KILMARNOCK & ANNAN
After a leisurely stroll through the Dalry cemetery, we boarded the train at Dalry and rode to Kilwinning and Troon, where we had a brief stop to change trains for Kilmarnock and on south to Annan.
At Troon we walked down to the beach where families were strolling the promenade, and young adventurers rode three-wheeled carts pulled by para-kites. We caught the end of a lawn bowling tournament on the Troon bowling green and walked leisurely back to the railway station to catch our next train.
Little did we know there were two trains arriving, just a couple of minutes apart. We took the first train and as it pulled out of the station and gained speed, we realized we were on the train to Irvine instead of Kilmarnock! We gathered our packs and stepped off at Irvine (pronounced ER-VIN), and asked directions to the bus station. Soon we were headed east, and Jean was engaged in conversation with another delightful Scots woman who advised us to get off at Crosshouse rather than riding the bus all the way to Kilmarnock.
Crosshouse turned out to be an intersection in a small village, now a suburb of Kilmarnock. We walked south through neat neighborhoods and adjoining fields about 2 miles to Gatehead and the B&B at the Old Rome Farmhouse.
At Troon we walked down to the beach where families were strolling the promenade, and young adventurers rode three-wheeled carts pulled by para-kites. We caught the end of a lawn bowling tournament on the Troon bowling green and walked leisurely back to the railway station to catch our next train.
Little did we know there were two trains arriving, just a couple of minutes apart. We took the first train and as it pulled out of the station and gained speed, we realized we were on the train to Irvine instead of Kilmarnock! We gathered our packs and stepped off at Irvine (pronounced ER-VIN), and asked directions to the bus station. Soon we were headed east, and Jean was engaged in conversation with another delightful Scots woman who advised us to get off at Crosshouse rather than riding the bus all the way to Kilmarnock.
Crosshouse turned out to be an intersection in a small village, now a suburb of Kilmarnock. We walked south through neat neighborhoods and adjoining fields about 2 miles to Gatehead and the B&B at the Old Rome Farmhouse.
We seemed to be the only guests, as our host, Mrs. Elliot, mentioned something about relatives arriving unexpectedly. She led us to our room in The Mews, the converted Eighteenth Century cow barns, watched over by an assortment of farmyard cats, now a lovely set of bedrooms overlooking the farmyard and fields.
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We quickly made ourselves at home and walked through the quiet yard and gardens. Mrs. Elliot walked her dogs in soft afternoon light in the field behind The Mews.
That evening we walked into Gatehead, with its sensible speed limit, for dinner at the Cochrane Inn, where, in addition to good beer, we found Bonny Doon wine on the wine list, from the Bonny Doon Vineyard less than twenty miles from home in Santa Cruz! As we returned to Old Rome Farmhouse in the fading evening light, we celebrated the completion of a neighbor's new wooden gate alongside the railroad tracks through town. We crossed the ancient stone bridge at the edge of town, back to the Mews for quiet night's rest. |
The next morning we walked five miles into Kilmarnock, through agricultural fields to the long streets of terrace houses leading to the railway station. We stopped at a tiny neighborhood news agent to look for post cards among the tightly packed shelves and stands. Outside, a sign on the window told us, "Rabbit Hutch: Free for the uplifting." |
On the platform of the Victorian Kilmarnock Railway Station, we paused for a bite of fruit and watched pigeons sailing among the spires of the Gothic cathedral opposite the tracks.
With plenty of time till our train, we wandered into downtown Kilmarnock, pausing in a central square to watch the comings and goings, young and old. Shops opened, spilling out thumping "shopping music," football revelers poured from a pub and sang and cheered their way down the street, youthful families walked among the shops, leaving ice cream cones melting on the sidewalks for the pigeons and doves looking on from the open windows of ancient buildings.
The train arrived, we travelled south to Annan, Dumfriesshire, Scotland where we walked into the village and the Avalon (Writers) Bed and Breakfast. Our host, Johnny Wallman, was from Manchester, now keeping a tidy accommodation for writers and lovers of books. We walked into town and stopped at Pagania's Restaurant for an Italian dinner with red wine, then walked along the Annan River and watched duck families paddling peacefully under the 1824 Annan River bridge. We returned to Avalon for a quiet evening in the well-stocked library, where Johnny built a wee fire for our evening's conversation. |