Callander, United Kingdom

We eventually get the train to Uphall, having halled up and down between platform 10 and 13 three times. We get off at Uphall – a station in the middle of nowhere. With nothing. We walk towards what looks like a little town, my suitcase doing its own jigg in any direction but forward. It is raining. I did not bring my rain jacket. We stop at a little cafe to ask for help. The shop attendant said that someone came in to ask about this Motorhome rental place last week as well. My phone is dead so I cannot get the full address. It is raining. She calls a cab who knows where the place is, and ten minutes later a very friendly man pics us up in his cab. Off we go! We are second in line at the rental place, and James and Gerald are both extremely friendly. We sign loads of documents, as per usual I cannot get myself to read the small print. The motorhome is perfect for the two us – we even score a decent teapot in the process. (Thanks to regulations they are not allowed to stock glass – but we are welcome to take the teapot and glasses should we wish to do so. After about 90 minutes we are packed and ready to go. We set off towards Stirling with a GPS and no idea where we are going to spend the night. The GPS guides us towards Doune, a small little village just north of Stirling. A campsite off the beaten track beckons us, and we are met by an extremely friendly man at the reception office. We get a stand outside the walled area of the campsite – a new ecxperience for us having to connect an electricl cable, draw out the awning and set up camp. It does feel a bit like school holidays for us, but judging by the average age of the people in the campsite is is pensioner’s discount time, out of season. We will not discuss the weather. It rains. All the time. The site is lush green with a symphony of birds and excited rabbits bobbing up and down with white fluffy tales. The site is extremely well organised and very clean. We unpack, have a glass of wine and decide to go in search of food to Dounne. The fact that it is still broad daylight is very disconcertingm, becauase as we get to the little restaurant in the village, we are told that the kitchen has already closed. To me it feels like midday… To park the Motorhome is not easy – so we have to turn around and venture into the little village of Dounne. Apparently there is an Italian restaurant. Come to Scotland and have Italian food. Well, seeing that the village has already gone to bed (it is not after 20h00 – still broad daylight but everyone seems to have retired for the nigh) we go in search of food. Any food. We stumble acroos the “wee little corner” – literally a tiny little corner eatery with six tables squashed into a space that should not have more than four tables. Cosy, to say the least, you can hear your neighbour chew his pasta. (Yes, real Italian pasta should be should when al dente). The lady of the house wears red rimmed round glasses with thick lenses, oozing charm and warmth. We huddle and squeeze into the tiniest little table right under the hot pass of the kitchen. Family business, husband (red skin, socks and sandles, sweat dripping) is the chef. According to Wife they were closed for the summer (how weird to close at the busiest time of the year) and were on their way to mainland Europe for holiday when she realised that she had a made a booking for this evening, more than a year ago! So, they opened the restaurant for the evening, having had to cancel flights, do extensive shopping for one night and make new plans. In spite of what could only have been one major domestic fiasco, they all seemed completely at ease. Husband sweating, son being sous chef and two youngsters (one serving one doing dishes) helping out. Wife is warm and friendly, making sure that everything runs perfectly smooth. She keeps an eye on everything. When an American couple comes in and the husband oversteps the line with his familiarity charming up the locals, she looks at him over the thck glasses and sternly tells him “I am busy with another table”. Watching this operation in action from very close proximity is a treat – like a well oiled machine things happen. Hot plates are put under the pass just in time for sizzling veal to be dropped from a pan, juices gently drizzled over. Potatoes oven grilled in small, thinbased round pans come gold and glistening from the oven. Beetroot hot and steamy give colour. We order to Porcini Ravioli – which comes plain, drizzled with exquisite olive oil, not trimmings to detract from the subtle flavours. We order tomato, onion and chilli salad, with chilli on the side. When the son forgets to keep the chilli aside, the Dad orders him to make me a seperate salad – the most beautiful sweet cherry tomatoes offset with crisp red onions, chopped Italian parsley and again a gently olive oil. The crispiness of the salad perfectly contrasts the softness of the ravioli. A match made in southern Italy. Paired witn a bottle of Chilean wine and rosemary bread fresh from the oven, we are in food heaven. Our first night in the Motorhome is blissful, even though we really miss our two pillows each. Thanks to the fact that it gets light just after 04h00 in the morning, we wake up at 04h45. We were too late to buy milk last night so the coffee has to be black. The campsite is really beautiful, and yet the fellow campers are very door. (We did notice that the average age of camper is way above ours). Our friendly gestures of greeting are met with stoney faces, not even a nod. We decided that the campers must be English. Hard as we try, we cannot get a friendly greeting out of one person! Just after 09h00 we set off to Stirling – I have to see someone at the university and we decide to get there early in order to find good parking and find our way around all the formalities of getting tickets, robes and finding the venue. Stirling University it set amongst the most beautiful scenary – lush green forests with a glistening loch, ducks, swans and geese rounding off the academic life. We have breakfast at a small cafeteria before I head off to my appointment and Victor sets out to explore. It is hard to beleive that today is the culmination of four years of studying, that I succeeded, that I am here to receive my degree in person. My meeting is with Ashley, a PhD student who did research in Bolivia ammongst indigenous women, exploring their experience and interpretation of new laws on discrimination against women. After our meeting I am more nervous than evey about attempting a PhD… We get dressed in our mobile home and set off for the ceremony. I have never seen so many young girls wearing shoes that they simply cannot set one foot in front of the other. I have glimpses of them falling flat on their faces during the ceremony. Men (well, very young boys) looking very dapper in their kilts. More girlsd squeezed into dresses that make them look terribly uncomfortable, not to mention akward, trying to pull down the too short hems, keep upright on their heels and pull their stomachs in at the same time. No mean feat… After almost 45 minutes of waiting for one student (who in the end did not arrive) the ceremony is ready to start. We are marched into the Sports Centre by brass band, sounding decidedly German to me, followed by the academic procession to Gaudiamus Igitur.The univeristy is twp years my junior, but has built a solid reputation in especially Social Work and Criminology, which I find very impressive. It is good to meet others who suffered with me and to be acknowledged for our hard work. I honestly never thought I would make it. Our day draws to a close with some serious Waitrose shopping and getting lost trying to find our campsite for the night. (Not having a phone that can connect to the internet is a pain. Not having had the time to do more proper homework before we left comes at a price…) It is still raining. Soft, gentle, heartwarming rain in the height of the Scottish summer.