Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 4. Hairy coos and coconuts

Before we left for the U.K., I made plans for us to take an all-day tour on Thursday in Scotland. In fact, the entire side trip to Edinburgh was based around this tour. Based on my research, one tour stood out as the best choice to see The Real Scotland, meaning territory and scenery outside of the big city. I booked two seats on the tour known as The Hairy Coo. Yes, I know, you're going to need an explanation, and before I get to it, I should stress it's all entirely family friendly. Really, it is.

Meet a hairy coo.

The Scots have a variant of cattle that's most ideally suited for the rough terrain and weather of the craggy, mountainous highlands. Highland cattle have a big shaggy coat, and huge horns. They're basically known as hairy cows, but you have to remember that Scotsman also have a peculiar dialect that isn't exactly the Queen's English. Instead of "hairy cows," they say "hairy coos." The hairy coos are actually quite adorable in a shaggy sort of way, though they can also be ornery, and since they have sharp horns (even the females), it's best not to antagonize them. Fortunately, they're always hungry, and we had food with us to pacify them.

I am NOT a hairy coo.

The tour bus we spent the day on is small, bright orange, and is made up to look a little like a hairy coo.  Our fearless leader and guide was an absolutely priceless, very funny raconteur named Donald (he'd prefer to be known as The Don). The Don spent the entire day telling the best stories about Scottish history, the nature of the Scottish people, the highlands, clan lore, and best of all, everything you need to know about the beloved coos (after whom the tour buses are named...ours was Fiona). Oh yes, The Don also does this in a kilt, naturally. You see the guy in the picture way over on the right in the kilt? That's The Don.

The legendary Loch Drunkie

From the silliness of "vegetarian haggis" to the complex  and sad tale of Mary Queen of Scots, to how Edinburgh came to be, to the origin of the name Loch Drunkie (it's pretty close to what you might think) to the differences -- and similiarities -- between Clan McGregor and Clan Campbell (he doesn't much like Campbells), Don had wonderful tales about everything under the sun and clouds while we made our way through the countryside. How much does the tour cost, you ask? Nothing. It's free. That's right. You are obligated to pay absolutely nothing. At the end of the day, when you exit the bus, you pay what you feel the tour was worth. I think our "tip" was about 40 GBP apiece. A major bargain. If we had more cash at the end of the day, we'd have probably tipped even more. This is a GREAT idea if you're ever in Edinburgh and want to see the countryside. We had a blast.

The Wallace Monument. Subtle it's not.

Early in the day, we stopped at the National William Wallace Monument near Stirling. The monument is essentially an enormous phallic symbol on a hill, dedicated to a man the English honestly believe was a terrorist (personally, I think the shape was quite intentional, a "pointed" message to the English). A careful reading of history indicates Wallace was the prototypical freedom fighter, and pretty much the definition of a Scottish hero. I was impressed with Donald's voluminous knowledge of the people and places in Scottish history and lore. He very correctly pointed out that although it was certainly entertaining, a huge chunk of the movie "Braveheart" was just wildly wrong. It completely mischaracterized who Wallace was, his upbringing, personality, and also glossed over some of the important context to the story. I know I'm in the minority, but I thought it was, not to put too fine a point on it, an overblown, overacted farce of a movie that did a terrible disservice to a great man and a tremendous story.  Not to mention Mel Gibson's attempt to come off as a Scot was ludicrous. That's just me, though.

You've got something on your mouth there

Back to the coos. I've never seen an animal that looked quite like them. Ok, the drooling isn't the cutest thing in the world, but other coos don't seem to mind, so that's really our problem, not theirs. Given the environment they have to survive in, they're tough creatures, and I'm quite glad there was always a fence of some kind between us and them. In case you're wondering what they eat, they like turnips, potatoes and bread. We, however, didn't eat turnips, potatoes and bread.  For lunch, we stopped off in a tiny, very rural Scottish village, where Don recommended a number of places, particularly a bakery cafe called Mohr. Their sign said "Eat Mohr Bread." They aren't just clever at picking names. I had the best open faced ham and cheese melt I've tasted in ages. Maybe ever. And a couple stores later, bought me a beautiful lambswool vest (not made from coos, or even sheep for that matter. We're not discussing sheep anymore, mmkay?).

My favorite part of the day involved one last castle. In and of itself, the castle isn't really anything special, but if you're of a certain age and quirky sense of humor, you will certainly remember this.


Yes indeedy, we visited Doune Castle, the setting for the funniest movie in motion picture history, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Doune was the backdrop for the Insulting Frenchman, the Castle Anthrax, the rousing song Knights of the Round Table, and most importantly of all, this utterly perfect scene.

Is there someone else up there we can talk to?

Unless you grew up memorizing Monty Python dialog as I did, I can't even describe the complete and all encompassing joy of being inside and then walking the perimeter of the setting of Holy Grail. I've probably seen the movie two, perhaps three hundred times, and I still laugh at the great lines. To me (and Donald admitted, to a lot of his visitors on his tours), Doune is something akin to a shrine. I'm quite sure he's used to the giddy expressions and the endless recitations of the script from otherwise normal looking tourists who encounter Doune for the first time. Best of all, Donald thoughtfully had a couple pairs of coconuts on the bus! I can now rightfully say I visited Doune Castle and had two coconuts which I was bangin' together. I think P thought I had completely lost my mind. I didn't care. I could die happy now. I found the perspective of size in this picture (at right) interesting, particularly given that of all the castles we saw in the United Kingdom, this was by far the smallest. That's me in the white sweater at Doune's entrance. I could walk the entire circumference of Doune Castle in about ten minutes. It was tiny, but for me, worth the whole day.

It was, all in all, a very long day, that despite what the pictures would indicate, was mostly raw, rainy and otherwise utterly Scottish. I suppose it could have been better if the skies had been clear, sunny and warm, but I honestly didn't mind. I thought it was one of best choices we made, and I'm only sorry we didn't have more time to see more of the countryside. I knew we'd love Newcastle and Northumbria (and we did), but I didn't expect to be so thoroughly entranced by Scotland. We need more time there. Much more.

Next chapter: The whole reason we were in England in the first place.