Scotland...The Final Frontier. These are the memories of Brian Wagner, aged 21, as he braves influenza and fatty deep-fried foods to record the happenings of his life.

Right, now back down to business. I'd better wrap up the details of my homestay at some point, or I'll be recounting what happened in Insch when I head back home in late May.

On the second day we were at the Burnet's house, we did the group activities segments. First on the list was the GlenDronach distillery, which is owned by a larger whisky company called Teacher's. As we showed up late to join the group, we missed the entire tour of the distillery, arriving only in time for the whisky tasting--twas a shame to miss such an exhilarating opportunity to see some tubes and tanks that I had already seen previously, at the Royal Scotch Whisky Heritage Centre in Edinburgh.

A boy and his whisky:



So we drank a dram at the distillery, bought souvenirs (in my case, a small bar towel and a 3oz bottle of their Teacher's Highland Cream Whisky), and eventually found our way to Delgatie Castle:



The castle, built in 1030, was turned by its late owner, Captain Hay, into a charitable trust so as to preserve it after his death. Not the most imposing of structures, it was still fascinating to circle up and up the spiral stone staircase, stopping along the way to investigate the rooms that had once housed feudal lords and are now reputedly the home of three kooky and crazy GHOSTS. Of course, we all made fools of ourself peeking around corners to see if we could catch the ghosts by surprise, but what else could we be expected to do--none of us wanted to admit it, but we weren't sure that ghosts didn't exist. Hell, a German TV paranormal investigator had said there were ghosts whom he had seen in the building and talked to--how can we doubt such a reputable figure?

Due to the castles small size and the enclosure of some of its rooms, the tour for the first of us to wander off ended rather quickly. The highlight was of course the room that Mary Queen of Scots had stayed in during 1562 after the Battle of Corrichie. It is my sincere hope that, for her sake, she didn't stay long, as the room she stayed in had nothing but a small wooden bench and a window a short woman may not have been able to see through. Being a queen wasn't always shits and giggles--sometimes they had to rough it like a jailed Martha Stewart. And god knows that home decoration wasn't as advanced then as it is today. All that stone is so 1300s.

After growing board with ghost-hunting and the other random visitors who kept popping into rooms and yelling "Who you going to call" before spraying crazy green lasers all across the room, some of us wandered out into the snow, where we found 4 Shetland ponies munching on grass and snow. Bored young Americans that we were, we spent the next half-hour naming the four horses "Bubba," "Bubba," "Bubba," and "Bubba," and contemplating whether we could ride them. In the end, we just talked to them like they cared about what we had to say, took pictures of us near them, and tried not to get the crap on their noses smeared on our nice new Columbia Sportswear jackets.



After our day of tramping around in the snow--with a side tramp to a grouping of ancient stones (in a circle of course) that one of our hosts called a "damned boring burial ground or the like," we headed back to the Burnet's house--all of us--for tea, cookies, and of course, a team game of snooker. I think we got more than a few people hooked, as Team Brian trounced Team Keith, thanks in large part to one of Keith's teammates, Kat, who contributed about 20 points to my team by constantly making errors.

As dinner time approached, one might think that our day was winding down, but oh, how wrong one would be. After a splendid steak and potato dinner with a dessert of candied pear in a red wine sauce--yes, it was as good as it sounds--we drove over to the main host family's for a nite of partying with the hosts and the students from the Butler program.

Other than getting drunk at the request of Hugh, the main host, who plied us with cans of Guinness and bottles of wine, we basically played games. Yes, games. First there was a game, called Lightning Round or something, which involved four people holding buzzers and waiting to press their button when a flashing red light turned green. The catch? The slowest person to buzz got shocked by their buzzer. An interesting game while sober, a damned genius game when drunk. But the true highlight of the night, an hour that will stick in my memory forever, was the cereal box game. Dear lord, how I wish that I had pictures of this glorious exercise in absurdity and contortionism. Picture this: everyone lounges around the living room; in the middle of the living room is placed a cereal box. Going one by one, every single person must pick up the cereal box with their mouth, the catch being that the person's knees can't touch the ground. Not too difficult when the box is over a foot tall, but in each successive round, one of the hosts chopped off part of the box, lowering its height from the ground. I utterly surprised myself, me of the great inflexibility, by developing a method of crossing my legs and sitting on my feet that got me into the 6th or 7th round. But the three eventual winners were astounding--they could all bend, in various ways, to pick up a FLAT piece of cardboard that was lying on the ground. Jimi Hendrix sang, "excuse me!, while I kiss the sky," at this party, three individuals literally asked us to excuse them while they tongued the ground (hooboy, that was a corny reference--go team!).

The party broke up around midnite, and we headed back to the Burnet's house, where Keith and I engaged in another game of snooker before crashing.

The next day was our last, and we spent it wandering the city Aberdeen.

more to come on that.... and check out my other photos of Scotland, on the web at: http://www4.pbase.com/biggerz/scotland