Scottish Foray

 

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers you can make us scorn!
With ale, we feel no evil;
With whisky, we’ll face the Devil!

(Robert Burns – 1791)

Thus we enter the Scottish fray, leaving behind the classic English pub ales and ambience that Sammy has embraced with gusto (not sure how Julie is rating my mentoring of the bairn)!  We move into Hadrian’s barbarianism beyond the wall to a tsunami of spirituous liquor and the tempting delights of haggis, neeps and tatties.

As we cross the line of demarcation separating Northumberland’s cradle of Christianity from the pagan lowlands of Scottish Northumbria we do so under dull misty skies and (I assume) the usual dank clime.  Ah, Scotland the Brave!  And brave the elements we did to exit the vehicle to view the Carter Bar and acquire (amazingly) hamburgers from a local vender of such victuals from a converted caravan-come-cafe.  Such a welcome to this bonnie land – my how things have changed since the time of the walls Hadrian and Antonine!

We press on to the simply wonderful city of Edinburgh – the place of Scottish sophisticates, aesthetes, erudites and Greyfriars Bobby.  We are in town over the weekend and the Royal Mile is a melting pot of tourists from all corners of the globe; indeed I wonder at one point if the rest of the earth’s landmass had sunk into the sea but everyone had managed to make their survival in Edinburgh!  We ascend (and descend) the tor of Holyrood Park (don’t you love the septics self-absorption, it auto-corrects to Hollywood) with the great unwashed and view the surrounds of Edinburgh, including that bastion of Scottish sporting prowess, Murrayfield Park – since sold out to a sponsorship of naming rights.  We take on refreshments at a pub that’s been around a bit – The Sheep Heid Inn, circa 1360.

Speaking of the noble vocation of purveying fermented ales, it seems the Scots aren’t too keen on having the little ones in their free houses, or if they are granted entry it is done so on the proviso of also taking on food.  Wasn’t initially sure how to approach this but I’m sure the boys were able to adequately entertain themselves roaming the city streets unescorted (they did manage to miraculously appear back at our billet of an evening).

No doubt the sine qua non of Edinburgh is the castle of same name.  Perched at the top of the Royal Mile it majestically gazes down upon the city and it’s common folk.  We didn’t tour the grounds as apparently every summer (titular only as whilst warm 18 degrees isn’t a heatwave) temporary stands are erected in the castle’s forecourt to hold concerts and the ingress was blocked by the departing tattoo crowd.  That evening del Amitri were appearing (surprised a bunch of Glaswegian never-was-beens were allowed into the city); interestingly though, when I rather facetiously mentioned to security that instead of the temporary stands four folding chairs would cover the expected audience for a del Amitri concert I was moved on with what I can only assume was a Scottish Gaelic expletive (or he may have said you can kiss this thing goodbye).  So the castle was enjoyed from it’s perimeter.

In short, loved Edinburgh!  A city everyone should visit.

So we press on over the Forth and further north into the Highlands to Fort Augustus, at the southern end of Loch Ness on the great glen canal.  The weather defiantly remains agreeable and we set out to circumnavigate the great loch with the time we have.  Sort of lost for superlatives here – this is absolutely amazing country and Fort Augustus is a super little village from which to base your exploration.  No sight of the monster but I assume like everyone else it was holidaying in some other exotic part of the globe.  Surprisingly, both Urquhart Castle and the Loch Ness Centre were worth visits (as were several local watering holes offering succour to the parched traveller).  At least the Scots are smart enough (or indeed cognisant of the smarts some travellers may have) not to “sell you the monster” – the Loch Ness Centre presents very well all the hearsay, sightings and scientific findings in a clear and logical way and you take it from there – nothing wrong with a bit of fantasy, just ask any Harry Potter or Arsenal fan!

We reluctantly leave Fort Augustus and Loch Ness and travel further north west to the picture postcard Isle of Skye and our little home just outside Portree, which reminded me of something out of “The 39 Steps”.  I was keen to visit the local Talisker distillery, but so was every other bon vivant in the country so I satisfied myself with a photo of the edifice.  Perhaps understandably, or perhaps a sad indictment on human endeavour, acuity and exertion,  plenty of distilleries are corporately owned and managed in the glossy, superficial manner, without heart and soul, to which we have become beholden and unfortunately accustomed.  Business is business!!

What I can tell you with unerring confidence is the three walks we undertook on the Isle of Skye were of the highest calibre.

The Old Man Storr, The Fairy Pools and The Quiraing gave us a succulent taste of the magnificent landscape, and with a little overnight rain the burns, gills and becks were in almost full spate affording us a wonderful experience.

Unlike visiting the distillery I didn’t intend to swim in the cold island waters but a clumsy misstep at the crossing to the Pools changed that and like taking the waters at Lourdes I was refreshed and reinvigorated for the march on!  Mercifully, that same tricky crossing ruled out practically all of the bucket listers and we had the walk largely to ourselves.

The combination of mist, drizzle and intermittent sunshine made the Quiraing a memorable and inspiring experience, however I assume the photos I took will not do this panorama any conceivable justice!

The Isle of Skye – what a glorious manufacture of nature and the elements!

Sadly, it’s time to head south again and we do so on a wet, dreary day under heavy, tenebrous skies.  At least we are travelling but the elements, apart from a wonderful lunch at the Bridge of Orchy pub, conspire to rob us the chance of any meaningful sightseeing, including Captain Haddock’s own Loch Lomond.  We take on supplies (ephemeral in nature) and rest for the night on the outskirts of Glasgow in Dumbarton.

The next day we fondly say goodbye to Scotland and head into the unchartered territory of the Yorkshire Dales.  Cannot recommend highly enough a visit to Caledonia, especially if it affords you the weather we had!