Month: August 2018

Scotland, Walking

Day 0, Stirling, Cape Wrath Trail

Stirling is a underrated wee city. Medieval castle with all the old town trimmings, Stirling Bridge and Wallace: the meeting point of Lowland and Highland. Yet it has its own rough underbelly cheek by jowl with cobbled streets.

The castle dominates the landscape. It’s been looked after well and feels accessible, not preserved. Old skills have been relearned to redo old halls and chapel. Big enough to show coach parties (who need to be diverted to the rest of the city), small enough to appreciate its scale.

We followed the Forth trail to find where Jimmy (my Dad) was born, Abbey Road Place. On the way the information boards broadened horizons. I hadn’t realised Stirling had once been a major port.

The Albert Halls rounded off the day with Blazin Fiddles and Karen Matheson in a grand Victorian pile.

UK

Sark

So how do you spend a week on an island some 3 miles long and 1.5 miles wide, with as population of 400 or so? Is this a mindfulness paradise? Well, there is a clue in the 22 miles of coast, no cars, and splendid isolation.

We were in the good company of Andy and Madeline who had invited us to share their lighthouse idyll accomodation. Based onshore, the 150 or so steps to access the still working lighthouse (misty nights activating the fog horn were testament to that), offer a morning heart wake up call to reach the flat plateau above. This journey repeats itself as we explore the coastal inlets: getting to the shore involves a wind down and up.

Most of the land is now left uncultivated: food is brought in. This island has all the amenities: an incinerator which allows you to sample the emissions; a generator (no solar panels in evidence); a couple of shops and pubs (filled with locals who seem to be practiced drinkers); and hotels. 3 of these are mothballed. Half the locals and the Barclay brothers don’t get on. It is difficult to fathom who is right. Did one store close because the recluses upped the rent to force them out? Our was it because locals boycotted it? One local rag is vitriolic about lack of democracy by the ruling (elected) elite. Yet an editorial in the Guernsey paper decries the lack of Sarkees coming forward to stand for the council.

Whatever, most of that passed us by as we explored and adjusted to the pace of life. The Signeurie Gardens were great: a real buzz of insects enjoying the plethora of flowers. The whole island sagged under the weight of the sloe crop. Seaweed of mutivarious colours set off the mainly granite rock strata. Rusting iron edifices hinted at previous defences or trades.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

All too soon it is the time to leave our bags for Jimmy’s carter service and heave over the 7 mile crossing back to big brother Guernsey. Great.