{"id":748,"date":"2018-08-01T19:02:40","date_gmt":"2018-08-01T19:02:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/?p=748"},"modified":"2018-08-04T15:57:29","modified_gmt":"2018-08-04T15:57:29","slug":"being-in-perth","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/?p=748","title":{"rendered":"Being in Perth"},"content":{"rendered":"

At 10 a.m. the hotel room phone rings. “I’m afraid there’s a wee problem with your rental apartment\u2026” Laurie (from Fraser Apartments, a sister property) offers a smaller unit sans a balcony, the most appealing feature.\u00a0 To my surprise, I feel no frustration and accept this as another sign. Something else is meant to be. However, check out is at noon. To have time to find an alternative, I ask for another day at a discounted rate. Granted.<\/p>\n

Edinburgh, as is most of the UK and Europe, is a popular summer holiday destination, with events and festivals galore. I’ve got to check out locales off the tourist radar. A last-minute website shows a rental in Perth? which has a balcony that overlooks a river — and is only one hour’s train ride north.<\/p>\n

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Family Swan at Swim<\/p><\/div>\n

From my balcony I fall in like with Perth (pronounced Pairth) the minute I see the Old Bridge (and Perth or Smeaton Bridge), spanning the River Tay. Its’ aged magnificence beckons a crossing.<\/p>\n

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At the tourist centre, Sean comments on fortuitous timing — on the first Saturday of every month is the Farmer’s Market – tomorrow.<\/p>\n

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Saturday market and Art<\/p><\/div>\n

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The African Music Experience<\/p><\/div>\n

And once a year, Perth Concert Hall hosts the African Music Experience — tomorrow night.<\/p>\n

Aye lassie, here is \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The meant to be.<\/p>\n

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Perth oozes history and presence. It has the energy of a city but the manageability of a town. All within a two-mile radius are museums, castles, parks, cemeteries, libraries, bookstores, thrift stores, a pedestrian-only centre, oodles of cafes, music venues, health food stores, and a real treasure — the River Tay Public Art Trail.<\/p>\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Thought Stone<\/p><\/div>\n

Meandering through sculptures and gardens, a paved path leads to a bridge traversed only by pedestrians and trains (a wild sensation).<\/p>\n

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Choo choo and Boogie<\/p><\/div>\n

The trail begins next to the apartment building and as I return from a jog, William, the elderly gentleman living below, stops me for a chat. He and his wife had lived there together since the 70’s until, due to dementia, she had to move to a care facility. For the last three years, every morning, five days a week, he takes the bus to visit her. Bless his devoted heart. He raises his arm and points, “Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park is at the top of that road with lovely views across the valley. Something to see, tis. Our son, my wife and I walked it many times when he was growing up. It’s an uphill climb, you’ve got to have the legs fer it. You can stop for a wee rest on a bench at the monastery on your way.”<\/p>\n

He points and repeats the directions, and so, My Day.<\/p>\n

For the first mile or so, the road is tree-lined with high stone walls of ivy so the climb is peacefully invigorating. The monastery comes into view but I keep a steady pace. Residential garden landscapes replace old stone walls until multiple trails into the park appear. Almost a mile into the woods, I wonder where are other hikers? Suddenly, the sight of something black and white in the grass startles me.<\/p>\n

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Do you see what I see?<\/p><\/div>\n

A skunk, a badger? It’s not moving. Don’t run. The Ms. Daniel Boone in me inches closer to investigate; it remains still. Tread softly… thankfully, I hear distant voices. A middle-aged couple draws near just as I squeal in laughter at Self and say to them, hand raised in the air like an art dealer, “it’s a fake! The work of a sneaky sculpture artist!” They chuckle and offer ‘warning’, “Keep your eyes open for an owl and a squirrel.” Some wild life.<\/p>\n

I reach the hilltop. After weeks of sunshine, the overcast day brings a pensiveness to my solitude. Gazing beyond the winding river and valley to distant rolling hills,<\/p>\n

a poets’ words come to mind, “I am monarch of all I survey.” (W.Cowper)<\/p>\n

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Thinking On the Hill<\/p><\/div>\n

Two girls from Austria approach, ending my reign, and we affably exchange “no-selfie” photos.<\/p>\n

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Kinnoull Hill View<\/p><\/div>\n

On the way back, I stop at the monastery. The large wooden entrance door is locked, but a few cars are parked around back. No signs or sounds of life. Exception. From a second-story, window, a solitary pigeon (it’s real) rests on the back of a chair, like a cat perched. Weird.<\/p>\n

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No one knows what goes on\u00a0 Behind Closed Windows<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Behind a wrought-iron gate, a garden awaits.<\/p>\n

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Nature’s Wall Art<\/p><\/div>\n

I didn’t see her come out of the monastery, but a small-<\/p>\n

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St. Mary’s Monastery and Retreat Center<\/p><\/div>\n

framed woman dressed in a worn gray pant suit, walks with a cane in the direction of one of the cars. “Hello. Pardon me,” I ask. “Do you think anyone would mind if I walk through the gardens?” She looks around before she answers, “No, dear. I don’t see why anyone would mind. Go right ahead.” She’s fumbling with a bag, and I help her put some water bottles into the boot (trunk) of her car. Monica is 86 years young, here on\u00a0 retreat. “I’ve been a nun for seventy years.” Wistfully she adds, “Cloistered seventeen years. Seventeen years apart from my family. That’s just the way it was back then.” Her spryness quickly returns and she regales me with stories of her years as a language teacher, guitar-player, traveler…”I still drive.” She has a beautiful smile and I tell her so. “That’s credit to my mother,” she said. I think upon the glowing smile of my mother. And Toms’…mischievously turning up in the corner like Elvis’.
\nMonica looks directly into my eyes. “What is it you’re looking for?” Her question catches me unawares. I open my mouth but have no voice. Muted tears fall from my cheeks. It isn’t only the question, it’s the way she said it that stuns me. Eighty-six years of compassion hold her gracious heart and whisper in understanding tone. Filling in my blank she suggests, “Hope? Love? \u2026 Peace?” I pick one. “I don’t know (sniffle). Peace, I guess. Peace.” Intently propping her cane upon the car, Monica opens her fragile arms, and gently wraps them around me. I release, and melt in her reverent motherly embrace.<\/p>\n

I look into her eyes and fold my hands in prayer-like gratitude, as I step back.
\nShe nods, smiles. And drives away.<\/p>\n

I saunter down the hill in reflection. “Peace? Why did I say that? I’m not looking for peace. I’m not looking for anything, really. I’m just Being.”<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It occurs to me…. years ago a wise man said, “Heidi. Do you think instead of always “Becoming”, you might try just “Being?”\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I’m trying, Tommy…I’m trying.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

At 10 a.m. the hotel room phone rings. “I’m afraid there’s a wee problem with your rental apartment\u2026” Laurie (from Fraser Apartments, a …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[20,17],"class_list":["post-748","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-ireland-uk-europe-2018","tag-perth","tag-scotland"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/748","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=748"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/748\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":802,"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/748\/revisions\/802"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=748"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=748"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=748"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}