Green

Glencoe

After a few days in Ireland, we flew off to Scotland, landing at Glasgow. From there, we rented a car and drove off to some of the most pretty nerve-wracking drives ever. I wasn’t driving, but the whole left/right switcheroo had me close to becoming a hysterical backseat driver which luckily never happened since I totally would’ve been giving the wrong directions.

Anyway, we drove up north to the Highlands in the valley of Glencoe. Where do I begin? This place was awesome! I’ve been going to Europe to visit historical cities and sites, but never have I ever been to see natural wonders and boy, was this a shocker. Sure, I’ve read quite a few books about the Highlands (trashy romance novels about them unrealistically handsome, husky lairds to be exact, *wink, wink, nudge, nudge) and have seen a few movies about it, and yeah, I knew what to expect, but it’s really quite different once you’re there. Jet lag, heavy rain, cold wind and marshes really added to the effect of it. It’s like Yosemite and Zion except greener, wetter with helluva lot more mini waterfalls (like, at least ten to a mountain) combined with Lord of the Rings. I wish I could’ve taken more photographs if it wasn’t for the unpredictable roads, wind and rain.

Now for little history: A massacre took place in Glencoe some 300 plus years ago between two clans, the Campbells murdering the MacDonalds, including women and children and burning their village to the ground. Survivors fled to the mountains, only to later die of exposure. Today, Glencoe is rumored to be haunted. Screams, supposedly, can be heard on the site of the massacre. Pretty dark stuff.

You know what was also some pretty dark stuff? Haggis. Tasted like a meaty oatmeal. I will forever remember Glencoe as the place where I first tried haggis.

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Caseal Cashel – Exterior (and crows)

My last post ended with me talking about how green it was in Ireland. Now let me continue…

It was so effing green.

Anyway, back to Caseal Cashel. The origin behind one of its names, St. Patrick’s Rock, came from local legend that claims that the rock on which the castle stands on “formed when St. Patrick banished Satan from a cave in a mountain located within 30 km of Cashel. The furious demon bit off a piece of the mountain but he had to spit it out because of his broken tooth – this was how a mysterious limestone hill appeared in the flatland of Tipperary.”

So there you have. Fun little background story. Now look at how green it is over there. Look at it!

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