Beyond Inverness
Smaller Train, Smaller Town
he next day of my
vacation started with a leisurely trip down to the lobby of the hotel, and a leisurely
conversation with the innkeeper, who had a hard time believing that I'd fly all the way
from the US to the UK, and sit on a train for 9 hours, only to spend a couple days
sleeping, then leave without seeing any of the sights. Well, that's just how I do
vacations. For me, probably the most important feature of my day was to see what kind of
train I was going to be on.
To be sure, my original plans hadn't called for a leisurely anything. I'd been thinking about getting up early enough to catch the 7:00 train so I could arrive in Thurso in time to catch the ferry to Stromness.
Yeah, sure. People who know me better know better. I can think of no concept more antithetical to my very existence than that of getting up before 9:00, especially on a day off. The only question was whether during the course of my vacation, I was giving myself any days off.
But, people didn't even need to know me better,
because there was apparently no way to get out of the Clansman before 9:00. As a matter of
fact, there didn't seem to be anyone except for guests in the Clansman before 9:00.
Spooky.
And, when people started filtering in, they were much more interested in offering me rides into Drumnadrochit. Hmm. Now that I think of it, I guess they must enjoy saying that, too.
Well, shoot, we all just sat around in the lobby of the hotel thinking up reasons to say Drumnadrochit some more for another half hour, while the staff debated over whether they were going to let me check out. Right around here, I had some old Eagles song running through my head.
Someone eventually called me a taxi (I'll refrain from trotting out the obvious, yet stupid old joke here). I was ferried into town by still another friendly and talkative cabby, who like the innkeeper, was somewhat confused about why I'd want to come visit Scotland in the middle of winter, then not do anything other than finding ever more miserable places to go to.
Hey. It's what I do.
Walking around downtown Inverness taking pictures, with a 50 pound duffel bag hanging from one increasingly limp shoulder, on the other hand, is not the sort of thing I do, but I went ahead and did it anyway, just so I could come up with these really great pictures. (And anyone who thinks they're really great could well get in line to be one of my future clients.)
Still, it seemed somewhat appropriate that if I was going to spend two days in the Inverness area, I should have at least seen a little of Inverness, particularly in daylight hours. So, I snapped a few pictures, and figured they'd do a reasonably convincing job of showing that I really was out seeing the sights.
In reality, I spent nearly the whole day getting to Thurso. After that, I spent the night there, then on to Stromness by ferry on the following day. Spending a day going from Thurso to Stromness meant that I was going to spend still another day out of the reaches of BritRail, meaning that I was going to accumulate still another day on which my BritRail pass would lay fallow. Again, I considered myself a total failure. Well, at least I'd get some train time in on this day.
I'd get some train time in, only after a few discussions with some very
confused train conductors, intent on discovering why anyone would possibly want to fly
from the US to the UK in the middle of winter, only to ride trains into the most out of
the way, coldest little places in Scotland. Funny, because the weather still seemed quite
warm to me.
The answer to my earlier question ("what kind of train I was going to be on") was "small." Small enough that there wasn't even a fake first class section (like there was on the train to Inverness). Just two cars, both of which could (and did) drive the train. Then again, the BritRail pass does say:
First class Pass holders should note that some trains provide Standard accommodation only, and that this is allowed for in the pricing of the First Class Pass.
Ok. So noted.
Aside from having to travel with the masses (which I
unfortunately find myself a member of, regardless of how much I may spend on my
transportation), the ride was very nice.
BA-BLUMP! BA-BLUMP! BA-BLUMP!
Very nice, aside from the quality of the tracks being similarly downgraded. It was a nice trip, but I think my brain got jarred loose. Some say this is not a new development.
I did discover a couple of important, and basic facts about the north Scotland countryside. Actually, I found one important basic fact about the north Scotland countryside, namely that any real estate that isn't already devoted to being grazing land for haggis-on-the-hoof is allocated to some golf course or another. I swear, I hadn't ever seen this many golf courses outside of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
Actually, there was a whole bunch of
medium breathtaking scenery to be, ...well... seen. That is, to be seen during those rare
moments that the sun was up and fog wasn't obscuring absolutely everything.
Part of my motivation for coming to Scotland at this time of the year was that I simply have never been this far north before. I thought it'd be a cool idea (very cool, if I'm not too careful) to see what such northern regions look like so soon after the winter solstice. Scotland adds the extra benefit that it's on the warm side of the gulf stream, so it doesn't feel too much like Siberia.
But, despite the warm "cold" weather, we did get a northern sunrise/sunset schedule, which meant that the sun came up around 9:00, and disappeared again around 4:00. And, the phrase "sun came up" is strictly relative, as it didn't come up very far.
Strangely, in spite of the warm weather I was experiencing (pretty much in the 40º-50ºF range), everyone felt the need to apologize to me for the "cold weather." These people clearly don't have any idea of what cold weather is about.
They could, however, teach us a few things about fog.
They could also teach us a few things about quaint, cute, scenic little
old towns. They also know a few things about building with rocks, which I expect is the
only naturally occurring substance this far north of Hadrian's Wall. (At this point, many
readers will want to express a belief that Haggis is also naturally occurring in northern
Scotland. As the chain of reasoning goes, while it is well known that mankind is basically
cruel and uncaring, a concoction such as haggis is so far beyond the pale that it must be
naturally occurring, because not even man could be so cruel. Well, it's time for a rude
awakening, and I'm glad to be the one throwing the cold water on you.)
A stop in a new town means a chance to buy another bottle of single malt scotch.
I bought this one because it was bottled more or less locally. Since then, I've found that some web-wags consider this to be one of the better brands.
I guess that means I'll have to try it sometime.
And I was indeed quite far north of that wall. The train brought me to Thurso, which is one of the northernmost towns on the British Isle. About the only thing farther north that's can be reached by land is Scrabster, which I was to visit on my next day.
In Thurso, I didn't quite find the gracious, friendly welcome that I'd found in Inverness. What I found were looks that seemed to say "We've had to put up with your lot all summer, so just leave us the hell alone!" I suppose most people would find this a bit off-putting. I found it to be quite nice, because it gave me the perfect excuse for not talking to anyone, which now that I think of it, is precisely what I'd been doing all along, anyway.
I checked into a rather pleasant hotel (which is not pictured at
right), wandered around town snapping quaint touristy pictures, bought some single malt
scotch, and settled in for quite a nice evening of eating bizarre Scottish Continental
food, drinking not-so-bizarre Scotch, and watching distinctly bizarre, yet insipid British
television.
Unlike Haggis, British television is an acquired taste, and generally strikes neophytes as being just as hideous as it first appears. After a second evening of watching what passes for entertainment in the UK, the best I could find (that wasn't created in the US) was a game show called "Countdown" in which contestants with IQs of approximately 120 try to impress a Vanna White clone (clone, except that she seems to have an IQ of about 140), only to be made to feel like a total idiot by some smart-ass panelist who has an IQ of about 78 million.
After
seeing enough Brit TV to make me want to barf, I decided it was time to check down at the
hotel bar to see if there was any really good scotch to be had. It was ok, and
fortunately, most of the people there were too grumpy to ask me why I was there. After
British TV, it was hard to say.
And there I was, a second day without haggis. I was getting worried that my trip was going to be a bust. At least I got to see some pretty nice sights, drink some pretty nice scotch, and... well, there was the TV.
Can't win them all, I guess.
Follow to me Scrabster, Stromness and things that
just don't happen in normal life
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