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Greenock, Scotland.
I was happy to be back in Scotland, the land of my forefathers. I definitely feel an affinity with the land. Must be a trace of race memory or something.
Greenock is the nearest port to Glasgow, dreary old Glasgow.
We waited until all the tourists with their numbers stuck obediently to their chests had left in their buses and then went ashore. It was easy to find a taxi on the dock and after a stop for some cash, the four of us were on our way to Loch Lomond. One goes through a lot of cash in Europe - almost makes us nostalgic for the filthy but cheap ports of other parts of the world.
The scenery was beautiful. Green fields, stone walls, quaint cottages; they were all there. I couldn't resist singing, softly so as not to annoy the others, 'Oh, ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low road…' all the way through a few times before they glared at me anyhow so I desisted.
By that time we'd reached Loch Lomond which was looking its best as it was a sunny and warm day. The surface of the water was still and it reflected the surrounds of the loch, doubling its beauty.
We slipped and slid down the gentle slope to the water and dipped our fingers in to test the temperature. Maybe a little cold for swimming but certainly not icy. The water was clear so the pebbles lining the shallow edges were easily visible. I chose a flat one and sent it skimming over the surface. Four hops - not bad for the first throw for years!
A competition ensued and we let the men win, of course.
Next on the list was yet another pretty village. This one was called Luss. It had been restored with liberal parts of quaintness. Every cottage was painted white or pink or primrose, every garden was full of summer flowers, every brightly painted door had a polished brass knocker, every window gleamed in the sun and every shop had tartans and shortbreads of every type displayed outside to tempt you in.
It was perfect.
Our driver recommended that we didn't buy anything there, however, as he could take us to a cheaper place so, having confidence in the famous Scot canniness, we agreed. It turned out to be a huge discount emporium in the midst of a factory complex. Patricia and I were in our element. Alan hovered anxiously as I filled my trolley with bargains. They were all essential. I needed new clothes.
But soon it was time to move on. We were off to Stirling Castle, famous for being the place where the coronation of Mary, Queen of Scots, took place.
The castle came into view long before the town did, of course. It seems that almost every rocky prominence in Scotland bears the ruins of a castle. Stirling Castle, however, is no ruin. It has been perfectly maintained. We wound our way upwards through busy narrow streets until we reached the castle. It had been very commercialised, unfortunately, but I guess that otherwise it would just be one of the many ruins.
It was very clean and orderly and even had a garden inside the walls. It was called Queen Anne's garden but I don't know who she was. The view from the walls was extensive, as you'd suppose, otherwise there'd have been no point in building a castle there.
On our way back to the ship we detoured through Glasgow. I'm sure there must be attractive parts of Glasgow and I've only been there twice but I've not seen them yet. It is a grey and dreary city.
Back to Greenock and anchors aweigh.
Next port, Dublin.
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