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Home again, home again, lickety spit
Well that was a weekend and a half. For those of you not following me on Twitter (and all such are obviously luddites and oafs, and must henceforth pop off to michael_mooney and follow me) I've been bopping about the West Coast with my son and heir to my debts.
I'll update properly later, but in short:
Saturday morning, drove to Oban, hopped a ferry to Craignure on Mull, drove to Tobermory via Calgary beach, had a scallop supper, hopped a ferry to Kilchoan in Ardnamurchan, visited my favourite spot in the entire world (which delighted me, after 12 years, by being just as beautiful as I hold it in my dreams) then camped in Kilchoan. Where I almost froze my nose off, and S&H was driven to sleep in the car by what, from the sound of it, was a rogue Walrus which had wandered the fifty yards from the beach and started snoring in our tent.
The next morning we went back to the beach for a while, then drove the length of Ardnamurchan and up the Road to the Isles (as fabled in song and story) to Mallaig and the ferry to Skye. Mallaig has as little to recommend it as ever, but taking the ferry is much more romantic than driving over the bridge to Skye. We made it halfway to Portreee, and camped at the foot of the Cullins, by an extremely nice hotel. This time I protected my nose with a wooly hat I bought in Tobermory. S&H was driven from the tent by the unearthly snorts of what I can only imagine was some Cullin-bred offshoot of the Abominable Snowman family.
Next morning we drove up and over the north of Skye, and back down to Uig, where we caught the ferry to Tarbert on the Isle of Harris. There we encountered the sort of beach that should only exist in extensively retouched photos in tourist brochures. Literally (and littoraly) miles of empty, golden sands, framed by mountains, with only the seagulls for company (this is a lie, actually. At one point I counted 24 people strung out over three or four miles).
We knew we had to catch a ferry from Stornoway in Lewis the next day, so instead of taking a chance on a possibly apocryphal camp site in Harris, we headed to Stornoway, and camped in a pretty pedestrian site just off the town centre. We had an unexpectedly lovely Thai meal in town, then returned to watch the Snowman of the Cullins defeat a bewhiskered walrus in a three round knock down fight. S&H slept in the car again, presumably because he's grown to like it.
This morning we did a little exploring in Lewis, then took that ferry to Ullapool, somewhere I've never been. On our brief visit, it looks as if it deserves a return. We then made the 210 miles back to Glasgow in a little under four hours.
I'm now bathed, shaved, and have a glass of whisky and a warm girlfriend by my side.
S&H and I didn't murder each other, the car stood up to about 1,000 miles of driving in five days (or will have, once he returns to middle-England), and all in all as well as being a fantastic weekend it has been a good proof of concept for August. When we intend to drive to Morocco together.
Life, me old chums, could be worse.
I'll update properly later, but in short:
Saturday morning, drove to Oban, hopped a ferry to Craignure on Mull, drove to Tobermory via Calgary beach, had a scallop supper, hopped a ferry to Kilchoan in Ardnamurchan, visited my favourite spot in the entire world (which delighted me, after 12 years, by being just as beautiful as I hold it in my dreams) then camped in Kilchoan. Where I almost froze my nose off, and S&H was driven to sleep in the car by what, from the sound of it, was a rogue Walrus which had wandered the fifty yards from the beach and started snoring in our tent.
The next morning we went back to the beach for a while, then drove the length of Ardnamurchan and up the Road to the Isles (as fabled in song and story) to Mallaig and the ferry to Skye. Mallaig has as little to recommend it as ever, but taking the ferry is much more romantic than driving over the bridge to Skye. We made it halfway to Portreee, and camped at the foot of the Cullins, by an extremely nice hotel. This time I protected my nose with a wooly hat I bought in Tobermory. S&H was driven from the tent by the unearthly snorts of what I can only imagine was some Cullin-bred offshoot of the Abominable Snowman family.
Next morning we drove up and over the north of Skye, and back down to Uig, where we caught the ferry to Tarbert on the Isle of Harris. There we encountered the sort of beach that should only exist in extensively retouched photos in tourist brochures. Literally (and littoraly) miles of empty, golden sands, framed by mountains, with only the seagulls for company (this is a lie, actually. At one point I counted 24 people strung out over three or four miles).
We knew we had to catch a ferry from Stornoway in Lewis the next day, so instead of taking a chance on a possibly apocryphal camp site in Harris, we headed to Stornoway, and camped in a pretty pedestrian site just off the town centre. We had an unexpectedly lovely Thai meal in town, then returned to watch the Snowman of the Cullins defeat a bewhiskered walrus in a three round knock down fight. S&H slept in the car again, presumably because he's grown to like it.
This morning we did a little exploring in Lewis, then took that ferry to Ullapool, somewhere I've never been. On our brief visit, it looks as if it deserves a return. We then made the 210 miles back to Glasgow in a little under four hours.
I'm now bathed, shaved, and have a glass of whisky and a warm girlfriend by my side.
S&H and I didn't murder each other, the car stood up to about 1,000 miles of driving in five days (or will have, once he returns to middle-England), and all in all as well as being a fantastic weekend it has been a good proof of concept for August. When we intend to drive to Morocco together.
Life, me old chums, could be worse.
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Also, was the rather nice hotel the Sligachan? I had a *fab* night there once with a friend. The pudding trolley came around and we were so full we couldn't try everything, so the waitress beamed, told us she'd put a couple of Sligachan creams (cream, yoghurt, whiskey and oats) aside for us for breakfast, sent us off to our room with a plateful of chocolate covered peppermint creams and in between gave us a sample of everything on the trolley... Om nom. We literally rolled back to our room.
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Yes, it was the Sligachan - I had ham stovies, won a free game on the pinball machine, and may have spent £20 on one (very good) dram of Talisker.
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http://edition.cnn.com/2009/TECH/04/13/twitter.worm/index.html
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The Sligachan Hotel! I remember that campsite. I hope you played The Portree Kid as you drove along.
My grandfather was from Stornoway, but I've never made it back yet.
Have you never been north of Ullapool? That's another trip you need to make. Lochinver and the Inverpolly reserve.
We spent a few holidays up near Gareloch, some years ago. That's yet another very beautiful place.
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I've been further north on the East Coast - up to Wick and Orkney, but never in the West. Maybe someday.
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Excuse me?
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Glad to hear you had a good time, though. Did the Walrus and Abominable Snowman happen to follow you home, perchance?
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