The diary of a Scot in Amsterdam

Our little holiday in Scotland ended today with another morning in Edinburgh. We made a short visit to the National Museum of Scotland, all the better to increase Astrid’s knowledge (and mine too) of our colourful history. We only really had about an hour, which is of course not enough time to find out all that much.

After this, and some lunch and shopping, it was back to the airport with our heavy luggage and on to the plane home. Despite the fact that we have had a great time here, I am quite looking forward to being back in Amsterdam. Otherwise I would still live here, wouldn’t I?

Our night on the beach passed without disturbance, and we were treated to a beautiful view in the morning of the Moray Firth, unfortunately with no sign of the famous dolphins. Astrid decided to go skinny-dipping in the sea, which must have been quite a surprise for the old ladies who happened to be walking along the path next to the beach at the same time! Of course, following her example I had to do the same. It was actually not so cold, and very refreshing.

After this, we bought some breakfast and sat on the shore wall to eat it, while a seagull was continuously pestered by its young. The things were almost as large as the adult bird, and I was drawn to make comparisons with human children, who continue to be a drain on their parents well past childhood. I was no exception, it must be said.

We then walked around Chanonry Point, past where the Brahan Seer was gruesomely put to death by boiling in tar. Or so the story goes. Finally, we passed my old school, Fortrose Academy; besides the ruins of the cathedral there was not too much else to do in Fortrose.

The weather turned out very nice in the afternoon, which allowed a little bit of sunbathing on the beach. Certainly a nice way to end our time in the Highlands. What was not so nice was the running which we needed to do to catch the bus back to Inverness – it seems I will never learn to be on time for such things.

When we reached Inverness, there was yet more rushing after some idiot in a pizza shop assured me that my pizza would for sure be ready in plenty of time to catch my train. Of course it was not, and I was about to run out of the shop without it when it finally arrived. Hopefully tomorrow’s journey back to the Netherlands will be less stressful.

The final day of the West Highland Way began with a steep climb out of Kinlochleven towards the Lairigmor, a pass between various mountains with unpronounceable Gaelic names (Bein na Caillich, Stob Coire na h-Eirghe, Meall a Chaorainn, and so on). The views were really great once we had climbed high out of the glen, through a desolate landscape with few signs of civilisation besides a few long-abandoned cottages. It was hard to believe that it is August, such was the wind and rain even down between the mountains.

Later on, we descended through more felled planted woodland – it makes for quite a sombre scene, as if the whole place had been flattened by an atomic weapon or suchlike. Timber has to come from somewhere though, I suppose.

We made pretty good progress, and after lunch decided to try and bring forward the plan to go up to the Black Isle, which we were to have done tomorrow. The advantage in doing this was that we didn’t need to stay in Fort William for the night, which would have been quite annoying because the camp site is really far from where we were picking up our bags. Also, we would have more time to see my old home territory.

The last few kilometres of the West Highland Way were actually quite disappointing, since they consist firstly of dense woodland with not much to see, before following a road to finish quite unspectacularly at a roundabout. We Scots do not do dramatic and triumphant endings very well, as can of course be seen from our dismal record in international football.

This minor anticlimax over with, we picked up our bags and got on the bus to Inverness. Two hours of winding alongside the lochs of the Great Glen later, and we had arrived in the capital of the Highlands. The last time I passed through it was still officially a town, I think. Now it’s a city, but I can’t see much difference.

It was already getting late by this point, and of course you can’t camp in the middle of a city, or even a town for that matter. The mad plan then was to catch a bus to Rosemarkie, a small village on the Black Isle close to where I used to go to school. There’s a lovely beach there, where I had fond memories of camping on while still a teenager. It would make a suitably idyllic location for our last night in the tent.

Before all that, though, there was the matter of getting there. This took place in the sort of rattling wee bus that I have not been in for years, and by the time we had wound our way through the various other villages of the Black Isle it was very nearly dark. All the same, we managed to stumble across the sand and get the tent put up without too much trouble, before cooking some dinner on the beach. This proved to be less tranquil than hoped for due to the numerous jumping sand creatures (I don’t know what they are actually called) which kept trying to land in our food and thus be eaten. I’d rather not know how many I ate without seeing.

This morning there was another attack of the dreaded midgies – this time the worst so far. I had ventured out to make some porridge, but no sooner had I done so than a swarm of literally thousands had gathered round the tent. As I kept moving around in an effort to avoid them, yet more kept appearing to replace all those which I had squashed dead every time I tried brushing them off my face or hands. They are simply unstoppable. Thankfully, there was soon a gentle breeze blowing. Their wee wings cannae cope with this and they are forced to retreat, awaiting a lull and their next victim.

On the map, today was actually the shortest day. All the same, it still took as long as yesterday, which was half as long a distance again. This was mostly due to the fact that there was quite a lot of climbing to be done – firstly, up the side of Glencoe along the frighteningly-named Devil’s Staircase. This steep pathway between Stob Mhic Mhartuin and Beinn Bheag (try pronouncing those) leads to the highest point on the West Highland Way, 564m (1850ft) above sea level. So, not exactly mountaineering, but enough to build up an appetite for lunch.

From here on, it was up and down between more hills, slowing descending towards the village of Kinlochleven. On the way, we passed the massive pipes which bring water from the Blackwater Reservoir high in the hills down to the hydro-electric power station in the village. This power station was originally built to supply energy for the now-closed aluminium smelter; they do however still make aluminium up the road in Fort William, presumably with the electricity generated here.

Now that this large source of employment has disappeared, Kinlochleven has a slightly bedraggled, despondent look about it. That is not to say that they are not taking steps to regenerate the area – there is now a huge ice climbing centre, brewery, and various other businesses on the site of the smelter. This is quite encouraging to see, since when I was growing up in the Highlands there seemed to precious little done when a similar factory also closed. Heavy industry in such a remote location is likely always going to struggle to survive.

Tonight we are staying in a “bunk house”, which does not quite live up to what I had expected. Maybe I read the website wrong, but I got the idea that we were getting our own wee stone cabin. In fact, it’s just a small room (admittedly with en-suite bathroom, which is an unbelievable luxury after camping), in a huge building which resembles more of a youth hostel.

We went for a wander around town (took about 5 minutes…) looking for somewhere to eat, and ended up in one of the village’s two pubs. It became apparent at one point that the people next to us were speaking Dutch, and the people on the other side of them as well. The interior of the bar was not so different from what is typical in the Netherlands, and I could almost have believed that I was back in Amsterdam. That was, of course, until you look out the window and see the mountainside rising up on the other side of the glen.

The plan to wrap up warm in our little cabin and fight off the illness we were both suffering yesterday seemed to have paid off this morning, since we both felt much better. The stage we had planned to walk was to be the longest yet though, at 32km (20mi), and given that we were certainly not yet feeling 100%, we decided to take a bus to Bridge of Orchy. This shortened the route down to more like 19km (12mi).

Once we got out of the bus and got going, I began to feel much better pretty quickly, although still a bit stiff and sore. I guess it must have been food poisoning, since I don’t know what else would leave you feeling so ill but be gone within 24 hours. Anyway, it was such a relief to be out in the open again and active.

Today turned out to be actually quite an easy walk, since the route from Bridge of Orchy across the edge of Rannoch Moor is pretty easy to walk on – it is mostly an old droving road along which sheep and cattle would have been taken to market in former times. It has also been one of the nicest days so far in terms of scenery, with the moor and the mountains offering a dramatic landscape of grey, green, and purple. It is not too difficult to imagine that this would all look not so different thousands of years ago, so empty and devoid of the impact of humans is it. The emptiness and the scale of the whole thing is quite difficult to grasp, and certainly does not come across in the photos here.

At the end of the day, we reached our camping spot next to the Kingshouse Hotel at the end of Glencoe. This famous glen gives an even more dramatic impression, disappearing into the mist and amazingly beautiful in the grey light of the evening sun.

Last night, in the Drover’s Inn, we had ordered veggie haggis (which was delicious), as well as a pasta dish which was kind of cold and didn’t taste so good. We really should have sent it back, but I at least was too hungry to care at the time. I do remember feeling not so great immediately afterwards, but put it down to eating too quickly.

This turned out not the case, unfortunately. Both myself and Astrid woke up feeling really ill in the the night, and had to rush in the darkness to the camp site toilets. I ended up being sick and Astrid wasn’t much better. When we eventually managed to get to sleep and woke up quite late in the morning, it became clear that neither of us was in a state to walk anywhere. It seemed that we both had the same symptoms – aching limbs, feeling hot and cold, in fact quite a lot like flu. I am convinced that it was from the dodgy food last night.

The question came of course as to what was to be done about it. We are on a fairly tight schedule to finish the West Highland Way, and there was not time to take any extra days in doing it. Not only that, but I had booked accommodation for tonight and the last night in a cabin and bunkhouse respectively, which could not be so easily moved.

Therefore the decision was taken to miss out the walking that we would have done today, and take a bus to our intended destination for this evening, at Tyndrum. This was really disappointing to have to do, but it seemed like the only reasonable option. Because we had a room in a wooden cabin arranged there, we could hopefully stay in bed all day and try and shake off our illnesses, ready to begin again tomorrow. There are after all three more days after today to be walked.

This is what we did. Certainly not what I had planned, and not something which had featured on the list of things to be concerned about. Midgies, rain, my dodgy knee from earlier in the week, yes, but Scottish restaurant cooking, no. How annoying and ironic that it was also the first time that we had not cooked for ourselves.

Let’s hope that we are both feeling better tomorrow.

Yesterday evening and this morning, we have had our first encounter with the dreaded Scottish midgie – a small but vicious biting insect which terrorises the countryside here in the summer. We had bought a bottle of Avon So Soft, which is supposed to repel them, but I am doubtful if this is anything more than a scam by Avon and the numerous camp site shops and outdoor stores which are peddling the stuff. Thankfully they are only a problem if you stop moving.

Today has been a very long and not so very interesting day of walking. As stated yesterday, bad planning meant that we had a lot of walking to do (29km/18mi), over quite difficult terrain for the second half anyway. It was also quite boring, since we were stuck in forest the whole time with the shores of the loch to the right. There wasn’t so much to interrupt this, except making a short visit to Rob Roy’s cave, which lies right next to the path just north of Inversnaid.

Now, for the uninformed, Rob Roy was a Scottish outlaw of the 17-18th century, whose life has been much romanticised in writing and on film. No-one knows of course if he actually used this cave, which is in fact a crevice between some massive rocks which have come to lie next to the shores of the loch. It’s a nice thought, though, and he would have been dry and cosy in there in any case.

Finally, with it raining and beginning to become dark, we reached the camp site at Bein Glas. I had been a bit worried about money because there are apparently no more cash machines for the next four days and had only £20 in my wallet, but thankfully it was possible to get some cashback at the bar next to the camp site. One worry less at least.

The girls we had met earlier in the week had recommended a place called the Drover’s Inn near to the camp site, which is suitably bedecked in over-the-top kitsch Scottish style – innumerable stuffed animal heads on the walls, waiters in kilts, a log fire, and other such things. I had hoped for some traditional fiddle music perhaps to complete the atmosphere, but instead we got a guy with long hair and a Metallica t-shirt playing the guitar. This didn’t really fit with the picture, unfortunately.

Awake but a little stiff after our first day of walking and first night in the tent, we set off for the second day of the West Highland Way. This took us firstly though Garadhban Forest, one of the many conifer plantations in this part of Scotland. In one of the sections that had been recently felled, we counted the rings on a few of the trunks – they came to about 26, meaning that this forest had been planted at the beginning of the 1970’s. Rather like the whisky which is produced here, which needs at least eight and more usually twelve or more years sitting in barrels before it is ready to drink, this is not a product which is fast to market. When I was still a twinkle in my daddy’s eye, these trees were already young saplings. When you see timber on sale or being used on construction sites, it’s hard to make this connection to the slow passage of time.

After lunch, we descended down into a shallow gorge before beginning the ascent of Conic Hill. The Dutch would probably call it a mountain, but it’s not quite tall enough for that name here. All the same, it’s quite a nice wee climb and there are some great views from the top.

Having enthusiastically scrambled up to the summit of the hill, I stupidly came down far too hard on my right knee while coming off it, meaning that I ended up with quite a lot of pain from it for the rest of the day. This made me quite worried, since we still have five days to go after today. Hopefully if I rest it and try and put more weight on the other side it will not play up too much.

The descending path brought us to the shore of Loch Lomond at the tiny village of Balmaha, where we stopped for coffee before pushing on the last wee bit to our camp site slightly further up the side of the loch. It turned out that I had not been so clever when arranging where we would stay, since this meant that we will have a lot more to walk tomorrow than today. If I had booked with another location further north, the distances would have been more or less equal. Unfortunately, the fact that we are using a baggage carrying service means that we are more or less stuck with a schedule of where we will spend each night.

OK, first things first – for non-Scottish people, Milngavie is pronounced “mull-guy”. Don’t ask me why.

As we left Glasgow this morning in the train towards the above town and the starting point of the West Highland Way, the weather finally began to clear up. Astrid was beginning to think that it never stops raining in Scotland, and up to this point I had had no evidence to demonstrate that this is not the case.

Firstly, a little about the West Highland Way. It is a walking route through the west Highlands (no shit) of Scotland, 152km (95mi) long, running from Milngavie in the south via Loch Lomond, Rannoch Moor, and Glencoe to Fort William in the north. We had planned to complete the route in 7 days, which is about average – you can do it in less if you are mad or fit enough to do so.

Secondly, an admission – we had decided that we would make things a bit easier for ourselves, and arranged to make use of one of the various bag-carrying services available. The idea here is that your heavy rucksacks (with tent, sleeping bag, etc.) get carried for you in a van to your destination for the day in question, meaning that you only need to take a small day rucksack. This probably sounds a bit pathetic, but in the end it does at least mean you get to enjoy the route without it becoming an exercise in endurance. All the same, I felt like a bit of a pussy.

Having dropped off our bags, we made a brief visit to the local Tesco to stock up on food. Astrid remarked that people are excessively friendly here, saying “sorry” all the time if they accidentally brush past you, and of course the woman at the check-out struck up a conversation about our holiday plans. This simply does not happen back in the Albert Heijn, and it made we just a wee bit proud of my home country.

I guess that it might be that people’s behaviour is just a bit more extreme than in Holland. Back there, everyone seems to have a sort of constant air of neutral (if polite) indifference, whereas here they are either very friendly or else (occasionally) very aggressive. There’s not so much middle ground.

This done, we ate some breakfast from Gregg’s bakery (which I miss a lot in Holland) whilst being attacked by wasps attracted by the sweet sticky strawberry tarts we were eating. Finally, it was time to set off at last on the way.

The whole route has been designed so that you get a gentle start before the Highland landscape really starts, and today was certainly not very tough at all. It starts by rising slowly through Mugdock Country Park, continuing through more forest, before later in the day becoming less enjoyable as you end up walking pretty close to a busy road. It was a nice start, but it didn’t really feel like the proper countryside just yet.

The easy going meant that we arrived at the camp site at Drymen fairly early, and set about putting up the tent I had borrowed from my parents. It was then of course that it turned out that one of the poles was too short, and that one of the others was broken. Typical. The best we could do was use a couple of segments from the (useless) broken pole to lengthen the one that was too short, meaning at least that the main part of the tent would stay upright. The problem with this was that the front part (where your rucksacks etc. go) was left hanging in a flaccid and useless manner. Next time, check the feckin’ tent before leaving!

Just as we had got this sorted and had cooked some dinner over a gas flame, some lassies who had arrived after us came and asked sheepishly for some help with their tent. Now, I am no expert in these type of things, but they were definitely doing something wrong – the bloody thing was not more than 40cm off the ground at its highest point. In other words, you could sleep quite a lot of people in it if they all crawled in on their bellies. About ten minutes later though, we had it cracked.

Later, having stocked up on more food at the local Spar, we met the same lassies in a pub in Drymen village which claims to be the oldest licensed bar in Scotland. I would not be surprised if there are more which make this claim, though!

Having arrived in Edinburgh on Sunday night, Monday was time for family things. This primarily meant seeing my grandparents – I have  not done so for over a year, and, to use a cliché, they are not getting any younger.

My mother had remarked that my grandma in particular is getting less and less aware of what is going on around her, and is in particular not very able to deal with large groups of people. I actually found her fairly lucid and capable of conversation, but it is clear that she is indeed getting older. It will happen to us all.

After seeing them both off at the bus station on Monday evening, myself, Astrid, Catriona and her boyfriend Dani went for a wander around Edinburgh, which is of course extremely busy with the festival right now. We stopped at a couple of pubs, got a bit wet in the rain, and saw some Nepalese drumming which sounded a lot like hard techno. All the while, myself and Catriona were acting like a pair of tour guides explaining the sights and sounds of the capital.

Today, with it still raining, myself and Astrid took the train through to Glasgow. Tonight we will stay with my old friend Chris, who has been busy for the last year learning to build guitars. He showed us his latest creation, which I was very impressed with, before we all headed off for a wander round the West End. The plan was to see the Kelvingrove museum, which I have not seen since it has reopened, but a general strike by council staff put paid to that. There is really not so much to do in Glasgow when it is raining and everything is shut, unfortunately.

Later, we went round to Danny’s for dinner, before heading back for another early night. Tomorrow we will start walking the West Highland Way, for which we will need all our energy.