and asked us to sit in one of the seats, then brought us a leather tray with a small bowl of olives, a glass filled with long, thin root vegetable crisps standing on end, and two tiny squares of polenta topped with a tomato chutney and a petite pepper that looked as if it was a piece to Emma’s Playmobil dollhouse. She also gave us the evening menu to peruse while we waited for a table, along with a wine list that was so long that it began with a table of contents. We could choose to have the set evening dinner menu, which featured a starter, a main and a dessert, or we could choose off the a la carte menu. It was a bit difficult for us to make a decision, mostly because neither of us knew what most of the things listed actually were. Should we have the velouté of wild leek with chicken boudin or the carpaccio of scallops with warm kedgeree? How does one decide if one is not sure what a velouté or a carpaccio is?

We eventually told the hostess that we would have the evening’s set menu, and she showed us to our table in a small room full of overly ornate sideboards that looked out on a lovely garden. She gave us each our requested glass of Gëwurztraminer and a small knot of bread. The fixed menu was supposed to begin with a roasted asparagus soup, which neither of us had been too interested in, so we had asked to change our starters when we placed our order in the lounge. I chose the poached monkfish and quail’s eggs with a pissaladière of warm goat cheese and David asked for the seared breast of home-smoked wood pigeon with roots, fruits and prunes poached in Earl Grey. Our main was a wing of skate served over dauphinois potato and green beans in a tomato fondue, which we ordered despite not being completely clear on what skate was. I was pretty sure it was a kind of a flat fish, though I was a bit curious about how a flat fish could have a wing, or if the wing was the best part of the fish—I really haven’t ever had the opportunity to form an opinion about the best cut of skate. Our dessert was a milk chocolate mousse served with white chocolate and lime ice cream and passionfruit coulis, though we were also quite tempted by the “trolley” of Scottish cheeses that was offered at the end of the meal as well. The meal ended with cappuccino and petits fours—a small madeleine dusted in powdered sugar, an almond-coated truffle the size of a pearl, and a wee square of ginger jelly that tasted a bit like a Sour Patch Kid to me (which I of course didn’t admit…even to David!).

Our meal took several hours, and though the food was excellent (it tasted good but was gorgeous on the plate—I now know that quail’s eggs are delicious and a wing of skate is a bit cartilaginious, if that is a word…) the best part was eavesdropping on the conversations going on around us. All of the other diners were a good bit older than we were, and it was clear that having a dinner like this one was par for the course for most of them—just the usual way to pass a Thursday night. The couple behind us were expecting out-of-town guests over the weekend and were planning their menu—they planned to serve a fish pie for lunch, and were intending to have salmon for dinner but were concerned that it was too much seafood at once so were considering changing to lamb. Actually, the wife of the couple was doing all the talking about the menu, though her husband was doing an excellent job of managing to sound interested in the topic throughout the meal—I decided that either he was a foodie, or that they had been married a long, long time! The people on the other side of us were two couples, all of whom were golfers and were discussing the Jubilee Course (originally meant for ladies only but now one of the toughest courses around) and the Castle Course at St. Andrews, and it was clear that they had played the Castle earlier that day. I’m not sure what they did for a profession, but it was clear that it must have been something quite lucrative, if they could drop £120 in greens fees EACH followed by a dinner that must have run them over £250. There was a third couple in the room as well, and though I couldn’t hear their conversation, I was pretty confident that David and I were the only ones in the room discussing how I needed to get up early to supervise the P7 class at Greyfriars the next morning as they picked up rubbish along Langlands Avenue!

Scottish Manners

You might remember that we are renting a house in St. Andrews this semester from a woman who lives in Edinburgh, who usually rents it out week-by-week to golfers visiting one of the town's courses. The house is in a newer development of homes about a five minute drive from the city center, and is a family neighborhood. The family across the street has two small kids, and there are two other small kids who trike over to our house on Saturday mornings and talk at us in their Scottish accents while we are getting ready for rugby--and there's not much cuter in this world than a four year old speaking in a Scottish accent! Emma especially loves them, and she and John still talk about the time when we first arrived and were playing in the back yard and those kids shouted at us over the fence, "What are you? What are you?"

It's pretty clear that our house is the only house in the neighborhood that is not owner-occupied, and from our first day of arrival, it was also pretty clear that the woman who lives directly next door to us does not approve of us being here. While our other neighbors have been very nice and have stopped us on our walks through the neighborhood to introduce themselves, she has remained indoors. Periodically, when I walk past her house, I will casually glance at her house. Since the houses are right up next to the road, you automatically look IN the windows if you look at the house. So, when I glance in I will see her sitting at her computer desk and glowering up at me. It's pretty frightening to see a hostile face right at the window like that. So, in general, I have avoided her--I wait to take out our trash until she has hers out, and won't take the bin away from the curb until she has sorted hers, for example. Once, Emma and John kicked their football into her backyard by accident and rang her doorbell to retrieve it. They reported that she was quite rude to them, and that she complained about another set of kids doing damage to her fence in years past, but since I wasn't there to hear it, I dismissed it. Then, yesterday, David was playing with the kids in the front yard, and apparently when John cut across the corner of her front lawn, she banged on her window and yelled at him to get off the lawn. When David didn't seem clear about what she was saying to him, she opened her windows and yelled at him, "It's just a matter of manners not to walk on someone's lawn." This didn't make David too happy, so when he challenged her by saying, "A matter of manners?" she added, "Yes, SCOTTISH manners!" I think this made David want to go over there and show her some American manners, but he fortunately refrained!

Both of us are quite angry at her behaviour, and I think the reason is that everyone we have met so far in Scotland has been quite polite and kind (except Miss Manners next door, of course!). People at our church and at the kids school have been exceedingly welcoming, even though we are only here for a short time. There are a few stores that I frequent in town (the clothing store Ness, especially) in which the salesperson remembers me and even asks about Emma, who is often with me after school. On one of our first days here, we got library cards and the librarian who registered us for the cards still greets us when we come in for more books and asks about our time here so far. And yesterday at the grocery store, I had a long conversation with the woman at the till about a recipe that had been in the grocery store's magazine a few months back, while she helped me pack up my groceries. Generally, Scots are known for being a bit reserved, so when we arrived we were prepared not to get to know people here, but haven't found that to be the case at all. They are also quite nice about our being American, and needing a bit of extra help with public transportation or the use of our American credit cards in their chip and pin system, and while I'm always apologetic about it, they're always quick to brush my apology aside, and sometimes even mention how happy they are to have visitors in their country.

The Scots are also supposedly known for being a bit frugal with their spending money. I'm not sure where this comes from, or even it that's really true, since we haven't been here long enough to gather evidence about it. If it is true, I theorize that it's because their money is so heavy--the pound coin is the piece of currency that one uses most often here. If I am buying something that costs only a few pounds and use a ten-pound note, I will inevitably get all coins back as change. Once I learned to count the money quickly to verify that the change was correct, it didn't bother me so much. It still drives David crazy, though, since he's always walking around with about £20 worth of coins. "This is ridiculous," he says, as he counts out enough change to pay a £12 bill. "I feel like a pirate!"

Though I haven't found the Scots to be notably frugal, I have noticed that the English generally consider this to be the case. With that in mind, here's a joke that's often told by the English about the Scots: an Englishman and a Scotsman are having a pint in a pub together. The Englishman spots a fly in his beer and, complaining bitterly, demands a new pint from the barman. The Scotsman likewise sees a fly in his drink, gingerly picks it out from the froth and holding it in front of his face by the legs hisses, "Spit it out ya wee bastard!"

Rugby Tournament in Edinburgh

Since David's aunt and uncle were with us this weekend, we put together a "greatest hits" tour of the town of St. Andrews for them. We started at the Old Course hotel (just to drop John off at rugby training at the field in front of the hotel) then walked over to the first tee of the Old Course. We walked along the beach for a bit, then walked across the first tee (there's actually a path that cuts right across the first tee that is wide enough for cars to drive across) in between golfers hitting their first shot on the tee and those headed toward the 18th green. We stopped into the pro shops for a bit of shopping, then watched a few groups tee off. We watched one poor guy hit a horrible drive that skittered across the ground for about thirty yards, to the snickers of the crowd watching, and I kind of wanted to point out that most of us in the crowd would have done the same thing under such scrutiny. I'm sure that guy will never live that shot down with his buddies! Next we went to the farmers' market and got some Arran cheese and some smoked trout, which we ate on a bench on Market Street—the fish was delicious, though our hands smelled like trout for the rest of the afternoon! We also stopped into Fisher and Donaldson bakery for some fudge donuts, which we ate on another bench on Market Street. Then we walked towards the cathedral, after David’s uncle stopped a police officer to ask him how much a parking ticket was and who was the most famous person to whom he had given a ticket. The officer said, in a very thick accent, which I actually did understand, that he once moved a car that was illegally parked because it belonged to a golfer in town for the British Open, but I don’t know enough about golf to recognize the name. I was just impressed with the idea that a pro golfer was actually driving himself around the town of St. Andrews during the Open…they have someone to carry their clubs for them, so I would have thought they would at least have someone to drive their cars for them too! At the cathedral, I took the kids up St. Rule’s Tower, but Sutton and Carol were wise enough to decline the offer to climb all 108 feet and waited for us at the bottom. We walked along the harbor for a bit, then over to St. Andrews castle and parts of the campus. The skies were threatening a bit of rain at this point, so we drove back to our house to change for dinner and for David and his uncle to have a pre-dinner shot of whisky, then came back into town for a 6:00 pm reservation at an Indian seafood restaurant.

On Sunday morning, John and I packed up a bag of snacks and raingear and went to the rugby fields to meet the team bus, which was headed to Edinburgh for the annual Currie tournament. Kids in P3 and older play in it, and it's quite a large tournament, so John was pretty excited at the idea. After a very steamy ride in a foggy bus through the pouring rain across the Firth of Forth (with the kids singing, "Driver, I need a wee wee..." to the tune of "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah" in the back of the bus), the bus let us off at the Currie fields, and we joined a throng of kids and parents, all dressed in multi-colored rugby stripes and shockingly short shorts (the kids, luckily, not the parents...), heading across the muddy rugby pitches. A large crowd was there to watch as well, and as John and I tried to find our way around without losing each other, I felt a little like I was heading into the Triwizard Tournament! If only I could have found that portkey...

We did manage to find the rest of the P3 Madrascals at some point, and John proceeded to warm up with his team while I tried to fashion a dry place to sit out of my shopping bag and John's wellies. I should have just taken a clue from the other parents, and warm up with a pint of Tennents as they were doing--making this the first child's sporting event I have attended that offered beer on tap, by the way! I made a bit of conversation with the parents of some of the other kids on the team, explaining for about the 168th time that I lived in New York State which is nowhere near New York City. Luckily, as I began my 169th explanation of Upstate New York geography (no, not near Niagara Falls either, actually...) the first game began, and the parent of a kid on the other team began to bellow so loudly at his kid out on the pitch that all the parents turned their focus to him (he had clearly already had a few pints of Tennents himself...) John's team won their first game, then had a short break, during which his team members moved off to the side of the pitch and commenced with tackling each other for another 30 minutes. Then they played two more games back to back, and won both of those as well. That meant that they were in first place and in the semi-finals, which meant that we got to stay for the afternoon portion of the tournament. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, and the boys had been given a lunch (a ham and butter sandwich!) by the Currie club, so everyone was happy and excited to be in the semi-finals. And they did play a good game (against the first team, with the screaming dad again, whose face was even redder this time!) but lost in the end, 4-3. John was disappointed, though he was happy that he got to ride home with his mates again, and they tackled each other all the way back to the bus. On the way home, they sang a song called "Charlie had a pigeon" that I think was quite vulgar, though I'm not sure. At first, they had been chanting "oggie, oggie, oggie...oi oi oi" in a round until one of the parents pointed out that it was a Welsh chant, prompting them to immediately switch to the Charlie number. When we finally got home to St. Andrews, I was ready for a nap, but David and Sutton and Carol were dressed and ready for dinner in Anstruther, so I made a quick cup of coffee before we headed out for the 10 minute drive to the fishing village where we all took a walk along the stone pier then tucked into some incredibly satisfying fish and chips for dinner!

The return of house guests…and the rain

David’s aunt and uncle are set to arrive in St. Andrews this afternoon from New Jersey and will be staying with us over the weekend. Unfortunately, a rather large rainstorm has the same schedule. Our only other houseguests (David McCabe and Franny, who arrived in mid-March) were equally unlucky, and suffered through a week of torrential rain. Immediately upon their departure, the clouds parted and the ground dried, and we proceeded to have one of the warmest and driest springs that the Scots can remember. In fact, one of the lead stories on the BBC this week—aside from the resounding defeat of the Labour party by the Scottish National Party, of course, as I’m sure you’re all aware— is that a series of wildfires have been burning throughout the UK as a result of the lack of rain. There was some other big story last week on the BBC, I seem to remember—one which got quite a bit of airtime here in the UK—but I can’t put my finger on what it was. Hmmm…oh, well. No matter.

Anyway, our plans for a weekend of beach visits and hill walks with Sutton and Carol have been washed away (no pun intended…) so we’re scrambling to come up with some indoor activities. The customary thing to do here in St. Andrews on a rainy day is to hit the pub for a pint, but Emma and John aren’t yet big fans of that, so we are looking for alternatives. Some of Emma’s friends from school are in a production at the Byre Theater tonight, put on by a professional acting school that many of them attend called Dazzle. Emma was interested in joining Dazzle when we first arrived, until she learned that they met twice a week after school in Dundee, that it was quite similar to the Odyssey of the Mind program that she does at home, and that tuition was the equivalent of about $50 a week (actually, she didn’t know that…but it was the deciding factor for me, certainly!). There’s also a show in Glenrothes which is happening this weekend—the women in my Thursday morning badminton group were discussing it yesterday. At least, I think it was in Glenrothes. The woman who was doing most of the talking about it has such a thick Scottish accent and rolls her rs so distinctly that she could have been saying Glen Rosa instead of Glenrothes…they sound exactly the same to me when she speaks. So, that option is out...

Because we’re having house guests, I have spent the morning cleaning a bit, and have been struck once again with the difference between the size of cleaning products sold in the UK and the US. After cleaning the guest bathroom, I had already used about half a bottle of window cleaner and half of one of the paper towels rolls that are sold in a two-pack here. A two-pack! I can’t remember the last time I was shopping in the States and saw paper towels sold in a quantity of fewer than eight! That goes for toilet paper and tissues here as well. Actually, it extends to all kinds of food products, and is a perfect illustration of how the concept of “super-sizing” applying to almost everything in the U.S., and has not yet made its way across the Atlantic. Eggs are sold in a carton of four here! I can buy 100 grams of green beans! Cereal boxes here are the same size as a box of tissues in the States!

I’m thinking about the whole issue of size for another reason as well. Yesterday, I had to turn in our petite little Vauxhall Astra for a car that seats seven, in anticipation of two weeks of visitors who will need to accompany us on our weekend trips. When I went to pick up the new car, the woman at Enterprise said that the bigger cars were harder to find here, but they did manage to find something they called a mini-MPV, which stands for something like "multi-person vehicle" (aren’t all vehicles…save bicycles… multi-person vehicles, I wanted to ask her…). And when I saw the car, which was of course a Chevy, I was shocked! It was huge! When I got in, I felt like I was towering over the road, and that there was no way I was going to be able to squeeze through the tiny streets of St. Andrews in such a monster. Out of curiousity, I went home to google the dimensions of the new car and compare it to the Honda Pilot that I drive at home. Sure enough, the new car is nine inches shorter than the Pilot, and six inches narrower! And yet it still feels huge! Then of course, I made the mistake of looking up the size of the gas tank to calculate how much it would cost to fill the tank. Since gas here is £1.39 per liter…which is the equivalent of…make sure you’re sitting down now…$8.78 per gallon, I needed to shell out about $175 to fill up the tank on the new car! So, it turns out that I’m wrong and the concept of super-sizing does indeed apply to at least one thing in the UK: the price of fuel!

Isle of Arran: Day Two

On our second night at the Isle of Arran, I forgave the kids for soaking their only pair of shoes and let them go to Lochranza Castle to see the sun set. The castle was closed (though there wasn’t much of it left to see if it had been open), so we sat against the 13^th century walls and watched the sun disappear into the horizon. The tide was out, so John spent most of the time picking up smooth rocks and skipping them across the surface of the sea, which was quite still. Emma and I watched a herd of deer make their way down the road (there was no traffic…not even cyclists…at this point in the evening) and two sheep cross the road to graze along the front yard of the hostel. Once the sun had set and it began to get dark (almost 10:00 pm by this time) we went into the hostel for the night.

The next morning we got up early (though still three and a half hours after sunrise!) and checked out, then drove down to Brodick to the Arran Adventure company for a morning of sea kayaking. We met Collum, our guide (wasn’t that the name of the little hobbit in Lord of the Rings?) for the morning, who helped us suit up in meters of neoprene. We hopped into his van and drove down the coast for about five miles to the bay of Lamlash, which is home to Scotland’s first “no take” zone (meaning no fishing or seafloor dredging is allowed in the bay) and, as a result, features amazingly clear blue water. Collum helped us to put our kayaks in the water and showed the kids how to turn the kayaks and hold the paddles correctly, and then off we went. He led us around the pier and along the coast, stopping every 10 minutes to check in on the kids and make sure they were holding up. At first, they were, but after about an hour they both started to tire, and Collum was left floating in his boat backwards, waiting for us and gazing down at the crystal-clear water (was he looking for a golden ring down there, maybe?). I think that neither of the kids

were too comfortable in their neck-to-toes wetsuit and they both started to look pretty miserable. David and I were having a grand time, though our kayaks were quite long and very hard to turn, especially against the waves. But after another half-hour, I noticed some tears sneaking out of the corners of John’s eyes as he sunk further and further into his kayak. I went over to him and tried to fasten his kayak to mine, but Collum noticed and used a rope to give John a tow. Twenty minutes later, as we continued down the coast, Emma started to fall behind, so he added her to his tow rope as well. When John started to get even more upset, I tried to lash his kayak to mine, which made it absolutely impossible to turn. We both floundered at the shoreline for a while, until Collum came to rescue us, and suggested that we might want to turn around and head back to the pier. At

this suggestion, the kids sat up straight and started to paddle again in earnest. When we finally got out of the kayaks on dry land, Emma waved me over and whispered to me, “That was the worst thing I have ever done…” And as we loaded the kayaks in the trailer again and headed back up the coast, we spotted another group headed out to sea. “Oh look,” I said, “there goes some more kayakers!” Emma remained expressionless, and muttered, “My condolences…”

After that fiasco, I tried to make it up to the kids by taking them to the Auchrannie Resort, which is a spa and hotel in the interior of the island that has a luxury indoor pool with a section for kids. The hotels with indoor pools in Scotland often operate as leisure centers, meaning that for about £10 a family of four can swim in them for the afternoon. For a guest at the resort that is paying top dollar, this must be a bit of a bummer, but for those of us who have just emerged, post-hostel stay, from a sea kayaking session, it’s quite a nice perk! We got to the pool around noon, so most of the resort guests were gone anyway, and the kids had the pool pretty much to themselves. David and I took turns using the steam room (I had never been in one before, and was quite impressed, though sitting in one is a bit like visiting Louisiana in August!) and watching the kids swim in the bathwater-temp pool under the various fountains. After two hours, we were all starving, so reluctantly changed out of our swimsuits and headed to the car for a quick drive to the beach in Brodick and a picnic. After we ate, we drove to the Isle of Arran cheese shop for some cheese samples (the isle is famous for its cheese, especially those that are smoked with the wood shavings from whisky barrels and sold by the “truckle” or barrel-shaped block) and some ice cream that was made at the island’s Torylinn creamery with milk from the Freisian cows. The kids chose mint ice cream and David had Arran Gold, which is made with whisky, and is simply delicious. Even David said it was fabulous—among the best ice creams he has had, and if anyone knows his ice cream, it’s David Dudrick! Then we drove back down the main street in Brodick, popped in to the cooperative grocery store to assemble another picnic dinner, then drove to the pier to eat in the car while queuing for the ferry ride home!

The Isle of Arran

Next winter, when the weather in Hamilton is so horrific that it seems as if it is snowing from the ground up, I am going to close my eyes and think about the Isle of Arran! We have just returned from a long weekend to the Isle, and I can safely say that it’s one of the most beautiful spots I have ever been. It has rugged mountains, glowing glens, sandy beaches, coastal cliffs, green pastures, fields of flowers, flocks of sheep, and the bluest, cleanest ocean I have seen this side of the Caribbean. In short, it’s achingly lovely!

The Isle of Arran is always called “Scotland in miniature” by the guidebooks…and not because it’s full of wee Scotsmen munching on tiny Mars bars fritters and sipping sample-size bottles of peaty whisky. It’s because the island has markedly different topography in the two parts of the island, just as Scotland’s topography changes drastically as one heads north into the Highlands. The northern half of Arran is rugged and mountainous, while the southern part features gentle, green hills and rocky beaches. The island is small—only about 4,000 people live there year-round, and the road that circles the island is just over 50 miles long. Since that road is the only one, save a small road that cuts the island into two called “String Road,” it means that driving around the island affords breathtaking views. And since the road goes around one hairpin turn after another, it’s one of the few remote roads in Scotland that actually has two lanes. Still, driving can be treacherous there—mostly because many bikers come to the isle to ride the road that circles the island, and we invariably came upon one in our lane every time we were about to come to the crest of a hill or a blind turn—a situation that has all the makings of a spectacular head-on collision!

We took the ferry over from Ardrossan on Saturday afternoon, and we were all impressed with the way the nose of the ferry boat swung open to allow us to drive our car up the ramp and onto the boat. Once our car was parked, we got out and climbed to one of the top decks to enjoy the view (and the wind!). The ferry ride lasted about an hour, and then we arrived in the very small town of Brodick on the Isle. We drove off (another adventure, especially since we discovered why the sign above our head warned us to depress the parking brake of our car…and we came to this realization as the floor of the boat began to tip forward to allow us to drive off!) and headed north to Lochranza, an even smaller “town” on the very northern tip of the island. We stopped along the way two times to let the kids scramble around on the rocky beaches and look for seals in the water (we didn’t see any, though once I yelled “stop” to David when I saw one perched on a huge rock with its tail in the air, then realized that it was only a statue of a seal!), and made it to Lochranza for dinner. While David and I cooked (we were staying in yet another hostel…), the kids went down to the bay and walked along the ocean. At least, that’s what they told me they were going to do. When they came back 30 minutes later, soaked from the knee down, I realized they had just walked through the ocean, and since Emma had ignored my suggestion to bring more than one pair of shoes, I was not happy. I cancelled our post-dinner plans to visit Lochranza Castle, and sent them both to bed. It was past nine p.m. at this point anyway, but since the sun hadn’t yet set, I think they got my message!

On Sunday, we headed south down the other side of the island and stopped for a hike to the Machrie Moor stone circles. Arran is full of these circles, which were “built” during the Neolithic period, for reasons that no one really understands. Some people suspect that they were used in religious rituals, while others think they have some astronomical use. There’s even a story that one of the larger circles, made up of standing stones about 15 feet tall, was used by the warrior Fingal to keep his dog away from his dinner. Apparently, that was before the invention of the leash! The stones were interesting, but what actually was more fascinating to us was the walk to the stones. I had asked the woman at the hostel how to get to the stones and where to park when we arrived, so was prepared with the knowledge that we were supposed to park in a little gap in the fence of a farmer’s field, as long as we didn’t park in front of the gate. She told us that we should cross the road and go through a sheep farm, then up a hill and down a small path to get there. But it still felt strange to just open the gate to the pasture and traipse right through. David kept saying, “Are you sure we’re supposed to do this?” and I just shrugged as we startled a group of small lambs napping in the sun, while John walked in awe, saying repeatedly, “Wow, I can’t believe we’re allowed to do this!” But the Scottish government passed a law in 2003 that basically says anyone can walk anywhere, provided they act responsibly. It’s called the Scottish Outdoor Access Code, and it was passed to give visitors and residents access to the Scottish countryside and encourage hill walking (and Munro bagging, the Scottish sport of climbing hills over 3,000 feet). The law even gives statutory rights of access to campers as well, meaning that anyone can pretty much pitch a tent anywhere one likes in Scotland as long as it doesn’t cause inconvenience to others (also meaning that you’re quite likely to turn a corner on a hike and practically step on a tent that someone has pitched…this we know from experience!). I’m pretty sure that John’s launching himself off the sacred stones while I videoed the whole thing crosses the line of acting responsibly in someone’s book, but not ours!

After the visit to the stone, we waved goodbye to the relieved flock of sheep and continued south a few more miles to Blackwaterfoot, where we parked in yet another farmers’ field for a hike along the coast to King’s Cave. The hike was much longer than we thought, but since it was right along the cliffs to the ocean, it was gorgeous and well worth the “are we there yet” chants coming from the kids. King’s Cave is the spot where, according to legend, Robert the Bruce pondered giving up on the Scottish fight for independence from the English. As he hid in the cave, he saw a spider attempting to build a web on the slippery wet walls of the cave. The web kept collapsing, but the spider didn’t give up and eventually succeeded—not only in building the web but in inspiring Robert the Bruce to crawl out of the

cave and return to war to defeat the English at the battle of Bannockburn. When we finally arrived, David said under his breath, “I think I’m going to need to see a spider somewhere in this cave to convince me to hike all the way back to the car!” We didn’t see one, though I did see a small girl convince her father to pick her up for the return uphill hike after begging for about 10 minutes. I wonder if that counts?

By this time, it was well past lunch, so we stopped at the Balmichael farm, which has a small tea shop in front, complete with big deep leather couches and tartan-pattern carpets. We had paninis and pizza, and managed to get the kids out without buying them ice cream by promising them a trip the beaches on the southern part of the island. We headed there next, and David and I got in about an hour of reading our books on the sand while the kids built sand castles and climbed on the rocks. We saw very few other people on the beach, though when we went for a short walk, John jumped over a rock pier and almost landed on a bivouac sack that someone had pitched there. Gotta love that Scottish Outdoor Access Code!

Can you call this responsible behavior?

Royal Wedding in St. Andrews

We're just back from the party in St. Andrews to celebrate the royal wedding. Photos below...

Emma made her own fascinator hat for the wedding.

At the party in St. Salvator's Quad

David and John signed the "wedding guest" register

The wedding was shown live through BBC on a big screen.

Emma and John with the guy from the "Other Guys" (see video below...)

The BBC prepares for a live broadcast from St. Salvator's Quad

The BBC chick

The BBC chick toasting the royal couple

Emma and John with Kate and Will and B. Janetta ice cream. Guess which one they like more?

David's serving of ice cream

Love the hat!

Live from London

The Other Guys on stage

Emma and John with Kate and Will made out of jelly beans at a St. Andrews candy store!

Sugar cookies with "royal" icing

Beer of choice...

The window at Fisher & Donaldson bakery

Outside the St. Andrews butcher shop

The wagers that one could make at Ladbrokes on the wedding...