11th May: Forres to Glasgow

As arranged, Betsy took me to the station. She stayed to wave good bye and gave me a lovely bees wax candle made by Mr Salt, which I stashed carefully in my case in case it broke. The train took me back down through Scotland, a thoroughly enjoyable journey, ending up in Glasgow around 2pm. I took a photo of an old tenement hall near Glasgow - all the windows had been broken, and it was in the process of being demolished. I expect the Glasgwegians had decided they didn't like living in these buildings, which reminded me of the boxes some farmers put battery hens in.
Of course just to test how I would have done if I had tried to change from Queen Street to Central Station a few days ago, on arrival at Queen Street, I attempted to get to Central Station within 30 minutes. I got lost several times, thereby vindicating my choice to take a bus from Lancaster to Edinburgh when confronted with the alternative of changing stations within 30 minutes. Oh never mind, you had to be there. Glasgow is very Glaswegian. The first thing I noticed was a young girl, about 12 years old, sporting a 9 month baby belly. It shocked me and made me feel a little sad – I just couldn’t get my head around why a kid would want to have sex, which I see as a kind of adult activity. Little girls draw pictures and giggle, they don’t have sex, surely. Before I left Auckland I printed several maps explaining where items of interest such as Accrington and Glasgow Eurohostel were. I got out my trusty map of Glasgow (thank you Mr Google) and walked to Eurohostel, which I had chosen as the cheapest accommodation offered through the conference site (I was on my way to a conference in Glasgow). Eurohostel turned out to be not very difficult to find (it was quite near Central Station, so I only had to ask for direction 2 – 3 times), and alarmingly similar to a youth hostel, but I wasn’t a youth. I nervously asked for my room, fully expecting that they would put me in a dormitory, but they had a room set aside for me and within 10 minutes they had figured out who I was and why I was there. I paid the full amount (about £80 for 4 days) and headed upstairs trepidating as I went. It was small, clean, and comfortable, so in all fairness, I couldn’t complain. I propped the window open with my garlic pills, and went to do my washing. I unpacked all the things that had been stuffed in my case for the last week or so, and sorted everything that needed sorted, such as my wallet, the clothes, and my toilet bag. I recharged my telephone, laptop and toothbrush, and discovered I had lost my PDA charger. I had two showers, and washed my hair. It was wonderful. I decorated my room with damp socks, shirts and underwear, then went to explore Glasgow. I found a small supermarket near the hostel, and bought a salad and some wine for my dinner, and sat at my window watching the Clyde River drinking wine and eating salad. Travel is a marvelous way to commune with oneself. By the time I went to bed everything was recharged, clean, and tidy. I even got the filling that had fallen out of my teeth in Forres, and put it in my toilet bag. You never know when a spare filling might come in handy.

10th May: Forres

By now I had noticed that I was so far into my trip away that it was easier to see the end than the beginning, which is always a disappointing point to reach. It also meant that I was getting near the point where I was no longer on holiday, but would have responsibilities to meet.

I woke early, still being on Titirangi time, and did my usual early morning walk, putting on my scarf and colourful jumper, and hoping for an adventure. I walked to the nearest signpost which told me Forres was in the direction I had just come from, but 3 miles down the road. I walked towards Forres doing various calculations to work out how far 3 miles was in real money. I eventually concluded it was probably too far to walk, at least both ways. At about the same time as I decided this, a lady stopped her car and asked if I wanted a lift, so of course I said yes. She asked me what part of Forres I was heading to, and I had to admit I didn’t really know and didn’t care either. I wasn’t careless, but care free. She took me to Tesco, where I ambled happily up and down the aisles – I had not been in many shops until now, as I was mostly with other people, so did things that suited several people simultaneously, which supermarket shopping generally does not do. I think I got that right – not sure. This was quite a sweet lady called Mrs Salt or something, and she was very trusting, asking me to keep an eye on her bag while she checked out a different aisle. Why she thought a perfect stranger wouldn’t steal from her is beyond me, but as it happens, I didn’t. She was most upset as she had especially come to town (I do not use the word ‘town’ advisedly in this case) to get some baking ingredients, and it being a Sunday, she was not able to buy any Guinness for her cake. I was impressed. She drove me around Forres, pointing out various sites such as the Findhorn Foundation, the academy, and a couple of statues. She dropped me off at the gate of Marcassie farm and I walked back to Betsy and Sven for breakfast. I told them I had been out walking and described the places I had been. They were quite impressed, but then I admitted I had hitch-hiked, as I was beginning to feel a bit guilty. I’m not very good at subterfuge, which is why I don’t work for British Rail.

After breakfast Betsy and I did some work about the place, sort of cleaning and organising work, and our mutual friend John came to see us. It was wonderful sitting and talking with him, as I did not know him very well, and I enjoyed the opportunity of getting to know him better. He is a wise and good man – in fact everyone I met was both wise and good, which had me wondering about the rest of the Scottish population. After we had cleaned and organised ourselves, I took a photo of some of our work, and then Betsy took me for a drive to Findhorn Bay and through the Findhorn community.

The Findhorn community is famous for the founders’ ability to grow enormous cabbages. I mentioned this to Mrs Salt, who said it was the manure they used (she called it shit), and not (as others have said) their ability to work with spiritual energy and the local devas. I didn’t see any large cabbages, but I did see the legacy of the founders, which was eco-housing and a large community devoted to spiritual quests. The village of Findhorn itself was a quaint old fishing village and reminded me of Ullapool on the west side of Scotland.

When we got back we walked for a long time around the farms and hills, and saw a hare and a couple of deer on our travels. Somehow, and I still don’t know how she arranged it, we ended up at the back of the farm, even though we had left at the front. You might not think this is significant, but I am pretty sure we crossed the road, and I don’t know how she got rid of the road in order to arrive at the back again. If she reads this and leaves a comment, I might finally know how she did it. Perhaps, like Deb, she is amazingly clever, and can rearrange all kinds of things to suit herself. Sven helped me figure out how to leave while Betsy cooked dinner – a delicious arrangement of local organic vegetables with some beans. We agreed that I would take an early train from Forres to Glasgow, instead of staying in Edinburgh, as the bags were a real drag (pun intended) and I didn’t want to have them when I was exploring Roslin Chapel, which was my next important point of call.

I stayed up late, catching up on my emails again, and managed to lose my PDA cord somewhere, although I didn’t know it at the time. This turned out to be quite a problem, as Palms are not common in Britain (Palm PDAs that is, not the inner hand), and I was unable to buy a replacement. This meant that I had to use my Palm sparingly, so could not beam photos from my mobile phone anymore. Funny how a little piece of cord can be so important.

9th May: Lancaster to Edinburgh to Forres

I got up early and said goodbye to Edith, Mac and Lindsay. Edith suggested I didn't leave it another 27 years before I visited them again. I was sad to say goodbye and decided I would try to visit every couple of years. I took a taxi to the station to catch the early morning train to Edinburgh. I was very nervous about this journey as there were two options, neither of which I fancied. One was to take buses most of the way, which meant restricted movement and a slower journey, and the other option meant changing trains in Glasgow, which included a run (or fast walk) between Queen Street and Central Station. British Rail loves to dig up the railway lines and has been working on the Glasgow line for a year or two apparently. I suspect they are actually trying to build another wall between Scotland and England and are using the railway excuse as a cover for their subterfuge. Anyway, I studied the map for the Glasgow walk several times, but was not confident I could do it in the 30 minutes allowed for it, as I knew deep down I would get lost. I decided to use the bus instead. Well, a bus disguised as a train – you pay for a train and get a bus, which departs and arrives at the railway station, travels according to the train timetable and basically behaves like a train, but it’s a bus. That’s one part I couldn’t figure out. Trains go really fast in England (the gauge is wider there) and I couldn’t see how the bus could go at the same pace unless it went along the railway line. I wasn’t going to put up with that because of the safety risks, so I had to consider the whole thing very carefully. I decided on the bus, with the proviso that I would change to the train if the bus drove along the railway line. Well it didn’t, and I ended up stuck between a very chatty lady and a loud snorer. I will never complain about Rodney’s snoring again. The lady prattled about all kinds of things to do with her life, her family, and her aspirations, and I politely grunted now and then so as to be courteous while at the same time cleverly discouraging. When we finished the journey, she thanked me for our pleasant talk, which I though a little odd, as I had not said more than half a dozen words. However, I guess they must have been pleasant ones.

The bus ejected me at Edinburgh station, which must have been a great relief to the driver, as he had got lost and had to ask if anyone knew Edinburgh. Fortunately someone did. The station was incredibly busy and I clutched my handbag and cases territorially in case someone tried to take them from me. I sent a text to my friend Betsy to tell her I had arrived, then headed off to ‘Upper Crust’ to buy a baguette. I don’t remember seeing baguettes in England or Scotland before, so I suspect they came in the last French invasion, and not William’s one. They are very good.

Betsy rescued me from the station and drove me to Forres where she and her husband Sven live. Although I knew them both, I had not visited their home before, and was pleased to have the chance to journey through Scotland in pleasant company. We talked all the way about all kinds of things – women have a lot of things to talk about. I don’t think she’s a Gemini but she sure can talk, and so can I. It was great. I love Scotland – it looks a bit like the Mackenzie country in places, so it must be okay. We passed through old haunts from my skiing days: Newtonmore, Kingussie, Pitlochry, and various other rather Scottish sounding villages. The stone buildings are beautiful in those parts, so I took a couple of photos. I was pleased to be back in Scotland, even though I’m not a Scot, and my ancestors aren’t Scots. I’m an English-Irish blend with Huguenot on the Gillett side.

Betsy showed me around the working area when we arrived, including the beautiful house they had restored from what appeared tohave been a few crumbling stones. It's just amazing what a few good masons can do. They were living happily in their caravans and huts, and I must say, I enjoyed the minimalist life-style dictated by cramped living. Sven kindly gave me his cabin to sleep in, which had some wonderful books and musical instruments in it, along with the best internet connection I had had for a few days. I stayed up half the night catching up on my work emails. Anyway, it was still light until around 10.15 and the sunset was very clear and pinkish. I was very pleased with Scotland. The air was good.

Preparing to travel

It's hard to believe anyone will actually read this, but I'll put photos up to make it worthwhile. It's mostly for my boss so she knows where I am, honest, but I'm running a few days behind.
In case you manage to read this first, I advise starting at the beginning, particularly as the end hasn't been written yet. And in case you found this by mistake, this is the travel diary of my recent trip from Auckland New Zealand, through Thailand to London, Bristol, Lancashire, York, and up to Forres, Edinburgh, then to Glasgow for a conference, before returning home via Hong Kong. Phew. No wonder my legs hurt.