Wednesday 3 May 2023
Our friends Fiona and Andy set off for a few nights near Castle Barnard (will there ever not be a joke about eyesight whenever anyone mentions Castle Barnard now?!) yesterday morning. The four of us first had a wander round Samye Ling Temple, which, as it always is, was incredibly peaceful and quiet. An inhabitant of the temple (monk?) advised us that we could go into the temple. It’s always looked, but maybe not been, closed. As we approached the temple, none of us spoke above a whisper. We asked a lady who looked like she was staying there if we could go in. She confirmed that we take our shoes off and that, yes, we could go in. The four of us took off our shoes and walked into the hall. One orange-clad man (transpires we all had a man or statue? monologue in our heads about him – he didn’t move) was sitting in there. We all sat down and didn’t speak, not even a whisper. Unexpectedly, I had tears in my eyes. It felt peaceful and calm and safe and totally surreal, sitting in a colourful and golden ‘hall’ full of details and figures I don’t really know anything about, which is in the middle of a remote part of Scotland with the confluence of the White and Black Esks which then form the Esk, trees, moorland and hills all around.
We then carried on to The Hub at Eskdalemuir for homemade, very tasty cake (orange and poppyseed, toffee cake and lemon meringue pie) and tea/hot chocolate/water. In the carpark, Chris and I headed back home and Fiona and Andy headed for the first of a few stops before their couple of nights near Castle Barnard.
Chris and I had leftover curry and rice for dinner and the last of the bread and butter pudding. I’m hoping that having made a rhubarb crumble and bread and butter pudding while Fiona and Andy were staying that the pudding thing may be ongoing. Chris and I usually just have whatever is around that is sweet, which isn’t often particularly satisfying or nutritious. We have so much rhubarb sprouting up at the moment that rhubarb crumbles may become a regular feature for the next month or more.
As for making this post at least mildly relevant to having moved from London to rural Scotland, there is no Tibetan temple or stupa to visit in London, and even if there were it most definitely wouldn’t be in such a tranquil and beautiful location as Samye Ling and neither would you hear lambs and sheep bleeting and bahing, pheasants calling and countless birds chirruping and cawing. There is also no rhubarb growing on our balcony in London.
