Stirling

Last night after I finished writing, I went out to go find some food. On my way I passed by a pub which I hadn't been into before right next door to my hostel, out of which poured the distinct sound of bagpipes. It sounded like a lot of fun, and I've really grown to love the sound of bagpipes since I've been in Edinburgh so I wandered in. Inside was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, but had only heard about in fables about "the old country" or seen in movies with old pub scenes. The pub was packed to the brim with loud and boistrous people cheering and laughing and passing around drinks. The old men were leaned up against the wall, some of them smoking, the rest just watching. In the corner was a blind man sitting alone at a table gently tapping his foot to the rhythm of the bagpipes' song. The bagpipes themselves were being played by a little blonde woman who must have been in her mid thirties forcing with all her might, the air through that akward instrument until her face was as red as her shirt. The song lasted for hours, never actually stopping, but just transforming into another. Every so often the whole bar would join in stomping their feet and singing. The old men danced with the young women, and the young men just laughed and drank some more. At one point one old man (I think now he muct have been the owner of the pub, he was very patriaracle) came up to me, noticing that I had been smiling since I walked in and was now joining in with the rest of them clapping and stomping my feet. He asked where I was from and then said to keep enjoying myself, I was welcome here. With that approval, others began to approch me and ask where I was from and where I was staying, and I got nods of approval from all the old men, and everybody just seemed so happy and loving. The woman playing the bagpipes finally stopped and silenced the room. She announced that this next song was one she wrote for her father, one of the greatest bagpipe players in Scotland, whom had died. The song as I remember it was absolutely heartbreaking, but powerful and beautiful. The thing about bagpipes is that they sound incredibly majestic, and carry with them so much soul and pride. They're loud and unashamed, exaclty like the Scots.

When she had tired out she passed the pipes on to a man who played just as well, and I stayed for a bit but I was getting hungry so I eventually moved on up Cockburn Street (pronounced Coburn Street) and found an Italian resturant I hadn't eaten at before. On my way over I gave my last two-pound coin and some change to a homeless girl sitting on the street. It's would be normally against my intention to give up change to a begger in Europe because I'm told a lot of them are scam artists, and not homeless at all. However, this one particularly caught my attention because she said something as I passed by, but it was completely in audiable as if ultrasonic. He voice was so fragile, if she had spoken any louder she might have shattered. I stopped and asked her what she said. She'd said, "Please, spare some change", or something to that effect. What was ultimately earth shattering to me was at that point I noticed that she was exactly my age, or perhaps a few years younger. She had around her a hooded coat which she was fearsely shivering behind, and her face was like death. I have litterally never seen a face look so pale, it seemed like it might just fade away. I was stunned for a moment, but found myself reaching into my pocket and pulling out what I could find which turned out to be like 2.30 pounds, not much, but enough to buy something warm to drink. I could help but think about her the rest of the night and how someone could possibly run so far out of options. Even though I'm over here at times not knowing where I'll be able to sleep for the night, or if I'll have enough money to sustain the length of my trip, at least I always in the back of my mind know that I can always come home. What happens when you no longer have that? I mean, couldn't she have found the means to work somewhere for some kind of money to stay in some cheap hostel? I know that if I had nowhere to stay in Edinburgh I know how to sneak into the lounge of the hostel I stayed at, and that's probably what I'd do. It's warm in there and there are couches, and as long as you look like a backpacker no one would bother you. Couldn't she do that? Did she use up her stay at all places like that? How far do you have to fall until the only option left is to sit on the street and die? I always think in terms of options while I'm over here. When one option gets used up or falls through I look to the next one, and there always seems to be another option, that's why I havn't been afraid. I guess that's why I thought about that so much. It always feels like there's another option, another alternative to dying.

In the morning I caught a bus over to Stirling, and spent my day there. Stirling is a georgeous little city, and it was so nice to be away from the big cities for a while. Stirling's about the size of Dana Point, but it's about 900 years older. I walked down William Wallace Street to the famous Stirling Bridge where William Wallace lead the Scots to their first victory over Edward Longshank's army. The bridge is exactly as it was when William Wallace fought on it, and I got to walk where he walked, and I imagined what that battle must have looked like. I was prettymuch alone in that whole town, I barely saw anyone else except for the occasional man walking his dog, or a car drive by. So I had lots of time to sit in the rain and map out in my mind who stood where, and fought whom, and watched the historic battle unfold. I imagined waiting with Wallace and the Scots, holding our position, waiting for the British army to reach the halfway point accross the bridge and then in a screaming charge, block them in cutting off their numbers. The Britons must have been absolutely dumbfounded when they realized what was happening, they'd try to retreat back accross the bridge but panic and wall to wall people would slow their escape. People would be jumping off the edge over the bridge into the icy waters desperately trying to get out of the smashing confinement of advancing armies. It would have certainly been a sight to behold, but I got to stand on the stones where it all took place. I walked through the town, feeling all day like I had gone back in time to the early 14th century. All of the foundations to even the newer looking buildings are from about that time, and the walls winding through the homes are all the same as they were. Even the rain and fog made the moment more authentic, and the fact that there were no people gave me spiritual access to it.

I wandered through the maze of walkways laden with 13th century stone to Stirling Castle at the top of the hill. Stirling Castle was absolutely beautiful, and a little erie being as I was still almost the only one there. Sauntered through the Great Hall, and the fortified towers, and chapels, and walked along each individual gaurd post as if I were on duty there. The whole thing was a big medieval wet dream. Afterwards I stopped into a little cafe to get out of the cold and I bought some hot chocolate, and at around 5:30 I caught a train to London. I didn't arrive in London till after midnight, and with some difficulty I finally managed to find Ryan and got set up in his house, and here I'll get to stay rent free for the next week! I hope everything's great back home. Keep writing comments, I love getting comments! I love you all, goodnight!