Tioraidh an-drasda, Breatuinn

This is my last day in the UK before undertaking the next leg of my journey in the Netherlands. Still don't have this packing thing down pat, I keep changing how I organise everything hoping to hit upon something that works! But I did survive my 10 days on the road in England and Scotland not having lost or forgotten anything important (losing my mind doesn't count, especially when in crowded rail stations, and forgetting my manners is par for the course once in a while). It was surprisingly freeing to be beholden only to my backpack, no car or phone or permanent address -- this is something I've never really experienced before and I have to say I liked it. Not that I want to be a nomad for the rest of my life, but I should really do this "backpacking" thing more often.

Scotland was a wild and woolly place, full of "heery coos"(as our thickly-accented guide would say, the rest of us would say Highland cows), lush green hills and always the hint of rain if not driving gales. After spending a few days in Edinburgh, I jumped on a three-day tour of the Highlands with 15 other people and was pleasantly surprised to be part of a really good group, with people from five different continents ranging in age from early 20s to mid-30s. We drove from Edinburgh north on the first day, stopping at a range of historical and natural Scottish landmarks and our guide was a walking Scottish history book, at least the kind they teach in Scotland; I suspect the English view of history is quite different. This did not surprise me, though, because after years of watching Willy on the Simpsons I fully expected to get a passionate, proud, and slightly cranky member of the Independence for Scotland brigade -- after all, the brochure promised "real Scottish guides!" One thing he did do well was tell stories, and we heard a lot of great tales of battles, clan feuds, legends and fairy, oops, faerie fables. No need for a television on our bus as our guide single-handed entertained us the entire time with his vast knowledge of Scotland's culture and environment.

Our second day was spent on the Isle of Skye, once home to 40,000 thriving clan Highlanders, now down to less than 10,000 folks eking out a living through tourism (the number one industry there), whisky, and of course sheep. But it is a magical place, with its craggy peaks, paths worn down over thousands of years of use through the hills and the ever-present peat underfoot. Despite the fact that literally every bed and breakfast or "guest house" we passed had no vacancy, we ran into very few tourists and that helped retain the perception and atmosphere of Skye as a wild and natural place. Some of our group were not the best prepared for the off-road walks we did up the slopes of the countryside, but they soldiered on and were rewarded with wonderful views of the sea and islands around us. On the roads and in the towns, all the signs were bilingual with English and Gaelic; even in the supermarket the aisles were marked with Gaelic. The attempt to keep the this dying language alive, however, was most noticeable in the aisle with chocolate and pop: "seoclaid" and words that translated as "drinks without alcohol".

Our third day we returned to Edinburgh, checking out Loch Ness on the way, which was right up there in the kitschy tourism department with Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. I did get to see the monster, albeit the large plastic one residing in the pond beside the visitors' centre. We arrived back in the city in time for dinner and the next day I headed out on my own again, flying back to London and taking the train to Ipswich where I am now organising myself for Holland. There awaits another adventure, to be sure, but hopefully one that's easier on the wallet! Britain, for all its charm and culture, is what everyone warned me it would be: expensive. If I came back here to live I'd definitely need a great job to pay the bills.

By the way, the title of this posting is Gaelic for "farewell, Britain".

Maryka