Monday, August 25, 2014

Grocery notes from the UK

Just a few quick things.

1) People in the UK are really into tomatoes. I don't mind -- I like tomatoes too -- but I don't require a boiled tomato for breakfast every morning, or tomato sauce (Ketchup) on everything. My favorite evidence of this near-obsession was when I was exploring the large M&S in Inverness. I went down aisle after aisle, and eventually came to the produce section. There was a 'fruit' aisle, and a 'salads' aisle, and a few general 'vegetables' aisle... and a 'tomatoes' aisle. Yep, an entire aisle dedicated purely to tomatoes -- the only one, as far as I could tell, devoted exclusively to one thing. Impressive!

2) Alternate blog post title: Exploring World Culture Through the Lens of Cool Ranch Doritos. 
Dear America, are you aware that no one else in the world recognizes 'ranch' as a flavor? It's true. So last year in Norway I found 'Cool American' Doritos, and this year in Scotland I've discovered 'Cool Original' Doritos. Whatever works, I guess; they all taste pretty much the same.
UPDATE: on the way out in Belgium I discovered another variation: 'Sweet Paprika' Doritos, which is probably the most accurate description yet.

3) Can someone please explain to me why the mini grocery store in the Manchester airport stocks refrigerated raw meat? Like, what, I'm going to buy a couple of steaks and fry them up on my camp stove while I'm waiting at the gate?! Even IF it's there as a convenience for the tired traveler who just wants to pick up some bacon for breakfast on their way home, I still find it questionable. 




A WHAT tide?

Yesterday I woke up early and had a lovely home-cooked breakfast consisting of orange juice, tea, fruit salad with yogurt, cereal, brown toast with butter and homemade jam, black pudding, sunny-side-up egg, bacon, mushrooms, and a boiled tomato. About halfway through a lovely Spanish couple joined me -- both architects from Barcelona -- and we had a nice chat. 

As soon as I finished breakfast I left, because I had to catch the low tide in order to explore Spar Cave, a sea cave on the southern part of Skye.

After close to an hour of driving on single-track roads, dodging sheep and lorries, I arrived at the abandoned house given as a landmark and pulled off onto a grassy patch on the side of the road. Then I proceeded to follow the rest of the directions given by hillwalkers...

So, here's the thing in Scotland. In the first place, it's perfectly legal to go walking across someone's property. Absolutely fine, and as my riding guide explained "It's a right - it doesn't matter if the landowner likes it or not. If they get upset about it, they're in the wrong. But hardly anyone gets upset, really only people who have moved here from elsewhere. But we do try to make ourselves useful, and not to make pests of ourselves... just leave things as you found them, and for me, if I notice a broken fence or something, I tell the farmer."
So that's great.

But there's this other thing here, that's actually quite refreshing -- it's sort of a culture of personal responsibility. So, like, you can basically go wherever you want, whenever you want, but the landowner also has no responsibility to maintain paths or whatever. Or fence off the edges of cliffs. Or put up 'trail closed' signs when there's been a washout. Basically, you're on your own, and if you do something stupid and get yourself into trouble, well, you probably deserved it and maybe you should be more careful next time. You certainly aren't going to be suing anyone because you decided to walk out on a slippery unfenced jetty in the dark and fell in the ocean. Just, you know, don't be an idiot.

Now, I love this. I really do. But it can be a bit of a culture shock for a coddled American to go hiking (hillwalking) in Scotland. And, newsflash, the Scots are tougher than we are. At least, the ones that go hillwalking are. For example...


The hillwalking directions to Spar Cave go something like this:

Go through the gate, past the ruined stone barn and down the path to the beach. It's a little muddy and slippery in spots. Once you get to the beach, go around to the left, clambering over a few rocks, until you reach the canyon. It's very close. Then go up into the cave (the one on the left). Bring a torch. It's muddy at first, then steep but the stone is grippy and not slippery. Be sure to go back before the tide comes in.


The Americanized version goes a bit more like this:

Go through the gate and past the ruined stone barn. There are sheep! You're in a sheep field! Take a picture! 

Ok. Anyway. Head down toward the beach. There are multiple paths in view, mostly due to the sheep, so pick the one that goes most toward the water. Slide down a wet grassy hill. Now you're all damp. Good job. Oh, and that was the wrong fork in the path, so drag yourself back up via handfulls of grass.

Try again. The correct path this time! Slide down a muddy slope instead of grass. Now you're wet AND muddy! Good job! And now there's a tree down across the path. No worries, climb on over. Now walk along the super narrow muddy bit with a sheer drop. This seems safe. 

Ok! You're on the beach! 'Now go around to the left, clambering over a few rocks.' Wait. Holy shit. It's like a giant was playing Jenga in here with boulders. And they're wet. Um.... Ok. This is fine. They're nice ragged rocks so they aren't very slippery, and there's lots of bits to grab onto. Don't grab that bit, though, it's sharp. Too late. Now you're wet and muddy and a little bloody! Good job!

Ok. Made it around the corner and past the first, unmentioned slit in the rocks that doesn't count as a canyon, then around the next corner, and have now definitively found the canyon. Problem: the canyon is fuller of water than it is supposed to be, given that low tide is in fifteen minutes. Um. Maybe the water will fall really quickly over those fifteen minutes? Because it looks like it needs to drop about eighteen inches to make this work. Well. The rock is striated horizontally in a series of undercut ledges along the side, and it's ragged and not slippery. At the outside it's much like stairs, but as you go further in it becomes sheer. So it's sort of like a ladder, and it's really only about five feet in from where the rock goes vertical to where the water stops, and about eight feet down. So. 

Maybe you could just sort of climb down it, like a ladder, and then over a few feet and then you'd be on the ground in the canyon! But. There's no one else here. Part of the appeal was that not many people come here. So if you try this and fuck it up, maybe you'll have a broken leg or crack your head and no one will find you and the tide will be coming in soon. That would be a terrible thing to do to the people who care about you. But cave!!!! But.... personal safety. OK OK FINE.

Turn back. Go back about halfway to the corner, and down the 'steps' to the water level. Spend a good three minutes considering taking off your boots and socks and leaving them there on the rock, and wading in instead. It's not THAT deep and not very far. It's all rocks covered with seaweed, though, so it would be hard to keep your footing. There's a pretty good chance you'd fall in. That wouldn't be so bad, your luggage is in the car so you could fall in, explore the cave, wade back out, and then dry off and change... it's probably not THAT cold. You'd be fine. It's only the North Atlantic or whatever.

The only hesitation now is that you've brought your shoulder bag, because you're carrying flashlights and snacks and a poncho and your phone/camera... and it also has your passport and your wallet and most importantly it has your phone and so it would be really unfortunate if you fell in the ocean with this bag. You could leave it on the rocks, but what if someone did come along and they stole it? And how will you carry the important cave supplies without it?

At this point someone DOES come along! A very nice couple speaking German with very little English asks you how to get in, assuming that you've been in and are on your way out. You explain the problem, mostly with charades. "Ah." they say. Then head off ahead of you, and proceed to do the ladder/crab-climb that you'd ruled out as too risky. Now it's fine, though, because now there are three of you! If one falls in the other two can drag them to higher ground, and one can stay and perform first aid while the other goes for help. Totally safe now! You happily tag along, and after a few more scrapes and bruises, all three of you are standing triumphantly in the canyon. You head into the cave. It's nice that you brought a backup flashlight, because they only have one and it is DARK in there. You give them your spare so that each of you has a personal light, and go exploring. It's great fun! You take turns photographing one another, and at the top, they're very accomodating of your request for a minute of total darkness and silence. It's amazing. Caves are rad. Especially giant caves in remote, inaccessible areas where you can be mostly alone and not have to deal with packs of tourists, roped-off wooden walkways, and shouting children. Hurrah!

On your way out, a bit ahead of the German couple, a fisherman is rowing past and sees you coming out. As you climb back up the ladder he rows in, and stops to have a chat:
"Are ye alright there, lass?"
"Oh, yes! Thanks."
"No bother, no bother... I saw ye comin' out and it looked like ye might have a wee bit o' difficulty, so I thought I'd come check. Lotsa people hurt themselves here on the rocks, I did once, too. The coast guard has to send helicopters sometimes. Be careful, now!"

It turned out that he owns the B&B just up the road, where I'd tried to stay (it was already booked), and had been out since 6am catching fish for dinner. He was super nice and we all chatted for a bit before I left. He also explained the trouble with the tide -- apparently this was an unusually slack tide, and didn't come in or go out as far. Normal low tides are several feet lower! So at least it wasn't just me -- it was really unusually difficult to access the canyon on that particular day! 


Thursday, August 21, 2014

WARNING! Something!

I pulled over to blog about this.

So, warning signs. On the road. There are lots! It's super helpful [mostly]!

But. 

So you have the obvious ones:
[exclamation point] [squiggly line] SLOW
Curves ahead, cool, got it.
[red sign with picture of a sheep]
Cool, watch for sheep, thanks.

You have the helpful ones with text:
[exclamation point] FERAL GOATS NEXT TWO MILES
Ah, ok, thanks for the heads up!
[white sign with arrow right] FREE CHURCH
Um, ok... I don't know what I'd do with a remote Scottish church, maybe that's why you're trying to unload it for free, thanks anyway...

Some with text AND pictures:
[picture of couple with canes] ELDERLY PEOPLE
Not sure that's totally PC, but I'll try not to hit them, thanks!

And then you have the problems. Two, specifically.

1) HOW FAST AM I SUPPOSED TO BE GOING??? There are lots of speed zones with very clear signage to reduce speed to x, but then at the end there's just the sign that I've learned means 'restrictions no longer apply'. So.... what's the 'normal' speed limit? Is it just whatever I want? This goes along with lots of signs when curves are coming up that just say 'SLOW'. But HOW slow? Just slower than I'm going now? But how fast should I be going now? Aaaaaaaaah!

2) And my favorite:
[exclamation point] [arcane symbol] 1/2 MILE
....what? Ok, I'm supposed to watch out for... something... for a half mile. Or is that IN a half mile? But WHAT?!? Oh god... is it something natural? Is it an animal? Lightning strikes? Fallen trees? Tornadoes? Ghosts? AAAAAHHH!!!!

That's all.


Left. Left. Left. Left.

When I told people with experience that I was going to rent a car (for the first time ever) in Scotland and drive a manual transmission around the country on the 'wrong' side of the road, I got some very nice advice, some of which is loosely paraphrased below:

"Nah, you'll be fine. But every time you stop at an intersection, say 'left. left. left. left.' over and over to yourself until you're going again. Maybe say it out loud. And look both ways, multiple times. And try not to hit anything."

"Yeah, it seems pretty easy. I mean, the cars and roads are all designed that way, so just do what everyone else is doing and pay attention so you don't fuck it up."

"Do you know how to drive a manual transmission? Yeah? Well then you'll be fine. Just be sure to pass on the proper side. And do note that people drive very slowly in the rural areas, so allow a lot of time!"

So today I took the morning train back from Golspie to Inverness. I wandered around Inverness for a half hour or so -- I had planned to go directly to Marks & Spencer for lunch, but got distracted by a sign for the 'Victorian Market' which sounded exciting but turned out to be an old (sorry, 'historic') shopping mall. Then I went to find the castle (and found the 'American Candy World' which was naturally next to the 'Miami Night Club' on the way). The castle was fine, took a picture, didn't go in. Then went to M&S for my favorite sandwich (Ploughman's cheddar with tomato and pickle ['pickle' means something different here, it's brown and good] on malted bread), sour cream & chili lentil crisps (new favorite snack), and of course trifle.

Then I went on a walk to find the hotel where I was to pick up my rental car, which turned out to be MUCH farther out of town than I expected, along a main road and past what felt like miles of used car lots and construction sites. Eventually I found it, and checked out my car from the typical car-rental clerk (doughy mouth-breathing early twenties high school grad who lives in his mom's basement and works primarily to support his Magic card habit -- this may be my first time renting a car myself, but I've been involved with the process enough through various jobs to know the type):

"Ok, I'll just glance at your driver's license, take a deposit on your credit card, and sign here, here, here and here and I'll give you the keys."
*sign* *sign* *sign* ...
"And here."
"...but... that's the part that says there's no exisiting damage."
"Right. We've already checked it."
"...right, but I haven't. I need to look at it before I can sign the section that says I accept it in perfect condition."
"Well, I can't give you the keys until you sign it."
"But what if I get out there and it's a wreck?"
"Well, you could come back in."
"And then what would happen?"
"Well... I guess I'd take a look and then if it was like you said, we could amend this."
"I see."

So then, after getting the keys, doing a thorough check, making several trips back inside with questions:

"Excuse me, how do I open the boot?"
"Oh, you'll see an S thingy on the back, just push on that and then pull up."
"Ah. Ok, thanks!"

"Excuse me, but there's no owner's manual..."
"No."
"Oh."

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you again... so I've got the back open now, thanks, but there's no jack, or spare tire, or warning triangle?"
"No. It's alright, we know."
"But aren't I required to have that? Like, by law or something? What if I get a flat?"
"Nah, you'll be alright."
"But..."
"Well, we haven't got any, anyway."
"Ok..."

So anyway, I think the moral of that story is that I won't rent from Europcar again... fingers crossed that I won't need any of those things!

So after getting in on the wrong side and sitting there for a confused minute, then getting out and going around, I started it up, examined all the dials and levers and lights, and I was off! ...off around the parking lot, that is, for approx 20 laps and several encounters with the curb and some bushes, to the amusement of a hotel guest having a smoke out front, before I finally felt brave enough to venture out on the main road...

...where I made it approx 300 feet before encountering a traffic circle and promptly making a wrong turn. But then I found another traffic circle and managed to get myself heading back to the first one, where this time I took Rick Steves' advice and just got cozy there, and went around it a few times until I felt fairly confident and then went winging off in the proper direction. 

Then I continued driving, for miles and miles, muttering a mantra out loud over and over and gripping the steering wheel so hard my hands started to cramp up:
"Left, left, left. Just keep to the left. NOT TOO FAR TO THE LEFT! And try not to hit anything. Left, left, left..."

It was SO STRESSFUL. For the first 20 miles or so, anyway... then I started to relax a bit and feel a little better about my decision.

That day I drove 220 miles in about 6.5 hours (lots of single-track roads and I had to stop a few times for sheep and a hedgehog to cross). I saw lots of lovely scenery, pulled over frequently, and had a great time. I went from Inverness to the Isle of Skye via a northerly route, checked in to a B&B near the bridge, and then drove around the north coast of the island. It was SO PRETTY! But it also took longer than expected, so after a quick stop for haggis, neeps and tatties, it was fully dark by the time I got back. Luckily I made it before the 11pm noise and running water curfew (the B&B hosts were very nice, but it was also like staying with your grandparents -- all dark wood paneling and lots of rules), so I was able to have a quick shower before falling into bed, ready for an early start the next morning.



"Would you care for some beans on toast?"

Yesterday I left Edinburgh and took a six-hour train journey north, through Inverness to the tiny town of Golspie on the North Sea. Last summer I stayed in a little inn in a little seaside village in Scotland as well. That village (Stonehaven) had a population of 11,000. Golspie has a population of 1,650. So.

It's main (only?) draw is a golf course. It's got a main street (one), no traffic lights except for one crossing signal near the school, a coffee shop, two tiny grocery stores, one chippy, four small inns, a payphone, and one bus stop. Well, two I suppose -- one in each direction. The train station has a slightly covered bus shelter for the rain, and, as I learned on my last day when I arrived early to be sure of finding the correct platform on the correct side of the track, only one platform to choose from. The station one stop down the line is even smaller, and has a red spigot with two small red buckets hanging beside it labeled "FIRE". Yep, I believe that's the fire extinguisher and fire hose all in one. 

Everyone I've encountered who isn't from here is between 60-80 years old, and the one tiny gift shop sells mostly scarves, china plates, aprons, and flowery greeting cards.

AND I LOVE IT.

I checked in to my tiny seaside inn (the Golf Links Hotel, which I wholeheartedly recommend) as soon as I arrived, around 8:30pm. It's run by a lovely couple from Yorkshire, Linda and Richard. It has I think 9 rooms, a formal dining room (used for both breakfast, which is included and cooked to your request, and dinner, which is cooked by Linda and served by Richard), a bar with over 200 varieties of whisky to choose between, and a lounge/sitting area with big comfy chairs and couches overlooking the front garden and the North Sea. 
I stayed in a spotlessly-clean, beautifully-decorated, utterly cozy room with a sea view. It came with bottled water, tea and cookies at no extra charge. It had two twin beds with electric blankets on the mattress under the seat, so you could warm up the bed before getting in. It was PERFECT.

Richard gave me a tour of the property before showing me to my room and giving me my old-fashioned key. Dinner service had stopped at 8pm, I learned later from a sign, but he asked me if I'd eaten and when I said no, told me to settle in and then come down for supper if I liked. So I did, and had a solo home-cooked meal in the formal dining room before retiring to the sitting room with a book and a glass of whisky, while the wind howled and the waves crashed outside.

The next day I had breakfast in the dining room (cooked and served by Linda). I had tea, orange juice, cereal, brown toast with butter and jam, scrambled eggs and suasage. It was delicious. I got to see the other four(?) hotel guests too, which was fun. Then I took a bus to my chosen stables, and visited with horses and the stablehands for awhile, groomed my horse for the day (Eli), and had a seven-mile private trail ride along the beach, past a castle, up through fields of heather into the woods to the top of the hills overlooking the ocean, through fields of cattle, and more. Then I unsaddled and groomed Eli and turned him out to the pasture, and then walked four miles home (along the beach, through fields of cattle, past a castle, etc). It was SO GREAT. 

I explored the town on my way back, which took approx 10 minutes because there's really only one street. I was hungry. The restaurant options were:

1 Chinese takeaway (closed)
2 tiny grocery stores (pre-made sandwiches and such available)
3(?) hotels that serve meals (only the hotel guests seem to partake)
1 coffee shop (closed)
1 chippy (PACKED with a line out the door).

I had dinner in the formal dining room of my hotel again. It was just as lovely. Toward the very end of my meal another solo hotel guest came in, but otherwise it was just me. By this point I'd heard the dining room CD about five times, and was able to predict which track was next. It skipped throughout most of one track, but it was a highland reel and the skipping was such that it made the song in double-time, which was actually fairly pleasant. 

Then I read for awhile in the lounge and went up to bed, to catch an early train back to Inverness where I've hired a car and am going to drive across the country on the left. Wish me luck!


Monday, August 18, 2014

Haggis, black pudding and Irn Bru

Edinburgh! Hurrah! 

Last night went to a great pub tucked away from the main street down some stone stairs on a Close (which seems to mean sort of a pedestrian-only alleyway into the warren of stone buildings) called Devil's Advocate - great big stone cave-like space. I had a traditional Scottish cider, battered and fried balls of haggis in a mustard mash, and a burger that was, from the ground up:
Bun
Mayo (my substitute for quince aioli) 
Shredded lettuce
Beetroot
Tomato
Thick flame-cooked beef/pork burger
Slab of black pudding
Slab of blue cheese
Mayo
Bun

Oh, and chips (thick fries).

It was all AMAZING. But also huge and I couldn't quite finish. The waitress kept coming to make sure I liked it, since I was eating slowly, and looked a little sad when she took the last bit away. Then she brought the check and said "I'm sorry, I think maybe you didn't like it and you're just so nice that you didn't want to say, and I thought maybe the burger looked a little too pink, so I've talked to my manager and I've given your drinks free and I hope that's alright!" Awwwww!

This morning I've gone for breakfast at Mum's, where I had eggs benedict, a side of mash, and an Irn Bru ('iron brew' made in Glasgow). Now the question: what, exactly, is 'mash'? I've had it now more than once, and I'm still not sure. It looks like potatoes but it doesn't quite taste like them. Ah well.
Irn Bru - not a fan. It's bright orange and super sweet and vaguely citrusy, but mostly sweet. 

Now I'm off to shows! Hurrah!





Thursday, August 14, 2014

Berlin und zee Germans

I think my experience of the German people (and I'm half German myself, so perhaps it makes sense) is best summed up by the following exchange, at 3am in Berlin after a night out in clubs:

Me: "That was just lovely. All the people were sooo nice and friendly!"

B: "'Nice and friendly?' You mean, 'quiet and reserved and kind of socially awkward and pretty much keep to themselves?'"

Me: "Um.... yeah, I guess, kind of. Aren't they great?!?!"


And then also my occasional shame regarding my own country-folk by this exchange:

Hotel. Full elevator leaves ground floor. One level up, a young couple gets in. The dude is wearing a backwards baseball cap and blasting 'Sweet Home Alabama' from his iPhone speakers. This lasts three floors, then they get out. Into the ensuing awkward silence:

B (to me, partially under his breath, shaking his head): "Not MY people..."

American girl in the corner alone: "Oh god, I wish I could say the same... It just makes me want to apologize to everyone!" 

Me: "Yeah, tell me about it..."

Older couple in the other corner: "...Ja, we are Dutch."


So anyway, yeah. Dear world, sometimes (oftentimes) my country-folk are clueless, obnoxious idiots, and I am so sorry. Lots of us are great, though! Promise!

And dear Germans: I love hanging out in clubs with you, and also social spaces in general. Know why? Because when there's a reason for us to talk you are polite and generally friendly, and when there isn't, you leave me alone and I leave you alone and we coexist in a comfortable, relaxed space where everything is fine and everything is working correctly and everyone is politely following the rules and if something breaks, we will fix it, because we are German and that is what we do.

And last but not least: I found this in a German shop (see photo). Whaaaaaaaaat? I see it a lot with NYC and LA, but Seattle? Also, I appreciate the specificity of the particular region, but I find it hard to believe that the Germans would know the political/idealogical differences between eastern and western Wa. Oh well :)

Monday, August 11, 2014

Black Pudding, Brussels-Style

Day one!

Mini-posts because we're traveling as a couple for most of this holiday so I don't have piles of mildly-lonely time to fill. It stresses me out to not have fully-crafted posts, but I'm going to try to relax about it. Here goes!

Landed in Brussels and took the train in. Have only explored the city center so far, but having fun. Tonight we ate at a restaurant that offered black pudding, Brussels-style, so of course I had to try it to compare with Scotland, because I liked it there soooo much last summer.

Here it was good but way different - thick, rich, soft, loaded with big chunks of garlic. Good, but I preferred the thinner, harder, bloodier one I had before. I've only tried the two, though, so we'll see how the next compares.

Now we're drinking beer, because it's Belgium and that's what you do. I'm drinking Lambic because it's delicious and it comes from here. Yay!