To be completely honest, I had no idea that it was Halloween on the day I arrived in Scotland. After a twelve hour, non stop, overnight bus ride from London to Aberdeen, my travel companion Cheeseman and I were only concerned with finding a hot and savory meal. The Aberdeen bus station dumps passengers right into a large shopping mall complex full of American fast food and coffee franchises–an ultimately disappointing first impression of Scotland. Hungry and mapless, we marched with our backpacks on into the heart of the city in search of something more unfamiliar. We struck gold almost immediately when we stumbled upon an international food festival. Dozens of white tents lined an entire city block, each with its own flag and distinctive smells. There were feta-stuffed olives from Greece, woodfire grilled wursts from Germany, ackee and saltfish from Jamaica, Kibbeh lamb from Lebanon, giant cheese wheels from the Netherlands, sausage stews from Hungary, and much more. The Hungarian stews caught the attention of both my eyes and nose, and I walked trance-like to the tent and ordered a large serving of a Hungarian venison and sausage stew over roasted chickpeas and rice. I looked around for a seat among the throngs of people, and seeing none, plopped myself on the stone foot of a Goliath-size statue of King Edward VII. The Hungarian stew was spicy and full of gamey flavor; exactly the kind of hot meal needed to face the brisk Scottish weather.
Having gotten our fill at the food festival, Cheeseman and I went about finding a hostel to stay at. I looked up the address of what seemed to be the sole hostel in Aberdeen, but upon arriving was sad to find that the VACANCY sign had been replaced with a FOR SALE BY OWNER sign. We popped into a tourist information office and asked about cheap accomadations, a question they had somehow never prepared for in their twenty years of tourist informing. Our packs were feeling suddenly heavier as we walked out into the cold city, in search of an affordable room that may or may not exist. A kind Scottsman on the street recommended an area of the city that had a number of bed and breakfasts, so we hiked there and spent the better part of an hour knocking on doors asking for reasonably priced rooms. While sixty euros for a room and a hot breakfast would not have broken the bank, it was more than I was willing to pay for something so far away from the city center. Also, I have read more than a few accounts of bed and breakfasts in the UK having hilariously strict codes of conduct, noise regulations, and early curfews. So the two of us decided to check into a Travel Lodge hotel downtown and split a forty euro room. As we walked through the streets of Aberdeen, delightfully eavesdropping on as many Scottish accents as we could, we began to notice the costumes. There were only a few, but enough for Cheeseman and I to realize that we had in fact arrived in Scotland on Halloween. This “AHA” moment was follwed by us inspecting our outfits for the slightest resemblance to a costume worthy character. Giving it some thought, we settled on telling anyone who asked that we were dressed as American tourists.
Since we were only going to be in the area for a day before leaving for Inverness, we decided to catch a bus to the nearby town of Stonehaven where we heard a proper medieval castle could be found. I asked the bus driver if he could drop us close to the castle and he cheerfully said he would give us a wave at our stop. I made eye contact with the driver as we drove right through the little town of Stonehaven, and he shook his head at me. A few stops later, when the last person on the bus had gotten off, I looked to the driver again. Nothing. Only once we had left all signs of civilization behind did the bus driver pull over and shout, “Oy fellas! This is yoo!” We got off and watched him drive away into the distance. We were on a small country road, surrounded on all sides by meadows and farm fields with no castle in sight. Now this was an adventure!
I pulled out my phone, but it had no service or GPS coverage there in the middle of nowhere. Remembering the tourist map of Aberdeen I had in my pocket, I pulled it out and looked at the various pictures adorning the cover. There was one of a large castle situated precariously on a seaside cliff. In the distance, past a recently harvested hay field, we thought we saw what might be the sea. So we trekked across the field in that direction, looking out for landmines and shotgun toting Scottish farmers as we went. Soon enough the smell of saltwater enveloped us and we saw the blue expanse of the North Sea take shape in front of us. As the hay field sloped downward we saw in the distance what we hoped was the castle. The hay field ended at a barbed wire fence, which we clambered over into a bright grassy meadow.
The castle grew larger with every passing moment and soon it seemed larger than life as it loomed up in front of us. We came to the end of the meadow, which stopped abrubtly at a sheer vertical cliff that plunged a hundred feet to the sea below. Across from the cliff, on its own slab of rock jutting out into the water, was Castle Dunnottar. It looked like something straight out of Game of Thrones; almost unreal. We stood atop that cliff for ages just soaking up that majestic sight. There was a winding downhill path circling a small fjord and waterfall to the rocky coastline. From there, a long trail of stone steps wound their way up to the front gates of the castle…which were sadly locked up tight. I searched desperately for some handholds up to a window, but found nothing. I suppose something like that would have been a pretty big design flaw for such a fortress. Miffed by the locked gate, I decided to spite it by doing something immature, morally objectionable, and probably illegal–I peed on the gatehouse wall. And thus began my tradition of relieving myself on, in, and around castles all over the world.
It was a long hike back from the castle to the little country road where we were dropped off, and an even longer wait after that for a bus to come by and pick up us two stranded Americans. The bus took us back to the little town of Stonehaven, which we walked around for an hour, enjoying its quaintness compared to Aberdeen. We caught another bus back to the city where Halloween night was getting properly underway. Wanting to party with some locals, we followed a group consisting of a couple Power Rangers, a fat Batman, and Dracula with his two scantly clad she-vampires (or a pimp with his two employees, I cannot say for sure). They led us to a towering gothic cathedral with an obvious AMC Walking Dead theme. Smeared bloody handprints decorated the stone walls and crude wooden signs written in red asked newcomers the three crucial zombie apocalypse questions: HOW MANY WALKERS HAVE YOU KILLED? HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU KILLED? WHY? There were barbed wire fences all around it, creating a choke point at the massive front door where a tattered banner read: WELCOME TO TERMINUS. THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE. While the place looked like a Catholic cathedral from the outside, it certainly did not resemble one on the inside. The whole place had been converted into a multi-story Halloween bar and nightclub. Dim lighting from various electric torches and lanterns flickered against stone walls. There were glass cases scattered about with gruesome relics, statues of Dracula and Vlad the Impaler, and secret doors behind swinging bookshelves that lead to the bathrooms. Recesses in the walls and sunken areas of floor housed both large and intimate sized tables with red leather chairs, creating countless dark nooks and crannies. The first floor bar was lit all in red and was being tended to by characters straight out of the Walking Dead. I ordered a 7 Sins cocktail from the crossbow wielding Daryl and made my way up the black and gold spiral staircase in the center of the room. The next floor had two more bars and a series of balconies bridged together by narrow walkways, all overlooking the chaos below. Situated midway between the first and second floor was a square platform where a drumset and three guitars held the promise of a live rock show later that night. It was still somewhat early, so after a couple drinks and a lot of laughing at all the brilliant costumes, Cheeseman and I decided to go explore the city before getting into the full swing of Halloween.
After wandering the streets for a while, it became apparant that Aberdeen was more of an industrial city than a tourist hub. Aside from the fantastic statue of William Wallace and his iconic claymore sword, the sights in Aberdeen were resigned to a few large churches and nicely lit modern buildings.
It had been an exhausting day, so I decided to go back to the hotel and rest. Cheeseman was not ready to give up on Halloween yet, so he left to go break into a Cèilidh, a traditional Gaellic dance event being held in a nearby festival hall. Tickets were for sale at the entrance, but as I understand it, he strode right in like he owned the placed and started dancing with Scottish girls. This is testament to my belief that life is ninety percent confidence. It was nearing one in the morning when Cheeseman burst into the hotel room to tell me all about his experience. He also told me to man up and suit up because Halloween was happening outside like I would not believe. So I once again dawned my American tourist costume and emerged from the hotel into sheer madness. Thousands upon thousands of costumed people were swarming the streets, bringing all of the traffic (which consisted mostly of various police vehicles)to a complete halt. The exponential increase of people outside seemed to have even raised the temperature of the city. We elbowed our way through the crowd, marveling at the endless mass of creative costumes and the crazy characters wearing them. People were openly drinking like it was Mardi Gras, laughing and shouting at the top of their lungs. My favorite costumes were the bowling pins wobbling around the city streets; at least ten of them were scattered about, all outrageously drunk and flithy, shouting for their lost friend dressed as a bowling ball. There was a moment when a large group of the bowling pins stood stalwartly together in front of a police car that was trying to inch its way down the road. Flashing his lights and honking his horn, the cop bowled through them, the pins falling dramatically over his hood and around the sides of his car. You cannot make this kind of stuff up…
Cheeseman and I made our way back to Terminus, the gothic cathedral bar, and squeezed inside. The band was in full swing and the place was alive with carnal activity. Cheeseman and I chatted up all sorts of wild Scottish people as we fought our way to the bar for a couple Four Horsemen longdrinks. After hanging out for a while, we fought our way back outside and followed the crowd surging toward city center. We reached a road that was lined with nightclubs and bars. Passing on some of the scummier looking ones and clubs that demanded cover charges, we found ourself in a little club thick with college students. We waltzed with guys in lederhosen, flapped around with people in chicken suits, and square danced with cowgirls. Inside, I picked up a couple random items to add to my nonexistent costume, including a severed bloody hand and a string of rubber bullets. By the time we made it back to the hotel, it was dawn and I felt more tired than I had ever been. There was a bus to Inverness in a few hours that we had to catch, but I do not regret for an instant staying up all night to celebrate Halloween in Aberdeen. Truly an unforgettable experience.
