There Ain't No Devil, It's Just God When He's Drunk

I don't know how long these things can be, but I'm breaking the blog up into bits because the next half of the trip is when things get more interesting. Anyway, the sun was *attempting* to shine, the birds were singing, and I was in a mood for some fresh air. I love hiking, and luckily I managed to find a country that considers 'hill-walking' a normal, popular past time. The walk from Torosay to Durat is roughly 3 miles, a distance I know I can easily do in less than an hour. My travel companion, on the other hand, has never had to walk more than a mile in her life, and was much more wary.

I'm not sure if you can see it, but Durat Castle is the wee splodge on the right hand side on that little jetty of land. Anyway, I wasn't going to let Barbie let me down, so I gave her a friendly, 'come on, it will be fun and burn off those calories from the pub' smile, and started out. However, before we had even gone two miles, a friendly car of Spanish tourists pulled over and offered us a ride. And I know I'm being horrible, but I have to take a moment here to be smug. Barbie (as I think I will call her from now on) always makes a point to prove how Mexican she she. I'm not sure if it's an L.A. thing, or what, but she is always spouting things off about her Mexican roots, throwing lots of heavily accented Spanish words into normal conversation, and talking about how in her culture you do this, that, can't do this, yada yada...so I couldn't help but smirk when the Spanish driver asked 'habla español?' and Barbie replied 'un poco.' Then the driver went on in Spanish, and all Barbie could do was stare blankly.
Anyway, besides calling Barbie out on her lack of Spanish, despite being so hardcore Mexican (although none of the Mexicans I know own Prada, Gucci, Channel, a boat, or take taxis to go two miles), the Spanish couple were really lovely and we appreciated them for offering us a ride. It really made me wish that one of my friends who studied abroad in Spain was here to translate...and on that note, I want to take a second here to reflect on something a friend of mine observed. She felt that growing up in Orange country, although I would like to extend that to Southern California in general, raised people to be accustomed to comfort beyond what exists in 99% of the rest of the world. Such circumstances, she argued, produced one of two outcomes. Some were raised to crave a life of material luxury, involving the perennial search for Beemers, frappuccinos, and pedicures, while the rest, who she felt were the lucky ones, grew up to spend their adult years pursuing simplicity, as if to shed the layers of excesses they were born unto. (see here for citation) Being in the presence of Barbie made me see how true this observation is. Having gone to school in Southern California, I made a large handful of friends who hailed from the OC and LA, but even though they shared a common location with Barbie, their ideology is completely different, and I have to say, while Barbie is a nice girl and I enjoy the odd night out with her, I cherish my SoCal friends even more knowing how awesome they are to have realised that there is more to life than having to own designer labels. And all this is making me homesick for those friends and wishing that they were here to go traveling with. Anyway, enough ranting and moaning.

We arrived at Durat castle, one of the most defensive fortresses in the Isles. was originally built in the mid thirteenth century, but underwent heavy renovations in the 1920s to make it more of a home, including the thinning down of the 15ft thick wall to accommodate for a 'modern' kitchen. It was one of those castles I love, with fake mannequins, plastic food, and recreated scenes inside to help give visitors a taste of what it was like way back yonder.
This is the view from the top of the castle. We weren't allowed to take any pictures inside the castle, but loads of people were anyway. I managed to control my desire and be good for once.