Tourist Guide to Normandy

 I have always wanted to visit Normandy, but doesn't everyone? Why would anyone not want to see where the largest amphibious invasion in history took place? Doesn't everyone who saw Saving Private Ryan want to see where private Ryan landed? Another reason for me was that an old friend, the father of a high school classmate, told me that he actually walked ashore in Normandy on the day after D-day -- when men were still jumping straight into the ocean. He said that the water was really cold.

In early September of 2021, I was able to spend five days in Normandy. 

The best way to get to Normandy is to take the train from Paris. Public transportation in France, at least compared to the United States, is excellent.  

You could get off the train in the larger city of Caen, but I recommend traveling for twenty minutes more to Bayeux which is closer to the beaches. Bayeux is small enough that you can walk around but still there are plenty of amenities. When I arrived, I walked directly from the train station to my accommodation in the center of town. What could be easier than that?

Bayeux has, as you can see, a road around it. That was the first ring-road in France. The Americans built it after they realized that they couldn't move their heavy equipment through the narrow streets of Bayeux. Bayeux was, by the way, the first liberated village in France and totally escaped the ferocious bombing and fighting that engulfed other French cities.

 It was evening when I arrived. As soon as I dropped my bags, I took a walk around town.

A working mill with a restaurant inside.

The brother of William the Conquerer consecrated this cathedral in central Bayeux in 1070. The Normans, led by William, later taught the English, after William showed them who is the boss, how to build churches similar to this one.

Besides the cathedral, there are three fascinating museums in the town.  You should buy a pass that covers all three. The cathedral is free.

1. The Bayeux Tapestry is a 70-meter by about 2/3 of a meter embroidered cloth that tells the story of William the Conqueror. You can think of it as one long comic strip with a scene from William's life in every panel.   

Basically, the way the French tell it, William conquered England and then civilized it. Yes, it's true. Before William got there the English were pretty miserable and clueless. They needed the French to teach them how to live. Has anything changed in a thousand years?

Museum #2 is the MAHB, which sounds suspiciously like the MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, but it is actually the local art museum that is amazingly good for a city of fewer than 15,000 people. The museum convinced me that Normandy is a center of world civilization. Here is an example to prove it:

Chantilly lace and a pretty face
And a ponytail hangin' down
A wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk, Lord
Make the world go 'round, 'round, 'round
-- The Big Bopper

Yes, friends, the best Chantilly lace was hand-made in Bayeux.

Finally, #3, there is the Memorial Museum of the Battle of Normandy. It tries to cover every angle of the invasion. The next time the United States invades a country, the generals should visit this museum first and learn the #1 rule for a successful invasion: the local people want you to invade them. Yes, go see what it takes: guns, men, vehicles, food, sanitation, medical, dead-body disposal, re-supply, communications, and more that I can think of and you can't imagine until you go there. 

Outside the museum are two tanks.

A sign near to this tank reads: 

"This is an American "M10 Tank Destroyer", a vehicle specially designed by the American army in 1942 in order to complement and reinforce its Armoured units with anti-tank battalions (Heavy Tank Destroyer Battalions). The British gave it the nicknames "Achilles", "Wolverine" or "Slugger".

The M1O model was based on the M4 Sherman tank and can be recognized by its hull sloping at an angle of 40° to protect the crew from deflected shells and by its pentagonal open-topped turret. However, on the battlefields of Normandy, the crews themselves often installed protection for the turret, as this observation post, sometimes equipped with a machine gun, left them extremely exposed. These makeshift forms of protection ranged from simply rigging up tent canvas against bad weather to installing a sheet of armor plating against various projectiles.

With a rate of fire of 10 rounds per minute, its gun was able to pierce armor 120mm thick at 900 meters."

"This British flame-throwing tank is a "Crocodile" Mark VII which was a variant on the "Churchill" tank Provided to the British 79th Armoured Division, it was one of the many specialized forms of tank developed for the D-Day Landings of 6 June 1944 and christened "Hobart's Funnies" after the military engineer Major-General Percy Hobart who commanded the division.

Designed to support infantry at the pace of marching troops, the tank was a remarkable assault weapon. Despite its relatively weak gun, armor that was too heavy for its inefficient engine, and frequent breakdowns, this lumbering armored vehicle acquired a terrifying reputation, feared by the enemy for the infernal power of its flame-thrower.

The flame-thrower was mounted in the position of the original machine gun and could project a jet of flame, propelled by compressed nitrogen, almost 110 meters long in less than 2 seconds.

It was supplied by a lightly armored (14mm) trailer which could be jettisoned if absolutely necessary and which carried 1,800 liters of inflammable liquid. It could produce as many as 80 successive jets of flame. Although Winston Churchill said of the Crocodile "This tank has even more faults than I", the tank continued its service in the British army until 1952."

Inside the war museums of Normandy are many displays like this one -- designed to show how the war was fought without being realistic enough to give anyone nightmares. If a museum showed the true horror of war, no one would visit it.

To me, these statistics capture the scale of both the operation and the horror.

Meanwhile, the town is jammed with restaurants, bars, coffee shops, hotels etc. The party never stops.

I spent one day at the beaches. To get there most people join an organized tour or rent a car; I rented a bicycle and used Google maps to find my way there. The roads are a complete maze so I would have been hopeless without Mr. Google showing me the way. 

There is another of the many D-day museums near Omaha beach, but if you've seen the museum in town, you can skip it and go directly to the American Cemetery. 

The cemetery overlooks the beaches and is, as you will see, immaculately maintained. 

The American Cemetery is located in the lower middle of the map, just above the beach.

View of Omaha Beach from the American Cemetery.

Omaha Beach, the only beach I visited, is where the Americans landed and where most D-day casualties occurred.

How do they cut the grass so evenly?

A tour group pauses at the end of the reflecting pool.

From the cemetery, I rode down the beach. 

The pictures below begin from the west end of the beach. 

In the lower right of the picture below, from Google Earth, is a blue dot that marks a German bunker I visited.

In the picture below, in the middle left of center, I'm looking up at the same German bunker.

It was an easy walk up to the bunker that is built into the hillside.

The bunker.

As you see, from the bunker is a view of the entire beach.

Much of the beach is now, as it was before the war, a popular place to swim in spite of the strong currents.

I waded into the water in the above picture, in the shadow of a monument, and indeed, as my friend had told me, it was really cold.

In the middle of the beach is a memorial. Behind this is a lovely restaurant where I stopped for lunch.

One thing that surprised me is that most of the beach is not like the Gettysburg Battlefield or any of the other sites of large battles in the United States. France has seen too many wars and too many battles to make every battle scene into a huge national park. In parts of the beach are vacation homes.

At the far end of the beach is another bunker. This one happens to be along what became the main route for Americans to move men and equipment inland. Because the man I knew worked in supply, it is likely that he landed somewhere in this area and walked up this road.

A sign on the road down from the bunker shows the road when it was being used for supplies.

I parked my rented bicycle outside the bunker that the Germans built to block what they reasoned would be the route inland for any likely invaders. This bunker became an early headquarters for allied operations, nevertheless inside was still the ruins of a gun

One of the German soldiers in a bunker commented later that he was shocked to see the water turn red with blood from his bullets.

This tour guide will end with another summary of D-day. 

I leave you to ponder the horror of war.

The West Highland Way: October 1-8, 2021

Walking the West Highland Way, 

by Tom Riddle

The "Way," actually a path, is 94 miles long and leads up from Glasgow into the highlands of Scotland. I walked it in eight days. As I walked, I wrote the blog you will find below. Later I added the maps.

Day 1: Milngavie to Drymen - October 1, 2021

The West Highland Way begins in a village in the suburbs of Glasgow, Milngavie, which is pronounced Mool-guy. To reach the trailhead I took a local train from the main station in Glasgow to Milngavie where I spent the night in a hotel.

 

the train station in Glasgow

My main complaint about the Camino de Santiago was how difficult it was to find accommodation. So before I started walking the West Highland Way I contacted a travel agency (https://www.walkersbritain.co.uk/) and had them arrange everything which included a luggage transfer. 

Because this is the first day, the luggage handler wanted to meet me and tell me to leave my luggage every morning exactly where I had found it the night before. I promised to follow his instructions; he then complimented me on my fine Midwestern American accent. That was nice to hear. 

The people of Scotland have their own way of speaking the English language. I can't decide if it's a lovely lilt or if it sounds like they are being strangled as they speak. Either way, it is definitely distinctive.

The West Highland Way has brought an economic revival to some of the more remote areas of Western Scotland. This arch in Milngavie marks the beginning of the path.

The weather for the walk may be somewhat challenging.

A friend in England told me to sit it out if it's raining really hard; one of the local people told me just to keep walking--it's only rain.

Waking up this morning, the rain was coming down in sheets, but by 8:00, the rain had eased and the trail looked fine.

The trail made for easy walking all day, the problem was that it would rain, stop raining, the sun would shine, and then it would rain again. As soon as I had taken off my rain jacket, I felt I was putting it back on.

At times I would come out of the forest and the views would be spectacular.

As the day continued I learned that neither my waterproof boots nor my waterproof jacket is actually waterproof. Fortunately, I have some wool socks that I hope to wear tomorrow and a long sleeve merino wool t-shirt so even though I will probably be wet, I'm hoping that I will be reasonably warm and that hypothermia won't set in. Today, however, I was wearing nylon socks and by the time I finished walking, blisters were developing all around my feet and they looked like I had spent the day skin diving.

Sheep seem to be the main event in this area.

There were very few other people on the path and I only met one other walker, Ian. In his early '60s, Ian is a retired policeman who is doing this walk as cheaply as he possibly can. To that end, for the first time in his life, he is carrying a small tent in his backpack which he plans to put up at night. Besides saving money, his goal is to lose weight. To accomplish this he is carrying a large jar of peanut butter and plans to eat only peanut butter and drink only coffee for the entire walk. When I pointed out to him the possibility of getting extremely constipated he seemed to think that wouldn't be a problem because then he would not have to worry about going to the toilet. I am not making this up.

Tonight finds me in the village of Drymen (rhymes with liven'). Drymen's claim to fame is having the oldest pub in Scotland. I looked inside -- it seemed small and uncomfortable. But what do I know?

It's been in business since 1734 so they must be doing something right.

Today was, according to the guidebook, the easiest day of the walk. But after 12 miles of walking, I was totally exhausted. Tomorrow it will rain and, the locals tell me, I will have a much more difficult walk.

DAY TWO: DRYMEN TO ROWARDENNAN

The woman who runs the Kip and the Kirk guest house, where I stayed last night, charms all her visitors. As soon as I arrived I was given a scone and a cup of tea. This morning I was served a hearty breakfast of tea, toast, peanut butter, cereal, and fruit as she patiently answered all my tourist questions.

The woman, Frances, ran the New York City marathon, teaches yoga, and rounds things out by teaching driver education in Drymen. 

There was one other guest. Steven, had arrived in Milngavie on the 2 PM train and reached Drymen just before dark. He came in, said hello, and then left for the local pub, saying that he likes to have a couple Guinness beers at the end of the day.

This morning at breakfast he explained that his passion in life is sailing and that he is slowly sailing around the world. His boat is presently in Panama. A few weeks ago he decided he should fly home to visit his family for a while. Just to get some exercise, he decided to walk the West Highland Way. He lives on meat and fish and tries to avoid everything else. He's built like a bulldog with muscles coming out of everywhere.

As I left to begin the walk, Steven, having been charmed by Frances, had decided to stick around and help Frances with a housing problem. He planned to start walking later in the day.

Leaving the Kip in the Kirk guest house the sun was shining and everything looked good. 

sheep enjoying the morning sun

The house across the street from this shed is below.

Thirty minutes or so out of town the path took a turn up a hill and shortly thereafter I got my first good look at Loch Lomond.

According to the guidebook, this is the largest inland body of water in Britain. It is 37 km or 23 mi long. At its deepest point, it's 190 m or 623 ft deep. The West Highland Way follows the shore for 30 km or 19 mi. If you look closely at the picture you can see some islands that are now uninhabited. Centuries ago people lived on them because they felt safe -- sort of like they do now in gated communities.

After another hour or so I reached the settlement of Balmaha (which rhymes with Omaha) where there is a small cafe. To my surprise, I met some hikers in the cafe who were walking in the other direction. They said that they were wild camping. With the main tourist and hiking season over, it's now possible to wild camp almost anywhere.

Recreational boats in the harbor at Balmaha  

 After another half hour of walking it finally started to rain, fortunately, just then I was near the one and only public toilet I've seen so far. I stepped inside to put on my rain jacket and got a shock when I realized I was in the women's toilet. 

I ran outside, looked at the door, and saw that the lettering on the door clearly said MEN. Regaining my composure, and re-entering the men's toilet, I took the above picture. You can see the men's urinal to the right. (If anyone can explain why men would need female hygiene products, please email me at Thomasriddle@gmail.com.)

The rest of the day was really difficult. On the map, it looks like the path follows the shore. In fact, the path goes up, down, and around the steep ravines that line the lake.

Some of the rock stairs were much more treacherous than this one.

Once I took a rest to drink some water and I was joined by this little Robin who seemed to think I was a pretty interesting guy.

The rain never let up. 

When I arrived at my stop for the night, a youth hostel, it was 4:00 p.m. and I'd been walking for 7 hours

Once again I was totally exhausted. Plus my feet were wet, cold, and shriveled.

After I checked in, I took a shower and decided to have a cup of coffee in the lounge. As I sat down, in walked Steven. He had had a leisurely day helping Frances with her house and then walking the same path that I had struggled so much with. After that, he had spent a couple hours in the local pub, and now he was having his dinner--a packet of smoked salmon, some cherry tomatoes, and two small bottles of wine. His plan was to wake up tomorrow morning and walk 28 miles.

As I drank my coffee I saw that the sky had cleared. Walking back outside, the day was ending in a flurry of color.

The guidebook says that tomorrow will be the roughest day of the walk. The forecast is for rain all day.

My accommodation tonight, the Rowardennan Lodge Youth Hostel, by the way, is pretty good--with a large lounge and a dining room. Because of COVID-19 restrictions, I am the only person in this six-bed dormitory. When I checked in I was told to only use one bed. That sounded reasonable.

DAY 3, ROWARDENNAN to INVERARNAN (Don't ask me how to say them.)

I've been trying to start walking at 8:00 a.m. which means I've been getting up at 3:45 a.m. to have enough time to do some meditation and yoga before hitting the trail. Today, because the youth hostel was giving me a packed lunch, I decided that I would do the same thing I did on the Camino de Santiago--walk for two hours and then have breakfast.

This was the coldest morning yet, 43 F or 6 C. But walking quickly warmed me up enough to be comfortable in just my wool base layer and rain jacket.

The path started off very nicely. 

Soon I was in a forest, walking beside a steep hillside and passing more waterfalls than I could count which made the forest sound like there were jets flying over.

two mountain goats were also doing the walk

After more than an hour, I thought that perhaps the guidebook was wrong and that path really wasn't going to be too bad. Then it started to rain in a pounding drizzle. I kept walking but after another hour, I was so hungry that I sat down in the pouring rain and ate the packed breakfast that the youth hostel had made for me.

Shortly after that, I began to realize what the guidebook was talking about. The path followed the shoreline with a very steep drop-off between the edge of the path and the large rocks beside the shore. 

Other times the path led up through narrow stone passageways. If ever there was a path designed to cause knee problems and broken ankles, this was it.

At 11:30 the path took a swerve around a private dock with a coffee shop attached. Just as I went to open the door of the shop, outstepped Ian, the wild camper who was going to live on just peanut butter. Things weren't going well for him. His first night of wild camping had been reasonable, but by the second night all his clothes were wet and he couldn't find a way to dry them, his sleeping bag couldn't keep him warm, and he thought he might get hypothermia.

If that wasn't bad enough, last night he had found sleeping very difficult. To save himself from putting up his tent he had opted for one of the two free public huts on the West Highland Way. (Those one-room stone huts are called bothies). One of the seven people in his bothy was a woman who slept with her dog in her sleeping bag -- the dog kept whimpering all night.

Besides that, the weight of his backpack was killing him -- he had pain everywhere in his body. "I am," he said in summary, "shattered, completely shattered." He also told me that the coffee shop only had coffee and candy bars. I decided to skip the coffee and walk with him for a while.

By chance, Ian had met Steven earlier in the morning. Steven was wearing Adidas trainers and jogging with his full backpack on. Steven said that he didn't have time to talk, he had to cover 28 miles today.

For Ian and me in places, the path became an exercise in rock climbing. At least, I thought, this will keep the bicyclists away. But just then we were passed by a guy carrying a bicycle loaded down with saddlebags. What a sight. The bicyclist had traveled from Portugal with his bike after reading that the West Highland Way was bicycle-friendly. He seemed very disappointed. Nevertheless, he skillfully carried his bicycle down the rocky path and soon disappeared in front of us.

We kept walking for another hour or so and then when the rain let up for a few minutes, we decided to take a break. I had once read that if you're serious about not having blisters you should change your socks twice a day. For the first time in my hiking life, I decided to try it. Taking off my boots, my socks and feet were soaking wet. As I let my feet dry in the air, Ian decided he should start walking again. 

A few minutes later as I sat there fumbling with my socks a German woman walked up, said hello, and waited for me to put my socks and boots on as if we were old friends.

This area of Scotland was once much more populated.
Occasionally the ruins of old houses can still be seen.

Lydia and I walked together for the rest of the day. She said that she actually was enjoying the walk because it made her feel like a mountain goat. 

As we walked, she would occasionally pause to pick mushrooms and berries for her dinner. She was going to stay in a campground, and cook her harvest of mushrooms and berries from the path on her camp stove.

Gradually the path turned up and away from the lake.

This was the last good look at Loch Lomand.

Lydia at rest with the parting view of the lake behind her.

By chance, her campground and my hotel were beside each other. It was now 4:30, eight, and one-half hours since we had started walking. Considering everything, because I could still walk and nothing in the way of bones was broken, I thought it was a pretty successful day.

My hotel, The Drover's Inn, is one of the oldest hotels in Scotland. It has been open since 1704 and is somewhat of a museum with a suit of armor, stuffed birds, various weapons, a standing stuffed bear, and hundreds of knick-knacks. It also features very small rooms and bathrooms down the hall.

The Drovers Inn started life as a place for cattle drovers to spend the night.

 

As I checked in, Ian showed up and told me that he had decided to take a bus home tomorrow. He just can't take it anymore.

We had dinner together and later Lydia came over and joined us for a beer. Ian had totally given up on his peanut butter diet so instead, he had a giant meal of a traditional Scottish meat and potato dish. He said it was delicious.

It's now 9:00 at night and I'm exhausted.

Here are some scenes from the hotel:

rumor has it that ghosts live in the hotel

Day 4 Inverarnan onto Tyndrum

Breakfast in The Drovers Inn was pleasant. All of the other guests were walkers and we congratulated each other on having survived such a rough day. One woman said that she fell twice on the rocky paths; someone else said that they had read that more injuries occur during that section than any other part of the path. 

If it's rough for us, what about the drovers? The drovers were the men who took the cattle from the highlands of Scotland to England. They must have been as hard as nails and as tough as any American plains Indians or Mongolian herders. Wearing only kilts and wool blankets, they led cattle through the hills by day and, after finding a place for the cattle to rest at night, frequently slept outside. When they reached England, the locals there thought they looked pretty scary--unbathed, unshaven, and undoubtedly smelling worse than the animals they guided. I can imagine that only Scotch whiskey made their lives somewhat bearable. 

To the staff of The Drover's Inn, it was, of course, just another day at work. They all, by the way, wear traditional Scottish kilts. But that's not the really strange part. The really strange part is that almost all of them are Romanians who come here for seasonal work. One can imagine that when they left Romania seeking a better life in England they didn't imagine that they would be wearing kilts and working in a 300-year-old hotel.  

As I started walking it was raining and it would continue to rain all morning. In the afternoon, it eased up a bit before starting again. Never mind, the path was much easier. Most of the path would even have been very pleasant if it had not been so wet. After a couple of hours, my boots and body were, as usual, completely soaked.

This is not a stream, this is the path.

It sounded like a jet was flying overhead.

For the first hour or so the path followed a raging river and for stretches, the path seemed to be flowing water or just mud.

 Later, however, the path passed through thick pine forests, and carefully managed estates. In this area, there's a big movement towards developing a sustainable form of agriculture and forestry.

This area is, as you might expect, dotted with various historical monuments--mostly ancient battle sites where nothing is left except the memory. Today the path passed by the ruins of an ancient monastery.

not much was left

As I approached my destination for the night, Tyndrum, the path took me through a large restored forest that the city of Tyndrum manages.

Accommodation for the night was a family-run bed and breakfast, the Glengarry House. They open for guests at 3:00 p.m.  As I was early, I ended up sitting on the path a few hundred meters from the guesthouse for 30 minutes or so. As soon as I had sat down on the path and become comfortable, it started to rain again.

leaving the guesthouse the next morning

Day 6 Tyndrum to Bridge of Orchy

Yesterday someone told me that happiness in Scotland is enjoying walking with wet, cold feet. As of this morning, I can add, "putting on boots that stink." 

As I was leaving my guesthouse the manager told me that for the next two days there will be no shops or towns. He recommended that I stop in the local grocery store, Brodies Mini Market, to buy whatever supplies I needed.

Brodies had a wonderful supply of candy bars, canned goods, white bread, and not much else. Fortunately, I had purchased nuts and dried fruit in Milngavie so I thought I would be okay. Still, I purchased something that looked like a piece of pizza wrapped in plastic.

Today's path was an old military road. About 1750 the British decided that if they were going to squash the local rebellions they needed a road system that would allow them to rapidly move troops around Scotland. 

They didn't do such a bad job and it was certainly much better than the awful path around Loch Lomond. 

I only met one man, his wife, and their dog for the entire day. As I approach them, I saw that the man was holding a bottle of whiskey and two plastic shot glasses.

He didn't say hello. Instead, he said, " 'Ave a wee bit 'a whiskey."

"No thank you, I've got to keep walking."

"Aw come on mawn, you're in Scotland.

"To me, it tastes like mouthwash."

"You haven't had real Scotch whiskey then."

"How about tonight? I need someone to introduce me to Scottish whiskey."

"Okay then, tonight."

I saw them again later as I was taking a break. They were traveling with a 14-month-old Labrador Retriever that he said was very well trained and would never make a mess in a hotel. The hotels, by the way, make a point of advertising if they are dog friendly. A surprisingly large number of people walk with their dogs.

Besides their dog, I met some other animals on the path, none of whom were shy at all about having their picture taken. 

I made some very baa-aa-d sheep noises to get this guy to look at me.

He never moved.

These guys are known for being gentle. Nevertheless, it was an adventure to photograph them.

Forest management in Scotland appears to be somewhat patchy.

I arrived at my hotel for the night, the Bridge of Orchy, an hour before check-in but the nice lady at the desk let me check in anyway. I have no complaints about the room. 

Just out the door is, you guessed it, the bridge of Orchy. 

The bridge was built about 1750 so that the British could keep their troops dry.

Day 6 Bridge of Orchy to Kingshouse

Every hotel has either given me a packed lunch or breakfast. Today it was breakfast. Having breakfast in my hotel hasn't meant getting on the trail much later in the day because it doesn't really get light until 8:00 a.m. anyway.

looking upstream while standing on the bridge of Orchy

From across the bridge, the path led up through hills to a summit that I arrived at just as the sun was coming over the larger ridges -- giving me an incredibly wonderful view of Rannoch Moor below. "This is, "I thought, "why people come to Scotland."

From there the path led down to a paved modern road for a kilometer or so and then turned off the paved road into what looked like an unused and abandoned motorway.

This sign explained the old road; the text from the sign is below.

Telford's Parliamentary Roads

Before the end of the 18th century, the military roads in the highlands were falling into a state of disrepair, which made them unsuitable for the increasing commercial traffic. 

"I was commissioned in 1803 by the government to build new roads and bridges in the highlands. The new roads I have designed have gentler gradients. Being lower on the hillside they require larger bridges to cross the burns. Box culverts are used instead of cobbled fords to reduce the damage to carriage springs. For the general well-being and value of the cattle and sheep being driven to market, I insist that the road be constructed with a good depth of gravel to prevent damage to their hooves."

The road went out of use as the main public road in 1933 but is still in good condition today as it is maintained for estate access and the West Highland Way.

Telson did an amazing job with solid stone bridges and excellent drainage. It was really far superior to that stupid military road I walked on yesterday. My Gawd, everybody knows that the military can't build good roads.

I'd been walking for two hours when I took a break to eat a snack and drink some water. When I stood up, just a few meters behind me was the first black woman I have seen in Scotland. 

Her skin was black, I mean coal-black, and she dressed in black, topping that off with black sunglasses. I was immediately attracted to her.

Janet is from Sacramento, California, and is here with four other American women who have been doing the walk since Milngavie. Janet joined them today.

She kept a fierce pace that completely energized me as I tried to keep up with her. When I commented on how fit she was, she agreed and told me that when she is in California every day she jogs five miles. She was sure that she would never need to take a break at any time during the day.

What an easy path to walk on.

When she stopped to take some pictures, I kept walking, knowing that she would eventually catch up with me. She did.

Meeting her again, I asked her if I could ask her to do me a favor. She said yes and I began:

"In my small town in Ohio, the only neighbors I like are two black guys, a father, and his son.

The father is retired but his son has a full-time job and saves a lot of money. 

"One day I asked the young guy what he was going to do with his money. He said he didn't know. I suggested doing some hiking to which his father said, "Black people don't hike." 

"So could you pose for a picture with me?"

She said yes.

After about 3 and a half hours of walking, I was sure that we were probably at least halfway to our lodging for the night when Janet and I walked by a ski lodge. Standing outside was a tourist who agreed to take our picture.

When we walked to the other side of the ski lodge, much to my surprise I saw that we were at the Kingshouse Hotel, our destination for the night. 

This is the fanciest place yet. There are two bars, a giant dining area, and luxurious rooms that they wouldn't let me enter until 3 PM, at which time I had been sitting in the dining room for two hours.

(The man who offered me the free whiskey the other day told me that if I stayed in the Kingshouse Hotel I had to have money. I guess he was right. He was walking on to the next village.)

Outside the grounds of the hotel/ski resort was a sign saying that camping was only allowed across the river in the moorland. And sure enough, just outside my window, there was a guy camping. If you look closely, you can see his dog.

Waking up in the morning, it was lightly raining and the camper, having put a raincoat on his dog, was packing up his tent. He disappeared by the time I went to breakfast.

Oh, by the way, if by chance, any of the pictures you've seen on this blog look like scenes from a movie that is because they probably are. These are some of the movies that have been filmed here in the Highlands:

Being Human

Braveheart

Bonnie Prince Charlie

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Highlander 1 and 3

Kidnapped

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Rob Roy

The 39 Steps

 and

Skyfall,
which I learned by going here https://www.visitscotland.com/see-do/attractions/tv-film/skyfall/ and seeing the mountain that I passed today:

 

So with so much going for it, why don't more people live here? According to the guidebook, more people don't live here because of a tiny insect called a midge. A midge is like a mosquito, except it doesn't stick its nose in you: it bites. They are fiercest in the summer, but even now many places still sell head nets that appear to offer some protection.  

More than one hiker has told me, "The rain and cold are a damn-sight better than the midges."

Day 7 King's House to Kinlochleven

Leaving the monstrous hotel, the countryside was spooky. The stark mountains that could clearly be seen the day before were now covered in clouds and mist to make everything dark, grey, and silent. There wasn't a bird or an insect to be heard.

The path ran about 100 meters parallel to a major highway for 40 minutes or so and then turned away from the highway to begin a long series of switchbacks up the hills. It was another of these old British military roads. The switchbacks were cursed by the British foot soldiers who had to carry heavy artillery up them. They nicknamed them "the devil's staircase."

It was quite a slog. Not only that, but by this time it was raining heavily. Soon, of course, my feet became wet and gradually everything else became wet as well. Fortunately by this time I know that happiness in Scotland is walking with wet cold feet and I was getting happier by the minute.

Up and up.

As I trudged upward, a man and a woman who had wild camped the night before passed me. The man told me that while they were sleeping the deer had come to check out their tent. The man heard them, crawled out to see what they were doing and the deer didn't move as he locked his flashlight into their eyes. After that, their tent started leaking. This time they both went outside to put Vaseline over the leaking seams. Gradually, they said, the leaks stopped. I complimented them on their resilience. They seemed energetic and enthusiastic about the hike and quickly passed me.

the wild campers passing me

crossing small streams meant jumping from stone to stone and occasionally missing a stone

When I stopped for lunch the path was still going up and it was still raining. As I ate my nuts and dried fruit, I realized that I was quickly losing body heat and that I shouldn't stop again if I didn't want to get hypothermia.

Fortunately, soon the switchbacks started going downhill.

Coming down through the hills, which became forested, the path passed a damn that had a series of monstrous pipes leading down from it to the final stop of the day -- the old aluminum processing town of Kinlochleven.

 The entire town had been built by the British Aluminium Company to house 700 workers who processed aluminum with electricity generated by the water flowing out of the giant pipes. When the factory closed in 2000 the town reinvented itself as a center of outdoor recreation and today one of the old factory buildings has Europe's biggest ice climbing training wall.

the guidebook described Kinlochleven as Scotland's ugliest village,
but I thought that it had some charm.

None of that made any difference to me when I arrived wet and cold two hours before my guesthouse was going to begin checking people in.

I looked for some kind of shelter to get out of the rain-- a picnic pavilion or an unused storefront and didn't find a thing. Finally, I did a Google maps search for a pub. I found one, stumbled in, followed directions to leave my backpack in the doorway, and ordered a bowl of hot lentil soup. I ate the entire bowl of soup without saying anything to the hiker who was sitting next to me and who seemed to be drinking one pint of beer after another. When I finally did say hello to him, he told me that he was waiting for his guesthouse to open as well; he added that he just couldn't stop shivering or shaking from the cold. I told him that that was exactly how I felt.

My travel agency had booked me into the Allt Na Leven Guesthouse only after the guesthouse that I had originally been booked into was closed because of COVID-19. The couple who run the Allt Leven Na were doing everything they could to make sure they weren't going to be the next guesthouse closed because of COVID-19. When I stepped in, the manager, from a few meters away and wearing a mask, told me to take my jacket and my boots off and put them in a plastic laundry basket that she had placed on the floor between us. I followed instructions. She told me that she would put them in her drying room, and return them to me later.

Besides that, she told me that she would appreciate it if I stayed in my room and didn't venture into her lounge/dining area until tomorrow morning.

I followed her directions and only made the briefest of exits from her guest house just before dark to grab a sandwich and a beer from the shop across the street.

Day 8: Kinlochleven to Fort William

I overslept today and had the same nightmare that I always have while traveling: I'm on a bus and when I get off, I leave my bag on the bus. What a relief to wake up and find my bag on the floor.

At breakfast, the other hikers commented on how awful yesterday had been. Apparently, because I had arrived earlier in the afternoon, the path hadn't yet become the small stream that hikers found later in the day.

After breakfast, I found my jacket and shoes that the manager had put in her drying room, (a room with a humidifier and a slightly warmer temperature) wonderfully dry.

As I walked out of town I met the man who had offered me free whiskey a few days ago. He remembered me very well and he kept repeating my name with his very Scottish lilt, "Good ya morning Tom Riddle, and how is Tom Riddle feeling this morning?"

"I'm still dry."

His luck had run out yesterday. As he had come down the devil's staircase, the sole of one of his boots completely separated from the rest of the boot. So he and his wife were going to take a bus home. As we parted, he let me take their picture.

The path started off looking like the devil's staircase part two.

Fortunately, it wasn't raining and after a few switchbacks, I was out of the forest.

looking back at Kinlochleven

 

In the 1700s the British forced many of the local people out of the area to prevent any possible rebellions. It is remembered (depending on who is telling the story) as ethnic cleansing.

The ruins of some of their homes can still be seen.

Someone told me that the United Kingdom, UK, should be called the BUK, the Barely United Kingdom. Here that means that the Scots have never forgiven the British for being repressive colonials. A few miles west of here in the village of Glencoe is the site of a particularly brutal incident. In August of 1691, the English king told the local chiefs to take an oath of allegiance before January 1 of the following year. Unfortunately one of the chiefs, Alexander MacDonald, didn't take his oath until January 6. Always ones for punctuality, the English sent 100 soldiers to the MacDonalds to teach them some manners. The MacDonald clan hosted those soldiers for a week or so at which time the British massacred 38 of their hosts. Now, 330 years later the Scots haven't forgiven or forgotten what happened. I saw a sign along the path today to remind me. 

After three pleasant hours of walking, I sat down to eat my lunch, and just as I finished, it started raining again. But by then I knew that I just had two more hours of walking before I would arrive at Fort William and the end of the walk.

In the distance is the tallest mountain in Britain, Ben Nevis. The clouds never cleared enough for me to see it clearly. People can walk to the top and back down in a day.

The last couple miles of the West Highland Way was kind of a disappointment in that the path becomes a sidewalk beside a busy road. If that wasn't bad enough, the path used to officially end at the edge of Fort William, but now, thanks to some clever city planning, it ends at the far end of the main shopping street where there is a made-for-pictures statue.

 The made-for-pictures statue above, and me, below, holding a walking stick making a picture.

I had talked to this couple a few times during the hike. They were very friendly, and as far as I could tell at every stop the first thing they did was have a beer or a whiskey, which is exactly what I would have done if I had done the walk with another person. The man told me that the hike had been bad for his liver.

After the picture, we parted and I retraced my steps back through the main shopping street which contained a variety of Scottish whiskey shops, camping stores, souvenir shops, and stores selling every kind of wool garment imaginable. Clearly, tourism is big business here. 

After a shower and changing into dry clothes, I knew that this was it and there was no going back: tonight I was going to drink Scotch whiskey. I asked the manager of my guesthouse if she could recommend a local bar that specialized in Scotch whiskey. She suggested that I try one or two of the thirty-five different whiskeys in her whiskey closet, just beside the lounge.  That sounded much better than going back out in the rain.

She was very enthusiastic. Whiskey in Scotland, I quickly learned, is like wine in France or beer in Milwaukee: it is a way of life and the pride of the nation. She told me that occasionally she will host German whiskey clubs who are touring Scotland and trying Scotches from some of the 130 distilleries.

Before she served me she gave me precise instructions. I was first to enjoy the smell of the golden brown liquid, then I needed to swish it around my mouth, letting all of the subtle flavors sink in. Food, with whiskey, as well as ice, was forbidden. A person should seriously, meditatively if you will, slowly savor and enjoy every sip and then let the palate and throat savor the after taste. 

I carefully followed instructions and after two 35 ml drams, it became clear that drinking Scottish whiskey was a wonderful way to enjoy an evening. It would be very easy to make a habit out of it. 

Epilogue

I woke up the next morning clear-headed and wished that I had not made a train reservation for Edinburgh--I was ready for one more day of walking--this time up to the top of England's tallest mountain, Ben Nevis. That wish ended when I looked out the window and learned the weather forecast: 100% chance of rain.