Moving Daze

We're in Chicago again enjoying pizza and Cardinal Zin with AJ and Steve. Sorry for the lack of updates, but internet has been far too expensive ($25/day at the last 2 hotels, $10-12/hour at the airports) to justify this week.

The last conference session ended a little after one, and I collected Bill from the bar where he had patiently been waiting since the 11:30 checkout. They had a late check out, but the fee was more than a bottle of water. The drive back to Birmingham involved a lot less lost meandering as shortly into it, all the signs started pointing back to the M-6. The hotel at the airport was only slightly less expensive, but a lot nicer an more conveniently located. I had one last scallop based meal and we spent the evening in, enjoying the modern conveniences of our room.

Today started at 5AM to ensure we made our 8AM flight, which included figuring out VAT refunds. The form says you have to prevent your goods for inspection. The inspection point is after security. The goods in question are liquids larger than the allowable size. The airline had not a clue, nor did the airlines on either side. The information desk explained that in the Birmingham airport, that point is actually just a wall slot to slide the completed forms into so they get stamped in the evening. Great. We can do that.

We had some fun in Dublin, making it into the cool bar that we'd seen last time. Also had some Guinness flavored caramels that were awesome. US customs has a setup there so you go through the immigration portion of returning to the country before you board the plan. The movies on the way back were not Iron Man, alas.

It's almost 3AM in our time right now.

A few Shrigley Hall pics

Dawn got a break this afternoon so we walked around the hotel a bit. Here are a few photos that I took. First up, the entrance to Shrigley Hall.



Next, here's a cute little topiary that's on the grounds.



There are concrete lions all over the place here. Here's one that's resting just outside the restaurant. I assume he's outside begging for some duck leg confit.



Lastly, here's a photo of the pictures that decorate the wall over our bed. I've spent a lot of time in this room. I keep looking back and forth between them thinking I might be able to spot some difference in them. I think they are exactly the same. My mind refuses to accept that someone would hang two of those in the same room right next to each other.

I'll Confer with the Duck

Shrigley Hall has revealed a few redeeming qualities. While I was unimpressed by my sandwich at lunch yesterday (in light of its price) the same can't be said of my dinner. I was very impressed by my dinner at the hotel restaurant. It's true that it has a dress code and is only open for two and a half hours in the evening, but it at least it knows how to turn out some top quality food. The menu is limited to a few selections for starters, main courses, and “sweets,” but the menus changes everyday and has some impressive entries.

Last night I had leg of duck confit with root vegetables, an orange reduction and cinnamoned plums. The entire dish was well executed and very tasty. I was especially impressed by the cinnamoned plums, I wonder if that is a British thing, or just a idiosyncrasy of the chef. I hope that it is a British thing, being that will make it easier to find recipes on the internet so I can try and recreate the tasty morsels at home. Surprisingly it was only nominally more expensive than my sandwich.

Perhaps living for three weeks while spending money that has half the buying power of the locals has made me more price conscious then normal. I should stop obsessing over it. After dinner I retired to the hotel lounge and found a big leather chair to sit in and read a book while enjoying a pint of British ale. The lounge was virtually empty being that Dawn and her fellow conference goers where all off getting treated to a dinner and a tour of some giiant radio telescope. They didn't return until sometime after ten o'clock.

This morning we woke up early enough for Dawn and I to take a quick swim in the pool before she had to head down to the conference. The grounds have a church that was built by monks in the 1930's that has been converted to a indoor pool and leisure center. I suspect this turn of events would make the monks very sad. After that it's been another exciting day of sitting in the room and studying descriptions logics and conceptual modeling. Oh the excitement.

Pott Heads

I'm glad I had a week in Islay to get used to driving. The roads here, by contrast, seem gigantically roomy. I've become accustomed to driving on the left, so roundabouts and right turns aren't as tricky. Following directions, however, was much easier when there was only one major road and the places I was looking for were on the road signs for the side streets. We did eventually make it an I'm fairly certain that finding the M-6 from Pott Shrigley will be easier than the reverse. I've at least seen a few signs to lead there.

I know Bill is bored out of his mind and horrified by the cost of everything they try to gouge ou for, but I'm having a great time. Some of the talks have been just fantastic and I'm meeting interesting people. Last night we got to visit a radio telescope. The last talk today ran twice it's intended length because there were so many questions. He was supposed to be the second to last talk, but the last presenter never arrived.

Bill and I did manage to make it to the pool, steam room, and jacuzzi early in the morning (first session starts a little past 9), so I have gotten some use out of the swim suite I've been carrying around. We had the place entirely to ourselves until quarter past 8, and then there was one other person. They charged Bill a dollar for the towel loan. Glad I listened to Douglas Adams. It's too bad (except that it isn't because I'm getting so much out of it) that they've managed to fill nearly all of my time (I'm only free at the moment because they're setting up the dinner event in one of the meeting rooms) because there's a pretty cool looking spa attached to the hotel that I don't have any time to use. Actually, the hotel is attached to the spa as the spa is part of the fitness center located in the abbey which was the original building that the hotel was added to. And a short massage is cheaper than some of the bottles of water.

I don't think I would ever have selected this location for a conference and not just because of the room cost. We have a car, but even if Bill was willing to drive it, he'd have to go about 10 minutes down the street to find anything besides the bar we walked to. A lot of attendees waiting too long to book and have 10 to 30 minute drives to get here each day because there aren't any hotels closer than that. Based on the houses in the local area, there's a lot of money here, but I can't imagine what the residents do. The only industries seem to be places they'd spend money. I wonder if they're independently wealthy or just have very long commutes.

The way here.

Yesterday was another travel day. It was probably the roughest transition we've had so far. Our goal was to make it from Edinburgh, Scotland to a hotel just outside of Macclesfield, England. The first step of our journey was to catch a bus to the Edinburgh airport. We made the colossal mistake of thinking the best place to catch a bus would be the bus station. After walking to the bus station (while rolling our luggage behind us) we discovered the error of our ways. Evidently the buses to the airport do not leave from the bus station They pick people up on the Waverley Bridge (naturally). Essentially you have to walk to the train station if you want to catch a bus to the airport. How silly of us for not figuring that out on our own.

A slightly late start compounded by our little stroll around the city looking for the bus started to make the prospect of us catching our plane look grim. When we got to the airport it initially looked like a mad house. Fortunately, it was only congested at one or two carrier's areas. Our carrier (flybe) was virtually empty and we were able to check in relatively quickly and made our way to the gate to catch our flight with a little bit of time to spare.

Once we got to the Birmingham airport the next chapter in our adventure began. We were renting a car and trying to drive to Macclesfield (actually Pott Shrigley) from Birmingham which was an hour or so away. Three quarters of the trip was simply driving north on the M6. That part went smoothly. Once we got off the M6 and on to the little English country roads things got hairy. Eventually we were completely lost. We knew were we near one of the towns in our directions (Presbury) but we couldn't figure out how we were suppose to get to Pott Shrigley. We eventually stopped and ask for directions at a small hotel. The receptionist looked at our Google Map directions and said that she recognized the names but the maps and directions didn't make any sense. She consulted some other people at the hotel and they gave us directions that only seemed to compound how lost and clueless we were. At that point we passed a small Italian restaurant and Dawn declared it was lunch time (it was actually 3:00... a long time since breakfast). After a good meal Dawn asked for directions at the restaurant. These directions lead us down a super narrow country road and dead-ended at a gate to a farm. Fantastic.

I am prepared to declare the English midlands to be a complete and total failure in regards to the art of cartography. Google and the residents only have the vaguest idea of where they are and no concept what lies adjacent to them. All the attempts at directions that we received can be summed up by “meander through some traffic circles then just wander around for a bit and maybe you'll find it.”

Eventually we meandered through some traffic circles and wandered around for a bit and Dawn saw a sign for Pott Shrigley. Once we got near the town we drove right past our hotel Shrigley Hall because the sign was posted so high up that they must assumed we'd be arriving in the second level of a double decker bus (Dawn caught a glimpse of it in the rear view mirror). After driving for what seemed like an eternity (curse you narrow English roads) we eventually were able to turn around and go back and get to our destination.

So now we're at Shrigley Hall. It is the location of Dawn's conference and we were fortunate enough to get a room at the hotel (so we don't have to do anymore driving). It is an old estate turned into a hotel and golf country club. I feel a bit out of place being that this is the sort of spot that caters to the old, white, and wealthy. I'm only one out of three. Their business model is to charge a lot for the rooms and then a-la cart charges for everything else too. I'm kind of afraid to walk around the place for fear on incurring more charges. You want internet? That will be £12 pounds a day (that's like $24). You want to go to the pool? Bring a £1 to use a locker and be prepared to pay extra for a towel. You want room service? That will be £4 over the prices on the menu if you want us to bring it to your room. Basically everything here has an additional cost. It's also in the middle of nowhere so they're aren't a lot of alternatives. On top of that there are dress codes detailing what kinds of shoes, pants, and shirts are allowed in various areas of the estate. Please, do not get comfortable and do not make yourself at home.

I had a £12.50 club sandwich at lunch. It was a good sandwich, but I don't know if was $25 good. I smartly ordered the plebeians drink, tap water, with it. Although there all sorts of spring waters costing up to £10 that I could have enjoyed. For this kind of coin I could have been eating like a king in Edinburgh.

Last night after Dawn did her conference registration and attended a reception she came back and asked if I'd like to go to a pub with some of the other attendees. It sounded better than sitting in the room so I said sure. The group decided to walk it because the pub was supposedly “just down the street.” It turned out it was closer to two miles down the street in the next town of Bollington. The pub was actually pretty awesome. It was an authentic small town English pub. They had cask drawn ales that the bartender had to pump out of the casks. Bass has never been so tasty. The walk there had been so long that some of the people decided to take a cab back. The cab filled up (there aren't many of them in the middle of nowhere) so Dawn and I decided to walk back...in the dark...in the middle of nowhere. I'll chalk it up to an experience I'm glad I had...but not looking to recreate.

Dawn is busy literally all day with her conference. They have her booked up morning, afternoon, and evening. Seriously they are providing her dinner and after dinner entertainment while I get to sit in this room and hope I'm not making us poor by inadvertently triggering more charges. I brought along some school work to study for my thesis. That's what I've done for most of the day. It's raining outside and Dawn won't be back for hours. I long to be back on Islay.

Where we where.

Haven't posted for a while... Here's where we were.

A Random Missive

Here are two things I've noticed while traveling.

Great Britain hates dog crap. In Stratford-Upon-Avon I noticed signs posted that said that if you didn't pick up your dog refused you could be fined 100 pounds. In Edinburgh I've noticed similar signs. On Islay I was treated to a diatribe on the matter from our hostess.

Evidently dog dirt (as our hostess called it) was a major nuisance in public places so Great Britain started to crack down on it. Our hostess found it especially revolting. So much so, they she was complaining that there was a person on the island that would allow their dog to run around in waist high grass and not go in there and clean it up. I'm not a fan of dog dirt, but I thought worrying about a giant field full of tall grass (and full of sheep crap) was taking it a bit far. No so. I was surprised to learn that sheep dirt did not bother her. Goat dirt did not bother her. Cow dirt did not bother her. But dog dirt...that's just revolting and must not be tolerated.

Another observation about Edinburgh that may already be a problem in cities in the US, or maybe it's a problem that we are currently working on creating. Here smoking in any public indoor place is forbidden. Which is very nice in pubs and restaurants. However the net effect is that people who want to smoke must go to the sidewalk to smoke. As soon as anyone leaves a building they start smoking. Either they hang out in front of the building that they've popped out of for a quick smoke, or they smoke on the way to their next destination. As a result, walking along the streets in the evening is an exercise in breathing near constant second hand smoke. You have to leave the outside and go into a building to get any fresh air! I'm not sure what they could about it either. I don't really support outright banning smoking. That's a slippery slope to banning all sorts of things. However I can't say I really enjoy breathing smoke either. Why must smokers be such an inconvenience on those around them? (Also why don't they think throwing their butts on the ground is littering?)

Relax'n in Edinburgh

As Dawn said, yesterday was a pretty low-key day. I think we might have even been a bit travel weary, because instead of an adventure into the city for dinner (which is full of awesome places to eat) we decided to stay close to the hotel and look for something from a take-out place so we could spend an evening in (our hotel). What we found was an awesome take-out Indian place. I'm really digging how common Indian food is here. We weren't all that hungry so we decided to just order one dish and some garlic nan bread to split. What we got was more than enough food for three people. The place didn't advertise nan bread by the yard but they should, I've never seen such a large piece of nan. It was easily an narrow oval piece longer than two and a half feet. It was folded into half and still managed to have ends sticking out of the bag. Insane. And so good.

Today we felt re-energized and ready to be tourist again. We visited Calton Hill park first thing this morning. Yet another early morning climb. This park wasn't nearly the undertaking Arthur's Seat was though. Still, it offered good views of the city and it is full of all sorts of monuments. I'm beginning to think when people in Edinburgh get bored they build a stone monument. Most of these were started in the 1800's and (according to park placards) earned Edinburgh the title of “Athens of the North.”



Afterwards we decided to climb the Scott Monument, which is the massive Gothic spire built in memory of Sir Walter Scott. At first I wasn't sure it would be worth the price of admission to climb the spire. After all, it's not like this city is lacking for high places upon which to view it. In the end I'm extremely happy that we paid for the experience of climbing it. The sign outside the monument tells you its 287 to the top. What it does not say is that those steps are in a tiny spiral staircase concealed in one of the legs of the monument. When I say tiny, I mean at its widest part, people coming down the staircase have to hug the wall to make just enough room for a person going up to pass. In the narrower bits it's strictly a single person endeavor and your feet will not be completely planted on a step (they're too small). Did I mention that this is in a stone leg. A narrow all stone staircase with no windows (for most of it). Claustrophobia anyone?



Fortunately the climb is broken into thirds with three observation points along the way. The views were good and the amount of detail poured into the structure is stunning. I suppose it was also fortunate that only relatively thin people were trying to climb it. I don't know if they have to turn away heavier people or not. It seems that a heavier person would either making passing someone on the staircase impossible, or towards the top, risk getting stuck. I know my shoulders were brushing both sides at the very top.





(Oh look it's Arthur's Seat. We climbed that a couple of days ago).

Thistle have to do

Forgot to mention in my previous post: my friend told me that the Long Price Quartet was being released as two books instead of four in Europe, to the effect that the third book isn't actually available here yet and won't be until the fourth is out. The reason? Because individually the books aren't long enough to be fantasy novels. I thought this sounded silly and contrived, but thinking further, if Abraham already had all four completed before the first was published (which I think he did), it's about as contrived as publishing them as 4 separate volumes spread out over the course of 2 years, which is how we're getting them in the states. It's just slower. Which is too bad because if they'd release the second volume here, I'd have picked it up already.

Today was all leisurely strolls and shopping with a few pints. We walked up Carlton Hill, which is actually the closest point of interest to our hotel. The place is littered with monuments, including the partial Parthenon that we see in the background so often. On the way down, we stopped by David Hume's grave.

We spent a while just enjoying the Princes Street park (way fewer people about today in the sun than yesterday in the gloom) and decided to climb the Scott Monument. The way up (and down) is a series of tight, winding stairways with occassional platforms to view the city from as you locate the next set of tight, winding stairs. There's only one way, so occasionally you get to figure out how to pass people (hint: if you stop to let someone pass, you can't continue to hold both sides of the stairwell, jackass). As you get higher, the stairs get narrower. Perseverance grants you a wonderful view of the city around you.

We returned to Khushi's to partake once more of the meat samosas. I also tried one of their specially juice drinks called a “Cool Mint.” I'm not sure something with that much cayenne should be labeled “cool” but it was delicious. It was cucumber, mint, rock salt, and something sweet (maybe green grapes) shoved through a juice extractor and spiced. I may have to try to reproduce it when we get home. We strolled through the Royal Mile one last time, with Bill actually finding a couple of things for himself and me doing a lot of looking but not purchasing (not even the striped stockings I've almost bought a couple of time). The last place we stopped for a pint, Bill ordered me a “white coffee” which had cream and shredded chocolate on top.

We're flying back to Birminham tomorrow morning and renting a car to drive to our last stop.

Hello, Shins!

Friday's activities seem to have worn us out as Saturday was fairly low key. Yesterday's rainy forecast turned out to just be cloudy with the occasional mist. I don't think I took any pictures all day.

We saw the impressionist exhibit in the morning followed by a gallery of Scottish artists' work at the gallery. For lunch, we met up with one of my friends and her boyfriend. The Newsroom's burger is ridiculously large. Ridiculous. Then we fought the crowds (this place is a lot more crowded on weekends!) and took a few circuitous routes and unnecessary stairs to some pubs we hadn't already been to before. One looked pretty cool, but the other one was celebrating Jack Daniels' birthday on about 2/3 of the wall space and had a list of mixed drink that made us all a little ill just to read. We hit that scifi bookstore again before they had to catch a train back to Glasgow. I had a lot of fun and am glad we got to meet up while we were here.

Bill and I decided to spend an evening in rather than try to find anywhere remotely quiet to eat at. We settled on an Indian place fairly near by, getting the house special chicken biryani and an order of naan and ended the evening watching the Fellowship of the Ring on TV.

I'm feeling refreshed and recharged today and the rain that Sky News claims is currently falling on Edinburgh is actually sunlight.

Random Photos

Going through photos this evening looking for stuff to include with the Arthur's Seat post I ran across some cool photos we took last night on the way back from the Spanish restaurant.

The first one we took expressly for Jamey. He likes squirrels, so we thought he'd approve of these.



This next one is just some random building we passed. It was lit up pretty cool and the photo came out well.

A Brisk Morning Stroll

Writing today while waiting for our laundry to run at a local laundromat. I don't think there is anyway to pack three weeks worth of clean clothes, so today is strategic and necessary break from generally vacation like behavior. The prospect of not running out of clean underwear is uplifting.

We got up this morning and headed for HolyRood Palace. We decided not to pay to tour the palace, instead – somehow - Dawn talked me into climbing Arthur's Seat.



That peak at the tippy top that has the fantastic views of the city... That's Artur's Seat. It makes for a bracing mid-morning stroll. Early on the walk throws you a bone and you get to see the ruins of St Anthony's Chapel without too much effort. But when you turn around you realize that you have only just begun your ascent. How did I let Dawn talk me into this deathmarch? This has all the hallmarks of hiking. I don't hike. Yet like a grumbling and moaning mountain goat I persevere.

The views from the stop are stunning. You look down upon the entire city. Even the looming Edinburgh Castle is just a tiny bump on the full blown panorama map that is Scotland.



According to our guidebook the correct and proper way to precede once you've climbed Arthur's Seat is to slide and tumble down an alternative way so that you end up in Duddingston Village. There, at the foot of Jacob's Ladder, which is a impressive set of stone steps embedded into the side of a hill, you will find the Sheep Heid pub. There, according to our guide book, you are to reward yourself with a pint for all your effort. Who am I argue with the Lonely Planet guidebook?



The Sheep Heid pub was worthy destination on it's own. It's one of the oldest licensed premises in Ediburgh – since 1360. A hundred years before Columbus even set out to find the new world pints were being served there. Neat. When we entered the barman looked at our bewildered faces, the exertions plainly visible on our visage. He said, “I'll give you a minute - you've just been in the park. We've been serving people with look about them for 600 years.” Dawn had cup of tea and I had a CAMRA approved pint and we sunk into some comfy leather chairs to recuperate.





After gathered our strength we headed out in search of lunch. Dawn wanted to try actual Scottish cuisine. The city offers all manner of food, so far we've had Thai, Indian, and Spanish. Islay had a very limited offering of pub or Indian. Not that I'm complaining, it was all good. We flipped through our guidebook and found a bistro that supposedly offered fresh Scottish produce. Once at the Doric Tavern I embraced our Scottish cultural experience and ordered what I was assured was the most traditional of all Scottish meals: haggis, neeks, and tatties. Which turns out to be haggis with mashed turnips and mash potatoes. Dawn ordered death and reek. Mine was excellent. I may now be a fan of haggis. Dawn's looked like some evil totem used to perform blackmagic. Unfortunately there was an open window behind Dawn, every time the breeze picked up the smell reek of her lunch wafted over me. It put me off my haggis. (That something I never thought Id be writing).

Fortune Favors the Bold

On this leg of the trip I've been rereading Hart's Hope. Every time I read it, I get something different out of it. This time instead of something new within the text, I am overlaying Inwit with elements of Edinburgh and getting an entirely different view of the (fictional) city.

We ended up at a Thai restaurant, Phuket Pavilion, our first night that was pretty close to the hotel. I had a wonderful ginger and seafood hot pot which included scallops. Scallops in this country are so well prepared that it's hard not to order them every meal. As I said to Bill, “they cook meat until it's tasty, not until it's safe.”

Yesterday, we got an early start on making our way up the Royal Mile before most of the stores had opened. and into Edinburgh castle just before 10 AM. I got the audio tour with my ticket and took near constant advantage of it. The castle is beautiful and eccentric, with many different architectural styles glommed together as different times increased fortifications or added new buildings. We got to see the Honours of Scotland (The Scottish Crown Jewels). They're at the end of a winding tunnel of exhibits about their history. Several people passed us in a great hurry to get to see the Honours. I found this history to be a lot more interesting than the actual items. The castle houses several different small museums and we managed to walk through almost all of them before the tour bus passengers started making the place unbearable.

After that, we wandered around some shops in Grassmarket. Most notably Mr. Wood's Fossils, which had trilobite cuff links and other interesting jewelry in addition to fossils and rocks from all around the word, and Transreal Fiction, a scifi- and fantasy-centric book shop that I could have spent a lot longer in. They had a version of Wolves in the Wall that included a CD of it being read by the author, and the first two volumes of the Long Price Quartet in a single binding. It was tempting to do some serious damage to my bank account, but I somehow left empty handed.

Lunch was Indian at a place called Khushi's that wasn't nearly as expensive as the décor would suggest. The highlight of our three excellent dishes was definitely the meat samosas. I could go back and eat those again. And again.

We spent the afternoon ensuring that, regardless of name or window display, all the souvenir shops near the castle carry the same crap. We also visited a cool whiskey shop, a kirkyard with several ancient, and unfortunately graffiti, headstones and vaults, a museum with a copy of the covenant, and Bow Bar before returning to the hotel for tea. The afternoon was spent wandering down Princes Street and failing to get to the Impressionist exhibit at the art museum early enough to bother going in.

So far all I have purchased for myself are stockings and Scotch.

Dinner was at a Spanish tapas bar. I love being in a large enough metropolitan area to support so many different cuisines within walking distance. It was called Cafe Andaluz and we were drawn in by the paellas. The tapas menu proved to be too tantalizing, though, and included a mini paelle. Tapas was the correct choice as the fish in the paella was salmon and there were a lot of peas, neither of which Bill eats and both of which I enjoy. The prevalence of peas in meals is something else I'm really enjoying.

Today we trekked up to Aurthur's Seat, which is exactly as high as it looks. Once you get near the top you see that if you'd just walked further around the park, you could have taken a much easier way to the summit. Obviously that is for suckers and doesn't get you anywhere near any ruins. I'm glad I already had that day long death hike through Stone Door under my belt this year or I might have called it quits half way up. After a brief rest and a lot of pictures, we took the easy way down so as to be closer to a pub Bill wanted to visit. I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt today. This morning, I think I had enough sweat running off of me without heavier clothes to help.

For lunch, we sought out a Scottish place where Bill had some tasty, tasty haggis and I had whole sardines. His meal was only marred by the awful smell of mine. Mine was awesome.

We went to the Fruitmarket Gallery and saw some strange stuff I'm not convinced was all art. Opera for a Small Room was a cool exhibit and the Killing Machine was well worth seeing in operation, but the exhibit where you got to reproduce the experience of being in a movie theater for a bad film where the people behind you won't shut up and the cheesy haunted house seemed more like the work of people with too much time on their hands than art, or even innovation. There was a House of Books with no Windows that I'm on the fence about. I'm not convinced the lack of windows is symbolic. It may have just been easier to construct that way.

We spent the early evening doing laundry and the late evening eating Chinese. I had cuttlefish, which tastes like generic Chinese fish cake as far as I could tell. Being a Friday night, the streets and bars are packed. We've decided we're too tired to be out and about and have instead settled for the quiet, wifi enabled hotel bar.

That's what we've been up to, but it doesn't really capture what it's like to be here.

I'm enjoying the wide variety of styles we're seeing in dress and in hair. I'm especially enjoying the variety amongst high school girls. It's a refreshing change from every one having the same blond hair in the same long cut with the same overdone make-up like odd lots from the Rose Tyler automaton factory. Bright pinks and maroons are hair colors of my generation and older too. I kind of wish mine was still purple.

There's fairly extensive public transportation in town with bus routes throughout the city. So far, nothing we've wanted to get to has been so far that we didn't just walk it instead of standing around and waiting for a bus, though.

There's a lot of traffic and the crosswalks tend to take forever to change. On our second day here, Bill declared, “Avandra says, 'fortune favors the bold!'” and ran across the street. This has since been shortened to “Avandra!” when we see a break in traffic large enough that we think we can make it. So far Avandra has rewarded our worship. That is to say: neither of us has been hit by a car.

Walk a (Royal) Mile in my shoes

The transition from Islay to Edinburgh has been jarring. How does one go from the sound of the ocean and the occasional mewing sheep to the hustle and bustle of a city? I spent most of yesterday just getting accustomed to being surrounded by people. I really liked Islay, I was sad to leave. If I must be cast out of eden at least I wound up in Edinburgh, it's actually a beautiful city.

This morning we woke up with the mission to see Edinburgh Castle and walk the Royal Mile. The Royal Mile is the road between the Scottish Parliament building and the castle. It turns out it's mostly filled with shops for tourists. It could be named the Cashmere Mile with the number of stores selling cashmere scarfs and sweaters along it. It's too bad the dollar is so weak against the pound or everyone would be getting cashmere sweaters for Christmas. As the dollar is weak... don't expect a $200-$400 sweater from us.

The city is gorgeous. I'm preconditioned to think when I look down an alleyway I'll see a nasty dead end and, if the alley is particularly picturesque, a dumpster. Here it more than likely that the alleyway opens up to some sort of courtyard with either a garden or monument in it. Old cities sure do love their monuments. I guess they've had a while to collect them.



Edinburgh castle dominates the city-scape. There are lots of cool things to look at, but it is definitely the highest one.



Touring the castle is pretty informative. The oldest parts or more than a 1000 years old. Many of the plaques explain when a particular improvement was added on to the castle and who they were fighting at the time. The views afforded from the top are spectacular.



We got to tour the queens residence in the castle, in this case, the queen is Mary Queen of Scots. Evidently the royalty never particularly cared for the accommodations in the castle. Unfortunately it was better fortified than Holyrood, the other palace in town (which we may try and see tomorrow).

We also got to see the crown jewels of Scotland. There were a couple of fun stories about how Cromwell (and others) really wanted to capture them and destroy them...so they had to sneak them around an hide them form time to time. Once Scotland and England united they were redundant. So they were stuck in a chest and walled into a room in Edinburgh Castle and forgotten about for over 100 years. Eventually someone got curious about them and received a royal warrant to go around and bust up the place looking for them.

The following picture has nothing to do with crown jewels but was taken in the castle. I'll leave it up to your imagination to explain why.



After the castle we walked around the Grassmarket area and had lunch at a really good Indian restaurant that has been open since 1947. It was petty freaking awesome. Afterwards we stopped off for a pint at the Bow Bar. It's a well establish bar that serves “real ale”. Evidently Scotland has gotten tired of giant drink companies dominating selections and has a really active movement to have smaller breweries featured in bars and pubs. The movement is called “The Campaign for Real Ale” or CAMRA. The Bow Bar has won a number of CAMRA recommendations and awards for their whiskey selection (over 160 varieties). Even more shocking in the bartender knew a vast amount of about what she was serving. I'm glad we went in the afternoon, the bar is small and the guide book says it busy at night...in which case I'd probably get claustrophobia just being in the place. As always the castle looms over head.

Moving Day

We woke up this morning to a beautiful day on Islay only to catch a morning flight back to Glasgow and a bus to Edinburgh. At last, we're staying somewhere with free wifi. Alas, only in the lobby, but at least there are big leather chairs.

Our hotel seems to be well located for walking to most of what we want to look at. There are several patches of construction near by, but since we aren't driving, they aren't too big a deal.

We had lunch at the cafe in the Portrait Gallery and spent the somewhat rainy afternoon wandering the Princes Street Gardens in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle. The architecture here is gorgous to look at when it's sunny and the majority of museums are free when it's not.

There are two H&M's on Princes Street, about a block apart. So far I have only taken advantage of them to purchase an umbrella.

Where are we now?

Edinburgh!

A wet windy day.

I can see these posts are starting to pile up. We haven't been able to make it to the WiFi hotspot the last few days. Our schedule has not lined up with the “cybercafe's.” Maybe things will be more internet friendly in Edinburgh.

Today was our last full day on Islay. We headed out to tour the two most northern distilleries on the island, Bunnahabhainn and Caol Ila. The weather looked a bit strange on our way north. By the time we got to Bunnahabhainn, which faces Jura and is further north than Port Askaig, the Paps of Jura where wearing cloud hats.



Even though the process of distilling is essentially the same at all the distilleries, it continues to be interesting to tour each individual distillery. Last night I read that Bunnahabhainn was not only the furtherest north distillery, but also the loneliest. Today I understand what that means. It is very isolated, built between the mountains and the sea. The location was chosen because there was a good water source present, not because it was convenient to anything. To get there you have to wind down a “road” with several switchbacks. Originally anything going to or leaving from the distillery was transported by the sea. The distillery uses a ship's helmsman as their mascot. Their connection to the sea is strong and permeates the entire atmosphere of the distillery.



The one thing that really struck me as we were touring the distillery is just how utilitarian the whole set up is. I know I've already mentioned being surprised that open tours where allowed in other distilleries, but in this one I was flabbergasted. The distillery is built like a ship, or to be more specific, a submarine. All the corridors seemed to be are narrow and floored with perforated steel. The steps are steep and super narrow, much more narrow than an average shoe. All the space it put to use, nothing is wasted. Anywhere they were able to run piping or install a piece of equipment they did. Their stills are enormous beasts which dominate a two story room. Unlike more distilleries, they are not lined up or organized into some recognizable pattern. Instead they are strewn about the room placed where ever they would fit. As tourist we're left to our own devices to figure out a path through the crammed room of running stills without accidentally touching one and scolding ourselves.

After showing us the stills the Bunnahabhainn did something that no other tour has done, they showed up their warehouses. Our tour guide told us that this part of the tour was technically illegal, because the excise people are afraid that members of the public will interfere with the barrels. Everything in the warehouse must be diligently measured and accounted for tax purposes. If they overfill a barrel and some whiskey falls to the ground, they have to report the volume of whiskey that was lost in the barreling process. The excise-men are paranoid that whiskey might walk away if things are not strictly accounted for. Our tour guide's take on it was that the barrels each weighed over 500 lbs and the thought she might be able to detect if we were trying to walk off with one.



It was really a treat just to be in the warehouse. All the whiskey distilleries reuse barrels from other types of alcohol. Many use bourbon, some use sherry or port, or even red wine casks. Being in an actual warehouse you get to see the random collection of barrels that are being used. Some are experiments, some are just different forms of conditioning, some are just whatever they could get their hands one when they were running low. These strange barrels may eventually become a special edition in a decade's time.

Another reason the warehouse was such a treat was just to smell the air and feel the atmosphere. The smell of a giant room full of damp wood and maturing whiskey mingling with the sea. Where barrels are aged is a bit of contention on Islay right now. Most distilleries will claim that barrels need to be filled and age on Islay for optimum flavor. The argument is if the location a whiskey is distilled at has any impact on it flavor then where it ages must doubly so. Coal Ila's parent company feels differently and ships most of its whiskey on a tanker truck off the island and barrels and ages it on the mainland. They claim there is not difference in the whiskey as long as it is aged in Scotland. Evidently whiskey doesn't care about local weather conditions but respects political boundaries.

Speaking of parent companies and bright ideas, a Bunnahabhainn vented to us about their special edition distillery reserve bottles. Every year there is a whiskey festival on Islay and every distillery creates a special edition for it. Basically that means they do something fun and/or special with one barrel which will create around 500 bottles of whiskey. They are the sort of thing that is unusual and normally sells out fast. These are also a point of pride for all of the distilleries. The Bunnahabhainn employees selected a special barrel and hand bottled and labeled all the bottles. Their parent company over ruled their suggested pricing for the bottles and enforced a 200 pound price tag. The distillery was not happy about this turn of events. Now they can't move their distillery reserve bottles for this year. They're proud of it and no one gets to taste and no one will buy it because it's priced like it' a 35 year old bottle.

Man this is a long post. One last fun fact about Bunnahabhainn. They also are owned by the same company that owns Black Bottle. Before coming to Islay I had never heard of Black Bottle. It's a blended whiskey (so not as distinctive as a single malt) that combines all the whiskeys of Islay together (along with some grain spirits). The lady at Ardbeg told us that when locals want a cheaper dram they always buy Black Bottle because it supports the entire island. I thought that was pretty neat.

I had intended to talk about Caol Ila too. I was going to contrast it to Bunnahabhainn's distillery being that Caol Ila was leveled and rebuilt in the 70's so it is probably one of the most planned out distilleries that we've seen. It's still room is a giant glass room that looks out into the ocean. Here's a quick pic of it.

Still Life

We've only made it to the cyber cafe one of the last few days, and the wifi was down. Obviously this has not deterred us from writing.

Today was our last full day on Islay and we still had two distilleries to see, Bunnahabhain and Caol Ila, both on the sound between Islay and Jura. The day started out sunny and warm, but just after putting a little more than $100 into the gas tank, clouds rolled in and showers started. This added a certain element of excitement to driving the long, winding, single-lane roads carved into the cliffs. We were indoors for the worst of the rain, fortunately.

The Bunnahabhain car park is not for beginners. Don't do it your first day driving here. The distillery has the largest mash pot and washbacks we've seen so far. The layout is crowded with steep, narrow stairs to navigate between process areas. There's a large, elaborate touch screen that monitors everything in the stills, but doesn't control anything. Our tour guide has recently been reading up on bourbon and wants to do a distillery tour in the States. Given that, unlike other Islay distilleries, Bunnahabhain ages the vast majority of their stock in sherry casks instead of bourbon casks, it was interesting to find the most knowledgeable and interested person on the subject here. She said she read that bourbon distillers were going to start using barrels twice instead of once. I will have to remember to look into that when we get back. That would certainly change a lot of the emphasis of the tours.

Caol Ila is owned by Diageo (who also own Lagavulin and Port Ellen). We weren't sure if we were going to get the tour as Dot hadn't had any luck getting anyone on the phone to set one up. Fortunately, there was just enough room in the next tour when we arrived. We spent a pretty long time in the reception area, but it had started to really come down and I didn't want to do that particular drive in the rain more times than I had to. Our tour guide was from New Zealand and is the first person we've met who is desperate to get off the island. Her grandfather had worked at Caol Ila prior to it's rebuilding in the 70's. On this tour, I actually remembered that my digital camera does video and took a few seconds at some stages. At the end of the tour, they poured an unpeated 8, the 12, the 18, and a cask strength one only sold at the distillery. All of them were good, but, unsurprisingly, the cask strength was our favorite. The variety available is somewhat surprising given that the overwhelming majority of their product goes to blending (Johnnie Walker) and isn't even barreled on Islay. They actually currently store more casks of Lagavulin on site than their own.

We spent the afternoon admiring the beauty of Port Ellen's bay one last time, with an occasional warm up stop in a bar before returning to the White Hart for one last meal. They had a wonderful fire going in the lounge and, starting with us, everyone who came in wanted to sit there instead of the restaurant for dinner. Now we're back in the room unwinding with the last of the Caol Ila we got a few days ago and preparing for the next leg of our tip.

In a Kildalton state of mind.

I had been looking forward to today. While I like all the Islay distilleries, I've noticed a particular predilection for the ones along the Kildalton coast. Those are Ardbeg, Laphroaig, and Lagavulin. Today we visited and toured the later two.

Before arriving, I had read that if you only get to tour one distillery on the island, choose Bowmore or Laphroaig because the are the only two that still do some of their own malting. Unfortunately the Bowmore tour didn't work out for us...but we got to tour Laphroaig. And what a tour it was.

By malting, I mean that Laphroaig still seeps, germinates, turns, smokes, and dries it's own barley. At least some of it. I think they only malt about 20% of the barley they need. The remainder comes from the maltings at Port Ellen that also supplies the rest of the island. It should be noted that Port Ellen malts each distilleries barley to their individual specifications, so it's not like Laphroaig gains anything by doing it themselves. They mostly malt a percentage of their own to keep the full process of distilling alive at the distillery.

Our tour guide had worked at the distillery for some 25 or 30 years. He intimately knew everything that went on in the process. He started by showing us the malting floors.



This is where they spread out the barley once they soak it for awhile to trick it into thinking it's time to grow. They have to get the barley to start germinating because it starts to convert the starch in the grain into sugar, and they need the sugar to fuel the fermentation for the yeast. The trick is to control the germination and not let it get too far out of hand. If it goes to far they will basically end up with barley sod. To keep it from actually growing they keep turning the barley over every four hours. That's back breaking work. There are a few modern tools they use to help lighten the load, but it's still labor intensive (and the reason most distilleries just buy the grains pre-malted).

Once the barley has germinated they smoke it in peat smoke. They have to move the grains into another room situated over a peat fire and they let it smoke for about 13 hours. Our guide told us that the grains are still damp at this point and that helps them absorb the peat flavor. This step is one of the key factors that gives Islay Scotch's their distinctive flavors. Here's a pic of how dense the peat smoke is in the smoking room (this room smelled awesome).



Laphroaig also harvests it's own peat to burn to create smoke. The tour guide said that they preferred to throw damp peat on the fire because it smoked more, and the goal was to create smoke not heat. Again, another good smelling room.



After smoking, the barley is dried using warm air. That takes another 18 hours. After that, the rest of the tour was pretty similar to other tours we've been on, because once you have malted barley the process is pretty much the same. We got to taste the wort and the pot wash. This time instead of using our fingers we were provided with little tasting cups. To retain an element of excitement the vats were left open long enough to set off all the CO2 alarms (evidently the fermenting yeast was belching serious amounts CO2 into the room).

After the tour we got to retire to their swank lounge and taste a wee dram. Being that Dawn joined the Friends of Laphroaig club last year they presented her with a certificate and a small bottle of Laphroaig. Here she is relaxing in the lounge.



In the afternoon we toured Lagavulin. At first I was concerned the tour wasn't going to be very informative because our tour guide looked younger than us. It turns out that she knew a great deal about their distillery and was able to easily answer all the questions thrown at her. I was once again impressed with how open all the distilleries are on their tours. Especially in a distillery like Lagavulin that has evolved into a factory more than it was laid out and planned to be one. There are a lot of stairs, a lot of buttons out in the open, and a lot of tight unsupervised places to hang out in. This sort of access wouldn't fly in the US.

Here's a quick shot of their stills.



After the Lagavulin tour we headed towards Finalaggan to see the seat of power for the Lord of the Isles (circa 16th century). On the way there we passed the Islay Ale brewing company so I got to drop in and say high to them. Finalaggan is basically the remains of a town built on an island in a loch. It seems that everyone on Islay has some sort of castle ruins or stone circle in their backyards. Turning the corner and seeing something breath taking is kind of par for the course around here. This was no exception. Plus the whole place is very laid back about tourist. If you want to see something then tromp on out there and have a look around. The whole island seems to operate on the golden rule... do whatever you want as long as you aren't being an ass.

A Case of the Mondays

oday started well with a visit to Laphroaig. I joined Friends of Laphroaig last year on their website. Now they email me birthday cards and invite me to internet broadcasts of tastings. Also, I have a lease for a small plot of land and can visit once a year to inspect my plot and collect my rent (a dram, or 50ml of 10 year). The visitors' center has a pretty nice lounge that's only lacking free wifi to keep Bill from just moving in. They do a small portion of their own malting on the premises, so we got to go through that stage in the tour. Our tour guide had been working at the distillery for decades and did an excellent job of walking us through. At the end, he passed out certificates and bottles to FoL members and we hung around for a while trying the different spirits. Then I pulled on some rubber waders and walked out to my plot to plant a little flag and let Bill take pictures. By far the most touristy thing we've done in some ways, but after a few drinks, a pretty satisfying activity.

In the afternoon, we toured Lagavulin and got to see a seal. They had just run out of their distiller's edition, but had a 12 year cask strength. I might be a sucker for anything that's cask strength. Later that evening, we had dinner at a hotel where our tour guide from Lagavulin tends bar in the evenings. They had the distiller's edition available, so we at least got to taste what we're missing out on. Man, that was a good Scotch. The peat in the finish went on forever. No wonder it's all gone. A guy from Boston went on and on to us about the Craftsman Tour at Bowmore. His detailed description of this ₤22 tour was pretty much identical to the Laphroiag ₤2 tour, but with a taste of whisky straight out of the barrel. He was pretty excited about how worth it that tour was so we didn't tell him how much that sounded like ours. Maybe a dram straight from the barrel is worth ₤20.

In between our two meetings with Hazel, we stopped by the Islay Ale Brewery and Finlaggan. I'd been trying to figure out how to make it to Finlaggan during operating hours for it's visitor's center, but they close so early that it was continuing to not work out. A sign at Lagavulin informed us that the visitor's center was closed for renovations, but the foot paths were still open. No longer bothering to adhere to a schedule, we made our way there. Another couple arrived about the same time, but otherwise we had the place to ourselves. There was also a perturbed sheep. He was fenced into a small (if our front yard is small) area all alone and was voicing his displeasure to anyone around. I have no idea what he could have done to get banished to that isolated pasture, I assume he's a clever sheep and the farmers need to keep him away from the other sheep to prevent some kind of woolly revolt.

After dinner, which included scallops caught by our proprietors, we tried to go to a visitor's reception in another hotel. Note to self: visitor's reception = local talent show. The fiddler was quite talented, but the rest I could easily have skipped. When they busted out the slides, we ran for it. The layout looked like free tastings if you made it to the end, but they should really have started by getting us toasted before trying to subject us to a slide show. I can relax and drink Caol Ila at the B&B, where nobody sings about elephants laying ivory eggs, thank you very much.

It's a narrow road to take.

I think a word needs to be said about the driving on Islay. By and large Dawn as done all the driving on the island. I did one tiny jaunt this evening, just to get a taste, but I'm happy to let her continue to hone her island driving skills. Here and there there are two lane roads. Mostly along the (relatively) heavily traveled section between Lagavulin and Bowmore. It's hard to describe the roads everywhere else. They look like they were paved with the intention that golf carts would be the primary source of transportation. Basically the rest of the island is paved with single lane roads and every now and again there will be a widened bulge in the road. If you happen to see a car coming the other way then one of you should try and get to a bulge to give the other one room to pass. That is, if you get to see the other car coming. The roads were also built with a quantity of blind turns, leaps of faith, and steep hill tops that can only be indicative of a place where you assume no one else is coming.

Racing down a one lane road over a blind hill top without knowing if someone is doing the same thing on the other side is...uh...exhilarating? Dawn seems to think so.

Did I say racing? Why yes I did. That's because speed limits are only posted in towns. Actually the beginning of the speed limit is posted (30 kph) and the end of the speed limit is also posted...so you don't accidentally continue to let the man tell you how fast to drive. Outside of towns as far as we can tell its a free for all.

Well at least the cars are really tiny here... wrong. SUV's, pickup trucks, semis, buses, and small European cars are all at home here. I think the number “American sized” cars here is due to the fact that, unlike suburbia, you might actually get stuck in a peat bog trying to give way so another car can pass.

Insane as it sound the whole system works fairly well. We don't often see other people on the roads, and when we do they almost always wave to us. You pass someone coming the other way, you wave to them. They stop at a bulge, they wave to you. You stop at a bulge, they wave to you. I'm beginning to really dig the philosophy of small island life which seems to center around: there aren't many people here, we all know each other, so let's be a pleasant as we can to each other. Rude actions can't be covered in a cloak of anonymity.

This philosophy extends well pass the driving situation in to all facets of life. Its no joke that this experience has stirred strong desires to escape the world and give island life a try. If only I didn't hate boats.

Jura-nimo

We drove out to Port Askaig today to get a better look at Jura and the rather impressive peaks (Paps) we won't be going to this trip. Bill has determined that the distance the ferry has to travel might be manageable so maybe next time. It's about 4 minutes, according to our hosts. They also told Bill that once a year, there's a race over the mountains followed by a dance. The record for the race is around 4 hours and 20 minutes. I imagine it would take me about 10 hours to cover that much ground.

While we were there, we stopped in at the local hotel bar, which had a pretty amazing collection of bottles, many only for display. We split a glass of 15 year old Jura as that was our view. The bartender had just gotten to the island the same day we did, having traveled from Slovakia, flying through Heathrow to Glasgow and taking the bus to the ferry. His English comprehension is a little shaky (though, honestly, better than some graduate students I've met), and he said that Heathrow wasn't bad, but in Glasgow's airport, he could barely understand anything. Bill, ever interested in figuring out how to get to live here asked a few questions and found out that he pretty much got the job because the cook was a friend of his who has been here for about 4 months when a position opened. She gave him a call and told him to come to Islay. All in all, a fun little trip which left us with a better idea of how far away things on that side of Islay are. We'll be back for at least on distillery on that side of the island in a couple of days.

We again got to hear Iain Banks talk today. His previous editor, who is apparently retired and not actually dead, though Bill and I both remember Banks referring to his death, introduce him today. He forgot to bring his copy of Matter to read from and spoke off the cuff about science fiction writing, authors and books he's enjoyed, and the Culture. He went on a long tangent about comic books and graphic novels, which he has no intention of doing, but seemed open to the idea of having his previous works adapted to. He also talked about some of the really awful stuff he'd written long before he got the Wasp Factory published. It was great fun for me as a fan, and Bill, in spite of having read none of his stuff (not even Raw Spirit), enjoyed it as well. He flipped my copy of Look to Windward over a couple of times trying to remember if he'd seen that edition before while signing it. I really wish I'd brought my copy of Raw Spirit.

After the talk, we decided that it was really silly of us to not have a bottle of scotch open in our room to enjoy while winding down in the evenings and typing up these posts. Our first stop was the local co-op for some accompaniments followed by a drive back to Bowmore to visit the Islay Whisky Shop, which has bottles in a variety of sizes. We settled on a 350mL Caol Ila, which is not quite half gone now.

Before retiring for the evening, we walked a little ways down the road from our B&B,turned down a road towards the coast and found the ruins of a castle overlooking Lagavulin. This place is awesome.

The Bowmore Plan

The plan was to get up this morning and take the Bowmore distillery tour. That was the plan. Bowmore gets the honor of having the oldest distilling license on Islay. Of course, lots of people were distilling before that time (they were called black pots) Bowmore was just the first to go legit (in 1779). It's the one distillery on the island that we didn't have a tour reservation for. It's supposedly the most visited distillery in Islay. We were told that it's the only one that didn't need reservations. That wasn't the case today. All the tours for the morning were full and the afternoon tours conflicted with the book festival lecture we wanted to hear. Bummer. As a runner up prize the nice lady at Bowmore shut down the visitor center for a few minutes (locked the door, hung a sign, and everything) so she could set up a DVD version of the tour on a projector in their meeting room for us to watch. She even poured us a dram of whiskey to help ease the sting of missing the actual tour.

The DVD was super informative. We actually really enjoyed it. That's probably because it delved into little details that wouldn't be practical on a tour. A real tour is mostly about pointing to machines and telling people what they do. The DVD spent more time covering the process more thoroughly . It filled in a few holes in our understanding. We probably know enough now to set up a black pot in our backyard.

After the pseudo-tour we walked around Bowmore the town. It's the largest town on Islay, which means it has two busy streets. The main street is pretty awesome because at the top of the hill it has a round church built in 1769. The church is round so there are no corners for the devil to hide in. At the bottom of the hill is the distillery. In preparing for our trip I read in the Ralph Steadman book that David and Karen gave me that Bowmore is built so that God lives at the top of the hill and the devil at the bottom.



We decided to drive up to Port Askaig to see what was there. It's pretty much the last town we haven't visited on the island. Port Askaig turned out to be a pretty small town, even for Islay standards. Perhaps we missed part of it, as it's actually folded into the side of a cliff. There is a ferry terminal there that will take people and cars across to Jura, the island next door. Originally I was against all ferry rides for this trip. Now that I understand how close Jura is to Islay I think I'd be willing to take the ride. I've been told it's about a 4 minute ride and it looks like it could easily be canoed.



The mountains in the picture have been driving us crazy this entire trip. You can see them from lots of different places on Islay. We kept thinking that they were somewhere on the island, but we could never quiet figure out where they were on the map. Now we understand that they're on the island next door (Jura), but it's so close that you can't tell that from most of Islay. They're actually called the Paps of Jura (I'm told because they kind of looks like paps...but don't know what a pap is). I'm also told that once a year there is a race that's 16 miles long where you can run up and down all of them. Oh boy! The record is some astonishing 4 hours and 20 minutes (or so I'm told). Afterward there is supposedly a dance. Our hosts told me that everyone is so exhausted (and/or drunk) after the dance that people collapse and pretty much sleep right were they fall. Some times you can't leave the area in a car because people will be sleeping all over the place. They refer to it as “good times.”

This last photo is of Lagavulin. Notice that white building up and to the right of the distillery? That's our B&B.



The really surprising thing about this photo is I was standing in the ruins of a castle when I took it! And trust me, they really are ruins... more of a pile of rubble. But you can kind of make out that there was a structure here at one point. I did some researching in a book I have and it says that the Castle Dunyvaig used to guard the entrance to Lagavulin bay and fell in 1615! The amazing thing is we just walked down this nondescript road (at first we thought it was some sort of driveway) and found a castle and an amazing view of Lagavulin. It's really cool knowing that anyone who has a photo or has done a painting of the distillery (like Ralph Steadman) essentially had to do the same thing and make the same discovery.

2nd Day on Islay

I took lots a beautiful pictures today that I'm not going to post. Partly because my EEE laptop is ill-suited for photo management and partly because I'm already sitting on a bunch of photos I need to post from yesterday and I don't want to spend two hours of my vacation fooling around with Blogger next time I find WiFi.

Anywho, here's a quick sample of some of the things we did today. We got to listen to Iain Banks speak. I know who he is, but I can't say I've read his books. As such, I wasn't sure I'd dig this part of the trip. Turns out the Iain is a really entertaining (and fidgety) speaker and I really enjoyed his speech. Dawn got him to sign stuff for her.



At Bruichladdich Dawn got to fill her own bottle of 25 year old whiskey directly from the cask. I didn't enjoy this tour as much as Ardbeg. Part of that was because the tour person wasn't as knowledgeable, part of it was she kept on harping on the investing potential of buying whiskey futures, and part of it was we were taking the tour with the Swiss Photo Team. There is a group of six Swiss (we assume) men cavorting around the island, each carrying digital cameras the put my new one to shame. Everywhere we go we run into them. I didn't enjoy taking a tour with them because I was competing with six other people to take decent shots of the process. I really didn't want photos with big Swiss guys in them so I ended up taking less photos.



During the tour Dawn noticed a barrel from one of our favorite bourbon distilleries. Evidently Buffalo Trace ships their used barrels to Scotland. Maybe I'll email this to Buffalo Trace when we get back...



We also did a lot of walking around the island today. Lots of gorgeous landscape shots. Here's one of Dawn walking along the tiny concrete bridge to the lighthouse across from Port Ellen. This is the kind of access that you can't get in a more litigious society, like the USA, for fear that tourist would be swept out to sea (indeed I harbored that fear when I walked out there).

Whisky, Winding Roads, and Wild Animals

We had two items on today's agenda. The first was visiting the Islay Book Festival, which coincided with our trip. I planned this trip around Hamlet tickets. I'd actually originally purchased them for mid August, but discovered that Laphroaig was closed for the month of August for maintenance. I then purchased another set for early September. In trying to figure out what we would do here besides distillery tours, I found out about the book festival, which is a fund raiser for the Port Ellen Elementary School. This year, they have Iain Banks as a speaker on both Saturday and Sunday.

Today he talked about where his ideas came from, which was actually more of a discussion about what he thinks a writer is and how he got into the industry with a few sources for specific ideas within specific books and a lot of humor. He also talked about working with editors and how he and his previous, now deceased editor, used to fight out his novels over a bottle of Scotch. He didn't stay still the entire time. I actually took a couple of videos with my camera just to illustrate this. No idea when I'll get a chance to post them. He also said that parts of the Crow Road miniseries that the BBC did are better than the book. Disc 1 is currently sitting at our house. Following each author's talk, the author signs books. I of course wanted to support the local school system and purchased 3 books for him to sign. He signed the scifi ones as Iain M. Banks and the fiction as Iain Banks. Tomorrow he's going to be talking about Matter, which I finished during out layover in Glasgow. Maybe I'll also get that signed. Or buy a few more to get signed. Or both.

Next was a tour at Bruichladdich, but we had a couple of hours to kill, so we made our way to Kilchoman, which is the newest distillery and is still aging it's first release. Bill has read that they're intending to do everything on the premises, including growing and malting the barley, and that their annual yield will be what Caol Ila produces in a week. Getting there was a lot of fun if you were me and horrifying if you were Bill. It's a one lane road through the hills with winding, but not really sharp turns. I was barreling along at all of 40 mph, enjoying the roller coaster while Bill fought desperately to keep down his breakfast. We only stopped in briefly and picked up a sample of their “New Spirit” distilled on 23-03-08 and bottled on 08-05-08. During the drive back, Bill declared that part of the island dead to him.

Then, Bruichladdich. Their tour is more of a sales pitch than a history lesson. I thought it was interesting because it filled in a lot of the blanks from their website. Bruichladdich is all about small batch experiments and selling futures. You can buy your own barrel for only ₤1,100 and discuss with “Jim” how you'd like it to be barreled. If you ask enough questions, they'll also mention a ₤20 storage fee each year for the first 10, which goes up after that, but I don't know by how much, and that the purchase doesn't include the excise tax, or bottles, or shipping, but they provide all of that for a seperate fee, which doesn't include actually doing the bottling or selling, that's your problem. If I had the money and a kid, I might consider that an interesting college fund. As it is, it's just interesting. The tour guide also said that they don't get their malt from Port Ellen, but buy smaller batches, some from other Scottish sources. They age in all kinds of different barrels, though primarily bourbon, which may explain the caramel notes I get out of both the Bruichladdichs I had tasted. When showing us the variety of barrels, one in particular caught my eye: Buffalo Trace. I was there last summer (2007); that's the distillery tour I've been on the second half of. I am really glad I caught that half, though, as so far tours here have stopped with the distilling process. What I got from the Buffalo Trace Tour was an idea of the different barrel aging regimes and the bottling process. One of the items available in th gift shop was a 25 year old barrel that you could pour your own bottle out of. Yeah, totally did that. I suppose now our luggage only has room for 3 more bottles from the island. We also met an English woman on the tour who didn't know anything about whiskey and was on Islay because her ancestors had lived here.

After Bruichladdich, we headed further down the road towards Port Charlotte just to see what there was to see. We picked up a hitchhiker along the way, but only because it was that same woman. We headed further down the road to get a good look at a light house on a nearby island that was designed by Robert Lewis Stevenson's grandfather. Since we were already doing light houses, we decided to try out the walk to Singing Sands, which is a beach reputed to sing in the wind and have a good view of the light house near Port Ellen. It had been described as a 1.5 hour walk (the monument was described as 2 hours).

There was a sign that said Singing Sands, Lighthouse, and Farm and a parking lot right after the turn. You can see a beach from the parking lot, but it didn't look like it would take 45 minutes to get to. We went and took a look anyway. There are the remains of an old building at one edge of the beach, which include steps leading up the side of a cliff and a path into the woods. We followed that for a little while and it was not unlike walking through what Fable had promised to be. When we got back to the beach, there were bulls on it. We had seen a car on the road past the parking lot, which looked questionable, and decided that meant we were allowed to drive on it. It very quickly went from questionable to full of potholes and bulls and then gravel and mud. Eventually, we saw a sign that said “Last Parking Area” and decided that maybe we should park there. The light house was an easy walk. On the way, we passed a sign for the walk to Singing Sands which looked far too ambitious for only having a couple hours of good light left. The lighthouse is accessed via a narrow concrete path with no railings (except on a metal bridge between two outcrops of rock. From there, the view of Port Ellen is lovely. Also, Bill had a eureka moment and proclaimed that they malted the barly in the old Port Ellen distillery. I did not throw him into the sea. On the walk back to the car, we startled a small heard of mountain goats. Most wend up the side of a rock outcropping, but the largest ran into the road, getting between us and our car. Eventually, he decided we weren't a threat and hoped down to the beach so we could pass.

For having two things on the agenda, we did a lot today.