After a quiet night in Drumnadrochit, I drove across Scotland towards Loch Maree, one of the most picturesque lochs in Scotland. If you've ever seen the music video to Anna Kendrick's "Cups" (aka When I'm Gone), at 0:34, there's a picture of a postcard with the words "Scotland" on it. That postcard shows Loch Maree. I can't say I ever saw precisely that picture of it, but then again it was getting dark when I arrived and it was partially overcast when I left... and I dunno where it was taken from, so leave me alone already. On the long drive there, I also took some wrong turns and cursed both my map, my GPS and most of all my failing memory of where I was supposed to turn off. I need to face the fact that I'm getting old and forgetful and plan accordingly. Le sigh. Anyway, here's an assortment of pictures that will hopefully convince you to go see Scotland soon.
A nice little loch.
Looking the other way.
Lochs, rivers, streams. Water, water everywhere.
Water coming down the rocks.
From the bay of Loch Kishorn, a saltwater loch.
I think this was around Tornapress, where a side road winds its ways over the mountains of the Applecross peninsula to the tiny village of Applecross. I was warned that the conditions might be a bit dangerous this late in the year, so I didn't take that road, but my heart was yearning to.
The tiny village of Shieldaig on the south coast of upper Loch Torridon (saltwater).
Lovely, windblown tree at Shieldaig.
Somewhere not too far out of Shieldaig (I think), there's this place where it looks like some subterranean beings have gone hogwild with the landscape.
See what I mean?
Another cute, little loch. I want to build a tiny, red cabin by the side of such a loch.
Cozy and snug, isn't it?
I stopped in Kinlochewe to stuff face. I suspect that's what pretty much ruined the rest of my trip. Look closely at the sandwich, folks... does that chicken seem suspicious to you? Just a little too moist, maybe? This is suspect #1 for what made me come down with a horrible, horrible diarrhea starting the next evening and lasting till I was home from Scotland again. But more about that later (these words are written in mid December).
I spent the night at the lovely Old Mill Highland Lodge. They don't normally do dinners that late in the season, but a small group of Sassenachs were expected up from Engerland that night, so they emailed me to inform that a three-courser was available. I accepted the offer and spent the night in culinary heaven; the food was so good I even had second helpings of vegetables, that's how good it was. I also exchanged lots of banter with not just my lovely hosts, but also with the English, who were all from (or had ties to) Essex. It started off a bit earlier in the day with me telling the only joke I knew about Essex, a joke that got me guffaws from the Sassenachs. It goes like this: What is the similarity between Essex and Las Vegas? They're the only places in the world where you can pay for sex with chips. (This joke really only works if you know that chips means fries in the UK). Anyhoo, tons of jokes flew through the air all night and it was really one of the best evenings I've spent on that little island ever. The evening was topped off with our hosts calling us out to the kitchen, where a couple of pinemartens were happily stuffing face; apparently this was a more or less daily occurrence.
A nice little loch.
Looking the other way.
Lochs, rivers, streams. Water, water everywhere.
Water coming down the rocks.
From the bay of Loch Kishorn, a saltwater loch.
I think this was around Tornapress, where a side road winds its ways over the mountains of the Applecross peninsula to the tiny village of Applecross. I was warned that the conditions might be a bit dangerous this late in the year, so I didn't take that road, but my heart was yearning to.
The tiny village of Shieldaig on the south coast of upper Loch Torridon (saltwater).
Lovely, windblown tree at Shieldaig.
Somewhere not too far out of Shieldaig (I think), there's this place where it looks like some subterranean beings have gone hogwild with the landscape.
See what I mean?
Another cute, little loch. I want to build a tiny, red cabin by the side of such a loch.
Cozy and snug, isn't it?
I stopped in Kinlochewe to stuff face. I suspect that's what pretty much ruined the rest of my trip. Look closely at the sandwich, folks... does that chicken seem suspicious to you? Just a little too moist, maybe? This is suspect #1 for what made me come down with a horrible, horrible diarrhea starting the next evening and lasting till I was home from Scotland again. But more about that later (these words are written in mid December).
I spent the night at the lovely Old Mill Highland Lodge. They don't normally do dinners that late in the season, but a small group of Sassenachs were expected up from Engerland that night, so they emailed me to inform that a three-courser was available. I accepted the offer and spent the night in culinary heaven; the food was so good I even had second helpings of vegetables, that's how good it was. I also exchanged lots of banter with not just my lovely hosts, but also with the English, who were all from (or had ties to) Essex. It started off a bit earlier in the day with me telling the only joke I knew about Essex, a joke that got me guffaws from the Sassenachs. It goes like this: What is the similarity between Essex and Las Vegas? They're the only places in the world where you can pay for sex with chips. (This joke really only works if you know that chips means fries in the UK). Anyhoo, tons of jokes flew through the air all night and it was really one of the best evenings I've spent on that little island ever. The evening was topped off with our hosts calling us out to the kitchen, where a couple of pinemartens were happily stuffing face; apparently this was a more or less daily occurrence.
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