Tuesday 27
September 2005
The Heartland Land in Aberdeen and pick up my hire car. I usually
get something on the order of a Renault Clio, but I have friends joining me in a
couple weeks, so I have moved up to the "compact" class--a VW Golf Plus, and I
love it. It's spacious enough for the three of us without being too big to drive
on the narrow roads, and best of all, it has a reasonably glute-bootin' cd
player. I am carrying mostly neotraditional music from Scotland, Ireland,
England, Brittany, and Scandinavia--Battlefield Band, Old Blind Dogs, Alan
Stivell, Annbjorg Lien but I cannot resist blasting one of the late Martyn
Bennett's bizarre works as I roll out into Aberdeenshire. Bennett was well-grounded
in traditional music-making, but his setting of "found" vocals to squonking,
throbbing techno beats is hair-raising stuff. Not something I want to listen
to every day, but this morning it puts me in the proper mood for a jaunt through
the Scottish countryside.
I've scouted out some ancient monuments to see
along the way, but am disappointed to realize that I have seen three of the four
of them in past visits, and the fourth is essentially a pile of dirt. However,
the Tomnaverie Stone Circle is worth a revisit, as it was fenced off for
restoration when I last saw it. It had nearly been destroyed by an adjacent
quarrying operation.
Roll into Craigellachie in late afternoon. Settle
into the B&B and step into the Highlander for dinner. I've never been here
before, but there is a lot of talk about how the new management, in place for a
few months, are doing good things. It's a nice pub, good pints of Cairngorm
Trade Winds, lots of whisky-oriented folks to talk to. There are Germans,
French, Japanese, and even a Scot or two (you can tell them because they ask for
Bell's or Teacher's or Grouse). The malt selection is excellent, if not the
largest, and I have quite a few this evening--a Craigellachie and a couple
different Glenrothes for starters. I try the BenRiach Curiositas, which I find
mildly smoky, but utterly lacking in any kind of body; it's like smoky water
floating over my tongue. Then it's a Laphroaig Quarter Cask. Wow! Not sure I
like it; it tastes of raw wood and salty prosciutto. It'll get another chance,
though.
I stumble back to the B&B, glancing at the Craigellachie
Hotel down the street. It's the Craig's Quaich Bar that has drawn me here--a
mecca for the whisky lover. Tomorrow.
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