Timeout

Sometimes there is too much talk in the world. Too many ifs and whens and hows, and too few dragonflies, ravens, and rainbows. Those times, a hideaway in the countryside can be helpful, especially one with daisies on the lawn and a pretty little sauna house...
...a cozy kitchen...
... and a rainbow in the backyard wheat field. And sometimes, in the mornings, a moose.

Greetings from the summer house

Every cloud with a silver lining casts a shadow in the sky.

The last shore, and full circle (Scotland, The Final Part.)

If the weather is graceful, the golden beaches of Lewis are gorgeous. This one by Coll, just north of Stornoway, turned a rosy hue at sunset. Overlooking the beach lies newly opened Thirty Five B&B, a little haven of quiet comfort and elegance. It is run by a couple who truly went the extra mile to make our stay pleasant - and even six miles into town at dawn when we were in danger of missing our ferry.
Upon a windy hill overlooking the sea, the quiet, gray sentinels of Callanish stand guard around a mysterious grave. One millennium passes by like a cloud-wisp, a century like the blink of an eye.
Until the 1960s, people on the Hebrides lived in blackhouses like the ones below at Gearrannan. Black, because of the lack of a chimney, and the smoke from the central hearth slowly seeped out through the thatched roof. Until recently, the village has hosted a hostel for a unique lodging experience, but in 2011 it was temporarily closed, hopefully not for a long time to come.
The last, rugged shore before North America and the Newfoundland coast...
Finally, my sister and I ended up full circle in Edinburgh, where we spent a few days two years ago and resolved to come back one day. Afternoon tea at the Balmoral hotel Palm Court was a must, naturally. And repeated lunches at all-French Petit Paris on Grassmarket was bliss.
This time we had the time to crawl along with the the literary pub tour we missed last time, and to take a peek into the vault network under the city, proclaimed to be one of the most haunted locations in the UK. Well, haunted or not, the real history behind the vaults - why they were built and how they were used - made the non-ghost-all-fact-and-history tour an interesting experience.

I can't help but consider, why go to London or Paris for a weekend escape, when Edinburgh is just as lovely - and much more manageable in just a few days time? Scot or not, I will be back again - if only to shop and to enjoy a festival (or two).

Hello, Hebrides! (Scotland, Part 3.)

Is it possible to leave a little piece of myself in each place I visit, and yet depart with more than I came with? Perhaps I will have to return to Skye to collect the piece of my soul I left behind.

The journey continued by crossing the Minch strait, notorious for bad sailing conditions. Winds and waves seemed to have found entertainment elsewhere, and the day looked promising...
...until we reached the other side of the strait and sailed directly into something that reminded me of the island in the mist encountered by prince Caspian and the crew on the Dawn Treader. Tarbert on the isle of Harris lay quietly enshrouded in what seemed to be an eternal blanket of mist.
And then we found what we were looking for... the tiny port hides a retailer of tweed: Harris Tweed and Knitwear.
Harris is the home of tweed, although most of the tweed produced is now made on Lewis, the adjoining isle. For those who do not know me well, let me proclaim my love for tweed. It is sturdy, warm, wind-resistant, and most of all, hand-made and beautiful. The wool and the weave must come from the Western Isles. If it's not made in the Hebrides, it is not original tweed and cannot bear the iconic orb label. Therefore, purchasing original tweed anywhere else easily doubles the price. And so, when I splurge on tweed in the Hebrides, I can take double as much back home with me. Excellent, yes? And so I ended up leaving the shop with a blue herringbone four-button jacket, as well as two tickets to the Hebridean Celtic Festival, handed to us by a sweet elderly, Scottish couple who loved tweed and Scandinavia - perfect shopping company. My sister admirably resisted the urge to get a huge, brigh pink weekend bag, so gorgeous I probably would have borrowed it all the time. Harris Tweed and Knitwear ship worldwide through their website, both products and fabric by the meter. After discovering the online shop, I suspect we, and our credit cards, are in grave danger.

For a pit stop in Tarbert, the First Fruits Tea Room serves an excellent ploughman's lunch, along with cheery service by a friendly young couple. No cash? No problem - they'll wait for you to get some from the ATM - after you are satisfied with your meal. Wish to have dinner? Be sure the place is open - and that you've booked a table in advance.

Harris is joined by a narrow isthmus to Lewis, the capital of which is Stornoway, or Steornabhagh, in Gaelic (the lingua franca in the Hebrides). We arrived around the busiest time of the year: a week that hosted the Heb Celt Fest, the Tall Ships Race, and the Lewis Highland Games. Surely it cannot be sensible of the strategists at the tourism and city offices to bundle all three festivals on an island that relies on tourism for development and growth? Finding a place to stay and another one to eat proved to be quite the daily chase on Lewis.
...and speaking of chasing, of course we needed to track down the local tweed retailer. As if one shopping spree was not enough. Lewis Loom Centre is hidden in a tiny courtyard off the street by the harbor, in what seems to be an old shed on the inside. But ah, the treasures it holds... tweed by the meter, by the jacket, scarf, hat, by the yarn, and even some tartan...
Looking for colors and patterns of the 1930s or even older? The owner of the shop, a friendly and unhurried fellow, whips out a pile of order books - the history of tweed fashion from the past 100 years or so, and a treasure trove for trads and historical costume tailors. Today he and the local weavers cater to color and pattern orders from top fashion designers, and the lucky forager might find a leftover piece of fabric made for a runway collection.
With so much choice, one is quite bewildered... or inspired, perhaps? I could feel my credit card cringe. But the sea-blue checkered pattern was so beautiful, and the deep moss green so stunning... perhaps a meter of this, and three of that?

Blue skies on Skye (Scotland, Part 2.)

From Inverness we traveled westwards to Skye. True to its name, all we saw was sky, and, uncharacteristic to Scotland, it was blue!
Surrounded by the gorgeous sky, sparkling water, and green braes (slopes in Scots), pretty Portree seemed like a Mediterranean town teleported to the Highlands.
A seaside walk with houses in pastel colors and boats departing for marine wildlife tours hosts the best restaurants in town. A little further up lies the seafood restaurant of the Royal hotel. Nevermind the unquestionably eighties interior and music - the food is fresh, stylishly served, and excellent value.

After enjoying the evening concert of the traditionally dressed highland pipe march orchestra at the square, we spent both evenings at the Isles Inn, where Scottish, and Celtic live music draw a crowd almost every night. Our base was the B&B of Mrs A. Nicholson, up Stormyhill road, where our room was comfortable and the service excellent.

Skye is quite manageable by bus, if you, like we, only wish to stay for a couple of days or if you, like we, are afraid to drive on the wrong side of the road. The best solution to enjoy the gorgeous landscape may be to get off the paved roads.
We missed the bus connection once, but found that good and affordable taxi service is available throughout the island. A chauffeur may be wished for example for the drive back from Talisker distillery to Portree, especially if one wishes to get a good taste of the only whisky distillery on Skye...
Up north lies the remains of the castle of Duntulm, once a great fort of the MacDonald clan and the object of battle between the MacDonalds and MacLeods. Unfortunately this arm of the MacDonald clan was extinguished when a (most likely ill-fated) nurse dropped the heir down on the rocks below. Poor child.
The famous MacDonald clan is one of the largest Scottish clans, and has its seat in Armadale castle on Skye. The clan is operating a heritage trust and the castle is open for visitors, hosting, among other, a museum, a restaurant, and accommodation.

The rocky shore and tide pools below Duntulm are a treasure trove for beach combers. We spent a good hour looking for sea shells, anemones, sea glass, and driftwood.
And look, we even found something that looks like an old, rusty anchor ball!

Castles, monsters, mountains, and mist (Scotland, Part 1.)

Our gates were strong, our walls were thick,
So smooth and high, no man could win
A foothold there, no clever trick
Could take us, have us dead or quick.
Only a bird could have got in.

Oh then our maze of tunneled stone
Grew thin and treacherous as air.
The cause was lost without a groan,
The famous citadel overthrown,
And all its secret galleries bare.

(Edwin Muir)

After a day's traveling in the clouds, past gushing rivers, grazing sheep, and magnificent peaks, my sister and I found ourselves in pretty little Inverness. From there we went on a day trip to Loch Ness and Urquhart castle. Many had been there before us:
I wondered if the lonely ladies of the desolate castle met for secret nightly chats with the equally lonely Nessie, tired of being considered a "monster"?
Inverness is a surprisingly stylish little city, and thus not needlessly dubbed the capital of the Highlands. It was tempting to spend my shopping budget in the artesan, delicatessen, and art shops upon arrival in Scotland, but I managed to hold my horses until the Hebrides, where I seriously sidestepped. Come back to read about my confessions...

For a delicious dinner, pop into the Mustard Seed, or it's little sister, Kitchen, both by the banks of the black, rapidly flowing river Ness.

Leaving Cambridge

Raptures or lamentations? To rejoice or to mourn? Maybe I can push that decision further with one more day. Or two. Or perhaps a week. Nevertheless, leave I must. Suffice to say that my year in Cambridge has been my most important learning experience so far, in many ways. The motto of our MBA class seemed to be "get out of your comfort zone", and I most certainly did, both in school/business and personal life. Sometimes I pushed myself, and other times I was pushed out of my limits - and almost out of my mind. However, I am still standing, although some times it feels like trying to balance on my little toe.

I will bring one little thing home with me: a map printed in 1720, showing the road from Cambridge to Kings Lynn. This is a true roadmap: all you need to do is follow the clearly marked road, and pay attention to the villages and milestones marked on both sides. Simple, and somehow symbolic for the end of this challenging year. Why don't they make maps like these anymore?

Summer by the sea

What is more summery than beaches, sea shells, sun, and salt water? And perhaps some pretty jewelry to match... My sister arrived to Cambridge for a last visit, after which we traveled north to Scotland and the Hebrides. Naturally, suitable jewelry must be worn, yes? Yet another reason to lose myself in the treasure chest that is Etsy...

My sister's pendant is by Sophiasparkles. Vintage brass and Scottish sea glass for the occasion, of course.

My chalcedonite and silver earrings are by Ivory Cove.
Images courtesy of Sophiasparkles and Ivory Cove.

Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath! Part 2.

"to proceed along the room was by no means the way to disengage themselves from the crowd; it seemed rather to increase as they went on, whereas she had imagined that when once fairly within the door, they should easily find seats and be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience. But this was far from being the case, and though by unwearied diligence they gained even the top of the room, their situation was just the same; they saw nothing of the dancers but the high feathers of some of the ladies."

The Assembly Rooms, or "Upper Rooms" in Jane Austen's time, were the number one place to be at night. Swirly menuets, graceful airs, with an interlude for tea and noisy chatter, filled the rooms, and the only way to talk to strangers was through proper introduction by a mutual acquaintance.
Today the Assembly Rooms are still as beautiful as ever, and can be booked for private events. The basement hosts an excellent Fashion Museum, with real pieces (not costumes): wedding dresses throughout the ages, Regency (Austen-style) dresses, Queen Victoria's mourning dresses, and half of the dress design books by Worth of Paris, the world's first fashion designer. It is easy to lose one afternoon in the midst of all the lace, silk, gloves, bonnets, and trains, modern fashion from the past century, and in the lovely shop.

The skyline of Bath is dominated by the Abbey, an impressive structure with lots of light. The Abbey could be a sibling of King's College chapel in Cambridge, with similar windows, a high fan ceiling, and lots of light. Both churches bear the mark of Henry VIII, however their fates were opposite: King's college chapel was finished by the monarch, while Bath Abbey dissolved by the same.

Finally, to wrap up with a few more tips for a few days' stay in lovely Bath:

1. San Francisco Fudge Factory: the creamiest fudge I have ever had. Clotted cream and Irish cream, yum... not to mention the caramel apples.
2. The Antique Map Shop on Pulteney Bridge. Find an authentic, antique map of Bath or your home country. No prints - all items are at least 100 years old.
   
3. Royal Victoria Park and the Botanical Gardens. Can you spot the California redwood trees?
4. If you, like me, love Jane Austen, swing by the Jane Austen center: it provides a look into the author's life, home towns, and the lives of her beloved characters.