Goodbye Scotland

 Layne told me there is supposed to be a rocket launch at the European Space Agency launch pad in Kourou in French Guyana on November 4th.

Since we decided to drive to the Guyanas I had been hoping it might be possible to witness a launch and if we get a move on from Paramaribo we might meet the deadline. All of which is a splendid distraction to make it easier to leave Ullapool to start the journey home to my wife and my dog and my van. 

Ironically when we cross the Maroni River into the French Overseas Department of La Guiane Française we will be in the European Union and Scotland still won’t, as much as my sister the Irish citizen wishes it were. I felt that when Britain left the EU the case for independence for Scotland was reinforced and were I younger, I too like my sister would have claimed my ancestral right to Irish citizenship. These days traveling under the Irish flag would certainly be easier. 

It was before Covid the last time I was here and she and I had planned to visit Ireland together to visit Wicklow whence came our grandfather, a trip organized but scotched by the lockdown.  I will be back much sooner next time. I find it hard to leave this cold wet rainy place so warm was her welcome. 

A weather forecast of “some showers followed by sunny intervals” broadly speaking is the daily dose across the British Isles. Northwest Scotland is the one area where it always rains the most. 

The BBC nowadays gives the weather for “the four capitals” of Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and England.

The endless parade of camper vans and RVs exploring the country from all over Europe. 

My sister ran for the UK parliament in London and came second. The next election she chooses to run in I shall volunteer. 

Oops - another RV driving the North Coast 500 tourism route around the Highlands.  

A last glimpse of Loch Broom. 

The UK is the nanny state refined to a pitch that tortures me. Yes I can get free health care here but government safety regulations are slightly loopy. All plugs in the UK are grounded which is great but they also have on/off switches which drive me nuts. Why would an outlet be turned off? For what reason? You plug in and your appliance turns on. Not necessarily…I have never missed  this “feature” on crappy 110 volt plugs in the States which work just fine. Rant over. 

A turf roof!

And of course the morning after breakfast at the hotel where the wedding guests stayed.  Baked beans egg sausage mushroom fried tomato and a square Lorne sausage that tasted like scrapple with meat. Blood sausage that is more delicately in Scotland as black sausage is made with oatmeal and actually tastes pretty good with a better texture than I am used to. Oh and thick cut bacon unlike anything you would see in the States with a slice of potato pancake. 

Bring your camper to Ullapool and you too can park on the waterfront. In Britain for reasons I do not understand one parks “up” instead of simply parking. British English is full of filler words with no purpose, if I’m being honest. 

The Summer Isles fogged in by Highland aerial moisture. 

Mysterious by night but just a street by day: 

Inevitable rain:

I was surprised to see two intrepid hikers in the streets of Ullapool. They had put waterproof covers on their packs so clearly they knew what they were in for:

Britain like Canada has privatized mail service I believe. I can’t believe anything improves with mail services pursuing profit, but I am apparently old fashioned. 

My family. 

Back to reality:

Layne spent part of her Sunday at the Javanese market in Paramaribo. 

I’ll check it out myself in a week. Just to cross the Atlantic will take eight hours tomorrow after an overnight layover in Amsterdam. The miracle of flight. 

Until next time, Ullapool. 

Spliced

 There is a profound emotion in marriage, an atavistic recognition of the value of connection all the more so when it’s your sister.

The ceremony was every bit the emotional, personal and intimate celebration of life that one would expect but it expressed in the details my sister’s convictions about how life should be lived in the community that is her home. Duncan her eldest piped us through the building leaving no doubt exactly where we were. 

Lucy wore a veil as tradition demands and a family member said she’d probably rather be wearing coveralls for farm work but she of course carried herself with aplomb. 

It was a room packed with emotion but also tradition, a connection to the past and a promise for the future that drew everyone in to a ceremony that is universal. But it was quintessentially Scottish. 

Check out the oathing stones, whose significance I only understood during the ceremony. I added mine unaware, casually, but soon learned the meaning  and apparently these stones from this day are to be collected into a display in the garden at home. What a brilliant tradition. 

We ate a menu made in Scotland and I was required by my sister to speak, my last public act after which I settled back to be outside the stress zone. 

After my childhood tie-bound in school I swore I’d never wear a tie again and I didn’t for my own wedding but I once found a wooden bow tie maker in Czechia and if the occasion demands I’ll pull that out. It rides in the van with us and this occasion demanded I pull it out. 

The dinner was perfect, combining the intimacy of the moment the jokes and the memories and the breaking of bread with the traditions of Scotland. I had soup to start, others had shrimp all locally sourced. 

Vegetarian risotto or Lucy’s own lamb to follow. I had the lamb with crusty rugged bread to sop the gravy. 

Scotland on a plate. There was cheese and biscuits and cake and lamb koftes (meatballs) later, a midnight “snack” highland style, and I hope there’s some cake lying around my sister’s home because I was unable to taste it last night. I was stuffed to the point I even passed on the cheese and crackers, my favorite snack and took only the lamb koftes because I wanted to honor Lucy’s work of lamb rearing and I did not suffer at all in so doing. The lamb was superb. 

Fig pudding for me and chocolate mousse for some. 

They are a family of musicians so the evening devolved into various performances and I kept promising myself my bed and kept failing to fulfill my own expectation. Beer and whiskey kept me lubricated. 

This is the classic parlor whence the ceremony began and for a while I had it to myself, a rest with a whisky and a fire seemed quintessentially in the spirit of the night. Rain and wind slashed outside and pitter pattered on the windows. 

I got to bed after one in the morning only after much conversation and learning what an astonishing cross section of people the happy couple knows. I even met a man born in Guyana… and I met another keen to know all about Suriname a long desired bucket list for him to visit. And luckily I suppose there was an extra hour of sleep for celebrants and workers. 

There was the loud brash confident public display of joy. Paul, dreaming of Suriname, a  musician chef and joker. I could be outrageous and he got it. 

Solais had to stop supplying me single malt as he had to go perform.  

Duncan plays the bagpipes and sings. My sister’s family is all talent; 

Alex the wild Irishman lost and found now after thirty years. I think there was something spiritous in his Coca Cola.  

Lucy and Luke’s friends crammed in together. 

Mother and daughter celebration. 

And elsewhere the serene intimacy of the small group weaving their connection seamlessly for us to listen in on. Luke toured with Riverdance for years so his accordion is an extension of his thoughts. 

I needed fresh air from time to time and between squalls I went outside in the cold windy night. There was a storm blowing in from the north Atlantic symbolic I thought of the sturdy strength of marriage protected by the strong stone walls of the building. 

I found serenity in the day, comfort from the timelessness of the act of marriage and the affirmation of faith in the future. 

I also took on board the Celtic nature, the organic locally rooted details, the symbolism of Scotland in the unique traditions. 

I hope by posting a few pictures here of something so positive you too will get a renewed sense of the possibilities in your life in the face of so much negativity outside the bubble that is tiny Ullapool.  

This wasn’t just two people getting married, it was a good moment to be alive. 

Scotland forever.