July 28, 2007

• Back with stories in tow

  Hello my Xanga peeps!

  I’ve been away, traveling sunny Scotland with my hilarious family. If driving your new step dad, mom, and 15 year old brother around on the wrong side of the road for a week sounds masochistic to you: think again. We had a riot. My mom and her man are in looooove, my brother Julian has grown into one of the funniest people I’ve ever met – what more can you ask for in a family? We got goofy together, we adventured together, and we only had approximately one melt-down each during the course of the week, Shaun excluded, as he managed to stay amazingly sweet throughout the rigors of navigating my driving during the entire trip.

  Loads of pictures from the trip are up now at The Loch Ness Blog, but lest you are too lazy to click over (trust me, I understand: life gets busy), here is an excerpt from that blog. It is by far my favorite story from my family’s Scottish road trip:

  Choose Your Adventure
  While all parts of the road trip were grand, our stay on the Isle of Mull was incredible. People are scarce on this beautiful island. Gorges burst forth from the land and caves burrow themselves deep into rock. Green hills bubble up at every turn and cars slow on the winding, one-track roads to avoid the goats and sheep who take naps on the warm pavement. Seals flop on the rocky shore and birds of prey swoop through the sky. Little brown mice scurry underfoot and wild cats haunt the castle ruins. Mull is peace. My bones softened there. I opened up to the world and to the simple comfort of the people around me in a way that had been inaccessible in me for a bit, buried by the harried frenzy of work, of city life.

  As pure as Mull was, the tranquility of the place in no way prevented us from having a barking mad adventure. With a group as up for anything as we are, no place can really stop us from that. Upon our arrival, I thought we’d all go for a soothing, short walk along the beach to Mackinnon’s Cave. As the path seemed short and relatively straight forward, I also forwent purchasing the OS map that accompanies this little walk. And this is where things get interesting.

  Many walking paths in Scotland that intersect with private property are not as well maintained as the paths in national parks. There is no park ranger; there is only the courtesy of the land owner and the footsteps of those who walked before you. So I didn’t think it too terribly strange when we chose to scale a massively steep hill and walk along a staggering, sheer cliff in pursuit of a “spiraling downward path” to the waterfall and cave below. After all, the hike description promised “increasingly dramatic views.” And we were having so much fun that I’d forgotten that the hike was supposed to be short and soothing. Juje remembered though.

  “This is definitely the wrong way.”
  “Juje, there is no right or wrong way. There is just this, what we’re doing.”
  “I’m going back.”
  “No you’re not.”
  “We should have turned right back there.”
  “The hike isn’t about the destination. You’re there already.”

  Soon enough, Juje relented and enjoyed the scenary along with the rest of us. All was going well when suddenly, inexplicably, we found ourselves face down, bodies pressed to the earth, clutching for our lives to tufts of grasses growing on the sheer, vertical face of a cliff. This was not the “spiraling downward path” I had in mind.

  “Julian, go in front of me so that if you fall, you’ll land on me and I’ll die instead.”
  “No. Things seem to be going pretty good for you right now.”
  “But you haven’t even gotten a chance to really live yet.”
  “I live.”
  “Okay. Just be sly. Everybody: acknowledge your will to live.”

  Thusly, we scooted our way across the bluff, landing on horizontal land after more than a few sweaty, horrifying moments. Panting, and dusting ourselves off, we couldn’t help but laugh. Juje was right. We almost died. It was hilarious.

  Making our way back down to safety, we had to cut through cow fields where evil cows stared us down, sized us up and made us wonder if we’d survived scaling the width of a sheer cliff just to experience death by bovine. Lucky for us, the cows seemed content with their grass.

  When we were possibly less than a quarter mile from the car, hours later, with empty water bottles and shaking legs, we saw a sign that made us laugh until our sides hurt. CAVE, it read. An arrow pointed dumbly.

  “We have to finish this properly,” I declared.

  We followed the arrow, making our way along the rocky beach, alive with sea creatures and craggy rock scrambles. The cave rose from the beach about a half mile down, its great howling mouth opening to the sea.

  I was so excited about the cave, the haunted wetness of it, the undulating echo, that I forgot to take any pictures at all. I was 12 again, racing around with my brother, shouting into the cave, feeling the moss on its sides, imagining a giant, pinching crab was about to leap from the shadows of the cave’s belly and devour us whole. It was amazing. I will remember it even when I’m old and rotting. I will remember it when I need to remember happiness in its purest, cleanest, most worth while form.

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  What is one of your top favorite family adventures?

  • 7:37 pm
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