SCOTLAND
Through more fields and sheep pastures, tiny winding roads bordered by rock walls and hedgerows, our bus paused at narrow stone bridges to allow cars and lorries to pass. At one point we encountered a very large lorrie and the bus driver negotiated forwards and backwards, with friendly waves back and forth between the drivers of both vehicles. No curses, no angst, no road rage. Just cooperation and a successful scooching and passing.
At Ambleside, we ambled about for a wee bit, waiting for our next bus connection to Windermere. We sat on a welcoming bench in the town square, content to enjoy the local activity. So content were we that we almost missed our next connection and dashed to catch the double-decker bus, climbing upstairs to the open top deck for our ride through Waterhead, Troutbeck and Brockhole in sunny Lancashire.
We returned full circle to Windermere, where we boarded the train for Oxenholme Station and on north to Dumfries, Scotland.
At Ambleside, we ambled about for a wee bit, waiting for our next bus connection to Windermere. We sat on a welcoming bench in the town square, content to enjoy the local activity. So content were we that we almost missed our next connection and dashed to catch the double-decker bus, climbing upstairs to the open top deck for our ride through Waterhead, Troutbeck and Brockhole in sunny Lancashire.
We returned full circle to Windermere, where we boarded the train for Oxenholme Station and on north to Dumfries, Scotland.
Dumfries is a tidy town of red sandstone buildings on the River Nith of the Solway Firth, crossed over by the multiple arches of the ancient Devorguilla's Bridge.
Though it took us a bit to find, the Lindean Guest House was only three blocks from the railway station, and we were soon greeted by Carol Elliot's welcoming Scottish brogue. Each host of our stay was almost known to us before arrival because we had made our own reservations via the internet, writing for confirmation. "Hello," we said, "It’s Jean and Michael." Tea in our room, as had become our afternoon custom. And filling in our breakfast choices on the forms given to us for the next morning.
Before we left the "New Country" we had made plans to meet Internet friend Ed Iglehart, so after our arrival and a cup of tea, we began to walk west of Dumfries toward Palnackie for a rendezvous with Ed. A couple of miles later, the only pedestrians and not easy to miss, we made our connection as Ed pulled into a driveway along our path. "Hellos!!!" followed by bear hugs. After all, we had met only on electronic discussion lists dealing with bioregionalism, living in place, and reinhabitation. How grand to connect in person... in Scotland!
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Ed whisked us away (do any Europeans drive slowly?) to and through Dalbeattie (a subdivision of the ancient parish of Urr) and thence to North Glen, Ed's homestead of 30 years.
Workshop, office, home, the outdoor "attic," filled with works of Ed Abbey, Thoreau, Emerson and other farsighted writers, multi-colored pony (about whom Ed was growl-ly and Jean was delighted), view to the meandering River Urr below and raptors above, greenhouse with starts of food for the season, and finally a visit with friends Ed's gracious wife, Char, and a couple visiting from France via California. Or the other way round. |
Three hours later, filled with a glass of wine and more stories than we could possibly digest before day's end, Ed returned us to Dumfries where we were a wee bit late for our usual early dinner. We searched for a suitable pub or restaurant and, laughing at our fortune, we finally wound our way back to the railway station and the Courtyard Bistro Restaurant of the Station Hotel across the street for a fine European meal, drinks, and sharing the delight of our journey with each other. Another perfect day.
The next morning, refreshed, we said (another) hesitant goodbye to our hosts, Carol & Steve, feeling the tug of their hospitality, a truly gracious hospitality that we came to know as the warmth of the people of Scotland. We had some time before our train north to Johnstone, so we explored Dumfries a wee bit more, walking back to the River Nith and finding the cemetery where Robert Burns had been buried (St. Michaels and South Church). To wander through history, in a graveyard, is like reading a novel by the light of a wood-framed window.
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