May 22, 2011: Losts, Frank, and Beatrix Potter

A Day of Lost

Some people party too hardily and end up with a lost day.  We didn’t do anything wrong and had a day of “losts.”  First, when we left Crieff to drive into the Highlands for a week in our timeshare, the B&B was very busy.  John was chatting with a pal who had come to visit and Jacky was busy taking care of guests who were paying and asking directions.  We waited a few minutes to say our farewells but decided we’d get on the road and not interrupt.  Besides, we knew we’d be back in twelve days.  About an hour down the road Anne got a call on our mobile from Jacky.  Both Jacky and John were concerned because they had “lost” us--they hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.  That was “lost” number one.  “Lost” number two came when we rang in at the B&B we had booked in Stonehaven.  Bill came to the door, but looked stupified when we said we had a reservation.  He said there was no booking, but changed his tune when we showed him the confirmation email he had sent us.  When we reminded him we were the travel guide writers he hurriedly got us into the best accommodation in the house.  The third “lost” of the day came at dinner at the fancy Creel Inn in the wee village of Catterline along the North Sea.  We ordered wine and dinner--crab soups as starters and a main for each of us.  The wine was delivered about ten minutes later, but after thirty minutes we still didn’t have even our starter.  I finally checked with one of the three hovering wait staff who said our meals would be right out.  About five minutes later a waiter sheepishly (after all, we were in sheep country) came to our table and admitted they’d lost our order.  Goodbyes, accommodations, and dinner all lost on this day.  

Golf with Frank

The story of playing golf with Frank at Balfron Golf Club in the Trossachs near Loch Lomand begins with leaving Crieff in bright sun and only scattered clouds.  By the time I reached Stirling, 22 miles away, the clouds were increasing.  At Buchlyvie (I’ll give you the pronunciation later) the rain started in earnest and by the time I reach Balfron GC four miles further on it was a mix of rain and hail.  I sat in the car for five minutes until the rain let up a bit.  Putting on my rain gear and taking five clubs out of my bag so I could carry, I started up the hill to the clubhouse where I was to deliver a copy of Hidden Gems II to the club manager and then play the course for a second time. Brian wasn’t in the clubhouse or anywhere around, but Frank was.  Frank directed me into the small members area and I put the book on Brian’s desk.  Then it was time to decide whether to play in the still dripping rain or bag it and drive back to Crieff.  Frank was considering the same decision.  Finally, I said I’d give it a go and Frank asked, “Fancy a playing partner?” It seems he too had decided to risk the iffy weather. Together we headed to the first tee.

Let me tell you about Frank.  Seventy-years old, he had worked for 44 years on electrical power lines all over Scotland.  He’d been a member of this club for ten years and kept saying he wasn’t a very good golfer.  He was actually quite decent, probably an 18 or 20 handicap and he played strictly by the rules.  He had what he described as a “shinty swing”-- shinty being an ancient Scottish team game played with a hockey-type stick and ball.  Shinty is thought to be the foundation game of both Irish Hurling and North American Ice Hockey.  Frank’s shinty swing was with wide stance and hands slightly apart.  It wasn’t a classic golf swing, but it was effective for hitting the ball a good distance although his short range accuracy wasn’t sharp.  Frank made a good playing partner as he helped me play my way around the course I’d only played once before.  What made Frank most interesting though was his manner of speech.  He had a way of slurring and mumbling that made me think he might be from Yorkshire and a familiar laugh, a sort of “ha,ha,he,he,he,” that took me a few holes to place.  Frank’s speech pattern and laugh was that of the character Jim Trotter from The Vicker of Dibley British TV show.  Once I realized that, I kept waiting for Frank to say, “No,no,no,no...yes.”

Frank congratulated me for winning our match on the 13^th hole, even though I hadn’t known we were playing a match.  We finished our round in the dry--it had been spitting rain most of the way around--and in only three hours and five minutes.  We’d been moving so fast up and down the hills of Balfron GC that I’d barely had time to grab a handful of peanuts on the 16^th.  Frank introduced me around to the members getting ready to go out, wished me a good rest of my trip, and then invited me come to the course and play again as his guest.  

On the drive back to Crieff I realized that my round with Frank is a perfect example of why we spend so much time in Scotland.  Oh, yes, and Buchlyvie is pronounced “buck′-lee-aye.” 

Beatrix Potter Country

Anne got to plan part of this spring’s trip--the Lake District visit to Beatrix Potter country.  While she got to plan it, I had to drive some of the narrowest, tightest roads in Britain in heavy rain.  First stop on our tour was the village of Hawkshead and the Beatrix Potter Gallery where we saw many Potter original drawings and paintings.  The best of Hawkshead, though, was the Hawkshead Grammar School, a school William Wordsworth attended.  His name was carved into one of the desks, but as the attendant said, “Nobody knows for sure that he was the carver.” 

From Hawkshead the road even got smaller to the villages of Near Sawrey and Far Sawrey.  Far Sawrey was just the ferry point across Windermere Lake, but Near Sawrey was home to Beatrix Potter, author of many more stories than just the Peter Rabbit I knew.  Her home, Hilltop House, and garden were open for touring and the small house was a welcome refuge from the constant rain.  In each room one of Potter’s books was open to a particular page and the game was to figure out what on the page was referenced in the room (ie., a particular view out the window or the fireplace). 

More to my liking was the the Tower Bank Arms (pub), mentioned in many of her stories, and a great place for a half of Guiness and a chicken, bacon, and mayo sandwich.  

The final stop of the day was at the Armitt Museum in Ambleside which featured many of Beatrix Potter’s drawings of mushrooms and fungi--she was considered quite a mycologist until some prestigious society rejected her drawings and she turned instead to children’s stories.  Despite the rain Anne was in heaven the whole day, and I even found things of interest.  I just wish the roads were a little wider.   

May 17, 2011: Weather Again and What to Eat

The weather has turned.  From an outstanding stretch of fine weather we are now rather dreich.  In fact, we believe that the Lake District of England is always rainy--at least, we’ve never seen it otherwise.  The forecast is for light showers, but the showers come in sheets.  All throughout Scotland and England we hear two comments. First, if you can see (Ailsa Craig, The Berwick Law, the ben, Goatfell, the Cairngorms, Nevis, the Ochills, the fells, or in the Lake District the house across the street) it’s about to rain; but if you can’t see (Ailsa Craig, the Berwick Law, the ben, Goatfell, the Cairngorms, Nevis, the Ochills, the fells, or in the Lake District the house across the street) it is raining.  The second comment is if you don’t like the weather wait (five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, or in the Lake District three days) and it will change.   We visited Hill Top House, Beatrix Potter’s home in Near Sawrey, and there was no place to park, the waiting line to get in was a hundred yards of dueling umbrellas, and the locals were saying, “Pleasant weather, I say.”  The Scots would at least complain about the weather then find the nearest pub with football on the tele.  The English are indeed rather stoic.  

If the weather isn’t the best on this trip, what about the food?  Mealtimes have been interesting.  When we arrived at Merlindale B&B, where we are family, we discovered we’d walked into diet central.  John and Jacky were on a protein rich, no fat, no carb, no sugar diet.  Since there is almost no fat free food available in Scotland even at the larger grocery outlets, Jacky has had to work without much commercial help.  To Jacky’s credit I will say that she has made limited food choice as tasty as possible, but after two weeks Anne and I were craving fat.  We suggested that we’d eat out one night, ostensibly for our writing.  Jacky saw through the ruse and asked if we felt we needed real food.  We had to admit that we were feeling a tad deprived.  “Good,” she said, “So are we.  Let’s get take-away.”  That night we gorged on battered fried fish and chips and all manner of decadent Chinese fare, including battered fried pineapple for dessert.  At weigh-in the next day Jacky had still lost significantly.     

While traveling we’ve mostly eaten either pub food (decent and sustaining) or Italian where we split a small pizza and a main course.  The most unusual food we’ve eaten on this trip, though, was “Hotbed Soup” at Acorn Bank Gardens near Penrith, England.  When Anne asked the catering manager at the garden what “Hotbed Soup” was we found out that it was lettuce and herb soup and that the lettuce had been grown on a bed of straw and compost that gets very warm, thus a “hotbed.”  I can’t describe what lettuce soup tastes like except to say it was silky, delicious, and absolutely full of flavor, but completely devoid of calories.  I don’t think we’ll ever see it on another menu.  

Hotbed Soup can only be matched by an eating adventure from last fall’s trip to Scotland.  On our way to the Isle of Skye we stayed in the west coast village of Gairloch with its fun and lovely nine-hole course.  For dinner the Gairloch Hotel was suggested by our B&B hosts as a good bet for fresh seafood.  The location of the hotel dining room couldn’t have been better as it looked out onto Gairloch Bay.  The menu overflowed with interesting seafood choices, but what stood out was the special Seafood Platter for about $22.  I thought that was a reasonable price for what was advertised as a “large platter of fresh local seafood.”  “I’ll have that,” I said to the waitress as she took our order.  A short while later she came out with a turkey platter piled high with nine different types of seafood and four salads: four langostines, three types of crab, mussels, clams, squid, salmon, haddock, another white fish I didn’t recognize, and herring. For salads there were two slaws, green, and again something I didn’t recognize.  The whole restaurant gasped in unison as she laid out my feast.  One gentleman commented, “No sweet for you until you clean your plate.”  I didn’t even come close, although I put a healthy dent in the fish dishes.  Later the manager apologized because the waitress hadn’t told me the platter is usually for two or more to share.  

I’ll end this entry with a story from the food chapter in the soon to be published Ten Years of Travel in Scotland, Ireland, England and Wales.

Deep Fried What?

Fish and chips is the staple Scottish fast food and chippies (fish & chip shops) are all over the place.  Their menu of fried delights isn’t limited to haddock and cod, either.  You’d be surprised what you can find on a chippie menu.  Sausages of various kinds are prevalent.   Deep fried Mars bars are popular--I’ve tried one and it is so rich and sinful, but it is delicious.  Not all things, though, are meant to be deep fried, as we found out one evening in Anstruther on Fife’s Firth of Tay coast.

After golf at Crail Balcombie Links Anne and I were looking forward to trying out the Anstruther Fish Bar, reputed to be the best fish and chip shop in Scotland.  On this Friday night we had difficulty finding a parking spot along the harbour, but eventually got parked.  We could tell the Anstruther Fish Bar by the line of patrons extending out the door and along the store front.  The Anstruther Fish Bar has enough space inside for about 20 to sit, and one line serves those eating in and one serves those taking away.  We asked and found out that the wait would be about two hours for eating in or over an hour for take away.  That was too long for us.  We wandered down toward where we’d parked; there was another chippie down there.  

There wasn’t much of a line at this chip shop (that should have been a clue).  We ordered one order of haddock and chips and one order of an item on the menu that caught my attention, deep fried pizza.  In a couple of minutes we had our orders and went out to the harbour-side picnic table in front to eat our meals.  There was nothing especially good about the fish and chips, but the deep fried cheese pizza slice we had was spectacularly awful!  Imagine a slice of greasy thick crust oily cheese pizza, dipped in heavy batter, and then dropped in the deep fat fryer until it finally floats to the surface.  It is then scoped up with tongs, shaken to remove 10% of the clinging fat, slid into a paper box, and served.  I have no idea who was the first to try the concoction, or who thought of selling it, but whomever it was deserves to spend eternity in culinary Hades.  A bite or two each was more than enough to turn our stomachs.

On another visit we did make it back to Anstruther Fish Bar and it is as good as its wall of awards attest.  Oh, by the way, the menu there doesn’t include deep fried pizza.