Garden Arms Hotel

After breaking my ankle during a hike from Gardenstown, we laid low the next day. I sat in the window seat, watching boats and the tide come in and go out of the harbor with ankle iced and elevated. “Losing” a day of adventures was frustrating, especially after losing a day in Ireland due to our flight getting canceled. But I really had no choice but to be sensible. Sigh.

Gulls were nesting on the slate roofs in the nearby courtyard, squawking loudly and bringing food to their half-grown babies. With their calls in the background, I boned up on my Scottish genealogy in preparation for our meeting with a distant cousin at Broomhall House near Edinburgh. I mentioned in one of my posts about Ireland that, according to some less-distant cousins, I’m related to Robert the Bruce, the first king of Scotland. He was my great-grandfather to the 21^st power. Someday I plan to get a genetics test to prove this, but I hadn’t had time or opportunity to do that just yet.

*A reconstruction of Robert the Bruce’s face. Image courtesy of the BBC.*

As I perused the genealogical chart, I was impressed by some of the sir names that popped up, including Stuart and Wallace. Apparently, our cab driver the other day might be a Stuart relative of mine! No wonder we became buddies so quickly. Also, there were six Barons of Clackmannan in my line. Thanks to some internet searches, I discovered that the barons lived in a tower and mansion in the town of Clackmannan and that the tower still stands. I thought it would be great to go there some day and filed that in the back of my mind. It wasn’t too far away from Broomhall House. Hmmmm.

The next day we decided to brave a bus trip to Banff, the nearest large town, to take in some of the sights. The bus stop was nearby, and it ran every hour or so, so it looked very convenient. And it was! Hobbling to the stop with my hiking pole, we caught the bus. Our goal was to wander around Banff for a while, then catch a taxi in the afternoon to Huntley and the Glendronach Distillery, one of our favorite brands of whisky.

We were dropped off in the central town square of Banff. Mind you, this is the original Banff that Banff, Canada, is named for, or so the locals say. (I checked, and Banff Canada was named by the president of the Canadian Pacific Railway who grew up in Banff, Scotland.) An internet search told me that a local mansion called Duff House was open for tours. The walk wasn’t too far, so off we (I) hobbled.

The building was designed in the 18^th century by Scottish architect William Adam for the local lord. However, before the interior was finished, work on the house stopped due to cost overruns. Apparently, the local lord’s (William Duff) plans were larger than his wallet. A court case ensued, which found in favor of the architect. Unfortunately, he died before the case was finished and never collected his payment. The lord was so disappointed by the whole thing, he never spent a night in the house and its completion was left to his heirs. During its life, the house has served many uses, including a hotel, sanatorium, and POW camp. If you’re interested in more history about the house, visit this site.

*The dining room in Duff House, with a crooked candelabra.*

The house is several stories tall. Rather than have a woman with a broken ankle hobble up and down stairways, the tour guides led me to elevators between floors, something I was thankful for! We enjoyed viewing the notable paintings and relics in the mansion.

By then, it was lunch time, so we walked back to the town square to a café we noticed earlier. Sated, we went back to the town square to see if we could connect with a cab. There are five cab companies serving Banff. Much to our dismay, we discovered that all of them were booked and there was no way we could make our distillery tour reservation time. We planned to leave for Edinburgh the next day, so we were out of luck for a tour later. We discovered the hard way that we should have made advance reservations with a cab. We learned that many school children in the area use cabs to get to and from school and that’s why none were available for us.

What was really lovely is that a woman who was walking by noted our plight and tried to help us. She even went across the street to a travel agent and asked his advice. Unfortunately, his advice was to spend time in the café where we had just had lunch and get a cab later. That wasn’t going to work for several reasons. So, we made the best of it and walked to the harbor to see more of the town.

We also stopped at The Market Arms Pub, which is rated the best in Banff. A bunch of guys were sitting at the bar. We grabbed a nearby table and had a pint while we waited for our bus ride back to Gardenstown. After about an hour, and older bespectacled gentleman turned to us and said, “Aye, do ye know who Mellors is then?”

It took me a beat to place the name, but I was soon able to tell him that Mellors was the gamekeeper in “Lady Chatterley’s Lover.” He said something about the other guys at the bar being too young to know who Mellors was. I told him it was one of my favorite books, and he agreed that it was beautifully written. That was the extent of our conversation. Where else in the world would a person in a bar ask you about a D. H. Lawrence book? I feel like something like this could have only happened in Scotland! This conversation made up for missing our distillery tour and is just one reason why I love this country.

We caught the bus back to Gardenstown. Everyone on the bus was very friendly, both coming and going, and seemed to know each other. One man even tried to give us advice on where to sit. His advice would have separated me from Russ, however. I told him that just wasn’t happening. He huffed in a way that said, “Suit yourself. I tried!” As with my previous trip, I was so impressed by the community spirit of this area of Scotland and the helpfulness of the people. They’ve got their noses all up in your business, but they mean well by it.

We capped off our night with another meal at the Garden Arms Hotel. I had langoustine nuggets (they’re a kind of shrimp also known as Norwegian lobster) and tiramisu for dessert. They were superb! We spent the rest of the evening at our AirBnB in front of the fire sipping scotch. The next day, our destination was Edinburgh, by train.

*Gardenstown, Scotland, at low tide. To the left is Crovie.*

Now, we’re continuing Russ’s and my epic trip to Ireland and Scotland. After spending a week in Ireland we flew to Aberdeen, Scotland. Our goal was Gardenstown, a coastal fishing village next door to where I stayed in Scotland eight years ago when I visited Crovie. I wanted to spend more time there and show it to Russ. I chose Gardenstown over Crovie because we weren’t renting a car this time and we wanted to be closer to a grocery store. Gardenstown sports a couple of convenience stores and “The Wee Shoppie,” a grocery store that offers a great selection of food despite being “wee.”

The cab ride from the Aberdeen Airport to Gardenstown was pricey (around $100) but to us it was worth it. By using cabs and public transport throughout our trip, we saved money versus renting a car. Our plans didn’t always work out due to unforeseen circumstances but overall, it went pretty slick. We also didn’t have the stress involved with navigating Ireland and Scotland’s narrow, winding roads where the locals drive very fast. Another reason was because the last time I was in Scotland, I had a car crash on my way to the airport in Edinburgh. (Read that saga here.) Gardenstown can also be reached by bus, but the ride is long, and we didn’t want to spend that much time getting to our destination.

Besides, if we rented a car or took a bus, we wouldn’t be privy to more taxi driver wisdom! On our ride we learned that Elvis is of Scottish descent. (Our driver had visited Graceland and brought the appropriate color tartan to lay at his grave.) We also learned that “You can always be sure of your mother, but not so much your father,” when it comes to ancestry. I suppose in many cases, that’s true! Our driver said he identified with his mother’s Stuart Clan for this reason.

*The Robert the Bruce statue in Aberdeen. Photo credit: Duncan McDowall/Art UK.*

This got us into a conversation about my link to Robert the Bruce, first king of Scotland. Our driver told us that there’s a statue of The Bruce in Aberdeen. It shows the king on a horse, holding papers in his outstretched, upraised hand. The charter is a declaration he signed in 1319 that gave the city his lands (Forest of Stocket) in appreciation for their support of him. This charter also resulted in the creation of the Aberdeen’s Common Good Fund, which is still used for community projects today. It stands outside the revamped Marischal College, the City Council’s headquarters. I’ve seen a lot of photos of Robert the Bruce statues, but this one was new to me. Our driver’s Stuart Clan supported Robert the Bruce, so we were like best buds after that conversation!

*Our Gardenstown AirBnB* was in the building on the left, the side with the white bay window.

He dropped us off at our Gardenstown AirBnB, which featured a full kitchen, fireplace, and views of the harbor. It was a little tricky to find, since it required a walk up a narrow set of stairs, but if you read the access instructions thoroughly, you should have an easier time than we did! We also had trouble accessing the lock box but a quick call to our gracious host fixed that problem.

*The view out our bedroom window on a rainy Scottish day.*

We dropped off our luggage and then made the short walk to the Wee Shoppie. We were famished from not having any lunch. While we shopped, fog rolled in from the North Sea and a drizzle began. It was perfect weather to cook a hearty pasta meal.

The next day, after the rain stopped, we hiked to Crovie. The rental cottage where I stayed before (Crovie #13) was still there. Crovie is also an historic fishing village, formed during the clearances when the British drove the Scots off their lands after the Battle of Culloden. It’s so picturesque, as you can no doubt tell from the images that go along with this post. Both Gardenstown and Crovie are on the Moray Coast, which is in northeast Scotland and spans from Fraserburgh to Inverness, a hundred miles along the coast.

We stopped back in Gardenstown for lunch and then hiked the opposite direction along the beach and up to the graveyard and ruins of an old church on a hill. The trail had suffered from some erosion since I was last on it, but we managed to get up the hill fine. Once we were atop it and nearing the church, however, I let down my guard. I rolled my right ankle, heard an ominous “snap,” and fell to the ground.

Two years ago, I broke that ankle (also hearing a snap) during a kickboxing workout. I have high arches, so am prone to this type of injury. Luckily, I just broke off the very tip of my tibia on the outside of my ankle bone that time and did not need surgery or a cast.

*A scene from our hike to the church ruins.*

When I heard the snap this time, I immediately knew I had rebroken the same spot. Thankfully, I was able to stand and walk. With the help of one of Russ’s hiking poles I hobbled to the church and sat on a bench while Russ explored. I kept my ankle elevated, but already it began to resemble a goose egg.

I pondered our predicament. We were on a hillside in the middle of nowhere. We didn’t know it then, but there were no clinics in Gardenstown. There was no way I was going back down the eroded trail. I knew there was a cart path out to the paved road that led back to Gardenstown. It would be a longer walk, but a smoother one. We could call for emergency help, but that seemed excessive since I could still walk, and the fracture probably wasn’t that bad.

Once Russ returned, we decided we would walk the road back to town. Of course, at that point, it began to rain. There’s nothing like hobbling through the rain with a broken ankle. Even walking on the smooth road was taking our lives in our hands, however. I’ve mentioned that the roads are narrow and winding. They also have blind curves, small shoulders, and are lined with hedges, which make it hard to get out of the way of vehicles. At one point, a farm tractor pulling a trailer roared around a corner, narrowly missing us. We thought we were goners! The driver probably pegged us as crazy.

*Me looking out the bay window the day before I broke my ankle.*

After two soggy and slow miles, we began the steep descent into Gardenstown, which is built on a hillside. We stopped at a gas station along the way, hoping they’d have an ace bandage in stock, but no luck. Once we made it back to our AirBnB, bedraggled and cold, I sat on the couch while Russ went to the Wee Shoppie for a bag of frozen peas to place on my swelling.

During his trip, he noticed an ankle brace in a window of an osteopath’s shop. The shop was closed but had open hours the next day and a phone number for appointments. We called and left a message. The next day the lady osteopath called us back and was able to work me in between her other appointments.

Alas, the ankle brace box in her window was just for show. It was empty. But she had an expired ace bandage that she offered me for free. I never knew that ace bandages expired. Even so, it seemed to work just fine, and it made me feel much more supported when I walked. Thank you, osteopath lady!

Through internet searches, we learned there was a clinic in the nearby village of Banff, but I really didn’t want to spend hours of our vacation getting medical care, especially since I was getting around okay.

In need of pampering, Russ and I visited the Garden Arms hotel that night for supper. I had a haggis/black pudding burger with bacon. Nothing like a bit of suet and lamb heart to make things right!

Next: Laying low in Gardenstown and a visit to Banff

Marie's Meanderings

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

Scotland: Days 3 & 4, Gardenstown and Banff

Scotland and the Moray Coast, More Taxi Driver Wisdom, and a Broken Ankle