As the tour bus pulled up to George Square to gather the final few of the traveling group, we had just finished a traditional Scottish breakfast at a nearby café. Haggis certainly tastes better than it sounds; perhaps it should be considered alongside laws and sausages—it is better not to see them being made.
It would be about an hour drive to Loch Lomond, the first stop of our three-day adventure to the Scottish Highlands and the Isle of Skye. Our driver-guide Martine is a walking and breathing encyclopedia of Scottish history, and the drive would not be nearly long enough for all her stories and good humor to fully sink in.
Loch Lomond
Loch Lomond is one of the largest freshwater lakes in Britain. It’s a good first-stop for our trip because it’s often considered the border between the Scottish highlands and lowlands.
Coming from California with perpetual droughts, it’s refreshing to see such large, clear, pristine bodies of water. Of course, Loch Lomond is huge; so when we boasted that we saw Loch Lomond, we really only saw it from Luss. This village sits on the west bank of the lake, with a local pier that serves as a departure point for boat tours and a speedboat taxi service.
Another thing we miss in California? Fall. Not that I’ve ever enjoyed raking leaves as a kid in Toronto, but seeing perfectly, naturally scattered leaves on a lawn as a sign of fall is spectacular to someone who spent the last 12 years in a place with no seasons.
Glen Coe
It would be a 90-minute drive north after we formally enter the Scottish Highlands. The rocky, mountainous landscape at times seems cold and sinister. Luminous, swift clouds fly through and disappear behind imposing mountaintops. The palette is a combination of olive, russet, and some tawny. Feral goats can be spotted here and there, their sightings astonishing at first, but quickly turn pedestrian.
Glen Coe is a glacier-formed valley named after the River Coe bisecting it. The sides of the valley feature many peaks, the most famous of which are the Three Sisters that are part of the Bidean nam Bian mountain.
While driving us to the Three Sisters vista point (I think this sounds slightly more sophisticated than its real name, the Three Sisters Car Park), Martine gave us the full rundown on the Massacre of Glencoe, in which members of the MacDonalds clan were killed because their chief was late in delivering an oath of allegiance to William III. The event allegedly inspired the Red Wedding in the Game of Thrones.
Lunch would be just ten minutes away, at the Glencoe Visitor Centre café. The place is a collection of rustic cabins with an exhibit area and a viewpoint at the back, offering a look into the valley that is calm but splendid.
Loch Loyne
The 90-minute drive north after lunch was our siesta. We woke up at the Loch Loyne Viewpoint, where we could see the U-shaped lake bend around the valley. On either side of the loch are patchy forests featuring unmistakable fall colors in vivid yellow and green. The woods are primarily spruce and pine. The fact that they are planted reserves is obvious; but that many of them are there to conserve bumblebees ain’t so.
Just before entering the Isle of Skye, we stopped for a view of the Eilean Donan castle along the A87 across from Loch Duich. We would get to make our obligatory visit to this medieval castle on the way back, but seeing it from afar made it seem more transcendent, elusive.
Portree
In another hour or so, we would arrive at Portree, where we would spend our next two nights. Accommodations were booked separately from the tour, and we’d decided to stay at the Royal Hotel. Weeks before embarking on our journey, I decided to read up on the history of Scotland, when I realized that the hotel we booked also had an interesting backstory.
Following the defeat of his Jacobite army in the Battle of Culloden of 1746, Bonnie Prince Charlie was fleeing from British troops, when he met Flora MacDonald who agreed to help him escape to the Isle of Skye by disguising him as her Irish maid. They hid at various places on the island, and it was at the Royal Hotel—then called MacNab’s Inn—where they bid farewell. Of course, Martine would retell this story much more spiritedly, with genuine Scottish flair.
We were fortunate to have a room that looks over the quaint and serene harbor, where Loch Portree runs into the Sound of Raasay. Dozens of fishing boats are moored here at all times, between picturesque hills and colorful row houses. The view is fit for a postcard even on the dullest day.
We ended the night with a wholesome dinner at the Granary at Somerled Square in the town center. The haggis here was more delicate, sophisticated. Our main courses were smoked salmon and fish and chips, all accompanied by a delightfully refreshing Skye I.P.A.
Kilt Rock and Mealt Falls
Day 2 of our trip would be a fully proper Highlands experience, even unapologetically so at times. Though we could not fully see the Old Man of Storr because of fog, by the time we got to Lealt Falls, the weather had cleared up—deceivingly. We didn’t hike down to see the falls, and only did a brief stop here before we continued on to Kilt Rock and, confusingly, Mealt Falls.
Even though the sky was clear and rainbows were out, the short hike down to see Kilt Rock would prove treacherous. The winds were suffocating, tempestuous, even angry. We were as surprised to find sheep roaming about these steep hills as we were resentful that they seemed so unfazed by that bitter cold.
Martine had told us how on particularly windy days, the balustrades around the viewing platform would turn into a wind harp, emitting wispy and mystical tones. But we’d forgotten all that when the spectacular views of Kilt Rock emerged at the end of the path. That giant, imposing sea cliff is so named as its basalt columns resemble pleats of a kilt.
In the foreground, we can see and hear Mealt Falls falling freely off the cliff into the Sound of Raasay, which joins the North Minch, which eventually becomes the North Atlantic. Seeing this landscape from a viewing platform really couldn’t do it justice; I could only imagine the joy of flying a drone along these cliffs and really seeing them face-on, though I don’t know how any drone can survive these winds.
Museum of Island Life and Kilmuir Cemetery
Our snack break at Columba 1400 was brief, but we enjoyed seeing the whimsical houses at Staffin. Throughout our ride, we’d noticed that the houses on the island are almost all white. We were sure that it must have some practiced, celebrated reason, but Martine would later tell us: white paint is just cheaper here.
The Museum of Island Life is really a collection of a half-dozen or so preserved thatched cottages, also called black houses. The museum was closed, so we just roamed about, peeking into each house from the outside.
From here, it would be just a short brisk walk along a quiet country road to the Kilmuir Cemetery. Flora MacDonald and Alexander McQueen are both buried here. We found Flora MacDonald’s grave easily enough, but before we knew it, our hour here was almost up and we didn’t get a chance to find Alexander McQueen.
Uig
We would continue our counterclockwise journey around the Trotternish peninsula until our next stop at Uig, a small village at the end of Uig Bay. Part of the village rests on the beach, and we walked along the edge of the water to get a closer look at the absolutely soundless, motionless buildings all around. A video of this village would play just like a photograph.
River Sligachan
After a quick lunch at Portree, we continued south towards the center of the island, stopping at Sligachan. One of my favorite spots of this trip, this quintessentially Scottish setting has it all: a spirited river running through an ancient bridge, before a mountainous backdrop below ominous clouds, all sandwiched between the faerie land and the real.
Legend has it that the water flowing under the Sligachan Old Bridge grants eternal beauty, so the sight of silly tourists washing their faces in the river may not be all that uncommon.
Scattered alongside that sprightly river are clear, still ponds, framed by the mountain peaks Marsco on the left, and Sgùrr nan Gillean on the right. Just to the east of the bridge is the peak of Glamaig. These mountains are not particularly steep or tall, and would have made a perfect hike, but we would have to leave that for a next trip.
Next to the old bridge is Sligachan itself. It’s not clear that anybody lives here, but there is a brewery and a hotel—probably housing mostly hikers who choose this as a starting point.
Dunvegan
It would be a 45-minute drive before we got to Dunvegan, a small coastal town on the northwest side of the island. The landscape here is green and lush, unlike the more rugged scenery worthy of Skye’s name.
We stopped at a car park right beside the water to take in the panoramic views of Loch Dunvegan. Charming countryside houses are scattered all along the coast. The town does have a few shops along the road, but we were happy to just stay by the coast and enjoy the tranquil and stunningly scenic views here.
Island at the Edge
Martine would remind us throughout the trip that Scotland has more sheep than people, and at the end of day 2, she would deliver on her promise of bringing us to a sheep farm. But Island at the Edge is not just a sheep farm; they also process the wool and make them into yarn, tweed, and other textiles which they sell at their shop, Hebridean Isles Trading.
They raise a few different breeds of sheep here, including the native Hebrideans—black, with horns and coarse wool; and Black Cheviots—fluffier, gentler looking, and rare compared to regular white Cheviots. After first seeing the sheep on the farm, the owners gave us an informative account of how they spin their own wool into yarn. We didn’t get to see any lambs, which is probably for the better as we might never have left otherwise.
As the proud parents of a docile sheltie, we had secretly dreamt that there might be some lurking around the corner, maybe even herding the Hebrideans with giant horns. Alas, no sheepdogs were to be found. When we asked the owner why there aren’t shelties on the island, he simply responded: “Border Collies are smart.” “But what about shelties?” we pressed on. “Border Collies are smart.”
It would be just before six when we got back to Portree to end our day. Trying to make use of that last bit of daylight, we strolled casually to the harbor to get a close look. The setting sun allowed a few final pictures of the distinctly colorful reflections of the vivid buildings circumscribing this still and quiet harbor.
Of all the times I have visited London, I have never had Indian food. But it is here, in a small town in the middle of an island in the Scottish Highlands, that we had dinner at an Indian restaurant, packed with people, with dishes of butter chicken and tikka masala that are so familiarly heartwarming.
Eilean Donan
A medieval-looking castle by a quiet lake is a photographer’s paradise, and I only wish we could be here to see it at sunrise and sunset. But the views we got were stunning nonetheless. I say medieval-looking because the original castle here was mostly destroyed during the Jacobite rebellions; what stands here now is a 20th-century reconstruction, which includes the addition of the pedestrian bridge we used to get to the tidal island it once was.
We spent about an hour touring the castle inside and out. Perhaps because the building is a relatively modern reconstruction, nothing seems dilapidated or battered. In fact, the place is actively maintained by the McRae family who originally bought and restored the castle.
There were plenty of places from within the castle grounds to enjoy more postcard moments of the surrounding lakes and mountains. By the time we were about the leave, a fine fog rolled in, adding to the mystique.
Loch Ness at Fort Augustus
Going from one major sight to the next, we would arrive at Fort Augustus about an hour later. As we were getting towards the margins of the Highlands, the landscape would look noticeably more lush and vibrant.
It was just after noon when we arrived. By then, Martine had fully prepared us for a sighting of Nessie the Loch Ness monster. Since alleged encounters with Nessie were first published in 1933, the creature has been somewhat akin to UFOs, with no shortage of photographs, videos, and sonar images claiming to prove her existence, though most of these have now been dismissed as hoaxes or illusions.
Kicking through a layer of fall leaves at every step, we walked to the edge of the lake. We wouldn’t have time to take a cruise, but dining by the lake was not at all a bad compromise. The Boathouse Lochside restaurant was surprisingly quiet—perhaps everyone was on the lookout for Nessie.
We didn’t have much time to explore Fort Augustus, but we did get to check out the locks along the Caledonian Canal. What we saw here is only a tiny section—the whole canal, along with the intervening lakes, cuts across all of Scotland from east to west. In another half-hour, we would see the continuation of this passage at Loch Lochy.
Although we were having another siesta, others from our traveling group must have spotted Toby from afar. Of course, Martine is so affable that it didn’t take much pleading at all to make an unplanned stop outside the Loch Ericht Hotel here at Dalwhinnie. Noticing and enjoying all the newfound attention, Toby the horse was not shy about posing with our large group. And while everyone was busy petting and posing with him, a baby goat was nudging her way in to see what the fuss was all about.
Pitlochry
The last stop of our 3-day journey is a beautiful, idyllic town about 90 minutes north of Edinburgh. Atholl Road, the main thoroughfare, is lined with a mix of restaurants, bars, shops, and—most importantly for us—ice cream parlors.
We walked around the back of the Old Mill Inn to get a glimpse of the Pitlochry Church. A small creek, the Moulin Burn, runs through here, and an old but working water wheel is actually used to generate power. A bunch of empty picnic tables are scattered about to form a quaint outdoor beer garden; I can only imagine what this place might be like in the summer when one can enjoy a drink here to the sound of running water and live music.
It was about 7 o’clock when we finally got our first glimpses of Edinburgh. Although it was already pitch dark, everything seemed bustling compared to the sleepy lives we borrowed for the past three days. We were excited to explore the city in our days ahead, but also sad to bid farewell to Martine and our fellow travelers. The Highlands were as spectacular and enigmatic as we’d imagined, but the journey to experience them would be more enduring and memorable than we could have ever hoped.