The Full Scottish

No, not the breakfast, which is more enough to sustain a human for a week, but the Highlands. The real heart of the Scotland. The full Scottish.

We had been in the Lowlands—Stirling, Glasgow, Edinburgh and hiked the Fife coast. Lovely enough in an English sort of way—rolling hills, farmland, green fields. In parts, urban, suburban, and industrial. Four lane motorways, large power plants, train stations with commuter lines, ports with gantry cranes. Yes, it is Scotland, we know. And we thoroughly enjoyed it.

But we had also come for the Highlands. Our trip ten years ago around Skye, Oban and Glencoe had whetted our appetite for the wildness and scenery of the northwest of Scotland.

We started in Inverness. While the town isn’t known for its charm, the River Ness does create some views.

The city is really a great base for a visit to the Culloden Battlefield, the last stand of Scottish resistance to English domination. Definitely a must-do. Over a thousand clansmen killed in an hour with minimal losses by the government forces. The story of Bonnie Prince Charles who was defeated at Culloden is often romanticized but like most wars, the reality is something far different.

From there we chartered a course around Wester Ross, sticking close to the coastline, starting with Ullapool.

Ullapool. We struggled with the pronunciation of the town. It looked simple enough and relatively straightforward compared to many Scottish names. It was the first syllable that was hard. — uu-lapool? O-lapool? All-lapool? We were corrected several times by locals. Never sure we got it right.

A relatively new town, Ullapool was created in 1788 by the British to capitalize on the local herrings runs. And we arrived in time for the biennial lugger festival, celebrating the traditional sailing boats (https://luggerfest.wordpress.com/) used in the area. The celebration centered around the harbor. Locals gathered to listen to music, get a bit to eat, and sign up for rides in the antique and reproduction boats proudly displayed in the marina. A bit of music here and there and several of food trucks selling seafood. We particularly enjoyed the fresh oysters a local oysterman was selling for £1.50 each. Best we have had in ages at price we could afford. A world apart from London’s £8 an oyster. Why didn’t we eat more?

Lots of families, baby strollers and friends meeting up. Fun, festive and very small townish. Other than us, hardly a tourist in sight. Of course, the ferry terminal dominates the town with its twice a day sailings to the islands of Lewis and Harris. Plenty of fish and chip joints, nicknamed “chippies” appropriately. And a very small protest in support of Palestinians. Even the cloudy skies and bit of rain didn’t seem to tap down the fun.

We booked the Clachan Garden B&B for our two days in the Ullapool area. (https://www.clachangardenbandb.co.uk/) It turned out to be the best decision we could have made. The place was charming—the setting amazing. It was in a valley of farmland at the end of Loch Broom—basically a long fjord— stretching out to the Atlantic Ocean miles west. Sheep and tiny lambs were frolicking in the fields surrounding the B&B. Too cute. Working dogs and farm equipment on both sides of the narrow one lane road. Idyllic, yes. But what made the B&B were the hosts, Stephen and Margaret Monroe. They had moved out here many years ago from Newcastle for a simpler life. He was a musician, a classical guitar teacher, a lover of books and she had worked for the local government. They bought a post office to run in Ullapool, then opened a cafe, and finally settled on a B&B. They were both so busy it was hard to see it as a simpler life.

We could have snuggled down in their library forever and Steven encouraged us to thumb through his vast collection. In fact, books lined almost every wall of the cottage. Our two bedrooms rooms felt curated and cozy — named Miss Rose and Mrs. Peacock. And the sunny breakfast room was where we seemed to settle before and after each day of touring. Then there were the six homemade jams for the breakfast toast (got the recipe for the caramelized pear jam from Margaret). And for us the coup d’grace was the La Marzocco espresso machine—not just any old espresso machine but the Rolls-Royce of machines! Stephen had purchased it in — of all places our home town of Seattle! He handled it like a pro—best cafe we had on trip. Yep, Steven and Margaret spoiled us.

On their advice we drove the road to Lochinver on a gray, cloudy Sunday — an appropriate backdrop for the seascapes and scenery. It is reputed to be one of the most beautiful drives in Scotland. We won’t argue with that! A narrow lane with plenty of pull-outs for cars to step aside for oncoming traffic. A few working vans, and locals who knew the road’s dips and curves well enough to zip along. We crawled along, oohing and ahhing at the sights. Unfortunately, the highly recommended pie shop in Lochinver was closed on Sunday but we had lunch with the locals and their dogs in a six table sandwich shop.

It was hard to leave Clachan Garden B&B, but we had a schedule to maintain! We drove through Wester Ross, past both salt and fresh water lochs, waterfalls, through miles of wild rhododendron woodlands, past fields of sheep, a few ruins, but very few Highland cows, between 3000 foot mountains and across glens of rape seed and blue bells. Most of the narrow two-lane roads posted for 60 miles per hour while we preferred 50 or even 40.

We did stop at the amazing Inverewe Gardens—a Michelin 3 star site. And it was. A beautifully maintained botanical garden begun over a 150 years ago.

We ended up just outside of Fort William in the community of Onich. Please, if you are ever there, don’t judge Fort William by the miserable traffic. Park your car and walk down High Street — maybe a quarter mile of lovely old gray stone buildings, a beautiful small park in front of the church and local shops. Delightful!

We planned the trip not only to see the scenery, it also to walk through it. We’re not serious backpackers, but we love a good day hike and our quick visit to the area ten years ago had whetted our appetite. Not enough time back then to take a hike, but just enough for a quick stop to snap a selfie. We vowed to come back. And here we were.

Steall Falls is one of the famous hikes, and our host in our vacation rental highly recommended it. As we expected over a school holiday, it was packed. A steep, rocky climb eventually opened to a meadow and the falls.

Next we drove to the Glencoe National Park and stopped at the visitor center for a recommendation for a 2-3 hour hike that would not be overwhelmed with people, strollers and dogs. Armed with that advice we headed out, past the trail head that led to the most famous path to the Three Sisters or the loch where dozens of cars and tour buses were parked. When we got to our destination we realized it was exactly the spot where we had stopped ten years before. And this time, almost alone, we walked the trail for an hour or two.

We wrapped up our Wester Ross tour with a night in the Dornach Castle (more on Dornach in our next blog) complete with another whiskey tasting and then returned to Inverness to drop off our rental car. We hopped the Caledonian Sleeper night train back to London. An adventure in itself in dealing tiny, tiny spaces. Goodbye to driving on narrow lanes and hello London.

Yes, we’d done the full Scottish.

Back to the Future

Well, this spring we are shaking it up a bit. For the last few years we have followed our preferred pattern for traveling. Find a home base and from there explore. Valencia, Spain last year. Ontiente, Spain the year before. The Dordogne or Occitaine, France and years ago Umbria, Italy. All were explored from a place we called home for two or three weeks, or in the case of Valencia, two months.

Years ago we used to travel a bit like the bad movie, “If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be Belgium.” (Don’t know it? Don’t bother looking for it. As you might guess it’s about traveling through Europe with a different hotel room every night). Our version wasn’t quite that hectic or silly, and certainly more interesting, but we did cover a lot of ground in a relatively short period of time when that’s all the time we had. It suited our circumstances then just fine. Can we still manage that? Or have those travel muscles atrophied?

This year our primary travel focus is the Highlands of Scotland with a week in the Fife region, a few days near Edinburgh, a week in Somerset, and a couple nights in both London and Paris. Not quite a different hotel room every night, but definitely more movement than we’ve been used to. The closest we’ve been to near constant movement was four years ago in Spain, mainly in Andalusia, and then we relied upon a nearly full-service travel company to manage all the different hotels, train trips and tours. It was a breeze! Can we do it by ourselves this time?

Well, we aren’t totally on our own. We’ve shared the planning for the core 21 days with our travel companions and then tacked on 14 additional days on our own. Even so, the trip involves more than 10 different plane, train and car rentals reservations and 15 different hotels, B&B’s, and vacation rental stays. Lots of planning went into each step. Lots! Some pieces of the trip our friends planned. Some we did. Many we planned together. We talked, discussed and debated options, texted and emailed ideas and then reservations back and forth. Some parts of the trip are planned in great detail (dinner reservations on our walk along the Fife Coastal Walk where a hiking service carries our bags from inn to inn as we carry a light rucksack) and others left open (a couple nights in London with only a vacation rental booked).

Making all these arrangements wasn’t the only challenge. In addition to the four day hike along the Fife coastal path, we also want to do some hiking in Glencoe, around Ullapool and Wester Ross, and near Fort William. That meant packing bulky hiking gear and enough clothes for those stretches when we wouldn’t have access to washer/dryers. Weather in Scotland is unpredictable, especially in May. Sun, rain, wind or even snow at higher elevations? So we also have to pack rain gear and warm layers. Then there’s London and Paris where those hiking shoes will never be seen! And by the end of the trip the weather in London and Paris could be quite warm. Short sleeves? Shorts? Sandals? Not enough room. Didn’t take long for us to realize our usual carry-on roll-aboards wouldn’t hold it all.

We purchased every book we saw on Scotland over the last year and then had to pare down to just two (plus the one Mary smuggled in when Peter wasn’t looking). Camera? Bring the big, good camera or rely upon our iPhones? Big camera won. Binoculars? Just one pair. We’ll have to share. And so it went. One large suitcase, one roll-aboard and two backpacks later we were packed.

So how will it go? Will we survive packing and repacking our bags every second or third day? Will it get old fast trying to find a decent espresso in each new location or even worse, not finding any at all. Will we miss having our boulangerie, our patio, our market, our neighborhood or will the variety and parade of new vistas more than compensate?

“Our” patio, home, espresso, and market in previous slow trips to France and Spain

Stay tuned. The adventure has just begun. Oh, and our first hotel was the lovely Holiday Inn at the Newark Airport—a transit stop on our way to Paris.

Going Wild in Andalusia

When our guide first said, pointing up to the rocky face of Sierra de San Bartolomé, that’s where we are going, we thought she was crazy. We were about an hour into the hike and had already been up and down the fairly steep, but manageable trail and we were enchanted by the pine forests and the cool mist swirling around us. But climbing up to that rock face? Really? Laura, our guide, reassured us we could do it. And the sun would come out before the end of the hike, she said.

Earlier Laura picked us up at our home base in Vejer de La Frontera and we drove to the eastern side of the mountain, up a narrow road to Del Estrecho Natural Parknear the town of Tarifa. Across the Straits of Gibraltar was Morocco, though barely visible in the morning mists. In previous drives we had admired the pine forests which were puffy mounds of green on top of trunks throughout the region. Now we were going to get up close and personal with those forests.

As we started our hike, Laura stopped to point out familiar and not so familiar plants and bushes. Wild olive trees whose fruit are collected for a kind of oil. Wild rosemary and thyme. Another bush that blooms in February and is used in perfume. A berry that migrating birds stop to eat.

The trail was not obvious and the footsteps of previous hikers disappeared in the dusty path. Without Laura it would have been a search and rescue mission to recover two lost Americans. We had just made our way down to nearly sea level when we walked through the edge of a cow pasture (our path was frequently blocked by inadequate stick and barb wire gates which supposedly kept the cattle in or out of the area). Laura pointed up to the high point in this hike. Yikes! But she assured it our assent would be relatively gradual and easy. She was right. Relatively…

Once we gained elevation, the clouds lifted enough for us to see the town and beach of Bolonia and the blue Atlantic Ocean. After a bit more of a climb, she pointed to the sky and there were Griffon vultures soaring below and above us with their massive ten foot wingspans.

We sat on a couple of rocks (Mary sat safely a little further back than Peter and Laura) watched the birds fly in and out of the clouds, sometimes above us and occasionally below us. We had seen these birds once before on the Istrian peninsula in Croatia. It was a thrill to see them again. We had seen stork nests not far from here. These birds now live permanently in this part of Spain, not migrating to Africa as they used to. Climate change, speculated Laura.

We reached the highest point in our hike with only a little huffing and puffing and began to walk along the spine of the mountain with the Mediterranean Sea off to our left in the distance and the Atlantic to our right. We avoided the jagged rock walls where rock climbers do their thing. The plants along the trail were shriveling up from lack of rain providing little nourishment for a pair of horses we passed. It must look very different in the spring after winter rains.

Laura pointed down to the pasture where we had first been shown the place where we now stood. Holy cow! It looked so small and so far below us.

But just a few yards further the the trees and bushes dripped with moisture from the clouds blowing through them. The mountain, the winds and the clouds create a series of microclimates around this hilltop.

When we said we enjoyed the cool wind, Laura was too polite to openly scoff, but clearly the locals are less fond of these winds. Theoretically we experienced the Poniente, a fresh westerly winter wind that is humid. A bit cool today. (The easterly summer wind is Levante). Regardless, the winds make this part of the coast of Spain popular with kite surfers.

At times we climbed over large boulders, but most of the time we hiked between rocks outcroppings and knee high brush.

And Laura was correct! The sun did come out just as we began our descent down the east side of the mountain.

The path back to the car was a steady decline, a clear and easy to follow trail. And Morocco now visible off in the distance. Still it was hard to to soak in the view while watching our footing. Thankfully throughout the hike we stopped frequently to admire and take some photos of the views.

We will remember this day as one of the highlights of our month Spain. Laura was a charming guide with very good English. She was willing to share with us her insights into Spanish life. She had grown up in Argentina and lived here now running her own small business, http://www.naturatours.es, offering tourists a variety of outdoor experiences. We wished we had also signed up for the birding tour she does in one of the region’s estuaries. As it was she helped us add one more bird to our life list — Sardinian Warbler.

Not enough time in this corner of Spain!