the Highlands, 4

Well that was... thrilling, in a white knuckle sort of way. Entirely my fault. I wanted to do it, or at least I thought I should. Before I dive into the details, let me say this: I am not moving anywhere that requires powered locomotion for the next three days. Staying put, no matter what. Beautiful hikes just a short drive away? Nope, not tempted. Magnificent gardens on the Isle of Skye, a mere hour and 43 minutes down mountain roads? Not tempted. I am staying put.

Here's the thing: I am not the only one that often chooses overnights based on the sleeping possibilities in the area. Every single person at Lundies said the same thing: they were in Tongue because this is where Lundies House was situated. The scenery? It's great everywhere. Hilkes? Bike rides? Sky's the limit in Scotland. But interesting inns are rare. As one guy from Belgium said to another visitor who was actually from Edinburgh -- we have a hard time finding nice country inns in Scotland. I though there might erupt a fist fight, but it was all very genteel and proper and I deftly switched the topic of conversation to something innocuous like the weather, but the fact is, the Belgian guy was right. Many of the inns here are very old school. You know, with deer heads in whiskey bars downstairs. (I am at the moment staying in just such a place.) When I searched for an inn for my second half of the week, my criteria were so simple!  Not too long a drive please, and someplace with a cool set of rooms. (Price matters too, of course, so I wouldn't, say, pick the Castle of Mey -- the royal residence on the northern coast that also lets out rooms. Too posh for a state employee's retirement pension.) I might add that I do also avoid places that are trashed on Tripadvisor, but that goes without saying. Rare is the chump who will go to a hotel that cannot even eek out a fourth star for cleanliness.

In the end, for the next three nights, I chose to book a room at the Torridon. It's technically still along the "NC500," though it's on the far western edge of it. [I hadn't told you that Scotland affectionately labeled the route along the northern coast as the North Coast 500 (or simply NC500), in an attempt to get people interested in making the 500 mile journey along the remote coastal roads here.] It's the rare inn that is beloved by many, and doesn't overdo it in terms of fussiness and antiquity. Yes to deer on the living room walls, but the bedrooms are actually comfortably modern.

(at the Torridon)

 

Here's the issue: you can get from Tongue to the Torridon in just a smidge over three hours, but to do this, you have to follow the single track road from Tongue that cuts through the center of the Highlands (the same one I came up on from Inverness). Eventually, you veer off west to rejoin the coast in Torridon. I really hesitated on this one: sure, there was that hateful single-track, but it's the shortest route. But the big reason to not go that way was that I would have technically missed nearly the entire NC500. There would have been no coastal scenery, no mountains sloping toward the waterfront, no remote shore hamlets to admire and maybe pause in. If I'm going to do this trip right, I should follow the coast all the way down to Torridon. Google tells me it will take me maybe four hours and twenty minutes to do it (it's 165 miles). And three days into my stay in Scotland, I feel like one does after just giving birth: you forgot the horror of the experience and you're ready for the second one. 

I talked to others who came up the coast from the west. No one had anything good to say about the fact that the single-track road extends across nearly seventy miles. The stretch I did from Inverness had been only thirty-five miles and I hated every slow minute of it. Why did I think I could possibly love twice that amount?

Of course, you will tell me -- it's silly to fret. Everyone emerges fine in the end. No they don't! Along that same road, just a few miles outside of Tongue, John Lennon crashed his car into a ditch (with Yoko and their two kids in it). He panicked when he saw a car suddenly coming at him. Too, I saw two rather wider cars today, using the "passing lump" to avoid each other and managing to take off the side mirrors of their cars because there just wasn't enough room. And I saw another car being towed away, its sides smashed in.

What I hate most about these roads is not only the sudden stops that you're forced to make as you catch sight of a car coming at you around the bend, but also the narrowness of the pavement and the total lack of a soft shoulder. You have asphalt and then it drops down a couple of inches to some rocky ground to the side. So that unless you stay absolutely to the center of this thin wisp of asphalt, you're going to get that sudden bump down and scrape of the wheel against the asphalt edge, leaving you panicked that you're soon going to get a flat. (That sudden bump down happened to me twice coming in from Inverness and twice coming to Torridon, so I guess I'm getting better, because the distance was that much longer! In the US, we are spoiled with wide lanes. In Scotland, single-tracks are so minimalist that you'd think asphalt was gold and they were desperately trying to economize.)

Well, now you know where this story is heading. Let me roll it back to early morning and my departure. One last view out my window at Lundies...

One last breakfast with the Dutch, the Belgians, the Scots and the Californians. 

(egg, potato, mushroom and broccoli for me...)

Lots of good byes to the wonderful, awesome staff -- perhaps the only place I ever stayed in where not only everyone knew my name, but I knew theirs -- Tracey, Becks, Emilia, Marcello -- such fabulous people!

And I am off. 

 

I told myself I would do this drive in a leisurely way. There is no rush. I would pull over, maybe walk a beach or two. I made notes of things to see along the way.

And I did stop. Occasionally. And I did get out. Rarely. Mostly I was in a hurry to get back in and get this drive over with.

I left at 10:30, and I pulled into the Torridon at 4, though I did pause in Ullapool for about a half hour.

You are absolutely going to have to put up with pictures from this road trip! I am not going to economize on those! I paid in sweat for every stop I made! 

(misty and windy start to the day: leaving Ben Loyal behind)

(desolate indeed)

(Ben Hope, below, is the highest peak, or Munro, of the northern Highlands)

(sometimes off the road, sometimes on the road...)

(nice cove... I'm not pausing!)

(pretty beach: quick look only...)

(there's a lot of Viking lore in these parts of Scotland. I did stop to read a tablet about this history...)

Thankfully, the single-track now widens to a regular old road. Oh, the luxury of having a whole lane to yourself!!

(Ruins of Ardvreck Castle, dating back to about 1490 -- built on the lands owned by the Macleod Clan)

(And now I drive down into Ullapool)

Ullapool is the largest and most visited village (pop 1500) along the northwest coast. This day is bizarrely sunny up here and, too, it is Sunday, and it's summer. This brings out the locals and tourists alike and yet Ullapool feels very, very calm. [Though would you believe it -- every couple of weeks, a huge cruise ship will pull into the channel here, because the water is that deep. They ferry passengers by small boats to the shore.]

I park the car and walk along the main street by the shore. It's lovely in a simple sort of way. There are a couple of shops, fish and chips stores, a place to get coffee, or a beer. Believe me, I choose coffee.

There's a very nice explanation plaque by the shore, telling us how this is where the land buckled forming huge mountains when England pushed against Scotland some 430 million years ago. It gives you pause. The mountains, once the size of the Alps, have, of course, been whittled down over time...

 

 

 

And then it was time to resume the journey. For a short while, it remains a normal road.

And then, in the last eleven miles it is again a single-track and this is why I am not leaving for the next three days -- the track was the narrowest of them all. I'll go out on  Wednesday -- day of departure -- but not before then.

As I've already noted, The Torridon is a more traditional place -- very Scottish looking, inside and out.

(on the approach)

It's larger: 18 rooms in all. And it feels more sedate. At Lundies, I talked nearly everyone into doing the bike loop around the Kyle. Young and old. Here? Um, I think not. I wont say it's a more stodgy clientele -- what do I know about the guests, after all -- it just seems a little less energetic. Like, the type of place you'd go to when you want to sample some of the Highland life from sitting by the window and looking at it. Which, by the way, I can do because this is my wee room...

... and this is my view: a field of buttercups, Highland cattle in the distance, Torridon, the village on the other shore.

Ironically, it has hiking trails that start right from the property (Lundies House did not have that). Nonetheless, I get the feeling that most aren't gearing up to do the ten-mile trail up the mountain. And maybe I wont either. Rain tomorrow? Bring it on. I wont care. The chairs are awfully comfortable.

Thankfully I booked all three dinners at the lesser restaurant here. They do have a fine dining place and some people come here for that meal alone, but I'm saving money. My eatery is in an adjacent building. It's called Bo & Muc Brasserie. Sounds good to me. I pick West Coast mackerel for an app and Argyll sea trout for a main.

(the mackerel)

And it's good. And a bit of a relief to be with a menu again. Lundies House has you eating four courses with a set menu. That was a lot of eating! (On the flip side, Lundies House pushed you to sporty activities rather than placing comfy armchairs in your room facing windows.)

Evening. I take a brief walk through the forest. For the fragrance of it. For the beauty of it after a long day. For that feeling of being in the Highlands. 

And I have to admit -- I dont think I've ever walked a more magnificent Scottish forest. 

 

 

 

What can I say the coastal spots of this country are, to me, magic. 

With love...