Enjoyin’ Arran

I’ve moved on from Paris, and I could hardly be in a place more the polar opposite of the French capital. I’m on the Isle of Arran, an island just an hour by ferry from Scotland’s west coast. No skyscrapers, no subways, no traffic lights. Just one main road that snakes around the entire island. More sheep than people. It’s exactly what I needed. Following day after day of hectic Paris and my hectic Olympic schedule, being here, taking hikes into the countryside with nary another human in sight, I feel very, very happy.

I’m writing from the Lochranza Youth Hostel on the north end of the island, having stayed here for the past three nights. I’m in one of two lounge rooms, on a leather sofa, looking out the front windows to a river and tidal flats just across the road and to the barren hills of Arran across the bay. I’ve already had my “Wee Breakfast” as they call it here. Toast, cereal, yogurt and coffee. I’m nursing a second cup as hostel dwellers flit in and out of the lounge. I just had a quick chat with a gentleman about the nearby trails. He showed me his banged up bare feet, telling me he’s in no mood for an aggressive hike today, so I warned him off a walk I did two days ago that involved a good 20 minutes of damp, slippery boulder scrambling. My plan today is to hunker down for a bit, wait out the damp weather, then head out for some more ambling later in the day. I’m also moving today from a 10-man dormitory room into my own single. After three nights sleeping with nine other dudes, tonight I’m going to have a little private party. I’ve decided it’s movie night. I still have one bag of microwave popcorn I purchased in Paris and a few local brews stashed away in the communal fridge. Tonight I’m going to celebrate the solitude of my own room. I think it’s going to be Furiosa, A Mad Max Saga. I’m genuinely looking forward to it.

Paris proved to be a great choice, and while I was thoroughly exhausted by the end, I’m so glad I went and so glad I hung in for an entire two weeks. In the waning days of the games I attended Canoe Sprinting and the Women’s Water Polo gold medal match, both involving the medal ceremonies I enjoy so much. I also went to Champions’ Park one afternoon and hit the streets the final Saturday morning to take in the Men’s Marathon. These free events were almost as much fun as the paid ones, I must say. At Champions’ Park I celebrated along with many medal-winning athletes featured that day including from the U.S. gold medal cycling road racer Kristen Faulker, gold medal wrestler Sarah Hildebrandt and gold medal discus thrower Valarie Allman.  The joy on their faces was palpable, and at the end, when all the medalists were invited onto the stage for an impromptu dance party, I felt their pride and their happiness and couldn’t help but dance along with them. I cannot imagine the feeling these Olympic athletes must have had after climbing to the pinnacle of their sport and accomplishing the thing they’ve been dreaming about for so many years. I was proud of, and extremely happy for, each and every one of them.

My final day in Paris meant the Closing Ceremony, and I had a ticket. I’d sacrificed going to some prestigious events, namely an evening track and field session, in order to afford this splurge. The ceremony was cool, and I’m glad I went, but, honestly, it wasn’t necessarily the emotional experience I’d hoped it would be. I’ve spent my life loving the Olympic Games and loving the spectacle of them, as shown to us Americans through the cameras and highly-stylized productions of NBC sports. It’s different being at the games, and the Closing Ceremony, in person. The Olympics, obviously, are huge, and there’s absolutely no way to experience them in their entirety, even when you’re physically in the host city. In some ways, it’s more difficult. Attending a soccer match on the west side of Paris means you’re missing a track and field session in the north. Attending a track session means you’re missing some other drama, occurring somewhere else across town. You can’t just flip the channel on your remote to catch it all. I think what I learned about attending the Olympics in person, more than anything else, is that it’s about the vibe, about being in the city, among the fans and enjoying all the celebrations that occur as much as it is about attending the actual events. Like I said, I enjoyed the fan zones and the free-to-view competitions and strolling around Paris just about as much as the events themselves. Going to a water polo match is fun, but if you don’t shell out the big money to buy a good seat, you end up in the cheap seats, watching a sport you don’t really know and two teams you don’t necessarily support. One of the most memorable experiences during my two weeks in Paris was going to my neighborhood fan zone on the final Saturday night of the games, sitting on the ground, the only American among a throng of locals, and watching Steph and LeBron and KD on the big screen win the gold against France for Team USA basketball. It was free. I didn’t spend a dime, and I loved every second of it.

Was attending the Olympics a bucket list experience or something I’ll do again? I’m not exactly sure, but I know if I do attend the games again, that I’ll go into them remembering that it’s the mood and the aura and the vibe that really brings out the kid in me. I think I could go back, attend very few sessions, and enjoy the experience just as much, if not more than I did this time around. We’ll see. LA 2028 is just around the corner!

Early Monday morning after the Opening Ceremony, I made my way, along with thousands of others, to the train station. It was a mass exodus of weary Olympic warriors. My journey was a train ride to London followed by another to Glasgow and another to Ardrossan, Scotland where I met up with Eileen, a friend I’d met in Germany. She and her mother, Helen, and cute puppy Bailey, were kind enough to welcome me into their home and give me a place to crash for a couple of days to begin my Olympic withdrawal. And crash is what I did. Apart from a few walks, a trip to the supermarket and a dinner out together by the sea, I didn’t do much. It was perfect and it helped me begin the slow recharging of my battery.

From there it’s been the Isle of Arran, my home for the week. I came here as a bit of an afterthought. While in Munich I’d plotted the final six months of my European adventure. Having earlier thought that perhaps I’d continue traveling into the fall and perhaps even the winter, I realized after my cycle trip that my tank was becoming empty and that returning to Minnesota in September was probably for the best. So, I came up with a plan. I decided that I’d end my trip in Spain, with my sister Maria’s family. Ten days or so on the Atlantic beaches of southern Spain and a few days in Madrid, seemed the ideal way to finish off this adventure. But, in order to join them in Spain in late August and early September, I needed to leave the Schengen zone of Europe for a couple of weeks, or otherwise overstay my 90-day European visa. The UK seemed the easiest choice. Just a train ride from Paris and I’d be there. Eileen had suggested Arran, as she declared it to be a beautiful place and as the ferry there left directly from her village. Perfect. This required very little research or planning. I took her advice, booked the cheapest accommodations on the island I could find – this hostel – and set my sights for Arran.

Being out here, as I mentioned, has proven to be a fantastic choice after Paris. Aside from ambles into the countryside and along the rocky coast, I haven’t done much. I’ve done three main walks so far. One along the coast, one that was a loop that included the coast and a hike over the hills, and another through a “glen” and along a river into the countryside. They were all great, each almost completely solitary. The only hindrance was frequent passages through the mud and the muck, soggy patches created by water trickling down the hills from the frequent rains on the island. The scenery is stunning. Green everywhere. Lots and lots of rivers and streams, and of course the omnipresent vistas across the sea. I’ve loved it.

Now, staying in the hostel, I can’t say that’s been something I’ve loved. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m toward the end of this long, exhausting travel adventure or perhaps I’m just not quite cut out for dormitory living. Whatever the case, I have not enjoyed staying in a bunk house with nine other guys. Sometimes the common expression, “I’m just too old for this shit,” pops into my head. That might be another factor. Maybe I am just too old for this shit. After giving a big “hell no” to my hostel in Paris and now having a less-than-pleasurable experience in a hostel on Arran, I am beginning to wonder if hostel life is for me. I suppose if I was on a journey similar to my bike ride back in June, where I was hopping daily from place to place and using the hostel only as a place to lay my head, it could be different. But here on Arran, and as I’d planned in Paris, I am lounging and resting and hanging out for many days. Hanging out at a hostel just isn’t something I’ve enjoyed. I never feel like I have my own space and I just absolutely crave an escape from humanity. As much as I enjoy meeting people and connecting, I have my limits. It’s quite possible, too, that if this was the beginning of my journey as opposed to the end, that I’d have more enthusiasm for bunking up with a bunch of strangers. Now, I’m just too tired and lack the energy to really push myself to be that ultra social guy that might enjoy the hostel life. Oh well. Live and learn. Add it to the lists of the dozens of things I’ve learned about myself since I began my leave of absence two years ago.

On Sunday I leave the hostel and move to a different part of Arran, to the slightly livelier village part of Brodick. It’s the place where the ferry dropped me off when I arrived and the most bustling part of the island. I’ll be staying in a bed and breakfast, with my own little room (yay!) and the ease of walking to shops, cafes, pubs and the tiny town center of Brodick. I’m looking forward to it – a different type of experience on the island. I’ve already been informed that one of the pubs will be featuring live folk music on my first night there, so I’m excited for that.

From there it’s off to the small Scottish mainland village of Portpatrick for three nights, then to Wrexham in Wales for two. Any of you out there familiar with the Welcome to Wrexham series on Hulu will know why I’m detouring through this part of the country. I’m hoping to see a soccer match on August 24th featuring the Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney owned Wrexham F.C. football club. Then from there it’s off to Spain to round out this trip. In the meantime, I plan to continue to enjoy Scotland, do a wee bit more ambling, have a few more pints, hopefully checkout some good live music, consort with the seals in the harbor, read the John Grisham book I purchased in Ardrossan, and put my feet up as much as possible. Happiness. I could get used to this feeling.