My Heart's in the HIghlands

After the trials and tribulations of arriving in Edinburgh, our time in Scotland has been blessed.  We have actually seen more of the sun than is generally expected by the locals.  There is an attitude among those living in Scotland: expect the worst and you will be pleasantly surprised when nicer things happen, but don't get too full of it, act surprised when the sun shines.  Honestly, this comes pretty natural to me.
Our first stop of the day was Urquhart Castle, a ruin on the shores of Loch Ness.  I've seen castles before, and for some reason (probably by disposition) I enjoy the ones that are sad and lonely ruins rather than the ones (like Stirling which we would visit at the end of the day) which are regal and restored and attempt to tell some magnificent tale of glory and royalty past.  This is Urquhart:

It's story is a decidedly Scottish story, it was a Pictish fort, where an Irish missionary converted a dying chieftain to the faith, it was conquered by pretty much anyone who wanted it except the incompetent Jacobites, finally it was abandoned by it's Lord, it's gate blown up with kegs of powder.  Now it is beautiful in an undeniably Scottish way, it's that sort of mixture of sadness and beauty that rather seems to define the country and the people.

As we carved our way back towards Edinburgh we stopped along the Lochs and at the system of locks called Neptune's ladder and admired the stunning glenn we were about to wend our way through: Glen Coe:

Scotland had chased away that pesky sun and shown up in her rain soaked finery.  But her beauty was undimmed. Only the truly beautiful can look so good in the rain (and I'm not talking about the tall fellow in the Steelers hoodie).  They say men sing songs of Glen Coe, that it stirs their heart, it stirred mine to be sure.

I saw hikers on the Western Highlands trail winding their way up Glen Coe and, while I was thankful for the dry car, part of me wanted to out there knowing this sacred valley with my feet, inching through it step by step.  I have been talking way too much about the Camino over the past few days, Michele is getting irritated with me a bit, but in Glenn Coe, I realized that this is a pilgrimage for me too.  There's something primal about the Highlands.  I don't know what exactly my Scottish ancestry is, but I know there's something about the state of my soul on most days that is of this place.  I could very well feel the same way about Ireland, because there's some of that blood in me too, the great American mutt, we will see.