Plan "B"

Hello friends! January is coming to a close and so much has happened since I last wrote. We had a fantastic trip to the Isle of Jura and Islay in Scotland over the Christmas break. The scenery was just breathtaking and it was such a terrific opportunity for me to take photos and for Rick to immerse himself (or bathe, if he could get away with it) in distillery hunting and Scotch sampling. I had good fun of an evening when we were tucked into our hotel room creating albums on Facebook to mark our journey. I know our families appreciated being kept up to date on our travels. It was also nice to look back on the day’s adventures.

If you ever felt that you needed to get away, I mean really get away (and not some 5 star all inclusive somewhere swanky), these islands and in particular Jura would be the place to lose yourself. There were times I often felt, when I was standing on a mossy hill with the wind whipping fiercely against me, that there was just no way I could possibly capture the awesomeness of what I was seeing through my lens. How could such expansiveness be so beautiful? Perhaps it was just that. The physical openness allowed my mind to expand too. I found myself considering things about my life that I hadn’t before (like how short our lives really are, what it is that holds us back from doing the things we really want to do with our lives, and if I died tomorrow I would be a happy and content girl). I know, odd things to think about, but that is a sampling of what was rambling around in my head.

The single biggest disappointment with this trip was that the Jura Distillery was closed. Rick was crushed. We came all that way and stayed specifically in the hotel (and the only one on the island) solely for the purpose of visiting the distillery next door. At one point, I thought that Rick was going to walk across the street and start banging and shaking the doors begging them to open up for heaven’s sake. But instead, he pouted when we passed it on our walk to check out the village. One thing there wasn’t a shortage of on the island were wild goats and gosh did they ever stink! And they pooped everywhere. I bet it must drive the locals nuts having the pesky buggers munching their hedges and leaving their business behind. They did make for some great photos, though, so I won’t go on about their bad points.

Speaking of odd smells when we were in Tarbet, we caught a whiff of something in the air that was a bit like sulphur but almost like charcoal. It turns out that they often use coal in their fireplaces. It is funny how smells can stir up memories and this will be etched in my mind forever as Scotland. I took a stab at stoking the fireplace in the pub in the town of Portnahaven. We stayed two nights there (foolishly now we realize that it really was at the end of Islay) in the Burnside Lodge and the wind was so wicked that it made our bedroom windows whistle and the extractor fan in the loo rattle all night. And it was a good job we had black out curtains because the lighthouse would flash through our window as it scanned the harbour.

And back at the pub, we found ourselves making friends with some of the local men (a tall fellow we will call Boomhower because god knows what he was saying, and the young bartender who was a business graduate who knew nothing about the Scotch he served, and the short, mouthy fella who was a Scottish version of Rick and coincidentally they almost got into a fighting match when the Scottish version called the Canadian version an “American”) quickly became our source of entertain in this one pub town. I don’t think this pub (or the village) was the same after we left.

And how about that Scottish accent now we are talking about not understanding someone? There is something about the Scottish accent that does it for me. The guy could be less than desirable (in my opinion) but gosh darn it when he starts with that phlegmy argh that borders on pirate talk, I picture bloody Sean Connery and I am a Missy Weak Knees. And I also believe that it has something to do with the kilt and what does (or erm doesn’t) accompany it.

Okay, getting my mind back on track.... So really between the shortbread (good grief there goes the diet), the amazing selection of Scotch, the crisp salty air, the ever changing and dramatic skies, and that seductive accent, well guess where we will be going camping this summer?

And while I am speaking of photos, the opportunity to take more didn’t end with our Christmas trip to the islands. Twice now I have had my photos printed in the Harlow Star “Photo of the Week” segment. The photo of the frosty forest was the day after we had what was called freezing fog and my photo appeared in their special featured called "Cold Snapped". The one of the ducks on the frozen pond was the day after we had a snowstorm. The snow is all gone now, of course, but this photo was printed in their "Snow Patrol" section and it is a great way to remember the storm in January.

Perhaps travel writing and photography, as plan "B", is not such a bad idea after all.