Day 1 Glasgow
Welcome to the Scottish edition of A Girl, Her Hubs, and a Suitcase. We are finally returning to the world of international travel sadly abandoned since the 2020 plague when we all but abolished global travels. During that break we instead transitioned our interest on domestic and local destinations satisfying our insatiable travel fix. After a 3-year hiatus we are making our triumphant debut starting with Glasgow, Scotland and beyond.
It has been a year of frustrating health afflictions, demanding my full attention and nearly jeopardizing future excursions. However, like a true Scottish tale-the underdog fought hard in true Braveheart spirit fortunately for me-resulting in a much happier conclusion than the ill-fated Mel Gibson.
After a 2-hour delay in London due to an ailing pilot a patient driver from saltireprivatehire.co.uk was waiting for us ready to transport our drained, tired bones to 15 Glasgow-our respite for the next 3 days. The lively banter was welcoming and helpful providing a dinner suggestion that we would later utilize.
We arrived at 15 Glasgow, a 3 story 5 room B&B-a picturesque grand Georgian, 19th century home on a charming residential street in the trendy West End steps from Kelvingrove Park.
We were promptly greeted by Lorrain, the owner. She runs a tight ship with an organized system structured in efficiency and precision. Within seconds of our arrival, we were requisitioned politely to remove our shoes and supplied with slippers. Breakfast options and times determined; a map appeared instantaneously pointing out spots and landmarks, the information seeping quickly from our memory. We were ushered to our room, up the steps, protruding pixie size Popeye muscles emerged from our host hoisting my bloated baggage effortless to the second landing. We passed a stained-glass oversized window as the fading minutes of sunlight cascaded in creating a jewel of sunbeam sensation.
She escorted us to the Thistle room. Of note, the *Thistle is the symbol of Scotland and carries a great deal of pride and history with it, see below for details. Now back to the tour….
The room was exquisite accommodations, clean, palatial with elegant simplicity. Fatigued from 24 hours of restless travel, we gazed dreamily at the luxurious bed, yearning for deep sedation as Lorrain recited the house rules. We were politely advised to remain awake. The nap would surely set us on a course of destruction, rendering it impossible to recover from. Surprised by her authoritative delivery and insistence, exhaustion vanished, replaced by an overwhelming need to please and an internal understanding that she was indeed spot on in this theory.
The sun dappled in through the floor to ceiling windows while Hubs folded like a fragile origami on the bed, eyes fluttered like a stirring butterfly, the beginnings of a serene siesta. My Jersey nasal staccato disrupted his sleeping attempts every couple minutes secretly wanting to join him in snooze-town. But, with Lorrain’s friendly warning echoing in a circuitous cerebral loop on repeat, I was able to push through the relenting draw of some well-earned Zzzzz’s. Propelling myself to the hot shower, airplane funk expunged and exchanged with a rejuvenating and revitalizing second wind.
In the dark and chilly night, we ventured out getting to know the area. With several colleges all close by, the overall feel was an academic hip and young element. Music streamed out of nightclubs; snippets of conversations drowned out by acoustic riffs as the pungent savory aromas comingled creating an enticing fragrant tease.
The main street we would end up spending most of our time would be Sauchiehall Street. Getting to know our hood, we hopped from store to store looking at mindless baubles while in search of food. We eventually made it to the Indian establishment Akbars that hours earlier our driver had recommended. Upon entry, the spicy bouquet of curry and garlic tickled our noses and awoke our dormant tummies. The accompanying tables held large Indian families in a celebratory atmosphere. The mood was festive, and family centered. Our waiter Hamayum provided us with 5-star service, anticipating our every need and anxious to make our meal memorable-which it was.
We ordered typical Indian dishes, adjusted to our specific preferences. Saucy and exotic served with Naan bread. Now, the Naan was like nothing I have ever experienced. Presentation alone was pretty distinctive, paraded to the table on a sphere of some sort, akin to a medieval weapon wielding a 2 feet x 2 feet Naan bread. The oversized baked doughy delight hung from the apparatus like a fish from a rod. The garlicy goodness full of pockets of airy deliciousness, resembling a fire baked pizza crust more than traditional Naan. Sadly, we only made it through a quarter of it. We attempted to bring it back to the B&B but knew that a lingering day-old garlic stench would very likely and within good reason get us evicted. We took the short walk back to 15 Glasgow with over 16,000 steps tabulated for the day ending the night. Thanks to Lorrain’s earlier sleep doctrine -slumber came easy.
*Legend has it sleeping Scots warriors on the verge of ambush by an invading Norse army were saved when they stepped on a thistle. Their anguished cries roused the warriors awake and it believed the thistle became their national symbol.
Day 2 Glasgow
Waking up on our first official day, I was filled with a peppy surplus of spirited hope, curiosity, and boundless excitement on what this day would bring. Sleep was celestial heaven wrapped in luxury linens, Indian food dreams. A vegan Scottish breakfast was waiting for me as well, door to door service, what more could a gal wish for? The Hubs and I sat in the upholstered throne-like seats, gazing out the window as the radiant morning sun’s aura warmed us up. The vegan breakfast extravaganza was perfection on a plate. Hot, fresh, and savory vegetables, brown crusty, salty bread delivered on a tray made special for me. This was indulgence at its finest and I was ok with this.
We had arranged for a walking tour provided by Guru Walk. We met Ian our tour guide/part time actor -a rather gregarious chap-in the George Square (named after mad King George-III) along with roughly 10 other exuberant tourists. We have used this company before in other cities and find it a very efficient use of time and resources in getting to know the city. It comprised of 2 jam packed hours of Scotland’s complicated history, scandalous facts, and helpful recommendations. We formed a semi-circle around Ian as he spoke in rapid-fire speed, pointing to all four corners of the square, reciting titillating facts, rattling off in a dizzying intensity- much of which remained buried in the delicate tentacles of my still jet lagged brain.
We were granted special access into the City Chambers. The building was inaugurated for Queen Victoria in 1888. We stood in the ornate entryway, a refuge from the raw cold outside. Ian went on to outline the city’s coat of arms that include a bird, tree, bell, and fish described in this Glasgow famous poem:
Here’s the Bird that never flew. Here’s the Tree that never grew.
Here’s the Tree that never grew. Here’s the Bell that never rang.
Here’s the Fish that never swam.
We looped around the city, my plump stumps manically managing to keep up with the group. We found ourselves in front of the iconic statue of the Duke of Wellington and his victorious horse Copenhagen who rode and won the Battle of Waterloo defeating Napoleon. The celebrated sculpture erected in 1844 from Italian artist Carlo Marochetti, did not always include a goofy traffic cone. Legend has it, back in the 1980’s revelers placed the cone after a night of drinking. It then became a common occurrence, until eventually it became a permanent fixture. The traffic cone symbolizes the playful spirit of Glasgow. The monument is displayed proudly outside the Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA).
The tour ended precisely at the 2-hour mark, debarking us ironically directly in front of Guitar Guitar. Hubs-lover of guitars inconspicuously slipped in, checked out the merchandise but due to our dismally dreadful dollar exchange, we moved on. Needing a refuel we went to a quaint little coffee shop Rose Grants Deli Café located in Merchant City-Hubs munched on a sweet pastry while I gobbled down a tasty vegan BLT.
Revived we made our way to Glasgow Cathedral. The sun we had been blessed with all day vanished with a quick intense unleashing of rain. Seeking shelter, we ducked in the church finding salvage where so many had pursued salvation. The cathedral boasts being the largest and oldest place of worship in all of Scotland.
My eyes ricocheted from the magnificent soaring arches to the stained glass and stone columns. Hushed whispers echoed throughout the open chambers. Tour groups marched in and out, a promenade of united nations, checking the landmark off the list.
On the same grounds the sacred cemetery Necropolis meaning “city of the dead” holds over 50,000 burials. It is perched up high with sweeping views of Glasgow. As we reached the top, the rain stopped, and the sun reemerged.
The occasional purring hum of wind was all that could be heard. We respectfully made our way through the hallowed tombstones, somber feelings of futility and mortality lingered as we made our way back to Glasgow 15.
This evening we were to go a concert performed by the SCO (Scottish Chamber Orchestra) Bach’s B Minor Mass. These tickets were purchased back home weeks before. Our whole day centered around this event. We were battling jet lag and fatigue and as it grew closer, we contemplated attending. But we rallied-got dressed in our finest, called an Uber and presented the address on the tickets to the driver.
What ensued from this moment on was frustrating chaos. Piecing it back together-post trip-we concluded the Uber driver dropped us off at the wrong venue ($15). No one could appropriately redirect us. We ultimately missed the concert ($85). Taking a pivot in our plans, we went looking for dinner options. It was Friday night and we quickly learned not to underestimate the importance of a reservation. In the USA, restaurants will give you a pager, an outrageous wait time, shove you towards the bar, resurrect a makeshift table by the toilet, anything to accommodate. Here, no reservation-no dinner. No negotiation, no wagering, bargaining, or even bribing. We went from place to place, growing more annoyed with each decline.
Then the trifecta of terror arrived- hunger, exhaustion, and whining. Hubs- the easy going one of the twosome open to anything, unphased, energetic and always seeking an adventure, he tried desperately to tame the beast (me) but once that Jersey girl is unleashed- she will not get back in the bottle.
Then…. we got lost. We circled the same blocks several times, looping, backing up, retracing our steps, over and over growing further away from 15 Glasgow. Hubs suggested an Uber, pointed to restaurant options, reconciled to eat PB & J if needed. We eventually got our bearings (no help from me- a geographical nincompoop). With only a few remaining opening minutes we made it to Nonviet, a Vietnamese restaurant. Ruminating over my faulty planning in this evening’s fallout, the tofu fried rice lay in my churning gut leading to reflux induced regret.
Arriving back to the B&B, I wrote a nasty shameful email to the Scottish Chamber Orchestra (several actually) demanding a refund. 3 emails later and a $58 phone call once back home to the SCO box office I only learned that it was indeed the Uber driver who dumped us at the wrong place. In the politest way, I was informed “no refund” crazy lady. Then, I reached out to Uber where I was reimbursed the 8 pounds for the ride with a pathetic apology. In summary, I wasted $58 to try to compensate $85 which cost me $143. Embarrassingly, these mix ups were completely avoidable-premium amateur level blunders-I learned several lessons on this evening which I will humbly share.
- Always allow Hubs to make the plans. Don’t under any circumstances allow yours truly to plan any components of a trip.
- Do not underestimate the statement “Make reservations several weeks ahead of time”. This will be the theme throughout – we will revisit this rule later as well.
- Always map out excursions and balance out activities. Piling on too many events in one day dilutes the fun factor and makes it feel obligational.
Trudging our way back, my well-earned step count was over 28,000 and my tired (but happy) tootsies felt every single one of those glorious steps.
Day 3 Glasgow
Although last night did not go as planned, with over 30 European getaways, we have learned many times things do not. We will encounter similar challenges in other forms and versions, and once again will be faced confronting certain mistakes. Bouncing back from disappointment and making the best of it will make or break the remaining course. As I laid in a dreamlike state in the wondrous Shangri-la of the bed, enveloped in the cushy linens like fluffy cashmere clouds, I was reminded the finer things in life truly do make a difference. Evidenced by the last few days -I have been sleeping sublimely, awakening more rested than I have in years.
Our breakfast was waiting for us outside the door-delicious Scottish oatmeal filling, hearty and hot-with an option to add Whiskey to it–Gasp (I declined). With our bellies full, we made our way down the street to the Kelvingrove Park. There was a brisk nip in the air, and even though it was still early, there were many people out, well behaved dogs galloped next to their owners, adorable children bundled up, their overstuffed little bodies emitting angelic giggles-we leisurely kicked the crimson carpet of the autumn leaves eventually making our way to Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum.
Entry to the museum is free and we were pleasantly surprised by the array of works displayed. Some of the more prolific artists were Picasso, Van Gogh, Matisse, and Manet. The paintings included simple yet interesting facts with a pleasing layout that invited engagement and interactivity. At 1pm every day an organ concert is performed. The pipe organ was originally for the Glasgow International Exhibition 1901. It is the masterpiece of the museum located in the center hall and comprised of 2,889 copper organ pipes. A small cluster of seats quickly filled up, obedient children sat cross legged on the floor, everyone’s eyes directed to the grand organ. At 1pm precisely, the intense organ melodies filled the room.
The organist’s fingers tenderly tapped the organ’s keys releasing the reverberative sounds notes of current music by Adelle, Michael Jackson, as well as a stirring rendition of “Hey Jude.”
Hubs and I parked ourselves on a balcony bench with an unencumbered bird’s eye view. The evocative cords of the organ combined with the compelling art surroundings provided a fully captivating experience.
We visited the Kelvingrove Gift Shop, amused and mischievous we played with everything. I purchased a fabulous pageboy hat that kept me warm throughout this journey.
Leaving the museum, we strolled back through the park. It was just as popular as earlier this morning. We sat on a bench in mutual content silence shaded by the canopy of trees, creating a mini eclipse from the powerful warming sun.
A sucker for high tea we took the last reservation at the Hidden Lane Tearoom. Tucked in a secret alleyway of the West End in the neighborhood of Finnieston was an Alice in Wonderland type hodge podge claustrophobic maze of shops, artists and designers.
We arrived at the packed teahouse a few minutes early and were turned away. We walked around the eclectic area, poking our heads in the tiniest of shop stalls displaying overpriced and unambitious pottery.
Returning to the Tea Room, it was evident all the baked goods had been ransacked with not even a vegan brownie neglected. In my mind, I imagined a three-tier sandwich tray-cucumber canapes and dainty food one eats with one pinky up in the air. In my fantasy I was at a 5-star hotel with a violin quartet strumming Victorian classics while candles fluttered in the fading afternoon sun. Also, in my mythical vision I was wearing a wide brim straw hat, a size 4 sun dress with slender tan shoulders. None of this was the case, I did have a rather stellar Halloumi cheese and red pepper sandwich. Otherwise instead of a high-end hotel setting, our cozy table positioned in the aftermath post-lunch rush-tables dirty and deserted, no violin classics to be heard, and certainly no flickering melted candles. No sweet treats remained as mentioned. But all in all, even though it was not the high tea I had envisioned I was with Hubs in Scotland exploring the great unknown.
Lesson #4 involves expectations. Keep them low, reasonable, affordable, and obtainable. Be realistic with planning and try to avoid creating your own fairy tale-it will not live up and will always be a setup for failure. Keeping it real, dinner this evening was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches-saving a ton of money and delicious.
Day 4 Kilmartin
Departing Glasgow, I was conflicted. I grew to appreciate Lorrain’s commanding structure and organizational chutzpah. In the end, she knows her clients well, takes pride in her work and it truly shows. I loved the safety of her home, the indulgence of my needs being fully tended to and not having to think, plan or arrange when it came to certain matters. As time and geographical distance grew between us, Lorrain and 15 Glasgow, I was able to piece it all together and became much more appreciative of her style, her home and even her rules. I began to understand the rationale, recognize her actions, and value her love for her home. 15 Glasgow was pure elegance, luxury, and indulgence. I slept blissfully, I ate without guilt, and I learned and lived Glasgow culture. 15 Glasgow checked all the boxes.
We parted ways and took the 1 mile walk to Avis to pick up our rental car. Our silver Peugeot was waiting for us. I was surprised how quickly Hubs adapted to driving on the opposite side of the road and in what is our passenger seat.
Within seconds he had it down fighting Glasgow traffic like a true native. After a short time on the road, the landscape changed drastically to rolling hills with vast golden fields. We drove in muted contentment through the translucent shimmering waterways of Loch Lomond and the natural richness of the National Park Trossachs. Our sturdy Peugeot hugged the sharp turns as we passed daring cyclists zipping down the challenging gradient. Draping trees with rust colored foliage whizzed by and the backdrop was nothing short of a vivid landscape painting.
The road turned into one lane and the ratio of sheep to cars were outnumbered. We made an impulsive decision to pull off at Kilmartin Hotel for lunch. This one spontaneous choice would impact our travels for the next 24 hours. We were greeted immediately by Richard- the owner, who we would get to know very well. We were led to a room of mismatched cozy furniture, tartan print deeply trafficked carpet with an austere smoldering fireplace providing warmth. A soccer game on TV held all the patrons’ attention-a simple space informal and comfortable providing a quintessential Scottish Pub experience. We were informed the kitchen would be closing in 5 minutes -that did not deter us or Richard. I had a Halloumi cheese salad while Hubs had a Pork Tenderloin, surprisingly sophisticated for such a humble establishment.
Hubs, distracted and perplexed, preoccupied with concern, squinting at his phone, mapping out our next destination seemed preoccupied with concern. The map displayed a route with a travel time of 4 hours-even though we were 5 miles away. Richard took a great interest in our plight and explained devastating landslides occurred last week wiping out segments of the road rendering it impassable. He said it was an unprecedented week of record rain, leading to flooding, destruction and required 10 people to be airlifted to safety. It would take 18 months to fully repair the road damage- flooding hits Argyll
There was only one option for navigation as any other possible route was now nonexistent. There was not a feasible way to get to our destination this evening. We contacted Roger at our next destination Corrie House and he agreed that attempting to do the drive at this time would not be safe. Richard had one room left, offering it to us. And so, we all decided that we would remain in Kilmartin and head out tomorrow. The room was 90 pounds including breakfast. He brought us to the minimalist room which we were grateful for.
Once that was all taken care of, we had the remainder of the day to explore tiny Kilmartin. The population of the town is roughly 400 and is only 6 miles long. It is best known for its over 800 prehistoric monuments and historic sites which includes rock carvings, ancient standing stones and burial cairns dating back to almost 5,000 years ago-all of which was situated directly across from the hotel. The Kilmartin Museum was closing as we entered, so we made our way down a path that led to an open field. The rock formations dotted the area that was shared with sheep. We walked amongst the sheep dodging the turd land mines. It was an odd, surreal situation amidst ancient sacred markers while walking amongst livestock. A feisty mutton or two charged at us-I do not blame them for breaching their quarters.
As we made our way back, adjacent to the hotel was a darling village. One of which was so fascinating, I believed it to be a shop. I cupped my hands against the window to examine the store and all its goods. A woman on a couch glared back at me, alarmed with horror on her face, I mouthed the words “Are you open?” As my hand stretched out in search of the door. I then realized this was her home-and sadly not a shopping opportunity for me. I was just in search of a bargain and some souvenirs-sorry! With no one else in the town left to harass or frighten, we retired back to the room.
Later, we found ourselves back at the Pub for dinner. This crowd was a bit rowdier-a raucous Rugby game of France vs. South Africa on the tv. The pub was full, mostly locals, dogs sat by at their owner’s feet complacent and dutiful. Everyone was very talkative and friendly. We were thrilled to witness Pub life. Hubs nibbled on Fish and Chips and sipped his Tennents Beer while I had an unappealing version of a veggie burger. Back in the room after a bizarre day of unexpected detours, the sounds of Rugby rejoicing led us to sleep.
Day 5 Kilmartin-CraobhHaven, Lochgilphead
Waking up this morning was met with moans and groans crammed together head to foot clinging to the mattress sides like Titanic survivors on a life raft. Even though we were grateful for the lodging due to the unfortunate circumstances, the reality is we are not double bed kind of folks. We made our way back to the pub for meal 3. Richard was quite the industrious fellow as he seemed to have a finger on the pulse of all Pub activities. He shared with us he worked here as a boy of 14 years old and later went on to own it-operating as a family business with his daughters. We enjoyed a homemade hot breakfast, delicious hash browns and Hubs declaring the best scrambled eggs he has ever had. We said our goodbyes. Old Kilmartin served us well.
We backtracked driving to Inveraray enroute to the Inveraray Castle. Surprisingly modest (as royal castles go) it has a homey essence. Serving as a part time dwelling, it remains a living residence for the descendants of the Duke of Argyll serving as the seat of the Clan Campbell.
There was a stirring room of armor with an active crackling fireplace warming up the chilled room. We circled through the rooms entertained by the royal pageantry of it all. Of note, this was the same castle as the one filmed in the Downton Abbey-the 2012 Christmas Special the mythical Scottish home-Duneagle Castle for Marquess and Marchioness of Flintshire.
We took a 2 mile walk around the sprawling imperial grounds, over an aged bridge, cinnamon-colored leaves melted into the damp earth, the incendiary fragrance of burning firewood in the air with only the sound of our feet crushing the pebbles. Our noses and hands scarlet with hypothermia warmed up as the sun beamed in and out of the forested awning created by the trees.
After the walk, we made our way into the charming Inveraray village, stopping first at the Inveraray Woollen Mill which was once home to the blacksmith and granary built by the 5th Duke of Argyll in 1772. Hubs was on a mission to get a quality wool sweater. Living in Florida, the use of a wool sweater is as beneficial as a snow blower. But, here, if only for a few days it was a lifeline. The bristling wind gusts, and 40-degree temperatures required it. After long deliberation, he found the perfect sweater. Wool tickles my nose and throws me into an itching frenzy, but I do deeply regret not getting one as well.
We moved on to more stores displaying overpriced Highland Cows (hairy coos) tchotchkes, whiskey novelties and other doodads. The fact that I collect cows, one would think I was in bovine nirvana!
But it appears a real lack of creativity, each store selling the same high-priced trinkets. Also, due to its enchanting allure, it is a tour bus mecca. A continuous procession of khaki pant wearing tourists dismantled the buses, posed for photo ops, manic speed shopping, back on the bus and repeat. We have done the tour bus shuffle once. We realized the freedom of independence outweighs any benefits of a tour. In the compact size stores, the stampede of tunnel vision consumers takes the fun out of it.
We stood in front of the grandiose vision Loch Fyne -the longest of the sea lochs in Scotland. The indigo blue infinite waterway created a dreamlike mirror illusion. I can see why the tour buses make it part of the itinerary.
We began our journey to our next destination Craobhhaven. Arresting mountains consumed the endless horizon as Hubs managed the twisty roads. I found myself at an unusual lack of words for the awe and brilliance that was seen from that moment on. I am forever ruined as my bar has been reset, recalibrated and will no longer accept to be visually impressed by anything less than what I saw, felt, heard, smelled and observed on the way to Craobhhaven and Corrie House.
Pulling up to the Corrie House, we were immediately greeted by owners Roger and Sallie Gaskell. The house is a superior glass vision of spectacular beauty. Calming jazz, pleasant lighting and mouthwatering smells of dinner cooking filled the entryway. We stood in front of the main room revealing 360 degrees of jaw dropping views. I now understand what breathtaking means as I was literally holding my breath as I stared mesmerized at the scene in front of us. Roger went on to explain the geography of the area as we marveled in fascination.
The Isle of Jura and the uninhabited Isle of Scarba merge at the Gulf of Corryvreckan to create the Corryvreckan Whirlpool-the third largest whirlpool in the world. In Gaelic it is described as the “cauldron of the speckled seas”. It is a natural phenomenon that occurs from obstructed tides, dangerous currents, standing waves, and sudden calm waters between the two islands. It can be very dangerous with an intensity that can pull in boats and destroy sea life.
There are Legends and folk lore built around this that recount tales of a maiden’s hair used to sail to safety. I must disclose that this entire Scotland idea was romantically constructed from a movie that depicted the whirlpool, its persistent mysterious force and dynamic draw to the Isle of Mull. I Know Where I’m Going! made in 1945, stands the test of time and illustrates the spellbinding draw and fury between the characters and the mystique of mother nature. It is what conceived our adventure and continues to hold my captivation.
Off in the distance, the tantalizing landscape of the magnetic Isle of Mull teased us-as sadly, and ironically it failed to make the itinerary due to ferry limitations and time constraints. The marina sailboats tethered, bobbed buoyantly up and down. We were taken to the Isley room with an equally hypnotic view as below. We wandered out to the balcony where the most astounding panoramic seascape bestowed us.
The room was expertly decorated, no detail was missed, furnished with high end and timeless pieces, the softest linens of a premium thread count (450), curtains thick, lavish, and exotic, down pillows plush and unresisting. Inviting robes hung in the alluring bathroom, a stately tub, a glass shower and even more extraordinary scenery-certainly the prettiest lookout from a toilet I have ever seen!
We settled in, capturing the final moments of the vanishing sunset. The deep pink sky melting into the sea’s edges. We had pre-arranged dinner that was prepared by Roger and his wife Sallie. The atmosphere was relaxed and felt like we were having dinner with good friends. A family sat adjacent with a docile dog under the table. I was provided with the most flavorful, savory carrot and ginger soup. It was a bowl of velvet deliciousness that produced immediate euphoria. I experienced an out of body ethereal response wondering if crack was a major ingredient. The orange-colored liquid of love transcended me into a soup infused serenity. Hubs chomped on a hearty pork chop appearing satisfied.
We retired back to the room. I drew a hot bath in the white porcelain canoe shaped tub. As I lowered my girthy apple shaped body in the tepid waters I slid all the way down unable to position myself in any which way. Like an acrobatic fish fighting for its life, I battled my own version of a whirlpool -struggling to hoist myself up. I splashed futilely prone, then supine, out of breath and quickly losing my soup infused high. I gave up-sinking like a stone. Like a slippery seal, with my short arms and stocky torso I was able to splash my way back to land. Add this bath debacle to all the other travel bathroom mishaps (refer to previous blogs)-I am nothing if not consistent. I also have no doubt that the flippety-flop fiasco was 100% user issue with no one else to blame.
Exhausted from the tub trauma as well as a completely exhilarating full day, we went one final time outside on the balcony. It was around 36 degrees (Fahrenheit)- practically glacial for a Floridian. We looked up at the almost perfectly black sky and saw what a city gal never gets to see-stars. A million of them-illuminated twinkling, gleaming-like our own personal planetarium. The profound silence was foreign-not the traffic speedway and engine backfire soundtrack that plays on a continuous loop outside my own bedroom window back home. The boat marina was lit up-interfering with complete darkness putting a minor damper on the otherwise galactic scenescape. Off way, way in the distance facing North was a bucket list item that made up for my near-death bathtub event. The hazy, astral miraculous glow of the Northern Lights– Aurora Borealis! We shivered in the nippy night, craning our necks in an awkward, dizzying position mentally snapping this cosmic moment as it could not be captured by your everyday camera. Sleep came seamless on this evening, in the tranquil oasis of the dreamy, sumptuous bed.
In the morning, we awoke to a stunning, clear sky and a perfect outlook of our surroundings. Breakfast was waiting for us by our gracious hosts Roger and Sallie. Roger shared with us the region, how it was impacted by Covid, the challenges of building in the area, his former life as a CEO of tech company and other riveting tidbits.
The short time we spent at Corrie House was quality versus quantity. The home was so welcoming, the food-top notch, the bed, the sleep, the furnishings-set the bar for what I now expect from a B&B. Roger and Sallie created a utopia within their home that includes all the ingredients for an outstanding sanctuary. I will forever remember and savor my time at Corrie House.
Day 6 Portree Isle of Skye
We parted ways with Roger and Sallie and the thrilling CraobhHaven region. Today would be our longest travel day yet-4.5 hours but Hubs had worked hard orchestrating this route and included fun pit stops along the way. We had been working our way West and now we would be heading North and even further West-final destination Portree. The topography was ever changing. It went from heavy forest, overgrowth of trees to completely barren mountains. Goldened Heather blanketed the sloped earth, the desolate ground that once was abundant with 14 million trees had been removed to make way for windfarms. The lack of a natural barrier arguably may have been the cause for the previous week’s landslides and road closures. This all can be debated legitimately, and I hold no stake in this issue as it is not my home or area of expertise. There are most definitely valid points to both sides. I share this only to highlight the harsh contrast visually between the overgrowth and starkness was markedly evident.
Around halfway, we swung in quickly to Eilean Donan Castle. Dating back to the 6th century, this iconic landmark is popular. The castle sits on the peaty, mucky beach isolated on an island. We popped out of the care, took a few pics, selfies with the castle in the foreground and back in the car on the road.
Roger recommended a quick detour to Plockton known as the “Jewel of the Highlands” on the way to Isle of Skye. It only diverted us 20 minutes. An idyllic sea coastal town, thriving and hustling with crowds in the summer was a secluded hidden gem with only locals on this day. The tide had withdrawn, realigning the rustic fishing boats that were motionless marinated in the boggy, viscous marsh where they once floated weightlessly upon a briny sea. Barely visible feisty gnats orbited my defenseless neck, while I swatted and cursed at the invisible irritants. We walked through the village -petite cottages circled the bay. Due to its isolated and unique ecosystem and climate, out of place palm trees stood upon wooded crags (stone cliffs). The silhouette of Duncraig Castle stood stoic off in the distance. We scarfed down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as we continued onto Skye.
Dusk was setting as we entered the busy seaside harbor town of Portree. Upon entering the city limits immediate regret, remorse and shame filled me. There were only 2 items I was responsible for-by my insistence- the symphony concert in Scotland- we all know how that ended. Hubs foolishly trusted me-breaking Rule #2. Portree is the capital of Skye, a colorful small village with essentially 2 main streets consisting of restaurants and shops. It is a great jetting off point for all the major sites. However, coming from full service, catered B&B to a self-service Airbnb required a major pivot. This was an intentional decision that allowed us to do our laundry, take advantage of a kitchen, gain a little privacy and be smack dab in the main hub. I won’t call this “bait and switch”, but it was certainly a case of some major touching up, photo shopping and omission.
The first aggravation was the parking situation. Only a few free options, we got lucky and snagged a spot directly across Harborview Airbnb. I had been in constant communication with the owner David who had made himself very available and answered all my inquiries. I don’t fault him for my disappointment, but I do find it necessary to be transparent and open regarding Harborview’s major shortcomings.
The first thing I did regrettably was open the refrigerator. The horrid smell of a rotting corpse infiltrated the entire first floor. The determination was immediately made that the refrigerator was unusable. I alerted David, the owner who genuinely was horrified. He apologized profusely and arranged for the housekeeper to return in the morning to clean it. We arranged our whole day around her arrival and later realized she never did come-any of the 3 days we were there.
High rated reviews praised the beautiful furnishings, décor, and views. It is true the views of the Portree Harbor were abundant and visible from the vantage point of the kitchen, living room and bedrooms. There was also a Fish and Chips eatery on the ground level. The constant migration of people congregated below with their greasy indulgence, drifting into the street with their rubbish. The fishy fried remains eventually found their way to the garbage bins that descended at the base of the unit. Overly rambunctious, shrilly seagulls made their way to the abandoned leftovers. They swarmed in chaotic crazy 8’s swooping down, poking with their chiseled beak, diving kamikaze style, pilfering through the remnants.
Directly below us at the street level was a bar/restaurant Lower Deck Seafood Restaurant. The quiet solitude that had followed us throughout each location abruptly ended in this dwelling. The heartbeat thump of rhythmic base, the cadence of carried voices and grating laughter rumbled through the thin aging walls. The décor was akin to Nana Cohen circa 1972. Scratchy couch, sunken cushions, and oddly low hanging paper lantern lamps that Hubs and I continually walked into. They served no purpose I could fathom other than to irritate innocent Airbnb renters.
We got settled and ventured out for dinner. As we made our way down the only 2 streets in the village, we noticed many couples similar to us peering in restaurants, studying menus, and then moving on. We soon were reminded (once again) reservations needed. Now, keep in mind- this was late October, way past the end of season, a weekday-with half-filled dining rooms. Just as we experienced in Glasgow, we leapfrogged from one restaurant to the next only to be turned away. We crisscrossed the other unfortunate couples, all with similar sullen, hungry, desperate discouragement on their faces.
Ready to give up, we made one final attempt at Tianavaig Restaurant. On the one hand we were grateful to find food, but it was not cheap and not particularly good. I had a carrot ginger soup that made me pine for Sallie’s liquid love back at Corrie House. It was not even close. Hubs had some sort of Beef Pie concoction that he moved around, picked apart like a finicky child-his fork poking it with visceral disappointment.
We returned back on a mission-laundry. We were down to nothing clean and had always intended this would be our laundry destination. That machine was definitely put to use, shaking the 200-year-old innards of poor Harborview. With no dryer, our clothes were strown every square inch like a Naples tenement. We certainly took full advantage of the washing machine if nothing else.
The bed situation was unconventional but not a surprise for us. There was a double bed and, in another room, a twin bed. We split up and each took our own room. My queen size body sunk with little protest into the slender bed, so tired I did not care. The windy hurricane gusts registered 47 mph on my weather app, the sheer windowpane whistled, shook, and wheezed throughout the entire night. It was a blustery lullaby vibrating, challenging the integrity of our shelter. A few times, I awoke peering out at the eerie dark harbor. The tide was in various states each time-the water current demonstrating remarkable force, the fishing boats see-sawed back and forth like an energetic rocking horse. In the morning, like a fever dream-I almost felt like I imagined it. The tide returned back to the edge of the seawall; white spray misted over the barrier. There were no signs of last evening’s dramatic water spectacle. Of note, Storm Babet was likely some of the weather we were experiencing. This weather system created a lot of havoc across the UK. Regardless, whether it was Mother Nature or the natural conditions of the Harbor-it was quite the show.
Day 7 Portree Isle of Skye
We allotted 2 full days in Skye because there was so much to see and do. Starting off on this day everything was new and fresh, unknown territory that we had researched extensively. To be able to see it in real life was surreal. The one good thing about Portree is the proximity to all the major geological landmarks. The plan for the day was to loop the Trotternish Pennisula-an 18-mile stretch and the spine of the island. This would be a full day dawn to dusk starting off at Old Man of Storr located on the Trotternish Ridge. It is one of the most popular walks and busiest attractions. It is 55 meters high composed of Basalt Rock remnants from a volcanic plug.
We arrived at the car park and almost immediately a slow, steady drizzle began. For as much preparation we did, we were not dressed as best as we could be. Hikers around us were in rain gear, hiking boots, walking sticks and waterproof hats. Hubs was more appropriate than me, sporting fashion wellies and very little was waterproof (I found out the hard way). The 3.8 km path is all pebble and gravel with trip worthy misshapen rocks all along the route. There are 2 path options, we chose the less steep path. Even at that, it is straight uphill. Friendly, frisky dogs unleashed bypassed us, wagging tails bouncing enthusiastically all the way. My saturated hood of my coat obstructed my view as the weight of the wet fabric hung over my eyes. As we continued to climb higher, the grey sky, biting air and persistent rain wore away at me. I got in my head, irritated with my depleting energy. In the end, we made it about halfway to the 719-meter summit, before we descended our way down.
This day would be a lot of in and out of the car, mud splatters, deep cavernous potholes, and auto negotiation due to single track routes. A fun, friendly camaraderie of waving in gratitude ensued when the approaching car pulled over for right of way. We passed many high-end vans, tour options with someone else, a third party managing the challenging roadways. I had my own personal chauffeur who was becoming quite proficient at these tricky thoroughfares. If you plan on doing this loop, prepare for a long day and know that likely you will not see it all.
We made our way to Lealt Waterfall the site of a former chalk mine. A short boardwalk extends out offering views of the gorge and the waterfall. The weather had deteriorated at this point making the scenery less memorable.
We traveled a little distance from the falls to Kilt Rock a 60-meter cliff that resembles a pleated kilt. From the steep overhang the stunning 55-meters Mealt Waterfall dramatically cascades straight into the Mealt Loch below.
By this time, we grew hungry and swung in The Hungry Gull for lunch. It was a popular place, busy with happy patrons gobbling down hefty portions. The friendly staff there were all smiling and accommodating. I was frozen to the bone with cold and had some hot tasty soup with delicious, perfect golden chips. Hubs had hot chocolate and traditional Fish and Chips. They had many vegan and gluten free specials on the menu as well. This was one of our favorite meals and hit all the right notes in every way.
We got back in the car and continued on the loop. I put on some anthemic Scottish music as we passed resting rams in the sloping emerald, green fields. Next, was the beguiling Quiraing, on the northern tip of the island. This area is the remnants of an ancient landslide. It is full of breathtaking valleys, gorges, and mountainous peaks. We attempted to go on a short walk, but the wind gusts were fierce and ferocious pushing against us as if in a cyclone machine. The panoramic outlook was jaw dropping, awe inspiring, grandeur.
Next, we explored a bit more at Kilmuir Graveyard where the Jacobite’s Rising heroine Flora MacDonalds Grave marker stands tall. The backstory and historical facts are complicated, and I would likely botch them. Fun fact, it has been said at Flora’s funeral in 1790 the 3,000 mourners consumed over 300 gallons of whisky. It has also been suggested that her original mausoleum was chipped away over the years for souvenirs. It was replaced in 1880.
The last place we went was my favorite, but sadly stamina and brain focus were dimming as quickly as the daylight. On the West side of Trotternish, is the enchanting home of the Fairy Glen. It is a series of small round grassy hills with ponds in between. A whimsical mythical series of conical earthworks and mounds are in a low-lying valley all surrounded by hills and cliffs. It is a challenging geographical scene to depict. It has an out of worldly feel to it, paradisiac, magical and transcending.
We walked a path through the illusive constant changing topography. We did not have enough time here, which I deeply regret. I would not be seeing this formidable spectacle phenomenon again.
Running on fumes, but always room in my reserves for shopping, we made it to Uig Pottery. A women run establishment comprised of 8 women all doing what they love. We perused the handmade objects, creative, colorful and all unique. I bought a pair of angels and a few other items exclusive to Skye. We spoke with the owner, a lovely woman who clearly was living her best life-cultivating a niche, a real talent that offers a tangible memory of Scotland.
Returning back to Portree, finding a parking spot was a miserable task. We were yelled at and harassed as we waited for a spot or made an innocent inquiry to a couple in a questionable state of departure. Eventually, we got a premium spot in front of the Airbnb. The housekeeper never came to clean the fridge of death -which was truly no surprise. More laundry ensued as the restaurant below was in high gear, music vibrations shook the walls in sync with the overstuffed washer. We had a light dinner of cheese sandwiches purchased at the local grocery store-the Co-Op. The harbor was active with a turbulent sea spray, the winds were savage. The slapping water upon the sea wall was unrelenting. The same symphony of harbor sounds, window rattling, bopping boats and bipolar tides provided another striking repeat performance as the previous night.
Day 8 Portree Isle of Skye
This day would be our last in Skye and we wanted to take full advantage of it. Today we would be doing an alternate route around the Duirinish Pennisula starting with the Dunvegan Castle-which is the oldest continuously inhabited castle in Scotland and the ancestral home of the Chiefs of Clan Macleod for 800 years.
As we exited the vehicle, a friendly woman approached informing us that the gardens and castle were closed (Reopening April 1, 2024-October 15, 2024). On this day it was October 19. We had missed our window. However, as luck would have it-this one day only it was open to benefit Macmillan Cancer Support, a UK based charity for those who are impacted by cancer. Only the gardens would be accessible this one day only open to explore for Free! Additionally, the coffee shop would be serving cakes and coffee for donation only.
The castle covers ten different building periods from 1200 to the 1850s, with restoration in 1840. It was opened to the public in 1933. The exterior was in various stages of minor repairs due to its current closure, so we spent little time there. With no rain and hardly anyone else there, we leisurely roamed starting with water gardens. Wooden connecting bridges camouflaged into the natural environment above babbling brooks, the steady trickling of a stream, copious species of plants, greenery, flora, and vegetation. A modest waterfall with soothing sounds of gentle water. Each twist and turn in these tranquil gardens offered rapturous glory. Tall slender trees reaching to the skies, sunlight slivered through the lumber appendages of forest. Exotic bamboo next to pastel Hydrangeas, thick bulging tree roots under foot threatening our traction. A greenhouse, toasty and humid held the most precious of all plant life, sheltered from the precarious outside elements.
We moved onto the walled garden, a kaleidoscope of the most vibrant hues, vivid, bold, and perfect. Saffron yellow blooms, punchy pink buds, and periwinkle blossoms-foreign delicate living jewels that sparkle in their own right. Meticulously trimmed French gardens outline a Zenlike fountain with the placid steady tempo of the water. As we finished rain drops began to fall. We went to the coffee shop Macleod Tables Cafe. As mentioned earlier everything was donation-which we gladly contributed. What we did not know was everything was high quality beautiful cakes, pastries, barista style coffee even vegan and gluten free pastry chef level desserts. We sat down, friendly chitter chatter around us-sweet treats, a great cause, and an afternoon of free visual delights.
Back in the car the path we challenged deep and deceptive potholes, ultrathin hold your breath, clutch the sides, kind of narrow roads. Sheep voyaged into the street, mindless, munching on grass with no interest in headlights or a distracted tourist. Hopscotching vehicles, scooching from one pull-off to the next we made our way to Neist Point Lighthouse, built in 1900 and one of the most famous lighthouses in Scotland it sits on the most Westerly tip of Skye.
Emerging from the car, the wind gusts were hurricane strength, practically pushing us over. As we stood close to a cliff, this was somewhat concerning. On the website it says it is an “easy walk”. This was not the impression we had as our car door flung open, the tornado intensity bristling through us. There was no way we would see the lighthouse. We came, we saw, we failed.
We made a spontaneous decision as the sky grew dark and the rain started. We headed to Talisker Distillery. Neither one of us drinks liquor nor has any interest in single malt whiskey- so it is curious why we thought this would be an activity we would enjoy.
The weather continued to deteriorate. We pulled over and realized we were at the Fairy Pools small waterfalls and swimming holes. Known for their pristine turquoise sublime waters-this would not be the day we would see this phenomenon. With full darkness approaching, rain, wind and cold-we chose to abandon this.
As we exited, we could not help but notice the Cuillin Mountain Range, among the steepest in the UK. From our viewpoint, it looked like rust colored velvet. Smooth, sloped earth with nothing but high elevation, and copper terrain. I am certain there is more to this area, but our time was short, distant, and fleeting. We made our way back to Portree, more laundry, soup and a sandwich and howling winds as our night in Skye came to a close.
Day 9 Highlands-Cairngorms National Park
This morning we headed out, leaving old Harborview-our stinky Airbnb. Portree served as a convenient starting off spot. It was unfortunate we did not get to really fully absorb the Portree vibe. In fact, we only went to the grocery store and one meal, which was mediocre at best. There was some disappointment as well within the residence. One good thing about disappointment is one appreciates the good fortunes that much more. It did not help matters we were coming from a place of ultra-opulence and amenities. It does not take much to impress me or keep me content, complimentary tea bags, a hot shower, a comfy bed, fluffy towels all will satisfy me wholly. Portree was purposeful and allowed us to see everything on our list, do our wash, and indulge in some privacy. No obligational breakfast times, no shoe wearing shame, etc… I realize I come off harsh on this evaluation. If I could offer one improvement recommendation it would be fumigate the fridge. Nonetheless, Skye was a majestic paradise that surpassed every expectation.
Driving to our next destination, the towering tawny mountains of the imposing Red Cuillins stretched in front of us like the primordial pyramids. The luminescence of the lustrousness Loch Ailort glimmered in pictorial unity. We listened intently to a satanic Steven King audio book- Holly about gruesome and diabolical murder. The absurd paradox of extreme beauty verses the grim dark tale left us bizarrely and curiously unaffected. As we approached the Highlands, the halfway point we entered the small town of Strathcarron. We pulled over for a brief hot coffee and a vital stretch of the legs at the quaint Strathcarron Hotel. This would be the exact place Hubs lost his fine, brown hat. I must credit him for the 9 days he had it. As a loser of all items not attached to him, we can add this to the list of the misplaced: camera case, jackets, gloves, phones, and more…And, although the hat was sacrificed the break was quick and necessary.
Next, we made it to the big city of Inverness-the capital of the Highlands. After being surrounded the last several days by incredible rapture, the muted tones of the urban center, the loud street noise and the hustle bustle of downtown were a palate cleanser for my sheltered world. Needing some nutritional fuel, we impulsively slid into the unassuming Red Pepper. We slurped hot soup and a light sandwich. Later, this would be a regretful decision that left me incapacitated for an entire evening. Heading back we passed the famous Inverness Cathedral-just a nod and acknowledgement before we continued onto our B&B. Sadly, the food poisoning hellscape I endured is all I can recall from our time in Inverness.
We drove entering the Cairngorms National Park-the largest of UK’s national parks, in the heart of Scotland. It is made up of countryside, mountains, nature reserves, wildlife, lochs, and forests. My gut protested confinement and I cursed the Red Pepper folks. Eventually, we made it to Crubenbeg Country House. Debilitated by my situation, I fled straight to our room. I instituted a nothing by mouth moratorium this evening, resetting my tenacious internal homeostasis. Annie, the host invited me into the shared guest space, the cardinal blaze of the fireplace provided a calming convalescence.
The cozy home, relaxing setting and Annie’s easy-going nature accelerated my recuperation. She offered to make Hubs hot soup as our dinner reservations had to be cancelled. Hubs joined me by the fire, enjoying vegetable soup while we took in Annie’s interesting array of collectibles. A piano displayed with keepsakes and mementos representing Annie’s life and loves. After some fireside chit chat, we returned to the room for sleep. The room was just as welcoming as the rest of her home. Our windows looked out to the expansive Spey Valley. Dreamy cushiony chairs and an equally blissful cocoon of a bed created a sleep rhapsody.
Day 10 Cairngorms National Park
Waking up, the tumultuous tummy from last night seemed to be fully fixed. Annie had a vegan breakfast waiting for me including what became my soon to be favorite-Vegetarian Haggis composed of oats, barley, and veggies. Hubs went a more traditional route with home cooked eggs all made by Annie herself. Her genuine concern for our needs was heartwarming. We noshed our yummies in the ornate dining room, watching eager birds compete at a popular bird feeder.
It was 36 degrees, rainy and an all-around unpleasant weather day. We sat at the table uneager to tackle the elements and conversed with Annie over an hour. I can’t recall the last time I was that engaged in a discussion, with no obligations pecking at my brain.
The cold and rain eliminated a lot of what was planned on this day. The property is isolated and sits at the base of the Falls of Truim. We drove into the small village of Newtonmore, which consisted of 1 street. We warmed up with some tea and coffee at Antlers Cafe. We attempted to go to the Highland Folk Museum, an open-air museum that takes you through life in the Highlands from the 1700’s to the 1950’s. But the weather was not favorable for this type of activity. We made an impromptu visit to the Dalwhinnie Distillery. This time we made it to the entrance. But, at 17 pounds a person and a 2 hour wait, we passed on this. We perused the overpriced goods in the gift shop and decided to call it quits-deeming it a take it easy rest day.
Back at the B&B we relaxed. The constant drizzle never stopped and the cold penetrated through to my bones. For dinner Annie had made us a reservation in the village. At the Balavil Hotel we ate well, I enjoyed a Leek Potato soup providing me with much needed warmth and a forgettable barely consumed salad. Hubs had a fried brie appetizer and a chicken pot pie. One thing we observed was no matter where we were from Glasgow to the Highlands, all restaurants had many similar meal options with little variance. It was interesting that no matter where the restaurant fell on the spectrum of 1 star to high end-the consistency of variety was a common theme. Hubs had sampled every possible option, except the Haggis-meat pudding made from leftover sheep heart, liver and lungs (that is a solid No Thank you for me).
A frightening swervey drive home, in the unknown darkness, missing a turn, with cars right on our rear turned the 5-minute travel into 15. Satiated, the persistent pitter patter of rain lulled us to sleep ending this day.
Day 11 Cairngorms National Park
Today would be our last full day in Cairngorms. We awoke to bright sunshine, no signs of rain. Annie greeted us with another tasty breakfast. As we ate, Annie helped us arrange our day. Peppered into the discussion was the history of Crubenbeg and some touching stories. The breakfast conversations were very special to us, and Annie left a place in our heart. She provided us with suggestions for our day which helped formulate a solid plan.
We drove to Glenmore Forest Park-on the way we spotted snow peaked mountain tops. We parked and studied the map extensively, choosing an easy 2-mile trail. The path snaked around the lapping water from Loch Morlich serving as the soundtrack, breaking up pockets of complete silence. Off in the distance, brave canoes and sailboats floated serenely. The smell of earthy forest, evergreens and dampness permeated the crisp cold air. We danced around sneaky knotty roots, embedded vines, and spindly pinecone needles. For the majority of the walk, we were completely alone. When we did run into someone, it was friendly families, smiling couples and enthusiastic dogs. The strong sun warmed our exposed vulnerable noses. We sat on a bench cherishing the last final moments.
Annie had recommended Boat of Garten specifically the 1896 Gallery -a space dedicated to Scottish landscapes and Scottish artists. However, the gallery was closed. We walked around the area; a country club and active steam train rail was mostly what we noticed. We could not figure out what more there was to do, so we moved on from this due to our time limitations.
We continued onto the touristy town of Aviemore. We hopped in and out the stores, all selling the same items. It was crowded and uninspired. It was everything we had successfully avoided for 11 days. After hitting all the shops and managing not to purchase anything, we decided our day had come to an end. Annie had shared with us a dinner choice. Newtonmore Grill also known as the “truck stop” where the real locals eat. I don’t know how to say this nicely-this place was a complete dump. Hubs had a “burger” the meat was totally in question. Little effort was made in taste, quality, or presentation. Reflecting back even now, several weeks later, I cringe that we chose this as a viable meal option.
The rain came back just as we returned to the B&B to start packing. We enjoyed our last night at Crubenbeg knowing the long journey home begins in the morning. The white radiant glow of the potent stars blanketed the vast milky way filling the ebony sky-a beloved parting goodbye.
Day 12 Return to Glasgow
Today was our final day on this whirlwind Scottish excursion. Saying goodbye to Annie was bittersweet. This kind soul had taken care of us for 3 days. In my world where I do most of the caretaking, I do not take this for granted. She also had seen me at one of my physical worsts. For all that and more, we would miss our new friend for life. We also knew that as special as Crubenbeg was that we would likely not be in a position to ever return. So, our farewell was a heartfelt long hug. The weather was the coldest it had been but also the driest with the sun powerful and bright. Annie’s parting gift to us was suggesting a stellar agenda for our last day.
We would be returning back to Glasgow this evening staying wisely next to the airport for an early morning flight. Anything on this day would be a bonus because technically our focus was now centered on the long journey home. We ventured out about 30 minutes to Blair Castle-located in Pitlochry, Perthshire, home of the Atholl Family for over 7 centuries. The chalky-white austere structure goes back 750 years. Pewter turrets break up the outer simplicity of the modest estate.
Entering the grounds, the distinctive nasally sounds of bag pipes could be heard. As we grew closer, a true Scotsman in a traditional kilt came into frame-the creator of this Scottish pride piping out the courtyard. Stoic and proud, he blared out his bag pipe melodic harmonies. Inside were 30 rooms decorated in Scots Baronial architecture.
Interesting descriptions provided a thorough explanation of life during the golden years of the castle. We wondered out to the 9-acre Hercules Walled Gardens. We took a leisurely stroll around the 1-mile perimeter including a section dedicated to 18th century sculptures. These grounds also serve as the celebratory annual Highland Games.
We sat on a bench overlooking the immense green field, fluffy sheep dotted the turf in various stages of contentment. Unsure if it was 1 minute or 1 hour that passed, time was irrelevant. I let the sun shine down on my face in gratitude for my time in Scotland, for a flawless trip with my beloved that exceeded my hopes in every way.
We drove just a little more until we hit the thriving village of Pitlochry-this whole day formulated by Annie’s brilliance. This was just a quick pause for lunch, and we randomly chose the first place we saw-The Old Mill Inn. The restaurant part of a hotel fairly new had an old-world charm to it as it is a former gristmill from the 18th century.
The menu was the first unique one we saw with a variety of options other than the usual Fish & Chips fare we had seen everywhere. This meal, our last would be my favorite. I had toast with savory mushrooms and gruyere cheese. Hubs had an equally scrumptious meal of mushroom risotto. It was the perfect note to end on. We were parked in 1 hour parking, so sadly we had to hustle out of there. It was an interesting area that I wish I could have explored more.
Back on the road, making good time we were Glasgow bound to return the rental car. We were almost at the end of our Steven King thriller engrossed deeply in the plot. We came to a dead stop in traffic on a 2-lane highway. We waited idle not moving for over an hour. Our vacation was officially over. After an hour the backup-due to poor road construction, began to move. We made it to the closed and locked Avis in the dark and rain-a much different scenario and feeling than a week ago with pick up. We summoned an Uber to take us to our final place Holiday Inn Express Glasgow Airport Hotel. The location could not be more ideal as it was steps from the terminal. With an early flight, we packed and passed out preparing for the dreaded reentry back to reality.
As I pieced together our Scottish Escape over the last 3 weeks, I got to relive it all. I did my best to embrace each experience, be present and treasure every moment. It was challenging as I negotiated the past, present, and future as I initiated the blog midway.
Our time in Scotland was a dream. Glasgow was surprising delight and more than I ever anticipated. It is a user-friendly city, proud of its culture and represents its pride. Lovely parks, good restaurants, amazing art, and friendly people. Craobhhaven was an oddity in contrast of old and new with ancient Kilmartin and burial cairns next to the modern grace of Corrie House. Staring out at the stars our solo evening there was a spiritual moment for me. Gazing out at the Corryvreckan Whirlpool and the endless sea made me aware of my small impact on this great big planet. And, then there was Skye…. An out of worldly geographical Dr. Seuss bag of tricks. The waterfalls, the cliffs, the fairy references-it is a magical concoction of wonderment. The Portree bipolar tides and the eerie supernatural rhythmic wind gusts. And then the Cairngorms. The downtime was a luxury that we certainly took advantage of. The quiet, solitude and nature was healing and restorative. The day of rain forced us to indulge in much needed rest.
Lastly, what really made this trip different than others was the B&B culture. From Lorrain at 15 Glasgow to Richard at Kilmartin Hotel and Roger and Sallie at Corrie House and lovely Annie at Crubenbeg Country House-we were treated so kindly, fed so well, given great recommendations and shown Scotland in the most beautiful way. I am not sure if another Scotland Escape is in our future, but the people, places and beauty will always remain in my heart.
See you next time-February 2024 in Paris!
Love B&F~
B&F’s Scotland Top 10
10. Watching Rugby in Kilmartin Pub
9. Necropolis Cemetery
8. High Tea at Hidden Lane Tearoom
7. Guru Walks Glasgow Walking Tour/Ian
6. Inveraray Castle/walk wool sweater purchase
5. Akbar’s Indian Dinner and unbelievable Naan
4. Kelvingrove Museum Art/Free organ concert
3. Dunvegan Castle Gardens (and delicious pastries)
2. Isle of Skye Man of Storr Hike/Quiraing, Views
1. The Corrie House, Mull, view of surrounding islands
A Girl Her Hubs and a Suitcase 