Globe Corner Blogs

Lonely Planet Walking in Scotland

Fun fact: Alba is the Gaelic name for Scotland.

Sinking knee deep in mud once is an accident; sinking knee deep three times on the same trail is just ridiculous. It happened so swiftly and suddenly - the sinking, I mean – that I imagine the mud having similar properties to quicksand. This is not a useful thought to have when you’re alone in a remote glen in Scotland tuck up to your knees in mud, but it came to me nonetheless. Thankfully, there were some blades of grass for me to hold onto while I freed my legs from the sludge. Heavy rains from the previous evening, and continued drizzle throughout the day, made hiking on the Isle of Arran a sloppy affair. However, after a short time in Scotland, you learn not to wait for a sunny day if you want to get outside; you just pull on your waterproof gear and wellies and dive in! Care must be taken and then a day’s hike in these conditions – whether you summit a ridge or reach a lovely waterfall – makes one feel triumphant. And what better way to enjoy a dram of whisky or refreshing cup of tea with milk than to earn it! Continue Reading »

Unidentified Flowering Tree--photo by Llalan

After over three months of riding home on sweltering subways tucked under a stranger’s sweaty armpit, elbowing my way over simmering sidewalks between armies of tourists in mirrored sunglasses, and sticking to La Brea-like tar while waiting for egregiously late buses,  I needed a break. Hailing from the corn fields of the Midwest, I wither away under the glare of glass skyscrapers and blinking neon.  Without a car, the choices seemed limited. I could go to Boston Common and pretend not to notice the necking teenagers and muttering homeless. I could wedge myself between sunbathers on the Charles River bank and laugh at the runners. Or I could sit in the mini front garden of a Beacon Hill home when I thought no one would be home.

Fortunately I found there was a better way to get my seasonal dose of Vitamin Green: Boston’s Arnold Arboretum. At the end of the Orange subway line lays 14 acres of dignified oaks, poky spruces, ancient bonsai, wispy silk trees, and everything else in between that I couldn’t identify. The paved paths that wind through the Arboretum are not only a great place to identify plants, but also an ideal people- and dog-watching spot (by which I mean rambunctious children with training wheels and puppies who can’t believe so many trees exist in the world). Continue Reading »

Vasa Ship Stockholm -- photo by Lisa

Even though my Norwegian grandfather brainwashed me into believing that Norway is superior to Sweden in every way, I love Stockholm. I thought that I was going to have a leisurely three days to hang out in Stockholm and visit friends, but the plan changed and instead of sight seeing, I was recruited to help someone move into her apartment. So my three days turned into one and next thing I knew, I was on a whirlwind tour of non-sequential Swedish history.  Knowing that I had three things on my agenda (Swedish meatballs with real lingonberry sauce, vikings, and really big ships), my friend tailor-made a schedule for me. And she had one thing on her agenda: showing me why Stockholm is the “Capital of Scandinavia“. Continue Reading »

McLeod Farms McBee, SC -- photo by Nicole

Fall is my hands-down favorite time of year, especially here in New England where the trees spontaneously combust with fiery reds and oranges and homemade pumpkin pie is readily available.  The August air goes from wet blanket ( with that unmistakable garbagey odor — one of the many pleasure of big city living) to September cool and crisp.  And though I’m a Low Country girl, born ‘n bred, the humidity does not agree with either my temperament or my hair.  Like the boiled peanuts my dad loves so much, I will never get used to it.  So I am always happy to say good-bye to the season of unflattering tank-tops and awkward tan lines and welcome with open, sun burnt arms the season of bookish cardigans and stylish scarves.

Summertime, though, is also the time of the peach, the most delicious fruit known in this world or the next, capable of producing truly magical culinary feats.  And it is always a minor tragedy, at the end of August, to buy what you know will be your last basket of peaches of the season.  The subject of peaches is one my fellow South Carolinians and I have been raised to take very seriously.  Every good South Carolina native will have her favorite place to buy peaches, whether it is the small-town farmer’s market or the even smaller bed of a pick-up truck on the side of the road.  There are festivals devoted to the peach all over the state and even a gigantic water tower shaped like a peach in upstate Gaffney known as the Peachoid.  I suspect Roald Dahl may have found inspiration for his children’s classic James and the Giant Peach here, although his official biography makes no mention of this. Continue Reading »