Wet and wild Scotland, a four day adventure

As sure as death and taxes is rain in Scotland, and lots of it.  My obsessive checking of the forecast was, it turns out, a pointless waste of time.  The forecast changed from sunshine to showers roughly every four hours.  In fact the word ‘changeable’ couldn’t be bandied about anymore, I was more certain to hear that than see a dry stretch of more than a few hours.

But of course, the green and luscious land that is Scotland could not be so without these downpours, after all the draw of its beautiful greenery and amazing scenery were the reason I was up at 5am on a Saturday morning.

I have to be honet, I am surprised I even made my morning flight.  I may have woken up at 5am but this was only the result of my terrible sleeping habits, not me setting my alarm at the correct time. Flustered I made my way to the train station only to stare blankly at the train on the platform, not realising it was mine until a minute before departure when I watched someone else jump on.  Realising I was probably on my own train to a whole day of things going tits up, I prayed pretty hard that this was the last near miss of them all.  An incorrect airport shuttle ticket, beeping airport security machine and bra search later and I made it to Glasgow safe and sound.  See, who say’s praying doesn’t work?

Glasgow is a lovely city so I’ve heard, but that’s about as much as I can tell you this time around.  My friend from Manchester had a car for the summer (queue shrieks of excitement, if you live in a city you’ll know how much of a thrill this is) and so determined to get the most out of this glorious novelty and of Scotland, once I hit the ground at the airport I was whisked away onto the M8 and towards Loch Lomond, our home for the next few nights.

After a few hours of driving we landed in the Trossachs National Park and Balmaha, the central tourist area for Loch Lomond.  With a very informative information centre, a beautiful boatyard that would soon be our gateway for Island exploring and a great Loch side pub it offered as good a place as any to refuel before our first walk of the trip.

The rain had held off from the expected downpour and was instead offering us slow, but steady dashes of wetness as we made the short boat trip across to the Island of Inchcailloch. Inchcailloch means “island of the old or cowled woman” which is probably in reference to Saint Kentigerna, the Irish missionary who settled on the island in the early 8th century and is believed to have set up an Nunnery, to house all her old and cowled female friends, I’m guessing.

The Island offered us a great starting spot to view the Loch as we hot footed it around, only having our trek wonderfully interpreted by a stag leaping across our path as we made our way back to the boat.  We could have stayed and enjoyed a night camping beachside with the ducks but finished instead on a driving tour, breathing in the never ending delights of Trossachs before heading back to our Youth Hostel on the edge of the Loch.

The next day we headed further into the Trossachs National Park to Aberfoyle.  We didn’t really know where we were going from there and just asked the very informative tourist information centre (they really are doing their job well) we were looking for roughly a five hour walk.  They pulled out a map, pointed at a route and sent us on our way, they even filled our water bottles before we left.  Those lovely Scots at it again.

For the next five hours we enjoyed delightful views of the Loch, climbing tree stumps, staring up and gazing down as we trundled along the trails both on the higher route and Loch side.  It really is beautiful but unfortunately very badly signposted, as myself and my friend and a very lost looking Danish family we kept crossing paths with can testify.  It is alway helpful if the signposts match the map, just a little piece of advice @visitscotland.

That night my romantic dream of camping under the stars and waking with a dip in the Loch were soaked through as the rain played its tune on the tent roof all night.  I emerged, wet and damp into the morning chill, hissed “Thanks for the wake up call” at my singing neighbours and began the day’s routine of midge bite scratching.

The rain may have dashed my hopes of a morning swim but it didn’t ruin the day, once the rather soaked tent (and us by the end of it) had been dismantled and stuffed in the car we made our way east towards Dundee.

With the day spare before meeting friends we made the most of the sights on our route across country.  The first stop being Stirling, home of the infamous William Wallace and his 1297 winning battle with the English at Stirling Bridge.  We stopped off at the William Wallace monument a slightly disappointing exhibition of the battle and his life and times.  I was hoping for more; more drama, more bloodshed, especially with a £10 entrance fee but it felt a bit flat if I’m honest.

Luckily I did not stay disappointed for long.  The next part of our journey led us to Castle Campbell which not only offered incredible views across the Dollar Glen it once reigned over, but was also a complete treat to explore.  A steal at a £6 it was beautifully curated and informative and even has its own flying residents who took a swoop at my head as I sneaked a peek into the historic latrine.  It was a quite a lovely loo, so I guess I can’t blame them.

After all the exploring we made our way to Broughty Ferry, a delightful suburb of Dundee.  We spent the evening of stretching our legs along the Tay Estuary, jumping over jellyfish and admiring rainbows over Broughty Castle before having a nightcap in a pub with a tartan carpet.  It was great.

A well needed sleep gave way to our final day in the country’s capital, Edinburgh.  The city was in preparation for the fringe and after a failed attempt to see a pre-fringe show and ending up at a children’s comedy act (he tried, but the fake poo gag is lost on anyone over 7 years old) I headed into the city to explore.

With more time I would have done a walking tour of the city, they were being played out on the streets like a scene from horrible histories and only added to the drama on the streets as the acts prepared for their shows.  In the short time I did have I FINALLY saw a man in a kilt playing bagpipes (seriously Scotland, live up to your stereotypes a little better please) explored the Royal Mile, took shelter in St Giles Cathedral and climbed Calton Hill for breathtaking views of the city and of Chinese tourists clambering up its Athenian acropolis replica in their kilts.  A joyful final afternoon, spent in wonderful city.

Scotland you were a blast, full of beauty, sunny showers and wonderful experiences.  I’m still wearing my midge bites with pride.