Tribal

     "Take my Swaine-Adeney," I insist, offering the chestnut single-stick I'd gotten for this trip to water world.  "Luxury if utility," she beams with a gorgeous smile, popping open the expensive umbrella and stepping out into a steady downpour. "Your room is the first on the left." "No check-in or key?" I puzzle, eyeing the low brick building behind a white stupa that's glowing despite it being the midnight dusk of a northern latitude. "Power's out," she explains over a shoulder, hurrying on toward the monastery before calling back "My meditation class is at six."      The drive over the Galloway Hills through a thunderstorm had been harrowing. The thrum of drops pelleting the canvas top of the old Lotus was enough to induce white-knuckles, but not for my intrepid driver. She just hunkered down in the blinding curtain of rain like an interstate truck driver on a deadline, leaning into the switchbacks and gliding...

      "Student or teacher?" I finally ask my escort as we're leaving Glasgow and heading into the southern uplands. I'd been silent to avoid exposure since exiting the terminal. She'd been equally quiet while negotiating the old Lotus 7 through evening traffic around the beltway south of the city. "Some of each," she answers, hazel eyes fixed on the darkening road ahead in the long dusk of late spring. "As a bhikkhuni I mostly practice samadhi, but I also teach adhisila to beginners." "That would be me," I play along without understanding a word while sensing sparks emanating from the fine hairs along her left arm holding onto the stick shift.   "Then your first lesson is to abandon lust," she cautions with a wink that could have been a blink since I couldn't see the right half of her face.  "My wish is your command," I laugh, risking my first night's lodging on a cheap juxtaposition.      It was a little ...

      "Sorry sir, no hires left this eenin." "But I made this reservation six months ago," I exclaim louder than intended to the young guy behind the EuropCar counter. "That's the way of it, but may do check Anns a' mhadainn."  "Let me speak to your supervisor!" "I'm the boss, chief," he grins a little larger than I'd like before adding, "but where might ye be heading?" "I was going to tour the area around Langholm," I gripe, dejection already creeping into my tone. "The Paisley treana or Buchanan bhus will thoirt ye shios an sin , " he sighs with an eye roll while placing a closed sign in the window and flipping off the lights.      I'd read all kinds of advice about traveling the rural countryside by bus or train - mostly to avoid them at all costs due to irregular schedules and only proximate destinations. In fact, all of my planning had been obsessive for this trip to the ancestral h...