Inverness

Last weekend... in a last minute effort to get out of Edinburgh... I stayed up until about 2 on Friday night searching for somewhere to go. I strongly regretted the decision to stay up so late when I woke up at 6:50am, threw a handful of essentials into a tote bag and headed to the bus stop at 7:30. I took the bus to town and then boarded a coach bus at 8:00 am and headed for the Scottish Highlands. I ended my journey in the small town of Inverness, which is famous for it's well known mascot The Loch Ness Monster. I had been to Inverness before with my friend Jamie who came to visit me in 2004 when I was studying abroad and we both loved the city. Of course we ventured onto a boat in search of Nessie who we were sure was lurking deep beneath the black waters of the lake. Unfortunately our numerous rolls of film did not prove to show us Nessie's face, and thus we didn't stumble into a small fortune selling them to local newspapers like we had hoped.
Anyway- so when I was up searching on Friday night... I remembered how much I loved the city and decided to spend the weekend there again. Coming through the bus stop at lunchtime made me feel like I was just there last week. Its so amazing how things can be filed away in your brain.. then in an instant they can all come rushing back into crystal clear view. Jamie and I only visited for 2 days, but somehow I remember everything... our little cozy hostel, the shops along the river, the Italian place we ate dinner, and the castle of course. I instantly knew all of the roads and where they led to and I remembered the hidden Victoria mall (which housed the candy shoppe that I recalled so well). And I remembered exactly the sidewalks, shortcuts and stairways to take to get to the hostel that Jamie and I stayed at 3 years ago. I also quickly found my way to the river where I parked my sore volleyball bum and simply watched... the water, the people, the town, the cars, the seagulls.

So I have an actual journal that travels with me, (in addition to this electronic journal) and for obvious reasons I tend to write in it more when I am traveling. I also have a handy red notebook about the size of a pack of index cards that I take with me. The red notebook stays in my purse on a daily basis and is for random things like lists of things I need to do, something that triggers a memory of someone back home, something to Google, a book I want to buy, a movie I want to see, a quote I want to remember, etc. Its filled with pages of things with no rhyme or reason- other than I just need a place to write them down. In the rare event that the red notebook is removed from my purse- I inevitably find something that I want to write down, and thus have to scramble to find substitute places to write. Then the notes find themselves scribbled on the back of receipts, bus tickets, maps, etc. The true sign of a good trip is when I dig into my purse in search of chap stick or my cell phone, and can't seem to find my way amidst all the notes that have littered my bag. This was such a trip.

I decided that it was time that I treated myself to a proper dinner. I haven't eaten out since Austria (if my memory serves me correctly), and it was high time to order from a MENU. Oddly- or maybe purposely- I ate at the same Italian place that Jamie and I dined. Maybe I wanted Italian, maybe I subconsciously remember liking the food, maybe my feet were tired and I simply couldn't walk any further than that particular restaurant, or maybe I am just a creature of habit.
There is an art to eating alone, and although by no means have I mastered it, I can hold my own. At first when I would try to do things like go to the cinema or a restraint alone, sometimes I would think, 'should I just say table for two and then pretend that my significant other couldn't make it.' Or else I would take a book and stick my nose so far into it as if to signal to the rest of the world that there is no way I could possibly have company now because I am just at the best part of the book, and I couldn't be bothered to have small talk with someone right now. Or I would hope that they put me in the smallest table that is so far in the back of the restaurant its virtually in the kitchen so that no one would see me eating alone. But eventually you get better at it, and you leave the book at home, and you say 'table for 1,' and when given a choice you choose the window table so that you can people watch, and mostly you become more confident in yourself. I don't know why there is a stigma attached to doing things alone... it is as if people think that if you are alone that you have absolutely no friends or family in the world (which clearly isn't the case... they just don't reside in the same country as me at the moment). Nonetheless, I have a tremendous amount of respect for people that I see eating or going to the theater alone (and not just because I do it :)

Anyway- I ordered the things that sounded the most tasty on the menu, and when my food came out it smelled absolutely gorgeous and looked even better. I can't think of a word more descriptive than delicious... but if there is one... that is how I would describe my meal. The two best descriptors I could come up with are:
1.In sign language- to express a love for food you bring a raised fist up to your mouth and kiss the back of your hand. That is how it tasted.
2. When we were in Australia to say we ate out 3 times may be an overstatement. Whenever we had the free time, the girls and I would most certainly seek out a restaurant. Most often, when we had something that was really good, we would claim 'it tastes like heaven in my mouth.' That's how my pasta tasted.
The good thing was that I went for an early dinner at about 3, so I took my leftovers back to the hostel to eat for a midnight snack. Feeling guilty after I left the restaurant for consuming so much pasta, bread and creamy wine sauce, I decided to visit the local grocery store to get some fruit (and a chocolate mousse dessert) to eat that night. I strolled down one of the pedestrian streets and cozied up to a park bench where I enjoyed my chocolate mousse (it just couldn't wait) and the beautiful sounds of the bagpiper playing in the street. It was at that moment... when I was completely full, but still stuffing myself with chocolate mousse, tapping my feet to the music of the bagpiper, basking in the warm Scottish sun, that I thought 'I will never get sick of traveling.'

I know it probably seems that I talk about food a lot, but in all fairness that is one of the three essential things to every traveler. Number one is shelter. Number two is food. And number three is sightseeing. I guess I don't talk about the places I sleep very much because they are not nearly as fun to write about as food and sights are.

My time was short in Inverness, but both Saturday and Sunday were absolutely beautiful. Saturday night I sat atop the castle grounds to watch the sunset over the distant hills before heading back to the hostel. I met two girls who were from England traveling on their school holiday and one guy from England doing the same. The four of us got to talking and soon were headed out the hostel doors to the nearest watering hole for some drinks. Traveling is one of the only instances I can think of when you meet someone, exchange life stories, tell them things that even some of your best friends don't know about you, and then never see them again in your life. One of my favorite things to do is to eavesdrop on other peoples conversations on trains or buses or planes when they chat like they are going to be best friends forever...yet never see each other beyond baggage claim. Anyway- I had a good time with my new 'friends' however the chances of me ever seeing any of them again are slim to none.
Sunday was beautiful as well- and I thoroughly enjoyed that none of the shops were open because it gave me the opportunity to sit along the river again and soak in the city. And of course since it was Sunday, the church bells were ringing throughout the town all morning long.

I headed back towards the bus stop with enough time for me to take the long way so that I could pass by each of the great shops, cafes and churches in town. I passed by the Nickle and Dime shop (literally that's what its called) where I fondly remember buying headphones when I was here with Jamie because mine were broken and I wanted to listen to my CD walkman on the train ride home (GASP... A walkman?? I haven't heard that term in ages. You know- the big things that are so convenient to travel with because they pack well- especially if you carry a large CD case as well... which I did. Thankfully this time I didn't need new headphones... and I also have joined the 21st century and have purchased an ipod since then.)

I boarded the bus just after lunchtime- which was convenient because it coincided with the afternoon nap I had planned- and headed back to Edinburgh. I think to some extent... you are either a country person or a city person (arguably I suppose you could be an inbetweener and be a suburbs person). But I don't think you necessarily pick it... I think it picks you. I'm a country person- and I think I would fail miserably as a city person (which is odd because I am right now living in the capital city of Scotland...). Anyway- I almost couldn't take a nap because I was so smitten with the beautiful views of the countryside from the bus window. As I selected the 'country' genre from ipod, I gazed out the window at the sun spilling across the hills and valleys and lakes and horses and rivers and I thought... I love the country.