Lindisfarne

Sand and fog meet at the horizon, and I can't tell how far it goes until I look at a map. If we stayed here for two more hours, the tide would swallow up the road and we'd be stranded here for the night. I feel grateful to be here.

Lindisfarne, also known as Holy Island, is on the northeastern coast of England and holds meaning to people for many reasons--6th century Celtic Christianity, viking invasions, architecture, nature--making it a relatively popular spot for a tiny island accessible only during low tide.

Because we're time-bound, I have to prioritize what to explore (even though there really is enough time to see almost everything). I head to the visitor center where I find a very thoughtfully curated museum that has what you might expect about the town's history, but it also has binders of narratives written by people who grew up here as a way to preserve their stories. 

I skimmed as many as I could and learned some of what it was like to grow up in this small town which also happens to be very historically significant. I read about a fisherman who loved playing catch with his dad near the marsh, the local nurse and her commute, the local school teacher, a bird enthusiast, a textile artist...  I decide that this will be the lens I'll use to explore.

 The museum also had some quilts on display, all beautiful, but one which showed incredibly intricate patterns that were cut, layered, and sewn together.

And then I felt that feeling again.

There are moments when a muscle memory kicks in--a habit of "this is when I would call papa and we'll crack jokes and share our reflections." Since he passed, this urge to call him is swallowed, absorbed, and re-channeled into messaging someone a simple "I miss my dad." He would have loved hearing about this place, and eventually agreed with me that the quilt was actually very cool because it would remind him of the various weaving techniques from India we thought were cool. Or maybe simply because I liked it.

So I tell Kendon that I miss my dad. 

And then I go to the marsh where the fisherman played with his dad.  It is now a bird sanctuary, and I wonder whether the bird enthusiast was somehow involved. I walked through abbeys and cemeteries and winding roads and open fields and felt grateful that people took the time to write their stories so that I could feel all of the memories that are buried here.

These are some of my favorite moments and, in many ways, why I love to travel. It's because I love people. I love learning about them, talking to them, putting myself in their shoes and remembering, feeling, the web of interconnectedness that humans are part of. Monuments are great, and I do love old rocks, but the things I cherish the most are the conversations and moments where I feel like I get to learn about a person and their life and why places that may seem like others are actually very special. Everywhere is very special, if you ask the right person.

Loch Ness is for the Cryptids

"Oh you're kidding... What?? How did I never notice this before? This is so cool!" I'm trying to keep my composure as Kendon and I venture into Loch Ness on our boat. Both sides of the lake look different.

Our tour guide Shaun has been working here for about a decade and was interviewed last year about some "interesting sonar images" his team found. I'm a pro-wrestling enjoyer and can suspend disbelief when the occasion calls for it, so... cue the x files theme song when it's time for Nessie.

But it's not Nessie that's making me lose my cool right now, it's the geology of this area. 

In the Scottish Highlands, a land mass that eventually-became-Europe and another land mass that eventually-became-North-America mush into each other (Great Glen Fault). 

(Source: Wikipedia)

Loch Ness is at the meeting point of one of these mush zones.

This means that both sides of the lake look different from each other.

They physically look different, because one of them broke off from what became the Appalachian mountains and floated ever so slowly all the way across the Atlantic and is now pressing into another continent.

One side of the lake has evergreens with dark green foliage, and across the lake you'll see brighter green foliage on yew, sycamore, and cherry trees. It feels so strange to be in the middle of what is very visibly two different land masses.

The lake itself was originally filled with water from the north sea (salt water) and then covered with glaciers. The ice melted, the lake became freshwater, and the saltwater fish adapted to survive. There are freshwater variations of saltwater fish that swim in these waters. Now it was Kendon's turn to excitedly tell me about how cool it is that the fish made these adaptations.

Mountain sediment makes the water so dark, that (cue the x files music) I can see why it inspires so much mystery and intrigue. Apparently, sonar has picked up several creatures bigger than great white sharks near the bottom. Apparently there are 480 types of DNA that scientists discovered here.  Anything could be lurking nearby.

Even... Perhaps...?

But I don't need Nessie to be real to think this is a really cool place on our planet.

Scotland is For the People

We left Istanbul at the right time. On our last day, I noticed increasing military presence while we were walking around Taksim and left the area sooner than planned. Later, I saw that street on the news as a site of a mass protest because another set of political opponents (the secular ones) were arrested. A few protestors were also arrested. International news channels were off the air, and there was an attempt to take the local news channel I was currently watching off the air as well. We flew to Edinburgh the next day.

Edinburgh is as I remember it from almost 15 years ago. The sand-colored bricks and sloping, interwoven layers that define the topography of the city are still incredibly beautiful. It still has the spooky aura I loved so much when I was last here. 

Scotland has been "for the people" longer than many other places in Europe, and you can see traces of this everywhere. When I spent an unexpected extra hour at the National Library, I learned that the Scottish government provided funding for Frederick Douglass, Moses Roper, Josiah Henson, and other American abolitionist writers for their contributions to the struggle for freedom. They also funded Beth Junor, Yellow Gate Camp, and other feminist activists.

I learned that the first printed works in Scotland weren't religious texts--they were poems and stories written by Scots. 

Later, at the National Gallery, I learned that by the mid-19th century, Scottish artists were painting scenes of the everyday life of working people, and selling this art to middle class folks in addition to aristocrats and royalty.

The paintings with more dynamic movement really stood out to me:

The Schule Skailin, by Sir George Harvey, shows the end of a school day.

The Curlers, by Sir George Harvey, shows the newly popular sport of Curling, which was starting to eclipse golf as Scotland's most popular and socially inclusive sport. This painting shows people of all social classes playing together. It had also been recently introduced in Canada by Scottish emigrants.

Selling Fruit, by Walter Geikie, is one of the many snapshots of life he drew on his regular walks around Edinburgh. He was deaf, and is known for his powers of observation, especially expressions and gestures.