The Highland Tour - Part I

the Foretaste:

Before embarking on our five day highland adventure, I took twin sis a few miles south of Aberdeen for her first taste of Scottish sights. Stonehaven is a favourite spot of mine and Dean's and I figured Di would be equally enchanted. I'm pretty sure she was, though she was also quite pleased to expand the reach of her non-profit organization, Donuts Without Borders.




Day 1 - Heading West:

From Aberdeen, to Dundee, Perth and straight across to the western shores of Oban, Dean and I both got our first shot at driving lefty. Our little VW Golf purred along in spite of a few run-ins with the curb and all in all we learned quickly and made nice with many a narrow road. Plus, we saw some pretty things along the way.





We found Oban in the midst of an early winter and it began to dawn on us that we mayn't have dressed fittingly for the next leg of our journey. This became totally clear once off the ferry and onto the Isle of Mull—when we discovered that our "hostel-like Shieling accomoation" was actually nothing more than a tent with a tile floor.




So what do you do on a freezing stormy night on Mull when you have only a canvas jacket to keep you warm? You find the nearest/only pub and enjoy a few pints and steamy cheese-laden pepperoni pizza. If you're really lucky, you may even sing along to the Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond.

Day 2 - Island Mishaps

Shielings are only warm if you squish 2 people and 6 blankets on one miniscule bed, so while we Regiers woke up toasty, Dianna had to be resuscitated. When we arrived at the bus station at 10am, we were 1.5 hours late for the only public bus to Iona, so we had to reevaluate our plans for the day and opted to bus to the northern tip of Mull, Tobermory and see what it had to offer. Turns out not much, but it did manage to catch a speck of the sunshine which seems to be eluding the rest of Scotland.


Back at the ferry terminal the storm was still raging. We joined the long line of tourists whose serene, blessed faces revealed that THEY didn't miss the bus to Iona. We pushed and squeezed our way onto the CalMac ferry out of the rain (who's serene now, suckers?) and somehow lost Dianna in the mayhem.

We combed the boat and after an extensive search found her on the lower deck looking sheepish. Turns out she'd be conducting a similar search for us and, thanks to the rain, managed to lose her footing at the top of a set of metal stairs and tumble down the entire flight, saved from a head injury thanks only to her backpack.

Tired, wet, and bruised, we pressed onward to the next destination, Fort William, the Whistler of Scotland, home to the nation's highest peak, Ben Nevis. Imagine our relief to discover the B&B we booked looked like this:


and had a view like this:


The beds were hard and springy, but the classic mid-century furniture in this converted rectory and choir school house more than compensated.