Maggie, will we get to see what Scotsmen wear under their kilts?'' Catherine enquired breathlessly when I met her and her buddy Kathleen at the entrance gate to the world's biggest Highland Games, held here in northern California. ''Is that all you can think about?'' I chided. ''This is one of Scotland's premier cultural events. And by the way, 'buff central' it ain't,'' I warned in an effort to dampen down her ardour. (Her boyfriend Tom was stuck in Washington, hence her enthusiasm to ''window shop''.)
''Oooo, I see what you mean,'' she replied disappointedly as her eyes fell on a prime specimen in all his glory: trainers, T-shirt,
Hen Broon legs, big red beard, and kilt with his stomach protruding over the waistband so much he looked ready to give birth.
''That's a product of a good Scottish diet you're feasting your eyes on. Years of beer, Scottish pies, fry-ups, chips, and fags.''
''What's a Scottish pie?'' asked Catherine's doctor friend Kathleen.
''Well, if you're feeling brave enough, let's find out,'' I challenged as I led everyone to a red London double decker with a sign on its top deck saying Scottish Meat Pie Co. (The American owner who claims to be of Scottish descent really should know better.)
After 20 minutes in line at this popular fuelling station I returned with my $7 pie (Silicon Valley prices). When I turned it upside down to squeeze as much grease out of it as possible, the Boyfriend snorted: ''How posh. It's well seen living in California has changed you.''
''That is so not good for you,'' said the good doctor Kathleen, obviously concerned about my cholesterol. ''Come on guys, let's get some real food. Corndogs,'' she suggested without a hint of irony.
Now I'm not one to declare pies ''the healthy choice'', but corndogs are death on
a stick. For the uninitiated, it's a hot dog dipped in batter. How can that be considered a better alternative to one of Scotland's finest culinary traditions?
Talking of traditions, the Games here in California are 135 years old and earned the title the biggest in the world because more than 50,000 people attend them. The gathering is also one of the oldest and largest ethnic festivals in the United States. (It's odd, and I know somewhat arrogant, but I've never regarded myself as ethnic.)
At this year's event, all the old staples - from the piping competition to Highland dancing and from the heavy events to my favourite, the tossing of the caber - were very much in evidence.
But one event new to me was ''The Strong Woman/Man Walk'', where competitors have to carry weights as far as possible. For the women it's 175lbs and for the men, 375lbs. (It reminded me of Saturday shopping with my friend Yvonne and coming home drowning in bags and staggering under their weight.)
It looked absolutely gruelling. One guy actually dropped a weight on his foot and obviously gained the sympathy of the crowd because one of them shouted out: ''Gie the man some whisky.'' Certainly works for me after an afternoon at the mall.
Getting back to your roots is a big part of the Games, with 74 different clans helping people find out more about their ancestry. Catherine, whose mum is a Knox, steered clear of her clan tent because the people there had too much facial hair and looked a bit fierce.
She should have followed my friends
Colin and Caroline MacNab who rubber-eared the MacNab clan because they were boring. Colin said they joined the Buchanans because they knew how to party.
Meanwhile Kathleen, whose mum is a Campbell, was trying to blag some freebies from Donald, the guy running the society's stall. Proof that she's of true Scottish descent was evident when she went after the beer with the clan name on it and ignored a tin of Campbell's soup with the label marked ''MacDonald's Broth''. Donald says it's all part of the good-natured ribbing that goes on between the Campbells and the MacDonalds. Changed days indeed.
The highlight of the day was the massing of the bands and a lone piper playing Amazing Grace. The atmosphere was palpable. Until, of course, the inevitable ''ddddrrrring ddddrrrring'' shattered the moment as the cellphone of a guy in front of me went off. In Silicon Valley, where every day 64 people become millionaires, nothing is more sacred than the ''deal''.
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