Of Faeries, Hairy Coos and the Isle of Skye...

I had thought it couldn't get any prettier than Stirling. As beautiful as it may be, there is absolutely nothing that compares to the magnificence that is the Road to the Isles and the Isle of Skye. There is nothing on earth, man-made or otherwise than can even compare with the natural majesty that those lands posess. Photographs nor words can do them proper justice. One must be in the presence of such earthreal things to really understand what I mean. I plan on getting my parents to those lands. Missing out will not do. If one misses seeing the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, one has simply not lived. Not even in the slightest.

We visited Dunkeld (City of the Celts in Gaelic), Ruthven Fort, Inverness, Loch Ness, Eilean Donnan Castle, Kyleachen, Portree, MacDonald Castle, Faerie Glen, Ben Nevis, Glen Coe, Fort William, and others...what a trip! I don't think I've ever been as blown away by scenery as I was on that three day weekend. It was like opening a fantasy novel like Lord of the Rings and strolling into it. Sorry New Zealand, but that could've been filmed in the Highlands of Scotland and it would've been more magnificent. Trust me. And hiking the moors of Scotland? One of the most moving experiences of my life.

On a sadder note, I managed to get food poisoning whilst on Isle of Skye. From Haggis. Go figure. It was uber tasty, but my digestive system decided otherwise. A lovely night spent in the bathroom. But from that, I found out one thing about myself, I'm a pretty tough cookie. The next morning, the morning I was to hike through some wilderness on Isle of Skye, I was almost unable to get out of bed the pain was so bad. But I looked at myself in the mirror and told myself to take some pain meds, suck it up and get my ass on the bus. Our first stop on the Isle was a river said to be the tears of the giantess female warrior Skea (not sure how to spell it...Gaelic after all...) who's crying for her lost lover Culachen. (A giant from Ireland - our driver told us the tale and its morale was never to trust an Irishman haha). It is said that should one put their faces into the water, they gain eternal youth and beauty. By this point, I was cold, in pain, hadn't eaten and tired as all hell, but I dragged my sorry arse down to the river and stuck my sodding face in. Like magic, my energy was restored by the cold, fresh waters. Was there magic in that land of Skye? I can't say for sure, but I'm thinking there was something to it other than myth.

By the time we hit the capital of Skye, Portree, I was sick as a dog again, but my lovely flatmate Cara managed to get me some meds at the Chemist in town. The meds knocked me out for twenty or so minutes, and when I awoke we were just about at the next stop, a brisk three mile hike into the wilderness made of breathtaking views and a gorgeous moor. By then my screaming stomach had stopped hurting, and despite having eaten nothing all day for fear of another anarchy spell by my guts, I hopped off the bus, and off I went. The rest of the day was much better, I think the hike and movement coupled with the drugs did wonders. No more illness after that.

Thank god I hadn't stayed in bed that day - I would've missed out on a gorgeous day and probably would've kicked myself after seeing photos of it. Faerie Glen, for example, was the weirdest but prettiest landscape I'd ever seen. It was as if someone had shrunken Scotland and ploped it in the middle of nowhere. I walked the Negativity Circle, giving the rest of my food poisoning and my troubles over to the faeries, and then left them an offering to ensure good luck. That night I lost my room key, and it mysteriously appeared in my handbag the next morning. Magic, again? Perhpas. ;-)

I also fed a Hairy Coo (Hairy Cow). So cute. They're the big, orange, hairy, stoner looking cows that are native to Scotland. His name was Hamish, and his girlfriend was Heather. So cute. Hence the Hairy Coos in this blog post title.

The last amazing day was topped by the magnificent Glen Coe. The sight of a terrible massacre of the MacDonald clan by the Campbell Clan of England. They were sent to make an example of the clan under orders of the leaders of England who had set a charter that stated all clans had to swear fealty to the King of England in the space of a year or be put to sword and flame. All the clans of Scotland signed said charter, save for one. The MacDonald clan of Glen Coe refused until the last minute when the chief was swayed by his people. Angry that they weren't being taken seriously by the Scottish, England ordered the Campbells to march North and make an example of the MacDonalds. Once the Campbells reached Glen Coe, the MacDonalds, seeing the tired clansmen, offered them hospitality, which, under tradition, included two weeks of water, food and shelter as well as friendship for free. The Campbells accepted, and for two weeks mingled with their victims. On the dawn of the fourteenth day, the Campbells turned on their hosts and slaughtered them in their beds. Some escaped into the mountains only to perish there in the cold. Few survived. Henceforth the name Campbell is equal to the word TRAITOR.

I had found in a little village, right before Glen Coe, I had walked into a little wool mill and tourist shop, only to find they had Clan Tartan scarves. I searched once in vain for the Wilson's tartan (my family) until by chance I came upon it hanging in the bottom row, without a tag on it. The one behind it had a tag with the family history, so I bought it, along with a silver claymore and scottish shield pin to go with. I donned them both proudly in Glen Coe to honor those who died.

I discovered the Wilsons are famed for their tartan weaving - and the original colors for the Wilson Clan were picked by William Wilson for his wife, Janet. Creepy considering my middle name is Janet! I also found out they fought at the battle of Bannockburn, and also there were likely a few Wilsons at Culloden. Since the field of Bannockburn is so close to Stirling, I will have to make another journey there, this time more of a pilgramage, wearing my scarf, to honor my family. I had never thought my past was connected to such famous historical moments, but, I guess your past can always surprise you when you least expect it!

I look forward to returning to some of these places when my parents arrive in May. I only hope they'll be as awestruck and blown away as I was. My mum will die to see the moors, and my father will probably enjoy seeing the family history as well as hiking a bit. I CANNOT wait to show them. In the meantime, I'll be planning more trips to places around the UK, and perhaps even to Prague.

This is going to be an amazing semester!