It was not the best morning on record. The Girl's leg is mysteriously hurting, the rental car company wasn't open on time, the wind and rain were brutal, and we had to walk out to the air stairs on the tarmac (and who feels good about taking off in an airplane in nasty weather?). But, like everything, it passed. We landed in Glasgow around 11am, and after another rental car debacle (apparently we weren't supposed to go to the place "acroos the roood" like we were told, blah, blah...) we were finally ready to enjoy Scotland. For Scotland is a land to be enjoyed.
Steering wheel all gorgeously, properly wonky...
Green...
Like the good Mormon kids we are we headed straight to church -- only to find out that there was a special meeting today that had just concluded, rather than the regular services that were scheduled to start at noon. The Sister was probably the most disappointed, as there were quite a few fine looking lads standing abooot.
We rallied and headed over to one of the coolest museums. The Dad and I went to Kelvingrove seven years ago when we came to Europe sans babies, and I knew that one day we would bring them back. Today was that day.
We fed and watered ourselves at the cafe in order to get properly prepared... We did not order haggis... not even the vegetarian variety (how can that still be haggis?). The Sister learned that while the lads might be irresistible with those cute accents and Trainspotting-esque-I'm-chronically-pissed-and/or-brooding-ergo-sexy attitudes, the cuisine here is, in fact, resistible.
Finally, The Boy was cut loose to follow his map (which he declared "not very well done") and lead us about. The strength of the museum is that it's inquery-based. There are children's sections where questions are asked, and no "answers" ever given, and throughout the museum the items are grouped more by questions that can be raised by the grouping, than by date or genre. For example, there was a tunic from a knight's order displayed next to some footballer-fans' scarves. The section was about symbols, and how symbols tell us about a person (or at least tell us what the person wants us to know). The knight's tunic told us the history of his order, while a fan's scarf tells us what team he/she identifies with. Just a small example. Another one: in an area about "light" in art, the theme is handled in diverse ways. On one hand there's a painting that is in the process of being cleaned, and you can see three different panels -- and how when the dirt is removed from the veneer the "light" can come through. Then there is the content of one picture. The fairy queen looks " full of light" and beautiful -- but she and her fairy folk are snatching babies! Not only was this an example about how beauty can be misleading, but there was also a brief explanation of how some people during the Victorian era honestly thought that babies born with irregularities were "changelings" left by the fairies... and so it was okay to treat them badly (how grateful we should be for "light" that came to push away ignorance). I'm pretty sure that a few weeks at Kelvingrove could serve as a brilliant humanities lesson!
And science (there is so much wonderful, wonderful taxidermy at Kelvingrove)! When people are referred to as "shrews" it is because they are spitting forth poison (saying mean things) -- taken from the fact that shrews spit venom. The shrew is the most venomous mammal in the UK. The most venomous mammal in the world? The male platypus. He has sharp barbs on his rear legs with venom that can cause paralysis.
How about a room where huge white faces hang -- showing a myriad of expressions, and then on the floor there are different busts, and statures, and paintings to look at and consider the expressions evident there? Done. Or a classic painting with conversation bubbles/iPad screens that change to show different (funny!) thoughts that each character in the painting might be thinking? Good, good stuff. It's like Kelvingrove should be the school that kids (adults) go to to understand how to interact with a museum. We hung out for a while, even staying long enough to catch a few minutes of the organ concert.
Glasgow is also home to some other places of form and function -- places having to do with some of my favorite designers/artists/school: Charles Rennie Mackintosh (and the MacDonald sisters). But there is only so much time in a day, so next time the children can be immersed in the Glasgow arts and crafts movement, for now they caught just the smallest of samples in Kelvingrove.
So, after stopping by a Boots pharmacy to get some ibuprofen for The Girl (and The Dad, who has a phantom shin pain... and ear pain... we are totally falling apart), we followed Loch Lomond around for quite a while... heading for the Highlands.
A82 is not for the faint of heart. It is one of the most beautiful drives, but also a bit squidgy at times, what with the narrowness, and the twists and turns, and the American drivers (I swear, I feel like we are about to bash right into the rock walls that are by my side on the left of the car... that having been said, The Dad is doing a brilliant job when one considers: location of the steering wheel, driving on opposite side of street, having to shift with the left hand instead of right, lame in the leg...).
The scary part eventually ends, and when the lake is left behind, the mountains are there, and it is beautiful.
We stopped at the Kings House Hotel for dinner. It has a few centuries under its belt, so it's properly shabby, and the pub food is actually good. Scenes from Hitchcock's 39 Steps were filmed here. When we came out there was a deer getting its dinner.
Glencoe is one of the prettiest areas a person can drive through. Once in the 17th century there was a terrific massacre there, but now all is mellow and when there is mist like there was today, all of that solid mass becomes gauze. Someday, I want to spend time musing there. It is a place to muse.
Everybody is asleep, as I should be. We are in position to get up in the morning and see Nessie. This morning we woke up in Iceland, and tonight we rest our heads in Scotland. Modern life is awesome, but disorienting. Perhaps that is why the things of the past pull at us -- they act as the little threads that hold us in place. This morning on the plane, The Girl showed me the Icelandic lullaby that was on her pillow:
