For the love of Scotland
Рассказ, написанный прошлой зимой на конкурс "Canada writes", и даже не столько для того, чтобы что-нибудь выиграть, а просто от желания выговориться. Люблю Шотландию.
***
One day, you write a story to amuse your friends. It is set up in Scotland, to add exotic flavor. You even do some research on the web to come up with a couple of fancy names. You spend a weekend having fun with your buddies, and then one morning you wake up with the desire to see places you referred to so freely. To see the lakes and distant mountains, green hills and holly hedges, castles and gardens. To feel the wind that turns your hair into a disarray of tangled locks in a matter of seconds. To taste, to hear, to try.
One day, some time later, you set foot on Scottish shore and you can feel the country enveloping you like a vivid, colorful, real-looking dream.
You discover Scots indeed use words ‘wee’, ‘aye’ и ‘nay’. Scots really wear tartan kilts. Scots eat haggis and drink their black tea with milk and sugar. Scots treasure their castles and their history and their lore.
The symbol of Scotland is thistle, and you find that old buildings of Edinburgh, its capital, resemble this plant quite strongly. Grey stone turned black from age and rain, high narrow turrets bristle with thorns and spikes. The city has sort of masculine beauty to it, stern, dark and wind-worn. You can see it’s ancient: the houses go down one level deeper than the streets showing the difference cultural layer may make.
Another trademark of the country is its hedgerows, and the hedge labyrinths of Cawdor Castle and Scone Palace are very illustrative in regards to what would happen to unaware strangers if mischievous brownies decided to have a go at them. You would lose yourself in the shrubbery quite thoroughly if you did not learn beforehand how to outwit the fairy folks. You keep to the left, always taking the first turn there is, never succumbing to the lure of other passages. You get to the heart and back again, and you readjust your jacket that you deliberately put on inside-out.
You feel adventurous; you are looking for a chance to go down the rabbit hole, and the Scottish countryside provides you with ample opportunity to do so. On the Isle of Skye, eerie-shaped, heather-clad hills roll on and on, the kingdom of fog and wet greenery. You look at them with fairy tales blooming in your mind - Hans Christian Andersen’s sort of tales, not Disney glamour stories. Scenery sets your imagination aflame, and you can almost hear the laugh of elves at their merrymaking, the singing of dwarves at work, the deep voices of trolls half-asleep in their caves. You need to watch out though: round-eared hares and golden-red wild pheasants may be crossing the road in front of your car.
There is one ensign of Scotland, however, that you would gladly avoid, namely its notorious weather. Fat chance of evading it, though, for here comes rain. The word ‘comes’ really does it justice. The rain is indeed travelling towards you, fast, swallowing hills and meadows, blurring the horizon into gray mist, bringing gushes of biting wind and sheets of ice-cold water. And then, suddenly, the thick coverlet of storm clouds is torn, and a patch of bright-blue sky is revealed. Sun is shining through the opening innocently, and the world around you is sparkling with light and rainbows.
From the deeds of goblins and leprechauns you move to a different kind of tale, a tale of pride and bravery and freedom. It’s not a peaceful story; medieval legends seldom are. You learn about fierce Scottish clans warring with each other over gold, land, blood and out of pure spite. If there was no reason for war they would invent one. You marvel at some of the casus belli, like sending the newlywed bride back to her family atop an one-eyed donkey accompanied by an one-eyed servant and an one-eyed dog. But all the local quarrels were put aside when it came to defend the land from the outside invaders. You now understand why William Wallace and Robert the Bruce became the mascots of independence, and whom precisely Scots are referring to when they say, narrowing their eyes, ‘the enemy’.
Rich Scottish history is reflected in the variety of fortifications scattered across the country. Some old sturdy strongholds, like Edinburgh castle, still stand tall and proud, capable to withstand fire and foes. Some, like Craigievar fortress, would never even see foes, elegant towery structures built with the sole purpose to impress. Some, like Dunnottar bastion, yielded to time and torch, turning into grandiose ruins with only seals to dwell in the vicinity. All of them are equally majestic to behold.
You think a castle, once ruined, will never be restored to former glory. They are expensive things, castles are. No one would spend that amount of money to rebuild something that useless. You are mistaken. Eileen Donan, the icon of the country, was completely demolished during the Jacobite wars in eighteenth century, only to be meticulously reconstructed two hundred years later. Scots love their past, and do not let it go that easily.
To make the picture complete, you spend a night in a castle - a real castle with dungeons, turrets, tapestries and stained-glass windows. You take your time wandering around the castle grounds, taking in the view, watching timid hares and admiring magnificent owls. Then the evening descends, and you retire to your apartment. Your steps echo in the long candle-lit corridor with small windows in the ceiling, and then a short set of stairs bring you to the round room with a four-poster bed and carved furniture. You know the castle is full of people, but not a sound breaks through the thick walls to fracture the solemn silence that surrounds you. The sky behind the ogival windows turns velvety blue, and it feels as if you are alone, the master of this fortress, dwelling in the impregnable round tower.
You realize you gave yourself too much credit when you thought driving in Scotland should not be much of a challenge. Hills, fields and castles of the country are reachable by narrow winding roads; the roads wiggle, twist, coil and pull themselves in a knot. Even if by sheer chance the road you encountered is straight, it still is winding - up and down. Amusement park roller coasters lose their charm irreversibly after you had your drive around Scotland.
You are determined to experience the culture in every way possible, and there is one more side of it yet to explore. Scottish cuisine may not be refine or intricate, but it never stops you from enjoying it. There are so many things to try. Traditional haggis and thick hot cullen skink. Marvellously delicious dessert by the name of cranachan made of cream, fresh raspberries and oats. Heavenly heather ale, a seasonal beverage, brewed only when heather is blooming in the local hills, light and sweet with no hint of bitter aftertaste. Alliance of whiskey and honey found in any proportion: from the fine malt whiskey with the hint of honey to smooth down the taste to the whiskey-liquor half that strong and twice that sweet to pure heather honey with just a drop of whiskey to enrich the aroma.
You are on the plane heading home and you know the country you just visited is the one you will never forget. It is much more colorful and beautiful than any dream you may have had of it, far richer than any imagined tale. You will need to review your story and tell it again. Or better yet, write another one, to encase the stunning memories you are bringing from this journey.
***
One day, you write a story to amuse your friends. It is set up in Scotland, to add exotic flavor. You even do some research on the web to come up with a couple of fancy names. You spend a weekend having fun with your buddies, and then one morning you wake up with the desire to see places you referred to so freely. To see the lakes and distant mountains, green hills and holly hedges, castles and gardens. To feel the wind that turns your hair into a disarray of tangled locks in a matter of seconds. To taste, to hear, to try.
One day, some time later, you set foot on Scottish shore and you can feel the country enveloping you like a vivid, colorful, real-looking dream.
You discover Scots indeed use words ‘wee’, ‘aye’ и ‘nay’. Scots really wear tartan kilts. Scots eat haggis and drink their black tea with milk and sugar. Scots treasure their castles and their history and their lore.
The symbol of Scotland is thistle, and you find that old buildings of Edinburgh, its capital, resemble this plant quite strongly. Grey stone turned black from age and rain, high narrow turrets bristle with thorns and spikes. The city has sort of masculine beauty to it, stern, dark and wind-worn. You can see it’s ancient: the houses go down one level deeper than the streets showing the difference cultural layer may make.
Another trademark of the country is its hedgerows, and the hedge labyrinths of Cawdor Castle and Scone Palace are very illustrative in regards to what would happen to unaware strangers if mischievous brownies decided to have a go at them. You would lose yourself in the shrubbery quite thoroughly if you did not learn beforehand how to outwit the fairy folks. You keep to the left, always taking the first turn there is, never succumbing to the lure of other passages. You get to the heart and back again, and you readjust your jacket that you deliberately put on inside-out.
You feel adventurous; you are looking for a chance to go down the rabbit hole, and the Scottish countryside provides you with ample opportunity to do so. On the Isle of Skye, eerie-shaped, heather-clad hills roll on and on, the kingdom of fog and wet greenery. You look at them with fairy tales blooming in your mind - Hans Christian Andersen’s sort of tales, not Disney glamour stories. Scenery sets your imagination aflame, and you can almost hear the laugh of elves at their merrymaking, the singing of dwarves at work, the deep voices of trolls half-asleep in their caves. You need to watch out though: round-eared hares and golden-red wild pheasants may be crossing the road in front of your car.
There is one ensign of Scotland, however, that you would gladly avoid, namely its notorious weather. Fat chance of evading it, though, for here comes rain. The word ‘comes’ really does it justice. The rain is indeed travelling towards you, fast, swallowing hills and meadows, blurring the horizon into gray mist, bringing gushes of biting wind and sheets of ice-cold water. And then, suddenly, the thick coverlet of storm clouds is torn, and a patch of bright-blue sky is revealed. Sun is shining through the opening innocently, and the world around you is sparkling with light and rainbows.
From the deeds of goblins and leprechauns you move to a different kind of tale, a tale of pride and bravery and freedom. It’s not a peaceful story; medieval legends seldom are. You learn about fierce Scottish clans warring with each other over gold, land, blood and out of pure spite. If there was no reason for war they would invent one. You marvel at some of the casus belli, like sending the newlywed bride back to her family atop an one-eyed donkey accompanied by an one-eyed servant and an one-eyed dog. But all the local quarrels were put aside when it came to defend the land from the outside invaders. You now understand why William Wallace and Robert the Bruce became the mascots of independence, and whom precisely Scots are referring to when they say, narrowing their eyes, ‘the enemy’.
Rich Scottish history is reflected in the variety of fortifications scattered across the country. Some old sturdy strongholds, like Edinburgh castle, still stand tall and proud, capable to withstand fire and foes. Some, like Craigievar fortress, would never even see foes, elegant towery structures built with the sole purpose to impress. Some, like Dunnottar bastion, yielded to time and torch, turning into grandiose ruins with only seals to dwell in the vicinity. All of them are equally majestic to behold.
You think a castle, once ruined, will never be restored to former glory. They are expensive things, castles are. No one would spend that amount of money to rebuild something that useless. You are mistaken. Eileen Donan, the icon of the country, was completely demolished during the Jacobite wars in eighteenth century, only to be meticulously reconstructed two hundred years later. Scots love their past, and do not let it go that easily.
To make the picture complete, you spend a night in a castle - a real castle with dungeons, turrets, tapestries and stained-glass windows. You take your time wandering around the castle grounds, taking in the view, watching timid hares and admiring magnificent owls. Then the evening descends, and you retire to your apartment. Your steps echo in the long candle-lit corridor with small windows in the ceiling, and then a short set of stairs bring you to the round room with a four-poster bed and carved furniture. You know the castle is full of people, but not a sound breaks through the thick walls to fracture the solemn silence that surrounds you. The sky behind the ogival windows turns velvety blue, and it feels as if you are alone, the master of this fortress, dwelling in the impregnable round tower.
You realize you gave yourself too much credit when you thought driving in Scotland should not be much of a challenge. Hills, fields and castles of the country are reachable by narrow winding roads; the roads wiggle, twist, coil and pull themselves in a knot. Even if by sheer chance the road you encountered is straight, it still is winding - up and down. Amusement park roller coasters lose their charm irreversibly after you had your drive around Scotland.
You are determined to experience the culture in every way possible, and there is one more side of it yet to explore. Scottish cuisine may not be refine or intricate, but it never stops you from enjoying it. There are so many things to try. Traditional haggis and thick hot cullen skink. Marvellously delicious dessert by the name of cranachan made of cream, fresh raspberries and oats. Heavenly heather ale, a seasonal beverage, brewed only when heather is blooming in the local hills, light and sweet with no hint of bitter aftertaste. Alliance of whiskey and honey found in any proportion: from the fine malt whiskey with the hint of honey to smooth down the taste to the whiskey-liquor half that strong and twice that sweet to pure heather honey with just a drop of whiskey to enrich the aroma.
You are on the plane heading home and you know the country you just visited is the one you will never forget. It is much more colorful and beautiful than any dream you may have had of it, far richer than any imagined tale. You will need to review your story and tell it again. Or better yet, write another one, to encase the stunning memories you are bringing from this journey.