"No Nessie, Lassie, but Peace Aplenty"

Orlando Sentinel
November 13, 2005

Take a moment and run your fingernails across a blackboard.

While chewing tin foil.

And listening to an Ashlee Simpson CD.

That’ll give you an idea of the stress levels my wife, Teresa, and I reached last summer. The rat race was getting to us. We needed a vacation - including a visit to the hamlet of Foyers, near Loch Ness.

Before our arrival at Inverness Airport, I asked our host how we would find her. "That won’t be a problem," she replied. "The airport has only one arrival/departure gate." Not only that, the airport’s parking lot could fit into Downtown Disney’s lot - probably twice over.

Driving the 20 miles from Inverness, the capital of the Scottish Highlands, to our destination, I envisioned strips of hotels, restaurants, gas stations and souvenir shops encircling Loch Ness. Call it theme-park neurosis.

Instead, what we found leading to and surrounding the Loch was green and copper hillsides speckled with patches of burgundy, ivory, goldenrod, plum and turquoise wild flowers; plump sheep and mop-topped, caramel-colored Highland cows grazing and the occasional castle.

"Blue, like your eyes," was how my wife described the waters of Loch Ness.

Foyers - population under 400 - proudly possesses one diner, one shop and a post office, all clustered together. A one-lane road that meanders through town forced us into an unfamiliar leisurely pace.

Situated in our host’s tiny house, we delighted in watching rust-colored crossbills and gray crested tits peck and prod peanuts from a bird feeder hanging outside a window. Piloting between the feeder and the lilac, amber and burgundy flowers in the garden, the birds provided all the entertainment we needed.

The house sat atop a cliff overlooking Loch Ness, with Falls of Foyers below. The churning water provided a rhythmic serenade to our tranquil days.

No, we didn’t see the Loch Ness Monster. But on a sunny Friday afternoon, we did find Steve Feltham, a self-proclaimed monster hunter who lives in a converted van on the Loch’s shores.

To fund his quest for the beast, he sells handmade Nessie sculptures. We bought a small one for five dollars.

As I read its "certificate of authenticity," the only sound I could hear was the water slapping against the shore.