Craigard Hostel - Oban Reunion April 2016

So we left Inverary and Robert Burns, fretting over the Duke of Argyll’s behaviour.  Driving round Loch Awe we did meet some slight sleet showers as forecast, with lots of clouds bubbling up!

         

             

 

  

 As we arrived at our lovely sea-front Caledonian Hotel, we saw an overcast Oban. But ‘the gals’ – as ‘Foostie’, the matron used to call us – climbed up Craigard  Brae, albeit a wee bit slower than we used to, and, as we assembled in front of our old hostel , the sun shone down on us.

                

 

Sights for sore eyes: the assembled company and the beautiful view from the hill of Oban Bay and Kerrera Island.  Below we are all ready to dine together and this is a shot of friends and family: Eleanor, top left, our ace organizer, my sister, Marina, Marion from Campbeltown and Jean, all the way from Ontario.

   

 

 Below is a shot of past room-mates: Margaret, me and Ethel, whose well-known giggle resounded well after the 10.30 pm lights-out curfew. Ailsa, unfortunately, couldn’t come to make up the quartet, but I will make sure she gets a memento photograph. School-mate, but clearly not a Hostelite, Alec took time out from behind the camera to pose with Zissis.

            

 

Sunday morning, Marina, Jean and I step out in beautiful sunshine for an early-morning constitutional. This pretty fishing boat sets out for a day’s work, regardless of it being the Sabbath! Within ten minutes, the weather changed dramatically and we were being buffeted by powerful wind gusts and rain! 

                   

       

 

Now here’s a breakfast to behold : a perfectly poached egg, of firm exterior and creamy yolk inside, served on buttered toast; then a pork sausage and hearty haggis nestle on a rasher of bacon with a garnish of beans and cress. The Caledonian clocked up Best Breakfast Award of our trip. One more shot before we wend our ways: Ethel concealing her ‘stookied’ arm under the table, Margaret standing elegantly, towering above us all.

                      

 

At our last reunion, people confessed to being a little anxious about reuniting after all that time. This time I felt there was a genuine sense of enthusiasm about meeting up as old buddies – we had fun!

 I’d like to thank Eleanor for arranging the event - especially given the headache caused by the last-minute cancellation of the original hotel – very bad form.  

 Grateful thanks, too, go to Alec for giving up his time. Not only did he create a beautiful portfolio of pictures to record our reunion, but he arranged for them to be sent to us. Alec, you earned yourself an award: Official Craigard Photographer!

                                

 

Finally, thanks to cousin, Susan, the stalwart, for crossing with Cale MacBrayne’s in inclement weather conditions ( Foostie-speak once more !) to be with us. To celebrate her presence we downed a few large g’n’ts (John doesn’t decant small!) so she was fortified for the endurance return trip to Tobermory.           Just a minute – isn’t that ferry going in the wrong direction?!

 See you all again in 2020- it’s a date!

A Wee Trip To Prilep, FYROM

Here we are studying the map of FYROM, planning the route of our drive up to Prilep for a Cambridge teacher-training assessment: Zissis driving, me assessing. We reach the Greek/FYROM borders and pass through quite quickly, much to our relief. Further west lies Idomeni, the huge, unofficial encampment where roads and rail-tracks have been systematically blocked by refugees/migrants angry having the borders closed to them.

 

                              

On the overpass we see the FYROM national flag and …… an expression of the enmity (!) that can be felt between the two countries – especially at the inability to agree on a name for the Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia that cannot cause confusion  with the area of Greece we live in.

                                

                 

 

We reach Prilep safely and take a stroll in the afternoon sunshine to the town centre. Here we see the famous clock tower and a mosque which bears witness to the local people’s subjugation to the Ottoman Empire from 1395 – 1913. Prior to that, the turbulent history of the area, once the site of the ancient Macedonian city of Styberra, meant it had been overrun by Romans, Goths, Bulgarians and Serbs. It formed part of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia from 1944-1991.

                                      

                           

Incidentally, the Macedonian language spoken here is a South Slavic language whose closest relative is Bulgarian. We admire the impressive statue of a man, venerated as a national hero. My attempts at decoding the Cyrillic script written below came up with Kral Marco – deceptively like Karl Marx, the famous revolutionary socialist renowned for his polemic. But from his appearance it was clear that this prince was not a man of philosophy, but a warlord not to be trifled with. There we were standing in what was known as ‘The Realm of King Marco.’

It goes without saying that we pay homage to our own local hero, Alexander The Great.

                                             

We settle in at our gloriously named Krystal Palas Hotel , enjoying  a pre-prandial glass of local wine.            

 

                                                                   

Before our departure we are taken on a tour of the traditional Macedonian House which serves as a restaurant and a folkloric museum! Inside we see beautifully maintained household artefacts, agricultural equipment – even stacks of tobacco leaves drying - and fascinating traditional costumes. We’d like to thank Vesna and Dragica for their warm welcome, kindness and hospitality – we really enjoyed meeting you both! 

 

                    

As we drove south through the Pelagonian plain, we realized we were lucky in seeing it at this time of year to enjoy the luxuriant greenery of its tobacco crops  and its sprawling vineyards.

Recently we observed World Refugee Day, so it’s fitting to observe this, again unofficial, refugee encampment over the border, by the Greek roadside.      Little did we know then what lay ahead!                                   

                                                 

Westering Home

We left off having just crossed the border into Scotland- yay!! – and we had an overnight stay at the Abbotsford Hotel in Dumbarton. That evening we had a grand dinner there: starters of haggis, neeps and mash, followed by my favourite : roast venison with red currant jelly.  We were so enthusiastic we forgot to take pics –  you just have to take our word for it – it was magic!! Brother-in-law, jJhn was delighted to see his surname, Chaytor, included in the Chilean merlot name: Concha y Toro! Something to do with the bull, but does ‘concha’ mean   shell, horn, ear ….or even a very naughty word, indeed?  There is no consensus!

            

   

 

                                 

Next day it was an early-morning walk for me to help digest the previous night’s meal and … prepare for a full Scottish breakfast. Amid the trees I saw a vast container and, after spying this lorry further onin the same complex, I realised where I was : at the Kilmalid facility which employs 600 workers, and where the bottling and distribution of Chivas Regal (distilled in Moray, Speyside) Ballantine’s whisky and Beefeater gin goes on – to the tune of 20 million cases annually.

There is a delightful story of a wee accident that happened here in February 2013. During a routine cleaning procedure, instead of draining away waste water, by mistake some employees flushed away thousands of litres of bulk whisky. A strong smell was reported by local sewage workers!  Ooooppss!

           

                               

 

On my walk, I enjoyed the glorious banks of daffodils which enhanced many urban areas – what hardy flowers. On checking out, we also check out the lyrical meteorological forecast : Clear skies with clouds bubbling up and the possibility of slight sleet showers later in the afternoon.                                                 So off we go, straight ahead – making for Loch Lomond.           

             

                    

 

On the shores of the loch, tame ducks waddle up to greet us. We admire too the rhododendrons (Greek: rose tree), the national flower of Nepal, which grow to monstrous heights in this mild, damp climate. I really miss them in all their glorious colours. Behind this one you can see the clouds begin to bubble up!

 

                     

 Here’s a cheery Highlander who was happy for me to snap him; and a happy bear! Can anyone tell me who the local tree sculptor is? It has been suggested it might be Andy MacLaclan, but I’m not sure.

            

                     

 

Next stop: Inverary where we pay homage to the Vital Spark, the puffer which featured in the short stories of Neil Munro, born in Inverary in 1947. Moving when young to Toronto, in 1905 he had his short stories first published in the Glasgow Evening News. They formed the basis of the BBC series, Para Handy - The Master Mariner with Duncan Macrae as Para Handy, Roddy McMillan as the Mate, John Grieve as Dan MacPhail, the engineer. If you look very closely you can see Para Handy up on the bow!

                                                       

From the pier you can see the old Aray bridge, one of the most famous military bridges built in 1775 by General Wade. After the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion, the British army was detailed to construct a network of roads and bridges to control the clansmen and gain easier access into the Highlands. The A83 road that runs along the shores of Loch Fyne formed part of that strategic network

                                                                

 And finally a good shot of Inverary Castle, I thought – my least squint yet!! This is, of course the seat of the Chieftain of the Clan Campbell, MacCailean Mor, the Duke of Argyll.

                                                        

 And a fitting note is a quotation from the national Bard, Robert Burns, who visited the Inn of Inverary in 1787. He was paid, however, little attention while there as northern chiefs were being entertained at the time. He gave vent to his annoyance at His Grace, The Duke of Argyll with the following:

Whoe’er he be that sojourns here,

 I pity much his case,

Unless he’s come to wait upon

 The Lord, their God, His Grace.

There’s naething here but Highland pride

And Highland cauld and hunger;

If Providence has sent me here,

T’was surely in his anger.