Caroline's Garden and Travel Record

Today began with a gentle but relentless rain that did not let up all day long. Luckily, it was not too cold so we put on our rain pants and went on undaunted. After a look at the River Dee, just down the street from our guest house, we drove first to Craigievar Castle, stopping on the way to see the Howe of Cromar, a patchwork of countryside, from a roadside layby called the Queen’s View.  Even (or especially) with the mist, it’s a quintessentially British view.

Craigievar Castle proved to be a really good one. It’s made of local pink sandstone and the turrets are said to have inspired Walt Disney. It was built by “Danzig Willie,” more properly William Forbes, a trader with Germany and the Baltic states (shades of Niccolo!) in the early seventeenth century and remained in the Forbes-Semple family (again with the Dunnett references!) until 1963.

The castle features amazing carved plaster ceilings and a huge carved plaster royal coat of arms over the fireplace in the banqueting hall.  No photos are allowed, but if you go to this page you can see an image of the coat of arms. Or try this photo from another traveler:

The antlers!  The plaid!

We went from floor to floor up steep winding stone steps (not for the faint of heart or weak of leg). The family used to spend six months a year here despite the lack of plumbing, heating or running waterup, until they gave it to the NTS. They did install a tub on one of the bedroom floors, but since it had to be filled by hand with hot water from an adjacent wood stove, it was still no bed of roses. It was interesting to see the castle without electricity; if it had been any cloudier, it would have been hard to see some of the details. We loved the photo of the three sisters who were the last children to live here, now in their seventies and still visiting annually, but in the photo lively and curly haired children just a few years older than we were then.

Having had a substantial breakfast, we settled for tea and a date bar from the little shop. It would have been nice to walk around, but the rain was relentless, so we soldiered on to Kildrummy Gardens and castle. It took a while to get there, again on tiny back roads. The satnav led us astray or at least didn’t correct us at one point, and we had to back and fill on a one-lane road, but we made it at last.

The entrance was confusing and we had to leave and start over again, but at last we figured it out. The gardens were designed in the early 1900s on the site of a quarry from which the stone for the neighboring Kildrummy Castle had been taken. It was influenced by Japanese gardens and that’s all I know. The quarry area was just perfect, the pink stone forming a stunning backdrop for trees, rhododendrons, and perennials (including blue poppies again). It continued to rain gently but relentlessly, as you can see in this video.  If you’re suffering in a hot and humid Virginia summer, just play this and you’ll feel better.

Paths led through the garden to the water area, spanned by a bridge inspired by a thirteenth century bridge in Aberdeen city.  We could see the ruins of the castle on the hill above us and decided that that was really all we needed of that. The gentle, persistent rain was actually a great backdrop to it all.

Alison was a very good sport, enjoying the bird and squirrel feeders outside the tiny reception/visitor center while I took one more path so I could see the bridge and the water gardens. We both got to see the famous red squirrels, though they were too quick for me to record.

So now we were headed for home, Ballater, following the instructions of the satnav lady. Alison, looking at the map, murmured from time to time that she was taking us on a strange route – “not the way I would have chosen” – but we innocently proceeded, along the River Don, through small villages and eventually on to a bleak, atmospheric moor. I love this country and stopped for a quick photo but AO finds it spooky so we kept going.

Then, just as the moor was turning back into ordinary green landscape, there was a sign: Caution, 20% grade, showing a vehicle at an alarmingly steep angle. And, it was a blind summit so I couldn’t predict what was facing us once we went over the top. Talk about scary! I hate steep roads anyway, and not to know how steep was alarming. But there was no choice, so I inched along and then could see the hill below. It was very steep, but I did not really think we would tumble upside down if we tried it. Coming up in the opposite lane was a lumbering bus and two cars, one of which darted around the bus just as we were coming down. I said aloud, “This is fine, there’s no problem, it’s going to be okay,” and apparently was convincing enough that Alison believed me. It was only when we were back on a level road that I let out my breath and confessed that I had been scared to death!

I’m still not sure where we were, but the photo displays as Strathdon.  All Wikipedia can tell me is “Strathdon is an informal geographical area. This means that there are no precise boundaries in terms of where it begins or ends. ”  So perhaps we were in Brigadoon??  The photo at top is of a village called Lost in Strathdon, so that must have been where we were.

From here it should have been a straight shot to Ballater, but the satnav kept trying to send us to Braemar.  We ignored her and followed a road sign, finding ourselves parallelling our moor route but this time at the bottom of a valley, and soon enough we were home again. Looking at the Ordnance Survey map later, we saw where she had led us and marvelled…

Dinner tonight was an indifferent meal at the Alexandra Hotel with the advantage of lots of locals.  We had enjoyed the day despite the rain but were happy to lay our heads in our beds.

It was pouring down rain as we got an early breakfast (goodbye, porridge and poached egg) and took a taxi to Waverley station.  The ride to Aberdeen was uneventful, with lovely scenes of seashores and green fields along the coast.  We picked up a cab at the station and went to the airport to pick up our rental car.  The most helpful and jolly rental people did their best to find us a small car – we had been upgraded to a Jaguar, which we all agreed was too much, so we ended up with a Vauxhall.  (First gorse, then monkey puzzles, now a Vauxhall!  All my English children’s book references have come to life.)  It looked pretty much like this:

The rental people made sure we had “satnav” and programmed it for us so that we could find our destination (taking care of the old ladies? fine with me!).  We edged out onto the highway, which luckily was a very small one, and following the satnav lady managed to turn around and go in the right direction.  She navigated us onto the tiniest of back roads, which was perfectly fine with me.  Within a few minutes we were in the land of sheep and fields and those lovely signs that warn, ominously, “oncoming traffic in middle of road.”  Following our mantra – look right, look left, stay left – seemed to do the trick.

We happened to see the sign for Drum Castle, which was on our list for later, so we impulsively drove down the lane and took the tour.  By the time the last owner died in the 1970s, the Irvine-Forbes family had lived here for centuries.  (Washington Irving – spelling differs over the centuries – is a member of the family.)  It was quite a surprise, not to say a shock, to his two younger brothers to find that their older brother had donated the castle to the National Trust.   But they arranged for a small piece of the land to be nominally theirs, which allowed the title of Laird to go on.

You can only visit the castle by a docent-led tour.  Our docent recited the history and pointed out the plasterwork in the hall, distinguished family portraits, etc.  The high point was the library, with this special reading chair, bound volumes of Punch (just like every country house I’ve ever read about), and this remarkable self-portrait by Hugh, one of the sons of an earlier laird from the 18th century, dressed as the Angel Gabriel.Isn’t he magnificent?  And no better than he should be.  (Click the image to get the full glory.)

I also admired this simple little quilt in the cradle.  The plant sale in the courtyard tempted me but of course I had to refrain, so here is a trough of succulents instead.  

Leaving the castle we saw these cattle behind a fence, reaching up to eat the delicious leaves on a tree.

If it hadn’t been pouring down rain, we might have followed this elderly couple, quite bent over but still persisting.  The grounds include an ancient wood and a formal rose garden, but they must await another visit.

We made our way on to Ballater without any trouble and even found a parking space right in the square. The Gordon Guest House has something like eight rooms, with ours looking directly out on the square and up to the hill of Craigendarroch.  It has high ceilings and a magnificent bathroom with a jacuzzi (which I doubt we will use but you never know) and proved to be the best accommodation of the entire trip!Here’s a picture of our beds not longer after we arrived.  Can you possibly tell who has which bed???

The owner, Martin, is very friendly, with a strong Scottish accent, and happy to offer recommendations about food, drink, drives, walks, and everything we might need.

We unpacked and set off for one of his suggestions, India on the Green.  (Oddly, our taxi driver in Aberdeen told us that he used to own a restaurant in Ballater but sold it to “the Indians” some time ago.  Then someone else told us that the restaurant had closed because of embezzlement by the son of the owner – something complex and bad.  Could it be the same one?)  Anyway, the restaurant was among the best of our trip so far:  serene, delicious, fresh, perfect. I had the Bangla Fish Malai with scallops, and it was divine.

Like every English village, Ballater has a World War I memorial, this one in front of the church.  Notice how well cared for it is, and notice also the bright sky and lovely clouds at 8:30 p.m.  We’re getting farther north, and the sun sets late and rises early here in the summer…

We have a plan (subject to change) to visit the UK every other year, and this was the year.  We wanted to go back to Scotland, and after our visits to Neolithic sites in Ireland and Malta, we were interested in more.  Plus, Alison has always wanted to see Balmoral, the queen’s summer residence, and visiting times were limited.  So it evolved:  Edinburgh to revisit museums and St. Giles (Dunnett alert!), Royal Deeside to visit castles and see beautiful country, and Orkney for Neolithic stuff (and more Dunnett).  June of 2017, here we go!

Our Aer Lingus flight took us to Dublin with an early morning flight on to Edinburgh.  We had an empty seat on the way over to Dublin, so we both slept better, but it’s still no fun.  On the other hand, you wake up and you’re in Scotland, always a plus.  It was cool and rainy when we arrived. We took a taxi to Castle View Guest House, just a few streets over from our old haunt,  Frederick House.

The entryway was not inviting, with bags of laundry and groceries piled on the stairs.  But our room was a good size and the bathroom was modern and spacious.  Since we could not check in at 10 a.m. we simply dropped our bags and began walking (stumbling) along the street.  We loved revisiting the views of Edinburgh castle and other memories of our previous trip as we walked along Princes Street to the National Gallery.  We were drooping but stopped to look at the skating minister and the Stag at Bay Monarch of the Glen, a famous Scottish picture that we had missed last time around.  (Thanks, ArtUK.org, for the link).  He really is quite magnificent for all that he’s a Scottish cliche.

Outside the museum we came upon a piper, touristy but still fun to see (with the Scott monument in the background, just as grimy as ever).

We had a quick lunch at the gallery cafe, and finally it was time to go back to the hotel, where we had two hours of sleep before dinner.  We defaulted to the Mussel Inn on a busy street on a Friday night.  Deep fried whitebait, our starter, luckily turned out to be tiny little fish, eyes still intact, crunchy and delicious, followed by something fishy and washed down with wine.  Sitting outside, we watched the light on the grey stone buildings and the people going by.  We saw at least two “hen parties” complete with sashes declaring the mother of the bride and the maid of honor, et al.  Lots of drinking seems to be involved.  We found our way back home and slept like the dead.