Skye: 23rd - 26th June 2016

After voting and a quick and uneventful trip to the car mechanics, I took the four hour drive from Glasgow to Skye quite early on Thursday morning. I didn't stop en route, most of it I had already seen as part of my Highland Roadtrip. Proudly, I drove the route about a fifth by road atlas and the rest from memory and lack of choice!

It was a beautiful sunny day, and as I drove up to the Skye Bridge, I was shocked by how vividly blue the sea was! I was really excited to arrive in Skye. I drove straight to the backpackers hostel in Broadford, (the first independent hostel I had come across online) and checked in early at one-forty five. In my recurring theme of creepy independent hostels, this one shared the building with a funeral parlour. There were even two hearses parked outside. I spent a lot of time thinking about whether I was sharing my lodgings with dead bodies, but it was otherwise very pleasant, and a good price for Skye at £20 a night.

Does not do it justice...

A woman on a mission, I stopped only to make up my bed before heading back onto the road in the approximate direction of Skye's famous Fairy Pools (from memory, having googled it) There are not many roads in Skye. This is a common feature of the highlands. It makes navigating by map easy, and GPS essentially unecessary (which was fortunate, as I couldn't get enough signal to use Google Maps). After about a twenty minute drive, I came to the first left (westerly) turning, and there was a handy pub on the corner attached to the Sligachan Hotel. So I pulled off and stopped for a 3pm lunch, including some AMAZING cake (I'm considering renaming my blog "Adventures in Cake" - see my adventures in Berwick-Upon-Tweed). At the hotel, I discovered I was not the first person to come this way in search of the fairy pools. There was a handy if grubby map sellotaped to the back of the till, and I attempted to memorise this in between eating my lunch, and drinking in the stunning view of Glamaig Mountain. Glamaig mountain has an interesting history, as it is a popular mountain for hill racing. Locals were stunned in 1899 when Gurkha Harkabir Thapa climbed to the top of the mountain and back in a mere 55 minutes... barefoot! There is an annual race up the mountain and back (sponsored by the Sligachan Hotel) every July now, but even the fastest competitior in todays high-tech footwear have only been able to knock 11 minutes of the Gurkha's time.

I set off as soon as I had finished my cake for the Fairy Pools, and needn't have worried about directions. I knew when I arrived for the immense volume of (previously almost non-existant) cars crowding both sides of the road. I parked up, and within seconds was terrified as a petrol tanker hurtled around the corner, missing my wing mirror by what seemed to me to be millimetres. I pulled in further off the road.

I followed the mass of tourists for the short walk through Glen Brittle to the Fairy Pools. These pools are in fact a small mountain river which (I think due to variations in the softness of rock) form several little waterfalls and deep blue pools beneath them. Yes, blue. The water looked like the dyed-rivers you see on a good crazy-golf course. I did a lot of reading on this, but couldn't get a conclusive answer. Apparently it is a common finding in glacial lakes and mountain streams, to do with the great purity of the water.

even the grey sky overhead couldn't
obscure the blueness!

It was very beautiful and I could see where the magical connotations had come from, especially framed as we were by the brooding Black Cuillin mountains. Evidently, the temptation was too much for some, who couldn't resist throwing themselves into the pool and breaking the magic for all of the rest of us.  

Definitely not Fairies.

I kept walking until I lost the tourists. Then the drizzly rain stopped and the sun began to come out. There was not a human nor evedence of humans in sight, I was in paradise.

On the walk back, the sun stayed out and the majority of the tourists had gone. It was fantastic! However, as I waited for a gentleman to step out of my shot, I began to be bothered by a new pest. Midges were beginning to appear and settle on my exposed wrists, face and throat. I shook them off, and set off at a faster pace towards the car. However they seemed to be increasing in number, soon I was jogging, trying to slap them off my skin where they were already leaving a number of perfectly circular welts from their bites. As I got within ten metres of Astrid, I squinted in confusion. She looked hazy. I realised then that the midges weren't swarming me, they were just EVERYWHERE. I was struggling to see my car because the air was that thick with their bodies. I have never been so glad of remote unlocking, but as soon as I opened the door, they swarmed in like water. IO slammed the door behind me as fast as I could, hastily trying to crush the lining of midges coating the roof of the car, my steering wheel, my leggings, and of course my skin. I started the car and began to drive, convinced that if I could just get some speed up and put the windows down they would be sucked out, but I kept having to pull over for other drivers on the tiny highland roads. I couldn't get above 20mph, at which speed I was just getting more midges joining the party. I was furiously brushing midges out of my face as I drove, no doubt alarming the passing tourists. Eventually I got back to the main road at Sligachan, and with my speed up the midge numbers finally dwindled into single numbers!

Totally worth it, though.

The Hostel had its own fair share of midges but I ran in with my bags and began to properly unpack, meeting my two friendly norwegian roommates before poisining our sleeping space with insect repellant. 

I walked through the village of Broadford in search of dinner, but found that most outlets were charging £15 or more for a main course, which was quite a bit over budget. As the evening drew in I also began to fret as the majority of establishments closed at 8pm. One advertised "late evening" opening, extending its closing time to a mighty 8.30pm. I was comforted however by some beautiful views across Broadford Bay as I wandered up to the next village of Harrapool. There I found a hotel serving food for less than £10, and settled for the only veggie option - an immense macaroni cheese and chips with salad. I nearly drowned in that bowl of macaroni cheese, it was magnificent. I dawdled back to the hostel and settled down in the cosy lounge, consulting maps and consuming the wifi to set out my plan for the next day.

 

Broadford Bay 

Friday had a gloomy start as I woke to the unexpected remeferndum result. I belive that the memory of driving through Skye's winding mountain roads listening to (miraculously) radio 4 as news of resignations and financial hysteria filtered through, will be permanently etched in my brain, like discovering the death of Princess Dianna whilst we were driving in a family holiday in France, and the horror of 9/11, which I discovered on my way home from Primary School. The weather was supportively gloomy, forebodingly ashen clouds lurking over Broadford as I resolutely purchased an OS Map (as advised by my lovely norwegian room-mates) and headed north to climb the Old Man of Storr, and the Quairing. 

Less than promising weather

I soon hit a rainstorm so intense that I had the windscreen wipers on full-pelt. Happily though, it was over in minutes, and by the time I reached the Old Man, the weather was bleak but dry. The forescast had predicted Saturday would be my best day, so I was full of hope. Storr was impressively craggy, the jagged black rocks forming standing stones like rotten teeth jutting out of the hillside. There were few people around but aware of my inexperience, I followed another group up the (clear, well mantained) track until I was able to overtake them and follow the small group ahead. 

Toothy... I was enchanted.

 Climbing up that first path was not easy, but I made it onto the mountain trail, and I was doing okay. The breathtaking view of the Old Man of Storr, against a varying backdrop of silky white cloud and the contrastingly ragged face of the cliff behind. After a while I took off both my fleece and my waterproof jacket, continuing the hike in my thin vest-top. (I really had a lot of faith in this weather forecast!) I caught up presently with the three hikers in front. They seemed to be the first that day, and I made jokes that weren't really jokes that I couldn't afford for them to pose for photos, as without their guidance I'd get lost! At the foot of The Old Man though, they headed right to explore more, whereas I hesitated, drank in the view, took countless photos, and chose to follow what appeared to be a path, between two white posts which I took to be waymarkers. 

The blue speck and two white specks are people,
to give you a sense of scale.

 Here I occasionally had to use my hands to scramble through the rocks, encircling the Old Man of Storr itself. Two thirds of the way around, I found myself on the edge of a rocky basin, in which a single bird was singing, its voice reverberating around the basin so that it was impossible to tell where the sound was coming from. The echoes and the mist utterly spellbinding. I stopped for a moment, and experienced that intense feeling in my chest that I have become used to, that I always get in moments of extreme beauty. 

The moment was ruined the next week, when I shared a story with a friend who told me he'd had exactly the same experience. 

I can't explain how big this picture is.

Moments later, the sun came out, and some ludicrous joy came over me that made me sprint to the top of the nearest peak, relishing the sunshine as I ruined the photos of countless tourists, who were beginning to accumulate at the first plateu below me. I considered striking poses, but didn't have the ego, so I scrambled back down and cheerily greeted everyone I passed as I headed back to my dear Astrid. I chose to take a different route down on the 'easy' path, which was a mistake. I think it used to be scenic, but the vegetation around it had been bulldozed to grow in native species instead, so the effect was just of an unnecessarily onerous long walk downhill for no merit. 

I climbed to the top of the broad one on the left.

 
When I returned to the carpark, it was full. So was the overflow layby, and cars were parked all along the opposite side of the road. I felt pretty smug, and drove off before someone blocked Astrid in. Next stop was the Quairing. 

The sun now shone brightly as Astrid and I wound northwardsthrough Skye's lush green mountains. Quairing was not extremely easy to find and the road was very steep in places, but I didn't get lost, and soon parked up next to the burger van at the start. Confusingly, Quairing is spelt differently in Gaelic, and about half of the signs on Skye are Gaelic only, so I drove past it the first time. Immediately I could see I was in for a treat. The noticeboard compared the landscape to Lord of the Rings. Having recently booked a trip to New Zealand for the next year, I considered this a good primer. 

Not fun to drive.

 I knew that there was an easy and a hard route of The Quairing, and I was being realistic about my skill level, but I was keen to find a circular route rather than going back on myself. I mantained a good pace in order to keep distance between myself and the next person on the route. In Skye I had finally found somewhere where I could turn 360 degrees, and yet see no sign of human intervention as far as the eye could see. Perfect.

Spectacular.

  
 It was a good hike, I can't say much more than the pictures can show you. It is mind boggling for me to look at them even now and think "I was there!" I am not surprised this is the #1 rated Tourist Attraction in Skye on Trip Advisor.

...

Ultimately, I did do the hard route, but only because the alternative seemed to be to turn back on myself, which I hate doing, especially on busy paths about as wide as a rabbit warren. As I got to the top of a relatively steep incline, cloud began to speed in across the mountain. I saw a couple hiking ahead of me, and hurried to catch up with them before I got lost. The cloud swept in on either side of me, but as I was walking along a ridge, it never came over me. I managed to keep the couple in sight, but had to walk slightly faster than I would have preferred. I was also unable to pause for a drink for a while, but these were slight discomforts, offset by the spectacular experience of hiking in and above the clouds. I was back in my vest top but felt no cold. I was mildly disappointed that I was mising out on what were no doubt spectacular views, but happily, as we reached the summit (I caught up with a second couple, who had a mountain guide) the cloud magically parted, and I was treated to a view so spectacular I'm beginning to get fed up with my own superlatives.

From the summit.

Next I drove to Uig for lunch, as the main city in north Skye. However, I drove right past Uig, taking photos of "a quaint harbour" on the way, not realising that this very harbour was what passed for the major conurbation of Uig up here!

Uig Pier, and about a third of its buildings.

  Due to my misjudgement of Uig, I arrived ten minutes too late for lunch, so I ate a mars bar that I had bought to console myself that morning, and drove to the Fairy Glen. I had been hoping to squeeze Old Man of Storr and Quairring into one day, so this was a bonus, and it was a great bonus too! The Fairy Glen is nowhere near the Fairy Pools, but right on top of Uig. It features a large number of bright green hills with a strange rippled texture, all of which are relatively small and round, and sprinkled with groves of miniature trees. The effect is comparible to tellytubby land, or possibly Hobbiton (keeping with the LOTR theme)

The silver car is Astrid

I watched from one of the higher hills as minibuses arrived packed full of tourists who would climb to the top of the rock, take photos, climb back down and get into the van. I could see, like the fairy pools, deep trenches gouged out of the beautiful landscape by our repeated footfalls. It made me sad and ashamed. Our species seem to ruin so much of what we touch.

It just doesn't look real, does it? None of my images are edited, except for
where I've unsubtley blocked out Astrid's registration plate.

I came across a pair of americans re-arranging these stones.
Apparently re-arranging them and pretending to be the fairies is a tradition.
It seemed a bit like bad touristing to me.

 
 I took a walk using my new map to see some waterfalls, aiming to return to the car at about 5 to avoid a repeat of last night's midge onslaught. The waterfalls marked on the map were umipressive, but I did meet a herd of suspicious cows, including some very cute calves with long, long eyelashes! I got back at about 5.30, suffering from very sore feet, but no midges to be seen!

This little guy was curious, the others were more nervous

 Finally I drove back to the hostel. I went for a walk down to Broadford pier to process the days politics, and was treated to a spectacular pink sunset. On top of all the other beauty I had seen that day, I was blown away. I even got a bit emotional. Then I shook myself and dashed back to the hotel for my camera. Unfortunately I missed the best of it, but here's my favourite photo:

One of them, anyway.

The next day dawned much the same as Friday. Gloomy and grey. Out of curiosity I drove south to Sleat, and as I approached Skye's south coast, the cloud parted to more fantastic views of cliffs, sea, mountains and islands. 

A calm morning in Armadale

Armadale is the southern port town from which ferries sail to Mallaig on the mainland. I parked up at about 9am and as I fetched my backpack from Astrid's boot I saw I had parked right in front of a concealed path with a sign to a "Permaculture Garden", and I followed it. Permaculture is something I took an interest in when I strayed across it in my module of green politics in the EU. It is the practice of farming with an absolutely minimal impact on nature - growing crops alongside others which are natural pest deterrants, using organic, home-grown herbal remedies to fix garden problems, and encouraging bees and other pollenators for mutual benefit.

I have never seen so many wildflowers as I did on the Isle of Skye.

This coastal plot was an unexpected location for such a scheme, but it was an excellent find! Everywhere there was excellent signage, indicating what was growing and why. I followed a forest trail, which incorperated aspects of Skye (Buoys hanging from trees for a children's play area, waste sheeps wool on the floor for matting) and featured a number of lodges and an eco-friendly camp site. Occasionally the trail would lead me to a beautiful clifftop view. and I decided I had (for the third day running) discovered paradise on earth.

Great views over the handmade recycled-rope bannister

 As I left the gardens, I met the owner. I purchased some items from her shop while we chatted about permaculture and some terrifying looking ducks she kept in the yard (They had adopted her apparently, and fought between each other constantly, but harmless to guests. It was a great start to my day and I wondered around the little harbour dropping in and out of shops and taking photos of everything. Eventually I made my way to Armadale Castle - the home of Clan MacDonald, and paid the admission fee to explore the castle grounds and museum. The castle was a ruin now, disappointingly because the clan had moved out in the 1920s and let it fall into neglect. Those 100 years had been hard on it, which I guess is a testament to Skye's weather. What was left wasn't particularly interesting or stunning, so I took one of the trails for a walk around the estate. 



It was a hot morning and I was feeling the effects of yesterday's hiking (40,000 steps no less), so I took it easy, stopping often and walking slowly. I was a bit sunburnt from the day before and felt anxious being in the sunlight for so long at midday, and although the walk was quite pretty, I was relieved to reach the end.  

At the entrance to the museum I was greeted by an enormous Peacock, who was too busy preening himself to even watch as I wandered by within feet of him. In the museum I learnt a lot of the clan Macdonald's history, particularly Flora Macdonald who had helped Bonnie Prince Charlie escape. I also read about the Clearances, when masses of crofters were forced out of Skye and emmigrated on ships to North America and Australia. Many didn't survive the journey.

 
 I soon left Armadale and decided to drive north to Portree, the largest town in Skye, from which I was kind of hoping to arrange a wildlife spotting boat trip. Portree was cute, and I wandered around perusing bookshops and then couldn't get on a boat. I had dinner in a pub


 

Aberdeenshire Road Trip: 4th-5th June 2016

I left Glasgow mid-afternoon for the two and a half hour drive to Aberdeen. It was a pleasantly warm afternoon, the sun was baking, and I was completely GPS free. The holder had even fallen off my windscreen.

Within a couple of hours, I arrived at Dundee, my first destination. I had not heard great things about Dundee, other than the historic ship that they have on display. I was expecting a small, characterless port town, but I actually rather liked it. It had a couple of very striking bridges across the river Dee, and some quite nice buildings. The shopping centre reminded me of every other shopping centre I've been in, especially Southampton, but the city itself made me think a bit of Liverpool. My only grudge against the city of Dundee was that I couldn't get my hands on any Dundee cake, because it was "out of season", and that was my main purpose for visiting! (that and it being en-route to Aberdeen, and somewhere new to explore). Even the large supermarket just outside the city centre didn't stock it, although in fairness all the local bakeries in town were closed for the day by the time I arrived. I had, as I promised myself the week before, taken a lazy weekend, at least for Saturday!

The big Dundee Bridge through a sort of heat haze

Dundee looking more like Leamington Spa (it excites me that
I'm now well travelled enough to make these comparisons!)

From Dundee I drove directly to Aberdeen. I was very excited every time I saw a sign for a new county - Angus, Aberdeenshire, and then the city sign itself. After getting only very slightly lost at first (City driving is definitely where I miss GPS the most) I found the hostel, a big beautiful grey victorian house, on a street full of big beautiful victorian houses. At the end of the street was a statue of Queen Victoria herself. The street was called Queen Street.

I was pleasantly surprised when I checked in too, this was a really nice hostel, probably my favourite in the UK so far. There was one girl in my dorm. I decided we would be friends, and after a chat, I persuaded her to come out with me. She was from Germany, and said this was a return visit to the UK because she loved it so much. She wanted to move to St Davids in Wales. Germany thought that the geographic diversity of the UK made it the most beautiful country she had been to, and she had been to most of Europe!

I had a bit of an infatuation with this amazing staircase at the hostel!

We set off for Old Town Aberdeen, north of the city centre. We were west of the city centre, and we walked for a long time, at least two miles, along King Street (they're apparently big monarchists in Aberdeen), the road which would purportedly lead us to the old town. There are a lot of men in Aberdeen. Men of all ages, teenage lads too. I never felt unsafe, but I was glad I had Germany with me. She taught me German words like Kopfkino (literally Head Cinema, for when you can envisage something in your mind's eye) and Ohrwurm (literally Ear Worm, for when you have a tune stuck in your head!) I didn't teach her any english, because she was already fluent - she had studied it as part of her degree.

Sunset on Aberdeen College

Eventually we gave up on Aberdeen's elusive Old Town, and returned back to the city centre, picking up pizza, chocolate, and some breakfast ingredients on the way. We considered stopping for a drink, but decided it was late, so Germany and I chatted in the hostel kitchen, exchanging travel photos and plans whilst I gorged on pizza. (Germany had already eaten). We turned in at about midnight, and I slept restlessly, waking up just after 3am and convincing myself my phone had reset to the wrong time, because it was so light outside

Eventually I got up at 7.15. I snuck out of the dorm (no chance to say goodbye to Germany as she was planning a Sunday morning lie-in) and after a quick breakfast, drove to Braemar.

The drive to Braemar was straightforward enough. It was very well signposted despite being a tiny village, because it is a relatively popular tourist spot for the area. It is also close to Balmoral, which, in hindsight, I regret not checking out.

In Braemar I changed into my hiking boots and met a couple of ladies from the hiking group I had joined on Meetup.com. Together we followed a trail up into the serene pine forest, on an undulating two mile track east of the village, including some fantastic views down over the city, all the way to the still snow-capped mountains of the Cairngorms. There were also some good viewing spots of Braemar Castle, which we agreed was austere, but satifyingly castle-like, with crenalations and turrets, unlike the more rambling Edinburgh or Stirling castles.

About a third of my photos were a variation on this theme, i.e. trees.

Braemar Castle

The morning quickly became stiflingly hot, in a way that makes you drowsy and sticky. Luckily my companions felt similarly lethargic, so at a spectacular vista with a wooden bench, we took a moment to enjoy the view, and (I admit) recover a little. They were a friendly pair, both sore from a big day of hiking yesterday, where most of the group had done a 30 mile trek from Aviemore to Braemar, through the Cairngorms, around Scotland's second, third, fourth and fifth highest mountains! I shall have to drive that route someday!! They told me about the hike and how rewarding and enjoyable it had been for all the pain. Although it sounded magnificent, I knew that I needed yesterday's recovery time, so I didn't fully regret my decision.

The view where we sat for a while. The house had originally been quite
modest apparently, but had expanded over its colourful history. It was a
base involved in the Jacobite uprisings.

A short way down the trail, we reached a signpost offering us two options. One was short and forested - about one mile. The other was long, and less sheltered and potentially less scenic - two miles. I thought hard about it and decided that despite the fact I was running out of water, two miles wasn't long, and I hadn't come all this way for a mere two hour walk!

It was a good choice. The trail was quite pretty, reminding me in places of one of my favourite forests back home - Tangham forest in Rendlesham. Many of the trees here were 'farmed' for the forestry commission, so they were all straight with sparse trunks and nothing but pine needles beneath. Now that there were only two of us, conversation was much easier. My companion told me that she was originally from Hungary and had moved to Glasgow, and now Edinburgh. We discussed places to see in Scotland, and agreed that Plockton was beautiful (see the post below for more information about Plockton) and that Skye needed more than a weekend to enjoy (hopefully there will be a future post about my travel in Skye, I haven't been yet!) Hungary was a great chat and we even had a few easy laughs along the way about travelling solo and hiking in a group. We returned to Braemar much sooner than I had expected, and enjoyed a cake and drink together at The Bothy (an attractive large cafe with a good selection of cake but rather begrudging service) before heading our separate ways.

The sign seemed so inappropriate I had to take a photo!

I drove the A93 south, a road which would take me directly to Perth. The A93 quickly became my new favourite drive, overtaking the A82 when it runs alongside Loch Lomond. That had been my favourite road in the country for two years, but we had a new winner! The A93 is a spectacular mountain pass, weaving along the valley floor with lots of little hillocks to keep you on the edge of your seat, whilst ensconsing you in fantastic views of the immense mountain rage. There were some good downhill blasts as well, where I could take my foot off the acceleration peddle entirely and just cruise down without losing any speed (99.9MPG woohoo!) I can't wait to drive it again!

I stopped off at Blairgowrie for lunch. My principal motivation was that I thought it was in Angus, which I hadn't really visited yet - only driven through- but to my disappointment it fell under the area of Perth and Kinross. Nevertheless, Blairgowrie was a beautiful picnic spot for a summers afternoon. I watched some local boys splaching around in the river under the bridge, bathed in the sunshine and listened to the birdsong and the babbling water as the ocasional car passed over the bridge.

You can just about see the buys under the bridge

Blairgowrie church above what should be a small wier,
but there wasn't enough water to go over it. A few metres
down stream was a dead salmon floating on its back

When I returned to the car though it was very hot, insufferably hot. I stopped very briefly at Scone Palace but otherwise drove straight home, desperate to escape the smothering heat of my oven-like vehicle.

That evening I wondered up to Byers Road to check out a rumoured street party. There was a side street cordoned off, filled with happy people drinking in beers and sunshine, but I had a better idea, and picked up a small tub of icecream from Peckhams the grocer, enjoying a lazy walk home in the evening warmth, eating icecream as I went. I reflected that I was really doing quite well at weekending!

North Highland Roadtrip: 28th-30th May 2016

My southern sister came to visit as part of her own scottish roadtrip on the 27th, and I accompanied her and her boyfriend for the first leg of their journey, to Loch Lomond. We travelled in convoy, and unfortunately got separated just outside of Dumbarton, so I had a few miles of nerve-racking, blood-pressure-raising driving in and out of mobile homes and lazy holiday drivers to catch up with them, and guide them to our designated picnic spot on the shore.

It was a beautiful spot, and as we left our cars, the relentless grey overhead broke and patches of sunshine appeared on the rippling water. We enjoyed a casual walk around some of the Loch (it's enormous, but more on that at the end of this post!) and after a while we returned to our cars for lunch, ate up, and said goodbye. Their target destination for the day was Oban, 57 miles away. My target was Ullapool, 178 miles away. Then again, I am more experienced at roadtrips than they are...

My sister actually took this photo, but it was on my camera, and I liked it more than any of mine.

I drove through the majestic Glencoe, and less enjoyably Fort William (I have visited Fort William before, and I really don't like it as a town), again using a road atlas in preference of a GPS. This freed my phone to become a dashboard cam. Unfortunately you need panoramic vision to fully appreciate the beauty, but it was worth a try. I made brief stops en route for epic scenery, including Eilen Donan Castle. A colleague had reccomended Plockton, so that would be my second "official" stop, and potentially somewhere to stay the night if Ullapool seemed too distant.

Plockton was at first unimpressive, I drove there via a network of single track roads so small I thought i must be lost. However as I came over the crest of the hill towards the village, I was greeted by a spectacular sight, so I parked there and then, put on my hiking boots, and went for a walk.

I began to follow the road down toward the village (Plockton village has its own tiny peninsula) but saw a footpath leading toward the cove, so I took that instead. The trail took me over a boardwalk throguh a marshy area at the bottom of the cove, then along a narrow ascending trail into the bay. As I got closer, I got to see that amazing Mount Rushmore-like cliff face up close, so I stopped to take some photos. Then as I came round the corner I saw some boats harboured serenely in (what I slowly realised was) the north sea.  So I stopped to take some photos. Then further along the trail I spied some picturesque cottages on the waterfront across the cove... you get the idea. It was all beautiful and very serene, at what was evidently beoming my favourite time of day to take photos - late afternoon. As the trail plunged into a sun dappled mossy woodland, the sound of bagpipes floated up from the village. I have recently finished an excellent book about travelling - a memoir about a girl with an obsession for "doint the thing you're supposed to do in the place you're supposed to do it". Hiking in the highlands to the tune of bagpipes felt like I was thoroughly ticking that box.

I loved this sign and how it looked like it was buried in moss!

The cute village of Plockton across the bay. See how clear the water is!

An afternoon of serenity after a lot of driving.

 I did enquire at the B&B in Plockton, but it was fully booked, and so was the bunkhouse, due to this being bank holiday weekend. I didn't know how long it would take me to get to Ullapool as I couldn't get GPS signal, and I was afraid that I would end up driving along these tiny country roads in the dark. I decided to stay at the next place with a vacancy.

Winding my way out of Plockton, I soon found myself driving along bigger roads. Rain began to fall, and as we sped through a dark foresty bit of trail, I saw a sign for a hostel. I turned the car around and approached the hostel, but it looked so creepy hidden amongst the dark pines in the rain that I almost passed it by. As I parked Astrid I couldn't help but think of horror movies. I was a lone woman, with no phone signal, in this creepy forest, taking shelter from the inclement weather just as night was falling... The man who greeted me at the door was swiss. He was very friendly, and told me apologetically that he only had two beds left. "how many of you are there?" he asked. This made me feel better. "Just one." I told him.

Gerry's Hostel - Craig

I paid in euros that night because that was all I had in my purse. The hostel was, as it turned out, listed in the Scottish Independent Hostels guide, perfectly legitimate despite its foreboding location. Technically it is in the conurbation of "Craig" although it could hardly be called a village, as there was no pubwithin walking distance for me to have dinner. Furthermore breakfast was not provided (although, tellingly, a drying room was!) I changed rooms twice - first because I had placed myself in the main dorm, which was actually being taken over by a party of ten - second because after spending some time reading by the window in my smaller dowm, I noticed an enormous house spider that was moving about on the ceiling, and the fear of that dropping on me while I was asleep (or indeed awake) was too terrifying a prospect to cope with. At last I settled for the one remaining down which had a couple and their third wheel (as far as I could make out) staying in there. They were from Leeds. The husband was a bit strange, he stared a lot. When I eventually moved into the room he was asleep in his single bed, topless with a fantastic tanline/sunburn line on display, his book still in his hand and his mouth wide open.

I woke early the next morning, and was back on the road by 7am in search of breakfast/dinner. Surprisingly I wasn't too hungry, so I was able to enjoy the winding empty mountain roads, weaving around monroes, lochs and glens as I made my way north east. Those of you with access to a map will notice that Ullapool is actually pretty much directly north of Craig, but the nature of highland roads is that I had to travel east 45 miles and then west 32 miles. Luckily the scenery more than made up for it, and for the first thirty minutes I didn't see another car on the road, and very few signs of civilisation besides the road I was driving on. This made this arbitrary traffic light all the more frustrating. It took so long to change I began to wonder if it was broken, and I should ignore it...

It changed eventually, but I had enough time to get my camera out,
take this photo, and put it away again.

A typical example of the beautiful views from the road to Ullapool

Finally I arrived in Ullapool, a place so stunningly beautiful, I was taking photos before I was even fully out of the car - before I even got my hands on some breakfast!

Ullapool harbour

I love the low cloud. The night before it felt
spooky, now it feels mystical, like I'm
discovering somewhere secret (haha)

Ullapool town in the early morning

After a delicious, still warm fruit scone with real butter and Essex Jam, I navigated the bathroom (Stays or Braces - which is the ladies?) and carried on, now not knowing where I was going, only "North." GPS had worked for just long enough last night to tell me that the coastal route was only thirty minutes longer than the more direct road, and the Wife of the Leeds couple in the hostel had highly recommended it (besides the Orkney Islands, a beach ten miles hike from the road, and many other places which required a week to explore sadly, not three days) so I took the coastal route.

I drove over so many cattle grids, I never knew if I was in a sheep field or outside of one, or maybe a field full of different sheep to the last one? Who knows. At one point we experienced a more exotic livestock-based holdup:

Highland Cattle causing a traffic jam.

It was fantastic. The weather was perfect, and the scenery was spectacular, especially as I arrived into Durness, where I saw flashes of white sandy beaches ensconsed in dramatic cliff-lined coves. In one such cove I discovered the mysterious Smoo Caves, where I arrived minutes too late to join a tour (the only way to see the whole of the caves, as you get across into the second cavern by boat), but I still enjoyed poncdering the immense size of the cave, created by the sea, and the hole in the ceiling. It was fun to read the many local legends surrounding the grotto, including the true story of Macleod, a serial killer who had hid the bosdies of his victims in there, safe in the knowledge that the superstitious townsfolk would never enter it for fear the devil himself lurked within.

Smoo - where the devil lives apparently

I stopped briefly in the tiny hamlet of Reay (they are all tiny hamlets in the Highlands, but this one had the bonus of a petrol station) and got fuel for both of us - unleaded for Astrid, icecream for me! On the subject of petrol stations, I did notice that every single village had an electric car charging point, but only about one in three had petrol!  paid £1.25 a litre (18p more than it cost in Glasgow or Inverness!) It was only a short drive then to Thurso, a port town from where people get ferries to Shetland and the Orkney Islands. Thurso had been described as "quite nice", but apart from a very friendly lady at the tourist information desk, who had a similar love of roadtrips, I found Thurso to be a little uninspiring apart from the ruins of its once magnificent castle. It was one of those towns where I kept worrying if Astrid was safe and double-locked.

From Thurso it was not far to John O'Groats, the tiny settlement which marks the furthest extent of the mainland United Kingdom. As I approached, and a particularly moody track began to play on my Gaelic singing CD (don't judge me), I watched the cloud roll in off the sea. Because of the height of the land, it was not rolling across the sky, but across the fields and roads towards us. Soon we were engulfed in this eerie grey mist, and I had to put the fog lights on as we wound our way down this well travelled road.

John O Groats was hence a grey and windy experience. I took some photos of the sign, of the octagonal house (so that John O Groats and his seven sons could all enter at the same time, saving any arguments), and of the misty sea, left a voicemail for my parents "I'm only 2,200 miles from the North Pole!", thanked Astrid for her heroic dependability in getting me here, and began the long drive south. There was nowhere else to go!

Shetland isn't looking very appetising!

I stopped off onlyt once on my route back. Sadly the cloud cloaked us for most of the route down, so I could only guess at the rugged clifftops and elusive bays hidden in the foggy greyness. The cloud did clear just enough however for me to see the magnificent turrets of Dunrobin castle. There were signposts for it as I entered Golspie (indeed it featured on their village sign) so I spent an excitable fifteen minutes touring the castle grounds snapping photos of the romantic castle facade and its elabourate formal gardens.

Finally I arrived at Tain, where I had booked a £50 B&B for the night - Shandwick House. Although I was trying my best to be a budget traveller, and definitely broke the budget here, it was absolutely worth it, I knew as soon as I walked in through the door. I had found the house without GPS by a lucky drive by and some good signage. The entrance hall smelt beautiful (a reed diffuser was sat on a chest of drawers by the door, and I was lead up to the third floor, where I had a sea view room, my own en suite, fresh, clean white sheets on an incredibly suishy bed with the softest pillows I have ever slept on and even my own TV! I was very happy and the host kindly directed me to somewhere where I could make up for missing last night's dinner (I had only had The Scone and a cheese toastie since). The Old Railway Station was a new, quite hipster place, which I could see from my bedroom window. The food was excellent, but the prices were rather painful. Altogether it was an expensive, luxurious night!


The next morning I enjoyed a delicious breakfast at the Shandwick House B&B, before heading out into the still lingering gloom, following the A9 south. As I passed through the evocatively named Black Isle, I turned off the main road to visit Chanonry Point - famous for dolphin sightings. The time of year was perfect, but unfortunately the tide was on the way out, so I saw no Dolphins. I returned to the A9, and compliantly followed it until I saw a turning for Fort Augustus. I didn't hesitate to think how close Fort Augustus may be, and followed a long, tiny B road for the entire length of Loch Ness without once seeing the Loch itself. Eventually, determined to make the best of a bad decision, I took another impulsive turning, for Foyers Falls (2 miles). After a little bit of caravan-based grievance, I arrived at the falls, where I was rewarded with a beautiful green woodland, and a vista worthy of past hour's brain-numbing drive. There was a very tall waterfall, which had inspired Robert Burns. His quotes were scattered around the wood on blocks of slate. The waterfall had once been very powerful, but thanks to a hydro-electric power plant further upstream, it now poured, rather than gushed, over the cliff face.

The drop is 62 metres (165) in Gaelic it is called the smoking falls.

Calmed by the immense natural beauty (and what was becoming a trend for me to see Sunday morning waterfalls) I joined General Wade's Military Way, a slightly larger and more scenic road, which took me directly to Fort Augustus. On the way, the sun finally returned.

I nearly didn't stop in Fort Augustus due to the fact it was heaving with tourists, but having clipped a bend badly as I entered the town, I thought I had better check the car. Astrid was absolutely fine, so I grabbed an ice lolly (fending off a frenchman who didn't know how to queue) and sat in the sun by the canal scorning the tourists, whilst also hating myself for being one of them. Presently I cbecame aware of some comotion higher up the canal, and was excited to see three tourist boats making their way through the many loch gates higher up. I took lots of photos and enjoyed the sunshine and the beautiful scenery before returning to Astrid, to drive home.

This was surprisingly entertaining to watch

I was now faced with a choice: I could go out of my way to return to the A9, or I could take the shorter route back through Glencoe, Fort William and Loch Lomand. I made another bad choice.

For hours and hours I sweltered in the car, chasing idle motorhomes, winding around aggravating cyclists (there was some kind of cycle race in Glencoe, on May Bank Holiday Monday, probably one of the most traffic-intense days of the year) By the time I got to Loch Lomond it was stop-start nose to nose traffic. during a brief period in fourth gear, I passed some hitch hikers for Glasgow, and I guess I hadn't learned my lesson yet regarding impulse decisions, because I stopped, and for the first time ever I picked them up.

The boys had just finished studying at Edinburgh uni and were due to graduate this summer. They had been on a group hike of the length of Loch Lomond, which had taken them longer than my entire trip. As we drove along in the nightmarish traffic, and the rain finally caught up with me, doing nothing to alleviate the stifling heat, I was extremely grateful for the company. We discussed everything from the geography of Loch Lomand to the philosophical implications of translating a language, from social welfare projects in Massacheusets to employment opportunities for humanities graduates (as all three of us were or would soon become). I dropped them at a train station in Glasgow an hour and a half after I had planned to be home, and whilst they were very grateful, I was moreso, because I think I would have had some sort of mental breakdown being trapped in that awful queue on my own. Just thinking about it still fills me with anxiety.

When I got back, my sister and her boyfriend suggested a takeaway, so we tucked into pizza watching disney films until it was time to sleep. Over the course of the weekend I drove over 750 miles,  and decided that next weekend, I would take it easy!