Saturday, 13 September 2008

Tales from the Isles, pt. 2

2 Throwing Stars Shanked by Leashie on Saturday, September 13, 2008

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.
Anyway, we decieded to catch a coach back to Craignure for the ridicious price of £4...and this is where the rest of the day gets more interesting. Because we had arrived early in the morning to catch the little itty bitty train to Torosay, we hadn't had time to properly check into our 'hostel' and had left our bags at the reception. We gathered our bags and our £2 bag of bedding and went off to see what it was like. *Note- When shown on the map where our tent was, Barbie stared in horror and asked if there was anything closer. There wasn't. When asked about safety, she was told that since it was a tent, all there was were two zippers. She then preceded to freak out about robbers, rapists, and stalkers.

The tent was actually not that bad at all. It was tall enough so that you could stand, it was secured into the ground atop a tile and rug floor, so no water could flood it, and best of all, it had cots and electricity inside! Now to me, camping is more like roughing it, and I freaking love camping! When I was little, we would always go camping, but since we always had the cheap tents from Target, they would flood if it rained, we always got bugs trapped inside, and no matter how careful we were, dirt and leaves always managed to find a way inside the tent and often inside our sleeping bags. Now the funny thing is that Barbie and I talked about this on the train ride up. She made sure to emphasise how outdoorsy she was, how they would always go camping and hiking in the summer, and how she really was a tomboy despite what other people may think about her. Anyway, we walk the 250 meters to our tent, unzip it, and Barbie stops dead. 'Oh you have got to be kidding me! Is this a joke?' 'What?' I replied, this is like 100 times better than camping! We get hot showers and even electricity!' And then she says it- 'I always camped with hot showers and electricity- oh my god, is that a BUG?!?!' It took all I had not to bust up laughing. In my world, camping is anything but having electricity. Sure, you have your flashlights, maybe a lantern, and your gas stove. Luxury camping is when you get to park your car next to your camp site so you can bring whatever you want for food (and drink), and don't have to carry it more than 10 miles.
Suffice it to say, we didn't stay there again after that night. Barbie said that she would rather wing it in Oban than stay another day on Mull as we had planned, so the next morning, we got all our possessions together, packed them away, and decided to take the early bus down to Fionnphort, ferry over to Iona, see the sites, then ferry it over to Oban for the evening. We were, however, treated to a very lovely dawn at 7am that morning that made putting up with Barbie's moans almost worth it all.

 

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Monday, 8 September 2008

If you don't hear from me in a week, I'm dead

1 Throwing Stars Shanked by Leashie on Monday, September 08, 2008



This is it, the night before my mini-holiday. I got my little backpack packed and ready, the same one I used in college, and my travel companion has completely filled her 65kg backpacking pack. For a 4 day, 3 night mini holiday. She has also informed me that she has waxed her arms for this trip, I assume in the hopes of meeting Mr. Right...who obviously will be a rural Island man with a deep abhorrence for arm hair.

I've always considered myself a tomboy, and growing up, I don't think I was every very clean. I always wanted to hang out with the boys and do interesting things like see who could climb the highest tree, dig the deepest trench, and eat the most mud. As I got older, I got jealous of my 9 year old little brother's Boy Scout troupe, and figured that if I just bought the Eagle Scout manual, I would know everything Eagle Scouts knew before any of those little twerps even made it to middle school. And if I have to brag, I know how to make a damn good fire, rain or shine, even if it means my face soon resembles a miner from 1958. Hell, I even backpacked 60 miles last summer and camped in a scary ass forest next to the trail, filled with bugs of death and growling, grunting, wild boars. And it was all in the rain, I might add! But enough of this, the point is that I am going with little miss Barbie- someone who has never eaten out of a can, can't leave her hair straighteners behind, and thinks walking more than two blocks is an effort.

So off I go! Wake up call at 5:50, train departure at 7:15, arrival on the island at 3, and up to our hostel by 4. It's gonna be a loooooooong day.

xx

 

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