North to Nairn

So you want to go north to the beach in February, Neal, to see the winter sea. Did you need to pack any long underwear? Of course you thought not. As a six weeks veteran traveler of Scotland, such precautions were for the weak. Thus, Scotland brought along the fierce wind gusts, the largest snow flakes you had ever seen. Your skinny legs froze with only a damp pair of corduroys to protect you. You even dragged Marcel along for the ride.

The train ride was fantastic as the Scot-rail car meandered through the heart of the empty highlands.

But seriously Nairn was [insert synonym of choice for amazing]. Ehm, sensational, yes.

The almost tawny sand of the Nairn coastline was sprinkled within minutes with snow like a Cafe du Monde beignet's powder sugar after a mighty sneeze. If you get your mind right, you have to admit that you rarely feel more spry and alive than facing snowy, saltwater wind. I felt like no sensible person would be gallivanting down the coastline, so the enjoyment was tripled. I did not see a snow shark though. Ravens battled the wind. Ravenclaw seems more suitable to me daily. The bike tire has to be a metaphor. I'll expound on it someday, if I ever get that epiphany.

Marcel and I went to Inverness after some pub fare and hot tea. We decided not to immediately set out for Loch Ness, to our chagrin. We walked around Inverness. The capital of the Highlands, let me tell you, we have down pat. We saw the Flora MacDonald statue, a fake Nessie, and famous-ish Pict era wolf stone. Inverness offered some great views of the River Ness and some Ness Islands to walk around. The river moves very quickly. A rescue in the cold current seems unlikely. Nessie can do some fast wind sprints, I have no doubt.

A day was well lived. I can ask for little more.