A Highland Long Weekend
If you only had 3 days in Scotland, what would you do to capture the essence of Scottish life? This was the dilemma faced by my school friend Dzung (pronoung Yoong) and I, as we planned his whirlwind tourist jaunt in the last weekend of October.

Typically, October is the wettest month in one of the wettest countries in the world, yet we still decided to venture north into the rugged and unpredictable Scottish highlands. What defines the beauty and history of Scotland better than the stark munros and stone castles of the north-western highlands? On a wet, windy and miserable Friday, we headed north and made ourselves familiar with the hire car as we weaved our way through narrow, picturesque roads.

We passed by the western shores of Loch Lomond, spent some chilly moments bounded by striking mountains in the stunning Glen Coe and were treated to a very civilised lunch on the shores of Loch Leven. What was meant to be a quick pitstop in Fort William turned into a more substantial visit, as we tried some of the local Scotch Whisky at Ben Nevis Distillery (which didn't agree with Dzung's palate!) and wandered through the ruins of a local castle. Since the eery grey of daylight would soon turn to the pitch black of night, we continued on towards the Isle of Skye, past the photogenic Eilean Donan Castle (left) and over the road bridge to Scotland's most popular highland island.

By dusk we'd reached Portree, the largest town on the island, and settled into an immaculate Bed & Breakfast overlooking the water. We headed into town where the local culinery selection was limited but adequate. We chatted briefly to an Aussie from Darwin and also sampled the local music of a young rock band at the liveliest pub we could find.

The next morning we rose to a beautiful sight: the wind and rain has stopped and the sky cleared enough to reveal an array of natural colours that had been dulled by the clouds of the previous evening. The weather forecasts had all predicted wind and rain, so to see sunshine and blue sky was an unexpected blessing. Dzung and I went into overdrive with our cameras, making the most of our digital cameras.

The rare appearance of the sun inspired us to go for a walk up to the jagged rocks of the Old Man of Storr, north of Portree. Before we began, the blue sky revealed the peaks of the near vertical towers of rock, shown to the left. By the time we began journeying through the pine forest at the base, the wasps of cloud had already began to coalesce at the mountain top. Fortunately for us, the clouds didn't immediately produce any rain, so we were able to enjoy the scramble around unstable rocky slopes without getting drenched.

The coastal scenery further up the northern peninsula made watching the road a bit of a bore - it took us much longer than expected. The folded rock sheets of Kilt Rock and the shafts of sunlight through clouds over Uig were the main highlights. By the afternoon, a steady drizzle had beset Skye, so that Dunvegan Castle on the west coast was barely visible even from a nearby vantage point.

As the day quickly slipped away from us, we decided to head back to the mainland and aim for Aviemore near the Cairngorm Mountains that night. We were waylaid somewhat by colourful sunsets (one of Dzung's photographic duties) and hitchhikers lining the road. One of our backseat vagabonds happened to be an environmental scientist from Australia - she's now a potential employee for the company I work for!

We passed Loch Ness in the dark and made it as far as Inverness before stopping for the night. After checking into a B&B with super-soft beds, we were treated to a delightful Indian meal overlooking the full-flowing River Ness. A trip to Scotland wouldn't be complete without a ceilidh (pronounced 'kaylee'), and we visited a local pub with live music where I participated in an ad hoc rendition of 'Strip the Willow', alongside a fairy and pirate dressed up for Halloween.

An extra hour that night asleep in the comfy beds was definitely needed, knowing that we would head straight down to Edinburgh for our final day. We passed through Aviemore and got a taste for the grandeur of the mountainous surrounds, but didn't have a chance to stop and soak in the atmosphere.

When we reached Edinburgh, we powered up Arthur's Seat and appreciated the panorama (alongside hundreds of others) on an unseasonally bright Autumn day. It was a shame that we could only spend a couple of hours in the nation's capital, but when you've only got three days...

That night, Dzung met some friends from church for 'tea', which had been surreptitiously planned as a surprise belated birthday party. Anna and Rosie designed a generous celebration replete with party hats and all 27 candles on the cake. We had great fun stretching our minds and sharing funny YouTube videos. By the way, what three letters can be put at the start and at the end of the following letters to produce a commonly used word: _ _ _ ergro _ _ _ ?

In other news, I will be back in Australia between December 23 and January 15. For you Aussies out there, I'm looking forward to sharing a sunny Christmas and New Year with you!

A soccer career was never part of the long-term plans, but according to some (possibly deluded!) souls in my company, it's something that should now be thrown into the mix. "Why?", you might ask...

It all started when I heard about the annual Carl Bro (my company's) soccer competition, which was in Dublin this year. It sounded like a great way to visit Ireland and get to know other people from work, both from the Glasgow office and from other offices throughout the UK, Ireland, Sweden and Denmark. I also thought I could pick up some of the soccer skills developed in the highly competitive arena at church youth group!

I went along to one of the practice games, and proceeded to watch most of the game from the sideline, thinking arrogantly to myself that I could do better than half the guys on the field. When I finally did get my chance, with 15 minutes to go, I was an embarrassment to myself and to my country (who'd done so admirably in the World Cup). What looked so easy from the sideline, I made to look quite tricky. At that point, my Dublin experience seemed destined to be as a travelling supporter, rather than a player.
That was until I was approached by the captain to ask if I wanted to play in goals. The previous goalie had to pull out because of a wedding, and I was undoubtably the most useless player on the park. I agreed to give it a go.

In the 1.5 practice games, I let through 8 goals (two of them were particularly embarrassing). Not an impressive record... However, my place in the side was assured when our other goalie let through 6 goals in one half! My position had been confirmed by default.

Many of our touring party of about 30 soon got into the more 'social' aspects of the tour before even boarding the plane. Our Glasgow players and supporters would most often be found at the bar, and certainly lived up to their reputation as the biggest drinkers going around (although there was quite a bit of competition for the title).

After getting to know the 'opposition' at one of the old, traditional pubs in Dublin on the Friday night, the soccer began the following morning with a game against the favourites for the title from Leeds. We surprised ourselves at our competitiveness, and were narrowly beaten 1-0 from a goal that resulted from an unfortunate defensive error.

We then played the hosts from Ireland, who had a previous 'player of the tournament' in their ranks. Our first half was horrendous (maybe we were distracted by having to play in skins), and it was only a few fortuitous saves that kept the score at 0-0. The second half was an improvement, although the deadlock was broken from a corner that sailed straight over my outstretched arm and into the top back corner of the net untouched! Apparently this 'player' knew we had an Aussie in goals who didn't have much of a clue... To our delight however, we managed a return goal with 5 minutes left, and the scores finished at 1-1.

Our final group game was against a second-string Swedish team, who we knew we had to beat convincingly if we had any chance of going through. With the score 10-0 at half time, we knew we'd given ourselves a chance (I even came inside the opposition's box for the corners), but even the 12-0 victory wasn't enough, and we were content to play off in the 'losers' shield.

Tired legs and ill-disciplined passing let us down against Denmark, and we lost 2-0 late on Saturday evening (most of the guys were probably hoping to already be at the pub - in fact, some of them had already gone, and had to come back for the game). A free buffet meal and open bar that night meant that many of our team were rather out-of-sorts for our final game against Ireland (again) the next day.

We were struggling to field a team, as were our Irish counterparts, so we agreed on a gentlemanly penalty shoot-out. Since I was one of the few hangover-less people in our side, the guys had confidence in 'The Cat', which I had affectionately become known. We were down 1-2 early on in the shoot-out, but the decisive moment came when I got my revenge on the 'player' and saved his left-footed shot to my right. Maybe he would have had more success from the corner spot... One other confident save, and we managed to sneak through 4-3.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable tournament, and apart from the soccer, I particularly relished the chance to meet people from throughout Europe. It's also amazing what sport can do for gaining respect amongst my (particularly male) colleagues from the office.

So... I have been asked to contact 'football' clubs in Glasgow having let through a more respectable 4 goals in 4 games. A few moments of consideration later, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. What could be worse than choosing to stand outside in a freezing Scottish winter, with glory or shame held on such a knife edge. I'd prefer to be bashed up on a rugby field!

Having said that, I just played my first rugby game (at fullback, surprisingly enough) and we had our only victory of the season so far, 8-0. I'm very stiff and sore at the moment. Nevertheless, it was the right decision... The Cat won't be let out of the bag again til next year.

I can't say mountaineering has traditionally been a common past-time of mine.... but when the Scottish highlands are as beautiful as they are, and two of my most visited friends are mountaineering tragics, it's difficult to avoid. It wasn't ice climbing this time, but the longest rock climb up the tallest mountain in the United Kingdom - Tower Ridge on Ben Nevis.

The touring party included good friend Peter "you can always sleep when you die" MacKenzie, his brother John "just give me a mountain and I'll climb it" MacKenzie, and John's friend Nicky "I'd prefer a rope thanks".

We had to get up early and were running on about 4 hours sleep following one of Peter's infamous parties the previous night. The anticipation of such a challenge overwhelmed any thoughts of tiredness. My level of preparation was typified by the fact that I forgot to bring a shirt... and shorts. Fortunately, the MacKenzie boys were far more prepared, and I now know the versatility of a white business shirt!

The journey itself was mostly a scramble up loose rock, squeezing between a steep crevasse or two, tip-toing along ledges, with the occasional steep and exposed climb to really test us novices. Mum, you'll be pleased to know that we used ropes in the two most dangerous bits, so I was never at serious risk of falling (at least not in the really tough spots)...

We began in fairly clear skies, but about halfway through the climb the clouds closed in on the mountain, and light rain made the rocks slippery and climbing became a little more tricky. There was one particular spot where there was a sheer drop on either side of a ridge about one metre wide, known as Tower Gap. Spectacular if you like that sort of thing, but I was fairly anxious, particularly since the rain had started to settle in by this stage. You can see Tower Gap in the photo alongside.

At one spot, we stopped for lunch, surrounded by thick cloud. As we started eating, the outline of the cliff faces slowly emerged out of the mist, like a faintly forming silhouette. Two minutes later, the clouds had lifted to the extent that we could see the entire valley stretched out below us. It was a beautiful, albeit brief, moment of clarity. For the rest of the climb we was shrouded in a thickly damp haze.

In the end, following a tricky little climb after Tower Gap, the summit arrived more quickly than expected. We were greeted by masses of tourists who had walked up the far more leisurely tourist route. There were people of almost all ages, some had taken their dogs, one girl was wearing beach sandels... We however, felt far more satisfied, having conquered the peak on our hands and knees up a "difficult" (the official classification of this particular ridge) mountain climb. I was both proud and relieved, thankful that I was accompanied by Nicky who was humble enough to ask for ropes in those nerve-wracking spots. A great first encounter with Ben Nevis.

This adventure certainly didn't dim my enthusiasm for more wild trips, so on a Tuesday night, five of us (including our fearless church minister DM) camped the night on a tiny island in Loch Lomond. Tarbet Island is only 100m off the western shore and is essentially a rocky outcrop the size of two tennis courts. We drove up after work, inflated our two boats, and paddled out just before sunset. DM had conjured up a fire by the time the rest of us arrived, and the two rainbow trout we'd been offered by a couple of guys on shore were soon cooking over the fire.

For Peter and Richard, it didn't take long before they were scaling trees and drumming up support for a late night swim in the still, murky waters. Charlie and I were eventually persuaded, but none of lasted too long in the chilly waters when we knew that a fire awaited our return. After a damp night, we were up at 6am and back at work by 9:00, which was a mildly disorienting experience. About mid morning, Peter and I began to feel the effects of the slightly uncooked fish of the previous night, although I didn't regret one mouthful. Freshly cooked fish, even if it is a bit raw, is a rare delight.

On one final note, The Edinburgh (International/Fringe/Book/Politics) Festival of the last few weeks has also been a highlight. I managed to get to a couple of comedies and "The Screwtape Letters" by CS Lewis performed as a play. Each of them was high class, and the number of other cultural events and social activities was immense. I'm amazed they can fit so much into such a compact city, but I guess it's why the place is totally transformed during August.