Things Are A Stir(l)ing

(We know, we know. Enough with the bad pun titles.)

The good news is, we finally all got a good night’s sleep! The bad news is… well, we all overslept, had to hop up and SCRAMBLE for our clothes …and missed our train anyway. The good news is, there’s a train every half hour or so to Stirling, and the sun was shining brightly so we were off for another adventure.

People on the trains heading to work are generally already on their Blackberries and texting, but our seat mate on the train was kind enough to tell us a few things about the countryside and Stirling itself. He pointed out the Falkirk wheel as we passed it, and well as The Wallace Monument, and confirmed D’s sighting of the Antonine Wall, which predates Hadrian’s Wall as an attempt at a Scottish border. (“They tried to keep us out,” our seat mate says succinctly.) We amused him and then bounded off into our day… which was freezing cold but clear.

After trying to figure out how to get to the side of town with the castle, we found a fabulous direct-to-castle bus, which took us up the winding hilly cobblestoned roads. We were thrilled to bits, to say the least, and when we turned the corner to the castle, we were caught off-guard. It was bigger — and closer — than we remembered.

(D&T remembered the town, anyway… having gone to Stirling and started halfway up that hill on foot a few months ago but turning back because of driving rain.)

We took a few minutes to take pictures of the Ochils across the valley and the outside of the castle, the statuary and each other. (Every once in awhile, you just… have to be a tourist.) We then got out of the wind and had a cup of tea.

We walked into the tea shop out of the sunshine and cold wind. We walked out of the tea shop to our tour group… and saw banks of gray clouds. Wind battered at us as we stood on the ramparts. The temperature dropped further. By the time our thirty-five minute tour was over, there were a few stray raindrops…

Stirling Castle was a treat not only because it was a castle, but because it was a hands-on castle. We remarked frequently that in other museums we would have been kept behind velvet ropes and all areas would be heavily guarded to avoid damage to them. Instead we sat at the High Table in the Great Hall and pretended we were kings and queens. We stuck our heads down arrow sights and pretended to target passers-by (who fortunately didn’t look up and notice this). We climbed on walls, picked up trenchers in the great kitchens and silently watched the weavers in the tapestry exhibition. We ran around like crazy people until we’d seen just about everything.

Our day’s ticket also gave us entrance to Argyll’s Lodging, the 17th c. home of the Earl of Stirling. By the time we got to the house, it was raining fitfully, and the wind was gusting. The museum was largely deserted, and we enjoyed having it to ourselves, as there were actual fires built in the fireplaces upstairs. T. found a fainting couch in the drawing room and plopped down to enjoy the cozy rooms.

The sumptuously appointed rooms were shades of purple — including the padded chamber pot. (Yikes.) The tapestries and draperies on the walls were largely purple as well, but after seeing the weavers, we knew how much work went into those — and what wealth they represent. The Earl of Stirling was a very, very rich and connected man.

After poking around the residence, we visited the gift shop, and were directed by a very savvy and lovely saleswoman to a pub for lunch. It was cozy and looked like it fit right in with the old stone castles and sandstone buildings around us. That’s because it was built around the same time, and was an old schoolhouse! We enjoyed a light lunch, and Van finally got his traditional UK meal of fish and chips.

All good things must come to an end, however! We had to leave the pub… and boy howdy was it raining by then. The WIND was roaring along, we were pulling up hoods and cramming down hats and our legs were sopping wet from the wind driving the rain toward our faces. We were shivering and hurrying — but couldn’t pass up a church, The Church of the Holy Rude, which was, sadly, closed. D&T turned away and hurried back down to the street, but Van tried the door… and went in. Unbeknownst to D&T who were waiting for him, huddled in the scant protection of a tree, he’d found some women of the vestry indoors. The church was closed because the BBC was going to be filming there later in the day (they’d been at the Castle earlier), but the woman in charge was thrilled to bits that he was from California and told him to come on in and take pictures. When Van FINALLY ran back to join D&T, they were soaked (!) and a bit worried, but pleased with his success.

Van also picked up a bit of gossip – apparently the actress Susan Sarandon and her film crew were recently at this church, and deemed it too “new” looking to appear in a film where Sarandon will be playing Mary, Queen of Scots. Unfortunately, Mary actually was in that very church, and I’m afraid she’s annoyed at least one Scot a great deal. “That film’ll never play in Scotland,” said the woman with great asperity.

Oh dear.

The trot to the train station was swift, sodden, and just not short enough. We were rain-stung, as the needle-like drops were driven against our faces, and beyond wet when we arrived in the waiting room and pressed against the heaters with great joy. We were too wet to do much more than huddle with teeth chattering for awhile, but we’re already talking about what we’re doing tomorrow.

Cheers!

– D & T

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