My dad finally got here on Tuesday night at about 10:00. We hadn't closed the proverbial loop on how we were going to meet up, so in the confusion, it took a little bit of extra time to sort who was meeting whom and where. No matter; we met up at the hotel in London just fine. He was obviously starving once he got here, since it was dinner time (for him), so we spent a decent amount of time trying to decide where to go for dinner. In London, everything closes by 11 for some reason. We decided on this place near the hotel called "Black and Blue" although I have NO idea why it's called that. The place served really good wine and really average food. Anyway.
Yesterday (Wednesday) morning, we woke up in London at no particular time and began strolling the streets of the Knightsbridge area, just south of Hyde Park. It took us a while to find a place that wasn't a diner, wasn't hugely tourist-y, and wasn't a crap British place to get breakfast. We decided on this tiny French bistro-restaurant that served TERRIFIC food and good tea (When in Rome, amirite?). We spent some time walking getting famili
ar with the area after breakfast and walked through and around Prince Albert Hall, the performance venue for mainly the London Symphony but seemingly an all-purpose venue at the beck and call of "The Crown". My interview
with the Royal College of Music (right) was at 11:10 and I was feeling pretty nervous and unprepared. The RCM website didn't have ANY information about the interview and I had no idea what to expect.
I arrived at the school 20 minutes early and found my way to the interview room - essentially a practice room with a desk and a piano in it and a sign on the door that said "Head of Composition". There was a single chair outside the door and a sign that asked composition candidates to wait outside until they were called. I did so. That was a LONG 10 minutes. The man who ushered me into his office was William Mival, a tall man with a bald head a black, thick-rimmed glasses. His first question was, "Why do you want to be a composer?" That question is not one I've thought about in a while. It took me a minute to wrap my brain around that and remember what my reason was for beginning this journey 12 years ago as a freshman in high school. But I remembered why; I remembered sitting in the basement with my books and my thoughts and feeling like I had nowhere to go. And then discovering this love of music that has been there since the beginning and has never changed. He then asked a bunch of questions about my past and my education, conducted a brief ear training exam, and discussed the scores I had sent him. It was all incredibly positive and helpful, and the things he had to say were helpful and insightful. He wrapped everything up by stating that I should be receiving an acceptance letter in the mail in the next few days and that they would love to see me attending school at the Royal College of Music. I was, obviously, thrilled. Two interviews, two handshakes.
I collected my dad from the foyer and we walked the 8-9 blocks to Victoria Station to pick up our rental car. After retrieving our bags from the hotel, we got on the road around 2 to head to Glasgow. I don't think either of us really realized that it was fully an 8 hour drive to Glasgow. But damn. I don't know if you've ever had to drive on the left hand side of the street. But damn. Again. By the time we arrived in Glasgow, in the dark, in the rain, I was DONE. My brain had had it. I was tired of the mini-cardiac arrests I would have everytime I saw headlights that I thought were coming directly at me. Jesus. Not the easiest time in the world. And, by the time we arrived and had checked in, it was after 10. Nothing in the UK serves real food after 10 pm. So we had a few beers, grabbed sandwiches from the Sainsbury's down the street, and went to bed.
This morning, we woke up pretty early and headed out for a solid day of tourism. There were a few castles I wanted to see but failed miserably at planning (one of which was attached to a golf
course and I almost wrecked us attempting to reach it - no seriously - and the other one was closed for the winter). We decided to just drive around Edinburgh and then on the banks of the Firth of Forth for a bit, just to see what happened. As a result, we found some of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Firstly, we ran into Direlton Castle: a ruin built first in the 11th century and expanded in the 13th and 15th centuries that still stands today. We probably spent an hour wandering the ruins and marveling at the fact this 800 year old structure is still as strong as it has ever been. The amount of work that went into this thing is insane. And the amount of history that is held in its walls is captivating, really. We walked all over the property, as we were the only two people there; it was eerily quiet. I haven't experienced anything quite like that before.
We soon left that castle and headed towards a large volcanic mound called the North Berwick Law, a pile of volcanic rock that stretches 616 feet (I learned at the summit) into the air to absolutely dominate the landscape. We decided to take a "quick jaunt" up the side of the is little molehill. What we came to realize is that nothing in Scotland is forgiving. The wind at the
summit was undoubtedly between 80-90 miles an hour. I could almost lean my entire weight into the wind and not fall forward. The terrain and ground were punishingly steep and slippery and any misstep caused a small panic attack. But the view from the summit was breathtaking. Views like that one are what make me realize why men fight so valiantly for their country. I had a bit of a moment, up there on that windblasted piece of volcanic rock, looking north over the Firth of Forth and over the highlands even further north. Scotland is an amazing, beautiful, sinister, harsh, bitter, and loving country. I would love to be able to spend more time here.
We wound our way down slowly, and started driving again. Not more than 10 minutes later, we stumbled upon another castle; built right up against the cliffs facing the Firth and amazingly well-preserved, despite having been uninhabitable for
500 years. This place, called Tantallon Castle, belonged to the Anguses, the earls of Buchanan, a very powerful Scottish family that rose to power after the war for independence. You know, the one from Braveheart. Yeah, that one. This castle stood steadfast for 300 years (longer than the US has been a country) before finally falling the Oliver Cromwell's army in 1651. The preservation of this building is extremely impressive. It's almost overwhelming. The building itself is almost 5 stories tall, and in its heyday was 6 stories. That main door, at the base, is 8 feet high, just to give you some perspective. And inside, past where the porticullis was raised and lowered, it's now open to the sky. It's incredible. I've never seen anything quite so impressive in my life. OSHA would not have approved, for sure.
We left those sites behind and headed south towards the borders region; we were looking for Bemerside, our ancestral family home. It was about a 45 minute drive with a brief stop for food, but when we got to Bemersyde, all we found was tiny town and a statue to William Wallace. I don't mean to make the Wallace statue sound like less than it is, the thing was probably 22 feet tall. If not more. But it wasn't what I wanted to find. I was looking for my family's home. "Tyde what may, whate'er betyde, Haig shall be Haig of Bemersyde", a verse penned by Thomas the Rhymer in the 13th century. When we finally realized that the family home was the home we had seen within the wall with the "Private Property" sign on the front, I was a bit nervous that we weren't going to get any closer. Dad was pretty convinced that all we had to do was knock on the groundskeepers door however. I let him take point on this one. The man that opened the door to us was named James and had been working on the property for 12 years. He said that "His Lordship" the 3rd Earl had died 3 years past and "nobody knows" who the next Earl should be. As a result, the building proper was empty and we couldn't go in, which was a shame. But the chance to stand there, in front of the oldest recorded part of my family's history was mindblowing. I got to touch the 800-year-old Spanish chestnut tree in the front garden, complete with an iron loop which was used to hang "undesired guests". I didn't know how to react. I have spoken to friends and with family often of wanting to rediscover my family's stomping grounds, and here they were, in front of me.
It was getting very dark by this point, and we had a bit of a drive back to the hotel in Glasgow, so we thanked the caretaker, bought a few prints of the building, and headed back north and then west. All in all, I would have to say that today was my favorite day so far. So much of history - my family's and my country's - came alive today. And for all for all of it, I am extremely grateful.
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