England Forever, Scotland A Wee Bit Longer

I have decided to make this blog a two-parter because I have so much to say about my beloved homeland. Today's will cover the mainland of Scotland and next week the stunning and unpredictable isle of Tiree off the west coast.

With a visit from my sister Lyl came also the quintessential visit to the land of our ancestors. I can hardly believe that I have lived in the UK for 11 months and have only just now taken the journey up to Scotland. The northern tip of the UK is probably my favourite place on the planet, filled with brisk weather, greasy food, hilly terrain, and whiskey. Besides all the typical stereotypes of Scotland I also love it because it is where, in some very small way, I come from.

There's something about Scotland that warms my spirit every time (may be that's the whiskey). My relation to the land is a few generations removed, but the textures of history here mean more to me than in any other country that I have ever visited because it is connected to my history and the history of my father, grandfather and so on.

Back in 1923 Robert Kerr Paterson (my great-grandfather) married his second cousin who was 19 years younger than him, Elizabeth McBride Holmes (my great-grandmother), in Gourock, Scotland. Robert was already residing in Canada, and had received a medical degree from Queen's University (this is where the legacy began). He had moved from Renfrew, Scotland to Renfrew, Ontario, and later Bob returned to Scotland and fallen in love. Later, Bessie gave birth to a daughter named Mary, and twins Robert Kerr (my beloved grandfather) and Elizabeth. That is how the lineage traces back and, despite the three generations passed, I still feel an intense pull to the place.

My first two trips to Scotland was as a youngster – first when I had just turned one and then when I was about four. Though I cannot say for sure that I remember these trips in detail, whether from hazy memories and photographs, I do remember bits and pieces. At 15 I remember more clearly being stuffed into a station wagon with my Mom, Dad, sister and brother, and driven all over the country, visiting castle ruins, Scottish cities and lochs, as well as the westernmost of the Inner Hebride islands where cousins Pearl and Mary maintain their parents' cottage – a later full-time home – on a heather-capped, sheep-strewn and remote island called Tiree.

Though being fined countless pounds for fighting with my siblings and dragged to countless castles, I have to thank my Mom and Dad now for instilling such passionate pride in me for this gorgeous country. There was a lapse in my grandfather’s generation when there was not a lot of connection to Scotland. A combination, I think, of a distancing from the previous generation and my grandparents absolute worship of their second-home and cottage at Norway Bay.

When Dad visited Scotland during a 10-month backpacking trip in 1972, he got in touch with unknown relatives to appease his grandmother (the aforementioned Bessie) and discovered instead lasting relationships and a deep love for the country. Dad maintains the Scottish pride continually with an insistent celebration of Robbie Burns' Day each 25 January, his homemade shortbread during the holiday season, and his fervent desire to one day learn to play the bagpipes.

Lyl and I counted Edinburgh and Glasgow among our must-visit destinations during the great backpacking adventure of 2004. Though Glasgow was too bustling a city for me at the time (this is before I ever imagined Toronto and London would be my homes), we were in love with Edinburgh, its studded volcanic hills, perched on the southern edge of the Firth of Forth, with an old and new town that is separated by a valley that holds up the towering Edinburgh Castle. We stayed at Brodies' Backpackers, facing the cobblestoned Royal Mile, which leads east to Palace of Holyroodhouse and west to the Castle. We bundled up in the day and visited landmarks such as the war memorial and tower to Lord Nelson overlooking the city from Calton Hill, then listened to bagpipers along Princes Street while eating chips and haggis wrapped in paper, before returning to our hostel to nap beneath large tartaned comforters. We visited the Writer's Museum, learning more about Scottish legends Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson; the graveyard where economist Adam Smith and poet Robert Fergusson are buried; the National Portrait Gallery to see paintings from Mary Queen of Scots to Sean Connery to a possible relative called Robert Kerr Paterson; the imposing Palace of Holyroodhouse and the magnificent castle.

For this latest journey to Scotland, Lyl and I had Tiree as our ultimate destination, a trip we had not made for almost 15 years. First we arrived in Edinburgh to meet Ottawa friends Jill and Noel, who have been on the road for over two months. As usual, Scotland greeted us in a misty rain and, as a result, that first day was spent along the Royal Mile, pub-crawling to avoid the downpour. There were pints of Tennants and McEwan, drams of whiskey, a delicious pile of haggis, tatties and neaps, then later deep-fried Mars bars and fish and chips. By the end of the day we were all feeling a little worse for wear and vowed tomorrow to indulge in some vegetables.

We did even better. Though Noel was feeling under the weather (which I have been blamed for thanks to a never-ending cold I’ve been nursing), Lyl, Jill and I spent the day hiking up to the summit of Arthur’s Seat. Since Edinburgh is placed within a 350 million year old volcano, the surrounding terrain offers casual (and often strenuous) walks with stunning views of the city below. We started off on a slight incline along the Salisbury Craggs and, with prodding from Jill, traversed the heather- and thistle-strewn hill to the top, known as Arthur’s Seat. It was brutal at times since, as usual, I was not wearing proper footwear, and the remnants of yesterday’s binge drinking and eating were barely settled in my stomach. But despite all the whining (sorry ladies), the view from above was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. (You will have to wait for me to upload my photos to see what I mean.)

Back down the hill we lunched on mussels from the Isle of Mull (so much for the veggies plan) and then embarked on the informative Scotch Whiskey tour. We learned about the five whiskey-producing regions and chose our favourite to sample at the end. Though fond of the floral highlands, light lowlands and even the peaty smokiness of Islay, I discovered that the fruity Speyside whiskies are my dram of choice.

Lyl and I said goodbye to Jill and Noel, who returned to Canada a few days later, and equipped with a brand new knowledge of whiskey, the rugged countryside around Edinburgh and the wish that we had never tasted a deep-fried Mars bar, we boarded a train the next morning to Oban, a small fishing village on the west coast that provides ferry passage to the Hebride islands.

Tiree is such a blissful and heavenly place, and was this journey filled with amazing family members, great food and Scottish music, that I will have to break off now and return to a Tiree-only blog next week. Until then, mar sin leibh.