Borders Abbeys Way 3
- hiking scotland
I wake up and take my earplugs out (Joe warned me that he might snore). Joe offers me a coffee. I say yes, then change my mind. No, I’m not a morning person, and my alarm woke me up in the middle of a weird dream. I tell Joe my dream, which was about a wedding of an old school friend that took place at my work place. I realise I talked about that school friend yesterday, and we also debated the merits of marriage. The dream wasn’t that weird after all then.
In the sumptuous, tartan-heavy breakfast room we meet the other guests, from England and Barcelona. Joe gets a conversation going with everyone. Of course, the chat turns political at some point, and Joe handles it well. Diplomacy is not my strength so I keep my mouth shut. Joe eats most of my breakfast on top of his - it’s too early in the morning for me to have haggis, sausages, bacon and black pudding.
We walk. There are brambles, raspberries and butterflies. On a hill we lie down and take a long break in the soft grass, looking for a nap. Joe tells me how nice it was to wake up next to me. I ask him not to repeat this statement out of context to anyone. Some other walkers come our way. Why they are not lying down and taking a break in such a great spot with wide views I don’t understand.
When we continue walking I spot laundry on a line hung up all wrong. The socks are all over the place. I comment on this, and pretend that I really care about hanging up laundry a certain way, and I give Joe a lecture on mindful laundering. He can’t tell whether or not I’m serious which amuses me.
At Denholm, a sign announces a tea room but when we get there it’s shut. We settle for the pub, which also serves cream tea, and we meet an Irish mother and daughter who are also doing the Borders Abbeys Way. They have rented a cottage, and the dad, who isn’t walking, drives them to the starting points every morning, picks them up in the evening, and cooks dinner for them.
After Denholm, we pick up the path and walk along the Teviot, taking another long break on a pebbled beach, spotting more herons, and practise whistling and bird sounds. Joe teaches me advanced pigeon sound technique, and hand farts. I can’t do the hand farts, but it’s probably due to a lack of will rather than skill.
At Hawick, we find our host’s B&B in an old mill building by the river. Vincent has a lovely three bedroom flat with high ceilings, and he recently redecorated it completely. He is looking to sell and move to Spain, and for his asking price you couldn’t buy a basement studio in Edinburgh. He offers us a very generous glass of whisky, and I’m a bit tipsy before dinner. The recommended dinner option in Hawick is a Whetherspoon’s, where we meet other walkers. Afterwards, we walk around town for a bit, through a dark cemetery and an even darker park before turning in for the night.