The patron saint of adultery?

OK, one more, but this one is just for fun. I wonder if I have identified the patron saint of adultery?

Of course I don't really think so. Adultery is understood to be a sin, and all that … or at any rate that's true in any form of Christianity that also recognizes patron saints.

But when Debbie and I were in Glasgow, on Day 12, we visited St. Mungo's Cathedral—the big Glasgow cathedral. And along with all the other sights, we got the life of St. Mungo, also often called St. Kentigern. (Apparently he was named Kentigern, but Mungo was a nickname.)

Moving on?

It's the middle of June, and maybe I can finally wrap up this series of back-dated reflections on my trip to Scotland. One of the things that I spent a considerable amount of time thinking about (while there) was, What comes next?

In my account of Day 0, I told you that I had done a Tarot reading for the trip as a whole the week before we left. I had done that only once before, back in the middle of February, when I drew: the World reversed, the Star, and the 8 of Cups. At the time, I read those as follows:

• World reversed: You're not really going to be prepared for this trip. (This turned out to be true!)
• Star: The trip itself is going to be inspiring. (Also true!)
• 8 of Cups: After the trip, you'll be moving on somehow.

I didn't know what to make of that last one, so I spent some of my unoccupied time in Scotland mulling it. And I made a few notes. Some of these follow below (after the jump break).

DIGRESSION: In retrospect, that was the wrong way to read the 8 of Cups in that context. That card can also mean "withdrawal," and I think it's safe to say that in the month and a half since coming home I have withdrawn from the world pretty thoroughly: see here, here, and here. But of course I didn't know that then.

Drinking with Debbie

I'm writing this in the middle of June, but I've backdated it to May because it's another one of my posts about thinking through the outcome of my trip to Scotland with Debbie. Ironically, last night I wrote this post here, about drinking. So tonight I'm writing another about the same topic? Sure, hell, why not?

When Debbie and I first got together back in 2013, one of the few hard disagreements we encountered was over alcohol. I remember walking past a city park with her one evening, trying to suggest that alcohol could have a place in a well-managed life as long as you didn't let it take over. Since Debbie was a nurse [still is, I guess], I compared alcohol to a medical anesthetic: you don't want to abuse either one, but each one has its place. Anesthetic allows you to undergo the pain of a medical procedure placidly; alcohol can take the rough edges off your day and let you see the world in a more graceful light. But Debbie was resolute: she had watched her parents get drunk and then beat on each other, and so she didn't see any redeeming benefits in it. (See for example her references to this behavior here and especially here.)

Challenges to modesty

One of the recurring challenges that Debbie and I faced while in Scotland was the simple one of modesty. As I mentioned before, of course we have seen each other naked in the past—it's sort of inevitable when you fuck—but that was a long time ago. We have managed to avoid nakedness in each other's presence during any of my other visits, and of course I had promised Marie "no sex and no quasi-sexual activity." Avoiding nakedness is clearly an important part of that.

On the other hand we shared a room in every single hotel we stayed at.  Mostly, each room had an attached bathroom. (You may recall that when we stayed at The Drovers Inn, in Inverarnan, the bathroom was a shared one down the hall, like in a dormitory.) But one way or another, modesty turned out to be … well, … not altogether easy to maintain.

We started simply enough, by changing clothes in the bathroom. (Or if one of us ducked into the bathroom to change, the other might take advantage of the momentary privacy to change at the same time. I did that several times.) Each of us had brought a set of pajamas to wear to bed. I wore mine over top of a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. So I was well clothed for sleep as well as for daylight. I did not look closely enough to establish what Debbie wore under her nightclothes. 

This system worked, as I've said before, up till Day 4, when we arrived at Inverarnan and the bathroom was down the hall. Since it was distinctly inconvenient to retire to the bathroom to change, we just changed clothes in the same room together and made a point of each turning to look at the wall while we were doing so. I finished a moment before she did and was in the process of turning back when I caught a glimpse of her bare back with no bra-strap across it; so I turned back to the wall for another minute until she had pulled on a shirt.

So far, so good.

Debbie and the paranormal

Something else came up during our long conversation over dinner in Balmaha, the night of Day 2. But it didn't really fit in either of my previous accounts of that dinner, neither here nor here.

I already mentioned that I introduced the concept of reincarnation as a metaphor to explain something about how our relationship felt to me. But this also led to a fascinating digression as Debbie started to tell me some stories. As a girl, she had studied Russian in high school. (This was before she traveled to work in the Soviet Union, and long before she married her first husband, who was Russian.) Anyway, while she was learning Russian she would have dreams of herself as a nanny in a Russian household. Then she would wake up with words she hadn't studied yet; and when she took them in to her teacher, sure enough they were correct Russian words meaning just what they had meant in the dream.

Then we talked about other times she had had some kind of extra-sensory knowledge. Once, long after she had stopped any communication with her first boyfriend, she woke up in the middle of the night knowing she just had to call him. So she did, and he told her his father had just had a heart attack. 

More recently, sometime back in 2016 when she and I were communicating only very little, she wrote me an email saying that she thought I had a new girlfriend. (This was of course Marie.) Actually, I told her this story because she didn't remember it. But when I reminded her, she said she was very glad I had Marie in my life.

Just a couple of little notes that I wanted to make sure to tell you about, and they didn't fit in either of the other posts.

          

Hosea and Debbie go to Scotland

So, … how did the relationship fare, between us, while we were together in Scotland for two weeks? The short answer is, I think it was fine. On the one hand, we didn't fight. In the other direction, we didn't fuck. We kissed occasionally, but always with closed mouths. All the guidelines that I promised Marie we would observe, we observed.

But if you want the full flavor of the trip, … maybe I need to talk just a little longer to describe it.

Doing nothing

NOTE: I'm writing this on June 1, but I'm posting it on May 1, just after the West Highland Way narratives. These are some notes that I originally jotted during one of the long delays in my travel as described here.

In my post about flying to Scotland, at one point I talk about getting to the airport and "do[ing] Airport things." What are "Airport things?" What is the experience of air travel?

Day 14: Flying home

And so the trip wound to an end. We got up at 5:30, checked out, met our taxi, and were at the airport before 7:00. Debbie's flight took off at 9:20. Mine was a lot later. I tried calling the airline to see if they could move me to an earlier flight, but the up-charge would have been over a thousand dollars. No, thanks.

Day 13: Sightseeing and one last pub

Another day that probably doesn't require too much detail. Once again, we breakfasted at Café Wander. Then we walked over to visit the Tenement House, an apartment that has been preserved pretty well exactly from the early 1910's. So it provides an excellent snapshot of middle class life in Glasgow a hundred years ago. While we were there, one of the guides asked gently if she detected "North American accents" from us. As we talked with her, we learned that she had been born in Kentucky and grew up in Ohio; but as a young woman she had fallen in love with a Scot and followed him back to Scotland. That was 50 years ago, and so, … well, … here she was. We told her a little bit about ourselves and our trip. It was pleasant.

Day 12: Sightseeing and theater

I think I can keep this part brief. We had breakfast at the delightful Café Wander; then we walked over to tour St. Mungo's Cathedral and the Museum of Religious Experience. After lunch, I went back to our hotel for a nap, while Debbie went in search of a fabric store. She didn't find what she wanted and got back late, which was a bit of an issue because we had theater tickets for that night. But we also had a lot of food leftover that we had packed for the hike and then not eaten. So we had a picnic in our room, and then walked the four blocks to the Theatre Royal where we saw "The Beekeeper of Aleppo."

 

      

Day 11: Back to Glasgow

For once, we didn't have to get up early. Our train left at something like 11:45, and it was less than a half an hour's walk from our hotel to the station. So we ambled downstairs for breakfast, then ambled back upstairs to pack. At this point I happily put my boots back in my suitcase: they were part of the reason my feet had hurt so often on this hike, but I wouldn't be needing them any more.

Day 10: Arriving at Fort William! And another pub.

The last day of the hike was also the longest: over 15 miles from Kinlochleven to Fort William, with no other habitation in between to break up the walk. By this time there was no question of my doing even part of the hike with her. But it so happened that the place to pick up the trail was pretty much just across the street from our hotel, and down a few yards. (As I may not have made quite clear in Day 9, the trail coming into town was more or less on the other side of town.)

Because the path was so long, Debbie made a point of leaving early. Well before I was ready to leave the hotel I walked her to the trailhead, gave her a quick kiss for good luck, and watched her set out. This particular part of the trail looked like a comfortable amble through a city park, and I felt sorry that I wasn't going with her. But I also knew that 15 miles would be more than I could handle.

Day 9: On to Kinlochleven

This morning after breakfast, the taxi came for Debbie to take her back to the Glencoe Ski Center (which you remember she had reached on Day 7). Looking at the map, we had figured out that there was no reasonable way I could walk the first part and then skip the rest, because there is no human habitation along the Way between Glencoe and Kinlochleven. Also, this leg of the walk involved climbing a stretch called the Devil's Staircase, which reaches to the highest altitude anywhere along the Way. After my experience with Conic Hill, I was not eager to challenge this particular incline.

But Debbie was determined. So off she went in the taxi to begin her walk. Meanwhile I had confirmed which bus would take me to Kinlochleven: it was, in fact, the same bus we had taken the day before to go into Glencoe Village, but I had over an hour to wait for it. So I made my way to the bus stop, and waited.

The bus was more or less on time, and an hour later I was in Kinlochleven. I didn't have a map with me (Debbie had the maps), so I ambled around for a minute and finally asked someone where the West Highland Way comes into town. I got directions, and set off to find it.

Day 8: Rest day in Glencoe

This was our "rest day." But we didn't just hang out doing nothing. We took the bus from our hotel into Glencoe Village and walked around. There was a museum but it was closed that day. But we were able to buy some art and souvenirs. Debbie visited a yarn store that was attached to a café. I waited outside while she was buying yarn, but then joined her in the café for lunch. After lunch we took the bus back to our hotel, napped for a while, and then had dinner and repacked for the next day.

          

Day 7: Arriving in Glencoe and Ballachulish

This morning we had one last breakfast at The Real Food Café, and then waited for the taxi. Debbie had called them the night before to clarify the instructions: the driver was to take her to the Inveroran Hotel, and then was to take me straight on to the Glencoe Ski Center. The former was covered under our package deal with the travel agency; the latter required me to pay him in cash for the extra miles. But the Glencoe Ski Center was our planned terminus for that day. From there, our itinerary said that another taxi would drive us to the Ballachulish Hotel for the night. Two nights, in fact: when the agency first planned our trip and we asked for something more leisurely, they gave us a rest day in Ballachulish.

Day 6: More hiking and a GREAT conversation in a pub

The plan for today was to hike from Tyndrum to the Bridge of Orchy, and then take a taxi back to spend a second night in Tyndrum (since all the accommodations in Bridge of Orchy were already full).

The hike wasn't difficult, not the way Day 2 or Day 4 had been. Mostly the route followed an old military road from a couple of centuries before, so it was rocky and closed to cars but pretty much straightforward. But my feet still hurt from the day before, and after an hour I told Debbie I was giving up and going back to the hotel. (Of course the walk back took another hour.) The first thing I did when I got back was to take a nap. After that, I know I spent part of my day writing up notes on the trip so far. I forget if I ever bothered to get lunch.

Debbie called me early in the afternoon to say that she had already reached the Bridge of Orchy, and didn't really feel like sitting around for a few hours until the taxi was scheduled to pick her up. So she hiked on another two miles from the Bridge of Orchy as far as the Inveroran Hotel. Then she called the taxi company to let them know where she was, and to ask for a ride back to Tyndrum whenever it would be convenient.

Day 5: From Inverarnan, by way of Crianlarich to Tyndrum

This was the last day that I slowed down Debbie's morning progress. Not that I got any better—oh no! But after today (or maybe tomorrow, depending how you count it) it was no longer practical for me to join her in the mornings, because there were no longer convenient spots early on in the day where I could call it quits. As you get deeper into the Scottish Highlands, the scenery gets ever more spectacular but human habitation becomes correspondingly sparser.

Day 4: From Rowardennan to Inverarnan and a haunted inn

After breakfast, a taxi took us and several other hikers to Rowardennan. On the way a conversation picked up, with the result that Debbie exchanged email addresses with one of the other women, and they each promised to visit the other at home sometime in the future. (To be clear, the other woman was English. Debbie, of course, is American.) Once we got to Rowardennan, we set off.

The route to Inverarnan hit a halfway point at the village of Inversnaid. And our hiking instructions stated clearly that there are two routes between Rowardennan and Inversnaid: an easy one that follows the road, and a hard one (but much more scenic!) that closely follows the shore of Loch Lomond. After my experience on Day 2, Debbie and I agreed we would take the easy way. But we never saw the road branch, and finally we deduced that we were taking the hard way. It really was profoundly beautiful; but it also meant that we were clambering over tree roots and crossing large rocks that had pre-empted the path. My progress was not fast.

Day 3: Debbie walks to Rowardennan

This day is a lot briefer to describe. After breakfast, Debbie walked to Rowardennan, and got there in the early afternoon. I stayed in Balmaha and rested my aching feet. I sat in the park by a statue of Tom Weir, wrote for a while, and decided to stay for the rest of the trip using the half-and-half approach Debbie had suggested the previous night. Debbie caught a taxi back to Balmaha and we spent the night there again. 

      

Day 2: From Drymen to Balmaha, by way of Conic Hill. Hosea breaks down.

We had breakfast at the Drymen Inn, around the corner from our B&B. I didn't understand the menu (that we were entitled to a large, hearty breakfast) and in any event didn't feel very hungry, so I ate lightly. (Spoiler alert: this was the wrong choice.) Then after we checked out of our B&B, we set off. 

The first couple of hours were pretty easy, and then we came to a fork in the Way. One branch went pretty directly to Balmaha (our next destination) by the easiest and most expeditious route. The other branch was described as "more challenging but more rewarding" and took the long way around, gaining a good bit more altitude and circling Conic Hill, but rewarding the hiker with tremendous views. Debbie definitely wanted to take the longer route, though she was solicitous of my well-being. I had already figured out that I was a lot slower than Debbie would be on her own, but I was still laboring under the delusion that slowness was my only problem. I thought to myself, Hey, I ran cross-country in high school and I put up with Wife for thirty years, so I can handle anything if you only give me enough time. Looking at the mileage we calculated that even in the worst possible case we'd still get to the hotel before dark, and so we took the second fork.