July 19

      Nashville Airport. Good thing I decided to not hang around the house till time to leave. No curbside check-in, and I spent an hour standing in line at the ticket counter. Changed forty dollars into pounds sterling, and got taken to the cleaners. This is why I only changed forty dollars, in order to have at least some cash when I land.

      An hour before my flight. I think I'll feel better once I'm away from Chicago, and can relax a little.

      Da plane! Da plane! Remember TWA? Teeny-Weeny Airlines? That's what I'm flying now. No danger of getting a middle seat; there are none, for there are only two seats on each side of the aisle. The seats are built for people half as wide as me, but the lumbar support is for folks twice as tall. Lovely to be such a happy medium.

      Having doubts: should my luggage have been checked through to Glasgow? I've got to pick it up in London to go through customs anyway, so what's the point? I guess I'll find out. Fortunately, I've got lots of time on the ground to screw with it.

July 20

      London Heathrow. Well, it's a good thing I had a lot of time to screw with it. It took most of the three hours on the ground to move like sludge through customs and check my bag through to Glasgow. Apparently that's how it's done, and everyone on the planet was doing the same thing at the same time as me. And to add to the Great Fun, there was a guy in customs with a Mexico passport crowding me until I was ready to smack him sideways and request he get the hell away. Different cultural personal space, of course, but knowing that didn't make it any less irritating.

      Lunch...(cue music) by the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond! Completely brain dead by now, but I managed to make it out of Glasgow without killing myself or anyone else. Remembered the route north well enough, and now I'm stopped at a tiny restaurant, sitting next to a window with a fabulous view of the loch, and mist-shrouded mountains beyond. Having the steak pie, served with chips hot enough to blister the roof of my mouth. Just like I remember it.

      The whole way here I kept asking myself why I am doing this. It's nuts. Five thousand miles of travel, by myself. An entire day without sleep, and I'm still moving onward. And upward. But when I got to Glen Coe, I remembered why I came. Peaks so high and close they seem to lean in. Monstrous granite, runneled by millennia of Scottish rain. History thick enough to smell.

      I had to pull over in Glencoe to sleep a little. There's a one lane road that runs through the village, and I found a wide spot to pull over and crawl into the back seat. I'm not sure how long I slept, but I was a whole new person when I came to. Must have been a couple of hours, but it felt like I'd barely closed my eyes.

      A stop in Fort William to buy a sweater, and my next stop is Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, on Skye. Driving on the left isn't nearly so scary as it was last time I was here.

July 21

      Breakfast: I wonder, did they build the whole country with an eye to the view where people eat, or did it just work out that way? The common room at this school is a spectacular vista of the Sound of Sleat, with the mainland across the way. The food is pretty good, too.

      Finally managed to get to a phone that would allow me to call out. The ones in the dorm won't even place a credit card call, so I found the pay phone in the lobby to call Dale. After flying 5,000 miles then driving for seven hours, I really felt the need to let him know I'd not fallen of the edge of the earth. Now he knows where I am, and I won't get to a private phone until Nairn on Saturday night.

      The room is quite nice, for a college dorm. The place is fairly new, and unlike a state college at home I suppose doesn't attract the sorts of students who write graffiti on the walls or carve initials in the bookshelves. In many ways I like this better than a hotel, because there's plenty of shelf space and there's a desk. I don't always get a desk in a hotel room. And for the view outside, for £22 a night it's a bargain.

      First day of class. If nothing else, I'm discovering I know more Gaelic than I thought I did. And I'm learning how to use it. Though I have to take the time to translate even the words I do know, formulate an answer in English, then translate the reply to Gaelic before uttering it, in class that's not a problem. The instructor, Susanne, is very patient and she rarely reverts to English. Instead she repeats the Gaelic slowly. I like this a lot. She's a very nice lady, and sort of looks like Paul McCartney.

      From the student list, I can see that there is one other American here, but she's not in my class. Of the ten in my class, there are students from Brazil and Iceland, and one is a Canadian who lives in South Korea. Most of the students, though, are from the UK.

      Big surprise for me today. At dinner I learned that one of my classmates is not only an author, but she wrote one of the books I've used in my research. Maggie Craig wrote "Damn' Rebel Bitches," which is one of the better sources I've found for close detail on the '45. I was so excited I could barely talk. She's here with her daughter, learning Gaelic at the same level as I am. This is sooo cool. We talked shop some, and she has encountered the same reluctance from British publishers on the subject of time travel historicals as I have. I guess I can stop thinking it's just that I'm an American, then.

      I'm told Borders is having a Grand Opening of a store in Inverness on Saturday. Too bad donNA doesn't still work for them; I'd go just to see if she was there. I might go anyway, just to see if they've got my books. Or maybe not. Tooling around town in a right-hand drive isn't my favorite thing, so maybe I'll just bypass Inverness and head on to Nairn. Especially since I might get there late if I spend too much time at Eilean Donan that morning. I really want to tour that castle, if I can get in on a Saturday. I'd hoped to get to see the folk museum in Glencoe yesterday, but of course since it was Sunday the place was closed. And it's too far back the other way to swing past on my way to Nairn. Rats.

July 22

      Tuesday. Brain fried already. We learned days of the week. Susanne asks me, "De latha a th'ann an-diugh?" I'm like, "You want to know what day it is today? I can't even remember what year it is!" Taking this course is a bit like taking four courses all at once, because it's an all-day thing in chunks broken by lunch and two breaks. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it, but still I'm fried.

July 23

      Wednesday. Nasty weather today. Usually I have to wait till November for cold weather like this. Naturally today is the day we'd planned for the outing to the Clan Donald center. We went anyway, and I got some photos in their museum. Not much good for the current project, but I'm squirrelling them away for the Glen Coe story. Poor Susanne isn't feeling well today, so she's taken the afternoon off. Hope she feels better a-maireach.

July 24

      Getting to know a few of the people here, something I didn't have a chance to do much on my last trip, and I'm very glad to be able to this time. Feeling more comfortable this time around, and a bit less like an intruder. Susanne was talking about the Clan Donald trust, which she knows a lot about because she's a Dhomhnalach (MacDonald). Apparently the current clan chief squandered his inheritance and had to sell the holding to a group that is now keeping the land safe from development. Susanne said she thinks most of them are Americans, and I cracked, "Do they have a hamburger chain?" That took a second to register before the whole class broke up, laughing.

      Ceilidh. Lots of singing and some dancing, of course. Our class sang a "walking" song, and it went off rather nicely I thought. I'm not much of a partier, but this sort of gathering is much nicer than most parties, I think. There were at least three generations of folks there, possibly four. The kids were well behaved, probably because they weren't being ignored by the adults.

      In the States, even those who are familiar with the music, dancing and language still tend to be tourists in it. There is less participation and more...well, gawking. This was not at all a show for the tourists.

      I was somewhat surprised at the bits of culture that seem to have bounced back here from America. There is a banjo class here, and they played some traditional Scottish music on that instrument. It was a little weird to hear, because it wasn't quite bluegrass but it was almost trying to be. But not quite. And one girl did a very nice display of clogging, accompanied by a small ensemble who cranked authentic bluegrass. Interesting to see the appreciation for American contribution. No purist snobbery here.

      Maggie got to talking about the book I'd given her on Tuesday, and I'm thrilled to report SON OF THE SWORD has passed Scottish muster for authenticity. She's from near Aberdeen, and has a sharp eye for historicals that are not up to snuff, so I'm probably going to be insufferable from now on with this big head I've gotten.

July 25

      Tomorrow I leave for Nairn, and I'm looking forward to touring Eilean Donan. I wish I'd gone last time I was here, but at the time I hadn't known I would need it. I'm going this time because I figure I'll need it again eventually.

      Saying goodbye to the folks I've hung out with this week, and I know I'm going to miss them. I remember what it was like to wander around alone so far from any familiar face, and these are some very cool people. All very interested in this country and the culture.

July 26

      Lunch Saturday. Once again I'm dining with a loch view, and this time there is Castle Eilean Donan in the foreground. I just toured the castle, and I'm so excited! They have on display there one of the letters Bonnie Prince Charlie wrote to the clan leaders in August 1745. With the help of a very handsome, kilted young tour guide, I was able to copy it word for word. Just in the nick of time; I'll be able to tweak the manuscript of SWORD OF THE WHITE ROSE this fall. This is sooo cool!

      Toured Urquart Castle in the afternoon, and unfortunately the battery in my camera pooped out while I was still in the visitor center. Note to self: buy second battery for camera. I took extensive notes, though, and am glad to have had a close look at how a castle like that was put together.

      Hotel in Nairn is an armpit. Perhaps it's just the girl at the desk, who seems singularly unhelpful, but there is also that the room I'm in is tiny, L-shaped, and there's an enormous mirror overlooking the bed. I hate that. So I've taken the bedspread and pinned it to the wall over the mirror with the Ross badge kilt pin I bought yesterday. Maids flip out when they see stuff like that, but at least I'm not moving the furniture around as is my wont when I don't like the room arrangement. Everything is nailed to the floors and walls. I hate that, too. No shower, and the tub is so narrow I almost can't get in and out of it. Yeesh. Finally got online tonight, though. I feel whole now.

July 27

      Culloden Battlefield. I walked out of the visitor center, and the view before me was exactly...exactly as I'd imagined it in SWORD OF THE WHITE ROSE. No spoilers here, but one of the characters comes from the direction of the Hanoverian lines, and her point of view is what I saw just then. It was terribly disorienting. I began to feel light-headed, and a little sick to my stomach. I turned away until it settled, but when I turned back I felt sick again. After a few moments I pressed on because it wasn't getting any better. Came to the burial mounds. Some folks had recently left flowers on some of the mass graves, and it gave a little insight on why otherwise sane men would stand up in front of a line of guns like that. Those guys died over 250 years ago, and people are still decorating their graves. To be part of something that world-changing and eternal might be a pretty strong motivation for some people. And the fact that the clansmen who fought that day knew they couldn't win makes them even more astonishing.

      I found the spots where two others of my characters fell in the battle, and sat on a nearby bench for a quiet moment. It was all still just as I'd imagined. Rough, rocky ground, the firth off in the distance, trees not far, and the stone wall from behind which the Redcoats gave flanking fire is still there, some of it reconstructed recently. In my mind I could see the mud, and the bodies lying everywhere, and the Redcoats walking among the wounded Jacobites, bayoneting them.

      From there I went to the Clava Cairns, yet another burial site. Interesting, though, in that it's about four thousand years old. It didn't feel as "female" as I'd heard. All round and moundy and all that, but I think death is death and this was a place where bodies were laid to rest. I saw where some folks had recently pried stones up from the ground to place on one of the cairns, so I found a loose one and did likewise. Maybe I shouldn't have, but there was an odd feeling of continuity, to participate in an interment four millennia old. Now I know why people put little rocks on top of headstones.

      Back to the hotel, and I've bought lunch and dinner at a take-away shop so I won't have to leave the room for the rest of the day. Time to withdraw, get some work done, and organize my stuff some. With all these books I've bought, more than likely I'll have to put dirty laundry into my backpack and check it as a second piece of luggage when I fly home.

July 28

      Nairn Museum on Monday morning, and I've found this trip's sweet elderly ladies. I was the first one in when it opened, and they were all over me being helpful. It's good to see people who enjoy their work. Got some Nairnly stuff, checked out the really old Nairnly stuff, then moseyed on. Took the better part of the day to drive to Perth, though I stopped at Killiecrankie when I realized I was passing right by it. Didn't learn much about the battle, but I found a ton of material on the local flora and uses for it, as well as a book about the local wee creatures. A definite weak spot in my previous research. Onward to Perth, and descending from the Highlands. It's almost sad to say goodbye to the mountains.

      Perth. I've discovered Sky One. Buffy. Yay.

July 29

      Palace of Scone. Guides everywhere must find me frustrating, because I ask about things that USED to be here. One guide suggested I contact Dorothy Dunnett to ask about the abbey that once was on this site, and was crestfallen to learn the woman had passed away a year or two ago. Then she informed me there were other novelists I could ask, and I just sort of smiled and nodded and said, "Yeah, I am one of those novelists." Nobody seems to know exactly where the old abbey used to stand, beyond "Somewhere around here." But the exact spot of the coronations is well remembered, as "Moot Hill." aka "Boot Hill," so named because it reportedly was formed by lairds and barons come to show their loyalty to each new king crowned or anointed there, and who carried earth in their boots to deposit on the mound. Just guessing, but I'd be willing to bet it originated in an idea that each leader's earth was meant to represent his lands, so that the king would rule over all of Scotland. There is a chapel there now. But since the Bruce coronation apparently took place out of doors and not inside the abbey, that solves a couple of logistics problems for me. I don't have to know what the abbey looked like inside, since Alex will never go in.

      The guides seem puzzled by my joy at learning these dribs and drabs of information. Hard to grasp how valuable these sorts of details are, when they don't seem to matter in the greater historical scheme. Also, I think there may be some disappointment that I have no interest in the things they do know. Mostly about the family history of the folks who own the property. Most of the displays go back only two or three centuries, and the palace itself only goes back about five. It's the look at Moot Hill I came for, and an idea of exactly where the spot was, relative to the surrounding countryside.

      Interesting conversation with the lady manning the front door of the palace, extremely tall and narrow, with what appeared to be far more than the usually allotted number of teeth. I asked what was the best way to get to the A9 toward Stirling.

      Blank look. "The A9 goes to Inverness."

      "And Stirling."

      "No, it doesn't go to Stirling."

      "It does. I have a map. It goes to Stirling."

      She got up from her desk and went to someone's office and poked her head in the door. "Does the A9 go to Stirling?"

      Muffled reply, "Yes, it does."

      The lady turned to me. "Yes, the A9 does go to Stirling," she informed me in a tone that suggested she was glad the matter was finally settled,

      I thanked her kindly and left, figuring she probably didn't know the quickest way to get to the road from the palace, and even if she tried to tell me, I wasn't going to chance taking her directions. I think I saw this scene once in "Monarch of the Glen."