Scotland is a truly peculiar
destination, and touring in Scotland - its Highlands, its Lowlands, its cities
or its islands offer visitors more variety than one can shake a proverbial
stick at.
It is also, one of those
countries that virtually every visitor believes that they know before they
arrive; they know because, as the Scots themselves say “Everyone in the world
is either Scottish or wishes that they were”; an exaggeration, perhaps, but
there is certainly something in this remarkable place for everyone, and most of the jewels need a little fossicking.
I have been fortunate to
have been here many, many times. The first visit was back in about 1972 when,
infatuated with a Scottish girl who I had met on a school cruise, I decided to hitch-hike
to East Lothian to see her. I recall her bewildered parents when I arrived, and
Anne herself (for that was her name) was equally bemused to see me turn up at
the farm gate early one morning. In those days, of course, there was no
internet, and communication was sparse. I did, however, spend an enjoyable few
days, and in the timeless way of fathers was introduced to the joys of farming;
having arranged my first driving licence (tractors only), and shown me a field
to clear, I enjoyed the first few days and then left hitch back to London, some
350 miles to the south. I still have the licence.
In subsequent years, my visits have taken me in more comfort at times, and from the gorgeous rolling hills and ineffaceable sense of time in The Borders to the remote islands of Shetland, I have travelled the length and breadth of the country.
In almost complete
contrast the rigged islands of the Outer Hebrides are exercises in stoicism,
visible in the architecture of everything from the small stone crofts to the
concrete bus shelters designed to withstand some mighty gales; there are
thriving communities and there are abandoned communities, and one, an island
some fifty miles of the western shore was abandoned in the 1930s after hundreds
of years of habitation.
A bus shelter on Lewis |
The island, St. Kilda, has
to be one of the most evocative places that I have visited; it has given its
name to the suburb of Melbourne, founded by some of the first St. Kildans to
emigrate away from their brutal life of bird catching, bird plucking and bird
eating on an isolated, windy and craggy rock in the Atlantic ocean. However it
was exactly those features that attracted me to the island, and a few years ago
I headed out in a smallish boat to visit Hirta.
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Approaching St. Kilda |
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The Bay on Hirta |
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Stac Lee and Bororay |
The journey took about
four hours, one passenger actually turned a fetching shade of green and spent the whole time on land
praying for an airport to be suddenly constructed. It wasn’t, but the weather picked
up, and the day on the island was simply gorgeous. Some of the houses on Main
Street have been restored by volunteers from the National Trust and somehow the
atmosphere of the island still felt inhabited; perhaps by the spirits of the
long forgotten islanders, or perhaps from the simple strength of character that
has been woven into the island’s fabric during their hundreds of years of harsh
tenancy. Whichever it was, I loved the day, and became completely mesmerised by
the hundreds of thousands of birds living on the rugged stacks; it was a visit
that I would like to repeat.
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Main Street |
And finally, in this note
about Scotland, I would be remiss to show my hand, and say that (friends
notwithstanding), I prefer Glasgow to Edinburgh! Glasgow is wonderful; heavy,
secure, beautiful and with some of the regions greatest museums (a couple of
reasonable football teams), fine monuments and terrific restaurants and
nightlife. On the other hand, Glaswegians do have a virtually impenetrable
accent.
When you visit Scotland,
however, be sure to explore; the brands are great, but the soul of the country
lies in its depth and lies in the people who live in the remarkable communities
that weave the unique fabric that is Scotland.