Far from the madding crowd on the Orkneys

This might be a strange time of year to be writing about Britain's northernmost isles, but its never too early to be planning for warmer times. The Orkneys are ideal for those who want some culture and history to enrich a visit, although weather permitting there are some splendid beaches too.

We took the new Pentland Ferries service from Gills Bay, arriving at St.Margaret Hope on South Ronaldsay, an interesting clustered village with a street of solidly attractive stone houses. We had just missed the boys' ploughing contest, an annual event where local youngsters use model ploughs on a beach to show off their skills, but we got chapter verse and pictures from the helpful part time curator of the local folk museum. More well-known curiosities like the Italian Chapel followed later that day as we cycled up towards Kirkwall-the wartime connection is very pervasive, since Scapa Flow was the main base of the British Fleet in both world wars.

Kirkwall's magnificent cathedral is the most important building in Northern Scotland, more interesting inside than out- but of course history goes back a lot further than a few centuries on these fertile islands, which were Norwegian territory even when the cathedral was being built:- there cannot be a finer place to see remains of settlements reaching back to Neolithic times, from splendid standing stones to some of the best preserved tombs you will find in Britain, especially on the island of Rousay. Orkney also some of the best preserved brochs you will find- the remarkable fortified towers unique to this part of the world. The broch of Gurness on the Orkney mainland is the best, closely followed by Midhowe on Rousay.

More recent history is preserved in the Kirbuster folk museum on the mainland, where one of the only remaining open hearth houses is preserved, having been occupied until very recently. It is a museum not to be missed.

We were fortunate to arrive in Stromness, the main port where the Thurso ferry arrives, during the only beer festival in the northern isles, but the town is a delight anyway, stone houses huddled together along a winding, narrow main street made of stone slabs, where motor traffic has to move slowly and defer to pedestrians. From here one can take the daily ferry to Hoy, a contrast with the subdued landscape on the other islands, for here the hills rise to 1500 feet, and apart from the well known sea stack, the old man of Hoy, the cliffs nearby at St John's Head are among the highest in Britian. Hoy is also home to the Scapa Flow visitor centre, housed in the old pump house at the former naval base at Lyness (accessible by ferry from the mainland at Houton). The village is unprepossessing but the centre is excellent and has a fine friendly cafe inside.

The other outlying islands are well served by the Orkney Ferries' services:- we can recommend Westray, with its wonderful sandy beaches, and some important historical ruins. There is also a wonderful cliff walk along the west coast of the island, to the lonely lighthouse at Noup Head. Nearby Papa Westray is popular with visitors who want to get away from it all, and like remote North Ronaldsay, is an important nature site.

Don't expect good weather when you come here. We were blessed with some ten days of consecutive sunshine, and the famous Orkney wind was correspondingly subdued; but even in high summer the weather can be adverse. But there can be few places in Britian where the continuity of settlement, and the evidence of man in the landscape, is traceable over such along time span.

Orkney Ferries:- http://www.orkneyferries.co.uk/
Pentland ferries, Gills Bay- St Margarets Hope service
www.pentlandferries.com/
P & O ferries, Scrabster to Stromness
www.poscottishferries.co.uk/

Adventures in Scotland (Ullapool, Lochinver, Stromeferry, Staffin, Metz)

Wick to Eriboll or, how to fix a starter

I got up at 7 in the morning and oh boy did the foot hurt! Probably I have a muscle somehow twisted or what because it is not the bone. You should see me walking. At any rate, somehow I got to Richard's garage with all my belongings and watched how they just removed the starter. Although Monday was truly a national holiday, this somehow doesn't matter in Scotland as they have all holidays differently. As the Scottish AM radio station said later, there is a 12 page handbook listing the individual holidays within Scotland -- apparently each town has a different day when celebrate a national holiday. This was however good for me, as the starter was off the car at 8:40 and I was out of town at 9:30. Apparently the whole thing was a lose contact inside the starter, so the guy who has a whole setup for testing starters had an easy job. Hence this was the cheapest and fastest way for me to get away: ?28 for the towing (which I didn't need after all) and ? 25 for fixing the starter. What a bargain -- how can they survive at these rates? I was stranded some 20 miles away and a whole tow truck came out at night to get me, for ? 28. I will ask my shop at home, but I know for sure that they do not repair such ridiculous things like a starter but rather exchange it, at about $300 or so. And yes I am happy for not joining the British automobile club for ? 90. The only question that remained was why could the damn thing not fail 2 hours earlier? I would have been out of town 3 days ahead...


The rest of the day was smooth. First I drove to Thurso along the coast, after which I returned through the inner land to Wick for a wonderful Chinese lunch for ridiculous ? 4. After this, by heading steadily west, people's predictions came true: the roads are indeed wide enough to allow a car and a sheep to cross, and you will see definitely more sheep than tourists. The more you head west the prettier the landscape becomes, but that of course depends on what you are looking for. Lakes and hills and green and sheep is what I was after, and I sure got it here. Three rolls of film are proof of it. Braveheart pure, you could say, except that the language of the locals is even stranger. Once I was attacked by (mad?) cows when I was attempting to take pictures of the interesting trees in the background... I am still about only halfway west, so there is more to come, I assume. In the meantime the weather forecast has whispered some rather bad news, so I am getting ready.

More news from the radio: no FM stations at all, only two MW and one LW station, but that is sufficient to get the basics. So far during my stay here, they have lost some five children, of which they found some three raped and dead. Other two sex offenders have been sentenced to impressive jail terms. Without the usual sarcasm, I thought that this was a safe place. Burning ferries (and cricket and rugby) aside, this is about all the radio is talking about.

Another interesting news came across the airwaves today: private car clamping is legal everywhere in the UK except in Scotland, where it is regarded as "legalized extortion and theft". This means that in almost all of UK a private person can clamp another's car if illegally parked and then ask for ridiculous money if you want it back. Apparently there are no legal limits and so the clampers just take what they can get. Strong opposition is now building up and wants it prohibited. Soon no more wild west in Britain?

Eriboll to Eriboll via Lairg or, Scotland at it's best

When I woke up it was raining. Slowly I should find another opening sentence, but this one is rather fitting. Once it stopped I headed south through the land, and it was indeed a magnificent sight which can hardly be described in words. Also fitting, the only LW radio station that could be received broadcast a discussion about Prince Charles, Diana and Camilla. About any possible opinion was represented: should he marry and become king, should he marry yet leave the king part alone, etc. The IMHO best line gave an older lady about Lady Di: "Very pretty empty head who lived in the center stage". I could not have put it better. During another radio broadcast, the story was that a police station was evacuated after a guy brought in a bomb from WW2 which he found at the train station. The state agents were of course not very pleased about that and the bomb was detonated by the bomb squad somewhere else.

Did I already mention that sheep are rather shy animals in Scotland? Usually I need a telephoto lens to take pictures of them, but there was this one sheep with a probably very itchy butt, as it was rubbing its behind at the grass, making very happy / relieved sounds, and was not at all disturbed when I approached it and took a candid picture...

Around noon I drove through the town of Crask, consisting of two houses. I am used to rather cute "villages" from Montana and Nevada, but two houses, one of which seemed uninhabited, made me wanting a town of my own as well. Not much later I have met two young Germans in a rather strange small motorhome as they just were preparing breakfast, as they said. We talked a bit and eventually went our own ways. Just as I found my campsite for tonight, though, which is completely invisible from the road, I saw their van pulling in. So we hung out for a while again, before they followed the dirt road which lead just in front of my campsite, to come back only a few minutes later saying that the road disappeared in the nearby river. This prompted them to get back on the main (one lane) paved road and to the nearest town this rather boring, common way. Since here are very few roads which one can choose from around here, chances are I will see them again.

Here at the campsite it is rather cold and rainy. It is cold enough that I felt it necessary to do for a few minutes what every good American does when waiting for more than a few minutes -- leave the engine running. I also put on double socks and dug out a winter sweater for the night, just in case. Once I turned off the engine, many sheep and even two deer families joined me. This is not Yellowstone, folks: here, deer are being shot by hunters, as the signs say, so it's truly unusual that they get so close to people, especially if they smell the way I do. I could not take any pictures of them as even at f2.8 the exposure time would have been around 10 sec, and deer won't wait that long posing. Yet they enjoyed the fresh grass and the water in the river quite extensively, and likely are doing so even now as it's completely dark and I can't see a damn thing.

In short, this was a day like I imagined it: little driving, very few tourists, no big events, quite some water from the sky, peace and animals; little to tell you other than to come yourself and see it with your own eyes. It sure is worth it.

There were not many sheep in the morning around my car, but I felt almost my whole body itching. The reason were bites by flies not bigger than 1mm, but appearing in groups of millions and hence causing terrible destruction. How they got at my feet in the sleeping bag is yet unclear. My face at any rate looks like I stuck it into a bee house, and it sure feels similarly.


My goal for today was to see a part of the northwest, using those famous one-lane roads, many of which even aren't on the map. I also included a trip to the next gas station, about 30 miles away from where I wanted to go, in today's plan. First, when visiting a cave in Durness, I met again my new German friends. They just were on their way to dive in the cave, with all that rubbery stuff such people tend to wear, which I found rather disturbing given the temperature of the air, forget the water. But I am sure they survived.

While the weather forecast was rather positive, the real life looked differently. Hoping that this was to change, I first got gas and later on the weather indeed improved dramatically. Kodak certainly appreciated that, since my consumption of their LPZ film soon reached unknown peaks. I even took pictures from the middle of a river, taking full advantage of my rubber boots. I called it "all or nothing", having most of my gear in my backpack -- but fortunately I stayed over water.


Together with some Swedish and German tourists we stared at the unbelievably blue sea around sunset. The water here is truly clean and the beach is white, hence the bright blue color of the sea. This is very much in contrast to the local streams and lakes; regardless where you look you can see uncountable sheep, which produce different sorts of exhaust. The frequent rain then flushes everything down and hence the countless little lakes have a dramatic brownish color, partially covered by the typical foam. While there is no other source of pollution here, it is advisable to watch where you put your feet.

Stoer, Ullapool, Stromeferry, Staffin (Skye) or, the joy of one lane roads

Although the radio announced that we will have a full moon, there was no white spot to be spotted on the night sky. Nights tend to be rather cloudy to say the least here in Scotland. In the morning, the hygiene thing had to be postponed due to life threatening monsters: already millions of these small flies were waiting outdoors, prompting me to leave without opening the door. Finding it a windy enough place to keep myself safe, I spent a good hour walking around an isolated lighthouse; except for a few sheep and hairy cows I was all alone. Soon afterwards I found a tree suitable for a shower by attaching my water container onto it and standing under the drizzling water. Finding a tree at this latitude (or is it longitude?) is actually not an easy task, other than trees in people's gardens or right next to the water (then again with the flies). This shower made me feel really good again, especially as the sun was shining. This surprisingly lasted throughout the whole day.

(note the sheep) For today I planned relocation towards Isle of Skye, which meant quite some driving. Out of the exceptional 455km the vast majority was on one lane roads with the occasional passing places because I decided to avoid the main through roads and mostly to follow the coastline. Among others, this opened the wonderful sight of good a dozen sheep lying at the beach in the morning sun. The water could not have been more blue and the sheep seemed to be truly enjoying themselves by rechewing the wonderful grass they ate earlier. My culinary experience for the day was however not quite as pleasant: being both lazy and sick of self-prepared meals, I visited a restaurant in Ullapool, the biggest town on my today's route. The menu featured the mandatory Fish & Chips, which I learned to avoid years earlier in London, so I opted for the alternative Chicken & Chips. Both the appearance and the taste of food reminded me of Roble food at Stanford. For those who don't know: all university food is said to be bad, but the Roble dining hall is so bad that students went on strike and nobody showed up for an entire week. I lived in Roble and hence know what I am talking about.

With an upset stomach I headed more south. Repeatedly I ran into a retired English couple, and so after a while we started to tell each other fun stories. The gentleman said that since he is retired he became so really busy; all the travelling, home video editing, etc. This strongly reminded me of my grandfather who all his life collected books, scientific ones most of the time, saying that he will read all of them once he retires. Through his retirement till now at age of 90, he hasn't read a single of them yet, but he has built a house, renovated it, traveled around Europe and has kept himself otherwise busy. But he is still buying new scientific books. Hence I guess I understand.


On the way to Skye I picked up a German hitchhiker. I brought him to the castle of Dornie, which was partially opposite to my way but then "changing cars" is for him more of a problem than returning some 5 miles for me. It was at any rate interesting to listen to his stories. Soon again alone, I headed across the Skye bridge to the isle. The bridge is one of the biggest rip-offs I have ever seen: ? 5.20 or around $7 each way, yet it is maybe 200m long. This suddenly makes the Golden Gate appear like a true bargain. Once across, however, the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. Especially the east coast with its steep cliffs which are green from pioneer grass growing at unbelievable locations represent one of the most spectacular sights of the entire trip. So the bridge toll may seem cheap after all.

In the heat of photographing these cliffs I got onto a road which is actually none, forgetting that my car may well have 4WD but still has only standard ground clearance. Crawling in 1st gear around rocks and mud I got into places which have not seen a tripod before. I was also happily expected by a swarm of the now famous flies. Those few which made it into my car I am now attracting by the interior light, squashing them there once they settle. Unfortunately they are rather swift and hard to catch. Hence I fear that by the morning they will have altered my appearance again.

Around Skye and to Inverness or, about perfect timing

The first look through the windshield in the morning filled me with childish joy: while millions of the flies were last sighted around the car in the evening, thousands were now lying dead on the windshield. The mixture of nightly rain and residues of the superb German windshield washer fluid apparently have treated the plague with little mercy. Good to see at least some justice in the world.

Being up really early, around 7, I found myself on roads even more empty than usual. In partly rainy weather I have completed a loop around the eastern part of the Isle of Skye, which does not mean too much in kilometers. I found the harbor of Portree in a still rather sleepy mood, where only the fishermen were active. This woke in me again the desire to return to the spectacular mountains of last evening.


On the way back north to the mountains I had to get past some of the local hairy cows. Other than their giant horns these animals are peace in person. They are about as calm and relaxed as a sleeping puppy, just bigger, much bigger. And since they know that nobody means them any harm, they tend to walk down the road where and as long as they please, which at times causes problems with the admittedly rare traffic. Shortly after I managed to pass such a herd of hairy cows, I picked up a couple of Italian hitchhikers who wanted a ride to Portree. Fortunately I have cleaned up the unbelievable mess in the car just moments before, miraculously creating one additional empty seat. This young couple was travelling around northern Europe with the Interrail ticket, facing the problem that there are virtually no trains in Scotland and hence they had to settle for this kind of transportation. They said that even if each time the second car were to stop, this could still take half an hour. However, both spoke excellent English and hence we had a fun hour driving towards the only considerable town of the island.

When I dropped them off I headed back to the western part of the island. This side is less spectacular than the eastern and even less populated. With quite some surprise I witnessed a mass of the newest technology in the middle of green: a new Ford Mondeo (European equivalent of the Contour) commercial was just being shot at an otherwise truly deserted location. Although not quite the same as Braveheart, filming action nevertheless, and sheep were watching from a safe distance.


Around noon I visited a lighthouse at the northwestern corner of the island. The parking lot was full of cars and featured huge signs inviting people to visit the lighthouse. After a considerable walk up and down some cliffs a tiny note said that sorry, the lighthouse is closed. This made especially some senior citizens rather upset, had they to walk back over the same cliffs again without seeing anything. What we all could see was a fake graveyard in front of the lighthouse which was used for some kind of a gruesome movie. After finishing shooting they simply left the stones there...


Just as I got back into the car an impressive rainstorm has started. This gave me the opportunity to go into the only restaurant of the nearest town (or better, the town consisted of the restaurant and a few sheep) and get a real lunch. To my pleasure the prices were acceptable, the food was great, and the server looked pretty much like Winnona Ryder. By the time I had satisfied my stomach and eyes the rain had stopped and I could head south in general direction mainland.


Being alone on the now wet winding roads with a car which was born to be driven fast through such courses, I enjoyed for some 30 miles things which are prohibited in the US by cops and in Switzerland usually by traffic density. These are the moments when you can best enjoy 4WD in a normal car. Ask LHB or Edwin for details, and don't do that with a Jeep, kids. The car eventually protested by letting the center brake light fall off the roof, even though it was screwed into the metal frame. Hmmm...

Soon the traffic became denser and the fuel tank empty so I had to reduce speed and entertain myself with the radio. The friendly speaker announced in the news that a dangerous convicted pedophile escaped when being on a surveyed walk away from the jail in a children's amusement park, and that archeologists have found the casket where it is believed the heart of the Scottish king Robert the Bruce was stored. For those who know Scottish history only from Braveheart: that was the bearded guy who first committed treason against Wallace but later saved his butt and finally kicked the English' arses (just after the movie, that is), to put it in the original words. This very same guy supposedly requested that his heart be buried somewhere else in a small box. Now they are trying to find out whether it's authentic or not.

Just barely off Skye I picked up other two hitchhikers, this time from Belgium. The way they spoke one could think they hated their native country and thought that it was boring. We finally agreed that most people think that of their own countries, except maybe those who never left their native town, or those who came back to their senses after seeing the whole world.


At the southern edge of Loch Ness they headed more south while I was due north. I followed the western shore of famous Loch Ness yet could not see the monster. This prompted me to visit one of the many shops and at least to buy a little Nessie, a stuffed green monster. It shall join my collection of more or less identifiable animals; at least I don't have to find a name for it. Just earlier I witnessed a draw bridge of a special kind being drawn, or rotated for that matter. Barriers went down and the road in front of my eyes simply started to rotate, allowing a few yachts to pass into the Loch. This was rather remarkable and attracted several dozens of onlookers.

By the evening I got to Inverness and visited the local Safeway. No, that's not a typo, they have such a chain here, too. It has even the same labeling and hence one may conclude that it is the same thing, just imported one way or the other. The big difference is that the UK Safeway doesn't have 24hr opening hours nor free parking, at least not in Inverness. But they had apples, Coke and some French bread, and so I was very satisfied. This provided me with the vitamins and other particles required for a good night's sleep in a forest east of Inverness.

Tour of Loch Ness and all the way to Metz or, why do things always break on weekends?

Having spent an excellent night in a forest near Inverness I decided to make a tour around Loch Ness and, depending on the weather, to head as far south as I would get. Maybe in part given by the rather cloudy weather I didn't find the lake all that exciting and so I started heading south at about 11 in the morning. I wanted to go south along Loch Ness and then get to the motorway in Glasgow.


The trip was initially rather uneventful; the traffic was extremely dense, lots of tourists with motorhomes and caravans clogged the winding road. About 100 miles south of Inverness however rather strange sounds started to come from under the car. Initially thinking that these were normal noises just reflecting the road conditions, I didn't pay too much attention to them. Soon, however, the noises started to be rather persistent and loud. At that time it was just after noon and I was again in the middle of nowhere, just this time in the middle of a maybe 200 miles long traffic jam. Hence calling for help was not an option and I had to get to the nearest town myself, or at least as close as the car allowed.

When the road began to climb rather steep hills, the steering of the car became at times nervous. So I pulled over into an overfilled parking lot and suspecting a suspension failure I removed both front wheels. A similar noise was coming from a front suspension on another car years earlier after it partially broke; this time, however, all three elements of the suspension were in perfect order on both wheels, and the brakes worked perfectly as well. Since the noise only showed when the car was accelerated and the gears worked smoothly, I concluded that it must be the central differential lock of the 4WD system which does not behave as it should. Since this is not an essential part of the powertrain I decided to go ahead and head south, at least to Glasgow, the closest city at about 100 miles away.

In Glasgow it was impossible to find a VW dealer to be still open to inspect the car, and so I headed further south, with a car which always attracted people's attention given the impressive noise it produced. I decided not to wait again till Monday just to meet a mechanic who has never seen a 4WD Golf before anyway but to head more towards Germany where this car is much more common. I must admit that at times I thought that the car would fall apart, and onlookers sure thought so all the time.

Luckily, the car behaved perfectly, even quietly, once accelerated to about 80mph. Hence I had no problems on the motorways, and with a full gas tank I traveled nonstop for some 4 hours to enjoy the smooth and unexpected ride. This way I caught the 23:30 ferry from Dover to Calais. On board I ate some excellent dinner, as I haven't eaten anything noteworthy for a long time.

The French had no immigration guards of any kind at all, and since the road was so empty at this late hour (through the transfer to France I lost a hour to the timezones), I drove for some 400km further before going to sleep at one of the famous wonderful highway parkings.

Metz to Strasbourg to home or, the fighting Frenchmen

Awakened by the sunshine at about 9am, I continued my trip home. I headed straight to Strasbourg as this promised the shortest way in case the car was to break down. Just before the French/German border in Strasbourg a pedestrian and a motorist were involved in a fist fight at an intersection. While I missed the beginning, the show was rather impressive and Mike Tyson would have been pleased given the quality.

The car behaved very nicely at about 120km/h and so I tried to maintain that speed as much as I could. Once in Germany this of course meant that I was in the right lane almost all of the time and could enjoy the sight of others zooming by in the left lane at speeds around 200km/h. Usually I am in the left lane, but with this car I was glad to be on the Autobahn at all.

I finally arrived home at about 18h. The final driving kilometers were the most fun as they were over some extremely steep and winding roads which are around my town, and the car sincerely disliked anything other than straight lines. Once home I simply put the car into the garage and after taking a long & thorough bath went to bed. That was a very welcome change after a couple of weeks in a sleeping bag!

Adventures in Scotland (Perth, Aberdeen, Mossat, Inverness, Wick)

From Perth to Aberdeen or, how to play golf in Scotland

To put it short, in the morning it was raining. It was actually quite pouring, and so was it during most of the day. Unlike myself, my photo gear does not have protective Gore-Tex wear and so I merely watched the scenery as I drove from Perth to Aberdeen. Quite often I pulled over and enjoyed the scenery, such as the sheep and the Dutch girl who desperately tried (and failed) to take pictures of them. Swiss sheep, if approached by a person, usually come closer, expecting some candy or pieces of bread, while Scottish sheep run away. It is questionable which behavior is better, yet given the sheep's overall intelligence this is just a philosophical question anyway.


Impressive was the persistence of some golf players in Braemar, a small village in the middle of sheep paradise. I assume that being Scot means to be used to playing during rain, even if it's more of a downpour for non-Scotsmen. There was about a dozen of players with rather impressive umbrellas, trying not to get too wet when playing the ball. Late in the afternoon I visited the little town of Portsmouth, a very fishery place. When I saw children playing in the foggy playground where you could barely see the sun I wondered how the local residents get a sufficient level of Vitamin A. Also, you could smell the fish everywhere, together with the preservatives from the nearby canneries. In a discussion with a local older lady (who approached me after she saw the Swiss license plate) I learned that the local fish market is one of the largest in Europe. Given the smell it better be. She also apologized several times for the present weather, as if she were responsible for it; in addition, she thanked for the wonderful weather we supposedly had in Switzerland this past June when she visited our expensive place, as she said. When we were saying goodbye she gave me some local cookies, the best ones as she assured me, because she used to work at the very same bakery when she was younger. For someone coming from Switzerland, or don't even mention Palo Alto, the people here are almost shockingly friendly and helpful.

As the friendly gas station guy predicted earlier, the sky finally cleared up a bit towards the evening, and I could enjoy a rather lovely sunset. During the 10 minutes when one could see the sun I spent more film than in the past two days. If I learned something from my trip to Mono Lake then it was "bracket, stupid!" Being close to Aberdeen also means the impressive choice between about six FM radio stations, ranging from talk radio to bagpipe music, but unfortunately nothing "normal". Still better than at home -- there we have four stations, one of them only in mono and none worth a cent.

Aberdeen, Mossat, Inverness or, so few people, so many castles

When I woke up in the forest where I camped it was clear, or at least you could see the sun smiling from between the clouds. I immediately used this unexpected scene for a spontaneous shower under a tree. Later I visited a few castles -- including some genuine ruins from "Braveheart" times. While heading more towards the North, I noticed at numerous occasions the difference between Scots and mainland Europeans: Scots are without restrictions friendly to foreigners -- several times people were even waving at me as they saw my car with the steering wheel at the other side. You can address anyone at random and you will be politely answered, given you can understand what they say; in contrast, I was told to have a strong American accent -- strange, when in California, nobody said so. When I once pointed out to the gas station keeper that all sponges are missing from the buckets I was told to wash the windshield with the paper towels provided -- they can not be as quickly stolen by tourists. I also noticed that I was about the only mainland European with his lights partially covered as not to blind the oncoming traffic, while all UK visitors do the same when on the mainland. Maybe we just take visiting this foreign place for granted and couldn't care less, while the British are visitors and behave as such? Just a thought.

However, good news from London: when the subway drivers have agreed with the employers on a 35hr week and ? 30,000 annual salary, the scheduled strikes have been called off. Now I think that I may be in the wrong business after all... Also, an American artist whose name I already forgot was apparently insured by Lloyd's against abduction by aliens. ID4 pure? They should take Bill Gates, if you ask me.

Gummibear lovers, listen here: while it may be unclear who invented the gummibears -- the Germans or the English -- for me it is clear who makes the best ones: the English Wine Gums, when made well, beat any gummibear, even a Haribo Goldbear (hear, hear!). While I never found any genuine good Wine Gums outside of the UK, during this my second visit to the island my stomach is suffering very badly. My brain already repeatedly got emails from the stomach pleading to stop the steady flow, but so far they have been disregarded :-)

Now camping north of Inverness, I hope for tomorrow that the weather will stay as it is, and that the traffic will lighten up. So far people's predictions of "empty roads" and such have not been met; maybe I was expecting something like the US-50 through Nevada, and got an average Czech road instead. The radio selection still includes the mysterious 90.0FM station: since I entered Scotland, it always appears on the station scan. However, it is always quiet -- in stereo, nonetheless. Would sure give an interesting new CD.

Inverness to Wick or, about hitchhiking and missed pictures

When I woke up I had no clue about what was to come. And that was better so. The night left quite some new puddles behind, but the sun was starting to shine. So far, so good. My first stop was at a nearby harbor, namely its public toilets (which btw. are called so here, unlike in America, because why promise more than is inside? Or what was the last time you saw a tub in a public bathroom, eh?). To natives or to motorhome owners it may not appear as such a wonderful thing, but if you are camping out in the wild, believe me, the reliability with which these noble houses appear at harbors and other touristy places is reassuring.

But it was not just this little house that appealed to me. The harbor was, in the rising sun, a very nice sight, as were the many other harbors to come. As I noted earlier, I was so far amazed about the high number of people living here, in contrast to what I heard. One would expect the residents of the still numerous towns to be either farmers or fishermen. However, the harbors could be the home of a few small boats at best, and the farms were widespread in the fields. To date I could not figure out what all the people were doing out here. Nevertheless, going north meant seeing less and less houses and traffic. The occasional Bavarian bus full of older tourists who then took pictures of one another in the most questionable positions was about as well represented as the three Dutch girls in a rental car. And again asked me an older English gentleman "and where are you from in the States?", being quite surprised when I told him that I am from Switzerland.

But it was quiet. Quiet enough that I felt sorry for the Scottish woman standing at the road and trying to get a ride to next town. When I picked her up she was obviously disturbed -- this time I am pretty sure it was not my driving but merely her position in the car: on the right front seat, without a steering wheel. During our brief talk I mentioned that it is now only the US and Bangladesh which use the non-metric system; after this, she stared at me for a while and finally asked in an inquisitive tone the unexpected "is Bangladesh pretty?" -- as if I knew; to this I had to admit I didn't know the answer. When leaving she thanked me profusely for the event of the week.

When I drove through the town of Wick, I saw a guy in his early 20s wearing a German military jacket (with flag) and a Nazi emblem on the sleeve. I thought that by going so far away from our northern neighbors I would be spared views such as this. Still, the nature after Wick was pretty enough to make sightings such as these quickly forgotten. But things were about to change soon.

It was about 16hr when I pulled into a parking lot alongside the road to take a rather cheesy picture of a castle. What a mistake. As I wanted to depart, nothing happened when I turned the key. I didn't panic quite yet, but maybe I should have. At that moment I didn't yet realize where I was and what day of the week it was. After about 20 minutes of retrying and staring at the engine I sighed and waved randomly at the next passing car. As life goes it was a Renault Twingo occupied by four Italians. For those who don't know: a Twingo is about the smallest car currently built anywhere in the world, but it looks really cute.

After several attempts at bringing the car to run we all concluded that we were clueless and the Italians offered me a ride to next help. So there we were, five adults and tons of luggage in a Twingo, heading to the next phone booth. A Renault commercial could not have been more moving. Too bad I was stupid (as usually in moments like these) and left all my camera equipment behind. Leaving $10,000 in camera gear and ? 500 in cash openly in the car is not such a big problem here as it would be in LA, and taking pictures was the last thing I was thinking about at that time. However, pictures of this trip would be about as impressive as a sound recording, given that only one of the Italians spoke a little English, and that after today I definitely crossed off Italian as one of my appraised foreign languages.

The automobile club representative told me on the phone that before they would even consider helping me I would have to become a member, for just ? 90. Thinking that things were bad, given the geographic situation, but not quite that desperate yet, I thanked and hung up. So there we were, in this purple Twingo, heading back to Wick. Sitting on the front seat, similarly estranged like the woman on my front seat in the morning, but this time rather by the outspokenly Italian driving style thinking that I won't see the sunset even if there is one today. I also had less leg room than on the back seat of a Porsche (trust me, been there before). By now it was also closing time in Wick, and so we had to panic after all and find the only 24hr towing service in North-East Scotland. Given the size of Wick not a big deal, though. Worse was that Richard, the boss of the shop, said that the only towing truck was on assignment and I would have to wait till the evening. It was then when it occurred to me that all my money was in the car and I began to worry after all.

Just before sunset and after I found a ?15 place to stay overnight, we drove in his towing truck up north to my abandoned car. Richard was quite a character: in his upper 50s, a Scot like from a picture book. Short of a skirt and a bagpipe, he had everything you would expect: talked all the time, made jokes which were really funny if you could understand them, and claimed that they had the world's finest climate. His towing truck was an old Dodge, with the steering wheel surprisingly at the wrong side, too, and it probably saw World War II. Since my car has fulltime 4WD it can't just be towed like that. Realizing that, Richard, being a man like a bear, successfully brought the car back to life by pushing it to considerable speed and then jamming into the 4th gear. You won't do that with an automatic I guess. The starter was apparently dead and that in a place with the next Volkswagen dealership hundreds of miles away. You should have seen Richard hammering onto it with a sledge hammer, and then letting sparks fly as he created a short circuit with a wrench. But since it's dead anyway, who cares.

Now it is Friday just before a long weekend, and I am in the middle of nowhere. As Richard said, however, I am heading into even bigger void with roads so narrow that it doesn't matter on which side you drive, and so I better get it fixed for good as then the next towing service may be further away than just 20 miles. A look at the map seems to confirm that. Besides, not always do you have a man like a bear handy when you need to start your car.

Here I am, in this Bed & Breakfast place, with radio (on which I first had to adjust the time) and TV, and can enjoy the wonders of British entertainment. Unlike other B&B places, this owner does not seem to interact a lot with the guests, and you get all the noise this town has to offer through the window: the harbor is just down the street as well as the main road with the only traffic light in town. I still may want to stay for another night if the car gets fixed easily, or for a few more if it won't. Like my American Honda on the past 3rd of July, cars just seem to break down when you need it the least, and then I never even take pictures of it...

Stuck in Wick or, it won't get any hotter

Well, it came as feared: the guy who would be able to repair a broken starter is out of town, and of course no spare pieces are available. The closest Volkswagen shop is as said many miles away, and they will have to get the spare pieces from there. Unfortunately Monday is a national holiday, too, so I will be here for a while.

Having so much time I decided to walk around town and take lots of B/W pictures to take advantage of my old 20-35mm lens. Maybe I will call my next portfolio "Wick against my will" or so. After a couple of hours you have walked through every single road and footpath in this town, and with the weather initially favorable this seems a sensible option. When walking around I talked to many people, most of them in shorts and T-shirts, or less (men only). Myself I was however in long black jeans and a heavy sweatshirt. A man told me that this was about as warm as it ever gets -- 15C with a rather chilly wind from the sea. It indeed seems that I got spoiled by California.

Unfortunately I must have injured my left foot on Saturday on one of the walks as on Sunday it hurt like crazy and so I am unable to walk too far. Doesn't really matter as that day it rains really bad, too, clearing up for a beautiful evening, and so I am here watching Formula One and other stuff on TV. I was surprised not to see Schumacher's Ferrari break down halfway through the race but to win instead. Supposedly the guy is worth some $40M a year, and that for exceeding the speed limits all the time.

The hosts in the B&B are kinda weird. He is a railway worker and not very skilled in talking nor especially communicative in general. Still I managed to talk to him around breakfast time for about five minutes. He apparently is enough of a F1 freak that he traveled to the last race in Hungary, by train... She is even weirder -- "hello" is all she says, at best. But she cooked a rather good dinner on Sunday for an additional ? 4 charge, and so I am not complaining. Another guy lives here in a second room, he is a power company worker from southern England and works here 7 days a week till they are finished. One doesn't get too much to see of him, as he leaves early and comes late. This is my last night here because the room I am in is reserved from tomorrow on.

(watch the satellite dishes) About TV: as you may know, movies look a bit different in the theaters than on American TV. All "strong language" gets either cut out or muted, in contrast to European TV. However, here in Britain, this form of censorship also happens, even in stupid movies like "Teen Agent" which I happened to have seen (in its full length) in Switzerland just before I left. Even completely harmless things get "edited for content". Also on BBC TV, the news just reported about a hospital in Edinburgh which will get its own police station. Supposedly the doctors and nurses have been recently attacked at an average of twice a day at knife point, and after neither closed circuit TV nor panic alarm buttons helped a bit, the police decided to open a station inside the hospital. Sounds like LA to me...

The Scottish Isles: Dal Riada

In the 6th century an Irish tribe known as the Scotti, established their kingdom of 'Dal Riada' at Dunadd, among the lands of the native Picts. Later the 'Kingdom of the Isles' was to preserve the culture of the Gaels in Western Scotland. The tranquil glens, wooded hillsides and breathtaking beaches of Antrim, mid-Argyle, Kintyre and the Isles, still echo to the voices of these ancient peoples.

The Isle of Arran is known as 'Scotland in Miniature' and is a superb location for a hill-walking holiday. The Arrochar Alps allows for some great sightseeing, walking and whiskey tasting. "Soft water, through peat, over granite" may make for great whiskey, but it also makes for splendid scenery. This is a land of castles, eagles, deer, and tradition as old as history itself.

Between Loch Lomond and Loch Fyne lie Dal Riada's highest mountains, the rugged and rocky peaks of the Arrochar Alps. Here summits of 600 metres are the norm while the area boasts no less than 6 munros, (mountains over 3000 feet or 900m).

Ben Arthur (the Cobbler) is the most spectacular, its summit resembling a cobbler bent over his last, and is the most recognisable of all Scottish mountains. To reach the very highest point involves crawling through a rock window,'Argyll's Eyeglass'. Legend recounts that every Campbell chief had to prove his manhood by gaining the top. Above the northern reaches of Loch Lomond sprawls twin peaked Ben Vorlich. From its summit the whole 34 kilometre length of Loch Lomond can be viewed to the south, while northwards stretch endless highlands..

There is a fine low level walk from Loch Long to Loch Lomond through the heart of the Argyll National Park and of course we climb Beinn Ime the highest of the Arrochar Alps at 1011m. Inverary Castle and Gaol are among the sights we visit on the easier days. This is one trip where you don't want to forget your camera! Our hotel offers a choice of more than 500 malts and the music and craic is Scottish style!

An eleven night/twelve day holiday sampling some of the best walking in the ancient Celtic Kingdom of Dal Riada.You don't have to be a whiskey drinker as sampling the products is not compulsory!
While the Irish may have discovered whiskey (or "whisky" as the Scots spell it), the Scots claim to have improved upon it. Nine hundred billion litres of rain fall on Scotland every year and of that, nine hundred million litres of whiskey are produced.

The distilleries all have a unique approach to both their product, and how they welcome their visitors but all have a tasting session at the end and for a few moments, we can be the experts! This tour begins on the Irish Coast. We visit Ireland's only World Heritage Site, the Giant's Causeway and the dramatic rope-bridge of Carrick-a-Rede. Our first distillery is the oldest in the world, Bushmills. Our journey by sea takes us to mainland Scotland and the beautiful Arrochar Alps near Loch Lomond, and the distillery at Oban. We sail on to the Whiskey Island of Islay and walk the majestic Paps of Jura.

Our last Island is the Isle of Arran, known as 'Scotland in Miniature'. Glen Rosa and Goat Fell await us. This is one of the greatest holidays that we've ever been on!

Arran is a mere 30k by 15k and yet its high mountains and fertile coastline make this a paradise for hillwalkers. The Isle is rich in archaeological remains from stone circles and chambered graves to ancient forts. We walk in the Claughland Hills near Brodick and its castle, known for the beauty of its Garden. Above

Kilbrannan Sound we hike through the Pirnmill Hills, habitat of deer and Golden Eagles.

The remote Glens are abundant in cascading rivers and offer views that are enjoyed by so few. Glen Rosa and Goat Fell are breathtaking in their natural beauty. The Holy Isle off Lamlash is now a retreat for a community of Bhuddist monks.

In keeping with all Dal Riada ventures, the local cuisine plays an important part and 'The Taste of Arran' will not disappoint you. The Isle is famous for its cheese and of course the newest distillery in the world at Lochranza. We'll lunch at the distillery and take a walk to the source of its pure water. No island holiday would be complete without a coastal walk and we ramble the wild coast of Sannox Bay and the 'Cock of Arran'.