My Heart's in the Highlands! --Part 1

Need to escape this London heat wave? Scotland is just the place, and the Moray Firth offers just the relief you need!

The last seven days, John and I saw some of God’s most glorious beauty in the Highlands near Cawdor, Nairn, and Inverness. (Click on today's title.) We felt the dampness and spray from the massive Loch Ness. ‘Nessie’ stayed out of sight – too many tourists! And we learned of the Jacobites, and the tragic story and ensuing consequences of the Battle of Culloden.

This was such a meaningful trip for me. Every holiday and its locale is special. But this journey into the Highlands, for me, was like a dream come true. My mind is so full of first impressions, and a re-ordering of life-long expectations. As I write, my darting mind is an indication that I will need to post this in two parts.

HIGHLAND DREAMS
It has always been a childhood dream of mine to go to the Highlands of Scotland. I went to Edinburgh with my grandmother when I was 11. Granted, Edinburgh is not the Highlands, but at that age, what young lass would not be enchanted by the Castle when the sun is setting? Still, it whetted my appetite to reach higher someday.

I remember being only four years old when, while living in Carlsbad, New Mexico, my family went to the annual 4th of July parade. All the big bands, rodeo queens, grand horses, and clowns throwing miniature loaves of Rainbow Bread into the crowd passed by with their usual festivity. But what really enthralled this young girl was the pageantry and sounds of the bagpipe brigade that came down Main Street. With a crystal clear New Mexico sky above, the sounds in B-flat filled the horizon and beyond. I cried because I thought, next to the piano, those bagpipes played the most beautiful music I had ever heard!

Why this intense emotion for things Scottish I will never know. Being adopted, I figure perhaps it could be a DNA-thing. Pretty much everyone has some interest in where they came from, and for me Scotland is one of those places I feel some ancestral connection with. I lovingly adopted this myth myself when I was eight years old and was given a 6-week 3rd grade assignment to explore ‘where I came from’. Do teachers understand the implications for research this means to kids out there who are adopted and are not told anything?

My Mother, Lorna, took my histrionics in stride when I came home from school all gloom-faced, knowing I was doomed to fail this ‘project’. She sat me down at the kitchen table, and settled me down with a glass of milk and some cookies (ah, comfort food!). After hearing my dilemma, she said:

‘Oh, that shouldn’t be so difficult, and ought to be a lot of fun! Your dad’s family comes from England, Norway, and possibly France. On my side, you know we’re Scottish, from Clan Hunter, and English. You know how Grandmother Jewel always has milk in her tea. Oh, and Black Dutch.’

Black Dutch? That one threw me.

‘Yes, Black Dutch. People from Holland who are not blonde or blue-eyed, and have more of an olive complexion, like mine.’ (http://www.genealogy.com/heard092602.html?priority=0000900)

Mother went on:
‘Now, you can either choose to be from any of those countries – put your dad’s countries together with mine. OR, you can choose to be from wherever you want to be from. How about that?’

Well, that was just the best news of the entire school year! At the time, some of my favourite piano pieces to play were by the Norwegian composer, Edvard Grieg. But what really clinched the deal and gave me confidence in getting an A+-grade was the fact that I always teared up whenever I heard bagpipes. So then and there, I decided to be Scottish-Norwegian. That night, mother helped me design my own special tartan.

My mother was, I am certain, using wisdom endowed by her Scottish ancestry!

At age 12, when we moved to Kandahar, I learned that the bagpipes actually originated in India. Their journey through the ages to Scotland only made them more fascinating.

When we returned to the US from Afghanistan, the high school I attended in Los Angeles had a thriving drama department. I was hoping to land the role of Meg in Brigadoon (the stage version is much better than the naff movie). But after all the dance and diction prep, we moved again, and the role slipped away.

But not the dream!

WHAT MYTHS?
John and I flew into Inverness Airport on a sunny day. The airport is actually about twenty minutes outside of Inverness. Its two runways are so close to the Moray Firth we thought Mohammed, our friendly EasyJet pilot, was about to land deep beneath the waves. The airport itself is about the size of the Abilene Regional Airport in Abilene, Texas.

As we waited with other travellers by the luggage carrel, John and I were expecting to hear some thick Scottish brogues as families came to greet and collect. John had been worried that we would not be able to understand anyone, because a thick Scottish accent can be very disorientating. We heard many accents: the usual array of English, some American, Asian, and Eastern European. So far, no confusion.

By the time we collected our hire car we understood every word. The people at Eurocar were extremely friendly, and had the softest of brogues, as did the kind lady at the till at Tesco’s, where we got our week’s supply of food. The couple that ran our self-catering cottage had lived in Australia for almost 30 years, and were not Scottish.

So, where were the thick Scottish brogues? Apparently, only in Hollywood, Glasgow, the Lowlands, and down at the Border. The Highlanders are known more for their softer brogue, as their words are derived from Gaelic.

Stay tuned for My Heart’s in the Highlands, Part Deux!