Scones @ Scone
What could be more festive than a Christmas market?
A market in Glamis Castle, of course! Tucked away in the highlands, Glamis Castle was the real living quarters of the infamous MacBeth. Only 20 minutes from Perth, my friend from town invites me to drive up with her to visit the castle and the coastal town Dundee.
But plans change, people get sick, and the trip is cancelled. I get the message around midnight. While some part of me is relieved (I don’t have to pack for a FULL day of chaotic travel), the ambition inside gets the best of me. “Why don’t we just head to Scone Palace?” I ask.
I don’t know much about Scone Palace, who lived there, when it was built, etc…but the grounds are the crowning site of several monarchs. With a sunny, toasty train ride, a friend and I marvel at the rising hills and multitude of sheep.
Perth freezes the tips of my nose and fingers. As soon as we meet up with the girl from town, we hop in her sister’s car and she speeds down the highway. It’s a full vehicle, my third time to Perth, and I know everyone with us — I feel almost like I’m home. We cross the bridge where I watched two fireworks displays. We drive up the hill that lights up for the annual Hogmanay and Chinese New Year.
Scone Palace appears like a miniature Downtown Abbey. The grounds appear much like Biltmore House in Asheville — mountain ranges drape behind, trees and gardens bloom at the entrance. We step onto the magical grounds, stroll inside the gift shop, and walk to the ticket booth.
The palace is closed for the season.
My heart sinks. It’s been months since I’ve visited a quality palace (first-world problems, maybe?), and this is one of my last chances to do so. Still, my friend from Perth shows us the grounds — where she visited as a child. She used to take horseback here; I see a stone-studded stable, much like the cottage and gate I imagine when I think of Scottish countrysides. Across from the palace sits a tiny chapel and stone. From far away, the grey, drab block appears little more than a misplaced headstone. Its significance is much greater. This is a crowning stone, the block where British monarchs were crowned.
Behind the chapel rises four or five gravestones, and beyond the gate, a forest. In the summertime, my friend says, these yards overflow with colorful blossoms; I breathe a drifting scent of sweet, natural perfume. Six months from now, the smell will be more vibrant and stronger.
Across from us, a wide gate signifies the estate entrance. A long, misty path stretches into the forest. It’s just as the paintings, BBC shows, and classic books portray it. I imagine a horse-drawn carriage pulling up where I stand, facing the glowing windows of the palace.
We’re led to an open forest. Here, the trees stretch wide and tall, much like I’ve seen in photos of the great Redwoods of California (and believe me, my friend who is from California herself agrees). With numb hands and feet, I trace the edges of the bark and crunch the leaves across the ground. I come to a circle of broken-down limbs, what appears to be the remains of a fire. A flag blows in the winter breeze, singed and tattered.
Except, it’s not a flag. It’s a palm branch. This broken vegetation is a collection of giant foliage, with limbs that press the dirt like spiders about to attack. I feel like i’m transported into a scene from Harry Potter:
To further the Harry Potter experience, or maybe get a taste of The Shining, my friend takes us to the famous Hedge Maze. Thankfully, the brown bushes are dead and broken — we can see through them — because the entire maze reaches over my head. The gravel sloshes under our feet, and what starts as an innocent walk becomes a slight bother. My friend loses her sense of direction, and we find ourselves lost. I don’t care, though; the grey sky, star-shaped maze, empty forest, and quaint lawn are unashamedly my aesthetic.
We finally reach the centre of the maze, where a fountain Nymph etched in stone convinces me that Medusa might, in fact, exist. From here, the exit is straight through — and we rush out of the cold maze toward the palace.
From the back, the building is just as magnificent, and the views are outstanding. I can see the Perth steeples, river, mountains, and homes, all from the wide stone patio. Gargoyles rise above my head, and lofty windows taunt ghostly onlookers. I step around, look into the front windows, and knock on the front door. The heavy sound it a little frightening.
To warm up, we enter the gift shop and a cafe renovated to look like classic kitchen quarters. I find a collection of whiskies from five regions of Scotland, and purchase a scone full of clotted cream and jam. Scones at scone palace. The treat gives us ample time to relax as we wait to be picked up before sunset.
It’s the last outing with this group of girls. I know, because my friend from California is leaving in two days. My friend from Perth has a busy work schedule. As much as I want to stay, Perth is chilly and dark, and we are all exhausted. With a tight hug, I tell my friend goodbye, and head onto the train. It’s dark, but for once I don’t fight sleep. I watch the lovely scenery and take in the thrill of rushing across the tracks.
Just two more weeks, and train rides won’t be my normal anymore.
