Massive Christmas Update: Scorraig

On Thursday morning I left Katharine's, took the train to the city centre (Central Station), walked about half an hour to the bus station on the other side of the city centre, and boarded a bus heading to Inverness, which is in the Highlands near Loch Ness and the North Sea, with a quick change of bus at Perth. Then Flora and I went grocery shopping for some important Christmas essentials, and we made it to the 'mainland' side of Scoraig, which Google Maps tells me might be called Carnach, seperate from Scoraig by a sea loch, Loch Rum. I think. Pronounced "Room".

Scoraig is a peninsula in the Highlands, nearish to Ullapool, and isn't an island but might as well be. It's best to access via boat. On the 'mainland' side is a free car park and a 'pier', a slope of concrete for small boats, but no permanent place for the boats to go. On the other side of the loch is Scoraig, another concrete pier and a boathouse, and a system by which the boats can be let out to sea using ropes on the pier. It is difficult to explain with words alone so I won't try. Scoraig is also accessible by foot, on a long path around some large hills/small mountains but it's so steep a road may never be put in. Very large things can be brought to Scoraig by a large raft if it's calm and clear.

About eighty people live on Scoraig (Scorraig is the local spelling, but one R is the official), though many were gone for the holidays. Flora divides them into the ones who are "creepy hippies" and the more normal. Most of the people came from England originally, and most are now in their fifties or older, though there are some children growing up there and a few people in their twenties escaping modern life. Everything is driven by wind power, which charges up the batteries used, with solar power secondary. Most people keep animals of some kind, mostly chickens, sheep, and a few people have pigs, cows, or horses. Most of the dogs are trained to be sheepdogs. Half the people are into drugs, some of the home-grown variety.

My first morning on Scorraig was the day of the winter solstice, so Flora and I joined the creepy hippies on the top of a hill to watch the sun come up. We arrived with an armful of fuel for the fire, and received brandy coffee and virgin hot chocolate at the top, shared amongst the dozen or so. The sky slowly lightened around nine, then we grew silent around 9:30 as the first rays broke over the hills. A low "ohm" began when the sun rose above the rocks. Some sort of crazy pagan ritual? Flora and I tried not to giggle. Our efforts were slighted when one of the dogs ran into our direct line of sight and squatted down, leaving its own offering for the solstice.
At that point giggling was guaranteed.

The rest of the time on Scorraig was relaxing and wonderful. What began as myself, Flora, and her parents for the first few days became eleven people in their large cabin. Eleven! During the few hours of daylight we went on walks exploring the area. About half a mile to the west was the end of the peninsula with beautiful views of sunsets, over the uninhabited islands. The mountains dividing Scorraig from civilisation were about two miles away, though I never went that far. One mile to the north brought one over the ridge and down to the other side, which was reputed to be amazing in the summer but muddy and desolate looking when we went over.

Our evenings were spent with large family dinners, games (including The Marble Game... Flora's young nephews, ten and eleven years old, asked me, "Does everyone play this in America?" Hah. Erm, no...) and talking.

Christmas dinner was the slightly untraditional roast beef, apparently most British people have turkey dinners, but it was accompanied by crackers (with crowns, jokes, and toys inside) and whisky---pretty Scottish! We followed the Bush family tradition of having our big dinner on Christmas Eve, and the opening of one present that evening, then a long morning on Christmas Day of presents after the equally-traditional breakfast of an egg and sausage sandwich (I did not partake). Because there were many crackers left over, we had more crackers with our Christmas dinner, which tasted surprisingly like Christmas Eve leftovers. The dinner, not the crackers.

I made friends with the two dogs belonging to Flora's brother, and became their primary caretaker for the almost-week I was on Scoraig. Mai (actually spelled My) was about ten, and her daughter Fati (actually Fatsy, but I felt that was too mean) almost a year old. Both were collie mixes, used as sheepdogs. Fati liked to jump up into laps and be cuddled though she didn't stay for long.

The day before Christmas I made my own contribution to the Christmas biscuits and baked a batch of coconut cookies that were more like coconut-hinted shortbread, as well as a batch of peanut butter cookies with Hershey's Kisses in the center, as Mom makes for Christmas. The Kisses baffled the other ten in the house, they'd never seen such a thing! Flora's "brother-out-law" told me, "I like the peanut butter shortbread biscuits, but what are these dodgy chocolates doing in the middle?" No one could understand how the chocolate kept the shape! I explained how the chocolates are made, and passed around the bag of unused Kisses, which did not impress our British friends. "It tastes like goat's cheese," Flora said. I suspect that British chocolate has different sweeteners than American chocolate. To me it was a bit like the taste of home.

Merry Christmas to all, and Happy Boxing Day!

Mid Exam-Week 1

I've actually been revising for my exams (and papers) next week, but have taken some good study breaks as well... sometimes an all-day study break can be acceptable, especially when it brings you to a beautiful tourist attraction.

On Tuesday, after an hour-long fight with packages at the post office---I swear I am never shipping anything from Britain ever again! Royal Mail is a horrible service---Sarah and I caught a bus out of Edinburgh. Other than a field trip for Archaeology, and a single afternoon excursion to the airport, I hadn't actually left Edinburgh since we arrived in the beginning of September.

The 30- or 40-minute ride brought us to the little town of Roslin Village, home of... Rosslyn Chapel. Actually it was confusing, sometimes it was spelled Roslin, sometimes Rosslyn. I prefer the latter spelling, is that where the name for the Arlington area comes from? Never put that together.

The chapel was constructed like a small cathedral, in the 15th century---patterned after cathedrals from the 12th apparently, although my knowledge of architecture is not that great. Most of the outside of the chapel was covered in scaffolding, so my pictures of this were not very good. Inside, however, the carvings were incredibly intricate. Everything was carved in detail, except perhaps the pews and the altar, but the walls, the columns, the ceiling, the supports, everything else was carved, and each section had its own theme.

So the ceiling was divided into five sections: daisies, lillies, roses, "simple flowers", and stars. One support had the Seven Deadly Sins on one side and the Seven Heavenly Virtues on the other, only Greed and Charity were swapped. Another support read, in Latin, "Wine is strong, the King is stronger, women are strongest, but truth conquers all." from the Solomon? story. There were many images pertaining to the Knights Templar, the St Clair family who owned/commissioned the chapel, the pagan image of the Green Man, patterns probably in code (or so they say), angels, devils, it was incredible. The crypt below was sufficiently creepy, although it looked like no one was buried there... I think it was used as a sacristy.

The trip out and back took all afternoon/evening, partly because the buses only run once an hour. There was nothing to do in Roslin Village at 5 PM, either, except wait at the busstop in the dark. Most of it was residential, there was a corner store or two scattered on the main street, and the two town pubs/restaurants were unsurprisingly located directly next to the Rosslyn Chapel. Walking through the town I felt like I was in a 70's British sitcom.

It's hard to tell with things like that... were there actually codes? With all the other symbols thrown in, it would be difficult to believe that something would be included without reason, but who can tell. Codes or no, it doesn't matter. It was really beautiful.

Actually it was a pretty warm day on Tuesday, about 12 C or so (50? 55? F). But as soon as we stepped into the chapel, we froze. We could see our breath! Amazing what thick stone walls can do.

Pictures will follow shortly.