Exit Thoughts

*I loved the variety in our trip. Going from hiking in the Isle of Skye to hanging out at the Palace of Versailles, from the black sand beaches in Iceland to the lights of London has been really cool. I felt like we got a better picture of the variety of Europe than I did last time I was here, when I really focused a lot on capital cities. It was awful for our collective stench and hygiene, but really fun to hike and explore the countryside in addition to the cities.

*I have to give a shoutout to my travelmates who have put up with me all trip; every museum that I wanted to go into, every crepe and croque monsieur, every group picture that I made them take.  Y’all are great.

*Next time I travel, I have to make a better effort to work out. I feel (and look) like a sloth right now. Also, the amount of tummy-fat sweat I’ve been accumulating while sitting on the metro is pretty ludicrous. Too far? Too far.

*Going back to places that I’ve been before was a lot more fulfilling than I expected. I think I have a mentality (which is probably exacerbated by the map with pins that’s hanging on my wall) where I always want to explore somewhere new, find a new country, new spots. I found quite a few new things even in cities that I had already been to, and I definitely underestimated how much going back to some of my favorite places cemented how much I liked them.

*Travel, especially when you’re young, on a budget, and haven’t invested a ton of research in your destinations, is a very trusting experience. From things like asking for directions or pictures to not getting scammed by cabs and hostels to following routes and advice from online blogs and sites, you kind of have to put your faith in other folks. Most of the time it works out well! When it doesn’t, it’s usually because you’re flying RyanAir and your travel buddy has jokingly listed you as “Dr. Richard Saber”…

*The dominance of U.S. pop culture creates some really strange cultural juxtapositions. At one point last night, I was talking to some French girls and Norwegian guys in a bar in Portugal while listening to a Brazilian band play “Sweet Home Alabama”. Go figure. Other weird juxtapositions: sitting under the Eiffel Tower while some neighboring Spanish guys were listening to Kendrick Lamar, listening to country music while running through Scotland, and the entirety of the brilliant American CD- which had 92 songs on it!- that we listened to while driving all over Iceland.

*The end of a good trip leaves everyone thirsty for more. If anyone is looking for a travel bud- especially within the U.S./Canada- this summer, let me know!

Portugal and France

The very first thing we saw during our sightseeing in Paris was the Arc de Triomphe and the massive, terrifying traffic circle that surrounds it. It’s an absolutely lawless zone full of honking horns, fender benders, and loud cursing in French. The last thing I saw during my sightseeing was the same traffic circle from the back of a swerving cab after having stayed out too late under the Eiffel Tower to take the metro back. It was a nice moment for me to come full circle (quite literally) (while holding on for dear life) in what has, somewhat surprisingly, become one of my favorite cities in the world.

I have to admit that before I came to Paris I was expecting to really dislike the city. Americans love to talk about how rude Parisians are to tourists, and I wasn’t much of an art person. I’ve now been back three times and every single time I’ve left liking the city even more. Between the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, the Palace of Versailles, etc. the French have built up a lot of absurdly large monuments and buildings. Combining the sheer scope of these places with a touch for flourishes and intricacy gives Paris a feel of being majestic and grand, larger than life in a way that energizes rather than intimidates. My favorite moments from this time in Paris were finally seeing Versailles (we could’ve spent days walking around the gardens), reigniting my love for Parisian street food, and spending a few hours under the Eiffel Tower on a buzzing Saturday night with what felt like half of Paris. I also have to give a shoutout to accidentally meeting an up-and-coming movie star (google Johnny Weston) on the steps of Sacre Coure. I might have to add one of his movies to my list (currently sitting at four, as mentioned by Zeke in an earlier post).

Portugal was a completely different experience, somewhere I had never been before. My taste for large squares was definitely humored, with the best square being Praca do Comercio. We also got to watch the USA-Portugal WC game in this square with a few thousand of our closest Portuguese friends. Perhaps it was best for us that the game ended in a disappointing last minute draw, though our cover of being “Canadian” was probably blown after Tirrill and I hummed the national anthem and was definitely blown after some barely muffled shouts after each American goal.

The Portuguese also had quite a few castles, which were much larger and better maintained than those we found in Scotland. The only complaint I can give is that getting to the castle in Sintra involved more than an hour of walking on winding roads up a mountain. But the sweat was totally worth it for the mock medieval brawls we always inevitably descend into whenever we come within five square miles of a castle.

Our last day in Lisbon made me wish we had more time there. It was the first place where we didn’t get to see a significant number of the landmarks on my hit list. This was partially due to limited time there and partially to us staying out at bars until 4 AM last night (which may have been partially due to meeting some cute French girls). After a little sleep and a lot of yawns, we made our way out to the area with Belem Tower, the Discoveries Monument, and Jeronimos Monastery this morning, which was one of my favorites of the whole trip. The area was really cool, with a lot of modern architecture on one end and the historic monuments on another. In between, there were ports and steps leading down into the ocean. It was a pretty area that we had to hit a little too quickly and would’ve loved to spend more time in.

Paris: Day by Day

Day 1:

We arrive in Paris on the Eurostar. Upon leaving the train station Rich reads our directions to the hostel in Montmarte. Earnestly and loudly he mispronounces Rue de Dunkerque as “Roo da Dunkerkoo”. Our occupation as American tourists has been firmly and publicly cemented. 

In our first five minutes in Paris I see more beautiful women than I have in the past year. All tact and charm goes out the window. My ineptitude is not helped by a steep language barrier and the shock to the system that is beautiful women after weeks in Iceland and Scotland (more sheep than people in those places).

Through more mispronunciations and only a few wrong turns we make it to the hostel (Tirrill’s credits this to his great sense of direction and natural intuition). This hostel houses the nicest room we’ve had yet: two windows, enough space to actually hold us, less creaky bunk beds, a desk, and the crème de le crème, our own bathroom. We laugh, we cry we group hug, we smell our collective B.O. Rich immediately puts our private shower to use.

The unwashed lads set out to find cheap wine and baguettes. In the market we find one-euro bottles of red wine and Tirrill finds a ten pack of Kinder Bueno bars. My cashier, completely unprovoked and in very limited English, attempts to sell me less than legal substances. I politely and nervously refuse. He kindly insists. This back and forth goes on for a few minutes before he finally hands me my receipt and I make my escape. Maybe buying three bottles of wine and nothing else sent the wrong message…

I open our bottles of wine and we collect the freshly showered Rich. I also open a bottle for a random Australian in the hostel. In 3 minutes of conversation she supports Rich and mine’s assertions that Australians make friendlier first impressions than almost any other nationality. We head up the numerous steps to Sacre Coeur to procure a view of Paris at night. We succeed. It is beautiful. 

Artsy wine bottle photo. Rich is such a hipster.

While lounging on marble steps in the Parisian nighttime air we are mistaken for actual Parisians by a nearby group who ask us to come talk and drink with them.  Our dumb and vacant stares upon being asked this question in French inform the girl of her incorrect assumption. We hang out anyways.

This girl mentions she is the talent agent for the young blonde guy in her “drinking on the steps” group. We politely ask him about his acting career. He casually claims to be “in” an upcoming Michael Bay film, Project Almanac, and that he is currently in Paris for Taken 3. We assume he has bit parts and move on with the conversation. Eventually the two groups part ways and we are invited to meet them for dinner the next night if our plans can accommodate it.  We exchange names, take a group photo, and go home. We also get croque monsieur and kebab wraps on the walk home, excellent decision.

 (The photo was on the talent agent's phone. We don't have it.)

Day 2:

We wake up wishing we hadn’t drank cheap wine. In our rehash of the wonderful night before we decide to google the “actor” we met. The results yield a surprise. Johnny Weston, our blonde friend from Sacre Creur, seriously undersold himself to us. He’s actually an actor, not just one of the hundred nameless Taken thugs that Liam Neeson has made his recent career out of beating to a pulp. He's the lead actor in the aforementioned Michael Bay film and he's 5th billing on Taken 3.

We take the metro to Paris proper to explore all the necessary sights for Zeke and Tirrill’s first respective visits to the city. We hit the Arc De Triomphe. It’s beautiful and grand. We watch the ridiculously hectic roundabout, eagerly and morbidly waiting for a wreck. I think we would have really enjoyed the coliseum in Rome.  We walk the Champs-Elysees. We see the Grand Palais. We see the Eiffel Tower. We see the Hopital des Invalides. We took the metro home with one of the most beautiful girls in Paris. Rich was speechless. I stared. Tirrill had his back to her. Zeke mustered more class and poise.  She is new a Great White Buffalo, Great White Buffalo, Great White Buffalo...

Arc de Triomphe and the hellish roundabout

Eiffel Tower (and sock monkey and Hobbes)

Hopital des Invalides

Day 3:

Versaille. We encounter a miserably long line in the hot sun. We share said line with an extremely friendly and interesting family from Utah on vacation and the wait flies by. We find a true appreciation for the word “baroque” while exploring the opulent trappings of the palace. Zeke and I derive all too much pleasure out of the absurd and random details of various paintings decorating the walls. Our giggling earn us the disapproving looks from 8 year old school children, their handlers, and old german couples.

 (Missing the Versaille photos that Rich has yet to upload. Stay tuned on Facebook for the aforementioned opulence.)

 We venture into the gardens. We see fountains, ponds, flowers, trees, statues, kissing couples, arguing families, canoes and ponies and golf-carts we couldn’t afford to rent, more statues, hidden restaurants. We do some prime people watching. We get lost. We keep on stumbling upon more and more buildings and properties scattered across the 2,014 acres. Tirrill’s map reading skills get us off the property before it all shuts down for the night. At the metro stop a very obvious pickpocket sidles up to our group. I stare him down. He makes a move for Zeke’s wallet. Zeke stops his attempt with a quick hand in the wallet pocket maneuver whilst giving the petty thief an “are you kidding me" eyebrow raise. The world’s worst criminal then hops on the next train in embarrassment.  We return to the hostel and eat a sickening amount of bread, cheese, chorizo, and of course Kinder Bueno's. We watch Switzerland get crushed by France in the world cup.Their goalie is awful.

This guy. Diego Benaglio.

Day 4:

More exploring of Paris. We see Notre Dame. We eat street food. We see the Lourve. We sit by a fountain in the blistering sun and watch ducks. We see the Luxor Obelisk. I loved it. We watch people almost get conned into a shell game. We lose interest and retire to a shady patch of grass. A nearby family grows weary of our roughhousing and general shenanigans. The dad stares us down angrily, we continue, they move away. We are victorious. We head back to Montemarte to see Sacre Coeur in the daylight. It is equally beautiful in the sun as it is at night. On the steps outside I see my 84^th example of blatant and heavy PDA. Paris obviously has different expectations for that behavior than Chapel Hill.  We walk around Montemarte aimlessly in the sun. We drink our last bottles of cheap French wine. We play our 43rd game of spades and eat more Bueno's. We retire early to guarantee a good night’s sleep before our 5:30 am wake up call.  Paris has been an absolute delight. On to Lisbon!

(Missing some photos here that are still on Rich's phone. There's one with the obelisk silhouetted against the sun which is casting a halo around the golden top of the great monolith. It is such a sick photo.)

Lads in Scotland

It’s our last night in Scotland (as of this writing), and the Lads On Tour are staying in a hostel that – for our mothers’ sakes – I should refrain from describing. Nonetheless, our time in the country has been terrific. After spending a week or so in Scotland, we have each earned nicknames that reflect our most noteworthy feats in this most impressive land: I am Zeke, Breaker of Horses; there is Evan, Harnesser of Wind; Tirrill, Feller of Trees; and Rich, Spiller of Milk.

In line with such noble nicknames, we have made our esteemed clans proud by doing things like: hiking Ben Nevis (at the summit there was the “U.K.’s Highest War Memorial,” which is less impressive when you consider that anything could stake that claim atop Ben Nevis – “U.K.’s Highest” Discarded Crunchie Wrapper, “U.K.’s Highest” Haggis Statuette, etc.), discovering a new sleeping position,

Rich looking comfortable whilst making everyone else uncomfortable.

doing mundane things with zealous politeness (i.e., sleeping while holding the door open, going through customs, offering a waitress an extra chair, etc.), and hearing only one angry honk while driving on the left side of the road. 

With its foggy green landscapes and rustic aura, Scotland immediately reminded of the beginning of An American Werewolf in London (no, Tirrill, not “Werewolves of London,” the Warren Zevon song), particularly the beginning, where a couple of backpackers wander through the moors of England (I know I know, it’s close though…) and are attacked by one of the beasts – this, of course, was a troubling thought to immediately come to my mind. 

Some good puffy coats here.

Alas, we did not have to worry about werewolves (though there were some dinosaurs near Roy Bridge…), and thus I was able to enjoy the setting to the fullest extent.

Natural Scotland is a bit difficult to capture in words – my attempt at description would be sublimity that calms. One moment that stands out was when we were atop cliffs overlooking Old Man Storr (or Old Man Story, as Rich calls it), a huge, balancing vertical rock formation that’s been used as a setting for Prometheus. It’s otherworldly, as you might suspect. From our cliff we could see the huge rocks below, but turning the other way we could see endless more mountain and cliffs… only the fog was so thick that our sight was cut in half horizontally. It was like someone got lazy and forgot to paint the rest of the scenery:

On a less grand scale, we’ve enjoyed the small, serendipitous moments that inevitably pop up during travel. In Roy Bridge at the Grey Corrie Lodge (a very… retro… look) we met Dutch/Albanian friends, who we then saw at our next stop on the Isle of Skye at the Saucy Mary’s Hostel,* and then again at a random pullover in Northern Scotland. At the Saucy Mary’s we also met an older couple from England who were great fun and who had actually been to Iceland before (apparently the horse there is delicious…). This Iceland connection provided common ground for conversation (as did the annoying number of midges flying around our faces), but the older man, Keith was his name, had a habit of pronouncing the word “geysers” like “geezers.”

At first I thought he was talking about the elderly folks shuffling out of the many (and aptly named) Silver Fox tour buses. Why was he rambling about the old people in Iceland? Wasn’t he one of them? This habit of his led us to great confusion and, on occasion, embarrassed hand-wringing – one exchange: “Did you enjoy looking at all the geezers in Iceland? I sure did. Didn’t get too close, mind you – that one, you know, the big one, got my wife wet and smelled of sulfur.” We changed the subject soon thereafter.

Shock and awe.

Eventually we left the Isle of Skye, along with its lovely sights and midgerable bugs, behind. It was on to Inverness, a goofy town that fancies itself a major European destination – it has a bridge (though it’s small and rickety), a river (though it’s 3 feet deep), late night drag races (a bit like Capital Boulevard), a Primark (limited selection), scaffolding all over, and heavy charges for parking/bathrooms. But it has not the tourist appeal of major cities like London or Paris.

Speaking of Paris (I’ll let old man Saber handle the Mrs. Frost segue joke here), we’re about to hop on the Chunnel and make our way over. Looking forward to it since I’ve never been – perhaps an aperitif with Proust will be on the itinerary.  

* I picked up some literature by the Eilean Dolan Castle on Skye that briefly details the Saucy Mary story, so now’s my chance to pay the knowledge forward: Legend has it that for centuries the semi-ruinous Castle Moil (on a pleasant little fishing village called Kyleakin) was built by one Saucy Mary, the spitfire daughter of a Norwegian king, for the purpose of levying a toll on ships passing through the strait that separates Skye from the mainland. Legend also says that she stretched a chain across the strait to make sure that no ship sailed through without paying up – this is both cruel and impressive, not sure of the order. The irony of the Saucy Mary legend is not lost on those who campaigned against the extortionate tolls extracted by the Skye Bridge Company from 1995 until their removal in 2004.

Honorable Mentions

Things that have happened since Iceland that I didn’t post about while ranting about hiking that deserved to be mentioned:

1) All the awesome London people

- Salma- thank you giving Rich and I a home. I’m glad I could see you again after your trip to the US last year.

- Phil- So glad I could meet you. You are a beacon of positivity and cheerfulness. It was blast teaching you six degrees and watching you lose the game of "catching small chocolate objects in ones mouth" to Tirrill.

- Frankie- Also a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for all the trouble you went through to help us out in London, the free housing, the free showers, the awesome and cheap breakfasts at The Rockingham Arms, and the lessons in charm that you gave while interacting with the Nigerian security guards and pretty much every other person you talked to.

- Renata- Great to see again. Thanks for making plans even though we were late to everything.

- Vicky- Wonderful to meet you dear. Thanks for letting me swing dance with you in a crowded London Club. Thanks for the great conversation. Hopefully I can see you and all the rest of the gang when I return to London.

2) The awesome people we met in Scotland

- Merel and Dario (our coincidental and amazing dutch friends- It was a delight to meet you two and then run into on accident like 19 other times. I am so glad we could share a few beers and many good conversations

- Linda and Keith- The world travelled and world wise couple that we met on the ruins of Castle Moil and go to later share a beer and a good game of football (soccer) with. I can only hope my wife and I are as cool and fun to hang with as these two when I hit their age.

3) Family time

- My cousin Dan- an afternoon has never been better spent than having a good cigar, a few good drinks, and great conversation with a dear cousin from across the pond whom I never see often enough.

4) Great White Buffaloes

That one tall brunette girl in Iceland who walked by while we were in Cafe Loki eating traditional Icelandic food who was dressed impeccably in all black taking photographs of the flowers outside the cathedral that I wish I could have talked to because she may have been my soulmate.

5) Tirrill, Zeke, and I hunted a rabbit in the highlands. We failed. It was glorious.

6) I think that’s all for now….

Evan's Musings on Scotland a.k.a What Hiking is to Me

So, while I could take this space to update everyone on the day to day happenings of our travels since my last post I will instead opt for a long diatribe on my personal interests, namely hiking. As a child growing up in western North Carolina I was destined to spend my fair share of time hiking. I was surrounded by woods, rivers, mountains, and copious amounts of fresh air, all the necessary ingredients. I don’t think I went a weekend of my childhood without at least some form of time in the woods. As a child this time in the great outdoors was something I took for granted. I failed to appreciative all the wonderful qualities inherent to it: family bonding, exercise, time in nature (something that growing up in the woods/a small town made me also take for granted), time with the dogs, time away from the time, motivation, and energy suck that is television (a vacuum that I have become all too familiar with), time away from the stresses of everyday life (even though I didn’t really have any at that age, besides maybe trying to get the attention of a cute girl in class), and most importantly for me, time to let me imagination wander. As I tread the well worn path of a hiking trail or as I forcibly blazed a new one of my own over streams and through brambles the untarnished natural landscape that was spread before me became a blank canvas upon which I could project my wild and rampant imagination. Hiking was a time of freedom.

Fast forward 8 years and I am a freshman at Chapel Hill. I am caught up in the thrills of college life. I’ve got independence. I’ve got amazing new friends (like the three layabouts on this trip with me. I’ve got parties. I’ve got enthralling classes and inspiring professors. I’ve got the visual feast/work of art that is UNC’s unfairly good looking female population. But I was missing my that freedom I knew as a kid. 

(I know this photo isn't actually from freshman year)

It took me a while to put a thumb on that missing element. Eventually I found my way back to trails, back to hiking. Unfortunately, Chapel Hill does not offer the greatest opportunities for those who wish to lose themselves in the outdoors. Chapel Hill is a wonderful and beautiful many things, but a haven for outdoor enthusiasts it is not.

Fast forward again. I am planning a post-grad trip with three of my best friends. They all agree they’d rather spend time in the country than the cities (check). They are all an athletic bunch (check). They all love me enough to forgo other possible uses of our time for hours on our feet, rain or shine, through bug bites and sweat, through near dehydration in Iceland and open wounds in Scotland (check). I’m lucky.

On our fourth day in Scotland we set out to hike Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the UK. Now, as much as I would like all of you to think very highly of us, the highest peak in the UK is not as impressive as it sounds. Ben Nevis is only roughly 500 meters shy of the highest peak in North Carolina, Mt. Mitchell. That being said, it still made for a tiring and rewarding hike, and was my favorite day of the trip thus far.

Being able to set out on a trail for a few hours gives me the sense of relaxation and personal well being that many would require a spa day to achieve (for Zeke Saber it only takes healthy serving of 8 to 16 chocolate chip cookies). Hiking is my meditation. The physical component of hiking is mindless. It’s as simple as one foot after the other. Thirty minutes into a hike and I am unburdened. I mentally check out. Any stress I have is gone. Any lingering tension I perceived between me and my traveling partners whom I have spent the past 336 hours with is completely gone. My friends on the trail with me rib me concerning the customary 8 to 10 feet that I hike in front of them. I wish they could read my mind during this time. I’m not trying to competitive, nor do I intend to be rude. Hiking is meditative. As I march forward, mile after mile, an open trail in front of me allows me to return to my childhood as my imagination runs free. I work out any internal angst. I move past mistakes and aggravations that have lingered, nagging me from the back of my mind. I relive my fondest memories. I fantasize about new ones: new worlds to explore, new loves, new travels, new challenges. I storyboard films. I writes stories. I reach out my hands and can feel by childhood dogs' fur between my fingers. I can hear my dad’s unique footsteps on the trail. I can almost see the fantastical worlds of Redwall and Lord of the Rings into which my adolescent mind propelled me head first.

I at times wonder if my time on the trail could be better spent in conversation and jest with my friends whose laughter behind me sets the soundtrack for my mental ramblings. But I know what hiking is for me. And when I summit the mountain I am able to turn around and have my best friends right behind me, reflections of myself: red faced, drenched in sweat, smelling terribly, and smiling from ear to ear. We eat lunch and radiate happiness.

Hiking is my therapy. I don’t know what it gives to my friends. But I do know that I am immensely grateful and happy that when I come out of my mind to reality I have them there with me to relish in the stunning scenery, to make jokes, and to share my good mood. Hiking Ben Nevis was amazing. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was therapeutic. There are no three people in the world I would have rather shared it with.

Chronological Scotland/Rich

SO, our time in Scotland has been defined by shockingly good weather, our first set of randomly met travel friends, a few glorious hikes, some great soccer, and entirely too much sheep poo. We started in Edinburgh, which was notable mostly because our strange hostel owner got short with me for walking into the reception area with my shoes on. We spent our time there in size 9 slippers instead of our shoes, which were entirely too small for my feet but pretty funny when you saw dozens of young folks meandering around in extremely clean, but much too small, white slippers. This effect was doubly funny because everyone had to wander the halls while the bathrooms (three single-person bathrooms for three stories of huge dorm-style rooms) were constantly occupied and everyone impatiently waited their turn. Also in Edinburgh: a lot of jokes about the awfully designed Scottish Parliament building, a fairly miserable hike in the rain through Arthur’s Seat which got all of our plane tickets wet, and a little sadness realizing that we had just watched the second to last GOT episode of the season.

After Edinburgh, we headed up to the Fort William area to base ourselves for some hikes in Ben Nevis and Glencoe. While we were in the area, Tirrill discovered what will probably be his first and his last true love: Beunos candy bars. Despite being named by a Spanish toddler with a small vocabulary, the candy bars are delicious. Unfortunately for Tirrill, a Beunos Bandit came tearing through the hostel and stole/ate his last few bars and when we checked the grocery store, there were no more in stock. Much grumbling ensued, both from his mouth and his tummy. It only got worse when a drunken old Scottish guy accosted Tirrill in the bar and accused him of checking out his daughter. Because we could only get wifi in the bar, we also had to set up shop in that same bar every night to plan out our hikes for the next day. Lots of awkward eye contact there.

Tirrill’s luck turned around when we were hiking on a wet day in Glencoe. Despite being the only person who hadn’t invested in hiking shoes, his trusty New Balances were true to their word and kept him balanced over all of the rainy rocks. The rest of us would not be so lucky; Zeke spectacularly tripping over himself and doing a somersault inches away from falling off of a bridge, Evan trying to hop over a river and slipping on some rocks, cutting his hand open, and myself slipping down the side of a slanted rock, opening up some cuts on my legs and hands. Despite all of our falls/wounds/wounded prides, it was a really pretty hike:

The next day was hiking Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the UK. It was a great hike because there were different stages of terrain to keep us from having a monotonous view. We went from sheep pastures to gravelly uphills to stumbling into lakes on top of some of the smaller nearby peaks to hiking through snow to climbing over rocks in the mist. The variation and the feeling of conquering a mountain combined to make it a really great day that all of us really enjoyed (until Evan had to sprint down the mountain to find a bathroom). Here are some various shots from the day:

At the hostel we met some Dutch friends. At first I figured it was just going to be a fun conversation, but then we ran into them at a bar later in the night. I kid you not, we also ran into them again the next day in the Isle of Skye at another bar and then AGAIN on some random cliffs in the middle of Portree the next day. At that point we figured it was destiny and agreed to meet up again that night for drinks and to watch the World Cup. Turns out they both were also both 22 and had graduated with law degrees. It was just crazy coincidence after crazy coincidence and they were great fun to hang out with:

Our time in the Isle of Skye has been pretty awesome. The Old Man of Storr was a spectacular hike and had some great rocks for me to sit on. I have a little bit of an addiction to sitting on the edge of things; rocks, cliffs, whatever. I never feel more alive, both powerful and insignificant, than when I’m looking out over things with my feet dangling. I also had a really great run in the evening, looking out over the ocean and jogging over a pretty epic bridge:

After more than ten miles hiking today, tomorrow will be a day of rest. It’ll also be a day of sadness, as the fourth season of GOT comes to a close for us. It’s a show that we’ve spent hours talking about, debating, and dissecting. With almost a year before the next episode, it’ll be back to a ton of games of Six Degrees of Separation, Twenty Questions, and Word Association for entertainment on long walks and hikes along with Spades, Scum, and Rummy to pass the evenings. On to Inverness!