The Waters of Eternal Beauty

Those who submerge their face in the waters that flow under the Sligachan Old Bridge will be granted eternal beauty.

We stood off to the side, watching as people plunged their faces into the magical stream of eternal beauty. Initially, people were cautious. Hesitant to do it in front of so many people. But a few brave souls led the charge, and then others followed. But we were not included in those few brave souls, nor the mildly brave followers, nor the people who would never do it. We were a different group entirely. We were the watchers, watching and wanting to join in on the fun, but trying to convince ourselves that we didn’t.

The Sligachan Old Bridge in the Scotland Highlands. Long ago, an unusually benevolent fairy helped a distraught woman who had been cast out of her wedding by her future husband because he said her ugliness made her “defective.” This was a high-stakes wedding as it was an attempt to finally bring peace between two warring Scottish clans. The fairy told the woman to submerge her face in these waters under the Sligachan Bridge for seven seconds, and she would be cured. She was initially cautious as she knew fairies were notorious tricksters, but she finally conceded. The woman returned to her wedding, and the guests were astounded by her beauty. The wedding was completed, and peace was finally achieved between the two warring clans.

“If I did that, I’d topple over and the stream would take me away,” she said. She, I’ll call her Helen, was a middle-aged woman from England who was also on the three-day Highland tour. We were the only two solo travelers. I never feel so alone as when I’m surrounded by people who have their people.

I laughed. It was a funny image. And certainly not true.

“I think I’d like to do it, but I’m just so cold. I don’t think freezing water would help,” I said. The Highlands in April were proving to be much colder than I had anticipated. Sweater, coat, hat, mittens, and a scarf weren’t cutting it. I looked over at our 90-year-old Scottish tour guide, who looked not a day over 30 thanks to the magical waters. He was walking around in a t-shirt and shorts. Greece has made me weak.

“But, maybe if I got a shot of whiskey from that distillery afterwards, that would help,” I suggested. Although, in full honesty, I was counting on using whiskey to warm up, whether I stuck my face in the magical water or not. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve resorted to that strategy. I remembered freezing winter evenings with no coat, but instead the comforting words, “B****es don’t get cold,” paired with shots of vodka and adrenaline spikes brought to me by the CTA (Chicago Transit Authority). Oddly effective.

Yet we continued to stand, watching. The bus would be departing soon. We were running out of time. Everyone else had left. It was just us standing there, not wanting to walk away, yet not taking the plunge.

“Well… maybe it would be refreshing,” I said. “Would you be able to take pictures for me. You know… for my mother.”

Helen was happy to oblige. I walked to the edge of the stream, lay down stomach first on the cold, wet, dirty rocks, and put my face into the freezing waters, while Helen counted to seven. Seven seconds, no more, no less, or else it wouldn’t work. I felt stupid. I looked stupid. Yet, there’s something inherently fun about doing stupid things.

“Well, maybe I’ll do it too. You’ve inspired me,” Helen said.

So I took pictures and counted for her. When she was done, we were both giggling.

“Whiskey?”

“Yeah!”

At the whiskey distillery, we ran into a cheerful dad from the tour group who was pretending to search for the bathroom, but deep down I think he wanted whiskey, as all we had to do was say, “Hi,” to convince him to join us.

PSA (Public Service Announcement): When a whiskey dude offers to let you smell the whiskey, do not grab the whiskey bottle to take a big whiff. Instead, smell the cork top like a normal, civilized person.

Sitting around a table, we were an unlikely group. One middle-aged lady from England. One high school presenting North Dakotan. And a cheerful dad on vacation with his family.

“So you didn’t want to dip your faces in the Sligachan water?” the cheerful dad asked us.

“We did!” We protested.

“I guess it didn’t work,” I said.

But then I remembered a quote from a book I’d been reading in honor of Dublin.

“To get back one’s youth, one has merely to repeat one’s follies.” -Lord Henry in “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde

There’s always some truth to every untruth Lord Henry says. Perhaps to feel young again, one only needs to do the stupid things one tends to feel more free to do in youth. Let go of pride and do something silly. Chase fun. Be carefree. Stick one’s face in the frigid waters under the Sligachan Bridge for eternal beauty, all because of a Scottish fairytale. I looked at Helen and saw that she was happy. She’d opened up. She did something she didn’t think she would do. She was having fun. Perhaps she felt younger. This was beautiful.

“Wait, what time were we supposed to be back on the bus?”

“Now I believe. Or maybe five minutes ago …”

Ignoring the whiskey expert’s proper whiskey drinking advice that involved a series of swirling, sniffing, breathing, and sipping, we chugged the last of our whiskey before running to the bus, feeling like late schoolchildren.