the Highlands

The term Scottish Highlands refers to a vast area of Scotland, covering the northwestern third of the country. Mountains dominate, inhabitants are few. In fact, it's among the least densely populated areas in Europe -- 8 people per square kilometer. Culturally, it is a world apart from everything else. Traditionally Gaelic, with a modern language that is English, but a Scottish English. With Gaelic overtones. Many will say that the Highlands are closer in character to Ireland than to Great Britain. Though the region is more rugged, mountainous, isolated.

Probably for reasons of geographic convenience, the islands off the western coast of Scotland (including my beloved Islay and the awesome Skye) are also included in the Highland designation, but honestly, they seem to me to be removed and in a universe of their own. 

Ed and I did a hike that cut right through the Highlands: from Fort William in the west, to Inverness along the eastern coast. It was magnificent! Along Loch Ness. It took five days as I recall. We pitched a tent (Scotland has a law -- Free to Roam; you can pitch your tent just about anywhere), except when the rains came and I begged for a dry room. At night, we picked off sheep tics from our tired limbs by the light of a falshlight. We learned that where there are sheep, there will be tics. We were so much younger then! (The year? 2009.) Me, a mere 56, Ed also still in his fifties. The hike seemed remote, but the trails actually links two of the largest cities of the Highlands: Inverness with a population of around 50 000 inhabitants and Fort William, coming in at 10 000. You've probably not heard of any other town from this region. They're all tiny.

 

Today, I arrived in Tongue, Scotland.

The parish of Tongue has about 500 people. Tonight, on this longest day of the year, I will join their ranks. Sunset in Tongue today: 10:30 pm.

[It's not the northernmost point I've been to. Iceland tops it by a mile. Or more like 500 miles. Oslo, Helsinki, St. Petersburg, Talinn -- they're all closer to the Arctic. My great desire was not to reach the northernmost regions of our beautiful planet, but to reach the northern most regions of the Scottish Highlands.]

However did I get here? Well, the easy answer is I flew! From Minneapolis to Amsterdam...

(sunrise in Amsterdam today happened at 5:18 a.m.,  long before we came in over the North Sea, as seen below; sunrise in Tongue will have been at least an hour earlier than that...)

 (breakfast at Amsterdam airport)

 

... then three and a half hours later, from Amsterdam to Inverness. 

 (landing in Inverness)

From there, I needed a car. It is technically possible to take a couple of local buses, but the connections are such that it would take me forever. Almost as long as a flight across the ocean, even as the distance is... small. (Today's flight from Minneapolis to Amsterdam: 7.5 hours. Today's bus from Inverness to Tongue: 5.5 hours)

I'm not a fan of renting cars in foreign countries because it removes me from any feeling of immersion. It's me in a car. Period. Don't like it. Nonetheless, some places force this on you. Tongue really does require a car.

But, but, but, why Tongue? Oh, it's simple: I love Scotland, especially the wild and beautiful bens (Celtic for mountain), craigs (rocks), and dales that form the country's Highlands. And if the Highlands are wild and beautiful, in my mind, the coastline to the north, from all I've read, seems even more remote, more stormy and wild, isolated, perhaps beautiful? If I were to write a mystery, I'd set it right there, in a parish much like that of Tongue. There's something about the fierceness of the land that must instill a fierceness in the people too, no? I wanted to find out. To talk to someone who actually lived here. I could have picked another of the three or four villages along the coast, but Tongue had something else that appealed to me -- an inn, a very small one, that opened up recently. It's in a 19th century house and yes, it gives a big nod to its history, but it is furnished simply. They proudly say -- in the Danish style! I had a very hard time finding this place, but once I did, I was hooked. It's called Lundies House (managed by Wildland, which, in their words is "Scotland's most ambitious private conservation effort").

So that's the backstory! Let me roll back to my arrival in Inverness. In shockingly decent weather. None of this "four seasons in a day" stuff that Scotland is famous for. I asked for a small car, not only because I dont like or need a big one, but also because half of the drive to Tongue is along a one track road. Meaning you drive head onto the vehicles coming from the opposite direction. When you see a car, you have to backtrack or zip forward to an extra lump in the road that's used for passing. Whether you zip or backtrack is a mystery to me, but this is the way it's done. Of course, you have to do all this on the wrong side of the road. So, little car, please! (It's not that small. They're never give you the really small ones!)

The first half of the journey-- to the town of Lairg is, thank god, along a normal road, so I get used to the Scottish driving habits without the need to do this single lane stuff. Here's the one town I pass through: Lairg, population 891.

 

But then the road narrows. For 35 miles, it winds up and down, with a single track. And interruptions, not only from motorists.

 

 

It takes more than a full hour. And the distasteful part is that you have to do sudden stops because around the bend, there will be a car coming at you (my stomach doesn't like that!), and you have to keep your eyes glued to the road because it is VERY NARROW. I shift my gaze to pick up my water bottle (still with that cough!) and the wheels veer off the paved surface. Thump, swerve, oh! Careful! I do this twice, and then I finally slow down to a crawl, thinking I'm just too tired to trust my sense of the road in this new to me and not very small car. I do not want a flat tire here, in the middle of nowhere.

Though it is a beautiful middle of nowhere.

 

 

I am thrilled, thrilled when I finally see the Kyle (the strait) of Tongue. It's been a very long day!

The Lundies House is well hidden. You cannot see it from the road. I know, because I passed it twice before I convinced myself that I need to go through that gate, and follow that dirt lane to find it.

 

And my room.

And the views all around us.

And it is all so beautiful! I sit down with a pot of chamomile tea and give a huge exhale. The longest day, on the northern coast of Scotland. A dream....

 

I eat dinner at Lundies House. It's part of the deal here. I would eat absolutely anything they served. (Again, by their words: "locally sourced produce from land and sea... foraged along the shores and in local woodlands"). Not fussy. If it's fresh and honest, I'll eat it.

There is a Britishness about the dinner, in that those staying here (I counted 7 besides me) gather before the start of the meal for a drink, maybe a snack, and some guest mingling (in one of the two living rooms here for guest use).

It's always interesting to meet fellow travelers, especially when they end up choosing, like you, to stay in this unique and frankly well hidden spot. But today I got extra lucky -- I met a pair from San Francisco and they were delightful and I'm not just saying that. We continued those early friendship questions and stories well into dinner and I may have been tired, but I loved the mix of quiet on the outside with sweetness indoors.

Our dinner? Today we had local scallops with roasted cucumbers, a fresh pea dish, a very well served and adorned  strip of beef and a citrusy dessert. There were plants, flowers, mushrooms accompanying the foods on our main plates. I'll just post the pea picture because these peas, served over a cheese, were so delicately delicious that I felt we really were had crossed the bridge from late spring to early summer.

\

So comes the end of summer solstice. I take a brief walk when the sun's still out (9:30 pm), down the hill from the inn...

 

 

... through the church yard, past the sheep meadows, gently sloping toward the Kyle of Tongue...

 

 

Magic. Beauty. Adventure.  

With good wishes for a beautiful summer solstice to all us northerners, and, well, yeah, winter solstice to those in the equally beautiful southerns regions of our magnificent planet. With so much love...