A wee roadtrip across the Highlands
After a brief flurry of packing and breakfast toast, David and I were out the door, making a quick stop at the printing place to print off some documents needed for the car rental. We hopped in a cab and were greeted with another jovial Scotsman, who entertained with information about the Highlands. Picking up the car rental was surprisingly painless, and we were soon met with our Vauxhall. D was eager to get driving and embrace the challenge of wrong-sidedness, although I had more than a little trepidation. After momentary difficulties in getting started (i.e. D putting the car in 3rd instead of 1st gear), we were off, in no particularly informed direction. Despite all my usual obsessive planning, I had not brought along a map of how to get out of Edinburgh (I had maps of going from Glasgow to the B&B, and from the B&B to Lochgilphead), but had rather foolishly assumed that it wouldn’t be that challenging to find our way out of the city. So we aimlessly drove around the city, generally going in the wrong direction, until we pulled into a gas station to get our bearings and buy a map. After a little but wanderment and a spastic moment of indecision from D on whether we were going East or West, we were soon on the M8 heading West to Glasgow. D quite enjoyed driving (apparently this car has a lot of torque).
Surprisingly quickly, we were following signs into the city centre of Glasgow, and we made our way to an area I had come across in my research. Parked and emboldened by our driving success, we went to find lunch. We wandered into George Square, an impressive stately plaza overlooked by the City Chambers and numerous statues. We passed by the Glasgow Museum of Modern Art, with a once-dignified statue of a man on a horse out front, who had a traffic cone placed on his head (not sure if it’s art or just hooliganism). We then found the pedestrian shopping district which was just abuzz with people. It was shocking how many people were out wandering around (felt a little like I was in Tokyo again). After a brief (overpriced) pit spot at T.G.I.Fridays, we walked the length of the pedestrian thoroughfare before heading east in search of the cathedral. It became apparent the Glasgow was quite different from Edinburgh. Newer buildings intermingled with old ones were much more common, and it felt much busier. There were parts of the town that D commented looked almost post-apocalyptic. Once we got to the cathedral, we discovered that half of the outside was covered in scaffolding; however, the inside was just fine. Well, better than fine…there’s always such a sense of hushed reverence one feels when entering a cathedral and looking up at its soaring ceilings. D and I wandered our way through, down in to the bowels of the church, before heading out.
We piled back into our car, squeezed out of the car park, and headed out into the countryside. It wasn’t long before we were off the motorway and onto the A roads, winding our way through the hills. The lochs were pristine and right along the roadside, although unfortunately there were few places to pull over to get a good look. We managed to find Firkin Point which overlooks Loch Lomond and had a brief walk around the pebbled shoreline. It wasn’t too many more miles before we were driving through the tiny Scottish towns leading up to our B&B, Argyll View, in the village of Arrochar (pronounced similar to “Erica”). We found the B&B, situated on Loch Long, and checked ourselves in, meeting the kindly owner, who gave us her recommendations for the evening. After getting settled in our sweet (if not well colour-coordinated) room, we walked down along the Loch to the Village Inn for some dinner. The Inn was reminiscent of the Prancing Pony from the Lord of the Rings, with its dark wood beams and warm interior. Fittingly, D had venison (although perhaps a trifle undercooked), but crucially tried his hand at some whisky. The waiter walked through a few suggestions, but when D mentioned he wanted to try something extreme, he knew of just the one. Apparently, it’s the “burn-the-back-of-your-throat” type, and it lived up to its reputation.
