All of the suggestions are grand. The one about the Culloden Battlefield reminds me of a wildly OT story. Long before I became a golfer, we were in the Highlands on a big budget photo shoot. Most of our locations were around Fort William—Glen Coe, Mallig, Rannoch Moor, Ben Nevis, and so on. The working crew stayed at some old heap hotel in Fort William. I put the clients, cast, and agency bigwigs up at Inverlochy Castle, even decades ago about as posh a Highlands outpost around. The shoot was fine but a highlight reel of springtime west coast weather: cold, wind, fog, rain, snow, frost, sun, etc. changing constantly. We had fun but with the schedule changes, weather, and logistic challenges, it made for long days and little sleep. By the end, the crew was completely fed up hearing about the food and accommodations from the castle group. We all were scheduled to drive to Inverness for a wrap party and dispersal to various parts of world. At the last minute, I switched everyone from an Inverness hotel to a stately manner house run by its owner (laird type). May have been the Culloden House, but all I remember is that it was big enough for all, posh enough for the purpose (rewarding the hard working crew), and the owner’s challenge to break a BBC crew’s record of drinking four bottles of 80 year old whisky. We were too tired to do much except eat well, play some poker in the library, drink a bit, and sleep the sleep of the dead. Not a sniff at the record.
The next day all we had to do was drive our prop photo jeeps somewhere and fly home or to the next gig. Over breakfast, I vaguely mentioned that there was some old battlefield nearby and thought I’d have a look on my way out of town. A few of the crew, a Hispanic guy from LA, a Jewish guy from NYC, and maybe another from wherever, said they wanted to tag along. Outside was totally shrouded in fog. We climbed in our battered, mud-splattered Land Rover and Land Cruiser and wandered around in the fog looking for the battle site. Basically, no maps, tourist guides, or anything resembling knowledge about what we were looking for or why. About to give up and move on, we heard the bagpipes and followed them to a foggy ridge where a small group of 50-75 Scots were gathered. Totally clueless, we arrived on the morning of April 16th. We joined this spooky looking bunch, dressed in their traditional best, and listened to Gaelic speeches, Burns poetry, dramatic oratory, and some impromptu songs for about an hour, gradually realizing they were there celebrating the anniversary of the 1746 Battle of Culloden, Bonny Prince Charley, and the last gasp of Scottish independence. Eventually, we were offered wee drams and chatted with our hosts. I have no idea what they thought of us, but seemed impressed that we had come so far for this solemn occasion and couldn’t have been more welcoming. First time I ever contemplated my Scottish ancestry, yet, what an initiation! No doubt Roberto from LA felt the same. Truly, a Seamus MacDuff moment.