Sweden adventures #5

Sunday.

I see someone distributing posters with information on "secret" blues parties - perfect! Also, tonight's theme is New Orleans Jazz - my favourite music, and great for balboa dancing too.

I'm slowly starting to enjoy the lack of structure to my days. Thanks to earplugs I don't sleep terribly, and when I get up, most people are in their classes and I don't need to queue for a shower. Once covered in insect repellent and sitting with a nice coffee somewhere in the shade, I'm content.

There's nothing to fill my day. If I get too hot I could take a dip in the sea anytime. I read, or nap, or wander the grounds and watch one of the many dance classes, looking out for opportunities to socialise, but happy to just contemplate life on my own.

I walk to the lake and sit there for a while - a beautiful spot.

I browse the Lindy Hop Shop and find a dress that fits, but I can't be quite bothered. I take a nap. I make a cup of coffee - black - and sit down outside the Ice Cream Parlour. Things have changed. Everyone is playing with their smart phones. I don't remember this from four years ago, but maybe that's because then it was me who was distracted by her smart phone. The camp even bans electronic devices from many common areas to encourage a spirit of connecting people. The ban is not working.

Are people afraid of sitting down on their own and feeling socially awkward with nothing to busy their hands with? A lot of people here have come on their own. Herrang is expensive, and when one person can afford to go, their friends may not, or they may have other priorities. I find small talk with strangers exhausting most of the time. But the conditions here are ideal. People here are friendly, we all have the dancing in common, and the camp is quite successful at creating an atmosphere of a happy world where everyone is friends with each other. This is as easy as it gets.

I get a lot of chat later.

I have dinner at Heaven's Kitchen, which is quite expensive, but at least I can eat as many vegetables as I like. After almost three days of snacking, I crave some greens. And chicken. No bread though. I'm thinking of quitting bread for a while.

I watch the daily meeting in the library today, which is more comfortable and less crowded than the ballroom. Afterwards, I take a taster class in ska dancing which is great fun, and for the first time since arriving in Herrang I feel part of the camp.

I freshen up and join the party. In the library, tonight's theme is New Orleans, which is my favourite style of jazz music for dancing, and maybe listening too. It's such a happy music. The room is nicely decorated too. After a slow start I spot a few balboa dancers and we are all relieved to have found each other and can stop doing this lindy nonsense. But alas, the standard is so low!

A few dances remind me of my early balboa days - only that now it's bad leading and not bad following that's the problem. There is one good dancer, but he looks like he is having the worst time throughout our dance. I'd rather dance with a clothes horse than with that person again. Then, there is this guy who almost rips my arm out.

I have one nice dance with a German guy before leaving to check out the secret blues party in the Russian Kitchen, a disgusting self-catering kitchen for the campers. All I can face doing here is boiling water, using my own mug for tea. I spend most of the night here and have some lovely blues dances and chats. I have some of my box wine, which is improving my blues dancing.

To finish the night I walk over to the ballroom. It's daylight already, roughly 4 am. I have some great dances with someone who promises me to dance lindy in the style of balboa - and it works! Or maybe it's the box wine working its magic.

Sweden adventures #4

Saturday.

It's change-over day in Herrang. Most people are leaving today, and new people are arriving to take part in week five. It is hot, and I walk to the beach for a bit. There are only a few people here, and it's nice and quiet compared to the camp area.

I walk back to the camp, hang out in front of the Ice Cream Parlour, and make new friends. Exhausted from this, I go back to my tent, read, take a nap, and start getting ready for the evening.

Some heavy showers are passing through. I check my tent but it's holding up ok. My new fancy mat is quite large, and it will be difficult to orient it in the tent so that neither head nor feet will touch the tent skin.

Every night at Herrang, there is a daily meeting. This is part entertainment with dancing and singing performances, part education with historic film clips from old dance movies and interviews and discussions with some of the original dancers from that time who get invited to Herrang every year, and part administrative announcements. People start queueing for this meeting half an hour before it starts so they'll get good seats. Not everyone fits into the ballroom where it is shown, so it gets live broadcasted to other areas: the bar, the dance barn, and the library.

I see someone at the meeting I met four years ago, and haven't seen since. Florian and I have a mutual acquaintance in Berlin, so I have heard of him occasionally. In fact, this was him: *click*.

After the daily meeting, I go back to my tent, have some snacks and put on some make up to make up for not putting any effort into what I'm wearing. I slept in these clothes last night.

At the dance, I am very pleased to find a dance floor where they are playing blues music. However, the main event certainly is lindy hop. I stopped taking lindy classes years ago when I became more interested in balboa and blues. I'd describe my lindy as solid and uninspired, my blues as awkward and variable, and my balboa as carefree and relaxed.

I'm quite awake at 2 am in the morning, not having done anything all day. I'm on the look-out for other balboa dancers but the music isn't really suitable for balboa anyway. I leave at 3.30 am, it's already getting light outside.

Sweden adventures #3

At Herräng dance camp. Friday late afternoon.

I have successfully negotiated my bus-plane-train-bus-bus trip. Everything worked out perfectly, and it looks like I get to pitch my tent in bright sunshine. I even succeeded in getting some cash - not enough, but some. Herräng is a tiny village, the next cash machine is seven miles away.

I bought some groceries in the next town earlier today before boarding the final bus. And a box of wine. There's only one small grocery store in this village, and it has been known for its empty shelves.

When my bus arrived in Herrang I just followed a French couple with big packs. They looked like dancers and seemed to know where they were going. Four years is a long time, but eventually my memory of the place has come back to me.

I pitch my tent after finding an ok spot. All spots in the central area will be super noisy, so I pick one which is not in the sun all day. I chat a bit with my tent neighbour, but that's it for social interactions today. I go to bed for a nap and fall properly asleep, and when I wake up it's 1 AM - perfect dance time in Herrang, but I just can't be bothered.

Sweden adventures #2

At Edinburgh airport.

My pack is packed beautifully. I put a foam mat inside, around all my other stuff. This gives it a nice cylindrical shape without any bulges and dents, and it's also protecting my stuff. My pack is 12 kg. This makes me want to go on a long walk.

I haven't travelled with hold luggage in years - four years in fact. I'm not enjoying the queuing, I much prefer to travel light. But once I'm rid of my pack it is actually quite nice to zip through security without negotiating liquids and electronic devices.

An American talks to me. He's friendly but he looks like he isn't and could turn aggressive any minute. One of those faces.

My plane is full of Swedish hunks.

Sweden adventures #1

Here comes the first part of my travel notes from my recent holiday in Sweden.

I'm embarking on a very similar - if more compressed - trip as I did four years ago. Then, I travelled from Glasgow to Stockholm, spending a few nights there (*click*) before I went to the famous Herräng dance camp (*click*), and then on to Grötö, Porridge Island, a tiny island off the coast near Gothenburg. My friend Leo's family has a summer house there, where I visited him and my other friend and former flatmate Sally, who had been on holiday there. And this is where the two of them are getting married in a few days.

Then, I was on an eight months long trip around the world. I had a lot of time on my hands. Now, I feel like I'm abandoning my boss at work during the busiest time of the year. So I'm only taking nine days off, two and a half of which I'm going to spend on crossing Sweden to get to my multiple destinations quickly - using public transport.

What else has changed since 2012?

• I have a new boyfriend
• I have no acne anymore
• I have some grey hair and lines
• I have a home and a job
• I'm much happier with my dancing skills, but less keen to use them

Good morning!

Swedish wedding

A cheerful and tearful occasion - weddings always make me cry, but Swedish ones are the worst! All those thoughtful and moving toasts from friends and family - many of whom I knew from my time in the States where I had introduced the bride to the groom. Seeing them again, getting married! Seeing a lot of old friends again! They are all such good people and I miss them a lot.

Swedish holidays

I was away in Sweden for a while at a dance camp and a wedding, and I will report in detail soon. And I missed Scotland! When coming home late at night my plane landed in pouring rain, and the rain also poured into the buses that were waiting to take us to the terminal. Lovely. I was cold and tired, I missed the last local bus and took a taxi home. Halfway there, I realised that it was just after midnight and that it was my birthday. Having no one else to tell I told the driver. He said happy birthday and said he was a leo too. That was sweet and a little pathetic too.

So, here's to everyone who thought of me (without the help of Facebook!): well done and thank you, especially for cards and messages! And to everyone else: try again next year! (I probably forgot yours as well...)

Probation passed

I am now a proper Civil Servant, unfireable, invincible, ready to change the world, undermine the system, tell certain people in my organisation what I think of them, and planning my next career break.

My end-of-probation review was a nice chat, very flattering, full of praise etc. Listening in to my boss and me during a very heated discussion only one hour later, you wouldn't believe a word from his favourable review report to HR.

In my job, it's normal to rotate posts every two or three years. In between posts I now see space for travel and projects. What should I do? Bolivia and Chile? Programming boot camp? A road trip in a Tesla car on autopilot across Canada? India??? Walk the Pacific Crest Trail?

A new bike for £96!

Twice a year I take my bike to the service, because I found this shop that I quite like, and they are doing a much better job much more quickly than I could.

Inspired and encouraged by my friend Kat who for a while had a 90 minute commute each way by bike (in Britain!) I cycle on average a hundred kilometres per week, mainly through my own commute, so my bike parts wear quickly.

At my last service, more parts of my bike were replaced than remained and I ended up with a new bike that was still dirty enough to not attract thieves, but it's fast and the brakes brake beautifully!

Harrassed!

I spent a night in a jazz bar with friends, chatting and drinking, and not really listening to the music, when a guy touched my hip repeatedly, intentionally and knowingly against my wish. He followed me around the room so it was clear that this was no accident, and I started to shout at him to stop touching me. I deliberately made a scene to draw attention and show him that he couldn't get away with it. I was feeling quite brave, being tipsy, and having my friend Jack with me.

He shrunk back from me but didn't say anything, and his pal was very apologetic and angry at his friend which made me think that this might have happened before. I kept shouting for a bit and suggested they leave, but when his pal said that they had just got drinks and if it would be ok if they left after finishing the drinks, I said fine.

My other friend Calum came over and asked what the commotion was, and when I told him he went off and told the bouncer - even though I didn't want to make a fuss. I didn't really know how to feel about this. I grew up quite sheltered and have never been in a similar situation - verbal abuse or sexism, yes, but never actual sexual harassment! I wasn't scared - rather the opposite, I almost enjoyed shouting at that poor guy!

My friends asked if I wanted to take this further, but I thought that was disproportionate, especially since the guy was so taken aback when I shouted at him. For some twisted reason I didn't want to get him into trouble, and I think the fact that he wasn't white also played a role - I did think about racism in the police. But my main reason was that I didn't want the hassle of talking to the police this late at night in my tipsy state.

I was wondering though if I was letting other women down by not reporting the incident. Calum said it was absolutely up to me, and the three of us left soon after. We cycled together for a bit, and then stopped for chips, only that the chippy was closing up and we had potato fritters in a bun with ketchup instead, which was quite disgusting, but preferable to the only other option, a haggis pie in a bun, and actually quite nice. Sitting by the canal in the dark in the middle of the night eating greasy food was brilliant.

And then Calum's phone went. The jazz bar bouncer called - he had a police officer there who wanted to ask Calum a few questions about the incident. At 2.30 in the morning. I shook my head at Calum while he answered the questions. No, he didn't see the incident himself. No, he didn't know my last name. I was quite grateful. To him, for reporting it in the first place, but then letting me decide what to do or not to do, and to the jazz bar staff for taking this seriously.

Looking back (through the alcoholic mist...), it seems quite silly. That guy's touching my hip had more the quality of playing tag rather than anything seedy. But if I hadn't been with my friends and if the staff hadn't reacted as supportively, I might have felt very differently about the incident.

When I talked to my friend Nat about this the following night she said that these things happened all the time in some other bars and that the staff there wouldn't do anything. I wouldn't go to such a place! In fact, I was having this conversation with her in the same jazz bar, because I can trust that such behaviour isn't tolerated there. But the discussion must have left an impression. That night, I dreamed of being followed and threatened by a young, skinny, crazy guy with a knife - a Swiss army knife, would you believe it - and I woke up from shouting for help.

Oh well, Schwamm drüber as we say in Germany. I'm just not a pepper spray kind of girl.

Cobbler

I took some shoes to the cobbler to extend their lifetime a bit, but oh boy was that cobbler scary! This wasn't the experience I had had in mind at all!

The shop looked old-fashioned and no-nonsense from the outside, and not one of these chain stores that double up as key cutting services. It actually has an old wooden sign above the door saying "Gorgie Cobblers", how quaint! But instead of a frail old man with glasses and little hair, a tattooed brute "welcomed" me and refused to do any of the things to my shoes that I had in mind. In fact, I'm not actually sure what it is he is going to do - I was too scared to ask too many questions, let alone take my business elsewhere.

At some point during our short exchange he said to me "this is the heel." when I referred to the part in question as "the back bit of the sole". And he seemed furious about having to explain the correct term to me, or maybe he thought I wasn't taking his profession seriously. I certainly am now!

Heatwave!

The temperature outside has reached 24°C and it feels just like a few weeks ago in Athens at 40°C. Too hot. I couldn't find my shorts. I must have got rid of them since the last summer which was three years ago. I feel taken back to that time, my first summer in Scotland, when my impression of Scottish summers got seriously skewed.

But how lucky am I to have taken this week off work?! It's the Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival again, and I'm volunteering, going to gigs, hanging out with the musicians. Highlights so far were catching up with the other volunteers and staff, many of whom I hadn't seen in a year. Wandering from venue to venue, never knowing who I would run into. Announcing the bands to thousands of people at the free open-air event. Of course hanging out backstage with the musicians - so cool, I'm still getting star struck all the time. An amazing drum solo by EST's Magnus Ostrom, which might have been two, five or ten minutes long, I couldn't tell, but I wouldn't have minded if it had gone on for much longer - it was so good. Seeing him in his underpants before the gig. Cycling home at night in a T-shirt - no jumper needed! The discounts on drinks in the festival venues. All this music, all this skill!

Good times.

Pentlands once more

I hadn't been to the Pentlands in a few months, so it was high time to rectify this and blog about a Pentlands walk for the seventh time!

I met up with my man in Bonaly, where I had walked and he had taken the bus. For me, walking a few miles to get there was slightly faster than the bus, less hassle, and also quite nice. The walk took me through a former railway tunnel which is now part of the Water of Leith cycle path. The walls were covered in an interesting mix of graffiti and lichen.

We headed for the hills, meeting a bunch of sweaty soldiers on the way, who were running with heavy packs and big automatic guns in their arms. Shouldn't common sense around running with scissors also apply to guns? Those that weren't out of breath greeted us politely. Cheerful soldiers!

We then climbed higher and I couldn't wait to tell my man to turn around - because suddenly, this amazing view over Edinburgh opens up. He responded to it sufficiently pleased, and I rewarded him with a long break and a cup of tea. The secret to getting people into hillwalking is breaks and snacks. Lots of snacks.

After the initial climb the walking was fairly easy for a few miles along the Glencorse and Loganlea Reservoirs. Then, we had to climb a bealach to get up to the first of a couple of hills we were going to cross before descending to the pub, the Flotterstone Inn. The climb was fairly steep and I'm not sure how much my man enjoyed this bit, but a family with four young kids were ahead of us and made it seem easy. Only their little girl wasn't having all that much fun - she reminded me of myself when I was little and taken hillwalking against my will.

Over the hills and down again was great walking, and busy too - lots of other walkers, usually in pairs, and runners, usually alone. We finished at the pub with a nice coffee and then took the bus home.

The route, starting at my house at the top, finishing at the pub

Walk profile

Colinton railway tunnel

Low clouds over the Pentlands

 Big pack for all the snacks!

Edinburgh of the South

Work sent me to Athens a few weeks ago. I was accompanied by my boss, and we had a few meetings with members of the Greek government, the European Commission and academia. These meetings were slightly bizarre and much more political than I am used to in my day job, but I won't go into details here.

That week, Athens had unseasonally hot weather. But while I generally prefer my summers Scottish, I do enjoy going out at night in a hot country. I spent a few lovely evenings eating out with my boss with various views of the Acropolis by night.

Athens is also known as the Edinburgh of the South. The main feature of its skyline, the Parthenon on the Acropolis, looks just like the Scottish National Monument on Calton Hill.

We got a flavour of the social unrest troubling Greece these days. Demonstrations happen on a daily basis, and no one seems to know much about the different groupings demonstrating, who they are and what exactly they want. The military presence on Syntagma Square was quite disconcerting. I can't help but wonder if this is what awaits the UK if they don't get their shit together very soon.

Here are a few pictures, but really it was too hot to take photos.

Plato in the Academy of Athens

The guards in front of the parliament.

Imagine holding this pose at 40 degrees!

Loved the shoes.

Military getting ready for the nightly demonstrations at the parliament on Syntagma Square

Too hot to climb the Acropolis, so I explored Athens' "Traditional Plottery"

Dinner on Friday night, boss and I shared a litre of wine.

View at dinner

The end

So, how are things with my man you might wonder.

First of all, there were more dates but we stopped writing about them. And we certainly did not take things slowly! On date seven he said he wanted us to be a couple, as in solid, committed, serious, exclusive, etc. That was sweet. It was also very, very soon, and very much the opposite of slow!

Of course I agreed. But then I started to worry about all the things that could go wrong: Was I committing to more than I was ready for? How serious and sustainable were my feelings? Were they the right sort of feelings and what was I supposed to be feeling at this stage anyway? Was I too relaxed, risking to get swept away by this new relationship only to then get hurt myself if he wasn't up for it or things just didn't work out? Was he getting too comfortable? Was he taking me for granted and just replacing his ex with whoever was convenient? Was I worrying too much, jeopardising the whole thing by overthinking it?
That last one might be a yes...

Ooft.

I then went away on a walking trip to Ullapool, a home visit to Germany and a work trip to Greece, too busy to worry, and I'm quite alright just now. I'm writing this while he's making me breakfast.

It's strange but nice to be in a relationship again. There are moments that are just a thousand times more pleasant with a boyfriend. Lying on a wooden jetty by the canal in the sun: definitely better with a boyfriend. Watching a movie on the couch: also much better with a boyfriend. Hugs too.

It's fun to discover one another's little quirks and routines. How he needs to eat at least five times a day, how untidiness makes him alternatively feel uneasy or wild. Seeing him one morning on the couch in his bathrobe (morning gown?) reading the paper was a memorable moment. Made me aware of my own quirks as well, like my erratic eating patterns, my occasional indecisiveness, my ignorance of current (and not so current) affairs. I've found myself a man next to whom I look flaky! I don't even want to think too hard about all my annoying things he has to put with.

It's quite difficult to organise a relationship around a full social life. I have neglected my French studies, my online courses, my dancing and my Uke. We live in opposite ends of the city, so travel is time consuming and sleep-overs need planning ahead. But I'm sure we'll figure it out and find a balance.

So after the first few dates we have now reached a phase where there isn't much to report. If things keep going well he'll probably get the occasional mention in my blog. If things go badly I'm sure I'll write about it too some day. Wish us luck!

In any case, I really did appreciate that he was brave enough to post here for you. If you want to re-read any of it click the links below for the full report:

• Being the man
• Live coverage from the front
• Working Class Boy #2
• First date - what he says
• At the theatre (second date) - what he says
• A coastal walk (date 3) - what she says
• A coastal walk (date 3) - what he says
• Dinner at his (date 4) - what she says
• Dinner at his (date 4) - what he says
• Date #5 - what she says
• Date #5 - what he says

Referendum

Seventeen million people across the UK said this week that they wanted to leave the European Union. What this means was very well described by other people like this unknown and widely quoted commenter on the Financial Times website who talked about "three tragedies" of the EU referendum result:

"Firstly, it was the working classes who voted or us to leave because they were economically disregarded and it is they who will suffer the most in the short term from the dearth of jobs and investment. They have merely swapped one distant and unreachable elite or another one.

Secondly, the younger generation has lost the right to live and work in 27 other countries. We will never know the full extent o the lost opportunities, friendships, marriages and experiences we will be denied. Freedom of movement was taken away by our parents, uncles, and grandparents in a parting blow to a generation that was already drowning in the debts of our predecessors.

Thirdly and perhaps most significantly, we now live in a post-factual democracy. When the facts met the myths they were as useless as bullets bouncing off the bodies of aliens in a HG Wells novel. When Michael Gove said 'the British people are sick of experts' he was right. But can anybody tell me the last time a prevailing culture of anti-intellectualism has lead to anything other than bigotry?"

Me, I was surprised, shocked, disappointed. I'm sad for Europe, sad about the failure of the European Union, sad for the British people.
Many of the 17 million who voted to leave will have done so because of "the migrants" in some way or other. I am an immigrant in this country.

So what really moved me was the response of the people here: Two major Scottish politicians, Kezia Dugdale and Nicola Sturgeon, in their first responses both specifically addressed the European workers in the UK and stressed how welcome they were here and how their contribution was valued.

My boss's boss Paul who is English apologised to me for his countrymen and made sure I was doing ok.

And my bus into town got stuck in a demonstration against the referendum results, with people shouting "Migrants are welcome here".

So how could I take this personally? I definitely don't feel unwelcome in Scotland.

PS. One of my favourite bloggers has expressed his own Brexit sadness in his Make Wealth History blog (*click*).

Scotland's best mountain?

My walking pals convinced me to join them for a long weekend in Ullapool - how could I say no to that? Cute little Ullapool! There was a catch though, they wanted to climb the mountain An Teallach. An Teallach is a grade 5 walk on the trusted Walkhighlands scale (*click*), 7-11 hours long excluding breaks:

"This fabled mountain is perhaps the most impressive in Britain, and gives a day of drama and views that will live in the memory forever. The full traverse is a magnificent scramble, whilst the two Munros can be reached by an easier there-and-back route."

I agreed to do it only if conditions were perfect, little wind, good visibility, not too much snow. An easy way out I thought, because conditions are never perfect in Scotland.

But oh boy, was I wrong! The sun just wouldn't stop shining, no winds but a gentle breeze, and no excuses for me! But what sealed the deal for me in the end was this obnoxious older guy in the bunkhouse who kept mansplaining and acted incredulous when I said that I was going to climb An Teallach. Well, I would show him. Arsehole.

Anyway, everyone else in the bunkhouse was lovely as always in the hills, including and especially my walking pals, Jono, Vivien and Valentina. Also, all of them are great at food-related things, such as buying food, the snacks they bring, and especially cooking! Perfect company for a weekend in the hills.

The big walk started off rather pleasantly up a forestry track along a burn. And while the climb wasn't exactly gentle, the countryside was varied enough to distract from the hard work. The other thing that distracted was the worry about the things yet to come...

The first thing to come was leaving the nice track to climb up a spur. This spur was not the trampled path I had envisaged, but a giant pile of boulders. It was quite a slog to climb the steep rocky slope, but after that the next tops looked grassy and fairly easy.

We then got an excellent overview over the tops and pinnacles of An Teallach - a daunting sight. The sun came out intermittently, and the views were far and incomparable.

Once we reached the first pinnacle I looked at the route and chickened out. For the first time in my walking history I was actually scared of following a route. I thought it too risky to do this bit without ropes - not because it was a difficult climb, but it was more than a scramble and if you fell you'd get seriously hurt.

I left the boys behind and took the bypass route, but soon they caught up with me. It wasn't safe. Or maybe we didn't find the right starting point. But after bypassing the pinnacles we finally reached the first top and then the second, and it being a bank holiday weekend and perfect weather there were loads of other people up there as well, a party really!

Such good fun! The descent was knee-shattering, it was overall quite a long day, and the midges got us in the end when we almost got lost in a rhododendron tunnel. But this is one beautiful mountain, an exhilarating walk, and I'd do it again.



Boulder pile. No path.



First hardship of the day done.

Looking at the pinnacles of An Teallach

View towards the Fisherfield 6 - more mountains to climb for another day.

Another day in Assynt.

Ullapool.

Ullapool.

Stac Pollaidh

Achnahaird Beach

Quinag - just a few corbetts but also quite nice, need to come back for the whole circuit.

Walking pals.

Ullapool.

1000 Comments!

You did it! You lovely people who keep coming back to read about the banalities and angsts of my life - you finally managed to hit the long-announced 1000th comment.

And the prize goes to my most loyal reader - my mum! Her comment was about the first guest blog ever to be published here (*click*), so I guess I have to share the credit. In any case, congratulations! I haven't decided what the prize will be but I'm sure it will be no less amazing than previous ones (*click*).

The Germans are coming!

I was so chuffed that my oldest best friends from school came to visit me in Scotland! We spent quite a lot of time shopping for 'exotic' British toys for their kids, but we also got a lot of sight-seeing, pub-crawling, and Skat-playing done. So much fun.

My highlight was the third day, when we were done shopping and went to Roslin Glen for a nice walk along the river North Esk in the sun. My friends hadn't expected such nice weather, and Scotland is beautiful in the sun.

In the evening we had the ultimate Scottish experience in the Captain's Bar, a tiny pub, where some local musicians had a folk music session. It was so small that we were almost sitting on the musicians' laps, and we got the most of it. At some point the whole pub was singing Scotland's inofficial national anthem, "Will Ye Go Lassie Go".