Lord of the Isle, Sons of the Devil and Saga of the Bangs

We flew out of Dublin early in the morning, and by fly I mean we pretty much reached cruising altitude and then were hitting the runway before the flight attendants could sell us a pack of smokes we couldn't smoke on the plane or a subscription to a useless British magazine. 

I was the one in charge of getting us from the airport to our accommodations on the Isle of Islay. We had some pretty close connections and so instantly I became such a stress case that I actually started crying at the train station. We hadn't even left the airport. The train from the Prestwick airport into Glasgow gave us our first introduction to European travel by train. Cush seats, fold out tables, electrical outlets, luggage storage. I am officially very excited for mainland Europe. We met Craig, the ticket taker who guided us into Glasgow and then directed us from Glasgow Central to our bus station on probably one of the most scenic routes possible. 

Glasgow, or 'Glaz-goh' as it is pronounced by anyone who either knows what they're talking about or someone who wants to sound really Scottish, is a city out someone's European imagination.  I felt like I played "Ooh look a castle!" from the time we touched down to the the we left. It is just ancient, intricate stone building after intricate stone building. Some with a TGI Friday in them. Or an HMV. Cobblestone streets and beautiful turrets. So many turrets. We walked out of Glasgow Central which is an art deco beauty, and Moozh handed me the camera and said, "I'm going to take the map so you can be all 'shutta shutta, me take pik-cha you building'." Done and done. 

Family of origin stuff is hilarious. Sometimes it's twisted but it makes us who we are nonetheless. When we were waiting for our bus to leave downtown in Glasgow, and Moozh found out that the bathrooms cost 30p. Instantly, in my mind is this ridiculous poem that my dad used to recite.

Here I sit, broken hearted
Paid a dime and only farted.
Next time I will take my chance
Save my dime and poop my pants.

THAT'S what was going through my head! Thusly, I advised Moozh to just wait it out. 

Noon we caught our coach that would wind along the the Scottish coast and land us in Kennacraig, on the Tarbert peninsula. (I'm giving you all these names because if you're anything like me, you hear something and you instantly want to say it in the accent.) Being able to wind around and see the Scottish countryside was like playing "I Spy" combined with "Name all the Scottish things you can think of". Plushy white lamb flocks, mist and fog, tartan, farmers in green wellies, rocky cliffs. It had it all. Scotland is like England with tattoos and shit-kicker boots. It has a very similar landscape, just all roughed up. Granular, uneven rock faces protrude through the plushy moss and grass. Steep cliff faces give way to fields of lavender flowers and brambleberry bushes. 

We land in Kennacraig with an hour or two to kill. It's the first time we've found free wi-fi since we landed in the UK. We putz, emailing back and forth with our contact at the cottages. The info we've been able to get about the buses on the island have been slap and dash so we have her field our questions. 

"Oh no there are no buses that run after four on Sundays." 

"Why?"

"Well because it's Sunday." 

Taxi it is. 

Then the predecessor to the Titanic, our ferry, clops into the port. It goes about the speed of a paddleboat but it has quite the selection of on-board scotches and cask ales to help you pass the time. 

Arriving at Islay is like pressing through a curtain. Ensconced in a womb of fog and dusk, is a peaty, rocky coast, freckled with rooftops and fenced in by docks. Walls of white washed houses, recognizable from photographs of Mediterranean Greece but paired instead with brambles and peat bogs. Peat is amazing. It's hundreds of years old and all it is is packed vegetation, grass, and dirt. And the use of peat is precisely what gives Islay scotch it's distinct flavour.  All scotch has that firey, smokey flavour because the barley has to be roasted before it can soak. Now there are next to NO trees on Islay. So what they used to fuel the fires for their barley was peat. The use of peat lends an amazing earthiness that is distinguishes Islay scotch from all other scotches. 

The night we land, it's late. It's past eight thirty, and Leslie, our host assures us that most everything will be closed save for two of the Inns right on the harbour. The meal she tacked down for us at The Harbour Inn was phenomenal and nursed a worn day of travel. Scottish oysters are by far the most amazing oysters either of us have ever had. Twice the size of oysters we've had in Canada, fleshy, creamy, treading perfectly that fine line between briny and salty. Cauliflower soup with truffle oil, Prawn Brose (like a chowder), an asparagus and stilton tart and cola braised short ribs. Warm beautiful food with the rain coming down outside, on ISLAY, made for a truly enchanting experience. Bowmore, the oldest scotch distillery on Islay, opened up holiday cottages on their grounds a few years ago that we locked into. You get a complimentary bottle of Bowmore and a free distillery tour as well as being nestled in the town of Bowmore, where most things are located. We had a cush bed, a coffee press (no more instant coffee for us) and a phenomenal view of Loch Indaal at sunset.

Smoking our anniversary prezzie Fonsecas. Thanks Ma!

The next day was a motivated day of Scotch. Moozh's favourite distillery, Ardbeg, was our first stop. The story of scotch on the island is very interesting. Bowmore was the first licensed distillery on the island. There were easily many unlicensed *ahem* illegal distilleries on the island before that but then Bowmore led the call. Distilleries on the island went up and down in the early part of the twentieth century but then the 1970's hit with the high times. A 40 km X 25 km island housed 14,000 people and 28 distilleries. Ardbeg built community housing, a school and a church for everyone who worked at the distillery. Whisky was a way of life. Then the 80's hit with the recession and whisky drinking went down. Population went from 14,000 to 3500, where it sits today, and distilleries shrank from 28 to 8. Ardbeg folded and had to shut down their facility. They were then bought and sold a couple of times until in 1991 they reopened and have just put out their oldest vintage. Ardbeg has an underdog vibe. They've hit hard times and had to come back so many times, it makes them a really interesting brand. But also have limited production so it's bard to get your hands on some of their limited release stuff. 

Painting by Ian Gray

Next it was Lagavulin and from there on to Laphroig which, along with Ardbeg, are tucked east of Port Ellen. Port Ellen houses the Maltings, which is the facility that roasts, soaks, and dries most of the barley for the remaining eight distilleries for the simple reason that Islay doesn't have enough land to grow just barley to make scotch. People can't live on scotch. Many try though. 

The Saga of the Bangs

Port Ellen

The second day we visited Bruichladdich, which is the rogue of the bunch. Bruichladdich is one of the oldest distilleries on the island, which has been through numerous re-imaginings of itself. But it's newest recreation has been an overhaul. They have easily the most eye catching branding, simply because it is a world of difference from the tartan and tweed, 'old man' scotches. They have a phenomenally enormous range of products that it's almost impossible to make sense of them all. Their Laddie 10 Year is easily my favourite. It's lighter on the peat but it has this smokey sweetness that has great balance. But they age in port barrels, and they've even put out a gin, called The Botanist. The Botanist is made with 22 native botanicals like bog myrtle and elderflower as well as the lemon peel and juniper of classic gin. It's beautifully oily. Best neat but makes a delicious G&T as long as you promise you won't mess with it too much. Then you might as well be drinking Gordon's. Or Drain-O.

Ugly Betty: The still for The Botanist

There is nothing like Scottish pronunciation. Both the Irish and Scottish accent become completely unrecognizable when laid on thick. The Scottish, however, has this magnetically gorgeous lilt to it. Even simple words like 'fire' become 'fehr', 'spirit' become 'speh-ret' with a healthy rolled 'r'. Staying in the town of Bowmore, we pronounced it like the 'bow' of an arrow and 'more' of something you love. Locals pronounce it almost like B'more, the 'o' almost eradicated. Another distillery called Bunnnahabhain is pronounced "Boon" and 'havin' with a tiny 'ah' sandwiched between them. Islay instead of being 'eye-lay', become 'eye-lah'. We met a little girl on one of the tours who name was Isla. Our daughter will officially be named Isla.  

We went on a search for Finlaggan, a cask strength scotch that we were introduced to by my dad last Christmas, which turned out to something like Snuffaluffagus. (I will NOT compare it to the Loch Ness Monster. That seems too easy.) Some have had it, some haven't even heard of it, and NO ONE knows where it's made or by who. And yet ten bottles make it to Canada, six of which go to Calgary, and one of which landed in Moozh's stocking. We heard a variety of different stories as to where it comes from and who's in charge. But we didn't find it. 

Loch Indaal at Sunset

Islay, and therefore scotch, is almost like a potion. It encompasses you with lore and tradition, a history backed by rebels and kings, a land where it could get so cold they wanted a drink just to make them FEEL warm. Moozh said at one point if he had learned anything from Islay it was that he wanted to be more concerned with character than charm. Islay sits at the most southernly point of the Scottish islands, or the Hebrides (Heh-bruh-dees). Islay was chosen as the stronghold of the Lord of the Isles, the Lord put in charge of guarding the islands. It must have had a charm unto itself but a charm based on simply what it was, not what it worked towards. After barley is malted it is ground to what is called 'grist', which is a combination of flour, husk and grit. The percentages of each in the grist need to be correct for the mashing in order to create the scotch as it should be, as it's known for. Islay has everything in the perfect percentage: heritage, creativity and not giving a fuck.

Circle Church of Bowmore, where "there are no corners for the devil to hide."

Stronghold for the Lord of the Isles

Things I learned in Scotland: 

Spell 'mum' with a 'u'. It's more endearing. 

One ice cube in scotch makes all the difference. 

Haggis pretty much just tastes like hamburger.

Haggis and Penne: so versatile

Quote from Scotland: Moozh was borderline charismatic on the way to the ferry.

"Next to my wedding day, this is the single greatest day of my life. It's like a pilgrimage for me. I know pilgrimages don't usually center around alcohol but mine does. I don't love scotch more than you but I certainly love it more than my children. They may not understand it but they only took two minutes to conceive. This scotch took forty years."

Runner up: On the bus to Islay, there was a kid sitting with his parents. We've been on the bus for three hours and he's getting a little stir crazy. So he starts teasing his dad. "I was jus the one laughin when you were stumblin round the house peein in corners." Mom is LOSING it. And then he realizes that other people have heard him. And they -we -are laughing too. This kid was eight, maybe.

Buy some crumpets. Find some butter. Or some Nutella. Who am I kidding, find some Nutella. Add. One plus one equals the best thing that ever happened to you. Wash it down with some single malt. Roll your "r's". Put on some Wellies. Then ask yourself, what would William Wallace would do.