I fell in love with the Highlands this summer. I almost broke up with London and moved to Scotland.
The only other place I've been where I've felt as much peace and ease has been the Muskoka region of Ontario, on the shores of a tiny little lake whose name I can't pronounce, relaxing on the dock of a cottage only accessible by boat. The Scottish highlands are nothing like Muskoka, of course. Driving through them on our coach bus was like watching someone unroll a tapestry of all my favourite landscapes. It felt a little like coming home - one I'd forgotten I even had. Truly, I understand why so many writers and artists have been inspired by the Highlands.
It's an incredibly rugged landscape of uneven hills spotted with rough grey rock and springy, boggy turf. The valleys and unbalanced fields give way to lochs that stretch away from you in an endless moment, the surface flat and smooth as glass and the water as dark and impenetrable as smoke. Then the moment ends and you're faced with the sheer, imposing visage of a mountain, the jagged edges revealing more grey and black rocks, broken here and there with a smudge of greenery or even a dusting of purple heather. The mountains wept, tiny waterfalls that looked no wider than my wrist hurtling down almost sheer drops. Then you're into the ranges and they become less imposing and more protective, as you wind your way through the narrow roads in the valleys, embraced by multiple hulking peaks demanding your attention whichever way you looked. Until you pass through them and your horizon rapidly expands as you are confronted with the ocean.
Despite being peak tourist season and thus crawling with people whose only interest was snapping photographs and buying shortbread (one of whom I was an unashamed member), I thoroughly enjoyed my tour of the Highlands. We spent five days exploring the area, driving from Edinburgh up towards the coast and the Isle of Skye, then further north to Inverness. And, of course, once we were in Inverness we had to make our way back down to Edinburgh again. One of my favourite parts of the tour was the coastal town, Oban. It was our first overnight stop and Andy, our tour guide, invited us all to join him at a Ceilidh club that night. A ceilidh night is an evening of Scottish music and dancing and, of course, drinking, and it was a blast. I managed to convince my dad to try a reel (or two) with me and we burned off all the calories from the massive fish and chips dinner we'd had a couple hours before. If you've never tried Scottish dancing, I'd highly recommend it, though I also warn you that it is really energetic. There's lots of skipping, spinning, and bouncing. It's also quite fast-paced. In fact, some of the dances reminded me a little of a less dignified and barely controlled Charleston. I was completely out of breath by the end of it (though I'm not very fit to begin with, and some of that was from laughing as much as skipping).
I have to take my hat off to our tour guide, Andy. His restaurant recommendations and terribly fantastic puns, not to mention his knowledge of local folklore and history and his national pride, really made the tour something special. If anyone is interested in following my footsteps and touring the highlands, the tour we went on was this 5 Day Highland Experience. I have nothing but good things to say about it, and that's as much due to the tour organisation and the tour guide as the places we were seeing.
In the end I decided not to break up with London. There just isn't enough infrastructure throughout the Highlands. So though I decided to be practical and not move up to the Highlands, I have reserved a place for them in my heart and will most certainly be going back. tags
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