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Read a breathtaking account of the day Lynne spent in the village of Kames in Scotland.

November 30, 1999

Scotland: Beneath the Cover of Tourism
A Travel Diary of A Day in the Village of Kames
By Lynne Remick

August 13, 2000

When our Aer Lingus flight soared across the Irish Sea, approaching Glasgow's International Airport, I felt as if I was returning home. Below me lie a stunningly spectacular puzzle of locked lands, some golden with hay and others an emerald green speckled with dots of grazing sheep, that I had fallen in love with years ago. It still looked fresh and forgotten, as if no one had visited since I left.

My return to Scotland was something I dreamed about since my first visit there via a Trafalgar Tour in August 1996. That first time I set foot on Scottish soil, I had no idea how it seeps into your soul and becomes a part of you. But I knew then, and I know now, that I will return to Scotland again.

Having had a broad overview of Scotland, its passionate history and cherished culture during my prior two-week tour/one-week sightseeing vacation, I eagerly anticipated my stay with cousins, Margaret and Beinn. As descendants of Clan Munro, my cousin Margaret's father and his family once lived on and farmed the land owned by the Duke of Argyll at Inverary Castle. Today, Margaret and Beinn live an hour from the homes of their ancestors (which are preserved in an outdoor museum called Auchindrain), in a tiny area called Kames, part of a larger (but extremely small) town named Tighnabruaich in the Argyll Peninsula.

As anyone who has visited Europe knows, staying in a country's city in comparison with staying in a small village can be like visiting opposite ends of the earth. Now, in the wee village of Kames with its one-lane roads and sheep traffic jams, I would see the beating heart of Scotland first hand.

After landing and securing a rental car at the Glasgow airport, my father, mother, son and I journeyed toward the highlands. We stopped to soak in the sights and lunch at the Inverbeig--a hotel/pub overlooking Loch Lomond. While eating my garden salad and vegetarian lasagna with melted English cheeses -- not local fare, but delicious, just the same -- my mind conjured memories of the last time I skimmed the Loch's surface, gazed at the bonnie banks and learned the history of its infamous ballad Loch Lomond on a boat cruise in '96.

Once my son finished his pizza (obviously an International staple), beans and fried cornmeal smiley faces, then off we were toward Inverary, where we would make the turn down along the Firth of Clyde to Kames. As one travels deeper into the highlands, the scenery becomes thicker, lusher and utterly awesome. Cows and sheep appear like spectres blanketed by the soft veil of mist that lies over lush, fertile farmlands. Even the beauty of Ireland, with its forty shades of green, could not compare to this enchanting setting.

When we arrived at our destination, my cousins' new house turned out to be half a house (each person owns one-half of the generously portioned house and land) overlooking the Sound of Bute and its namesakes island. Quite a breathtaking view and like none that I ever enjoyed in Long Island, New York, I can assure you. A lovely, blooming garden of what were to me exotic flowers -- including varieties of thistle and stinging nettles -- adorned her half of the property and added to the quaintness of the bright, pleasant scene.

After a quick tour of the house, which actually used a fireplace as a primary source of heat, and, except for the smaller-sized appliances, ethnic paintings, local photographs, distinctly Scottish linen prints and British sundries looked like a normal American home (Beinn had a bunkbed, Southpark posters, a big stereo, Nintendo 64 with a huge pile of games and clothes strewn about), we headed off to meet the rest of our cousins and dine at the local hotel.

As a matter of interest, my cousin drove us around Kames, which could not have been more than a half mile by my estimate, guiding us past the local church, community hall (which, when I peeked in, harbored a group of old ladies who were square dancing), the two-room post office/general store (where one can buy stamps and tea towels), a tiny local pizzeria (where they serve only personal pizzas and not pizza by the slice), small primary school and golf course. I imagined it would be quite an outing if someone were to desire to shop for clothing or appliances, as no retail establishments of that nature were visible, unless they were hidden in the cracks of the nearby hills.

I couldn't figure why such a small town -- I hadn't counted more than 25 houses in all -- would need its own hotel, but we were in good company at the Kames Hotel with the locals dining there. A regular sport was made of billiards and darts, in between drinks, starters (appetizers) and main courses. I was tempted, and did give in to trying the Vegetarian Haggis (a vegetable version of the Scottish favorite, made of oats, barley, malt, corn, peas, etc., and NOT cooked in a sheep's stomach). So delicious was this starter, that we re-ordered a round of them for everyone. Other dishes that delighted our table were Skink Soup, Shepherd's pie, Shrimp Scampi (not the way Americans make it, though), Vegetarian Lasagna (that was mine), lamb, and spicy meatballs.

Deciphering the unusual Scottish accents during dinner conversation was challenging, to say the least, as it seems that they pronounce vowels differently than what we are accustomed to. However, since I bested my cousins at darts, I would say I gave them half a challenge, as well.

And then it was off to bed where I snuggled beneath eyelet covers and laid my head upon a goose feather pillow -- my first night sleeping in Kames, underneath the same stars that shone down upon nearby Rothesay Castle, a former holding of Robert the Bruce.