For now, I turn my attention to Inverness, the land of Frank and Claire’s second honeymoon. The true beginning point of Claire’s story. A chance for me to find the stones she walked through.
I promise to report in!
- ES
Comments: 15
MagischeSteinkraus, Berlin, Deutchland:
Sounds like a good German boy. Hier finden Sie ein weiteres Jamie!
HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:
Did false-Jamie wear kilt, Miss Emma? How you find REAL Jamie?
KnittersNotQuitters, Corner Brook, NL&L, Canada:
Huge Claire and Jamie fans here in the wilds of Newfoundland. Hoping you find your boy, and knitting up a special scarf in honour of your journey!
SophiaSheridan, Chicago, USA:
I just want you to know that, of all the humiliations you have foisted on this family, this is the greatest. I only hope and pray our parents stay ignorant of this little experiment until it dies a righteous and terrible death.
(Read 11 more comments here…)
I tried to ignore Sophia’s comment and focus on all the others cheering me on. But it was hard. Mostly because she was right. This was an exercise in public humiliation, no doubt. But it was far less painful than Internet dating had been. There, I’d even had to put a picture of myself online, and answer hideously embarrassing questions for the whole world to see. The whole dating world, anyway. In the end, all I got out of it was a husband who lasted just over a year—two, if you count the cyber-courtship period.
But it got me thinking. Until then, I’d thought of my blog as little more than an online diary of an adventure. Reading all the comments, though… HiHoKitty was certainly taking me seriously. And from what I’d learned from Genesie, nothing could be more serious to a knitter than designing a pattern.
It kinda blew my mind. If the blog was giving inspiration to others to go out and follow their dreams too—what could be the harm in that? Maybe it was time I started to take it more seriously.
So I pushed Sophia’s voice to the back of my head and spent the next two weeks exploring every nook and cranny of Inverness.
I prowled through the quiet aisles of St. Andrew’s Cathedral, with its strangely capped spires and beautiful stained glass. I laughed at the practical Scots, converting the rusty red Inverness Castle into contemporary use as a Sherriff’s court. I spent days wandering the winding streets, in the rain and sleet, peering into the windows of tiny B&Bs hunting for ladies who looked like Claire and Frank’s housekeeper Mrs. Baird.
Found lots of them, too.
But any evidence of Claire and Frank themselves was nowhere to be found. And on top of that? My cheap accommodation evaporated.
Football Fellas…
3:00 pm, March 14
Inverness, Scotland
In light of reader HiHoKitty’s recent question, I’ve decided to open this post with a few words of wisdom on the subject of meeting Scottish men in the wild. In the spirit of full disclosure, I am forced to report that no, they do not wear kilts all of the time. [I would, however, be first in line to suggest that possibility, should a national referendum on the subject ever arise!] I am trying to not get caught up in cultural stereotyping of this particular sort. So far, the kilted Scotsmen I have come across have been strictly of the ‘piping for the tourists’ variety. This time of year is not a big draw for visitors from afar, so even those have been few and far between.
Rest assured, HiHoKitty, that I have, however, greeted every kilted man I have seen with a smile. Most of them have found it hard to smile back with the blowpipe in their mouths, but I remain hopeful.
I feel that the most important advice I can offer for travelers who seek to meet others is to set aside your computer and get out among the people. Situate yourself in locations where locals gather. Do a speed-dating event, if one is nearby!
In travel news, I’ve been staying in an awesome little hostel that was dead empty, because, as noted earlier, there aren’t too many tourists strolling through the Highlands in March. The ‘no tourist’ situation has been definitely to my benefit, though, since the proprietors let me stay for five pounds a day, as long as I didn’t eat. But apparently the local rugby club, Craig Dunan, has decided to put on a clinic, and players from a bunch of nearby towns are all converging on Inverness. The hostel manager said she felt bad, but she couldn’t turn down the money from such a big group.
Anyway, I’ve seen all I can in town here, so it’s time to turn my attention to finding Claire’s standing stones at Craigh na Dun. I can’t find a reference to precisely where the stones are in my copy of OUTLANDER, but at least from the name of the rugby team, they must be nearby.
Wish me luck!