Scottish Road Trip Part One: Glasgow, Oban and Mull
Not so long ago one September, it was proposed to me by my then-girlfriend that we should take a road trip around Scotland. B was Spanish studying in the UK and was yet to see anything north of the Watford Gap. And despite having lived in Scotland for 10 years myself, many parts of Scotland had eluded me too. For that I wanted to make amends, but I also wanted to show B what I imagined to be some of the most beautiful areas in Britain.
B's sister L, was actually the idea's originator, so planned to install her then-boyfriend, M, at the helm of a rental car. This brought the Spanish contingent to three.
Misty Lochs?
Romantic notions of misty lochs, majestic forests and dramatic peaks pervaded the Spaniards' minds. I tried to quell my memories of battered haggis, battered mars bars – and other late-night batterings fabled in the Central Belt – and attempted to supplant them with similar Rob Roy style imagery.
Loch Lomond, Scotland
Planning a Scottish Road Trip
Unlike the trips I take alone - which involve booking a ticket and ‘seeing what happens' - my Iberian companions had a more regimented approach to holiday-planning. In eleven days we would fly into Glasgow, rent a car, drive up the west coast, along the top of Scotland, then down the east coast and finish up in that Georgian gem, Edinburgh - then fly home. All accommodation would be pre-booked, every castle, glen and mountain on the route would be ticked off.
Mr M spoke moderate English, while the two girls spoke very well. However, the Scottish accent was only fathomable via me, so I was the crucial communication and navigation man, without whom, I imagined, the trio of Spaniards would have ended up in an eternal argument with a Glaswegian hotelier, or found themselves bobbing in Loch Lomond.
Getting into a Scrape
We were in fact near this great loch when our first real challenge occurred. M, in charge of our newly hired Vauxhall Corsa and still getting used to driving on the left, scraped the cars near side against a parked van. There were tears, there were accusations, there were remonstrations. The de facto road trip lingua franca of English was abandoned. Perhaps I liked it better that way.
Soon enough M said he would pay for the damage. The scrape wasn't so bad, but maybe we should have taken out the additional insurance at the car rental office after all?
The Trossachs and Oban
Bright September weather ensured our worries quickly faded away, with us enjoying the views around Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park, before moving up to the fishing port of Oban. It was here that a major dietary rift emerged; the two sisters liked healthy, low fat food, but myself and the driver were keen to sample the fried delights of Scotland. - of which there are many.
Oban, Scotland (meunierd/Bigstock.com)
The Trossachs National Park, Scotland
M and I gorged on haggis and chips in the open air of the bustling harbour, while the ladies found something more Italian and less ‘al fresco' to dine on.
Scottish Haggis
We booked into a comfortable guest house and bedded in for the night, but not before M and I sampled a few local ales, naturally.
The Isle of Mull
The Isle of Mull was up next, with its delightful fishing town of Tobermory. But the inhabited areas of this island weren't the real star; it was the wild glens and munroes of Mull which amazed us. For the Spaniards, who had only ever seen the crowded south east of England, it was a revelation that such beautiful open spaces existed in the British Isles.
Duart Castle, Isle of Mull
Driving on Mull
We soon discovered that extra care should be taken on Mull's roads, where blind crests and tight bends are ‘de rigour'. M however, was duly cautious after the van scraping incident. Numerous ‘passing places' help resolve the many jams that occur on the island's single track roads (and we used them liberally).
Fuel consumption was much higher with all this stop-start motoring – so we were glad we topped up the tank in Oban, where petrol is 15-20p per litre cheaper than on Mull!
That night the girls retired early to the pre-booked guest house, leaving myself and M to enjoy a pub meal and a few more obscure Scottish ales - followed by one or two of the must-try local whiskies. The friendly locals ensured our Anglo-Spanish duo felt incredibly welcome.
The combination of stunning landscapes and fresh air, genial Scots and stomach pleasing food, was starting to make us all feel very good indeed – especially those of us who ended each day in the bosom of a Caledonian drinking hole.
But many more Scottish delights awaited us.
