Bathed in Light in the City of Lights (the glitzy one, not the French one)

Time for a road trip in the desert for Mom's birthday!

First stop: Vegas. No, not for the gambling (I only lost $5, which incidentally is also the amount that I bet), and not for the showgirls. Partly for convenience to the places we wanted to drive, but mostly to see this. More on that later, though, as that happened on day two!

We arrived late and rented a car. I begged very prettily for a car with an aux jack for the stereo, since I had carefully curated a lengthy playlist on my old iPhone and *needed* to make sure we had good music for the drive, particularly on long stretches of radio-limited desert highway. They very kindly gave us the one car type that would *definitely* have an aux jack.... a Prius. Hurrah for eco-friendliness, boo for driving excitement. Oh well, at least we'd have music!

Then we checked into our hotel (boring chain, nothing to write home about) and headed out to find food. I naturally dragged us to a vegan metal bar in a deserted industrial area, because I like adventure and because the food looked tasty. Every city needs a proper vegan metal bar, and Vegas is no exception. It's new-ish, and called simply OWL. It has the word in giant letters on the side, and a huge owl mural, and that's it. No windows, no obvious door, two cars in the parking lot... It might be the most uninviting bar I've even been to, from the outside, and the area is, as I said, deserted (it was nearly midnight at this point). The bar was deserted too, except for the staff and a couple regulars (who were possibly also staff), and the super-sweet resident rescue dog. It was dark, had lots of original artwork on the walls, the bartender was really nice, and I loved it. We had some fried pickles and sandwiches, and called it a night.

Photo credit: OWL

The next day we walked across the freeway onto the Strip (reminder to self and note to others: Las Vegas is NOT a walkable city), and on to our main destination: Louis Vuitton. I mean, obviously, right? I needed some custom handmade luxury monogrammed trunks for our desert roadtrip, because this is definitely how I roll.

Nah, just kidding. We were there to see the privately-held artwork *inside* Louis Vuitton. Akhob (Egyptian for "pure water") is the largest Ganzfeld the artist has ever made. James Turrell is a light and space artist, one of my absolute favorites, and I've wanted to see this piece for awhile. It's housed in Louis Vuitton because they commissioned the work and own it, and are apparently quite active in the arts (my respect for them increased quite a lot after this trip).

The piece is free to visit, but by reservation only. Viewings are limited to four people at a time, and the process of getting in to see the art is an experience in itself. First you make an appointment (weeks in advance); then you show up a bit early and wander around Louis Vuitton looking at Very Expensive Luxury Items under the watchful eyes of suited clerks/security guards. Then you're met by a friendly staff member who takes you, via private elevator, into an anteroom with a couple other staff. This room is dimly-lit, to prepare your eyes for the experience ahead. While your eyes adjust, they tell you a bit about the artist and the art, and then lead you into the larger room that contains the piece. You remove your shoes and put on foot coverings, to protect the floor of the work (the space must remain pure so that no flaws exist to catch your eye and give you something to focus on). Then you're led up the stairs into the first chamber. You can wander around that small initial chamber, and/or enter the larger chamber beyond. Past that second chamber is a third, even larger space, but you can't determine the boundaries of that one. One staff member stays near the entrance to assist in case you get disoriented, and the other stands at the lip of the precipice into the final chamber, to stop you falling in.

Inside, the chambers are roughly spherical, and bathed in differently-hued lights. The whole viewing experience lasts roughly 20 minutes, and you're free to wander around the space throughout. During this time, the lights in the three chambers gradually shift, changing color and intensity, sometimes contrasting, and sometimes melding together. As a result, looking toward the third chamber (the one you can't enter and are protected from tumbling into accidentally) sometimes looks like you're seeing a solid wall at the boundary of the second and third chambers, and other times looks as though you're staring off into a limitless distance. Sometimes you feel like you're floating in a cloud of light, expanding out into this endless space, and other times you feel corporeal and small, but bathed in light so physical that you should be able to touch it.

Turrell is also a pilot, and I'm sure you've read about the famous sensation that pilots sometimes experience when flying in certain conditions (particularly over water or in dense fog) where because everything they can see is exactly the same color, they lose the ability to focus on a particular point, which makes it difficult to define their position and orientation in space. It can be extremely unsettling and dangerous, as pilots can lose track of which direction is up, panic, and crash, but Turrell finds it very peaceful, and wanted to share this experience with others through this work.

It's truly amazing, and I could have happily stayed there for hours. Photography isn't allowed, and certainly can't capture the experience but this article includes some lovely shots that will give you an idea of the space.

Then we had brunch at Giada, which was exquisite. I had the sunrise polenta waffle, with fresh béchamel and maple syrup and sunny-side-up eggs. We also shared the mushrooms and the burrata, which came with the most delicious balsamic sea salt. It was pretty and friendly and the food was amazing. I'd go back in a second (though I couldn't afford to visit often).

As soon as we finished brunch (and after our 40-minute walk back to the hotel in 95-degree desert heat, which I chose to think of as a 'conditioning hike') we left Las Vegas, and headed on to our next adventure. That one will have to wait for the next post, though (also that's the point in the trip when I remembered to take pictures, so things will get a little more interesting). Onward!

How to decide if you're up for hiking Slieve League (because obviously you're thinking about it)

Yesterday I hiked Slieve League, a.k.a. Sliabh Liag, a.k.a. some of the highest sea cliffs in Europe (located in County Donegal in Northwest Ireland). They're three times higher than the more famous Cliffs of Moher, for those keeping score, and when you reach the top, you're standing at the edge of a nearly 2,000-foot sheer drop to the North Atlantic. To get there, you have to drive on remote, single-track, casually-sign-posted Irish roads for several hours, and then hike for several more. In other words, this is 100% my jam. Off the beaten track? Check. Spectacular? Check. Challenging? Check. Kinda hipster, as in "I skipped the tourist attraction and went to the REAL thing instead"? Check.
BUT is it something you'd like, too? Here's a little 10-question multiple-choice questionnaire I put together to help you decide, now that I know all the things firsthand.

You get the answer key first, because I'm nice like that:

• If ANY of your answers are A, don't go.
• If some or all of your answers are B, you'd better be really into nature, adventures, and sea cliffs, otherwise don't go.
• If most or all of your answers are C, go for it, you'll have a blast!

Note: nearly of my answers would have been B. But it's cool, because I really dig adventures and also sea cliffs. Thank goodness for that.

Before we get to the questions, you should know that this is what we're talking about:

See the highest visible point, about 2/3 over from the left? Remember that bit when you get to the last photo at the end.

Ok, here we go!

1) How do you feel about driving on the left side of the road?

• A) I do that already! Don't I? Oh, wait, no, I'm thinking of the right side.
• B) Yeah, whatever, that sounds fine! I'm sure I'll figure it out. It can't be THAT hard.
• C) I actually legitimately *do* do that already, I'm from a country where that's normal.
• For the record: *driving* on the left isn't so difficult. Other things, like responding correctly to mysterious symbols on unfamiliar warning signs, and turning the right way into the proper lane, and looking the right direction before doing so in order to avoid getting creamed by a tour bus, and pulling over to yield to oncoming traffic on single-track roads with no shoulder and stone walls on both sides.... those things are much harder.

2) What if the roads look like this:

This is the road up to the first viewpoint at Slieve League. Right after this little hill it narrows slightly and goes around a blind curve with a sheer drop down to the ocean on the left and no guard rail. Fun!

and have disconcerting signs like this? (oh and also you're driving a manual transmission and shifting with your left hand):

I stole this photo from the internet, because I couldn't take pictures of these signs when I saw them since I was, well, DRIVING. Thanks, Google! 

• A) Absolutely definitely not, can I just, like, take a bus instead?
• B) .....I mean, if they can do it I'm sure I can do it. Right?
• C) *laughs* Whatever, I grew up on a farm, this is old hat
• Confidential to those who selected (C): did your farm also have frequent sheer drops and sharp curves, a standard posted speed limit of 80-100kph, narrow stone bridges, and regular encounters with double-decker tour buses? I didn't think so.

3) What are your feelings on hiking in ankle-deep mud on steep boulder-strewn mountainsides with no marked trail?

• A) Ew. I don't go hiking to get DIRTY.
• B) Ew, no thank you, but I'm sure I can find a way to hike around the mud, so I'll be fine.
• C) Bring it on! I've got fancy waterproof knee-high magic hiking boots and stuff!
• PSA: no, you cannot hike around the mud, unless you'd like to maybe also hike around the entire mountain instead of hiking up it, in which case just go to the beach, yeah?

4) How comfortable are you with unidentified flying beetle things?

• A) Eeeeeeeek I hate bugs!
• B) I prefer not to think about it, so let's pretend you didn't just say that.
• C) I have no fear of creepy-crawly-fly-y things.
• On the plus side, the bugs are mostly hanging out around the mud, so if you can go around the mud you can avoid them! Oh, wait, see #3 re: going around the mud.

5) What kind of sheep are you (I took a lot of pictures of sheep)?

• A) this is me:

Did you know: you can successfully eat grass while lying down in the sunshine in the middle of a flat meadow, with no cliffs in sight?! HOW GREAT IS THAT?!

• B) this is me:

This is the kind of edge I'm comfortable with. If I fall off this I bump down a gentle slope for about ten feet before coming to rest on a flat surface. I'M KING OF THE WORLD UP HERE!

• C) this is me (sheep #3, counting from the left):

The best grass is clearly the grass juuuuust over the edge of the thousand-plus-foot-drop. Yum. Plus you don't have to share any of it with sheep (A) or sheep (B)! Those losers.

6) How much do you enjoy hiking? Like, for real?

• A) I mean, I like going for walks outside, but I'm not sure what you mean by "hiking"?
• B) I really like the *idea* of hiking!
• C) I go hiking at least 10 miles every weekend, year-round!
• For the record, the Irish call it "hill-walking" which, sure, but also the Irish are probably way tougher than you are, as evidenced by the fact that they don't believe in guard rails

7) How sure-footed are you?

• A) I can trip on a flat surface, while standing still
• B) I fall down all the time, but the thing is I'm used to it and I'm good at landing so it's fine!
• C) I never trip on anything unless I'm juggling and walking at the same time, and usually not even then because I'm some weird circus freak

8) Are you afraid of heights?

• A) Yep, petrified of them, as in, I literally freeze and cannot move.
• B) Nah, I don't think so. I mean, maybe? Like, everybody KIND of is, right? But not, like, more than normal.
• C) Nope, not at all.
• I'm (B), in that I'm officially "not afraid of heights" but also when there was nothing in between me and a 2,000 foot drop besides a little windblown heather I definitely stopped a good eight feet back from the edge because I couldn't really breath all of a sudden, weird, and then got down on all fours and crept about two feet closer, and then couldn't breath again, and then said "screw it, I'm not gonna pretend to be macho here" and laid down flat on my belly and wiggled like a little lizard until I could see the ocean and then just laid there for awhile

9) What level of wind are you personally comfortable with?

• A) What kind of a question is that? I like flying kites...?
• B) As long as I have a hood, and maybe a rope or something to hold on to, I love high winds!
• C) I love the thought of *being* a kite, so much so that windsurfing is my side hobby!
• PSA: you know how it's usually windy at the ocean? Well, think about your normal windy beach. Now imagine you're 2,000 feet higher and staring out at the unobstructed North Atlantic. It's windy enough that a) a gust will literally knock you off your feet; b) you won't be able to hear anything over the howling and your ears (despite the hood you were wearing) will be ringing like you left a rock concert for about half the hike down; and c) if you put down your (not too heavy but also not super light, has water bottles and a raincoat etc) backpack and don't hold onto it, it will actually blow away (I know because I tentatively tested this while holding on to the strap, and it did its best). 

10) Is it worth it to be able to lie down on your stomach in the sunshine on the blooming heather and peek over the edge of a 2,000-foot cliff and realize that you can actually see the curve of the earth and that the waves are so far down you can't hear them crashing against the rocks at all?

This is from that highest point in the first photo. I wanted to take a photo looking down but I really didn't want to drop my phone into the North Atlantic.

• A) Meh, it's pretty enough I guess
• B) I mean, probably? That sounds amazing.
• C) 100% yes.

Final question: would I do it again? Yes, definitely, without hesitation. It was fantastic.

And dear mom and dad: don't worry, I was super careful, I didn't do anything actually-dangerous, and all the unpleasant bits where I was at all unsure about my footing in the mud were on the not-cliff-side of the mountain.

Also, if you're a stranger who somehow came across this blog and are planning to actually do the hike; if you see Irish signs that gently and politely suggest that the cliff trail is "suffering damage" and you should "consider using the Pilgrim's Path instead" don't be like me and go "meh, the Pilgrim's Path looks waaaay longer and kinda boring, I'd rather go this way and see more views, I don't mind a little challenge." Take the darn Pilgrim's Path. For real. They mean it, they're just being polite. "The trail is suffering damage" is Irish for "the trail is pretty much completely destroyed/non-existent" and you should really just take their advice. Also, I did this hike on a warm sunny day and I needed long sleeves and a hood for the wind, and I reeeaallly should have had sunscreen too. That said, have fun, it's totally worth it, and be careful up there!

A visit to the Canadian National Patriarchy Museum

Last Thanksgiving, I decided to abdicate; I went to Victoria, BC for a long quiet weekend alone. I took myself out to high tea instead of Thanksgiving dinner. It was lovely.

To get to Victoria, I took the Clipper, which is a very nice three-hour ferry ride. It leaves from the north side of the Seattle waterfront at 8am, though, and I was told to be there by 7am. Because I'm me, that meant I needed to be there by 6:45am at latest, in case of traffic or unforeseen delays, and because of the Seattle transit system, that meant I had to take the bus that got me there at 6:10am (because it was either 6:10 or 6:50), which meant I had to leave at 5:40am, which meant I got up at 5:15am. Well, actually it meant I woke up at 5am and then got out of bed at 5:15am. And again, because I'm me, I went to sleep the night before at about 2:30am. Sooooo by the time I got to Victoria at 11am, I wasn't thinking suuuuuper clearly, and I hadn't eaten yet.

I couldn't check into my Airbnb until 3pm when the host got off work, so I decided I'd have a nice little walk and get lunch. I had done some cursory research online on the ferry, but not in extreme detail because I kept losing reception, so I knew that a) Victoria was small; b) the walk from the ferry terminal through downtown to my Airbnb involved about two turns, so there was no chance I'd get lost; and c) the Royal British Columbia Museum was right near the ferry terminal. Crucially, the museum was between the ferry terminal and the lunch area of town, so I decided (obviously) to put Art first and make that my first stop. Also, museums usually have a coat room, so I could leave my carryon there and wander around looking at art unencumbered. Perfect!

After leaving the ferry (or "deboarding" as the captain put it, even though "disembarking" is a perfectly good word), I headed in the direction I'd planned, dazzled by late November sunshine, which was extra sparkly because I was hungry and half asleep. After a block or so I looked over, and saw the museum. And what a museum! It was massive, and ornate, and pretty much everything a museum ought to be. I could hardly wait to look at all the amazing art it surely had to contain. 

This is only part of it; it's much bigger

The grand entry staircase was shut because it had a giant Christmas tree in it, but that was ok; the side staircase was open, and it had a uniformed greeter at the door. How nice! As I got closer (after walking up the surprisingly long gated driveway through the grounds), I noticed that the greeter had a sidearm, but I was hungry, so I didn't really think too much of it. I hauled my carryon up the steps and stopped at the top because the greeter put his hand on the door as if to open it, but then he didn't. Instead, he (in a very polite Canadian way) asked me some questions. 

"Where are you from? What brings you here? Would you like to go inside? Will you be taking the tour?"

"...Seattle! Oh, just in town to visit for the weekend. Yes please, I'd love to! Is it open? No thank you, I don't need a tour, I'll just wander around on my own if that's alright. Is there a place I can check my bag?"

"Oh yes, you're welcome to come in and explore, no need to take the tour, but the next one is at 1pm if you're interested. No. You'll need to keep your bag with you."

"...Um, ok... sounds good!"

What a nice, friendly greeter. It seemed maybe a little odd, but I was tired, and it's Canada, they must have different museum customs here... lalala.

So in I went, and started to wander through. My first priority was finding the bathroom, so although I did make it through about half of the first floor before I figured it out, that counts as a slight defense, I think....

First slow thought: "Hmmm, I wonder where the galleries are? Most of the doors are shut and I don't see signs. And no one offered me a helpful map of the exhibits, that's odd."

Second thought: "There sure are a lot of portraits in the halls! Maybe this floor is more of a portrait gallery, and the main art is on the upper levels. Hmmmm. Wow, there are so many pictures of old white dudes."

Whole lotta old white guys

After about eight minutes and half of the first floor, it dawned on me, but I had to consult the map on my phone to be certain. I wasn't in the Royal British Columbia Museum. Oh no. I was in Parliament. 

Whoops. 

Exhibit A: museum (has gift shop)

Exhibit B: not a museum (has armed guards)

But hey, I was already in there. And it was a pretty building. And there were sooooo many portraits, some with explanatory notes, and no other tourists roaming around, only staff members, going in and out of doors that said "Staff Only". So I decided to continue my viewing as scheduled, and pretend I was in a museum, since it kind of was, in a way. I gave myself a self-guided tour of the Canadian National Patriarchy Museum:

The portraits of old white dudes go back a long way;
the beards get longer the further back you go

A side hallway had portraits of young white dudes before they
grew their beards and became old white dudes

Some of the later portraits exhibit the use of color photography,
while others prefer the classic look

I really appreciate that the guy on the lower left went for the
 crazy backdrop, instead of the boring solid color

A lady! She's helpfully wearing pink so you can differentiate.

Map of the galleries

They have a space for live performance; more and more common
in museums these days

They also have some documentation of past performances, which is always
helpful for live art

Showing different seating configurations for past performances

Historic elevator doors, or chamber of secrets?!

A recreation of a classic religious altar is a high point of the
cultural portion of the exhibit. Although the society is
patriarchal, they worship a maternal figurehead

Toward the end I was really tempted to tuck my carryon in a corner and go incognito among the staff in order to explore the behind-the-scenes areas, but I know what happens if you leave a piece of luggage unattended in parliament. I didn't want to get arrested, or cause a national incident, or have all my clothes for the weekend blown up. 

Instead, after I finished my tour, I went next door (across the grounds and a street) to the ACTUAL museum, where I had another, smaller surprise when I remembered that there are such things as museums that aren't art museums, and this was one of them. It did, however, have a coat check, and a really lovely and detailed exhibit on the native languages and cultures of the Pacific Northwest that was beautifully and respectfully put together. Well done, Canada, even if your governmental history is just as white and bearded as ours.

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! 

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.