a travelzine by Diann
tdiann@ct2.nai.net
(Copyright 1996. Please do not reprint without permission.)
^^^^^^^^^
Ayr is located on the west coast of Scotland, in the lowlands, perhaps an hour out of Glasgow.
Ayr itself was charming enough, but I wasn't up for the Robert
Burns cottage -- remembered it from a previous visit with the parents
when I was in high school, and wanted to explore in different directions,
seeing things I hadn't seen before.
Robert Burns is the national poet, who hailed from Ayr, in a thatched-roof
cottage still maintained more or less like in the days of old. There's a
very nice statue of the poet which stands near the train station.
I stopped to eat lamb for lunch inexpensively at
the Tudor Restaurant near the train station, and wandered to the
waterfront. The land here is
flat, and the beach tends to slop outwards gently. Seagulls circled
about. It was a quiet area. I wandered about, admiring the stone buildings,
and the parks near the ocean. There was a sort of silence here, even though
Ayr has a bit of busy-ness about it. Away from the ocean, there are
winding streets
which were almost confusing for the foot walker, and I glimpsed many intriguing
restaurants, of which I made note of with plans for dinner.
After, I caught the bus to Culzean Castle, which lies about 30 minutes
south of Ayr. This isn't an official bus stop (I guess most people take
tours, or rent cars), and one is let off at the side of the road, and told
to be back at specific times so that returning coach drivers can spot one.
From the standpoint of a single woman, this looks pretty deserted, but I
had decided this was going to be a good place to visit. So, I left the bus,
and entered the extensive grounds of Culzean Castle. There's a stationhouse,
where one pays a fee to help with upkeep and maintainance, and in return
can see the property. Castle entrance costs a little bit more.
For the foot traveller, who'd already been walking extensively earlier in the week,
this hike was fairly exhaustive. Yet, it yielded a worthwhile exploration.
I walked through lovely pathways, past ancient trees, past the Visitor's
Centre (a large and impressive old building -- indeed,
those who see my photos of the trip think THAT's the castle before they
turn the page and see the real thing.
The Ruined Arches are at the entranceway to the path to the Castle proper,
evidently at one time sentries may have been stationed within.
The walled gardens are beautiful -- although the drought had affected
this locale and the grasses were suffering, the flowers had been well-maintained.
Indeed, the gardens were spectacular, hosting a wide variety of well-loved
plants. In one section, the historical trust sold cuttings and plants.
Needless to say, I could not buy anything to bring back to America, leaving
aside the issue of how to keep anything alive and uncrushed for that amount
of time. Besides the flowers, a fair number of butterflies graced the area.
By the ocean, old cannons point to the sea. To the right stands the castle
proper. The castle, unlike the Arches, has been well-maintained. As I walked
past one area outside the castle, I could hear a chamber music recital
occuring within. I didn't
have time (I thought) to explore inside the castle,
but looked into the entranceway, where an inordinate amount of
cutlery of various shapes was on display, as well as ornate
appointments in the front room. One of the simple highlights just outside
the main tourist entrance was a sundial formed atop of a bronze of a
man's head. Here I rested a bit, definitely enjoying this place, and
imagining some kind of formal reception here on the grounds. I then
trotted up the road (emphasis on the word "up") to
wait for and flag down the coach, discovering I could have taken 20 minutes
to see at least part of the innards of that castle. Enjoyed the scenery
and setting.
The place is owned now by the National Trust of Scotland, which
makes money for renovations and upkeep by the standard admissions
fee, as well as renting out facilities for events and receptions,
selling plantings, 12 beds of lodging, and probably other things. Castle
maintanance is not an easy proposition.
It wasn't until much later that I discovered that I missed the "Cat Gates"
on a back entrance to the Culzean property.
I returned to Ayr, where I dined at the Findlay Bar -- beef and
garlic bread with cheese (cheddar, not mozzarella). It was a friendly
publike atmosphere, perhaps a bit more formal than most pubs seemed to be.
The train
returned me to Glasgow -- it was still light enough to walk to the
hotel -- where I did some laundry and popped downstairs for a dram of
Highland Park over ice.
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Last Updated: Wednesday, March 20, 1996