Doune
An inner desire burns to get out of town. I try to plan major day trips — one to Aviemore, one to Oban — but both the weather and time won’t cooperate.
Knees shaking, teeth grinding, I Google search locations close to Stirling. There’s Loch Lomond and the Trossachs up near the highlands; Callander with its forests and waterfalls; Doune with a castle and distillery.
Wait — a film set and whisky only twenty minutes away?
A girl from film class hops on a 10:30 bus with me. The driver is old, and passengers older. The vehicle is a shuttle rather than traditional bus. I’m worried about getting to the right place at the right time, but as my classmate talks with me about future travel plans, I forget about my stress.
The scenery outside is recognizable. I’ve passed these fields and rolling hills on the way to sites like Glencoe or Fort William. Sheep speckle mushy green grass and trees bend to the road. For once, it’s nice to see the countryside from the highway.
“Alright. This is Doune Castle.”
The driver calls in a thick accent. My classmate and I step outside to cold, grey air. It’s drizzling, so we rush down a wooded path and follow a sign for the castle. Approaching a stone cottage, we check inside for the ticket vendor. Instead, we run into bathroom stalls.
The tickets are inside the castle gift shop, a room proudly displaying souvenirs from Game of Thrones, Outlander, and most iconic, Monty Python and The Holy Grail. While I’ve never watched any of these films (at least extensively), I eagerly step inside the dark stone castle, which looks just like a fairytale.
There’s tiny corridors, short stock rooms, spiral staircases, and flat courtyards. A central section of the grounds is under reconstruction due to waterlogged grass — Scottish problems — but the scaffolding doesn’t mask the beauty of the sun burning through the clouds and windows. Curious, we step up an outdoor staircase and enter the Great Hall. This space is lavishly decorated with colorful crests, a red and beige checkered floor, diamond-crossed windows, and carved wooden thrones. The farther we walk, the more there is to discover. Each room leads to another, each space opens to a new loft or canopy or closet. It’s the first, and only, Scottish castle I’ve visited which keeps everything so open.
From trap doors that prisoners were pushed through to the closet and latrines of Queen Mary herself to ruins of the entertainment venue, I spend the morning capturing photograph after photograph of the gorgeous interior. Even the halls have carvings for windows and arches, displaying the craftsmanship of the castle’s creators.
When the sun comes out and the sky turns blue, my classmate leads us outside and behind the grounds. Here, the loud and rippling river Teith shines between two fields. Hills corral the land in a wide space; the scenery reminds me of the Appalachians back home. From the sunshine in the vacant windows to the vibrant wind, I’m comforted by the peace that only travel brings.
We have an hour until the next bus, so we stroll around the main street and take the opportunity to pop into stores. One gift store holds anything from Christmas ornaments to wool scarves to hand-made jewelry. Despite our temptations, however, we leave without making a purchase.
Doune is certainly a dwindling town. A small city square boasts a pointed monument (to what, I’m not sure), but its quirky buildings come in all shapes and sizes, from turret walls to purple windowsills to Tudor linings. My classmate and I hop into the tiny Buttercup Cafe, she orders a gourmet hot chocolate with pink marshmallows, and we relax until time for the bus.
Stirling is no longer rainy and grey. The sunset isn’t for another two hours, and I’m propelled by the rush of the morning’s travel, so I decide to make a quick hike up the hill behind my dorm. The walk is steeper than I remember, but as strenuous as it feels, the views are that much better. I reach the top of the mountain, take in the silence, and photograph the farms with wooden fences. In the distance, a foggy Wallace Monument stands above the River Forth, and cars zoom around the winding fields and white houses. It’s perfect. The perfect winter in Scotland.
I’ve spent most of the week relaxing, sipping hot drinks, and watching Holiday movies. Exams are stressing most of my friends, but I’m stressed with avoiding boredom. Days are slowly blurring, but I know that I will miss this R&R when I return to America.
I’ve changed my mind about grand day trips. I want to invest in people while I can, and know how it really feels to live in Scotland, not tour it. Maybe this month I really will become Scottish inside.
