Woke up early and grabbed some fruit, then grabbed our luggage and set off for Gatwick Airport on another mostly sunny day. This was the fifth anniversary of Dad’s death. The best bus to Arnos Grove is the SL1 (“super loop,” a bus route that meanders around the outer bits of North London), and we hopped on that for the couple of stops to Arnos Grove, where we took the Piccadilly tube to King’s Cross. Walked through a huge crowd of rush hour people over to the St. Pancras train station, and with some confusion made it down to the right platform for the ThamesLink train to Gatwick. The rail network had been on strike the day before, but our timing was lucky, and they were running.
Yup, we had to go way South of the city to Gatwick to grab our discount flight on easyJet up North to Inverness, Scotland. The day was pleasant, the company was great, the exotic surroundings were interesting, but that train ride sure took forever, as our local train seemed to stop at every platform. Made it there finally, but then had to take a shuttle from the South Terminal to the North Terminal, and after that was a new kind of torture. We got through security but then had to wind through an IKEA-like gauntlet of duty-free shops (some reeking of clashing perfume scents) and then had to take another lift to get to the easyJet gates. And we were still a long way from Scotland!
Finally arrived and oriented, we had some time to relax and had a lazy breakfast at the Juniper restaurant. But then we were back in the thick of it when we tried to see what gate we were supposed to be at when, and how to get there. The crowds were dense, but we maintained our sanity and split up, knowing that this might turn out to be a bad idea. I (and SarahE eventually) went upstairs to get a pint at BrewDog (see digression on beer), while SarahP and Jim went to a chemist for toothpaste (I think). We eventually found our way back together, found our gate designation, a handy lift, and got out of there … and stunningly, we’d left the crowds behind.
Our gate was off in the nether regions of the airport, and we were gathered there with a surprisingly small group of people. We were herded out onto the tarmac soon after our scheduled departure time of 12:25 and walked up old-style airplane steps to our jet. Not too much of a delay to takeoff (Sarah had the right-side window and I was in the middle next to a polite gentleman), and a quick hour-and-a-half flight up to Inverness, apparently taking a serpentine route to avoid metropolitan areas, which was fine with us.
Inverness Airport is small, a little shop-worn, and charming. It reminded us in scale of Kona Airport in Hawaii or the airport in Bangor. We seemed to be the only plane. The Avis desk was right there when we walked into the terminal, and after a pretty smooth check-in we strolled over to the Avis lot, where we found our SEAT Ateca without much trouble.
Wow, it was a beautiful day, and we were in Scotland with a full tank of petrol and an open road in front of us. We grabbed a pre-made sandwich in the airport shop, and then headed out. I sat in the front passenger seat to give directions while Jim drove. Just a few miles on the A96 into Inverness itself, where we turned Southwest on the A82. We traveled a few miles alongside the River Ness, which soon widened out into the shockingly beautiful Loch Ness. We stopped after about 45 minutes on the road to soak in the scenery. There was a strong wind coming up the Loch from the Southwest, and we marveled at our first exposure to the Scottish hill country, which rose up steeply on both sides of the narrow Loch, covered with farms, some upscale houses and B&Bs, and a few scattered sheep.
Back in the car and we pressed on to Invermoriston, where we turned West up the A887, and I mean up! We gained altitude quickly, leaving the Loch behind, and the hills started getting bigger and bigger and insisting that they were actually mountains. We were alongside the River Moriston, which drains that crease in the Highlands down to Loch Ness, heading steeply upstream. The A887 turned into the A87, and we reached the river’s source in Loch Cluanie.
We realized we were almost at our destination, and that before that we just had to stop again and gawk at what we were seeing. We pulled over in an informal rest area by the side of the road, along with a slew of camper vans. There’s so much about Scotland that is informal, and this was delightful. Many tourists travel/live in camper vans around there because pulling over in an informal rest area and staying there for the night is perfectly all right. You’re not bothering anyone as long as you don’t litter or play loud music.
We parked and walked down an informal path onto a peninsula that stuck out into the middle of Loch Cluanie, ending at what might have been a small boat launch area. The Loch itself was lovely, the flora was fascinating, and the birds were chirping at the end of the afternoon … but it was the surrounding mountains that made our jaws drop. They went up and up and were totally deserted, with hidden valleys, craggy cliffs, steep grass-covered slopes, rockslides, cascading mountain streams, and a million bright or subdued colors.
When we were landing in Scotland, Sarah and I were delighted with fields of rapeseed, highlighting the green and brown fields with bright yellow. And right as we exited the airport we were startled by another shade of bright yellow, gorse bushes were everywhere, and here were scattered all over the hills. Don’t look at the gorse too closely though, it’s covered with sharp thorns even though it looks cuddly. And it can be hard to avoid when you’re walking through the moor, especially if you're wearing a kilt I suppose.
OK, we were sufficiently acclimated to the beauty and the altitude, and it was just a few more miles to the Cluanie Inn, where we checked in, got updated on dinner and breakfast times, and were directed to our family room. It’s a small inn, and though we had booked early, the best option for us four was a pretty big room in their annex with four single beds, which worked out fine. I got myself sorted first and walked back outside for some more staring at the mountains and taking pictures. There was still snow filling the highest folds directly overhead, and I was incredibly tempted to just start climbing the steep and remarkably geometrical slope of the mountain right across the road. This was also my first introduction to Scottish animal waste, which was everywhere.
The others sorted themselves out too, and we gathered in the bar for a drink. SarahP is a whiskey drinker and tried a couple of local brands of Scotch that evening. Jim had wine, SarahP had a local gin drink (there’s almost as much gin in Scotland as whiskey), and I had a fine local ale (and discovered a tick on my hand). We moved to the dining room for a meal that didn’t meet everyone’s expectations, though I thought my salmon and avocado (with lots of arugula) flatbread was excellent. The Inn seems to be run by a South Asian family(?), and the menu reflected that.
Soon back to the room, where we discovered that they had white bathrobes and slippers for all of us. Did a little reading and it wasn’t too long before bedtime.
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