Unlike the Proclaimers, we are not prepared to walk 500 miles, or 500 more for that matter. We will drive the North Coast 500 (NC500), a road trip north from Inverness, up the east coast, across the top and down the west coast. We hear/read rumours of campervans clogging up the roads, and of locals, pissed off with tourists clogging up the roads, waving pitchforks and shouting curses. Far from it. The locals we encounter could not be more friendly or helpful, traffic is sparse, particularly on the West Coast and almost everyone understands how to drive on narrow winding roads. Even Germans in campervans.
Our friend Fiona, you’ll remember her as she who shall remain nameless, frequently describes the weather as ‘mean and moody’ – in a Scottish accent it sounds more exotic and mysterious. It really means threatening dark clouds, and we get to use the expression a lot. But there’s never enough rain to thwart our plans.
The great thing about Scotland, and the Highlands in particular, is that it does what it says on the tin. Castles and kilts? Check. Ancient ruins? Check. Amazing history and battle sites? Check. Wild heather-clad landscape? Check. Whiskey distilleries? Multiple checks. Shortbread, haggis, tattie scones, black pudding? Check, mate.
We find two or three types of castles: those in ruins; those partly lived in by fading gentry with accents like a half chewed brussel sprout, where some areas open to the public in a desperate effort to defray the enormous running costs; and those where the families have fled the mounting mountains of debt and given over the ownership/running to a trust or the National Trust. Ruins are easy. You’ve seen one pile of ancient ruins you’ve seen them all, the Dowager Lady Grantham not withstanding.
The others are more interesting. I’m not exactly obsessed with Macbeth, but it’s my favourite Shakespeare play so I’m very keen to visit Glamis Castle, said to be the inspiration for the play. They’re not afraid to milk the story either. In the grounds there’s a series of sculptures of scenes from the play, carved from oak or Douglas fir from the forest in the massive grounds. This allows me to run out my favourite lines; “Is this a dagger I see before me?” I don’t know why, but I always hear this in a John Wayne voice; and “Out damned spot” which makes me think of my mother shouting at the farm dogs, even though we never had one called Spot.
There’s more contemporary history associated with the castle as, in news to me, it was the childhood home of the late Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother. In more new news, unless you are an unashamed monarchist (you know who you are), the late Princess Margaret was born in this very castle, and there’s a memorial to her in the gardens. I think it must be coincidence that it looks like a giant glass of gin.
After Glamis, we don’t think we need to see inside another castle, but Dunrobin is highly recommended, especially the gardens. And it’s well worth the stop, as it’s one of Britain’s oldest continuously inhabited houses dating back to the early 1300s, home to the Earls and Dukes of Sutherland, not that that means anything to us. It’s massive, with 189 rooms. Imagine the upkeep. Do I have to say we don’t access all areas? They like to keep the paying public at sword’s length. But, as advertised, the gardens are fabulous, especially when we view them from above, from the castle terrace. There’s a falcon flying demonstration in play.
We reach Dunnet Head, the most northerly point of both mainland Scotland and the island of Great Britain. Yes, I know everyone says it’s John O’Groats, and we tick that off the list as well, but John O’Groats is the northernmost VILLAGE, not land. Apparently these differences are important, but it’s all fairly windswept and bleak.
Anyhoo, we stay in Thurso (the northernmost TOWN), and the most intriguing thing about it is the weird contraption in the corner of our rather shabby hotel room. What the heck is it? Answers in the comments please. A day trip from Thurso to Orkney is fantastic, but I’ll save that for another blog.
Once we leave Thurso and head west life gets more interesting. No more two way roads, it’s all narrow one way traffic with a passing place every 100 yards or so, so theoretically it all runs smoothly. There’s the odd muppet who thinks they own the road and barrel on regardless, but not many. We take random side roads and find the unexpected. In one case an excellent chocolate shop quite literally in the middle of nowhere. And it’s busy. Clearly the siren song of chocolate is as addictive as crack cocaine. The landscape is magnificent: wide open, heather clad low hills which, in some places, if you took out the heather and put in tussock, could be the Desert Road in central North Island New Zealand. Then in a few miles (we somehow revert to imperial distance measures) you’ll be driving through boulder strewn paddocks, then shortly after, granite banks crowd the road. It’s all stunning.
The Summer Isles live up to their name on the second day there. Lucky we stayed on. Brilliant clear skiers and a very light breeze. Scott, with the instincts of a homing pigeon, has gotten himself a spot on a boat for a fishing competition nearby. I set off on our planned walk around Achlochan Coastal Path. Did I mention it’s a stunning day? Not hot, this is Scotland, just pleasant. The walk winds down to the remains of a broch – a circular dry-stone tower large enough to serve as a fortified home on the coast. There are also remains of crofters’ cottages, built from stone taken from the broch, and kelp kilns.
I grew up on a farm, but on this walk I encounter a bull with the biggest set of testicles I’ve ever seen. He also has a big set of horns. And I have my bright red fleece tied around my waist. I quickly revise everything I know about bullfighting. My matador skills have never been tested. I’m not confident. Luckily he’s more interested in grazing than goring and I sidle past, red fleece clutched in a small bundle. It’s such a lovely day I don’t need it anyway.
We continue south, our NC500 behind us. Highly recommend the drive, or walk if you prefer, no matter the weather, and weather you will have. By now we are considerably more well padded, having our daily “Full Scottish” breakfast. This is a “Full English” – bacon, sausage, tomato, mushrooms, baked beans, eggs – with the addition of black pudding, haggis, and a potato scone – the type of breakfast that suggests a heart attack before lunch.
