Getting off the bus, I was greeted by village-esque glory. One block of shops, like a little western town, beautiful trees all around. Jackpot. I stashed my pack in the first hotel I saw (think western saloon type hotel) and went for a beautiful hike in the countryside.
Trails through forest, views of the valley, and loads of deer gallop-hopping across my path. The hike ended at the ruins of an old cathedral, and though the gates had just closed I hopped the fence to take a look.
Did I get caught in this mischief, you ask? Depends how you look at it. A guy spotted me and came back into the grounds. I ran over and thanked him, told him I was worried I wouldn't be able to get out. He apologized, and said he must've missed me in his final sweep.Back in town I saw a restaurant sign advertising haggis, and figured it was time to take the plunge. And the funny thing? It was really good. Still ahead was a live traditional jam at the local pub. I called the guy who was putting me up for the night and asked if it was OK for me to come back later than planned.
He said sure and recommended a second pub over the river in Birnam that also has live music. So with an hour to kill, I decided to have a cup of tea at the hotel where I stowed my bag.Here's where all the pieces come together. I went to that hotel bar, planning to sit and do some writing, and who should be there, but two of the bar staff, off duty, and Nathan, my waiter from the Haggis place. Suddenly I had a posse for the evening. Nathan bought a round and the evening started to roll. It was just a crazy enough group to work. None of us were real locals -- one was from Wales, one from Australia, and one from Minnesota. And me. All in the middle of nowhere, Scotland. I talked them into checking out the live music that night,
and after a couple of good hours in the hotel bar, we set off into the cold night across the bridge into Birnam. Birnam is the town that sits on the opposite side of the river Tay, though its effectively the same place as Dunkeld. Nathan had mentioned earlier that there was a 1000 year old tree that is likely the only tree left in Birnam woods from the days of Shakespeare. Shakespeare? Shakespeare. Birnam Wood. MacBeth. None shall kill MacBeth 'till Birnam wood come to Dunsinane'? The very same Birnam woods. I suggested that we should visit it on the way to the pub and it was agreed. On the Birnam side of the bridge, we doubled back down a dark set of stairs to an unlit trail right by the side of the river. We walked amongst the shadowy trees, the moon 
lighting our way, wispy clouds hanging amidst the starts, the Tay rushing swiftly but softly beside us. After 5-10 minutes we arrived at the side of a huge knarled monstrosity. I was expecting the redwood experience: "yep, that's a big tree." This was different. This tree actually looked its age, like it was a relic from another time, an age of magic and mystery and weird sisters casting their spells in the hidden heart of the forest. It was knarled and knotted, with crooked branches shooting out in all directions, like creaky fingers reaching out into the night.We made our way to the warmth of the pub, where a fiddler, guitarist, and several other musicians serenaded us. But to be honest, it was all background to me. We were having fun on our own, and when the pub closed (at the late hour of 11pm), I took my taxi out to Caputh a happy man.
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