Happiness

This is it.

San Diego Highland Games

Queen Mary Scottish Festival

In 1934, the Queen Mary, built in Clydebank, Scotland, was launched. Since 1967, the ship has been docked in Long Beach. Today part of the Queen Mary is used as a hotel, and you can tour the inner workings of the engine rooms and see displays of the ocean liner's history. This past weekend the Queen Mary park was the site of "Star Trek: The Tour" and the 15th Annual Scottish Festival. Even without the clever title I'm sure you can figure out which one I went to.

We arrived in time to see the opening parade with the massed bands, and were standing directly opposite the reviewing stand. This is where the massed bands stopped, so it was quite loud. At the end of the parade and the welcome to the festival there was a firing demonstration by a reenactment group called Bydand Forever. The group represents a battalion of Gordon Highlanders from the 1880s. During their demonstration they fired their rifles, did bayonet drills, and shot their Gatling gun and little cannon. We spectators were forewarned that the artillery, relatively small though it was, would be quite loud, but I personally thought that it wouldn't be too bad, as long as I knew it was coming and knew it would be loud. This is what happened when I tried to take a picture as they first fired:
I can't say for certain what that picture actually is. I'm afraid I jerked back rather badly from the impact of the shots. I'd been forewarned, sure, but it was loud, much louder than I'd expected. Once again, I think I'm all cool and then I look dumb. You'd think I'd learn.

This festival was unique because of its location. The parade, some of the vendors, the piping and drumming competitions, and the sheepdog and throwing events were all on land outside the Queen Mary, while the majority of the vendors, the clan booths, the main stage, and the food vendors were onboard in the exhibition hall. Plus, as I mentioned, you can tour the ship yourself. Docked next to the Queen Mary is the Scorpion, a Russian submarine that you can tour, and there is a guided tour of ghosts and legends of the Queen Mary, too. I think being right by the water was probably quite nice for the athletes. It was good throwing weather, with only a little breeze and coolish but not cold. To me, the weight for height looks like possibly the easiest throw, as all you have to do is get up a little momentum and then swing that 56-pound weight up in the air. If the bar's at 11 feet and the athlete is six feet tall, then with one arm overhead that means about an eight foot reach, so the weight only has to go up another three feet. I guess the fact that the throwers make it look easy helps, too. The emcee compared the weight in this event to a five-gallon bottle of water, although considerably smaller and thus denser. If there were a way to do so without breaking it, I'd likely try to throw one of our water bottles.

I was a bit disappointed in the food that was offered. I got a sausage roll that I suspect would have been dry even if it hadn't been sitting out for a few hours, mashed potatoes, and peas and carrots (I like peas and carrots, okay?). And even with all the vendors there was nary a bottle of Irn Bru to be found. There was, however, a whiskey tasting and seminar. I did not attend, but through osmosis learned that it's pronounced Glenfiddick, not Glenfiddich like it's spelled, and that the 12- and 18-year-old single malts were pretty good. I also remembered that I don't much like the idea of being in a structure underwater, even if only 30 feet under.

Three pictures from the pipe band competition. We were all quite amused by the bass drummer with the pink hair. The piper on the right, from the University of California at Riverside pipe band, demonstrates what pleating to the stripe looks like. There are two ways of pleating the back of a kilt: to the sett, so that the pattern in the back looks like the one in the front, or to the stripe, so that the back just has a striped pattern horizontally instead of the full plaid pattern. The UCR kilts are clearly knife-pleated.

To me, the most interesting thing about this Scottish festival was its location. I'd never been to one near the water, much less to one partly held on a retired ocean liner. I think more could have been made of the Queen Mary's Scottish roots, perhaps by putting up a display up with the other historical bits. I would have liked to have seen pictures of people working on building the ship, information about if and how the construction helped local businesses, things of that nature. If you'd like more information in book form, including lots of diagrams and pictures and copies of menus, allow me to direct you to The Queen Mary: Her early years recalled by C.W.R. Winter.

If you're getting bored of me going on about Highland games, you're in luck, because the only upcoming one I'll be able to go to isn't until the end of June. The next installment may be an experiment involving chocolate, or it may be the J. Paul Getty Museum. And expect a Big Event at the end of March or beginning of April, for I have Plans.

Haggis and Other Delights

On freeway - 4:29 AM
Back at the house - 10:15 PM
Miles traveled round trip - 545

One of my problems is that I hype things up too much, for the benefit of both others and myself. When those things actually come to pass, they have to be really excellent to live up to my hype. The Grandfather Mountain Highland Games in North Carolina were not quite as awesomely awesome as I had hoped they'd be, and I was a bit disappointed. I still enjoyed myself, though, and I think the whole experience was important for me personally, and worth it overall.

I woke up later than I wanted to, as usual, and, after filling up the White Whale's tank, got on the freeway at 4:29 AM. Once again MapQuest and I had a slight difference of opinion, which led to me having to retrace my route at one point and then diverge from their directions altogether. I finally made my way to the Blue Ridge Parkway, which is by far the most mountainous and twisty road I've ever driven (but not the most twisty I've ever ridden). Part of the Grandfather Mountain weekend is a marathon, and part of that marathon was on the Blue Ridge Parkway, so my driving skills were further tested by having to avoid killing crazy marathoners. I finally made it past the runners and to MacRae Meadow, where the games are held, but where there is no public parking. Driving past the Meadow, I heard the first strains of pipes, and was happy. I and a few other motorists followed a school bus to find one of the shuttle parking lots, and I parked about ten minutes away from the Meadow--not too bad, I thought, as one shuttle lot was 45 minutes away, according to the GMHG website. It had been a while since I'd ridden a school bus. I'm glad I don't have to ride them on any kind of regular basis.

When the bus arrived at the Meadow, we tramped through the overnight camping area to the main gate. Approaching the gate, visitors saw this:
That's the Star Spangled Banner and the Saltire, or St. Andrew's Cross, the national flag of Scotland. The cross is white, though the shadows make it look black.

When I got to the gate I already had my wristband, because I bought my ticket in advance. That's how excited I was. I bought a program, whereupon I discovered that the massed pipe bands, one of my favorite parts, had been at 9:45, when I was still following runners. That saddened me. There's nothing like getting all the pipers and drummers in a place to play at once.

The "Meadow" is actually a basic football stadium, complete with a track surrounding the field. On one side was a bank where people could sit, and a review stand where the announcer and VIPs sat. It was the basic home side and press box setup, for my fellow marching band aficionados. The rest of the field was on the same level with everything outside it. Around the field were the clan booths and some vendors. There were also places set up called "Celtic Groves"; these were little groves with stages where different groups performed. The groves were quite nice, because they were shady and cool. Not that it was overwarm anyway; I almost put on a jacket when I got there because it was so cool up in the mountains. The weather was great.

My main complaint about the way the event was set up was that there were too many things going on at once. At one end of the field were individual piping competitions, and at the other were Highland dance competitions. In between there was, at various times, heavy athletics, sheepdog demonstrations, and a brass band with pipers. I would've really liked to pay attention to the brass band, as one does not get as many chances to listen to a brass band as one would like. Sadly for me and the band, they were performing right next to the dance stages, and the dancers had live pipe accompaniment. At the same time, a pipe band was playing behind the press box. I chose to pay attention to the pipe band, as they were nearer. Furthermore, besides all the usual heavy athletics and the Scottish wrestling, there were also regular track and field events, like pole vault and high jump and running events. As you know, I like track and field as much as the next person who did it for six years, but I think that portion tipped the scale from Probably Too Much to Way Too Much Stuff Going On.

The sheepdog ("Shep," I kid you not) demonstrating his stuff herded not only sheep but ducks, too. I liked that. Shep was the only dog, though, so I felt sorry for him. Neither GM nor the Aiken games had sheepdog trials, only demonstrations. I wonder why that is. As fun as it is to watch demonstrations, it's even more fun to watch trials, à la "Babe." I love this picture of Shep running. Look at him go!
When I was walking through the clan booths, I kept wanting someone to stop me and ask what my last name was to try to figure out what clan I belong to. I wanted to proudly tell them my very un-Scottish last name, and laugh. I guess I want people to know that I am just as proud of my paternal heritage as I am of my maternal. There just aren't as many festivals for my dad's side, though. But no one accosted me to ask who my people were.

(Don't look at the picture coming up, Dad.)

The same British food vendor was there, but with a slightly larger selection this time. The fish and chips looked really good--the fish did, at least; the "chips" were ye olde crinkle-cut fries, and just as mediocre as you'd expect. But I had to go for the haggis and chips. It looked horrible, and still does in that picture. It didn't taste as bad as it looked, although I wouldn't eat it on a regular basis. The closest thing I can think of to compare it to is corned beef hash, and even that's not that close. All that being said, when I finally go to Scotland, if I'm offered haggis there, I'll try it again. I also had a sausage roll later in the day, and I wanted some shepherd's pie, but it wasn't ready when I tried to order some. And of course I washed my haggis and chips down with an Irn Bru.

Dear Barr, makers of Irn Bru,
If you ever decide to start marketing Irn Bru in America (I'm afraid you'd have to add more sugar for it to sell widely), I've got your advertising campaign right here. Observe.

It doesn't necessarily have to be this particular dude. He was just the inspiration. He didn't look like he was wearing a costume, like some guys do when wearing kilts. He looked like it was nothing out of the ordinary for him. I also like the shirt. Anyway, A.G. Barr p.l.c., your ads would feature a guy in a kilt drinking Irn Bru and enjoying it. That's all you'd really need. Of course, you'd sell more if the guy said something with a Scottish accent. It wouldn't even matter what he said. Pretty much anything and we'd be all over it. Think about it, and have your people call my people. We could make this happen.

Amongst the vendors was a booth run by the Union Jack import shop. It was filled with British goods, especially food. They had all kinds of things: Scottish oatmeal, canned haggis, curds and jellies, cookies, and candy. Oh, the candy. I bought a Cadbury Flake and was very proud of myself when I ate it without it crumbling all over my shirt. I should have bought more candy. There was an article in the New York Times last week about how English candy bars are better than American ones. The prepared-British-food vendor was also selling boxes of Walkers shortbread and Jaffa cakes for a dollar each, because they were slightly past their sell-by date. Whatever. I had to buy a box of Jaffa cakes. I'd heard of them before, but didn't really know what they were. They're little spongy cakes with orange squishy stuff on top, all covered with chocolate. I bet they would've tasted even better had they been really fresh, as in not shipped over from the UK and then a little old. I like the box, especially where it says "yippee!" and on the right where it calls the orange part "squidgy" (it's partly cut off in the picture).

The caber they were using was over 17 feet long. Here are four mere mortals carrying what one kilted man can carry. I was watching the caber/brass band/dancing and a girl near me was telling one of her associates about the origins of the heavy athletics, i.e. that they were war training exercises. Um, duh. Everybody knows that. When the grid goes down and EMPs have rendered all those fancy weapons useless, the throwers of the world will be the artilleries. At least until the trebuchets get built.In Celtic Grove #1 I listened to a singer from Edinburgh who now lives in Texas named Ed Miller. He played guitar and sang folk songs and drinking songs. With him were another guitar player, a fiddler, and a flautist/backup vocalist. I liked that before every song Mr. Miller told the audience the words to the chorus and encouraged us to sing along. Either Avery County is dry or the GMHG powers that be decided not to have any alcohol for sale; whatever the case, Mr. Miller questioned how it was possible to have a Scottish festival without alcohol. So a nice young man from the audience walked to the stage and gave him a beer. A bit later the group played a song whose chorus began, "Give the fiddler a dram, boys," and another audience member walked up and set a dram in front of the fiddler, who drank it as soon as the chorus was over. I liked listening to this group because it was in a nice, shady place where I could sit down, and because it was a change from the mayhem on the main field. Plus, Mr. Miller sang Scottish songs that weren't the usual traditional stuff. It was pleasant.

I can't think of a good place to put this picture, so it's going here. As I mentioned in the Aiken Highland Games post, some tenor drummers twirl their mallets. Here's an example. Also note the Emo Piper on the left.

The other band that I listened to in Celtic Grove #1 was Albannach. Albannach is made up of six Scots, five dudes and a woman, who are five drummers and a piper, although not respectively. "Albannach," they explained, means "Scots" or "Scottish" in Scottish Gaelic. The best way I can think of to describe their music is as war music. I heard someone else call it "tribal," but I think that term is played out. No, it brings to mind the music very early Scots might have played before battle. Maybe that's just me, though. The drummers move around a lot, or at least I assume they do; there was quite a crowd there to watch them and I was near the back, so I didn't get a good view. But the music is energetic and a bit wild. They're nothing like traditional pipe music, or even like any of the Celtic rock groups around. Well, maybe a tiny bit like some Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly. I liked it. Check them out. A friend of the band introduced them, and at the end of his introduction recited a variation of the Viking prayer,* inserting William Wallace and Robert Bruce, and substituting Tir Na Nog for Valhalla. I thought it was interesting/amusing/a rip-off, especially since I don't know how many people would recognize the original. Albannach has played at battlefields in Scotland, like Culloden and Stirling, and they talked about that being an honor. I cannot imagine how awe-inspiring that would be, as a spectator, let alone as a performer. My favorite part was when Albannach brought out two American Indian performers, known as The Blessed Blend, who sang as Albannach drummed. It reminded me of home, when from our house we can hear the singers and drummers from the powwow. They said that during the colonial period, children whose parents were of Celtic descent on one side and Indian on the other were said to be of the "blessed blend." The performance was unique and cool, and shorter than I wished it had been. I'm going to have to check out their website a little more. After Albannach I left, because it was a long drive. Overall I had a good time, of course, but I wish I'd had people with me to talk to. I called the Best Roommate Ever twice so she could listen to bagpipes, and Mom once, but it wasn't the same. I don't know why my cell phone reception was so bad, as I was on a mountain. That was also one of the highlights, going to the mountains. I miss mountains. That is, I miss seeing them behind my house, or being in them, but I do not miss getting into them. And the weather could not have been nicer; I estimate that it was about 20 degrees cooler there than at the house. I function better when it's cooler than I do when it's hot and humid and disgusting, and I believe that's why I was hardly tired by the time I got back. So it was nice and cool and there were mountains and sausage rolls and bagpipes, so I can hardly complain. Well done, me.

And for the grand finale, here's some North Carolina cows on the way back.
*Not a real Norse prayer, but here it is anyway.
Lo, there do I see my father
Lo, there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers
Lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning
Lo, they do call to me
They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla
Where the brave may live
Forever.

First Games of the Summer

It occured to me after the fact that something like "The Transient" would be a much less poncy title for this blog. While "The Transient" does have a certain je ne sais quoi, it's just not Old Norse.

Also speaking of things that occured to me after the fact, it turns out that the letters that correspond to 1-8-1-2 can spell Ahab. This was entirely coincidental, but highly amusing. It's quite apt, as I think of my car as The White Whale, even though said vehicle is silver. So in the future I may well refer to myself as Ahab.^*

In May I went to the Aiken Highland Games. I've been to a few Highland games/Celtic festivals; my favorites are the San Diego Highland Games, which took place this past weekend and which was the site of the infamous Rogue Sheep incident a few years ago, and the Chicago Celtic Fest, which takes place mid-September in Grant Park. The Chicago event celebrates the culture and heritage of the seven Celtic nations: Brittany, Galicia, Cornwall, the Isle of Man, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. Most Highland games celebrate Scotland, and, usually and to a lesser extent, Ireland.

Some of you may be saying, "We're not the least bit Scottish, Ahab, so we have no idea what actually happens at these 'games' you keep going on about." Although each Highland games differs, there are several common features that occur at most games. One is the clan booths. Many major clan organizations have booths at games where they offer information about genealogy and clan history. Some clan organizations provide refreshments for their members at their booths as well. There are, of course, vendors, selling everything from souvenir event t-shirts to swords, shortbread to meat pies. There are usually musicians, aside from pipe bands. There is Highland dancing and Scottish country dancing. There are often sheep and sheepherding dogs demonstrating their skill or competing in trials. There are heavy athletics, including but by no means limited to the caber toss. There are people in various modes of "Scottish" dress, from reenactment military kilted uniforms to the popular Utilikilt-wifebeater-and-combat-boots (tattoos mandatory) outfit. And there are pipe bands.

Perhaps you have seen Disney's wonderful movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks. If you haven't consider this my recommendation that you should. In the "Portobello Road" sequence, Carrie gazes adoringly at the leader of the Scottish soldiers, walking beside him after they dance. That is a good indication of my own feelings much of the time I'm at a games.

The Aiken Highland Games had all the usual stuff listed above. A band whose name I can't remember played the Proclaimers' "500 Miles" at least three times while I was there, and Scottish singer Alex Beaton performed. There was a brief opening ceremony that included a parade of the clan organizations, prayer, and the national anthems of the United States ("The Star-Spangled Banner"), Canada ("O Canada"), England ("God Save the Queen"), and Scotland ("Flower of Scotland," not "Scotland the Brave"). I, knowing most of the words and being myself, sang them all quietly. I am of the opinion that the people should sing their national anthem, not listen to one person sing it.

I enjoy watching the heavy athletics.










They remind me of being on the track team. Heavy athletics include weight for height (right picture), the clachneart, and the sheaf toss (left picture). In weight for height competitors toss a weight over a bar like a pole vault bar. The clachneart is the stone put--like shot put but with larger, heavier, irregularly-shaped stones. In sheaf toss the athlete uses a pitchfork to throw a burlap bag of hay over a bar. As if the throwing itself isn't hard enough, the competitors have to wear kilts. If anyone had ever asked me or any of my thrower teammates to throw in a kilt, we would have fallen down a lot, especially since we all fell down a lot in shorts. The implements in heavy athletics are also heavier than in NCAA track and field events. According to the emcee at the Aiken games, the original "games" in Scotland included races; a very few Highland games have running events as well as heavy athletics.

The Aiken Highland Games had one thing that I'd not seen at any other event before: the Society for Creative Anachronism. I have mixed feelings on the SCA, but suffice it to say that some of them do pretty good research (like the Viking Answer Lady (don't get me started on the word "Viking," though)). Anyway, some members of the SCA had a little village set up, with huts and tents, and displays of icons and fancy woodcarving, with notebooks of research and historical examples of the same arts. And a few members held combat demonstrations. Beat each other with sticks, they did. They also explained their weapons and armor and how points are awarded for fights. It was rather amusing, even if one of the members did insist on talking about Vikings. Okay, the term "Viking" was first used in the 18th century; it was a Norse word that meant going across the sea, for trading or raiding. Norsemen wouldn't have called themselves Vikings, and so members of the SCA, whose personas are all pre-1600, should not use the term Viking to refer to a person. The problem is that everyone calls them Vikings, and most people wouldn't care to have the etymology explained to them. All that aside, I enjoyed seeing the combat. Afterward the fighters let kids try on their helmets and hold their shields. That, I think, is the big appeal of the SCA: at some point in our lives we all want to be knights or ladies (or both).

The dining choices were limited to a funnel cake and snow cone cart and a Scottish foods vendor. Disdaining the generic festival food, I had a sausage roll and an Irn Bru, a meal the Tartan Specials would fully support. The vendors also sold meat pies, "haggis pockets," Scotch eggs, and some kind of meat popover whose name I forget. The sausage roll was a link sausage in a pastry-crust roll, quite delectable; Irn Bru is a Scottish soft drink whose flavor is reminiscent of a creamsicle. It's something that I'd heard about before, so I was glad of the chance to try it. A bit later I also bought from a baker from Tennessee a piece of shortbread with chocolate on top, something called "Eccles cakes" that are little pastries with raisins and spices in them, and cranberry-orange scones. Mmm, baked goods.

I have a theory that there are three kinds of people: those who like bagpipes, those who hate them, and those who would follow the sound of bagpipes anywhere. There weren't too many pipers at these games; I think the massed band had maybe twenty people in it total. Even so, I followed them around as they played, and called home and left a message on my parents' answering machine that was just the band playing. The best part was when the band marched into the long barn-like area where most of the vendors were. It was out of the sun for one, and it sounded good in there. I do have to admit that I was a little disappointed with the tenor drum player, who didn't twirl his mallets at all. But overall I was pleased with the pipes and drums.

So while the Aiken Highland Games weren't the best games I've ever been to, they were quite pleasant. I had a good time, even though I got a sunburn which is still plaguing me today. Until next time, keep your bagpipe radar on.


*"Okay, Ted, George Washington..."
"Had wooden teeth, chased Moby Dick."
"That's Captain Ahab, dude."
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure

I had to get it in here somewhere.