Haggis and bagpipes

Oh aye! We’re bloody back from bloody Scotland and have to say bagpipes don’t sound good there either. Bloody racket.

Fortunately, though, I think Kate and I had about the best Scottish experience we could ask for. It could only have been better if I'd have gotten smashed on single-malt scotch, painted my face blue, and ran down a hill yelling like a madman while launching 50-foot cabers toward my wimpy tartan-clad, haggis-eating, bagpipe-playing enemies. Oh aye! That'll do!

Known as Alba (alá Jessica) in Gaelic, Scotland is rugged, foggy, and unwelcoming. If the weather and music weren’t enough to drive any sane lad away, the food certainly would do. Just think about the word “haggis.” Sounds like a skin disease....

Actually, to be fair, Kate and I really did enjoy our time there. Here’s a summary of our trip, interspersed with various, non-related but somewhat relevant pictures:
We landed near Glasgow late on a Saturday night and got a little lost trying to find our hotel. Eventually, after driving up and down hills that could very easily have been in San Francisco or Tony Hawk's skate park, we found what looked like a university section of Glasgow filled with happy, drunk, Scottish locals. (Those are all synonyms aren't they?)

In this energetic section of town, we found our place and said goodnight to the hilly city on one of the most comfortable beds I think I’ve ever slept in. We could've gone out and gotten as punch-drunk as the rest of the lot, but decided rest was more important. Saturday night’s all right for fighting, I suppose, but not with our itinerary.

I say that because the next morning we ventured up, up, up – way up – to the northern part of the Highlands, to a little town called Fort Augustus right smack on the southern tip of the blackwater cauldron known as Loch Ness. The intent was to rent a canoe from this place called “Monster Activities” and “accidentally” fall in and “get eaten” by the “mythical” Loch Ness “monster.” Unfortunately, unbeknownst to us, Monster Activities was "actually" located on a smaller loch to the south called Loch Oich, "which," also unbeknownst to us, did not have "a" terrifying resident creature. (Below is our interpretation/impression of Nessie):

But, rent a canoe we did, and it was great. While gliding on the equally black loch, we got close to some sheep (which I called deer for some brainfart reason) and passed a couple boats (which I called trucks for the same brainfart reason) and let our imaginations run wild about Nessie’s smaller sister who lives in Loch Oich.
On our way back from canoeing, we drove around the bottom portion of Loch Ness and tried to do some Nessie spotting through the arriving mist. Unfortunately, Nessie was no where to be found. But Yeti, Sasquatch, the unicorn, the Little Mermaid, and skinny Oprah were all there, however, drinking and partying on what looked like a floating frat party. Nessie probably wasn’t invited because of the way she sulks when she drinks. Something about not having any friends… blah, blah, blah.

At our hostel that night we ate some haggis – which was actually pretty good – and some curry – which was also good – and watched a Scottish movie starring Ewan MacGregor called Shallow Grave. Two thumbs up in a Z formation from me.

The following day was our most important on the trip as we drove an hour south to the biggest town in the Highlands – Fort William, home to about 15 people – which is also the “Outdoor capital of the UK,” they claim. Plopped right next door to the city is the roundtop mountain called Ben Nevis, the highest point in the UK, and home to more sheep than you can count before you fall asleep. The hike was awesome. It started out warm, so we took our jackets and sweatshirts off early on. But by the time we finished the three-hour trek to the top, the icy mist had plodded in and sat on us, making us ch-ch-ch-chilly enough to don our new Scottish gloves we bought the previous day. It seemed like it should have been home to lots of evil Scottish ghosts up on top of the rocky mountain. But we weren’t scared. At one point, Kate actually climbed to the top of an abandoned weather station, making her at that moment the highest person in the UK.
After a confusing decent filled with lots of sheep odors, we forged into Fort William for a heartburn inducing fish-and-chips dinner and a decent night’s rest in bunk beds. The next day we drove slowly back down to Glasgow to forage for more Indian curry dishes. But it was at this point that I noticed that Kate has an unfortunate desire for a catnap whenever food is nearby.

We finished the trip by walking around Glasgow some more and trying to rid ourselves of all our liquids and liquid containers before boarding a plane to leave the UK. Those Brits are serious about their liquid laws, and are unsymphathetic to my raccoon-like condition that forces me to drink while I eat dry, crumbly scones. No bloody sympathy.