Wednesday night I’m staying in a hostel in Edinburgh, and I have all day Thursday to hang around Scotland before I leave for the States Friday morning. I decide that I want to see Stirling Castle again, now that the family’s quarters are refurbished and open again.
I take the bus and am a bit sad seeing the Scottish countryside, knowing it’s the last time I will for a while. But when my bus pulls into the station, I have the wits to check out a map first this time. And if I’ve learned anything in Scotland, it’s that if you’re trying to find a castle, go up.
Why is it that whenever you have no worldly clue where you’re going there are no signs to be seen, and when you do know where you’re headed, all the signs in the world appeared? Of course, little signs for the castle poke up all around me. I suppose it’s encouraging that they’re pointed in the direction I was headed, anyway.
I make it to the castle easily, and it really is nice that I’ve been here before, because I get to make my way quickly through all the things I’ve already seen, and slowly through whatever I haven’t, namely, the royal apartments.
They’re undoubtedly worth my time. They’ve been refurbished to look exactly as they originally did (discovered by years of painstaking research – but I want that job) and everything was painted, dyed, made, etc. by hand, as it would have been done originally. They also have the cheesy little dressed-up tour guides who call you “milady,” which I secretly love, though I don’t follow a tour group.
Here’s the king’s reception room:
and its ceiling:
As well as the king's private bedroom.
The queen has her own bedroom
and reception room, as well
Needless to say, it was some pretty sweet digs. And although my camera died in the middle of my self-guided, rather slow tour, it luckily died right after I took the last picture in the royal apartments, the only thing I didn’t have pictures of from my first visit. It seems that some luck followed me on this trip, after all.
Though I don’t have pictures in this entry (see “Seeing Scotland”), I did check out the rest of the castle for a second time. I also went to see the inside of that church I missed on my first trip, and it was pretty beautiful. I went to the Campbell again, just for kicks, and because that’s what I do, and it’s included in my ticket, so why not? I ran into a nice American couple who were very interested as to why I would spend 5 months in Scotland and not England or any place else, for that matter.
Of course, my chat reminds me that, yes, I do have to leave. I find the bus rather easily, because I know where it is and because I’m following those invisible signs that only people who have already been to the bus station can see. I’m feeling a bit like Jack Sparrow at this point.
Back in the hostel that night, I’m looking over pictures and blog entries, listening to backpackers’ stories, marvelling at how people can be in this whole country for only two weeks and think it’s a long time to travel, when I still feel like I’ve missed so much of Scotland. It is time, though, and I am going to be glad to get back home.
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