Hiking in Scotland - the Great Glen Way (Part 1)

At the beginning, before the blisters, it seemed like such a great idea - organize a trip that would explore more of Scotland beyond the standard tourist destination of Edinburgh.  Even better, a multi-day hike would really allow us to capture the feel of the countryside, instead of a whistlestop tourist bus itinerary.

So, it was hard deciding, with all of the sparsely populated Scottish highlands to choose from, but I ended up picking the Great Glen Way - a 73 mile trail that links Fort William and Inverness, and winds up alongside a number of gorgeous lochs (lakes).

Perfect.  The plan was made, flights booked, and I even somehow enticed my friends Yanick and Gail to come along.

The one wee part that I didn't fully appreciate it... four days of 15-20 miles each means steps - a lot of steps. I've been doing day hikes for a long time in the English countryside, but a trek like this a bit different... since I had a lot of time on my hands on the trail, I realized that with each step about a yard, and 73 miles all told, that means:

73 miles x 1,760 yards = 128,480 steps.

That's a whole lot of 'ouch', as we were going to experience.

We set off on Wednesday, flying into Inverness.  The Scots proved their hospitality from the outset, as a guy who teased me on the flight for being in his seat offered us a ride into town.  Genius!  The sidenote is that this guy didn't win any points for being politically correct - punctuating his conversation with racist jokes left and right.

Our crazy nightlife included a pint of Scottish ale, then hitting the hay - I had volunteered for a 5:30am bus to Fort William, which meant I'd have the dubious pleasure of waking up at 4:45.  Yawwwn.  Gail and Yanick were a bit more restrained and decided to sleep in.

Fort William serves as the base for most outdoors exploration of the highlands; with Britain's highest point in Ben Nevis nearby, it's easy to see why.  In my case, after an early morning coffee and brekkie at McD's (literally the only thing open before 9am in town), I hiked out of town to start the trail up Nevis.

I wasn't dead set on reaching the top though - a good thing, as the mountain is nearly always covered in cloud, blasted by gales, and in most ways, is fairly unpleasant.

So, discretion proving victorious without too much of a struggle, I made it up halfway, then detoured for a longer loop 'round the mountain.  Stunning vistas were at every turn, and it was shaping up to be an amazing day.

After lunch, I figured, "Right, just drop down the valley there, and work my way to the local whisky distillery."  A great plan but Ben Nevis threw one more wrinkle my way.

Remember that classic video game Frogger, where the hapless frog has to cross an obstacle filled river?  Well, I got to do the Scottish mountain equivalent, as with the constant spring snowmelt and rain, there were four surging streams that I had to cross.

Normally, you'd just hop rock to rock and move on - but this was considerably dicier.  The super fast waters, slick submerged rocks, and long drops meant that crossing dry and in one piece became a bit of a puzzle.  It eventually took me about an hour, with scrambling 200 meters one way, then 150 meters back and son before I finally made it.

A long walk back to town and a taste of the local Ben Nevis whisky was my reward, plus my first sighting of Scotland's famous "hairy coos" (cows)... with all that hair, I keep thinking they're the cattle equivalent of the local stoner/Metallica fan that can be found at the local pool hall:

I met up with Yanick and Gail for a great pub dinner at the funnily named "Grog and Gruel" pub, including the now nearly required taste of whisky, and we crashed back at an amazing bed and breakfast - Mrs. Chisholm's.  Talk about value - for £20 each, we were smothered in kindness and treated to an immaculate room.

Lovely.

The next day marked the start of the 'true' hike... after fueling up at the local supermarket with bread, cheese, and Crunchie candy bars, we set off:

The Great Glen Way doesn't mess around with an easy first day.  Nope, we had 22 miles to cover at the outset, winding our way up a long beautiful canal before working our way past Loch Lochy.

With the stark round highland hills looming on all sides, each step was a succession of "wow" - it was that pretty.

And, for a change of pace, we also got to see a series of locks in operation at Neptune's Staircase - where a half dozen of them back to back lift boats up or down to the canal:

But no matter what, 22 miles is still 22 miles - and by the afternoon we were more than a little excited to be close to a cold beer.  We started down the final slope at Laggan, welcomed by a heavy rain shower but also a pretty rainbow - and then we found one of the better pubs I've seen called the Eagle.

A floating barge, it has the great combination of real ales, a roaring fire, comfy couches, filling food, and dozens of whiskys to choose from.  Throw in the local dog - a big, mellow Alsatian who kept a friendly eye on everything, and it was hard to leave.

So hard, in fact, that we wiled away a few hours, then hit the trail, sluggish and warm, for the last mile to the Forest Lodge.  A shower was much-needed by this point, as I wouldn't be surprised if we were offending even the local wildlife as we walked past.  Sorry 'bout that.

Poland - Much More Than Perogies

"Auschwitz...", our bus driver turned to us and matter of factedly announced.

On one hand, 25 mostly foreign tourists were more than excited to get off the jam-packed local minibus service to the infamous concentration camp.  In my case, that meant over 90 minutes of half standing/crouching by the dashboard at the front of the bus, all the while our passive aggressive driver tailgated and passed any car ahead.  Pure and simple, my legs hurt.

But still... to hear the bus driver so casually announce the name of a site we've all associated with fear and loathing... it sent shivers down my spine.

'course, this wasn't the only reason I was in Krakow for my first trip to Poland.  Nope, I was looking forward to its unique combination of friendly locals, cheap beer, and charming old city surroundings.

In fact, for the first two days, I couldn't ask for more.  I ended up staying a really cool hostel called Deco, which put me up in a great room all the way at the very top of ten flights of stairs called the Pigeon Coop.  Cute.

The next day, I woke up and was wandering around the old city by 8am.  The plus side is that I had the plaza to myself, and it was great getting a sense of things before the tour buses and massive hordes arrived.

The bummer was that it was pretty hard finding a place for a bit of breakfast, so I ended up doing what the Polish do – grabbing a doughy bread treat from one of the many vendors.

I lucked out as well when I stuck  my head in the first church I came to.  The Poles are near-legendarily devout Catholics, and churches see a constant stream of people at all hours.  In this case, we were all treated to some Bach as the organist practiced:



Then, it was up to check out Wavel Hill – home to most of Poland's most famous landmarks, it holds a special place in their hearts.  From the castle to Wavel Cathedral, it was a surprisingly spacious mound, and the best strategy was just to wander as you like, poking your head in whatever interested you most.

I skipped most of the museums though, and ended up following Lonely Planet's suggestion for a walk, which took me down by the river, then towards the Jewish Quarter.  On the way, I came across the Skalce - an ancient church with a modern sculpture commemorating local saints and religious figures.  Seeing it being used by a group of giggling schoolchildren and their nun teachers was pretty cute – and highlighted once again how important religion was here.

Once there, it was off to the neighbourhood that had been the home of the Jews for centuries.  After the war though, Krakow went from 60,000 to its present day population of only 200 – unbelievable.  The locals have a big appreciation for the history though – and from Jewish music festivals to popular Jewish restaurants, they support efforts to keep this heritage alive.

Next stop – I ended up checking out 16th century synagogues and a moving black and white photo exhibition of Jewish life.  It was eerie, looking at scenes of daily life with locals on the near-identical streets as now in the 30's, where the people, from smiling grandfathers to grinning children, they all had no idea of the horrors that were just a few short years away.

At this point, I was famished, so finally got a chance to try the legendary perogies of Krakow.  At a local shop, I found out that beyond mere meet in a dough filling, there were over 20 types to choose from, even including mushroom or apple.  I stuck with the classic variety though – absolutely delicious and filling for about 3 pounds, so much so that I waved my white napkin in surrender and abandoned my ambitious goal of sampling the cherry ones for dessert.

Further wandering brought me through the ancient cemetery, which still showed signs of locals honoring their ancestors with a prayer:

And then it was time to check out the further ghetto of Podgorze - which served as the wartime home of the Jews as they were gathered up in 1940.  Again, the sunny weather made it a bit strange to imagine the scenes that must have happened, from the plaza where they were rounded up and sent off to Auschwitz (now home to a moving sculpture of 96 empty chairs – symbolizing the lost), to a pharmacy that was the wartime link with the rest of the world, with a Polish hero supplying drugs, sending letters, and more at great peril from the Nazis.

On the brighter side of things, I kept seeing signs that Krakow is reinventing itself, charging forward into the new century with things like a cheap and clean tram system, as well as a local bike hire scheme:

At this point I was more than ready for a beer so wandered into a funky bar called Propoganda, which as its name suggests, was home to all sorts of fading momentos of their communist past.  The Zywiec beer was a great lager, perfect for listening to the locals grumble and debate at the bar.

A nap at the hotel, then I checked out some decent Italian, before picking one of Krakow's many jazz clubs.  A remnant from the past, there are over a dozen, all tucked into creaky basements as they used to have to operate under the disapproving authorities' noses.

Full, with a slight buzz, it was time to meander back to the hostel for bed.

The next day was pretty interesting, as I got a chance to see outside the 'pretty' old city to see the types of building that everyday Poles live in.

The morning was spent wandering around the long-standing flea market in the Jewish Quarter, with one vendor doing a good impersonation of Santa with his flowing bushy white beard:

… then a coffee and toastie sandwich and I caught a rattling tram to Nowa Huta, a planned suburb built right after the war to serve as a kind of worker's utopia.  Sweeping streets and grandiose plazas lead up to the steelworkers, who were supposed to be inspired by the chance to work for a brighter future.

Unfortunately for the government, the workers tended to have their own ideas, and this flagship district actually served as home to much of the unrest during the 70's and 80's.

On the way back, I ended up just exploring this semi-rural neighbourhood, and lucked out by coming across a meticulously preserved 16th century wooden church:

Back in the old city, it was time to just chill out with a beer in one of the many cool cafes – no grubby beer dens, these tend to have an intellectual bent with old books on the walls – before grabbing dinner and calling it a night.  Knowing what was on tap for the next day just killed any party mood for me...

My last day was spent at the museum housing the largest concentration camp of World War 2 – Auschwitz.  Over a million Jews, gypsies and others all lost their lives here, and it's a somber, somber place.

From the entrance, walking under the evil motto of “Work Makes Free”, I couldn't get over it.  Just knowing what happened here, from the hangings, shootings by the thousand, and then of course the gas chambers, I couldn't help but think about the absolutely horrific people who came up and carried out “the Final Solution”.

Oddly, parts of the camp are actually quite pretty – instead of a bleak foreboding ruin, we saw it's well-kept brick huts and tree-lined streets under sunny skies.

That actually made what I read and learned about even worse.  From a room with a case full of women's prisoners' hair that was used for fabric, to a cul de sac between two barracks that was the execution ground for thousands of people, it just kept getting worse.

Words aren't nearly as powerful as images – but the bottom line is that I came away with a much, much clearer sense of what had happened, and equally, how I'm damn sure that I'll do my part to prevent something like this ever happening again.

Back in town, it was a bit surreal to go from tragedy to the bustle and energy of the main square.  But, it also felt really good – as though a big weight gradually came off my shoulders as I took in some locals breakdancing for beer money, and then got one last authentic Polish meal of potato pancakes and sour soup in me, before flying back ton London.