Scotland: One-Month Retrospective

I have been in Scotland one month, and I must say that the past four weeks have been quite eventful, and rewarding, educational.  My wife and I were having a "spirited discussion" in a pub named the Conan Doyle, regarding what it is about Scotland that makes is so alluring.  As I have striven to illustrate in my numerous posts, the comparatively small country possesses an immeasurable depth (as my wife astutely noted), the deepest point accessible only to those willing to move past those aspects which certainly are interesting but lack longevity.  Indeed, shops are nice, the sightseeing buses are helpful, and pub food is a necessity, but man cannot live on shortbread alone.  

St Andrews Pier

I will freely admit that as an American I offer an outsider's perspective.  Certainly, it fails to fully capture the sometimes happy, sometimes sordid, sometimes melancholy, sometimes disillusioned, but always determined history of a nation held together by myths, legends, and the need to distinguish itself by what it is not.  

Robert The Bruce

People stubbornly cling to nationalistic notions about Union with England (affected in 1707), sometimes deriding the merger as willful subordination of customs and ideologies.  Perhaps this rhetoric is only for the American tourists, who are perceived as holding long-lasting grudges over English taxes and the forced consumption of tea (and someone inevitably yells, "We showed them!" in a display of democratic etiquette).  Politics are discussed regularly, and politicians are lambasted and ridiculed for mistakes; other than the constant "Where are you from?" people consistently ask us "Will Obama win?"


Amongst the Hollister shirts, cans of Coke, piles of Snickers, and unfortunate bottles of Budweiser; through the din of Motown, Sheryl Crow, renditions of "Hey Jude" and "Yesterday;" and between sips of beverages from Starbucks, younger people pass mutely; older folks readily engage us in conversation, keen on discussing country music and how many times they have visited Virginia.  

St Andrews, from St Rule's Tower

This gulf between generations is Scotland, as visible and sharp as the aesthetic differences between old and new town.  Victorian and Georgian houses compete with volcanic outcroppings for primacy, and they serve as subtle reminders of times past when stone and mortar determined borders and often were the only separation between protection and the End of the World.  People worry, they smile, they ask questions about you while offering little information about themselves, and advice is freely and cheerfully given on the differences between the many whiskys distilled in Scotland.


To many, Scotland is rain, tartan, sheep, and fiddles.  And often - and rather unfortunately - people form opinions about this small nation based on one day of exposure.  One day counted among thousands of years of history, and these years are often recounted with confusion, as many people often disagree on the finer details.  Greyfriar's Bobby?  Ask three different people and you may receive four different answers.   

Wallace Crown and
crescent moon

An undercurrent of nostalgia and wistfulness runs through everything, and erratically drifts through the cities and towns much like the smoke from the cigarettes smoked by so many.  Over a pint of lager and above the strains of a fiddle, someone tells a story about William Wallace and then congratulates the Queen on the eve of the Diamond Jubilee.  Is this Scotland, protective of its heritage and character, academically distinguished, defined by contradictions, biting wit, hopeful pessimism, and lingering dissatisfaction with the weather?  As I have been told, in Scotland umbrellas are for Americans; perhaps Scots would rather do battle with nature and claim victory than submit to the elements...