Schottland 1973, Teil 3 … Scotland 1973, part 3

Die Deutsche Version findet ihr HIER (zusammen mit Teil 4, ich habe daraus wieder zwei Teile gemacht, weil ich den alten Text zu lang fand).

Die Bilder in diesem Abschnitt sind ziemlich schlecht, zum Einen, weil es sich im Laufe des Tages sehr bewölkte, zum Anderen, weil die Bilder von Papierfotos abfotografiert sind. Aber ich dachte besser als gar keine.

… The photos in this part are not very good, on the one hand because it started to get very overclouded, and on the other hand because they were originally paper photos that I photographed them from there. But I thought better than none.

Part 3, Glasgow – Rowardennon (Loch Lomond)

July 8, 1973

We get up early on Sunday because we want to go to Loch Lomond. We walk a short distance through town to the Great Western Road. There we ask an elderly gentleman if, when and from where a bus leaves the city. Bus number 20 does the same and that also on Sundays. „But you may have to wait half an hour.“ – It’s better to wait half an hour than to walk. If I know us well, we will have enough opportunity to do so. The bus arrives after 10 minutes and takes us to the next roundabout. We hardly stand five minutes when a young man rushes up in a red sports car with a picture of Snoopy on the side door. He is a passionate Charlie Brown fan and takes us to the next place called Dumbarton, where he shows us the right road to Loch Lomond. From there a pastor takes us to the next place, which is called Bonhill. He tells us that he travels a lot. He likes Greece best as a travel destination.

Two girls are already standing in Bonhill trying to hitchhike. We therefore continue around the next bend. Just bad luck that there is so little traffic! After a while we see an old man waving to us. But we don’t understand what he wants and so we go to meet him. “You have to go up the hill. You have a better position there! “ We thank him and follow his advice. He is right. Just before the hill, a side street joins ’ours’, and a lot of cars come from there. The man went a long way just to tell us that!

We don’t have to wait long at the top of the hill, when a young man takes us to the next place, Drymen. It’s such a tiny place I’m convinced we’ll have to walk the rest of the way to the youth hostel on Loch Lomond. But no, a man with a child has mercy on us. He actually only wants to go to the next town, Balmaha, but brings us to the end of the road, very close the youth hostel. So we’ve made pretty good progress. It’s only noon and we’re already in Rowardennan on beautiful Loch Lomond. I am just surprised, because Sunday is usually a bad day for hitchhikers. Sunday is the family day out and most cars are packed with weekend luggage, children, dogs and other family members. In theory, we should have stranded somewhere along the way. In any case, it explains today’s short lifts. People just go to the next village to visit.

We get rid of the backpacks and sit down on the meadow in front of the youth hostel. A few meters away there are three boys, one of whom looks Indonesian. After listening for a long time, we find out that they are Dutch. A somewhat younger boy turns out to be a Scot. His name is Ricky. He describes himself as ’tricky Ricky’. Ricky speaks many languages superficially and can count and say ’Shut up’ in German and French. For our entertainment he performs a Gaelic tongue twister, which mainly consists of sounds like ’bacharach’ and the like. The three Dutchmen are very nice. Coe is Dutch of Indonesian descent, Albert speaks a funny mixture of German and Dutch, Leivi unfortunately speaks neither English nor German. There are four hours left before the youth hostel opens, which we spend in lively conversation. The Dutch are in Rowardennon with 15 boys. Currently, however, the majority of the group is paddling. That’s lucky because, for the most part, they turn out to be pretty primitive types. Boys of the same age are not as mature as we girls are. [Hear! Hear!] We have a lot of trouble with one of them, called ’Tiny’, especially when he is drunk. Unfortunately, he seems to have a preference for me, for pretty obvious reasons by the way, it’s not flattering! In addition, he is begrudging Albert, who is an outsider in the group anyway, that we get along so well with him. The boys cannot imagine that the three of us are simply together as comrades.

July 9, 1973

The next day is Albert’s birthday. After breakfast, the three of us walk a little towards Ben Lomond (about half an hour, no dice for more). Then we lie in the sun, get sick on sweets and dance both the tango and the Viennese waltz. Finally Albert invites us to have tea in the pub. The pub in Rowardennan looks pretty shabby from the outside, and on the inside this impression is confirmed: A large room, crammed with chairs, tiny tables and a small, rickety stage. Despite this uncomfortable appearance, the atmosphere is incredibly good. It’s because of the people.

In the afternoon, Susi and Albert come up with the crazy idea of swimming in Loch Lomond. I prefer to sit on a rock and watch. In the evening we are having a mental break-down. We all stand on a large stone and try to push each other down.

Of course, it doesn’t end without casualties. Of the stones that Susi and Albert ditch into the water with growing enthusiasm, Loch Lomond’s water level is guaranteed to have risen by a meter [3 feet].

Then we decide to play drunk so the other boys should think that we’ve had an orgy. We give our best. It must be an uplifting sight, especially when I do javelin with a picket for a washing line, and Susi and Albert stumble out of the forest, hugging each other.

Albert’s acquaintance is also very useful for our language skills. So we learn such valuable idioms as ’Chottverdomme’. [God damn, in case you should be in doubt.]

And here two photos of Loch Lomond without Albert:

There are several small islands in (on?) Loch Lomond

[I was in contact with Albert for a long time after the trip. I even visited him and his partner in Holland once with two other friends. But this is another story. After that, the contact somehow died down.]