Our Highland Fling

I have been planning a Highlands trip for the four of us since we have arrived in Scotland, as it’s supposed to be the highlight of any trip to the country. Since the kids are at the tail end of their spring break, we hit the road on Thursday morning. I drove, because David was working under a grant deadline. The kids camped out in the back seat, surrounded by pillows, blankets, stuffed animals and a big bag of snacks, and we didn’t hear a peep out of them for the first two-hour leg of the trip, though periodically I would smell a strange odor coming from the back seat, and figured that one of them had either taken off their socks, or had just opened a bag of Walker’s Salt and Vinegar crisps. We drove up the A9, which is a moderately wide “dual carriageway,” and it was luxurious to have that much space on both sides of the car. Since two lanes were going in one direction, I almost felt like I was back in the States, driving on an interstate highway, except I had to keep reminding myself to stay in the left hand lane, and pass on the right. The scenery was lovely…we were passing by Ben Macdui and through the Monadhliath Mountains, which were shrouded in Scottish mist. In parts, the landscape became quite rocky and scrubby, and if it weren’t for the low stone walls and daffodils lining the road, it sometimes looked positively lunar!

As we drove, I realized that many of the differences between the United States and Scotland become quite evident on a “dual carriageway.” Language, of course, is different—the word “exit” becomes “way out” here, and a pull-off is a “lay-by.” Parking lots are “car parks” and a dead end is a “T junction.” But the scenery is markedly different as well, and I think it’s mostly because there are absolutely no billboards here. Drivers can enjoy the views of the Munros without interruption by Geico or Hampton Inn. There are also no interstate exits clogged with Burger King/Cracker Barrel/Mobil gas station combinations lining the road. It’s all quite undeveloped, and the only signs one sees are those put up by the government—even those that mark a commercial destination like a for-profit castle or historic site. It’s quite tasteful and refreshing! The other difference is the size of the cars themselves… and even the names of the cars. In the States, cars seem to be named after large Western cities or outdoorsy occupations that imply masculinity and mechanical prowess. Here the cars seem to have been named after nouns drawn out of a hat one night at the pub, with no concern for the statement the car makes about the person who owns it. I saw the Honda Jazz, the Nissan Note, the Fiat Panda, the Volkswagon Golf…and my personal favorite, the Toyota Picnic. Nothing masculine about the word “picnic!”

Our first stop during our family’s own Highland Fling was the House of Bruar, which was a big Scottish food hall and “country living” emporium…and here “country living” means cashmere and tweed and high-end spey fishing reels. The food emporium was glorious—full of brambleberry marmalades, homemade rough oatcakes, Isle of Arran cheeses, smoked salmon, and Highland tarts. Even the women’s bathroom was the epitome of Scottish luxury, with wool rugs, olivewood louvered doors, and soap dispensers full of Highland heather and lavender soap. The best part, however, was that the taps for the sink actually mixed the hot water and the cold water, and dispensed it out of one central faucet…certainly a first in Scotland, where one usually has to turn on both taps that are spaced quite far apart in the sink and wave one’s hands back and forth quickly in a burn-freeze-burn-freeze attempt at washing one’s hands without serious injury. We came away with some House of Bruar lemon curd, a Border tart, and Scottish tablet, which is a super-sweet concoction similar to very dry, crumbly fudge—a big hit with (and only with) the kids! The kids also picked out “chocolate bean” cookies (the word here for “generic M&M) that they ate in the car on the second leg of the trip. Fortunately, chocolate beans have no discernible backseat smell!

After browsing for a bit (we could only afford the food at this place!), we hiked a short trail to the nearby Falls of Bruar and had a quick lunch at the side of the falls. The kids stopped at the “adventure playground” on the way back, then we all hopped back in the car for another hour drive up to the Cairngorms, which is the highest land mass in Britain. In Aviemore, we stopped at Rothiemurches Center, which is a public estate filled with Caledonia pine trees and sub-arctic tundra vegetation , and rented mountain bikes for the afternoon. These were no typical rental bikes…the kids were given bikes with gears and handbrakes, which took a while for them to figure out (Emma was puzzled that she couldn’t stop by pedaling backwards, for example!), but which they loved in the end. My bike and David’s bike had internal gears and super-hefty shocks, and when I first got on, I was convinced that my tires must have been flat because it was so springy. The bike rental place gave us a map and sent us on our way. Aviemore is chock-ful of bikers, and there are lovely wide bike paths everywhere. We headed towards Loch en Eilen first, where the ruins of a castle sit in the middle of a small island in the loch, and rode a path around the loch for an hour or so. In the distance, we could see the snow-capped mountains, which were quite beautiful. John and I were riding just a bit ahead of David and Emma, and John was thrilled to be on a bike again after so many months of not using one. He was cruising ahead of me and looking around, and then suddenly let out with a “Whooo…I love nature!” which was pretty funny. Then we met up with a boy who looked to be about 10 or 11, who was having trouble navigating an especially steep hill. He was also having trouble telling his right from his left, so the directions his father was providing weren’t of much help. After they passed, John launched into a soliloquy about how kids of a certain age should just be expected to be able to do certain things, like tie their shoe or tell their directions, and how they should be expected to NOT do certain things…like throw a tantrum or hit their sister. After a pause, he added, “Though, I guess I’m not really that kind of a kid…”

After our ride, we stopped in the Rothiemurches Farm Shop and bought some venison for dinner, then drove down the road a bit to our hostel, which was an old shooting lodge across from Loch Morlich. We dropped off our luggage and made a quick dinner (the venison was delicious, and we made some British greens with feta cheese to go along with it) and then walked across the street for a hike around the loch, which features a large, wide sandy beach. John brought his soccerball in the hopes of finding a group of kids with which to play football, but made do with his sister, until they found a huge bleached-out tree to climb. The loch was stunning, bordered by the snow-covered Cairngorm mountains in the distance, and we stayed until the sun set, then walked back to the hostel and went to bed.