Cullen Skink and Scones: Adventures in Scotland, Part 2

July 1, 2016July 3, 2016 / mariezhuikov / Leave a comment

The non-rocky part of the trail to Gardenstown.

We spent our first day at Crovie Cottage #13 on the Moray Coast exploring the small fishing village and hazarding the “Danger! Falling Rocks!” trail that leads along the sea to neighboring Gardenstown. Eventually, we stopped at a café for lunch.

The Tea Pot Cafe is the kind of place where everyone notices when somebody new walks in. Your table neighbors will advise you on menu choices, ask where you’re from, and if you’re lucky, will tell you the best places to visit.

The rocky part of the trail.

We were advised to visit Delgatie Castle for the best scones and Cullen skink in the land. Scones need no explanation. Cullen skink, however, is a chowder made from smoked haddock. It was invented in the nearby town of Cullen, and is apparently all the rage. Certain restaurants along the coast even boast chefs who have won Cullen skink soup honors. The “Cullen” part of the name of this dish sounded okay to us. The “skink” part, not so much, but we were game to try it.

Delgatie Castle

So, the next day, after a visit to a nearby gannet colony at the Troup Head Nature Reserve, we were off to the castle. Delgatie Castle is no longer inhabited, but is run by an organization. As we approached on the dirt road and the pink tower loomed through the trees, we were stuck by the feeling we were in a fairytale.

Hungry again, we opted to visit the Laird’s Kitchen first and tour the castle later. We were not disappointed by either the scones or the soup, although as you can see from the photo below, the meal was a bit, er . . . white. The bread was homemade and the scones were meltingly hot.

The castle is primitive compared to others I’ve been in but it was interesting to see how the rooms were arranged around the large central tower staircase. There’s also a creepy story in one of the rooms about a monk being buried behind a wall.

So that was our introduction to local fare and Delgatie Castle. Next, it’s on to whisky!

Cullen skink soup, homemade bread, and tea – of course.

Cruising in the Crawler Lane: Adventures in Scotland, Part 1

June 29, 2016July 12, 2016 / mariezhuikov / 2 Comments

Crovie Village, Scotland. Where the sea is not only on your doorstep — it IS your doorstep!

At the time of this writing, I am almost done meandering around Scotland for ten days. I traveled with a friend and we spent most of our time in northeastern Scotland (the Moray Coast area near Banff). After that, I traveled by myself to the Borders area in the south to visit my ancestral hometown of Kelso.

First of all, I would like to apologize to all the drivers in Scotland. Yes, for the first several days at least, we were the ones stalling our manual transmission rental car while driving up hills and through round-abouts. We were the ones poking along in the far left lane (a.k.a. the crawler lane), afraid to drive over 65 m.p.h. It’s not easy driving on the left side of the road and shifting with your left hand. Just one of those things would be difficult, but add both of them together and it causes Driving Dread. It took me about four days before I could approach the car without wincing at the imagined bloody outcome.

More Crovie.

Thank you Scottish drivers for not honking at us too often and for not crashing into us.

There, that’s out of the way.

We chose to stay in the historic fishing village of Crovie (pronounced “Crivvy” by the locals). It was settled by displaced Highlanders after the Battle of Culloden. Located at the bottom of a steep bluff right near the sea, I suppose it was land that nobody else had the guts or desperation to settle, and so it was theirs for the taking.

Crovie operated as a town and fishing center, home for up to 300 people at one time, until 1953, when a severe storm damaged many homes. Most of the people moved to Gardenstown, just a mile next door. Now the town functions mainly as a tourist attraction, hosting seasonal visitors and a few residents.

We met the last of the remaining full-time residents during our stay. His name is Billy. He’s lost some fingernails, and parts of fingers. He is also missing some of his upper teeth. But Billy is a rough-cut gem, and has obviously survived a hard life near the sea.

SCOTLAND! 027 Our abode was Crovie Cottage Number 13. What could go wrong, right?

As the cottage ads say, abode number 13 is not suitable for triskaidekaphobics (those who fear the number 13). Fortunately, we do not suffer such a fear and found the place inspiring and charming. It took us a while to figure out which switches to flip for necessities like hot water and electricity, and how to operate the electric meter that required feeding with 1 pound coins for an uninterrupted flow of electricity, but after a day or two we had it down.

We also learned how to light a coal fire in the fireplace, and how to eat breakfast with the front door open to the sea (which is only three feet away).

Be forewarned – if you ever decide to visit or stay in Crovie, the descent into the village is extremely steep. You also can’t just park your car in front of your cottage and unload. There’s not enough room between the cottages and the sea for a road, so you have to park either at the lot above the steepest part of the road or the one at the bottom of the steepest part, and roll or wheelbarrow your supplies to your cottage.

My kind of place! More adventures to follow . . . .

SCOTLAND! 015

St. Martin Island – Where Nothing is Better

June 15, 2016July 13, 2016 / mariezhuikov / 1 Comment

A Carnival parade in Marigot, on the island of St. Martin.

The weather in my town is so foggy and cold lately, it’s got me wishing I was back on St. Martin, an island where I meandered four years ago. This blog entry is a good excuse to revisit that trip and share it with you.

I travelled to St. Martin with a friend. We chose it that February because: A) It was warm. B) English is spoken. C) No visa is required, just a passport, and D) U.S. dollars can easily be used. It was foreign, but not too foreign, if you know what I mean.

The island is also extremely easy to find your way around, literally. One main road encircles the coast, so it’s hard to get lost. Also, round-abouts abound, making it easy for confused tourists to have more than one chance to choose the proper exit.

Pineapple Hill at Simpson Bay.

We stayed at a beach resort, and did plenty of frolicking in the waves and snorkeling. The first off-resort beach we went to was the one famous for having an airport runway approach right overhead (Maho Beach). It’s not often you get to take a tan and watch a plane fly only 50 feet above your prone body. I kind of wonder how long it will be before a disaster happens and either the beach or the airport gets moved. (But I hope no disasters happen.)

Farther inland, visitors can zipline through the jungle at a nature preserve, visit a butterfly garden and open air markets, and hike to the highest point on the island (Pic Paradise).

Half of the island is under jurisdiction of the Netherlands, the other half, France. The day we explored the French side, we chanced upon a Carnival parade in the French capitol city of Marigot. We also scored a fabulous French meal in a harborside bistro, Le Chanteclair, where their most-appropriate motto is: Gastronomy is the foundation of true happiness.

A meal at Le Chanteclair in Marigot: prawns with an egg roll and lobster sauce. To die for!

In the Netherlands capitol city of Philipsburg, we discovered an art gallery and movie museum run by the “Yoda Guy.” He was one of the original make-up artists who worked on Yoda in the Star Wars movies.

The residents of St. Martin are friendly, and unlike some Caribbean islands I’ve visited, there doesn’t seem to be a huge income disparity between the islanders and the visitors. I never felt unsafe walking around at night or driving through towns. And the bartenders are friendly, too. My middle-aged friend and I had one hit on us (he gave us his phone number with hearts drawn around it), which makes me even fonder of the island. 🙂

One note of good-natured warning. Be sure to consult your beach guide so you know what type of beach you’re going to. We stumbled upon a nude gay beach by accident, but figured things out pretty darn fast (and ran away!) The island also sports several nude resorts, Club Orient, is the most popular. Their motto is: Where “Nothing is Better.”

St. Martins 1 038 Although we ran away from the nude gay beach, we did find a nude beach suitable for the adventurous introvert. Sorry, I can’t recall the name of it now (Happy Bay?), but it lies within a gated community. A couple who were leaving through the gate were good enough to give us the entry code, and we enjoyed freeing ourselves of our swimsuits on a relatively private beach.

Another note of warning: don’t step on any sea urchins. Those things hurt. My friend found out the hard way. The good news is that if you do step on one, pharmacies on St. Martin carry sea urchin spine removal ointment. I can’t say that it worked very well on my girlfriend, but maybe you’ll have better luck.

Ah, St. Martin. I would go back in a heartbeat. Thanks for the warm memories on this dismal day.

ToolsofTrade

A Lake Superior Cruise

March 23, 2016 / mariezhuikov / 2 Comments

I stopped freelance writing a few years ago, choosing instead to focus on writing fiction and poetry. (And this blog!) I was tired of hiring out my brain for somebody else’s use, since that’s what I do all day at work already. Thankfully, I also no longer had a financial LSMagazineMay16 need to freelance, so I made the conscious decision to stop.

That worked well until about a year ago, when I took a cruise on Lake Superior aboard the Wenonah, the ship that took me on my first trip across the lake.

The cruise dredged up old memories. I considered blogging about them, but once I started writing, I realized I had a story I could sell, dang it!

Alas, I succumbed to freelancing, but at least the story was one I truly wanted to write. I know, poor me. It’s a good problem to have.

My story was recently published in Lake Superior Magazine. It’s a superb magazine — pick up a copy and check it out! (Page 14.)

They also published a couple of my photos. But I have gobs of other photos I took that day, which I thought I would share with you. Please enjoy this virtual cruise along Lake Superior’s North Shore.

The Wenonah at Silver Bay Marina.

The tip of Gold Rock, site of a shipwreck in 1905 that claimed a life.

That turquoise water looks like the Caribbean, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t jump in though. It’s a bit nippy.

Coming around Split Rock Lighthouse. Not many people get to see the lighthouse from a mariner’s view.

A more classic view of the lighthouse.

People frolicing with gulls on an island off Silver Bay.

Piles of taconite pellets waiting to be shipped south to be made into steel.

The taconite plant in Silver Bay, although it looks more like a cloud factory. Perhaps it’s not beautiful, but it’s part of the cultural landscape of this area.

The rugged coastline of Lake Superior’s North Shore.

That Time I got Mistaken for a Homeless Person in Grand Central Station

March 13, 2016March 13, 2016 / mariezhuikov / 4 Comments

New York City’s Grand Central Station.

A friend of mine was talking about Grand Central Station in New York City the other day and it reminded me of an experience I had there thirty years ago. I had just arrived in the city (for the second time in my life) and I was waiting in the station for several hours to catch a train to join the other members of my outdoors expedition. (If curious, please click on the link for an explanation.)

I sat on one of the hard wooden benches in the waiting area, surrounded by my gear: a large duffle bag, a daypack, and an internal frame backpack that had a pair of Sorrel boots tied to the back along with a sleeping bag and sleeping pad.

A man with a kind smile walked among the benches, handing sandwiches to the people who were sitting or lying down and who didn’t look like commuters. When he came to me, he offered me a sandwich. I sputtered a “No thank you, I just ate a muffin,” and he moved on.

I was surprised and a little offended that he mistook me for a homeless person. After all, I was clean and well fed. Couldn’t he tell I was going camping in the wilderness, not camping in a city park? Apparently not. I probably did look like a runaway waif, lugging all my worldly possessions with me.

Over the years I’ve enjoyed relating how I was mistaken for a homeless person in Grand Central Station. But you know what? The sandwich man’s observation wasn’t far off.

About halfway through the nine-month expedition, a certain feeling started. Our yellow school bus would drive through towns in the evening and I’d look out at the homes with lights in their windows. Families would be gathering at the table for supper or watching television together in their living rooms. I envied the comfort, safety and security those people seemed to have. They didn’t have to cook on camp stoves, put their tent up in the dark or move on the next day.

Although the experience was a great adventure, I was starting to feel rootless. And although the expedition gave me the outdoors of America, Canada, and Newfoundland as my home, I was beginning to miss a home of my own – not so much my parents’ home back in Minnesota, but a place of my own.

I suspect that feeling was one reason why I didn’t continue for the second scheduled year on the expedition. I’d had my fill of traveling, and was ready for some roots. So after our bus broke down out West, I headed back to Minnesota and I’ve been here ever since. I’ve been lucky enough to have opportunities to travel and explore my own back yard over the years, and was always happy to come home. I’ve been in my current house now for sixteen years.

But dare I say it, as things have changed and my boys have become more independent, a certain meandering wanderlust is beginning to whisper in my ear. It’s saying, the world is waiting . . . . It’s dangerous when that happens. I know from the past that things tend to change when the restlessness begins. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

Don’t be surprised in a few years if you see a young-for-her-years gray-haired lady sitting on a bench in a train station, surrounded by bags, or sailing away with all her possessions in a boat. It just might be me.

Dining Our Way to Mad City

January 30, 2016January 30, 2016 / mariezhuikov / 3 Comments

The view of the Wisconsin State Capitol from our table at the Old Fashioned Tavern.

The Mother Ship for my day job is located in Madison, Wis. My coworkers and I recently took a road trip to the “Mad City” for a strategic planning meeting. To make things more fun, we strategically planned our lunch stop to coincide with the Broadway Diner in Baraboo, Wis.

I learned about the Broadway Diner the weekend before during a TV show called “Discover Wisconsin.” Since I am a lifelong Minnesotan who now works for a Wisconsin institution, I have endeavored to learn about my employing state. Discover Wisconsin is one of my secret weapons in this cross-cultural quest.

Inside the Broadway Diner in Baraboo, Wis.

The show featured eating establishments that use locally sourced ingredients. The Broadway Diner caught my eye because I knew I’d be travelling through the town, and because I’m developing a “thing” for diners. The diner supplies its cheese, eggs and meat from local sources.

The Broadway looks like any respectable diner from New Jersey, with a metallic outside and a tiled, stooled inside. We learned while there that the diner was, in fact, made in New Jersey, and it spent many years in Connecticut as a diner, before it was moved into storage in Cleveland, bought, and moved to its current Wisconsin location.

The food hit our lunch spots, although I had breakfast: potato pancakes with over-easy eggs and sausage. Wonderful. My co-workers enjoyed their wrap sandwiches. For those who are gluten-intolerant, the diner offers gluten-free bread.

Sated, we continued onto our meeting in Madison. After a vigorous afternoon of strategic planning, we converged as a group on The Old Fashioned Tavern and Restaurant in the center of town, directly across from the Wisconsin State Capitol.

An Old Fashioned.

I treated myself to my first-ever old fashioned. It’s a drink served in a tumbler, which features brandy, cherry and citrus flavors. My first was so good, I had a second.

The Old Fashioned specializes in German cuisine and offers tantalizing appetizers such as spicy pickled eggs, turkey gizzards, and pork hocks. A person can even buy jars of pickled eggs “to go,” if they don’t have time for a sit-down. Fried cheese curds are on the menu, too.

I ate a Wisconsin Burger, which of course, was topped by Wisconsin cheddar cheese. I asked for fried onions instead of the raw onions on the menu, and happily received the correct onion versions.

If you’re ever in or near Madison, try the Broadway Diner and The Old Fashioned. You won’t be sorry. They can even make a strategic planning trip to the Mother Ship enjoyable.

A Black Friday Adventure at the Mall of America

November 27, 2015 / mariezhuikov / 8 Comments

Happy Holidays? A mannequin at the Mall of America.

I am more likely found communing with nature on Black Friday than in the largest and busiest mall in America — not to mention one of the riskiest spots for terrorism activities besides the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

How did this happen? Well, I did it for my youngest son, who was on a quest for a Christmas present for his girlfriend. So it was for romance, which is about the only worthwhile reason for such insanity.

We were in Minneapolis to visit relatives. My son had been to the Mall of America a few weeks ago without me. He didn’t have a girlfriend then, and apparently, something caught his eye at the time that he now simply HAD to have, at risk of life and limb and Black Friday mobs.

After awakening from our Thanksgiving turkey coma, we made our way to the mall. We had little trouble finding a parking spot. We also did not have to fight crowds to make our way through the mall. We soon found the store my son sought and the gift he wanted. (I can’t tell you what it is in case his girlfriend reads my blog. Don’t want to spoil her surprise! Maybe once she’s opened her gift, I will disclose the reason for our quest.) The only overt sign of security we noticed was a guard and his German shepherd in the hallway.

Mission accomplished, we stopped at Starbucks to toast our success. But it was sort of a letdown. I was expecting to regale you with a much more exciting tale, full of adversity and heroism.

At least now my son and I have bragging rights. We can say we visited the Mall of America on Black Friday and survived. I suppose we don’t necessarily have to admit it was so easy, though.

Boston may be Strong, but Cambridge is Fit

October 13, 2015 / mariezhuikov / 3 Comments

Jogger approaching (wearing spandex) along the Charles River in Cambridge, Mass.

I meandered over to Cambridge, Mass., last weekend for a national science writers convention (believe it or not, there are such gatherings). My hotel was on the Charles River, with Cambridge on one side and Boston on the other.

Boston University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and Harvard all have boathouses and yacht clubs on the Charles. I awoke every morning to instructions yelled from coaches to rowers, and to the sight of sleek single and multiple sculls skimming the water. (How’s that for alliteration? Couldn’t help it.)

I was able to take a long walk by the river. Besides the rowers and sailboaters, what impressed me on my stroll was the shear volume of runners, bikers, and walkers. And every one of them was wearing spandex no matter if they were short, tall, wide, narrow, young or old. I, however, did not get the spandex memo, so trod along in my jeans and canvas jacket.

Morning, noon, and night the asphalt trail along with river was crowded with exercisers. Although Boston is known for its post-marathon bombing emotional strength (Boston Strong!), Cambridge will be forever burned into my mind for the fitness of the people I saw during my walk and from my hotel window.

If you ever travel to Cambridge, don’t be like me. Get the memo. Pack your spandex.

Meet the Wanderers

September 5, 2015September 5, 2015 / mariezhuikov / 3 Comments

While on Stockton Island in the Apostles Islands National Lakeshore recently, I and my traveling companion met a family who’s been travelling the country for the past two years. They’re part of a larger group of people who have decided to live by wandering. These folks, the Currens, homeschool their children and live in an Airstream trailer.

National Parks are one of their favorite educational tools. Their kids have 75 junior ranger badges from their travels. We met them at an evening ranger talk about black bears. Follow this link for an account of their Stockton Island trip and to learn more about how they pull off their lifestyle.

After the Apostle Islands, the Currens travelled to my hometown of Duluth. Now they are on the North Shore of Lake Superior. What an adventure!

Gale-Force Winds and Gear Thieves – A Trip to the Apostle Islands

August 30, 2015 / mariezhuikov / 1 Comment

Julian Bay on Stockton Island in the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore.

I recently meandered to the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore in Lake Superior. The Apostles are a group of islands scattered off the end of the Bayfield Peninsula in Wisconsin. Unlike the name would suggest, there are more than twelve.

No roads or stores exist on the islands. They offer a primitive camping experience – not quite as primitive as the boundary waters, but close to it. Madeline Island, where I also travelled recently, is part of the formation, but it’s not part of the lakeshore because it’s so developed.

My friend and I had reservations to camp for four nights on Stockton Island, the largest in the park. The weather forecast couldn’t get much better – 75 degrees and sunny every day, so I Ieft my hat, gloves, and warm jacket at home even though I knew better.

Pretty nice campsite view, eh?

Our first day was gorgeous – sunny and warm. Setting up a tent in such calm conditions was a novelty. I should back up and mention that although people can reserve a campsite on Stockton, they can’t reserve a specific site. Instead, after the boat drops campers off, a free-for-all sprint is required to beat others and snag your desired site.

Such athletic prowess is not required every day – just the more popular ones for travel, such as Friday. Nineteen sites are scattered along about a mile of shoreline, so the sprint (okay, perhaps it was more like a jog) can get a bit long. I don’t recommend carrying anything heavy during this process!

Another friend told me which sites had the best beaches, and of course, these were the ones farthest from the boat dock. While my camping friend stayed on the dock with our gear, I successfully staved off a woman about my age who was carrying a backpack to bag a site that offered a view and private beach. It’s dog-eat-dog in the wilderness, you know.

Brownstone quarry, Stockton Island.

The next day was a little windy, but still sunny. We chose to hike to an abandoned brownstone quarry on the island. Once we returned to our campsite, the wind picked up to gale intensity and stayed that way until our last evening. In the ensuing days, to escape the wind we crossed the island to Julian Bay and Anderson Point. Julian Bay boasts a protected, beautiful beach, and Anderson Point features a mossy primeval forest.

Thankfully, the temperatures stayed in the 60s, so although the wind was a nuisance, it was not bone-chilling. But having a hat and warm jacket along would have made for more comfortable camping. Lesson learned? Don’t believe the weather report. As the park people like to say, “The Lake is the Boss.” It (and its weather) will do what it wants. Bring warm clothes, even in August.

Another lesson we learned was to guard your gear on the dock. We had piled ours there in anticipation of the cruise boat back to the mainland. Unbeknownst to us, several families had just arrived and were all camping together. They had a few kayaks left on the dock that they came back to move. But because their group had so many people, they weren’t sure what gear was whose, and they started to grab our packs to float them back to their campsite in their kayaks. Luckily, I happened to be watching. I ran to the end of the dock and let them know they were taking our stuff.

Anderson Point rocks, Stockton Island.

The same thing happened about an hour later when other members of the group made their way to the dock. This time, I was distracted. I was talking to my friend about how I had saved our stuff from being carted away. We walked back toward the dock and looked at the spot where our stuff should be. It wasn’t there!

As we approached, we ran into several people carrying our gear off the dock. Again, we explained that it was our stuff. They were appropriately sheepish and apologetic, and probably secretly thankful they didn’t have anything more to carry.

Despite the would-be gear thieves and gale-force winds, the island worked its magic. I was able to exchange my everyday worries for worries about basic survival, which was somehow refreshing. I read a book, hiked a lot, swam (well, almost) in chilly Lake Superior, breathed in the scent of pines and cedar, stretched out on the beach, attended evening ranger talks, and learned more about a new place and a new person.

Lake Superior thrill ride.

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Internet home for Marie Zhuikov: Blogger, Author, Poet, Photographer

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