Shortly after arriving in Stirling, it started to rain, as it does in the UK. It was a lovely novelty, much like the cold, at the start of the trip, but now I'm afraid I'm catching the pessimistic attitude towards these weather extremes that has affected so many of the countries inhabitants already. Young Benjamin is still loving it all though. Every time we go outside it's raining, but he still loves it, as if it were there warm rain one finds back home. After stumbling across a small information centre, we managed to find ourselves a map. This was no ordinary map though. Ordinary maps are for ordinary cities, so at first glimpse at this novelty looking map, we knew we were in for something special. Only half of the street names are featured on this map, nothing is to scale and I'm not sure of some of the streets put down even existed. Regardless, it was rather exciting trying to decipher this bad-boy of a bastard. Somehow, it led us to the correct general kind of direction to our hostel, but luckily since there were only two hostels in the entire town, plenty of signs shone a light for our path. 
A couple minutes into our hike through the town, we encountered what I can only assume to be Germans. These two legends featuring what looked like black disco suits. Both parts of this duo sported heavily flared, but tight at the crotch pants with sequins running down the sides and tight jackets with tassels and matching sequins throughout. One was wearing a top hat and the other a bowlers hat and both carried a chunk of wood, which we assume acted as a walking stick, as they were also carrying what I only know as a nap sack. It would appear to us Australian chaps that this is how these two chose to travel. Good luck to them. God damn we should have got a photo. The general public seemed to be overwhelmingly friendly; especially when they found out we were Australian - or rather just not from the country at all. No matter how many times I see the reaction, I still enjoy the odd chuckle. When they ask where we're from, and we tell them, the Scots always seem to look away in disgust and quickly return with "Why the bloody hell are you here? This place is a dump/hole/sewer! You musn't realise how lucky you have it over there. Beautiful country". I don't think they understand how lucky they have it here, with all the old cobblestone, greenery, castles, churches and historic culture in general. However, I do appreciate our warmth and sun much more now that I'm here, so I can understand where they're coming from.I'm sure you're all more than familiar with William Wallace (others know him as Mel Gibson). Benny boy dressed up as him once at a "Bad-ass theme" birthday party. The folk of Scotland still talk about him, and more importantly, still love him. The national memorial of this bad-boy has been erected in Stirling, so we went and scoped it out. It takes maybe an hour to walk there, but at our pace, happy snap characteristics, and cartoon, hand-drawn, novelty map, it took us about two and a half. The walk itself is gorgeous. I am happy we chose to do it ourselves rather than a tour, as we were able to stop at everything we wanted to on the way. Our walk involved a large section of country side trekking along a road. It's so beautiful to see so much green. In the distance were huge mountain ranges that were covered in snow, and it looks far better in person than on a post card, so I won't dare send anyone a post card, but only recommend you to just come here.
Anyway, we made it to the memorial, which is a large statue situated on a large castle situated on a very large hill. The long and laboursome trek up only served to heighten our appreciation for it. Some old chap dressed as a soldier from the time of the war gave us a huge story about how he fought in the battle, why the battle started and who was featured in the battle. This was far more informative than the film Braveheart, which now seems to me just as an excuse to make a cool old school war movie (that being said, it still was a great watch). There was much more to the story that I'd never known. Throughout his tale-telling, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face, because he has the most typical full-blooded Scottish accent you could imagine, and because of his age, and probably whisky drinking, his voice had the soldierish feel to it. Marvelous.We saw many other cool things that day including The Beheading Stone, The Old Bridge, The Stirling Castle (which we unfortunately left too late to see the inside of), an Abbey in which I've forgotten the name of and just the entire city. Going the long way is always a good option it seems. One's knees and feet are shot by the end of the day, but so many forms of living and dark mossy alleyways are there to be found.
One evening we decided to have a night walk around the city, looking for a place to watch the big fight. Haye vs. Ruiz in the heavyweight championship. A few Scottish locals (who were smoking tobacco from licorice flavoured papers would you believe!) told us to try the Outback Bar. This was a dodgy place. Every bar in Scotland and most in Ireland have Fosters on tap, and a lot of people actually drink the stuff too. On the tap line, it's usually situated in the very middle and features the biggest logo of the lot. This bar still had the Fosters and all the local taps beer, but also had their own brew, known as "Outback Lager" or something. It was pretty spot on though! It tasted very similar to the popular XXXX Gold that many Queenslanders drink. It was pretty ok stuff, and it even kind of felt like an Australian pub, until we went and sat next to the door. Every time the door was opened a big whoosh of cold air came in, and we came back to reality. The dodgy side of it was that they had boomerangs and didgeridoo's as door handles. Instead of crocodile heads in the walls, they had alligator heads, but it was a good effort. After discovering they weren't broadcasting the fight at all, we hit up Sportsters, the town sports bar, where everyone seemed to go for the big fight. 
Ruiz is a 38 year old boxer from some god-knows place in the world, and Haye - the local favorite being from the UK - is a 29 year old boxer who has won 32 out of 33 matches, 27 of which were knock-outs. Because we love the underdogs, we backed the old guy who survived a grueling 9 rounds before the trainer threw in the towel. It was a good effort by the old chap, but not good enough I'm afraid. What was astonishing to me was that it was Ruiz who challenged Haye...I hope now that he realises his age, and that boxing is a new sport than what he used to fight. On a bus again, we're heading to Edinburgh, where we hope to stay in a tree-house village. Of what we know of the place, it costs nothing, providing those who stay there give some benefit to the community. I don't know what they mean by this, but the site is a permanent protest ground, protesting what, we don't know yet, but I assume that providing something for their community will have something to do with the protest. I'm looking forward to it, but the last few days have been host to a substantial amount of rain, and Ben needs to find himself a sleeping bag if he's going to survive in the trees. I hope it works, and we find it.Wish us luck. The boooyz.
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