Kilpatrick Hills

This is country walk no. 2. Much more strenuous and tick-free (yay!) But this might have been due to this unfashionable precaution:

Anyway, it worked. Now Old Kilpatrick is a 17-minute train ride from my house. That means that within 25 minutes from walking out my front door, I am here:

And although the sheep are quaint, I realize this doesn't look like much. At 9:30 in the morning, there was a lot of fog. But as I climbed those Kilpatrick Hills, this is how things started to look:

I had always fancied walking across a heather-strewn moor, but this stuff was exhausting---however beautiful. And the numerous sheep (and their droppings) made me kind of nervous. (Although I soon learned they were far more skiddish of me than I was of them.) I took lots of pictures and the one below is not even from the top, but on my journey down. According to the experienced hill walker I met at the cairn at the pinnacle of the walk, it is a view of the Clyde and some of the Islands.

Loch Lomond and the NHS

Dear Loch Lomond,

You are known, I believe, as the sort of "entrance to the Highlands". If so, then you are the closest I have ever been to the Highlands, in spite of living in Scotland since September 11, 2009. And you are glorious!


Sadly, during my lovely hike, I picked up an unwanted friend: a Scottish tick. Not of the nervous variety, but of the insect blood-sucking type. This led me to my first encounter with the great American evil: social medicine. Known here in the UK as the NHS. Or National Health Service. I was too wimpy to take the tick out and my own and was worried about disease so called my doctor. It was recommended to visit the nearest emergency (as it was after office hours) and therefore went to the Western Infirmary. This is a hospital near my house...although to me, with my American upbringing, sounds faintly Hitchcock-ian. To be completely candid, I was a bit nervous. I realized that I, liberal, pro-universal health care girl that I am, was afraid of what I would encounter at an NHS hospital. Silly girl. Not only was it incredibly clean (see how low my expectations were?), but staff was friendly and knowledgeable and I was in and out in under 1.5 hours. And even better, there was no bill! Or even the worry of "holy cow, who knows how much this will cost me?" or "will my insurance cover tick removal?". Only Scottish cheerfulness and warmth with a dose of tetracycline.

The moral of this story is that although the Scottish countryside is incredibly beautiful, it is not all wildflowers and painfully picturesque stone walls. And though socialized medicine may seem scary, it really isn't (yet).

Thanks for a memorable couple of days!

With much love and affection
your friend,
Angela

P.S. Actually my doctor was Spanish, but everyone else was Scottish!

Ta da! It's Mount Stuart!

That's me on a sunny, freezing afternoon on the Isle of Bute with that Victorian behemoth of a house, Mount Stuart, in the background.

I have seen less than 20 of the 190 rooms in the house...I hope by the end of my internship there, I will have seen many, many more.

My colleague and I walked down to the shore from the house and here are a couple of nice pictures from it.

Burns Night 2010

25 January is the poet Robert Burns birthday. A national hero of sorts here, he is affectionately referred to by most as just Robbie or Rabbie. (Isn't it awesome that a country's national hero can be a poet??) Every year on his birthday most folks celebrate by having a 'Burns supper' of haggis and neeps and tatties all washed down by whisky. ('Neeps and tatties'= mashed turnips and potatoes, 'whisky'= Scotch)

Along with the eating is recitation of different Burns' poems. Most importantly 'Address to a Haggis'. This is recited before tucking into the haggis. I found a fun website that tells you more than you may ever want to know about it.
http://www.worldburnsclub.com/begin/address_to_a_haggis.htm

Now, what do I think about haggis? My Burns supper was the second time I had tried it. I think it is quite good. Slightly spicy flavours and a strange, but not unpleasant texture. Combined with the starchy neep and tatties and a dram (or two) of whisky, it is just what the doctor ordered on a cold, dark January night. Thanks, Robbie!

***The photo above is haggis and my own creation 'leeks and tatties'. (heehee) Not what I actually consumed at my Burns supper...didn't take pics at that, but wanted to show the general effect.