chaos and noise

Culture shock!

I've spent the last few days on a bus trip around the Scottish highlands. Small group of people, small bus, small towns. Suddenly I've reappeared back in Edinburgh, walked into a crowded internet cafe full of people using Skype to call relatives overseas, and I've spent half an hour finding tomorrow's target (Games Workshop HQ in Nottingham - via Edinburgh and East Midlands airports, and the Broadmarsh bus station) in Google Maps. Life certainly moves at a faster pace in the cities...

Of course, three days aren't enough to really see the highlands - instead, I've been scouting for places to put on the Must Come Back To list. Unfortunately, it's a very long list. I could happily spend months in the mountains of Glencoe, even if it does rain virtually all year. I scrambled around on rocky trails and shorelines whenever the bus stopped, wandered through ruined castles, and learned a lot more about the long and bloody history of the highland clans.

I swam in Loch Ness, as the water was warmer than the wind and rain outside. I met a battered looking backpacker who managed to "fall off" Edinburgh Castle the night before the bus trip, bouncing 140 feet down the cliff to crash into a spike-topped iron fence - winding up with only two lots of stitches and a few bruises. Two nights later he was dancing (on one leg, mind) in an Inverness pub.

I've also been complimented on my "very good english" by a local in the Oban Inn, who apparently thought we spoke something different down in the colonies. It's a strange place, but it's the best sort of strange. I hope that I'll be back in the hills before too long.

Tomorrow: Edinburgh Airport by 6am, then through Nottingham and on to Oxford, all by public transport. Wish me luck.

I've spent most of today swallowed up within the vast grey void of the international airport domain, as the airlines decided to send me from Dublin to Edinburgh via Heathrow...

Heathrow is a winding maze of narrow, signposted passages. It's a comforting claustrophobia - I was quite content to scurry along, happy in the knowledge that the covered walkways were protecting me from something unimaginably vast out there. The bulk of the airport lurked out beyond the walkway tubes - occasionally looming large on the other side of a window, and then mercifully hidden again. I was glad to escape the labyrinth with my sanity in as many pieces as I'd entered with.

After spending about an hour in the rabbit warrens, I can confidently say that I have absolutely no idea which part of the airport I was in, or how much of it I saw. All that I know is that I bought the world's most expensive sandwich for lunch, when my normally reliable constitution baulked at the thought of having muesli bars for the fifth week of travelling...

For my last night in Dublin, I went to Johnny Daly's "Food, Folk and Faeries" at the Brazen Head - apparently the oldest pub in Dublin. Johnny is a masterful storyteller, and split the evening into three parts (punctuated by hearty servings of some excellent food). I arrived early, and had a pint of Guinness while he launched into the first chapter - daily life in Ireland, for the landed and landless farmers. It's a significant portion of Ireland's history, and one I've heard from a few sources now. Here, Johnny used it to introduce the conditions that helped Irish folklore to evolve over the generations.

Food arrived, more drinks were ordered, and our resident bard moved on to the main area for the evening - detailing the world o' the gentle folk, and their history in Irish myth. Unlike most of Europe, Ireland was never taken by the Romans: with its cold climate, they christened it Hybernia, and decided against fighting in a land that seemed cloaked in perpetual winter. As such, the country escaped the initial wave of conversion to the christian church. When the church finally made inroads into Ireland, it did so in a far subtler fashion - incorporating itself into local myth and legend, and gradually subverting the stories. The fair folk became fallen angels, soulless creatures of white blood, cast down from Heaven. Their trickery was an attempt to lead humans astray, or to mingle their bloodlines with the red-blooded mortals who were assured a place in Heaven.

Johnny finished up the evening with a motley collection of yarns garnered from all about the country - of piskies and pookas, leprechauns and banshees. It was a good way to wind up the Irish leg of this trip, and to celebrate a couple of birthdays (September is the month for them, it seems) at the same time. Not the cheapest thing to do in Dublin, but if you're a fan of folklore I recommend it.

Now I'm in Scotland - staying in a hostel right in the shadow of Edinburgh castle. It seems like a friendly place, possibly as most of the occupants seem to have been there for several weeks. I've managed to find my room (no room numbers on my floor - I'm in the Puzzle Room), and after trying my keys in all the lockers I've found my bed (again no numbers, so I'm sleeping in the worryingly titled Pandora's Box). Judging by the vast piles of football gear covering the floor, and club banners hanging from the beds, I'm guessing that it's a room full of guys who are here for the rugby. Some peaceful nights ahead, obviously :)