Seraphiel´s blog: srpna 2014

9th August

The journey lasted for about 13 hours after we parted with Prague at 6 o´clock in the morning and it wasn´t as bad as I thought it would be, apart from few hours towards the end, when everyone was starting to be restless. We drove through Germany, Belgium and then rested in Dunquerke, France. There is quite plenty of us here too, about two overloaded buses of 50 in each. Our young tour guide Lenka, whom I haven´t trusted much at first in regards to her guiding abilities, (because she didn´t know Highlander and kept playing us Margaret Thatcher instead), told us that we´ll have to be getting up as early as 6 am due to the loading onto the ferry. That´s quite harsh, methink! Dad is just stuffing himself with a tinned pork and I´m quite exhausted by the long sitting on the bus. I wish we were in Cambridge already! I´m having cheese cereal crispies for dinner, not making myself feel any better. Now it´s half past nine, Dad is sipping his tinned, warm beer that he carried all the way from Prague. Sometimes I wonder is this a purely Czech habit or do all people around the world do that? Or even worse, is it just my Father?! It´s still light outside, so we decided to take a stroll around the place. The hotel´s name is Premiere class, a cheap budget accommodation, that faithfully fits its description. The bathroom is one small cubicle made of plastic where you actually have hard time turning around, not mentioning you shower together with your toilet and soak your toilet paper wet while doing so. I´m seriously curious about the state of the next place. At least there is a telly in the room and I can listen to Michael Jackson´s songs, because the rest of programmes is in French and as equally as boring, I have to add.

We took a stroll along the wide, quiet avenue of Dunquerke that was as sleepy as a hollow. The only people we met were the ones from our group, including one blind rabbit that popped out of the bush at the roundabout. I patted him for while. Poor little thing didn´t have a choice but to stick around and chew on flowers that grew in his perimeter. I´m not quite sure how to call this peculiar little place, it´s only a net of many little streets adjoining the main avenue, and there are plenty of little houses with cozy gardens attached to it. We were told that there used to be soldiers back in War times, and that they were being shipped to safety at the amount of 5000 each day, and laboriously transported, eventhough many of them didn´t survive. We are going to bed early, the getting up will be my death!

Dunquerke, France

10th August

So we departed at 6 a.m. as promised, while it was still dark, cold and drizzly. We made our way to Calais where we stood in line and then boarded on the Calais 7, a huge white ferryboat, from which we had a fantastic view of La Manche. I had my first scone after 4 long years, and I really enjoyed it! We disembarked after about an hour and then departed towards the famous Cambridge.

It is quite undeniably large and spacious city lined with brick houses and many universities. The rain kept drizzling on and off, while we kept opening and closing down our umbrellas, giving an impression of slight indecisiveness that someone might interpret as a mental breakdown.
The small river Cam runs right through the town that was currently overflowing with Japanese tourists who literally hijacked the city and jumped in huge heaps onto the rather wobbly punts. These reminded me of cheaper Venetian gondolas, each one of them being named after some female. The first stop was to be a Pembroke college at the very end of Silver street, which offered us a view of the student´s dormitories set in luxurious gardens and also the college canteen with several students trying to enjoy their lunch. Everybody took picture of them while they either pretended not to notice or were way too absorbed in discussing what a bunch of creeps we are. (of course for taking their pictures while they ate, otherwise they wouldn´t have reason. I hope). It is the third oldest college of the university, it´s chapel has been designed by Christopher Wren and the college´s recent master is Sir Richard Dearlove, who was previously the head of UK´s Secret Intelligence service. People who studied here were Ray Dolby (the inventor of Dolby stereo, I assume), William Fawler (Nobel prize Winner) Eric Idle (actor from Monthy Python), Richard Murdoch (comedian) and many many others (don´t ask me who). Then we took a left turn into King´s parade, which was a busy street lined with cozy wee shops and coffee bars, in front of which was always parked some bycicle. The whole Cambridge that emanated the student life from the streets and sidewalks and its fences that surrounded each neatly trimmed garden, looked like a small bycicle parade, due to the prohibition of using the cars, which I thought, was very eloquent. As we continued down the street, we encountered a huge university mash of all possible colleges like King´s or Trinity. We entered King´s college, which was founded in 1441 by King Henry VI . His plans were disrupted by War of Roses and little progress was made not until the reign of Henry VII. This college is a great sample of late Gothic English architecture and the building is seen as emblematic to Cambridge. Inside the hall we saw the famous Adoration of the Magi by Paul Rubens. The famous students have once been George Santayana (sounds like Santana, I know, but this one is a philosopher), Salman Rushdie, Zadie Smith or Walter Raleigh (the Queen´s darling). There we walked through the whole of cathedral that seemed enormous with really wonderfully carved wooden seats for the choir that chooses to sing here every now and then. We entered the grounds of the University, walking along green gardens and a very neat path that led around the river Cam. To my pleasure, we passed by a road sign saying DANGER, MEN AT WORK, which I found quite funny. Was it meant to say that it´s dangerous when men do work? Most probably. If they were actually anywhere to be seen in the first place.... Across the river and on the opposite banks lay a couple of white cows that looked as if sunbathing in the British sun, eventhough it was actually raining. Then we strolled slowly back into the King´s Parade and out of the city to Silver street, where we hungrily stormed into a coffee bar that served some hot paninis and rejuvenating Latte. We couldn´t find a decently priced pub around here, which seemed rather odd in a place where students try to make their ends meet. A bowl of soup for 6 pounds seemed way too dissolute even for hardened traveller like myself. After Cambridge, we set off towards Peterborough.
This smallish cathedral town with 140 000 residents falls under Cambridgeshire and the river that runs through is called beautifully. Nene. The Peterborough cathedral, that used to be an Anglo-Saxon monastery Medeshamstede, as called prior to now, stands just around the corner from the main square. The architecture is mainly Norman and it´s one of the most important 12th century buildings in England to remain intact. It is known for it´s imposing early Gothic west front facade with three enormous arches. Henry VIII´s former wife, Catherine of Aragon, was buried here in 1536 and her grave is still being decorated with flowers and pomegranates. In 1587, the body of Mary, Queen of Scots, was initially buried here, but it was then removed by her son James I to Westminster Abbey. It actually took us about an hour to enter this wonderful cathedral, as there was a mass going on inside, with all the religious figures in bright red robes whom I could call priests, monks or monkies, as far as I´m concerned. It would make no diference to me. It looked that they were too busy to entertain the utterly empty cathedral, while leaving us wait outside. If God is for people, then I don´t understand these ceremonies that are held for no one. Who are they for if not for us to see? Why do they hide in secrecy and pretend to serve God through some prayers, if they aren´t inviting anyone else in. While the mass was on, I probed my way aside the cathedral and took pictures of very medieval looking, moss-grown graves and tombstones that appeared to be more inviting then the whole of Peterborough. After the inspection of this sacred and historically important site, we went to the nearest shopping market the size of the airport and got lost in the cobweb of floors in order to find a bathroom, which was finally to be found at the ground floor. We were adviced to enter the lift and press button 1 going down, a button 5 going up. My Father misunderstood my navigations and pressed 1 and 5 simultaneously, which ended in me having a slight attack of furor. „Dad!….(I tried after third time without any results)…you´ve got to press only number 1, when going down. Why did you press 1 and 5, when we aren´t down yet?“ Still, he didn´t have a clue as to what I was saying. Anyway, we did eventually make it back to the surface and we took another short walk across the square, where is Peterborough's Guildhall that was built in 1671 by John Lovin. It stands on columns, providing an open ground floor for the butter and poultry markets which used to be held here. It is an amiable building indeed. After two hours spent in this little picturesque town, we trudged off towards our bus, getting lost on the way there (but finding our way after memorising the passage due to an old crone whom we noticed on a way here). She looked as someone from a distant past, almost medieval looking, with the thin air of magic about her, with her tangled gray hair and beautiful garments. I bet she knew how to read from the palm. And what a surprise, it started to rain again! We were extremely lucky to be on a bus while it rained. Passing by, we drove around a Sherwood forest, where the prodigious Robin Hood once roamed his territory . Now we made an entry into a very ugly industrial Sheffield, of which we fortunately saw almost nothing.
The hotel is much better then the previous one, with some additional space in the bathroom (you don´t actually have to climb the wall to be able to have shower). Dad opened up a bottle of wine (for himself) and I don´t blame him, he seems to be rather in need of one. Later on we walked only few roadblocks away, into Arena restaurant, which was probably the only decent place available around these ends. I think that Sheffield was also a movie location for Full Monty starring Robert Carlisle, if my memory doesn´t fail me. It was about six unemployed men, the former steel workers, who make their living by dancing striptease. Lucky guys if living in Sheffield. I think I´d rather live in a Sherwood forest and hunt for squirrels. I had a salmon steak with béarnaise sauce and garlic potatoes, Dad had his first plunge at real British kidney steak (even though it took him ten minutes to figure out the way to eat it). Hot meal after two days, not bad! Now after taking a shower, I´ll be watching British telly, then off to bed and get up at 7.30 am. Edinburgh is waiting! It´s supposed to be overcrowded a little. The Fringe festival is on!

Cambridge

11^th August

So today we departed fairly well rested at 7.30 and our first stop on the way to Scotland was Hadrian´s wall, so called Vallum Aellium, seated neatly in the village Heddon-on-Wall (probably too many have tried to break the wall head on). It used to serve as a defensive fortification in Roman Britain during the reign of the emperor Hadrian. The gates through the wall also served as custom posts, and it used to be 117 km long and some of the remnants survive to a height of 3 m. It was Hadrian´s wish to keep intact the Empire, which had been imposed upon him via “divine instruction”. (I would give him some divine instruction!) Me and Dad made new friends today, Katka and her Mum. They are both great fun and we took some photos together while standing and balancing at the top of the Hadrian´s wall like real warriors. I liked the feeling of this plain stone wall that hundreds of years ago parted England from Scotland and played it´s vital part in history. God knows how many people have passed through the gates from one side to another, or how many were deterred. I loved frolicking on the stones that carried the memories of someone else, the deep imprints of lives long lost, and I imagined I am a Scottish scoundrel that came to break through these obsolete boundaries. I asked my Dad to find some piece of wall to carry home. He dug out a chunk of stone from the earth. Now, this is a souvenir to take home! (I hope the heritage society won´t be chasing me for dismantling someone´s back garden). However, Lenka told us about local folks who took the wall apart already, only to build their own houses. You could see they were, without as much as a wink, because most of the wall was missing and there were tons of houses made of very identical material. Buggers! After little exercise we took off to yet another splendid town of Jedburgh, but on a way there we made a stop by the road in a middle of nowhere, as it seemed. There was a lonely spot with a terrifyingly huge stone with SCOTLAND engraved onto it, and a fat bagpiper that started playing once he saw us approaching. The Scottish flag was high up on the pole, wildly flickering in a wind. I took this moment in. We finally made it to the land of Scots! (I noticed the minute we passed the borders, the scenery changed almost immediately. Where there was nothing before while in England, there were mountains and green fields while in Scotland). The transformation was just amazing. Then there was Jedburgh with its ruined and half shattered abbey at the top of the hill in a hilly town.
This charming little place offered some stunning views of the abbey straight from the parking lot, then taking you up the hill across the small river and towards the abbey. It all seemed very clean and quiet, a sort of town, one would probably sooner or later fall asleep in, but extremely inviting at the same time. People seemed to walk slowly, the cars were driving carefully, and there were no obnoxious tourists anywhere (well, apart from those I came with). As we continued walking up the town, we discovered a lonely Bridewell prison with a red London telephone booth right in front of it (hold on, I thought we were in Scotland!) As we parted with the rest of the group, we walked towards the Mary Queen of Scots visitor centre, where she once has stayed. The young Mary arrived in Jedburgh in 1566 to hold a Circuit Court, and a 16th Century bastel house was put at her disposal. Hearing that Lord Bothwell (her lover) lay wounded at Hermitage Castle, Mary set out on an arduous return journey of 40 miles to visit him. She arrived back from a moorland ride, ill and close to death and is later said to have remarked "Would that I had died in Jedburgh", as her troubles crowded upon her. A visitor centre (in which we didn´t go to) portrays the poignant story of the Queen's tragic life with thought provoking interpretation and includes her death mask, said to have been taken from her decapitated body at Fotheringay Castle. Of course I took another stone right from the foothpath of the house, imagining, how Mary Queen of Scots walked around and touched the ground with the hem of her brilliant, brocaded dress.

Scottish "borders"

And then the journey went on, in direction of Edinburgh.
The Fringe was in a full swing. At first we were shown around the Holyroodhouse, the current Scottish residency of HM Queen Elizabeth II. To be quite honest, I had no interest in admiring building that served to British Queen, nor did I want to shop in a store with Queen´s portraits on the plates and coffee mugs. I came to this part of the world to admire what was Scottish, and that´s the way it should stay! At one point I got really flustered by her intrusive presence – she was ruining this place for me. I thought to myself - I underwent this long, terrifying journey to Scotland only to find a British Queen on every pot. How tasteless! But then again, the only place she probably owned here was this building. She wasn´t at home at Edinburgh castle and I guess if Queen Mary was alive, she would welcome her with huge canon ball salvations – right in the face. (I know I know, it wasn´t poor Lizie´s fault, but her predecessor´s, so maybe I shouldn´t be this harsh and buy her mug....and then break it most admiringly over her head).
When walking up the Royal Mile, which was a stunning medieval looking old lane overcrowded with never ending lines of passing by people, comedians, artists and jugglers, I felt as if I have visited Edinburgh some 400 years ago. The old cobbled streets and stone houses emanated still omnipresent medieval feeling and one could easily mistake the historical period, if he wasn´t perpetually disturbed by hundreds of green and purple buses climbing up the hill like some angry cockroaches. It was very difficult to walk in this stream of people that galloped side by side in unison, where even a slightest slowing down to a halt would be impossible to perform, as one would be stomped into the ground. The centre of the Royal Mile was swarming black and blue with street comedians and song players, people in Star Wars Yoda and Predator´s quirky costumes. That all romantically accompanied by a loud bagpipe solos from across the street. We were lucky enough to have some rest inside St. Giles Cathedral and freshen up our minds.
This church has been one of the city´s religious focal points for 900 years. It dates from the 14^th century and it´s dedicated to St. Giles, the patron saint of Edinburgh. (he´s also the patron of cripples and lepers - no wonder I felt at home here). At the far back, there is a Thistle chapel, which belongs to the most noble order of Thistle, the Scottish foremost order of chivalry. The Order, which was founded by King James VII in 1687, consists of the Scottish monarch and 16 knights. The knights are the personal appointment of the monarch, and are normally Scots who have made a significant contribution to national or international affairs. It was built in 1911 by Robert Lorimer. It is small but exquisite, with carved and painted fittings, one picture depicts an angel playing bagpipes. In one of my dreams, I was in a very similar room – only instead of the angels I saw faces of devils. Wonderful, isn´t it. I noticed a bulldog/frog-like wooden mini statues on the arms of the chairs, they looked rather daunting. I turned the heel and run out as fast as I could before I was dragged into a hell. Lenka told us later, that Prince Charles became the Thistle club member. That explains my devilish dreams. When we managed to walk up to the castle, there was this huge blue arena all around us as if we just became the extras in some Game of Thrones movie. I suppose the arena would serve for observing the bagpipe parades and other festival activities. Now it was desolately empty only waiting to be filled up to the bream. We saw police guards on every corner as well as sniffing dogs that instead of tracing a ticking bomb kept sniffing the ground for some leftover sausage. We rushed our way up to the top of the castle fortress and when standing by the huge cannons, I suddenly noticed how beautiful and breath taking Edinburgh is from the bird´s view. The wind was quite ferocious here, tossing our hair in all but the right directions, making us tuck ourselves deeper into our jackets. When it started to rain, we quickly passed through the two courtyards to appear on the highest top of the hill, in the Crown square, where all those majestic buildings have stood for many centuries. There was a Great hall, Palace block, War Memorial, Royal Scots regimental museum, St. Margaret´s chapel and Argyle battery. The castle of Edinburgh was mesmerising. We saw the royal coronation jewels worn by all Scottish nobility and also entered (to me one of the most memorable rooms), where Mary Queen of Scots used to live and where she gave birth to her son James I. I slowly walked through the wooden, rather squeaky corridors and darkish chambers with painted ceilings dating from 1566 and in an instant felt the haunting presence of Mary´s spirit. I could imagine her sitting by that little window. All the places she has once lived in were somehow overpowered by the incredible feeling of defiance, fear and sadness. I will never forget the way Lenka described Mary´s beheading in terms of her head being chopped three times only to fall off and roll like a dice, her teeth and mouth still quivering. What a horror it must have been, it´s far beyond my imagination.

After the enriching and emotionally fulfilling tour of the castle, we descended to the town to have a quick Wallace burger (no added sugar, only haggis), standing by the stalls like real vagabonds, mustard and all dripping down our gobs! I wished I was invisible but my hunger was way too adamant. I didn´t even have time to buy myself anything of real value apart from the key ring with Royal Mile insignia. Unfortunately, we didn´t have time to visit a pub where J.K. Rowling wrote her famous Harry Potter and a little memorial to a Greyfriars Bobby, which was a skye terrier that lived in 19 century and spent 14 years guarding a grave of his owner, John Gray. When Bobby died, he was buried next to him. But we saw something else instead– Deacon Brodies tavern. William Brodie was a Scottish 17^th century city councillor who maintained a secret life of a very cunning burglar and thief. He stole from the rich to lead the double life and feed his gambling habits. He even recruited a gang of three thieves to rob a bank. When he was accused of crime, he run to London, Netherlands and planned to escape to America. But failing this, he was sent back for trial. Brodie and his accomplice were hanged at the Tolbooth Prison in the High Street on 1 October 1788, before a crowd of 40,000. According to one tale, Brodie wore a steel collar and silver tube to prevent the hanging from being fatal. It was said that he had bribed the hangman to ignore it and arranged for his body to be removed quickly in the hope that he could later be revived. If so, the plan failed. Brodie was buried in an unmarked grave at the Buccleuch Church in Chapel Street. The ground is now covered by a car park behind university lecture-halls. However, rumours of his being seen in Paris circulated later and gave the story of his scheme to evade death further publicity. R. L. Stevenson, who got inspired by Brodie´s double life, has written The Strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, which I like very much.

We rushed back to our bus, where we waited another 20 minutes for daughter and a Mother (who were constantly late or lost). Then we arrived to Glasgow and got ourselves accommodated in yet another Ibis hotel. Our floors are just above the reception that is (goodness knows what smartass invented this!) situated on the 6^th floor. There are only two lifts that take approximately 5 people at a time. That wouldn´t have to be much of a problem if it wasn´t for the lift that never takes you to the right floor. Consider this : group of 4 tired people – trying to get onto the floor 7. Pressing number 7 and appearing on the floor 8. Pressing number 7 only to reappear in the floor 6. (the people on the floor 6 who still wait for their lift starting to get little suspicious and nervous). The unfortunate lift travellers pressing 7 one more time – only to appear on floor 8 once again. At that stage we gave up trying, took all our luggage out and dragged it one floor below! We are meant to get up at 6 am, having breakfast served in the hotel dining room. We should probably get up two hours earlier if we want to take a lift! I´m totally wrecked and I don´t understand how my Dad is surviving it. I´m going to take a shower and go to bed. Otherwise, Glasgow is nothing much spectacular, but I suppose we´re only at the very outskirts of the city. It feels like this multi-storey-building city of mixed architectonic styles that create one huge jungle. It is rather chaotic and cold. Dad went for a walk to drop few postcards (he said), and returned two hours later (when I was about to call the cops and report him missing). He claimed he was caught by the vile females from our group - who begged him to protect them in this huge, monstrous city created by crazy Mackintosh. He admitted to forgetting to write an address on his postcard after he threw it into the letter box. Well, that is really useful...They say that Glasgow is the only city in Scotland that owns a metro. They call it Clockwork orange. I never really understood the movie by Stanley Kubrick, where Malcolm McDowell acts like a serious nutcase. I heard their metro has only one line that goes in a circle. The shocking news is that it has been working since 1896, and it´s the third oldest metro after London and Budapest.

Royal Mile

Edinburgh city

Edinburgh castle

Mary, Queen of Scots

12^th August

In the morning we had our first hotel breakfast. It was aquite fine. We had plentiful of choice from croissants, sweet buns, toasts, butter, jam, ham, muffins, fresh juice and coffee. The only discomfort was the small seating plan and chairs rubbing the back off each other, while you were eating. When you wanted to get to the counter, you literally had to jump over someone´s head. Two women from our group overslept so we were forced to wait another 20 minutes. (I´m thinking murder). Then we set off towards Culloden Moor, where happened the final confrontation of Jacobite Rising on 16^th April 1745. It was led by Bonnie Prince Charlie also called „Young Pretender“, who was Mary Stuart´s great grandson. The battle was against loyalist troops commanded by William Augustus, the Duke of Cumberland. Charlie´s army consisted of Scottish Highlanders as well as some lowland Scots. They say the battle was very quick and bloody, taking place within an hour. Following an unsuccessful Highland charge against the government lines, the Jacobites were routed and driven from the field. Around 2,000 Jacobites were killed or wounded in the brief battle.The legend says Princ Charlie run away to France in front of the British in a drag. Not very manly, Charlie!

As it started to rain, we slowly squelched throught the giant meadow until we reached the front line of the red coloured British flags, where the army has once stood. In the opposite direction, in diagonal line and closer to the forest, there I saw the blue Scottish flags that showed where the Highlander´s line based itself. When continuing across the field into the Scottish line, I couldn´t not notice the small stone tombs dedicated to some of the hundreds of the Clans of Highlanders who died here. I stood at the spot where one of them must have fallen to the ground,. I tried to imagine his feelings before his last breath. He was the closest to the British line, almost twenty metres away. It felt sad and depressive here, knowing, that you walked on the graveyard of so many humans, who thought they´re going to win and live, but never returned that day. I grabbed a small stone from the line between the British and Scottish, and then we continued again towards Inverness, on a long way that lasted 3 hours, watching Braveheart.

Culloden Moor

When in Inverness, we visited a small tartan factory, where they produced kilts for all the Scottish clans that wanted to look traditional. There was a huge souvenir shop in the cellars, so we bought loads of shortbread Walkers biscuits in nice steel jars. I got a woolen sheep that I started calling Nessie, as in Inverness Nessie. We also went up to the canteen where we had a delicious, hot lentil and bacon soup. The young guy that served us was so slow that I would have had enough time to take a swim in Lochness and all way back before he was finished. Dad went on to taste some local whiskey, but found out with great disappointment, that they dillute it here for tourists. The next stop was in a small village called Drumnadrochit, where is a famous Lochness museum with a small yellow sumbmarine in the yard (was used at amateurish attemps of Lochness research) and a giant plastic Nessie in the pond next to the house.
Then we followed the road around the Urquhart castle at the very shore of the lake, which was built in 13th century on the site of much earlier fortification. It played a big role in a War of Scottish Independence. It was subsequently held as a Royal castle and raided several times by MacDonalds. Some sources claim that William the Lion had the castle in 12th century. For all I know, there is a famous photograph of Nessie with the castle in the shadows. We then continued to Fort Augustus, a small settlement in the parish of Boleskine and Abertarff. The recent population counts only 646 people and the town is heavily reliant on tourism. The Caledonian Canal connecting Fort William to Inverness passes through Fort Augustus in a dramatic series of locks stepping down to Loch Ness, which are called „Neptune stairs“. At around 3pm we embarked onto the Royal Scot cruiser that used to host Billy Connolly, Ewan McGregor and Robin Williams, who went on tour of Loch Ness the same as we did. We slowly crossed the sheer and quiet lake, that was surrounded by hilly outcrops covered in a strange melancholic mist that was rushing out of the forest. I was looking for Nessie, but couldn´t see her anywhere near. At the closer inspection I noticed her reflection in a window. Gosh, is she ugly or what! The sail took only 40 minutes but I really enjoyed it like a child, who´s never seen a water surface....My Dad was sitting in the lower deck while drinking yet another can of beer, surrounded by Japanese tourists, so I had no choice but to drag him out to the top and make him take a look at the grandeour of the scenery, before it disappeared for ever. After the merry boat trip, we ventured into the Canalside chippers, where they (Lenka told us) had the best fish and chips around here. So we queued for one portion in a good faith she is to be trusted. I cannot say it was the best fish and chips I´ve ever had, but I suppose the guy did his best – panicking slightly at the sight of thirty people requiring fish and chips all at the same time. Our chips were undercooked and fish looked little bit flimsy. (maybe it was tired from being chased by Nessie). After ten minutes the poor owner had to put out a door sign „CLOSED“ due to unexpected touristic invasion. He must have wondered why do all the crazy Europeans ask only for bloody fish…..After observing the little rural town of Fort Augustus, we set off to the mountains and made a stop in hauntingly beautiful, God forbidden paradise, in the heart of the mountains with a little blurred view of Ben Nevis and his companions. The place was a Commando memorial and you could tell by the statue of three soldiers standing next to each other, staring towards the mountains. Behind the statue, there was a circular ground of scattered ashes of all fallen soldiers who recently fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. After the mesmerising views of the valley hidden behind the screen of fog, we set off deep into the mountains of Glen Coe. I felt like a Highlander at once! We made a hasty stop at one of the side road lots, from where we could take only several blurred snapshots as it started to rain quite profusely. I was so near yet so far from the Highlander movie location. We must have been very close, I could sense it! At home I´ve done some google map cross checking with movie locations list and discovered that one of the mountains that we stopped in front of, was the Buachaille Etive Beag, a mountain, where the movie battle took a place. We then passed by several more lakes like Loch Oich and Loch Lomond, where the scenery was absolutely breathtaking and the weather quite uninviting. (surprise, surprise) I was just happy to be here, surrounded by this collosal and divine beauty. One felt here like a little droplet in the middle of the ocean. Me and Katka were exchanging excited oooohs and aaaahs while looking around, and silently nodding in a agreement. We both knew this is the ultimate Scotland. The source of everything strong, powerful and eternal, that only people of Highlands can understand to. My Dad was more blown away by road workers digging along the ditches then by some mountains. I guess they charm everyone except few chosen who lack the imagination. The road signs were actually hillariously funny- some worker put about ten different signs - works access, works exit, ramp, slow uneven surface, warning road staff on the road, kill your speed not our workers – in the space of 4 square metres. The way back through the mountains took a long time and we reached Glasgow by the dusk. We are all exhausted but I´m powered up by the thought of having been in Trossachs, seeing Loch Ness, bying raspberry marmelade and a furry sheep. I´m in Heaven!

the real Nessie as cought by Tereza Vinopalova!

Commando Memorial

Glen Coe

13th August

Straight after the breakfast – the tour could continue. This time the sun was brightly blinding us through the clear blue sky as we travelled towards Pitlochry where was to be an exhibition of whiskey distilery in Atholl (which I gladly leaved to my Father) while making photos with local retired soldiers in red uniforms and black admiral hats. They looked like the members of private army of Duke of Athol. After this stop, we ventured into a small jewelery factory that made jewels from heather, cutting it, soaking it, drying it, colouring it - and finally honing it to create amazing stone like gems. Dad bought me a copper celtic ring. Thank you Daddy :)
Then we departed to see the majestic Blair castle as white and as dreamy as a castle from a fairytale, standing in the village of Blair Atholl in Pertshire. It is the ancestral home of Clan Murray, namely Ian Murray and the latest Duke Bruce, who lives these days down in Africa. (he was probably fed up with Scottish weather). During the Wars of Three Kingdoms of the 17th century, the Murrays supported the Royalist cause, which led to Blair Castle being taken by Oliver Cromwell´s army following his invasion of 1650. Blair Castle was also occupied twice by Prince Bonnie Charlie and his Jacobite army. In 1844 Queen Victoria and Prince Albert visited and stayed here. The castle now provides the garrison for the Atholl Highlanders , the private army of the Duke of Atholl, noted as the only legal private army in Europe. We had a guided tour through a castle and could watch the rich collections of photographs and other valuables, also enjoying the walk on the front yard where we chased a peacock and then run across the grassy field to catch a glimpse of a young bagpipe player who just returned from a lunch break and whom we forced to pose for our camera.

In between the Blair and Scone, we stopped for a short break in a small village of Dunkeld, where was nothing much notable apart from a church, in which the bell ringers played their chimes, and where me and Katka invaded a small fishmongers to buy a cone of proper ice cream. Yes, we were wondering the same – an ice cream in fishmongers? Truly unbelieavable, nonetheless possible. As an extra treat – we were served by fiercely handsome fishmonger who gave us a nice (no nonsence-Scottish) smile.

After here we went to Scone palace, which was built in 1808 on the original 16th century palace for the Earls of Mansfield. Built of red sandstone with a castellated roof, it is a classic example of the late Georgian gothic style. On view in the state rooms of the Palace were fine collections of furniture, ceramics, ivories, and clocks. The daughter of the Earl of Mansfield was said to be the most beautiful woman of that time and now the movie Belle has been made about her (starring also Emily Watson). Her portraits hung on the walls throughout the place. And yes, she was a beauty!

The interiors were simply superb, especially the dining room with its heavy long table decorated with original plates and glasses that were prepared for the ocassion of Queen Victoria´s arrival. (the preparations went on for 2 years). She eventually did come along but was late and didn´t feel like having dinner, so she went to her red room and stayed the night. I bet Earl of Mansfield must have been unarguably pissed off! In the corridors, there were also several steel shovels with which Queen Elizabeth II and Princ Charles planted the trees in nearby gardens. We were also shown the copy of coronation jewels.

The gardens of Scone feature Moot Hill. The mound was said to have been created by pilgrims each carrying a bootful of soil to the site in a gesture of fealty to the king. A replica of the Stone of Scone sits on it today. That´s where the coronations occurred. It was called Caislean Credi, 'Hill of Credulity'. King Alexander I and II, were both crowned here. When Edward I of England carried off the Stone to Westminster Abbey in 1296, the Coronation Chair that still stands in the abbey was specially made to fit over it. Robert the Bruce was crowned here in 1306 and the last coronation was of Charles II, in 1651. Another famous King who was enthroned here was Macbeth, in 1040. The poor Stone is now in Edinburgh Castle, resting along with the rest of Scottish regalia.
I found this place rather small and unnoticeable, until I reached the square of stone pavement in which I could see the engravings. Nobody knew what this is. It appeared to be just a chunk of stone lying on the ground, even though there was a tiny chapel right behind the Moot hill, that looked more like an oratory, but had an altar with kneeling statue of a King. Next to the Moot hill was dazzlingly entertaining couple of wicker deer, the Mom and her offspring. They attracted more attention then the whole of a coronation place. Those bloody, deer seeking tourists!

Scone (pronounced skoon!)

coronation place on Moot hill with replica of Stone of Scone

Elsewhere in the garden, there was a Murray´s maze created of hedges, where we attempted to get lost, quite succesfully! Dad kept leading us through it and several people from the group could navigate us from the small bridge just over our heads. We eventually made it out, laughing with certain relief. Me and Katka went across the field to make several photos of huge lazy Kyloes, the gorgeous Highland cattle with cute sexy fringes. Booooo.

Kyloe

Then we jumped on our bus and went off towards Firth of Forth, where like a giant red cobweb spreads its heavy arms the bridge that´s called the Forth. It was opened in March 1890 and it´s long 2,500 metres. The bridge leaves Lothian to arrive at Fife and it took seven years to complete with the loss of 63 men. We stopped for a while and admired the bridge from above. It was quite a sight to see such a huge steel monster from so close. I imagine the comparison to Brooklyn bridge could be quite fitting....

Firth of Forth

14^th August

Today´s breakfast reminded me a formula one races where you had to gather a certain speed to avoid people clutching onto you, then required a good decision making when aiming for the right table closest to the coffee machine. After the exhausting breakfast battle, we went off towards Stirling, but our first stop was William Wallace´s monument at the top of the bloody hill that I had to climb! I left my Dad somewhere behind, as the climbing was rather steep, and went up to see this glorious tower that reminded me of something built for the Lord of the Ring´s set. I´m not saying it was ugly. Just odd. The brochure says, this monument stands above the fields where Wallace led his troops to victory at the Battle of Stirling bridge. Mel Gibson should have read some history – there was no bridge in the scene of the battle against British! They fought in the plain field when showing off their arses from under the kilts. It was William and Andrew de Moray facing the army of King Edward across the river Forth. Unfortunatelly the tower was closed for visitors, which is quite a shame, as I would have loved to see Wallace´s authentic sword that he used in the battle. From the outpost of the lookout we could see the whole valley in its beauty together with a tiny dot of what was meant to be Stirling castle, which we eventually visited as well.

Stirling castle is one of the largest and most important castles in Scotland, both historically and architecturally. It is surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs, giving it a strong defensive position. Its strategic location, guarding what was, until the 1890s, the farthest downstream crossing of the River Forth, has made it an important fortification from the earliest time. Several Scottish Kings and Queens have been crowned at Stirling, including Mary, Queen of Scots, on 9th September 1542. There have been at least eight sieges, including several during the Wars of Scottish Independence, with the last being in 1746, when Bonnie Prince Charlie unsuccessfully tried to take the castle. Queen Mary was sent to France to safety and later returned in 1561, visiting Stirling Castle frequently. She nursed Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, through an illness here in 1565, and the two were soon married. Their son, James VI, was baptised here the following year.
She was travelling from Stirling when she was abducted by the Earl of Bothwell, beginning the chain of events that led to her forced abdication. The young King James was crowned in the nearby Church of the Holy Rude, and grew up within the castle walls under the tutelage of the humanist scholar George Buchanan. Frequently used as a pawn in the struggles between his regents and the supporters of Mary, the young king was closely guarded. After the departure of Royals, Stirling's role as a royal residence declined, and it became principally a military centre. It was used as a prison during the 17th century.
The Chapel Royal, where Queen Mary was crowned, seemed rather empty, not showing off any attributes of being so important in the past times. I noticed the whole of Stirling castle was poorly furnished and there was nearly no original equipment apart from several pieces. Although, in one of the exhibition rooms, there were two paintings of young Queen Elizabeth, which I thought, were scarily authentic. We walked around the courtyard known as the Outer close, occasionally dropping into some part of the complex of adjacent buildings, one of which was Chapel Royal, King´s old building, Great hall, Royal palace with period statues on a facade and Nether Bailey with tapestry studios. The castle itself had some wonderful lookout of the valley of Stirling below. Right in front of the castle boasted a tall statue of Robert the Bruce, looking towards the Bunnockburn where he victoriously beaten British in a battle.

William Wallace memorial

Stirling castle

After leaving Stirling, we visited Falkirk wheel, which is a rotating boat lift connecting the Forth and Clyde Canal with Union canal. Apart from being of huge size and the technical process of the lifting the boats, I paid not much attention to it, and rather went inside to closeby buffet where I had a bowl of soup, while everyone else kept watching the wheel going up.

Falkirk wheel that left everyone open mouthed....

Then we continued our journey in direction to Gretna Green. Our last stop between Scotland and England. It wasn´t particularly interesting stop of any historical value apart from the legend about- it served as a runaway marriage place for under aged children since 1754. The local blacksmith and his anvil have become the lasting symbols of Gretna Green weddings. Scottish law allowed for "irregular marriages", meaning that if a declaration was made before two witnesses, almost anybody had the authority to conduct the marriage ceremony. We shopped in several stores but couldn´t find anywhere decent to eat as the only bistro that was to serve hot meals had miserable few leftovers that didn´t look very appealing. We went to a pub across the road but having not much time for ordering meals, we left and settled for slice of quiche in a bistro. Dad got me a beautiful mug for coffee with a bagpiper and a sign „Piping hot“. It was our last chance to spend the Scottish pounds before we entered London. There were several weddings taking place while we watched the old bagpiper in the square, all of whom were older couples (where the hell is the tradition of being under age gone?). The weather wasn´t very bad, it seemed to work out well as it kept raining usually when we were on the bus.

Gretna Green

From Gretna we continued straight towards Birmingham where we settled in Ibis hotel. Thank goodness the reception is located in the ground floor and we are occupying the first one! The morning will be awful though as we have to get up at 5.30, depart at 6 and travel three long hours to London. There we´ll have a guided tour for two hours and the rest of the time can be spent at our own pace. We should be leaving London at 7 pm. Everyone looks as if having been deprived of sleep for last ten years. But we are still excited to see the rest so much, that any pain and tiredness go out through the windows.

15th August

Although I´ve been to London some 17 years ago, I still do remember most of it. Nothing has changed since really. It still has the charm of a metropolitan city, it still has many honorable and notable buildings, it´s still full of foreigners and immigrants. We started around Westminster with all the important buildings and the Winston Churchill´s statue overlooking his territory like a child guarding its toys. We met several bobbies around here, merrily chatting together and ignoring the cars breaking their rearview mirrors, ladies in pink stilletos on a scooter and other traffic trespasses. We visited St. Margaret´s church just next to Westminster abbey (to which led an enormous queue). This one was with free entry and also quite famous, only nobody cared to find out. For example, Sir Walter Raleigh, the Queen´s protége, lays here buried under the very altar (Queen had him beheaded, that´s how much she loved him). Even some famous people got married here the likes of Winston Churchill and Samuel Pepys. There was also a memorial to Wenceslas Hollar, a Bohemian etcher, who portrayed London before 1666 great fire and thus became well known and requested. (Due to him, the British were able to imagine how London looked like before it burnt). The fire was purportedly started in a Pudding Lane´s bakery by one forgetful lady, but as silly as she was, she actually quite unknowingly spared London from the plague, that has nearly eradicated the whole city. British have quite some history, don´t they?
After Margaret, we strolled around the inner city and saw buildings of Scotland Yard, then moved on around Downing street (there were guards in front of black steel gates not letting a single sunbeam in - as if anyone would care about blowing their Premier up! Pffff). Then we saw the entrance to the underground War chambers from where Churchill operated on the phone (making important phonecalls......). We also walked through amazingly vibrant and livid St. James´s park with bold squirrels (one of them came to me and checked bit of bread in my hand only to push me away and say "for god sake, where do you come from to feed me bread?!") and ducks and swans, and other breeds of funny looking birds, until we reached the phenomenally packed square in front of Buckingham palace. As the clock just hit twelve, we were in the middle of the happening. The guards on their horses rode out in neat rows and clattered on the cobbled street, armoured in gorgeous uniforms and tall hats with golden peaks and tassels. We then dared to cross the street and get to the Royal gates while forgetting we can´t turn around and go back until the Changing of the Guards is over. The crowds were enourmous, the air breathless, the squeezing from each side unbearable, but we outlasted. My father pronounced a sentiment "at least you can´t hear any Russians here!" He just finished his sentence, when I heard "Ty pasmatril? ty shto govorish?" just behind my back... We saw the army squad walking out in rows, first the soldiers, then the band. God knows, where did they go. Maybe for a pint around the corner. After this sweaty near to death experience, we strolled further, along the alley and around the Spencer House (the family residence of Lady Diana), up to Trafalgar square, at the end of which we parted. We sat down for lunch in a first proper restaurant since leaving Sheffield, La Chandelle, where we were greeted by a Czech waitress, and where we munched on some very unhealthy but ridiculously delicious burgers with chips and cold glass of Guinness. It was fine, to have finally some spare time and be able to enjoy simple pleasures of life – like eating a hot dinner while actually sitting on a chair. After resting our tired legs, we slowly walked around Trafalgar and visited the National Portrait gallery, where we saw mixture of portraits in various artistic styles, mostly of famous people (of whom I recognised no one) My Dad filled up the bottle with water from the drinking fountain – like a proper Czech explorer (if it´s free, take it – as the Czech rule apllies) and off we went, to explore the trendy and hot city that awaited us outside. Katka was planning to go see Oxford street, but I promptly persuaded her not to, as there is nothing really to be seen. It´s just one long avenue filled with shops full of shoppers that drive you insane. Plus, nobody can quite afford the stuff anyway.(the truth is, I was just lazy to walk such a distance). Instead, we went to see Picadilly, took few memorable pictures and then made our way to Covent Garden. The square was completely crowded with people watching the street artist. This guy was on a high bycicle juggling the skittles in quite a masterly fashion, toying with them and involving people from public to throw the skittles while he paddled on the bike. A little girl did the job well, throwing them all over the place. Inside the Covent´s market place, there was Charlie Chaplin impersonator and few yards away, there was a young girl playing guitar and singing some recent pop music. Me and Katka walked ahead of my dad and her Mum, trying to find a nice simple coffee shop along the sidewalk, but we were approached by a rikshaw driver in the meantime. It was a guy with broken English accent and when he asked what we´re looking for (as if we looked like we are looking for anything!), he suggested to give us a ride. Me and Katka had to reject his generous offer, and conspicuously hinted with a smirk towards Mum and Dad, telling him that there wouldn´t be place in his rikshaw for four of us. He evidently didn´t disagree and instead suggested a place to go to, but before doing so, he played a game with us. We had to keep guessing his nationality according to his accent. It took us about ten minutes to locate his terrible English. He turned out to be Lithuanian. We then parted with our Rikshaw man and turned into a quiet street with a coffee bar. That was probably the last decent stop that we could enjoy, until our departure from Cleopatra´s needle at 7pm. So this is it. The story of Scottish moors and mountains and valleys, full of bravery and cowardice, the ugly beheadings and coronations, the Royal battles and victories, dear Scotland, the home to Kings and Queens who loved their country very much, as much as I.....