July 3rd, 1998.
(Go figure, however: I listened to the Hollies in the car on the way there, and to 3 Mustapha 3
on the way back... as I say, go figure.)
I do want to thank my friend Gary, who keeps suggesting these Highland flings, even if he hasn't
been able to make any of the same ones I've attended.
From the parking lot in Norwalk we were bussed over to the site through pleasant, tree-lined
residential streets. The site itself was large, and many areas held clumps of welcome shade-yielding
trees. I watched the competition dancing for a bit, and then wandered past the soccer field
to the food vendors. I tried two different types of meat pie over the next few hours, but none
matched that "coming-home" experience I'd had at the 1998 Blandford festival. A
shame, really, as I was quite looking forward to the special taste of that pastry. The other
main type of food for sale was the British fish and chips, which I did not sample.
Towards the end, I had a quite refreshing and un-Scotslike strawberry colada as well. The
operative words were cold and wet.
There were the standard sets of booths and vendors -- representatives of the various Scottish
clans, a language-teaching society, vendors selling everything from fancy to simple wares.
I probably spent a bit more than I intended, but found myself justifying it by reminding myself
that for this week I was on vacation... And so I did buy stuff. A CD of Scottish dance
music by Steve Kendall and his band. A can of haggis and a box of shortbread, for bringing back
and sharing with my family. The Aberlemno Stone and the Glamis Stone (Pictish artifacts).
Well, they were reproductions, so it wasn't like buying the Brooklyn Bridge or something.
photo altered for the Haggis Pages.
On my way out, I watched a few moments of one of the soccer games, attempting to develop my
skills at action photography. Perhaps I should have been willing to waste more than three
shots... I decided that soccer is about as interesting as football -- which is to say, not
very.
We waited a long time for a return bus to the parking lot. The car was super-overheated, but
the drive home turned out to be uneventful.
It promised to be hotter than blue blazes, however hot THAT is.
I wrapped myself up lightly, getting myself in the mood for the journey ahead of time by a shuffle-mode
listen to Dougie MacLean, Seven Nations, and Kate MacKenzie -- the latter actually does more
country with a faint jazz flavoring than anything Celtic, but her name is Scottish...
All around me was the sound of bagpipes. It seemed as if everyone was playing at the same time, from
pockets hither and yon in the landscape -- mostly from under trees, unless they were actually
competing at the moment, at which point they were out in the merciless sun. Most of the bands
were quite good, although I missed hearing anyone who played like Seven Nations. There was a
small band of three men who played their own music over in the vending area -- a fiddler, guitarist,
and harmonica player; they were enjoyable.
Hand made in Scotland by James Gillon-Fergusson,
This year I got to watch the hammer throw -- the contestant swirls around with the thing, which
apparently is rather heavy at the one end, then lets momentum and his strength fling it out behind
him as far as it will fly. Which is promptly measured by nonchalant people waiting patiently
in the field, evidently confident that this thing will not come crashing down on their noggins.
A RootGrafix creation