Some last impressions and some first.

My last few days in Scotland were a blur of small towns with names like Crianlairich, Mallaig, and Kyleakin. In Mallaig I met a hiking group from Vancouver, and one guy had been to FALL RIVER! Why?!? He saw the submarine or something, I guess, but it was pretty much the most bizarre familiar place to have in common.

I trekked across the mile and a quarter long Skye Bridge (connecting the Isle of Skye to the mainland) with all my earthly possessions strapped to my back. It felt very boot-camp like (I hope Patrick doesn't read this), and wasn't sure I could make it. But as I walked it became Something I Had to Conquer, so I encouraged myself with chants and songs like "Skye Bridge, Skye Bridge, Skye Bridge, Yes! Yes!" There wasn't anyone around, thankfully. I found some blackberries and heather by the road before I crossed, and ate the former. They could have been some killer faux-blackberries for all I knew ("Into the Wild" crossed my mind), but I told myself melodramatically that if I died, I would have died on the Isle of Skye and there was no better way to go. I stormed up the bridge in the wind and rain and was exhilarated in the effort. Halfway across I realized that there really WASN'T anyone around, so I raised my arms and yelled, "SCOTLAND!!!!!" across the water. These are the freedoms that one has when one is traveling alone.

Eilan Donan castle is understandably the most-photographed. Even in the chilly mist and rain it was beautiful. I was slightly disillusioned to find that it's not the ancient bulwark I thought it was; it was rebuilt in the 30's. Oh well. I found a spectacularly-clad guide in one of the rooms, and made up some questions just so I could hear him talk. I actually snuck a video of him too, which made my responses awkward, since I was so afraid of getting caught or making muffly noises. I could listed to the accents for all time. In Glasgow the words were barely comprehensible as English, and it made me wonder at what point a dialect becomes so vastly
different that it becomes a new language.


My Glasgow day was spent killing time until I had to go sleep at the airport. I went to the Gallery of Modern Art, which had a few interesting pieces but was mostly depressing. I left after a guard had to tell me 5 times that they were closing. All I heard was some foreign language behind me and my brain filtered it right out. I spent most of the evening at Borders, a welcome import from the U.S. I found a book on graphic design and feel much better educated about this mysterious field.

At 10:30 I needed to catch a train. I also needed to buy fish n' chips, since I realized with horror that I had never eaten any in the U.K. I raced out of the train station and to the nearest decent shop I could find, then raced back with a few minutes to spare. mmmm. totally worth the confusion it caused my stomach at that hour of the night. [in other gastronomical news, I did try haggis last week, as well as deep-fried pizza and a deep-fried Mars bar. Scotland has the highest rate of heart disease.]




I survived the Glasgow airport ("Pure dead brilliant" is their catchy ad campaign. I'm not sure why). Sleeping in a room full of groggy strangers was quite weird. I felt bonded with them in our common state of vulnerability and exhaustion. I also survived the Ryanair flight, which was fine other than the horrific lemon yellow and bright blue of the seats, and the $5.00 water (which I refused to buy).

And NOW, faithful readers, I am in Italy. We are not in English-speaking land anymore, Toto. I feel the language barrier quite strongly. Tonight on the train the people around me were engaged in an expressive conversation about something or other... one of those general topics that you can join into with a glance if you know what's going on, which I didn't. I tried to smile knowingly at key moments. I've managed to communicate some in Italian, and it just feels so unnatural. I suppose it's because the words are mere sounds to me, with no related meaning except a theoretical one. It almost feels silly and pretentious to speak in Italian, and when I do it's such a surprise when people seem to think I'm making sense! I think it will get better with practice.

It's gorgeous here. The people are beautiful (I feel distinctly underdressed), the light is magical, and the food astonishing. I ate a tomato yesterday (I don't even like tomatoes) and it was just exactly what a tomato is supposed to taste like.

I saw the leaning tower in Pisa, which really does tip quite dangerously, and the Duomo in Florence. It all seems like a dreamlike intro to the wonderland that is Italy, right now as I'm getting settled in, but there will be time for more seeing soon enough.




Also, I love the family I'm staying with in Pisa. 4-year-old Anna has welcomed me with open arms as her new best friend. Last night I wrote in my journal while wearing pink fairy wings and a flower-beaded necklace. 1 1/2 year old twins Aidan and Owen are priceless and cuddly, and Keith and Suzanne are the most helpful and easy-going of hosts. What a random and amazing connection it turned out to be... just one more example of the itinerary that keeps being laid out before me without my knowing it.



Bonus image from Inverness: "What does this look like to you, Stanley?"