The questions always arise, most often by a look that suggests rather than a direct inquiry. Why do we travel? How in the world did we pick a destination?
We travel out of curiosity, a recognition that despite our privileged existence we are so ignorant of the world, its people, its geography, its cultures, its prospects for broadening our vistas. We choose where we go haphazardly, often on whims but always based on some objective. And, so it was with Scotland.
And, so we came to Scotland to spend time with Sarah and Scott, to drink whiskey in quantities that were unreasonable, to see two major cities, and to drive the NC500, an iconic road journey from Inverness up around the tip of the island and then down to the Isle of Skye and back to Inverness.
We arrived in Edinburgh, exhausted, hungry, and curious. We checked into the Grassmarket Hotel in the heart of the old city and made our way to a next door pub where Irish music was the order of the evening, Celtic music so foreign to our ears and yet so approachable as an expression of an ancient culture. The atmosphere was casual and loud with a lot of young people sharing music, conversation, and tall glasses of pale colored ale. We dined on Irish sausages, mash, a large slab of cabbage, and gravy.
Haggis is a savory concoction consisting of sheep’s “pluck” (its heart, liver, and lungs) combined with suet, onion, oatmeal, seasonings and gravy. Traditionally, it was cooked in an intestine tube but today it might be encased in an artificial covering or not. It is said that it can be very satisfying washed down with a good slug of Scotch. I have approached this cautiously, skeptical that anything that must be washed down with whiskey is in fact edible. And, thus far, I can attest that the version I consumed did indeed benefit from the addition of goodly quaffs of anything alcoholic.
Edinburgh is charming and interesting although over run by tourists, huskers (typically bag pipers playing Amazing Grace), souvenir shops, and endless shops that sell whiskey and its accoutrements. We spent the better part of our first day touring the magnificent Castle that dominates the city, trying to comprehend its long, tangled history, and visiting St. Giles Cathedral.
Scott and Sarah joined us later in the day, and we dined on sausages, mash, and large carrots with the tops intact. Fish and chips is another big option, confirming my long held belief that the essential diet of people living in the UK is basic.
On the following day we gathered in a large establishment for an introductory lesson on whiskey, how it’s made, how to drink it, and what to look for when considering a purchase. We learned a good deal, and we left with several bottles at attractive prices.
We boarded a train after two days in Edinburgh that bore us north to Aviemore passing through miles of open country, some dotted with rape seed crops in full yellow bloom. The further north we travelled, the fewer trees we saw, a precursor to what we can expect in the Highlands. Aviemore lies near the River Spey, one of the largest and fastest moving rivers in Scotland. It is also home to a large number of whiskey distilleries. On the morrow, we began a several day assault by foot along the river, moving from town to town and from distillery to distillery. While water and a decent first aid kit was essential, it seemed to be understood that becoming closely aligned with the various whiskeys that would encounter along the way was an essential part of our journey.
After a leisurely morning, a partly cloudy and somewhat windy morning greeted us on our first day of trekking. We spent the next several hours making our way generally north east along a well developed trail that is used extensively by mountain bikers, runners, local people out for a walk, and people like us. The terrain was easy, and our surroundings were quite beautiful, consisting of several varieties of evergreen, scotch broom, gorse, heather, and birch. There were a lot of birds and a few deer. Nearby, the occasional antique steam engine puffed its way along bearing tourists.
We were in Scotland and so an occasional nip seemed appropriate. Marsha and I came prepared with a small flask, while Scott and Sarah produced one large enough to hold about one and one half liters. While shaped appropriately, it hardly met the definition of a hip flask.
We had yet to see the River Spey, and we wouldn’t encounter a distillery for another day or two, a deficit overcome with advanced planning that included sufficient quantities of that golden liquid that was so elemental to our surroundings.
We rose to another day of clouds, some sunshine, a bit of wind, and temperatures in the low 60s. It was ideal for another stroll along Speyside Way. Boat of Garten, with its name that is quintessential, is a tiny community of less than 1,000 people devoted to people who come for recreation or to visit distilleries. It charming, surrounded by woodlands and ponds, its citizens clearly devoted to the environment. Adjacent to our accommodations was a station for a steam driven locomotive.
The steam engine operates along the Strathspey Railway, an historic route that runs approximately 20 miles. As we were about to depart, theengine arrived pulling several old cars to take on water under a large hose connected to a water tank that tipped out over the engine. All that was missing was Racquel Welch. We watched them take on water, shovel coal into the furnace, and manipulate dials and levers to move the engine and its cars down the railway.
Our hike was through forest that is ancient, its understory consisting of moss and lichen covered stones and stumps, small shrubs, Scotch Broom, and the occasional tiny wild flower. We encountered numerous bikers, many on e-bikes.
The area is renowned for osprey that were extinct at the beginning of the 20th century but have managed to begin again over the past 50 years or so. We had a brief glimpse of one and heard several.
We arrived mid-afternoon in Nethy Bridge where we had a bit of trouble finding adequate beer. Marsha and I became safely ensconced in a room designed for disabled adults with a toilet that that refused to flush. We dined across the way on mince and tatties, a concoction of bits of beef, potatoes, and vegetables touted to be a house specialty. I was unimpressed.
Scotland