A while ago, I wrote about how I want to write more about travelling, and about my thoughts and experiences in foreign places in general. As usual, I never got round to actually finishing the post I started, and part of that was, ironically, thanks to more travelling in early May. I know it would make sense to start writing about those more recent travel impressions, but I was thinking about this one weirdly transcendental experience in particular when I composed that post linked above, so I might as well stick with it.
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In late September 2017, I was doing research in Edinburgh, UK. I was staying in an Airbnb place on Leith Walk, spending my days poring over 17th century prints at the National Library of Scotland. I also had a bad cold, partly brought on by archive airconditioning, and partly by conference stress and a night singing karaoke with a German friend who was getting a masters degree in Edinburgh at the time. Nevertheless, I was enjoying myself. The view from the library reading room on the top floor is gorgeous – Arthur’s Seat and the rooftops of Edinburgh – and the weather treated me with an unexpected amount of glorious, glorious sunshine. Also, Edinburgh is probably my favourite city in the world.
The view from the reading room of the National Library of Scotland
The cold had derailed my work schedule, though, and I’d spent most of my second week in the city too exhausted to do much more than the bare minimum of work, which, thanks to my less-than-optimal scheduling, included a day trip to Glasgow to check out some documents kept at the university library there. By the end of the week, I was rather exhausted and more than a bit frustrated. Originally, I’d hoped for the possibility of a weekend trip – Stirling, maybe even Inverness. Neither of those was happening, not just because of travel times, but also because my health was not reliable enough to spend the entire weekend elsewhere. I could push myself a little – I knew I’d likely finish my work by the end of my stay –, but not too much because I had another conference attendance planned once I was done in Edinburgh.
As happens so often with me, the idea came late at night. I can’t remember what exactly I did to come up with the plan to make a day trip to Loch Lomond – I might have googled something along the lines of ‘day trips out of Edinburgh’ –, but when I figured out that this was actually feasible, and without staying overnight somewhere, I got excited. So excited that I had very little trouble getting up bright and early on Saturday to catch a train to Glasgow. If you know anything about me, you’ll know that I’m not a morning person. I like mornings, but I’m also a night owl who likes to get enough sleep. Sunshine and a plan usually help, though, and this morning Edinburgh greeted me with the most glorious blue skies.
Taken on North Bridge, on my way to Waverley Station
As it turns out, getting to Glasgow and later Balloch, located on the southern tip of Loch Lomond, proved to be more of a challenge. What looked like maintenance checks when I got to Waverley Station around 8.30 am turned out to be damage to the train lines somewhere between Edinburgh Waverley and Haymarket about half an hour later. ScotRail information told passengers trains would be running from Haymarket instead of Waverley, so I hopped on a tram to Haymarket. When I got there, it soon became obvious that no trains would be running, full stop. Naturally, with all trains to the north of Scotland cancelled, chaos ensued and lines at info desks got long. I guess this is the point where I should probably mention that there is, in fact, a train connection between Glasgow and Balloch. Which was closed for maintenance that particular weekend because apparently ScotRail hates me.
To no one’s surprise, I was frustrated. I considered giving up and going back to my flat to do something else. But – I had checked the weather forecast; it promised rain for Sunday and the following week, and I was flying out on Wednesday. If I wanted to go to Loch Lomond at all, today was my only chance. Instead of feeling defeated, as I am so often wont to do, my mood turned into one of those ‘f*** this sh**’ attitudes I don’t get nearly often enough. I wanted to at least exhaust all my options before turning back.
With the help of google and a friendly gent at the train station, I figured out that there was a bus connection to Glasgow. I had already lost time waiting, but if I caught the next one, I’d get to Glasgow about an hour and a half later than originally planned. I took my chances, and I was lucky – I actually got the last seat on the coach to Glasgow leaving about ten minutes after I’d made the decision to go and try my luck anyway.
By the time we arrived at Glasgow, I was excited again, and I’d had time to have the sandwich I’d bought at the train station earlier. That turned out fortunate because I had to run quite a bit to catch the bus to Balloch – rerouted to a different stop because there was a marathon going on in Glasgow city centre. I also had to buy a pack of gum in a tiny corner store because I remembered just in time that I only had a twenty-pound note and no change for the bus. The sprint hadn’t been very good for my sore throat, but I had been successful and now had about one and a half hours on the bus ahead of me; time enough to catch my breath. I spent much of that time looking out of the window, taking in the landscape around the Clyde, alternately drenched in rain and bathed in sunshine. Glasgow’s outskirts and the tiny towns around Dumbarton fascinated me equally, and I felt strangely, oddly alive. I can’t remember whether I actually listened to the song at the time, but Mark Knopfler’s So Far From the Clyde was definitely on my mind as we drove along the water and through softly rolling hills and small towns.
The bus had been quite full when we left Glasgow, but when we got to Balloch, there were only a handful of people left. Most of them looked like locals – little old ladies with shopping bags, a guy with a dog –, but then, even with it being Saturday, I guess the bus trip was entirely too long and the weather too unpredictable to bring many tourists. In fact, I felt oddly alone, and I liked that.
The bus stop in Balloch was deserted, and so, it seemed was most of the town. I was a tad anxious for a moment, a feeling I never seem to be quite able to shake when travelling, and especially when travelling solo and spontaneously. What if everything was closed for some reason? What if my ‘research’ (read: excited, but unsystematic late-night googling) had mislead me and the walking paths I’d turned up didn’t actually exist? What if they did but were too long or too inaccessible for a Saturday afternoon trip? It was, after all, over two hours later than I’d originally planned to arrive.
Because I only had the vague idea I’d gleaned of the town and lake area via google maps, I did something I don’t usually do – I walked straight into the tourist information. I don’t know what it is with me and places marked specifically for tourists; I just know I don’t particularly like them. I’m not a big fan of ‘ticking off all the sights’ and I tend to over-research places I go, anyway. I normally have a pretty good idea of what I might want to do, and I prefer to get there on my own. It’s usually cheaper, and you get more of a feel for the place. This trip felt different, though. Maybe because it was so spontaneous, maybe because I already felt like I had tempted fate in the morning and wanted to see how far I could stretch my luck – I don’t know what it was, I just know that I decided to see what else chance would throw in my way (or rather, what the lady at the tourist information would recommend).
What I got were two things: A map of a number of walks in nearby Balloch Country Park, and a recommendation to try the one-hour boat tour that was just about to start. As it turns out, the good thing about doing things unprepared and on short notice is that it gives me less time to fret over prices and feasibility. And in this case, it also meant I unexpectedly treated myself to some truly sublime scenery and an hour of feeling utterly alive and happy.
I’m not sure I caught all of the tour guide’s explanations. I remember something about fancy hotels, famous people’s country homes on the shores of the loch, and that Tobias Smollett (whom I still haven’t read, even though I’ve owned Roderick Random since 2009) was from around the area. Everything else went over my head because I was too busy staring at and being moved by mountains, the lake, and the ever-changing weather.
First, Loch Lomond gave me the most gorgeous sunshowers.
Then, it gave me a rainbow.
It also gave me a serious itch to go hiking, and to spend more time in nature in general.
I suppose this would be the point to say something clever about Edmund Burke and the sublime and beautiful, but since I haven’t actually read him, either (shame on me, I know; how dare I claim a love for Romanticism if I’ve only skimmed some of its formative texts?), I’ll refrain. What I will say is that I found the interplay of light and shadow, of rain and sunshine on the lake deeply moving, and while Loch Lomond should probably have been the one song on my mind at that moment, it was Runrig’s This Darkest Winter I was really thinking of.
The Blinding Lines
Have turned away
Shadows from your door
And my worn heart
Is young today
This darkest winter gone
Somehow, the song, with it’s strange blending of the natural and the spiritual worlds, seemed to fit my own experience on the shores of Loch Lomond that day so very well. I am by no means a religious person – I have my issues with organised religion, in fact –but this idea of finding the divine in nature, of meeting god on the open moor, so to speak, is something I can definitely get behind.
By the time we were back at the pier, the rain had stopped, and I’d also had time to journal and to have a cup of tea and some shortbread.
Next up was the walk I’d decided on; a short tour along the shore of the lake and through Balloch Country Park. I knew I wouldn’t have time for a proper hike, but I wanted to spend as much time outside as I could (or as the weather would allow). As it turned out, the weather held – apart from one or two more short sunshowers, it was sunshine throughout the rest of the afternoon.
By now, lunch time was over and there were a couple more people about – mostly dog walkers and families having ice cream on the shores of the lake. And seriously, who could blame them?
It never felt like there were too many people about, though, and most of the time I was entirely, utterly alone. I took my time with the walk – the entire thing was about 3km, which I knew would take me about an hour – and spent a lot of time taking pictures, looking out on the lake, and journalling in the sun.
I think, the light was probably what I loved most – the slanting of the warm, golden afternoon sunlight, the reflections on the water, and the stark shadows it threw under the trees. There was also a faint wind blowing from the lake that made the leaves rustle, and I’m not sure I can describe the sensation as anything other than peaceful. Finally, for some hours on a Saturday afternoon in September, I was completely at peace with myself and the world.
(As usual, the feeling didn’t last long, but it was nice while it did.)
When I got back to the town proper, it was nearly five and I was ravenously hungry. Somehow, for most of the afternoon I’d been fine with fruit and granola bars, but now I needed some proper food. There were about two pubs open, and I picked one of them at random. As it turns out, I was lucky again. This one had live music (and I love me some live music; it’s the Romantic in me that is eternally stuck in ca. 1805), my favourite lemonade (Fentiman’s Rose Lemonade), and some pretty good leek and chicken pies on top.
The rest of the day was rather uneventful, at least if you don’t count the football fans on the train from Glasgow to Edinburgh: I took the bus back to Glasgow around six, read until it was too dark to see (and the bus was too crowded), and caught the train back to Edinburgh without any trouble. I also had the presence of mind to get a hot chocolate for the train, which definitely helped with the rather noisy football fans. (I think it’s a sign of how calming the rest of my day had been that I found them amusing rather than annoying, something that very rarely happens.) I can’t even remember whether I did anything interesting back in Edinburgh – I doubt it because it was already rather late when I got back to my flat –, but even if I did, it paled in light of the rest of my day.