BLACK PUDDING, HAGGIS AND OTHER STUFF (Part Two)
Leaving Southampton, the ship sailed toward Guernsey, England. I chose to take a ferry to the beautiful Island of Herm. Less than a square mile in area, Herm, the smallest of the Channel Islands, has a population of 77 adults and 6 children. The guided walk uphill and downhill covered the entire island, and I learned much about the archeological discoveries as well as the German occupation in WWII. I also learned that you really have to like your neighbors to live on Herm.
The next day, we berthed at Cork, Ireland. I took a ride into the beautiful rolling hills of the Irish countryside, and this Desert Rat almost overdosed on all that Emerald Green. Next we visited the Blarney Woolen Mill, where you could buy whatever Irish goods your heart and pocketbook allowed. In Glendalough, I explored a 6th Century monastic settlement founded by the gentle priest, Saint Kevin. All he wanted was quiet solitude, but the Vikings and Celts messed up the place and left one heck of a ruin.
Then on to the Liverpool Lake District that I explored by bus, boat and vintage train. I learned that when sheep lie down in a meadow, they are keeping a dry spot for themselves for the forthcoming rain. It’s true, but luckily it didn’t start to rain until we returned to the ship.
Belfast was one of my favorite towns, because our guide was definitely a Leprechaun---if not, he should have been. He was full of Irish wit and blarney and promised us gold at the end of the rainbow. But first, we did a city walk, and visited Belfast City Hall, which is as grand as a castle. The Titanic was built in Belfast, and I saw a sign that said, “The Titanic was okay when it left Belfast.”
The gold at the end of the rainbow was a 300-year-old tavern, where most of the people on the tour enjoyed a glass of Guinness, but I conned the bartender into making me a genuine Irish coffee. I went back to the ship and took a nap
We sailed on to Scotland. The next morning, I awoke to the sound of a goat being poked really hard. I was on the 15th level of the ship. That was one loud goat! I opened my balcony door, looked down and saw a piper puffing on his bagpipes. That was no goat, but it was a man with really good lungs. I was in Scotland. Naturally I wanted to do the Scottish thing, so in Glasgow, I visited the Glengoyne Distillery, established in 1833. It produced the favorite Scotch whiskey of the old British Queen Mum, and she lived to be 101 years of age, so naturally I had to try a shot (or two). The secret of the Scotch is in the water and the air-drying of the barley---so I was told. And sips of the 17-year-old single malt made everything really “Bonnie!
Next stop was Invergordon, gateway to the Scottish Highlands. I knew I was in the Highlands when I spotted a sign advertising, “Famous Black Pudding and Haggis>>>>this way.” I quickly went the opposite direction. I decided that I needed to tour at least one old castle while in Scotland, so I joined a group going to Dunrobin Castle, “one of Britons oldest continuously inhabited houses.” The ancient Earldom dates back to the 1300’s. I don’t know who lives there, but they obviously weren’t home when I arrived. The castle tearoom had the best fresh scones I have ever tasted---obviously not dating back to the early 1300s.
My last stop was in Honfleur, a charming 13th century Norman fishing village at the mouth of the Seine River. It looked like an Impressionist painting. The map was in French, but that was okay, because I can never read a map in any language. Luckily, I didn’t get lost or I would have had to move to Honfleur.
All in all, I had traveled 2,208 nautical miles, learned a lot, ate more than a lot, and loved every minute of it (once I had escaped from Heathrow Airport). But no matter how one loves an adventure, as the Irish would say: “Nil aon tintean mar do thintean fein.
Esther Blumenfeld (“There’s no place like home”)