LEJOG Day 73: Milngavie to Drymen

Weather: Sunny and hot

Distance covered today: 22.5km (14.0mi)

Last night's B&B: Premier Inn (£29)

Cumulative distance: 1474.8km (916.4mi)/ % Complete: 77.1%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 73 (click!)

Refreshed after my rest day, and with the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky, I set off this Sunday morning amidst hordes of walkers for my first day on the West Highland Way. For a short time, I felt some resentment about all the others on the Way, but things soon quietened down and in time I met some rather interesting people, including one trio of Scotsmen on a training run for a future trip, who, after about half an hour, felt the need to break out the Budweisers, suggesting to me that it was “time for a wee bevvie!” They offered me one, but I considered 09:30 a little on the early side for such refreshment!

Later I met five walkers, two of whom were ex-South African women, a doctor and a lawyer, and we spent some time comparing notes. They are keen sports fans and to my amusement were making haste for Drymen so as not to miss the Wimbledon Men’s Final. In the event, we made it in time and watched the final together. Their German boyfriends were somewhat bemused by this drive, but I was able to explain that not all South Africans are obsessed with sport, just a high proportion!

In an otherwise uneventful walk through lovely Scottish countryside, we made good time, and it is clear the real walk will start tomorrow. My concerns about internet access are proving well-founded, but I have discovered that the neighbours here have wifi, and after suitable supplication, they have agreed to let me use it, so I will have to hurry to get this post off!  Fearing the worst, I had a quick look at my email before leaving Milngavie this morning and was delighted to receive an email from Phyllis and Rob, in which Phyllis described her own experience of the West Highland Way and was most reassuring. I met Phyllis and Rob on Offa’s Dyke and I was interested and impressed, amongst other things, by the fact that Rob was learning to speak Japanese. He described a number of his experiences in Japan, and I could understand from his gentle and polite manner that he would be extremely popular in Japan, and they would be greatly complimented by his efforts to learn their difficult language.

It made me think about my own experiences in Japan as I strolled along in the sunshine.  On one such trip in early 1984, I was given a great honour by a Japanese client with whom we had been doing business. I am still not quite sure why, nor whether my response was appropriate. There is a Japanese delicacy called Fugu prepared from the Pufferfish, parts of which are mortally toxic. It is a high honour for a foreigner to be offered Fugu, which is prepared by special, highly trained chefs. If, by some chance, the diner dies, the chef is required to fall on his own sword, so he has a significant interest in getting the preparation right!

The evening of my honour did not start well. I was staying with an interpreter colleague in a Japanese hotel, which was very different from the international hotels usually favoured by visitors. I was surprised to discover a woman in my bedroom when I was shown into it, and even more surprised when she instructed me to unrobe in her presence. She was old enough to be my mother so I knew I was not being led astray, and anyway, it soon became clear that she was merely insisting that I don a Kimono for a tea ceremony. I finally got the message and did as I was told. Hardly had the ceremony been completed than I was carted off for a bath. I hadn’t realised that this was to be a communal affair. The idea was that one had a shower first against a wall where a number of shower hoses protruded at knee height. One crouched down and furiously washed all over with the soap provided, and once properly cleansed, one was then invited, stark naked, to enter the large communal bath with the other men. Of course, none of them could speak a word of English, nor I any Japanese, and our inability to communicate didn’t help me cover my embarrassment at my entire predicament.

Eventually I completed the bath with as much dignity as I could muster, and after I had dressed Japanese style for dinner, my interpreter explained to me that I was to receive the great honour of being offered Fugu for din-dins. I had heard about the custom before and my heart sank as he rather ghoulishly described the pitfalls involved if things went wrong. I understood that this was a great honour, but also that great offence would be taken if I refused the honour, I would lose face and my reputation would suffer very badly. Suffice it to say that I ate the fish without ill effect and in the general celebration that followed, I drank far too much beer and whiskey.  In Japan, there is no shame in getting drunk at a business dinner and I definitely felt I had earned it!

Afterwards, I reflected long and hard on the events of the evening and my response to them. Was it legitimate for me to be put into a life-threatening situation for the sake of honour? Was it legitimate for my company to expect me to go through with it, (not that they knew anything about it at the time)? Would my life insurance have paid out in the event of my death when they heard how it had come about? What about my responsibility to Veronica and my family? Why hadn’t I just said no; that where I come from, eating poisonous fish is foolhardy and wrong-headed and I refuse to eat your fish! Would that have been a cowardly or courageous thing to have done?

I’ve never really answered all those questions. I heard later in the year that the Japanese government had actually passed a law making it illegal to prepare Fugu from the liver of the Pufferfish, which is apparently the most dangerous part. To this day, I have no idea whether that was the bit that was offered to me or not – no-one was going into that sort of detail, but by emphasising the risk, it hardly made me feel any better about the whole thing.  In retrospect, it did convince me that men, left to themselves, will devise these sorts of tests to challenge each other, and I am convinced that the courage to say no is the same courage as that of the pacifist or the conscientious objector who simply refuses to go along. It is the effect of peer pressure that causes people to do so-called courageous things that common sense would preclude and too many people have died because of it, especially in war. I can only hope that in business, having more women in the board-room will stop this sort of lunacy, but only, of course, if they don’t turn out to be all masculine themselves.

I found it strange to be recollecting these disturbing thoughts on so beautiful a Scottish day, but in any case, my train of thought was soon interrupted by the two South Africans, and the conversation turned to lighter things, such as the life-and-death issue of whether Nadal would be able to retain his title!

The town square in Milngavie

The impressive start to the West Highland Way

The three Scotsmen, enjoying their first "bevvies" of the day

A loch in the early sunlight

Fishing on the loch

A hint of the Highlands to come

An "honesty box" along the way offering tea, coffee and other sustenance, right in the middle of nowhere! There were similar offers on Offa's Dyke, but only in churches

Back on an disused railway line. They are everywhere!

My first Scottish Whiskey Distillery. Sadly, no time to explore!

A view of the water-weathered sandstone from a bridge over Blane Water

More hints of the Highlands to come

Me, in the main street of Drymen