Tilda

摘要

In scotland, tourists scan loch ness in vain for a flash of silvered scale. Thirty miles northeast, in the coastal town of Nairn, a near mythical creature turns up reliably at the appointed hour. Tilda Swin-ton has proposed a tramp through the moorland that abuts Nairn (or Brigadoon, as she calls her hometown). She drives a mud-splashed Land Rover, and soon she's left tarmac behind and heads on to rutted country lanes. At each switchback, pheasants are startled into clumsy flight, but Swinton looks at her passenger almost as often as the road ahead. "Are we not extraordinarily lucky?" she exclaims as the sun pierces the clouds above a gorgeous wilderness of heather-strewn ridges and mysterious valleys. Later there will be lunch at a tavern in nearby Cawdor, the thanage promised to Macbeth by the second of the three witches.