Spending the night in a 15th century castle

Tonight we’re doing something special to commemorate our 31st anniversary: we’re spending the night – two, actually – in the “Sinclair Room” of the 15th century Scottish castle, the Borthwick. We just checked in and were shown our room just 74 steps up a stone spiral staircase, or about eighty feet above ground level. Naturally, I decided right away NOT to carry the luggage up, but chose instead the ever necessary toothbrush and a pair of socks. Right now we’re sitting in the great hall with its barrel-vaulted ceiling soaring two stories overhead, a roaring fire just a few feet away in a stone fireplace big enough to roast a whole cow, and the lilting strains of classical music emanating from some unseen chamber behind us. Another couple here celebrating their 25th anniversary is keeping us company. Interestingly enough, though we reserved the Sinclair room back in March, this couple are of the Sinclair family themselves and tried to get the room when they registered only to find it taken. In case you’re wondering, I offered to trade rooms but the husband declined. Their room, he said, is, after all, is a couple of dozen spiral steps closer to the ground floor than ours. LOL.

Outside the warmth of our cozy castle, it’s raining again. Big surprise there. I don’t know if it’s been raining in Scotland continuously since we left, but I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s a wonder the country doesn’t look like the Florida everglades. Still, the drive out from Hartlepool today was absolutely spectacular. So much greenery. So many picturesque stone cottages, barns, and boundary fences, that I found it difficult to keep my eyes on the road. Scotland (and, to be fair, much of northern Wales) is definitely the most beautiful place on planet earth we’ve ever seen

Since we spent much of the day on the road, we didn’t take many photos. However, we did stop in Durham to visit the 11th century cathedral there (see photo 2), something which our Hartlepool hosts had enthusiastically recommended. Our hosts, Gillian and Stephen also asked us to stop, while we were in Durham, and check out their old house. Thanks to the magic of GPS, that should have been easy enough. However, when the GPS said, now arriving at (postal code) XXXXXX, we were motoring by the back fence of a housing tract. Perplexed as to why the little machine would mislead us so thoroughly, we set about cruising the subdivision looking for the address Stephen had written down for us. When we finally gave up (we had been looking for a house number that was actually a highway route number we found out later) we were just about to put in the coordinate for the Durham cathedral when a woman approached the car window and motioned for us to roll it down. The following is typical of the friendly folks we found at every town and village throughout the UK:

“Can I help you find something,” the woman said.

“Oh, well, we were just looking for a house here,” Concetta said.

“Do you know the number?” she asked

I pointed to the notebook page that contained the highway number that we thought was a house number. “One-seven-seven,” I said.

She looked perplexed. “Whose house is it?”

“Well,” I said, really starting to feel a little silly, “it was the folks whose guest house we stayed in down in Hartlepool.”

“Yes,” Concetta said, “and they just asked us to come by and see their old house.”

“Was his name Stephen,” she asked. “Gillian and Stephen?”

“That’s them,” Concetta and I chorused together.”

“Well, I know them very well,” the woman said. “My name’s Lorraine. We’re friends. They lived just around the corner there.”

And that’s how the Davis’ luck usually runs. Right out of the blue pops up a messenger from my guardian angel to make sure I don’t make too many mistakes. After our chat, Lorraine showed us just where Stephen and Gillian’s house was and we dutifully took a picture to email them. We gave Lorraine a cheerful “toot” on the horn as we sailed past her a few moments later on our way to Durham. Another friend made by strangers in a strange land.

On the road today between Hartlepool and Edinburgh I finally got to do something I’ve been wanting to do for the entire trip: take a picture of the hay rolls. Unlike the usual rectangular baled hay that you see in the fields in America, what you see most often here in the United Kingdom is hay rolls. From a distance they look much like playthings carelessly tossed aside by some colossal child, or maybe pieces of ancient, honey-colored Greek columns scattered in the wake of the invading barbarians. So far, I’ve just never come upon them when I think they look particularly photogenic – until today. Today I managed to capture a field with the sun and shadows just right. The effect was positively stunning. What do you think?

Oops, I just looked up from the laptop and another couple has wandered in. They turn out to be Americans, natives of the mid-west but now retired residents of Hawaii. These two people were actually married here at the castle many years ago and have been coming back here every year for the past twenty years, not necessarily on their anniversary, but just to keep the connection alive. A lively discussion soon ensues about World War II, the economy, and all the places the three couples been that might warrant consideration by the others. Pretty interesting. You can tell these new arrivals have been here a lot because they got the ground floor suite next to the great room and don’t have any spiral stairs to navigate with their luggage. I’m jealous.

The first couple, Gordon and Joana, hale from Oxford. He’s in sales, I think, and she’s in counseling. Both are very interesting folks. The wife, Joana (pronouced like the guy who got swallowed by the whale) is a huge fan of archaeology, so you can probably guess what Concetta and she talked about. As it turns out, Joana was born in the same town of Corbridge, Northumberland, where Concetta and I visited early in our trip. My ancestor, Paul Brown, lived there for a time and fathered several children there. Joana is so enthusiastic about archaeology, that she actually has volunteered at the Vindolanda site that Concetta and I explored during our stay in Hexham. What an Incredible set of coincidences! If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were probably CIA operatives sent to gain our confidence and lure us into spying for them. So, if you don’t hear from us in a timely fashion, it’s because we’ve gone off to Istanbul to smuggle out a microchip or something.

The internet here is password protected but the night manager hasn’t a clue what the password is. So, I can only post this in the morning when the day manager arrives. For those of you who read the blog with your morning coffee, I hope I get it to you in time. I’m off to read my book now, so until tomorrow, I’ll say...

Ciao, tutti.