Alexandersmap

    Author: nhcarmichael

    • Meeting The Old Man of Storr

      Hard rain and fog don’t lend to an optimal hiking experience. But that’s what greeted us as we drove up A855. This was to be the one day where the weather mattered most on the entire trip, and the weather wasn’t good. Disappointed, I scratched Quirang off the list. But I held out hope for the Old Man.

      Looking up as we drove past the car park, it was clear this wasn’t going to be what I’d hoped for. The Old Man of Storr was completely obscured in fog. Perhaps wait it out a bit and hope it would lift? We drove onward to Kilt Rock and Mealt Falls, took the obligatory photos that everyone else takes and made our way back to try the Old Man once again.

      Heavy rain greeted us as we got out of the car, but the fog had lifted just a bit, giving a peek at our evasive friend. We hiked up to say hello, pelted by rain, optimism in our hearts. But this wouldn’t be the day, as the fog descended once again, completely obscuring the Old Man of Storr. This wouldn’t be our day to meet, and we turned for the descent. There’s always Talisker. And thoughts of when I might return again.

    • A Walk on Camusdarach Beach

      Few places in film have captured my imagination like the beach in the movie Local Hero. The red telephone box does too, but it was built as a prop for that spot in Pennan. The beach, conceding that beaches change constantly, looks the same. And I made the pilgrimage on a rainy, quiet day when very few people were thinking of a walk on the beach.

      Having seen the movie more than I should have, I recognized places immediately and thought of some iconic moments from the movie. But even if you aren’t into this particular movie, the beach is well worth a visit. Long and flat, with pristine sand running from the surf to the dunes. Surprisingly warm water (not Bahamas mind you, but warm for where you’re standing thanks to the Gulf Stream).

      I checked a box yesterday. A box I’ve wanted to check since the 1980’s when I first saw this beach. It’s not the Eiffel Tower I know, but we all have our dream destinations, don’t we? Waiting for someday is a fool’s bet. Go as soon as circumstances allow.

    • The Birdman of Stirling Castle

      You see Stirling Castle long before you get to it. Perched high on a chunk of volcanic intrusive rock at the strategic point where the River Forth widens, offering the last downstream crossing between the Highlands and the Lowlands of Scotland. You couldn’t pick a more strategic spot for a castle, and the sheer cliffs made it impossible to breach from any side but the heavily-defended front. There were eight significant sieges on the castle, the last (unsuccessfully) by Bonnie Prince Charlie.

      Mary, Queen of Scots was crowned here. That’s a story many know. Lesser known but certainly noteworthy was the life of John Damian, resident alchemist for King James IV, who boldly declared that he would fly to France in a flying rig he created that looked like a chicken suit. Damian brought the court out to the Ladies Lookout, which offered one of the steepest drops. He flapped his wings, stepped off the edge and… promptly plummeted. He would have died right then had it not been for the large pile of chamber pot remnants. Instead the mound of muck cushioned his landing just enough that he got out of it with a broken leg and wounded pride. And on the bright side, a bit of immortality.

      Glancing over the wall where Damian made his flight, its hard for me to imagine him taking that leap into the abyss. But that demonstrates the power of convictions. Sometimes they work in your favor, sometimes they leave you covered in feathers and crap with everyone you know laughing at you. There’s nothing wrong with taking the leap, but maybe limit your downside first.

    • Arthur’s Seat

      The views from this old volcano are stunning, and not terribly hard to earn. But Arthur’s Seat does present challenges. Most notably the tricky combination of mud, craggy rock face and people. The sheer numbers of people ensure more mud, more slippery rock, more erosion.

      The stream of people making their way up to the summit was fascinating to me. This was the off-season after all, but we passed hundreds of people making the pilgrimage. All manner of footwear went with them, from dress shoes to clogs to flat-soled boots that had no business stepping off pavement. But many wore hiking shoes too. You can tell a hiker by their assuredness on tricky ground and for the respect they give to the trail. Arthur’s Seat deserves more of that respect.

      A worthwhile side trip on the hike is a visit to the ruins of St Anthony’s Chapel. You can also explore Salisbury Crags, which offers a bit more solitude than the popular summit hike. The views on a clear day make the summit hike worthwhile. On a rainy or foggy day St Anthony’s Chapel would still impress, and pairs well with a visit to the ruins of Holyrood Abbey. You’ll be tracing in the steps of those 16th century monks, but with more amenities.

      Anyone with a good level of fitness can do this walk. I recommend packing a water bottle and extra patience if you go later than 10 AM. This is a hike best done early and with good weather. Heavy rain would make it treacherous in places if you aren’t property equipped. Respect for the trails are critical, if only to ensure Arthur’s Seat isn’t loved to death.

    • Live Awakened

      The book Awakening begins with a foreword by Francis J Stroud, relaying a story the author of the book used to tell when he was alive:

      “A man found an eagle’s egg and put it in a nest of a barnyard hen. The eaglet hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All his life the eagle did what the barnyard chicks did, thinking he was a barnyard chicken. He scratched the earth for worms and insects. He clucked and cackled. And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air. Years passed and the eagle grew very old. One day he saw a magnificent bird above him in the cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its strong golden wings. The old eagle looked up in awe. “Who’s that?” he asked. “That’s the eagle, the king of the birds,” said his neighbor. “He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth—we’re chickens.” So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that’s what he thought he was.” – Anthony De Mello

      Today I’m walking all around Edinburgh, feeling quite awake. Yesterday I came across Memento mori at Greyfriars Cemetery and smiled at the sight of this familiar reminder that life is short. Learn who you really are and live a larger life. The rest will take care of itself.

    • Thy Selfe May Pas: A Stoic Reminder at Westminster Abbey

      There are many famous names at Westminster Abbey. The ornate carvings on ornate carvings give a collective sensory explosion in the brain. We may have skilled artisans today, but there aren’t many stone carvers doing this kind of work anymore. Stunning detail everywhere you looked. Add in the throngs of people touring and it can all feel a bit much. The only blessing is they don’t allow photography inside, so the long lines weren’t subjected to selfie-taking vanity shots.

      Deep into the tour at Westminster Abbey in the chapel of St Edmund, well-removed from the famous names, is a young man lost to history. Francis Holles died at the age of 18 in 1622 on his return from fighting in the Netherlands. His grieving family had an elaborate monument carved by Nicholas Stone to honor him and placed it here, amongst other members of the Holles family. Whether there’s any resemblance to Francis the world will never know, but no matter, the power was in the 1620’s English epitaph engraved below.

      “What so thou hast of Nature, or of Arts, youth, beautie, strength, or what excelling parts, of mynd and boddie, letters, arms and worth, his eighteen yeares, beyond his yeares, brought forth then stand and read thyself within this glas how soon theise perish, and thy selfe may pas.

      Mans life is measured by the worke, not dayes, no aged sloth, but active youth hath prayse”

      What parent doesn’t hear the story of Francis and not feel a pang of grief for both him and his parents? For all the famous kings and queens, writers and politicians who spend eternity at Westminster Abbey, this is the one person who stood out above all the rest for me.

    • Day Tripping With the Beatles

      When you grow up a Beatles fan you learn all the names. Not John, Paul, George and Ringo (that goes without saying), but Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields and The Cavern Club and Elenor Rigby and all the rest. Those names are in Liverpool. And that’s where I found myself yesterday.

      Some people go to Disney World for their dreams to come true. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that. But walking in the footsteps of those who came before? Standing in a spot where a legend was literally born? Yes, please. And Liverpool delivers.

      There’s much more to this city than The Beatles, and I’d love to write about my experiences with all of the museums and exploring the waterfront more. But we had a seven hour window to work with, and a lifetime of assumptions to work through. So it was all about The Fab Four on this trip. If I were to go again, and I hope I do, I’d stay for at least a long weekend for a more immersive Liverpool experience. There’s just so much to see you’ll need the time.

      If you’re a Beatles fan with limited time, I’d recommend the itinerary we created on the fly. Go to The Beatles Story for an immersive self-paced walk through the lives of John, Paul, George and Ringo (that’s the accepted order of names, it messes up everything to jumble them). Wear the headsets and listen to the stories and music, it’s a great launching point for a day with The Beatles.

      Right down the street is the boarding spot for the Magical Mystery Tour, a fabulously fun tour on a bright yellow coach bus. Highly informative stories about what you’re seeing or, importantly, about to see sprinkled with Beatles songs that had many on the bus singing along. That “about to see” part is key, because when driving up a street it’s helpful to know what to look for. Our guide was excellent and prepped us for the turn onto Penny Lane and the drive-by of Elenor Rigby’s grave so we were collectively ready for the moment. Just enough stops for pictures along the way to satiate the Beatles fan checklist without losing momentum. I’ve done a few bus tours in my day, most do the job of informing on the fly well, some not so well. This one is exceptional.

      The tour ended down the street from The Cavern Club, and included a ticket to get in. Perfect way to end the day? Not so fast; there was still one more thing to do before the sun set. My daughter and I walked briskly down to the waterfront for a picture with Ringo, Paul, George and John (See? Doesn’t flow the same). Liverpool is well aware of the positive contribution their four lads have made on the city and erected statues of each of them together looking west. There are other statues of them individually sprinkled in the city but I’m partial to the band together.

      To cap off a Fab day we made our way back to The Cavern Club, deep down several the flights of stairs to the place where they took off. And this place didn’t disappoint. Great music playing on that stage we all know. The arched Cavern walls enclose you, immersive and reflective all at once. You’re literally there, wrapped up in that place you would see in black and white images, now a living monument to the past and a vibrant and exciting bar. The Cavern Club has a pulse, and it’s strong. I had no idea this place deep underground would be the highlight of my day, but it surely was. I’d go again any time at all.

    • Stumbling Across Amherst

      I was thinking about Jeffrey Amherst yesterday. Or rather, Amherst was thrust upon me as I walked through the National Portrait Gallery in London and his face jumped out at me in three paintings. Two were “face in the crowd” works that ensured you knew that yes, HE was there, so was that other HE… and so on. It’s like a snapshot taken at an event, painted over a long period of time. Ego strokes and, to me, tedious. But portraits offer something different, a glimpse into the person. And few people got your attention during the French and Indian War like Jeffrey Amherst.

      No matter what you think of Amherst, and there’s plenty of reason to question his tactics, he helped shift momentum of the war with decisive, ruthless action (giving smallpox infected blankets to Native Americans is certainly ruthless and ethically highly questionable). That victorious campaign positioned him for accolades at home, place names in the New World, and one elite liberal arts college bearing his name. And a portrait in the National Portrait Gallery. I don’t celebrate the life of Amherst, but I acknowledge that he got the job done when the English needed someone to step up.

    • The Guard

      Consider the Queen’s Guard, standing stoic. The guard scans the crowd with his eyes, moves in ever so slight ways, but otherwise still. As the guard stiffens, they’ll stomp their feet vigorously, ceremoniously shift their gun from the right arm to left, swirl to the side and march to a designated spot where they once again stomp and swirl and repeat as many times as they feel necessary to get the blood moving. From there they return to their original spot, stomp and shift the gun back to the right side, stand back at attention with a stomp and cap it off with a dramatically wonderful swirl of the head. A practical way to shake off London rain, or a crowd-pleasing play to the swarm of Changing of the Guard gawkers? No matter, it’s a big hit.

      I saw a similar act yesterday at Tower of London, however this ceremony of the changing of the guard is a Buckingham Palace show. But no changing of the guard on Saturdays. Still, a good chance to see Buckingham Palace, mingle with global tourists and take the required pictures. And oh, the pictures. Indulgent consuming of megabytes of data, all in hopes of the perfect photo. And an indulgent post to mark the occasion.

    • The Blackfriar

      The people flood the sidewalks, drinking pints of ale, talking and laughing in clusters. Inside, the bar is jammed as well, but it’s mostly people having drinks on a Friday night. This is London, after all, and they know how to properly end a work week. But the tables are largely open at 7 PM; our timing was good. They fill soon after.

      It was a good time to take a break. Five miles of cobblestones and stairs weren’t kind to the seniors in our group, and the last mile across the Millennium Bridge to The Blackfriar was especially challenging. Travel let’s you explore the world and your limitations all at once. When you travel alone that’s the story. When you travel with others your story changes with the dynamics of the group. And you either roll with it or you chafe.

      The Blackfriar describes itself as a “traditional pub with Henry Poole’s Art Nouveau reliefs reflecting the friary that once stood there.” Good fish & chips and meat pies, especially after miles of walking. Those reliefs are fascinating to look at, especially with pint of ale or a glass or two of their excellent gin and tonic selection. I could have stayed all night.