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Driving the North Coast 500 – Part 7: Duncansby Head Lighthouse To Loch Ness or Castles, Myths & Bagpipes

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A small flock of sheep, sleeping on the tarmac, scattered when we rounded a bend to Duncansby Head Lighthouse before the crack of dawn. The pinnacle stood silhouetted against a brightening sky of pink, amber and blue, as the sun crested the horizon over the North Sea.

We followed the trail along the cliffs towards the Duncansby Stacks and passed a spot where we imagined an ancient Norse god had wielded a broadaxe and severed the bluff in two. The stacks were glowing red in the early morning light as Kittiwakes and Guillemots swooped along the cliff face, which stretched south for miles.

Following a delicious hardy breakfast, we packed our bags and said goodbye to the innkeepers at the John o’ Groats Guest House, one of our nicest stays while in the Scotland, then began the final leg of our NC500 tour and headed south along the A99 and A9 to Dunrobin Castle & Gardens, before spending the night in Strathpeffer. A pleasant distance of only 113 miles, which took us all day with all the photo stops we made. But that’s the way we roll.

There’s a debate about the best way to drive the North Coast 500 and the consensus seems to be that exploring it in a counterclockwise direction leaves the breathtaking scenery of the west coast for the last part of your trip.

We did the opposite and followed the NC500 clockwise, heading south from Inverness to Edinburgh, then west through the highlands to the Isles of Skye and Lewis & Harris before returning to the mainland and heading north to Durness and John o’ Groats, before heading south along the North Sea Coast of Scotland. We found the scenery breathtaking.

Our only complaint was the lack of official scenic pullovers, as we often had to park at the entrance to a farmer’s pasture or on a side road, and walk back along its shoulder to the spot we wanted. Fortunately, there were few cars on the road, because we stopped numerous times.

At Wick we visited the Old Parish Church and wandered amid its ancient gravestones, the oldest of which dates to 1639. The present church was built in 1862 over the foundations of two earlier churches, the earliest dating to the 12th century. A prideful lot the Wicks were, and they didn’t take kindly to anyone disparaging St. Fergus, their church’s patron saint. History tells of an Archdeacon, a noted reformer, who visited the parish in 1613 and vented his wrath on a beloved image of St Fergus in the old church, attacking and defacing it. The congregation was incensed, and the Archdeacon might have met his maker on the steps of the altar if the local sheriff hadn’t escorted him out of town. But he only got as far as the Wick River when he was ambushed and drowned.  During the following enquiry, “witnesses swore on oath that they had seen the ghost of St Fergus astride the unfortunate minister holding him down in the river.”

Clan Gunn Museum & Heritage Centre is beautifully set on the coast.

There are few natural harbors along Scotland’s North Sea coast. Ferocious storms blowing in off the sea required many villages to build stout seawalls to prevent their fishing boats from being smashed against the rocky coast. One such place was the tiny Latheronwheel Harbour. We had it all to ourselves when we visited on a Wednesday in August.

Crossing the River Helmsdale, we stopped at the Emigrants Monument which graces a hilltop that overlooks the village of Helmsdale nestled against its river and the sea. It’s a heart-rending tribute to those who were forced from their homes and livelihoods during the Clearances. The inscription on the monument, in Gaelic and English, reads:

“The Emigrants commemorates the people of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland who, in the face of great adversity, sought freedom, hope and justice beyond these shores. They and their descendants went forth and explored continents, built great countries and cities and gave their enterprise and culture to the world. This is their legacy. Their voices will echo forever thro the empty straths and glens of their homeland.”

It was commissioned by Dennis MacLeod. The son of a war-widowed crofter, he emigrated from Scotland to South Africa and made his fortune in mining.

Dunrobin Castle & Gardens was our main destination for the day, but our hopes were temporarily dampened by a sudden heavy rain. Fortunately, after we ran through the storm to the entrance, the sky cleared.

The castle is one of the best-preserved examples of how the landed nobility extravagantly lived. A castle has stood on this site overlooking the Dornoch Firth and the North Sea since the Earldom of Sutherland was created in 1235. Only a few walls of the ancient castle’s keep remained after extensive renovations and expansion in the 1700 and 1800s. The result was a French style chateau with towering conical spires and 189 rooms. Amazingly, the beautiful estate has remained the seat of Clan Sutherland for 800 years and is today owned by the 25th Earl of Sutherland.

Our self-guided tour (there were staff along the way to answer any questions) through the

exquisite rooms of this immense family home was very interesting. And it does feel like a family home, opulent but not pretentious. It was significantly nicer than the royal Palace of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh.

As gardeners, we delighted in wandering through the Versailles-inspired oasis of flower beds and fountains.

Off the garden was the estate’s former two-story summer house, now a museum that displayed a notable collection of Pictish Stones, along with a variety of ethnographic items collected from travels around the world, and animal head trophies from safaris in Africa. 

At the lower end of the garden, we watched the castle’s resident falconer demonstrate and explain the ancient art of falconry as a Harris hawk, Gyrfalcon and Peregrine swooped low over the gasping audience. It was a very entertaining and informative show.

Farther south we turned off the A9 and headed to an early dinner at the Surf and Turf in Dornoch, a small town that traces its roots back to the 8th century. We discovered the Surf and Turf through one of the Instagram feeds we follow. The reviews were quite favorable and pictures of the seafood looked delicious, but we didn’t realize it was a takeaway shop. Luckily for us, they had a long bar with stools along one wall. The fresh fried fish, calamari and mussels we ordered were excellent and all locally caught.

The Dornoch Cathedral was just around the corner, and we spent a while studying the grotesque ancient gargoyles and stone interior of the church, which held its first service in 1239. During the medieval era the gargoyles were believed to portray evil spirits, which were driven from the church by ringing its tower bells.

In 1245 the 1st Earl of Sutherland was buried in the cathedral, the first of many Sutherlands  to be entombed in the family vault under the sanctuary floor. Three centuries later the church was left in ruins after fire destroyed the nave and roof during a climatic feud between Clan MacKay of Strathnaver and Clan Murray of Dornoch. Fifty years later only the roof over the chancel and transept walls were replaced. The cathedral remained partially renovated for another 300 years until 1835, when the Duchess of Sutherland financed a full restoration. Light poured through 27 stained glass windows and brilliantly illuminated the church’s interior. Three of those windows, with the themes literacy, music, and peace, were donated to the church in 1926, in the memory of the famous Scottish-American industrialist, Andrew Carnegie, who summered nearby at his baronial estate, Skibo Castle.

Also of interesting note, the last burning at the stake of a witch in Scotland happened in Dornoch in 1727.  Janet Horne, a local woman, was accused of turning her daughter into a pony and riding her around the highlands to perform her witchcraft. The Scottish Witchcraft Act of 1563 was repealed in 1736. The singer Madonna had her son Rocco christened in the cathedral in 2000, before her wedding ceremony to Guy Ritchie at Skibo Castle.

We ended our day in the quaint village of Strathpeffer, a Victorian era spa town whose sulphurous spring waters were touted as a cure for many ailments. A railway line reached the town in the late 1800s, and it became an easy destination for wealthy Victorians who sought “to take the waters.” Our hotel, the Highland Hotel Strathpeffer was one of those grand, four-story wood paneled, railway hotels built to ease spa-goers’ visits to the village. It’s glory years now a distant memory, the hotel still has its original warm wood paneling, but our room was very spartan, and a far cry from what we imagined were its luxuries during its heyday. During World War I the hotel was requisitioned as a convalescent military hospital, and in the Second World War served as a naval training school.

The village was very charming with a visually pleasing assortment of well-kept Victorian architecture. The old train station now hosts the Highland Museum of Childhood and a nice cafe. Across the street from our hotel the town’s original pavilion was recently renovated and once again hosts music and theater events, along with weddings, and exhibitions. Behind the pavilion is a small whimsical sculpture garden with five 13ft tall wooden sculptures of mythical figures from Celtic, Viking and Pictish legends. They were created by Allister Brebner, a local woodcarver with a workshop in the old train station, from the trunks of giant Douglas Fir trees, harvested from the Highland’s forests.

Is a tour of the Scottish Highlands really complete without visiting Loch Ness? We didn’t want to have any regrets, so on our last full day in Scotland we headed to Urquhart Castle and hoped to catch a glimpse of the fabled serpent so we could tell our young grandchildren, with our fingers crossed and a wink of the eye, that we had indeed spotted and encountered the creature and tried to wrestle it to ashore. I had his head and Donna his tail, but the slippery slimy thing was wildly thrashing about, and we lost hold of him, and in a final splash he vanished. An epic fish story about the one that got away is always good for a child’s imagination.

The castle commands a strategic point that juts out into Loch Ness, the natural geographic dividing line between the northern and southern Highlands. Built in the 13th century, it was one of Scotland’s largest fortifications and had a tumultuous 500 year history as it was captured then retaken numerous times during the Wars of Scottish Independence. Finally British soldiers blew it up in 1692 as they retreated to prevent the Jacobite army of Bonnie Prince Charlie from occupying it. On the grounds is a full-sized working recreation of a medieval trebuchet, a catapult-like siege engine that used a counterweight to hurl large stones against castle walls. Unfortunately, they were not demonstrating its use when we visited. Urquhart Castle, along with the Glenfinnan Viaduct for the Harry Potter train, were the busiest attractions we visited while in the Highlands. The rest of the time it felt like we had the Highlands mostly to ourselves. This was wonderful considering we drove the NC500 during the summer high season in August.

Our last stop before catching an evening flight from Inverness Airport was in Drumnadrochit, a crossroads village at the foot of a bridge that crosses over the River Enrick. We drove through it on the way to Urquhart Castle, earlier that morning, and thought it would be a nice place to break for lunch.

A young bagpiper commanded the village green as we settled into an outside table at The Fiddler’s Highland Restaurant to people-watch for a while. We were a little melancholic that our trip was finally coming to an end after driving a big loop around the Highlands, an area blessed with an amazing array of beautiful mountains and seascapes. The wizardly spell cast by the pipes was hard to break as we departed.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,

My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.

The poem was written by Robert Burns

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Driving the North Coast 500 – Part 6: A Day Trip to Orkney

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We had spent the previous day enjoying the fantastic landscapes of the Highlands along the NC500 from Ullapool to Durness before calling it a night at the John o’ Groats Guest House, just outside the village of the same name, at the land’s end of northern Scotland. With any trip it’s a matter of choices: how long, how much to spend, what to see, and where to go. Being this close to the Orkney Islands, how could we resist a visit? Sorry Inverness, but you were scratched off the itinerary.

After a hearty full Scottish breakfast, we were off early to catch the Pentland Ferry, only 8 minutes away in Gills Bay. Reading about how busy the Highlands are during the summer months, especially the car ferries, we made our reservations back in February as soon as their new yearly schedule was posted online. While it wasn’t inexpensive (RT 2 ppl, 1 car for £170) to get the car to Orkney, it was 40% less than doing a coach tour for the day, and it retained our freedom to dally and dither. After scanning our e-ticket, the attendant directed us to the proper queue. Within a few minutes the ferry from St Margaret’s Hope, on Orkney, docked and disembarked its cars and passengers, and we drove aboard.

As we rounded Hoxa Head, long abandoned coastal gun batteries were a reminder of the important role Orkney and its large natural harbor Scapa Flow played during WWI & WWII. During these conflicts it served as the main naval base for the British Home Fleet and a strategic location for patrolling the North Sea and Atlantic Ocean. As remote as the island was, it did not prevent Nazi war planes from bombing it in 1940. The short crossing of 19 miles took an hour. We pulled aside in the parking area to let the tour buses and delivery trucks race ahead, along with all the other drivers who knew where they were going. St. Margaret’s Hope is actually on a separate island and is connected to Orkney by the A961 which crosses several islets and causeways to reach the mainland.

We planned to stop first at the Italian Chapel on the small island of Lamb Holm, but the tour buses were there so we moved on. We did stop at the foot of the last causeway, to photograph divers exploring the half-exposed hull of a rusted shipwreck. The wreck wasn’t the result of a tragic storm, but an intentional sinking of a block ship to prevent German U-boats from entering Scapa Flow again after an earlier U-boat attack sank the battleship HMS Royal Oak in 1939.

We figured we would race ahead of the tour buses now and headed across the Orkney mainland, a distance of 24 miles, to the Broch of Gurness.

Located on the shoreline of Eynhallow Sound, the Broch is one of Scotland’s most complete and best-preserved Iron Age settlements. The historic settlement dates to around 500BC and featured a large stone tower, the broch, surrounded by smaller stone houses and animal sheds, all of which were protected by an encircling earthen rampart.

Broches are drystone hollow-walled structures unique to Scotland, and were usually the large home of the village chief, which also served as a place of refuge for villagers during times of conflict. The site was used for about 600 years before it was abandoned around 100AD. Slowly the abandoned ruins were covered, and the site was a Pictish farmstead until the Vikings landed on Orkneys in 8th century and established farming communities while also using the islands as a base for seafaring raids to Scotland, England and France.

The site slowly vanished into obscurity until 1929, when the leg of stool which a local artist was sitting on to sketch sank unusually deep into the earth. A little digging revealed a staircase into the broch. With news of this discover the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland bought the land and started a full excavation which revealed Iron Age settlement, along with artifacts and the medieval era grave of a Viking woman buried with a sickle blade and a pair of tortoise brooches.

We are constantly amazed by the desire of older civilizations to explore the horizon. On Orkney and the other islands of the archipelago the curiosity of Mesolithic hunter gatherers 8,000 years ago was rewarded with the discovery of a fertile landscape, and the abundant resources of the surrounding seas, as they followed the retreating glaciers of the Ice Age north. The Broch of Gurness is not the earliest settlement on Orkney, that distinction goes to Skara Brae, a 5000-year-old Neolithic era village that was also on our itinerary.

Often the journey between destinations is half the fun, and the vast landscapes of the windswept Orkney farmlands and brilliant seascapes delighted us as we headed toward Skara Brae.

The historic ruins of the Earl’s Palace in the tiny seaside hamlet of Birsay was on the route and of course we stopped. The vistas of the coast, and the Brough of Birsay Lighthouse from the hamlet were beguiling, and it was easy to see why the, “I want to be king,” Lord Robert Stewart, the illegitimate son of King James V of Scotland, choose the spectacular spot to build his fortress palace. It was probably the only instance of good taste he displayed while on Orkney.  

In 1564 Mary, Queen of Scots, his half-sister, dispatched Robert, as the sheriff and justiciar of Orkney and Shetland, to the remote recently acquired islands, (the resolution of an unpaid dowry for the King of Norway’s daughter Margaret’s marriage to James III of Scotland,) to get him out of Edinburgh. A few years later he was made the Lord of Shetland and Orkney, but took advantage of the island’s isolation and ruled over them as a tyrant with an iron fist, making the area his own private fiefdom.

His time was marked by severe taxation, the seizure and redistribution of land to his allies, a gang of henchmen who violently enforced his rule, and conscripted labor to build his palace. The palace was a large two-story structure, with three-story towers on the corners, and a central courtyard. The upper level had two halls, a gallery, and the Earl’s private chambers. The ground floor was for servant’s quarters and workrooms for the support of the estate. The exterior walls on this level had gunports for defense. Above the entrance to the palace was inscribed the Latin phrase, “Dominus Robertus Stewartus, filius Jacobi Quinti, Rex Scotorum, hoc opus instruxit.” The controversial use of “Rex” in the phrase was interpreted by some as Robert calling himself King, a traitorous act.

He died in 1593, but his legacy of ruthlessly treating the Orcadians as serfs was continued by the successive rule of his son and grandson. Their subjugation of the islanders ended with their execution during an armed rebellion in 1615.

Beyond the ruins sheep graze peacefully in the surrounding pasturelands. Across the street we spotted our first Honesty Box stocked with the tasty creations made by Jane & Paul’s Orkney Produce, and there we procured the makings for a picnic lunch. The Honesty Boxes are a wonderful concept of selling homemade treats, and relying on the honesty of the purchasers to deposit money in the box. Unfortunately, this doesn’t exist in the states anymore.

Knowledge of Skara Brae remained hidden until a severe North Atlantic storm in 1850 washed away the dunes that were covering the small cluster of eight dwellings on the shore of the idyllic Skaill Bay, though the site was only 700ft away from the Skaill House, a 17thcentury mansion, and the estate of the Lairds of Skaill.  The first partial excavation of the site was conducted by 7th Laird of Skaill, William Watt.

After another storm in 1926, extensive excavations were undertaken by the Ancient Monuments branch of the British Ministry of Works, which revealed the dwellings had earthen or thatch covered roofs supported by a structure made from driftwood and whalebones, with stone sleeping platforms and in the center of each house was a water pit which drained onto the beach.

Stone slabs covered narrow sunken passageways between the houses. But the age of the site wasn’t established until the 1970s when radiocarbon dating of the artifacts discovered at the site dated them to the Neolithic era around 3200BC. While you can’t walk amid the archeological ruins here as you can at the Broch of Gurness site, there was a recreated Neolithic dwelling next to the Skara Brae Visitor Center that we walked through and found very interesting.

It was late in the afternoon when we headed back to the ferry along a route that took us through Kirkwall. It’s the largest town in the Orkney archipelago and a ferry hub onto the other islands and the Shetlands. The town looked intriguing and we wished that we had time to explore it. Hopefully, there’s a next time to Orkney.

Now there was only one other car in the parking lot at the Italian Chapel, a beautiful small country church built by Italian POWs captured in North Africa.  Five-hundred Italian soldiers were incarcerated in Camp 60 on the uninhabited islet of Lamb Holm during WWII to construct the causeways that connected St Margaret’s Hope to the Orkney mainland. The causeways were also called the Churchill Barriers, as he ordered their construction to prevent Nazi U-boats from entering Scapa Flow, where the British Home Fleet was based, from the North Sea.

After petitioning the prison camp’s commandant that they needed a place of worship, the Italians were allowed to repurpose two Quonset huts and craft the interior and exterior of the chapel with concrete material leftover from the construction of the causeways. It was definitely an inspired labor of love, and the chapel is beautiful.

The statue of Saint George, the patron saint of soldiers, in front of the chapel was sculpted by the POW Domenico Chiocchetti, an artist from Moena, Italy. A 1970s restoration revealed it was sculpted with concrete over a tower of glass milk bottles and barbed wire frame. The milk bottles contained names of all the prisoners, Italian notes and coins, along with prayers.

We made it back to the ferry with only a few minutes to spare before boarding began. Ideally, we wish we had an extra day on Orkney to explore it in more depth.

Back on the Scottish mainland we still had time to catch the sunset, and we headed to the Duncansby Head Lighthouse which overlooks the North Sea. It’s a tranquil, beautifully expansive spot on the headland. It was a nice way to end a busy day.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Driving the North Coast 500 – Ullapool to John o’ Groats or Mountains, Lochs, Seas, and Midges

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True to form, blustery afternoon winds were ripping the clouds apart as the CalMac ferry steamed past the Rhue Lighthouse, heading into Loch Broom and the ferry dock at Ullapool. Being one of the last cars to board the ferry, we were one of the first off in Ullapool, and decided to pull over out of everyone else’s way to get our bearings before taking a spin around the village. Ullapool isn’t a particularly large village, only a couple of blocks, but within ten minutes of folks disembarking from the ferry, there was no sign of life on the streets. Granted, it was a Sunday, but in August, which is the tourist high season, and it felt like a ghost town. Fortunately, we did find the local Tesco supermarket open, and we bought some provisions for breakfast the next morning, as where we were staying for the night, the Altnacealgach Motel on Loch Borrolan only offered dinner.

We were back on mainland Scotland and on the NC500 again, after modifying our NC500 route to include the Isles of Skye, and Lewis & Harris, for seven days of exploring those interesting islands.

Scotland is so outstandingly beautiful, and with every twist and bend in the road there always seemed to be another vista worthy of photographing. While the roads around the Highlands are in excellent condition, our one pet peeve is there are not enough designated vantage points to pull over and take pictures from. Often, we u-turned and pulled into a gated entrance to a field. Pulling over onto the hard shoulder wasn’t an option as The NC500 throughout the Highlands is mostly a two-lane road without shoulders. The narrower country roads off the NC500 have pullovers called Passing Places for when you encounter oncoming cars, but they are not to be used for parking.

Our recently refurbished room at the Altnacealgach Motel was nice and large. Most importantly it had a kettle for our early morning coffee. The motel is a modest place with 8 rooms, but it’s beautifully situated, a pebble’s toss across the road from Loch Borrolan. Dinner was simply pizza and chili, but quite good. https://www.altnacealgachmotel.co.uk/

Our 144-mile route along the NC500 to Balnakeil Beach then onward to John o’ Groats the next day was our longest drive in the Highlands. We figured as always, we’d make many other stops along the way, so planned for an early departure the next morning.

For a third day in a row, it seemed we couldn’t shake the overcast sky from the heavens and have a sunny morning. It was unusually dreary weather for a Highland August, so much so that many of the folks we encountered felt it necessary to apologize for the unusually dreary weather.

We followed the A837 north and stopped at Ardvreck Castle, once the seat of the MacLeods of Assynt, and Calda House, now ruins. The ancient 3-4 story fortified tower house dates to the late 15thcentury and is set on an island in Loch Assynt. It’s a dramatic setting, with the loch surrounded by the magnificent mountains Quinag, Ben More Assynt, and Canisp. A narrow, sandy isthmus connects the island to the mainland. Accusations of a sinister betrayal made by the MacKenzies of Wester Ross ruined the reputation of the MacLeods of Assynt and was believed to be the cause for the rapid decline of the MacLeods’ fortunes. A final battle between the clans in1672 forced the MacLeods to surrender their rule of the Assynt region to the MacKenzies. The Calda House was built in 1726 by Kenneth MacKenzie II of Assynt for his new bride who found the old fortress dreary and uncomfortable, and “much to her dislike.” Built with imported sandstone, her new mansion stood three stories high and had 14 bedrooms. As legend tells it, the joy of a new home only lasted until 1737 when a late-night celebration continued past midnight into the sabbath, and the house was struck by lightning. Only a bagpiper who refused to play on the sabbath survived. The castle stood strong until 1795 when a lightning strike also destroyed it.  It wouldn’t be proper castle ruins without a ghost and local lore obliged with the story of the daughter of the MacLeod chief, who threw herself from the tower of Ardvreck Castle when she realized her father had betrothed her to the Devil, as payment for the Devil’s help in building it.

We pulled over at several spots along the A894 in Unapool to take pictures of Loch Gleann Dubh. The views of the loch were gorgeous, and we were a little envious of the folks who owned homes above the loch and could enjoy this panoramic vista every day.

The road swerved through a mountainous landscape sprinkled with lochs. Clouds raced across the sky. Surprisingly this popular route did not have many restaurants open on a Monday. This was a near crisis situation for two under-caffeinated coffee aficionados.  Our  pursuit of coffee was almost a forgotten memory when we spotted a Spar grocery store in Scourie, adjacent to a caravan campsite overlooking Scourie Bay and a beautiful beach. Back in the car we enjoyed two cups of coffee and the view.

We eventually turned onto the A838 at Laxford Bridge and followed it to Rhiconich. Past the hamlet this section of the A838 narrows to a single lane track as it winds through a desolate landscape of rolling hills and heather land. It was on this stretch that we encountered oncoming “traffic,” the occasional grouping of 3 or 4 cars or caravan. The narrow road allowed two-way traffic, but in order to pass an oncoming car one vehicle has to pullover into a small bump-out called a Passing Place. These are well marked and spaced along the country roads, but you need to be on the lookout for approaching cars, as the protocol is for drivers to pull into the closest Passing Place on their side of the lane and wait for the other vehicles to pass. It took some getting used to. Surprisingly, the speed limit on these single-track roads is 60 mph, but we were only comfortable driving at half that speed. Donna says that’s because I drive like an old man.

We pulled over at the Geological Information Point along the bank of Kyle of Durness, a sea loch, to read the placard and stretch our legs. Here we were fortunate to spot a shepherd on an ATV, as he and his sheep dog herded a large flock of the wooly beasts down the side road to a new pasture. The A838 continued as a single lane road all the way to the crossroad in Durness. It was suddenly a sunny day!

The beaches along the coast of Durness were our main destination for the day. Compared to the barren earth toned landscapes we traversed earlier in the morning, the striking Caribbean blues of the ocean off Balnakeil Beach were exotic, and for a moment we thought we might have been transported to the British Virgin Islands. The wide white sandy beach stretches for nearly a mile and is flanked by dunes covered with beach grass. Following the curve of the beach to the Faraid headland and stacks is a popular walking activity. There was a strong breeze which discouraged sunbathers, but there were a few hardy folks willing to take off their shoes and dip their toes in the chilly water of the North Atlantic, which hovers around 56F/13.5C in late August.

The location of the Balnakeil Church overlooking the beach and bay must have been very inspirational back in the early 1600s when it was constructed atop the ruins of an earlier 6th century Celtic monastery. Services were held in the church for about 200 years before a new place of worship was built on the southern side of the hamlet.

Today, headstones in the graveyard surrounding the ivy-covered ruins are slowly being swallowed into the peaty earth. Some interesting folks are buried in the cemetery. Notably Domhnull MacMhurchaidh, a hitman for the Clan MacKay. He is believed to have murdered 18 people and dumped their bodies into the waterfall that runs down into the caves at Smoo. “Apparently, he believed the folklore tale that the Devil lived below the falls and thence his crimes would never be discovered.” Fearing his grave would be desecrated after his death he paid a princely sum beforehand to be interned in a tomb inside the church.

A monument to the Durness born poet Rob Donn, aka, the Robbie Burns of Gaelic poetry, also stands in the churchyard. He never learned to speak English and composed in Scots Gaelic. His poems sometimes contained bawdy verse and satirical social commentary, but they were faithfully memorized and orally repeated around Scotland for 50 years before the first printed versions were available after his death.

Elizabeth Parkes, the aunt of John Lennon, is also buried in the churchyard, and he is said to have visited Durness frequently. It’s believed locally that his song In My Life, “There are places I remember,” reflects his experiences in the area.

Since the 1500s, one of the historic residences of the chiefs of Clan MacKay, Balnakeil House has commanded a prominent spot across from the ancient church, with a sweeping view of the beach. The current, bright yellow dwelling on the site dates to 1744.

Continuing our travels east on the A838, a two-lane road again, we stopped at Durness Beach. Though much smaller than Balnakeil, its waters were still a pristine blue and the beach, which backed to a steep slope, had dramatic rock outcroppings. 

Farther along from the overlook above Ceannabeinne Beach we watched paddle boarders in wetsuits set out onto the calm waters.

With our stomachs growling, we were beginning to envision all that lamb on the hoof turned in to chops; lunch was finally procured at the Norse Bakehouse in Rhitongue. This is a fine family-owned establishment that has probably saved the lives of many tourists driving the NC 500 on a Monday. It was an excellent casual restaurant, with indoor and outdoor seating that serves sandwiches, soup and pizza. Their coffee was wonderful and the food was fairly priced. https://norsebakehouse.wixsite.com/my-site/dinner-menu

“From Land’s End to John o’Groats.” We made it! Though the expression usually relates to traveling from the tip of southern England. We had cheated and started in Inverness and headed south to Edinburgh before going west across the Highlands to the Isles of Skye and Lewis and Harris. Then returning to the mainland and driving north along the west coast to John o’Groats, traditionally considered the northernmost point on the English mainland, though the designation actually belongs to Dunnet Head, about 13 miles west. Our own expanded version of the iconic NC500!

The clouds had thickened again by the time we arrived at the famous signpost overlooking a small harbor, and the sea. That’s pretty much the main drawing card to the village, which otherwise feels like an outlet shopping center. But it’s considered a must stop for most tourists before they continue on to explore the immense beauty of the northern Highlands. That seems to be the case since 1496, when King James IV granted a license to Jan de Groot, a Dutchman, to operate a ferry between this northern-most port in Scotland to the Orkney Islands, which had recently been acquired from Norway in 1472, as the resolution of an unpaid dowry for the King of Norway’s daughter Margaret’s marriage to James III of Scotland.

Business boomed for the enterprising de Groot and he was eventually able to build a large octagonal house with eight doors, in the center of which was an eight-sided table, designed so his seven sons seated at the table would be recognized as equals, as there was not a head of the table.  Over time Jan de Groot was anglicized to John o’Groats.  A modern art installation, in front of the John o’ Groats Hotel, now occupies the spot where the family home once stood. But a nod to his legacy was incorporated into the Victorian era John o’Groats Hotel built in 1875 with the inclusion of an octagonal tower in its design. The hotel now called the ‘The Inn at John o’Groats’ underwent an extensive renovation, which included a modern Norse style extension in 2013, and now features individually unique, self-catering apartments with 1, 2 or 4 bedrooms. https://www.togethertravel.co.uk/destinations/scotland/john-ogroats?guests=1&nights=1&bedrooms=0

Outside of town Leonna and Adam, the innkeepers of the John o’ Groats Guest House, warmly greeted us when we arrived very late that afternoon, but still with enough time for a short rest before dinner. While the inn looks a little spartan from the road, our accommodation was quite large and comfortable. https://www.johnogroatsguesthouse.com/

We were enjoying a whisky before dinner when Adam came into the lounge to mention that the sunset that evening, after several cloudy days, looked like it could be quite spectacular. Now, we had read about the intensity of midges during the summer months and came fully equipped to ward off the tiny nuisances with all sorts of repellents: bug sprays, lotions, insecticide wipes, and head netting. We were prepared! But in our almost two-week long trip through the highlands, we hadn’t encountered any – none, nada, zero, zip – until I spontaneously grabbed my camera and rushed outside to the corner of the building. Suddenly I was engulfed in a swarm of nearly invisible Culicoides impunctatus, the Highland Midge, Scotland’s most ferocious foe, and reportedly the reason why the Highlands remain so underpopulated. I was woefully unprepared! If anyone was watching me, I must have looked like a dancing fool with one arm frantically waving about my head as I tried to level the horizon through the viewfinder of my camera to capture the sunset. Thankfully there were still a couple of sips of whisky left to settle my nerves.

The dinners and breakfasts that Leonna and Adam created over the next two days, which showcased locally sourced provisions, were especially delicious. Their inn was one of the nicer places we stayed during our travels through Scotland. We would definitely return.

The next morning, we caught the ferry to Orkney.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

The North Coast 500, kind of – Part 4: To The Isle of Lewis & Harris or Standing Stones, Blue Skies and Rain

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Under layers of clothing, our bones still shivered as we stood bundled against an unusually cold August wind on the top deck of the CalMac ferry.  The port of Uig on the Isle of Skye vanished on the horizon behind us as we steamed across the Little Minch channel to the Isle of Lewis & Harris in the Outer Hebrides, the island chain off the west coast of mainland Scotland.

On reading how busy the summer ferries are we had made our car reservation for the passage in the early Spring, as soon as the CalMac timetable for the year was published.

Our interest in Scotland has been piqued ever since hearing the entrancing song and watching the intriguing landscapes in the opening credits to the Outlander television drama. The ancient standing stones seemed to call us, and what better place to see them than on Lewis & Harris. And if you have made it all the way to the Isle of Skye, it only takes a little more effort to reach the outer island.

The two-hour ferry crossing passed quickly under a brilliant blue sky, but within fifteen minutes of landing in Tarbert we were caught in a shower while taking pictures of the small port. The weather changes quickly all across Scotland, even more so in the Outer Hebrides, which feel the full force of the North Atlantic winds.

Within minutes it was sunny again as we drove across the interior of the island to the Gealabhat B&B in Callanish, our base for two nights, and within walking distance of the legendary Calanais Standing Stones site 1. https://www.9callanish.co.uk/

Relentless winds over the millennia have left an austere yet beautiful gently rolling landscape of boglands and heaths, with only the hardiest of trees left standing sporadically about on the island. Though it’s the perfect terrain for the native Scottish Blackface and the Hebridean sheep breeds which have adapted well to the island’s rugged terrain and harsh climate.

It was late in the afternoon by the time we arrived at the standing stones, which was perfect as the weather was still nice and we had this amazing site practically all to ourselves. Older than Stonehenge, the circle is believed to have been erected by a thriving ancient community nearly 5000 years ago, around 2900BC, as a celestial calendar that aligns with the orbits of the sun and moon.

Surprisingly, the extent and height of the complex arrangement of over 50 stones was not fully realized until 1857, when peat cutting around the site revealed the full extent of the impressive, megalithic ritual structure, which was mostly covered by 6 feet of peat.

Do we hold hands and dance around them, meditate or dare touch them?  Over the next two days we returned at sunrise and sunset to experience the wonder of this magnificent site.

A brief shower passed, but by the time we turned into the driveway of the B&B a rainbow arched across the sky. A good prediction for the weather ahead, we hoped.

Gregor’s friendly, “Ceud Mile Failte,” (one hundred thousand welcomes) greeted us as he ushered us into his family’s traditional croft home that has been operating as a charming three-bedroom inn since the early sixties. He hadn’t noticed the rainbow and joked of his now lost opportunity to discover the pot of gold. We didn’t realize when we made our booking that the proprietor was also a popular Gaelic TV chef who hosts a cooking program produced on the island. The Outer Hebrides are one of the few areas in Scotland where Scottish Gaelic is still spoken as the everyday language. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EAvaVkjRo4

Staying at this B&B was one of the nicest experiences we had while traveling through Scotland. While the rooms are small, they were tastefully decorated in meticulous details that included Harris Tweed draperies and throw pillows, woven on the island, and we enjoyed listening to a small flock of sheep baa-ing under our window. The meals that Gregor created for breakfast and dinner using locally sourced food stuffs, and seasonal vegetables freshly harvested from his garden were delicious. Cordial conversations with the other guests around the communal dining table were also a highlight of our stay.

With only one full day on Lewis and Harris, we headed north to the Port of Ness and the Butt of Lewis Lighthouse, a distance of 35 miles, 57km, on the A858. Though only an hour journey without stopping it would take us much longer, with multiple stops along the way and back.

The island is actually one large land mass connected by a narrow isthmus at Tarbert. But the delineation is more topological, with the northern part of the Island, Lewis, being rolling moor and peatlands, while the southern part of the island, Harris, is more mountainous. The name “Lewis” comes from the Old Norse “Ljóðhús,” which is marked on medieval Norwegian maps of the island. Harris is derived from the Old Norse word “hærri,” meaning ‘higher’, which references the hillier terrain of the southern part of the island.

It was a cold morning and a tease of blue sky showed through the clouds as we walked the path to the summit of a knoll where the Dun Carloway Broch ruins commanded the spot. Brochs are cylindrical cone shaped, dry stone towers that stand about 40ft, 12m, tall when complete. The unique Iron Age structures, with an inner and outer wall design, separated by a stairway that winds to the top, is a building method only found on Outer Hebrides, Orkney, Shetland, and the Scottish mainland.

The Dun Carloway Broch is believed to have been built around 200BC by a local chief as a symbol of his status. Excavations and oral tradition show that the dwelling was used almost continuously across the centuries, up until the 1870s when it was last used by “a respectable looking family.” From the knoll we watched a farmer with his dog herd a flock of sheep into a pen.

At Gearrannan we experienced what life was like in a blackhouse village. The homes in the 1700s coastal hamlet share the long elliptical shape and utilitarian design of the turf house in Glencoe, where folks lived in one end of their dwelling and kept their animals in the other. The blackhouses are more substantially built utilizing thick stone walls with an earthen core, and layers of thatch roofing held down by weighted fishing nets. With a fire in the hearth, they provided a welcome shelter away from the harsh weather of the Outer Hebrides. Folks lived in the village until the 1970s when the last elderly residents were moved into newer housing with indoor plumbing, and which didn’t require the continual maintenance that the ancient blackhouses did.

The village remained deserted until 1989, when a local preservation trust set about restoring the dwellings of the village. Today it’s a remarkable living museum with craft demonstrations in some buildings and old-timers sharing tales of life on the island. Some are the individual blackhouses are even available for vacation rental and one is also used as a hostel for budget conscious travelers. https://www.gearrannan.com/

Cloudy skies continued to follow us as we stopped in Bragar to see the Whale Bone Arch. This is an easy site to miss; we drove by it twice, as it wasn’t well marked and it’s set back from the road, but it is very close to the Grinneabhat Community Center. The story of the arch starts in 1920 when local fishermen spotted the carcass of a dead 80ft long blue whale with an unexploded harpoon imbedded in its back. They decided to tow the monster to a more accessible location in Bragar Bay, where hopefully a commercial whaling company would retrieve it and pay a reward for finding the valuable hulk that was worth about $30,000.00 in 1920.  A whaling boat from Harris, on the southern part of the island, came but was unable to remove the now firmly beached whale.  The enormous carcass began to rot. Island authorities in Stornoway were contacted, and they expressed interest in the problem, but failed to respond. It wasn’t until local folk feared death from a putrid plague blowing into the village from the rotting remains that authorities told them, it’s your problem, dispose of it yourself. Villagers shared the now stinky task of boiling the blubber down to oil for casking and bottling.  Eventually only the skeleton remained and the local Postmaster and general merchant, Murdo Morrison, expressed an interest in taking the harpoon and the whale’s lower 25ft long jawbone, to create an arch over the gate to his home. It had been almost a year since the whale was first discovered when a team of horses pulled the 4 ton jawbone along a sandy track on a sled to Morrison’s home. One day the charge in the harpoon exploded as Morrison was cleaning it. Fortunately, he had it pointing away from himself at the time, and the only damage was a large hole left in the wall of his workshop. After slowly deteriorating for nearly a century, the jawbone underwent major restoration in 2000 and was encased in fiberglass to preserve it.

“Drive a little, then café,” we like to say, and the perfect spot was just across the road at the Grinneabhat Community Center. It’s an interesting spot with a no-frills café, serving good pastries and coffee. It also has accommodations for tourists to rent. https://www.grinneabhat.com/ After our coffee we stopped in one of the halls to browse a small community sale, where local folk had tables setup and were selling hand knitted hats, scarves, and mittens along with various knick-knacks. To Donna’s delight, she found a lovely teapot set in purple and green, resembling the thistle, which is Scotland’s national flower and emblem, and a symbol of Scottish independence.   The ceramics were made on Lewis & Harris by Scotia Ceramics, a company that is now closed. It was only £5, and it’s a treasured souvenir from our trip to Scotland.

Farther along we stopped at a recreated shieling hut built by the Barvas and Brue Historical Society in 2017. These small shepherds’ huts built of stone and thatch were usually windowless and only had one door that was placed on the side of the building that was away from the prevailing winds. The huts were once a familiar feature that dotted the landscape across the vast windswept moorlands of Lewis & Harris. They were purely spartan, but they provided shelter against the cold and rain as folks tended their flocks of sheep throughout the year, as they moved them between grazing areas. 

Golden sand and turquoise blue water filled our view as we stood on the cliff above the tidal harbor at the Port of Ness and watched seagulls circle above a fisherman on the breakwater, in hope of retrieving scrapes of bait. The Caribbean color was unexpected for an island surrounded by the North Atlantic. The man-made harbor experiences an extreme tidal range in late August that swings between 15ft at hightide but leaves the boats in the harbor waterless and resting on the sandy bottom at low tide. The Breakwater café, on the heights above the harbor, with its huge picture windows overlooking the coast, was the perfect spot for lunch. The food was very good and reasonably priced.

Revitalized after lunch, we headed to the northernmost point on the island, the Butt of Lewis Lighthouse. It was built in 1862 on a ferociously wind battered headland surrounded by a raging ocean. We dared not to get too close to the edge for fear of being swept away.

Earlier we had passed St Moluag’s Church, spotting it in the middle of a large field surrounded by grazing sheep on our way to the lighthouse, but we had a difficult time actually finding the path between the croft houses that led to it. Eventually we spotted an obscure sign and small pullover between the homes on the main road from Port Ness to the village of Eoropaidh. The parking area is about 1000 ft before the turn to the lighthouse.

We followed a fenced pathway, no frolicking with the sheep permitted, to the ancient stone building. Outside behind a low stone wall stood a tall, intricately chiseled Celtic cross. The door to the sanctuary was open. Once inside, it took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the darkness, but finally a large interior was revealed with a small stained-glass window behind the altar, which brought a bit of bright color into the monochrome earth toned interior. Otherwise, it was a chilly space that didn’t appear to have heat, but we saw cushions on the church pews, which indicated that it was still used for services.

Tradition believes the church was built in the 12th century, above a 6th century ruin, by a Norse prince who had converted to Christianity. It’s named for Saint Moluag who, with Saint Columba, were the first Irish missionaries to bring Christianity to the people of Scotland. Surveys reveal the church underwent several expansions and alterations until the 16th century but has since remained true to its ancient core. We headed back towards our B&B after this.

Obsolete, abandoned red phone booths, some just seemed randomly placed in the middle of nowhere, were a curiosity across the island, and always reminded us of Superman and Dr. Who.

Different configurations of standing stones can be found in various locations across the island. But one of the more intriguing ones was the single stone, Clach An Truishal, in the hamlet of Baile an Truiseil. It’s a gigantic lichen covered monolith that looks like a dagger thrust into the earth by the hand of God. Oddly, it stands alone, within sight of the ocean, down an isolated farmer’s track, between two stone walls that separate crofter’s fields. The 19ft tall stone was once part of a larger stone circle, but unfortunately, in the early 1900s the smaller stones were broken apart and incorporated into the nearby field walls and also used as lintels in several local crofter’s homes. Though as ancient as the Calanais Standing Stones, local tradition believes the Clach An Truishal stone marks the grave of a great Norse warrior or, alternately, is the site of a momentous clan battle, the result of cattle rustling, between the Morrisons and the Macaulays in the mid-1600s.

Just off the A858 in Shawbost, we followed a gravel trail through rolling heathland to an ancient Norse mill and kiln set along a stream that flowed to the sea. During the Viking era the water-powered technology of the mill was essential for grinding grains like barley and oats into flour, a staple of the islander’s diet during that era. The kiln next to it would have been used to dry the grains before grinding, as well as for smoking fish and meat for preservation. Pottery vessels known as a ‘crogan’ or ‘craggan’ would also have been fired in the kiln.

Back in Calanais we stopped at the standing stones again to enjoy the wonder of them one last time before dinner and our departure from the B&B the next morning.

We thoroughly enjoyed Gregor’s hospitality and cooking skills, but regrettably it was our last day on the island, and we hadn’t toured the southern region of Harris. Hopefully, we will get the opportunity to return one day to explore more of Lewis & Harris, along with the other Outer Hebrides islands. But our plan for the day revolved around our reservation for the 3pm ferry from Stornoway to Ullapool back on the Scottish mainland.

Spontaneously we turned off the main road after we spotted several standing stones in a field far from the road. This turned out to be Callanish Stone Circle II which is set in a fenced cow pasture. To our delight several hairy coos were vigorously scratching their backs and necks against the ancient obelisks. It was funny to think that the monuments, once an ancient society’s connection to the celestial heavens, were also humble, utilitarian bovine rubbing posts.

Instead of taking the A858 and A859 to Stornoway, we chose to follow Pentland Road, a weaving, slow, 12-mile-long route through the Lewis highlands. The area is a barren, treeless wilderness of rolling heathland that stretches in all directions as far as the eye can see. A lone car whisked by going in the opposite direction.  Sheep, along with an occasional hawk circling overhead, were the only other signs of life.

It’s difficult to believe that the island was ruled by basically two clans starting with the Macleods of Lewis in the 1300’s, but their 300-year stewardship was fraught with feuds and various rebellions. In 1598, King James VI sent the “Fife Adventurers,” a group of lowland gentry and farmers from the Scottish mainland to Lewis to establish a colony, but the clans defeated their efforts. In 1610 the powerful Clan Mackenzie of Kintail, in the Scottish Highlands, purchased the Fife Adventurers’ charter for the island, and successfully subjugated the island’s rebellious clans.

The Mackenzie Clan remained in control of the island for nearly 250 years until 1844, when it was sold due to financial difficulties, to the Far East trade magnate Sir James Matheson, for £190,000. Shortly afterward he built Lews Castle on a hill across the harbor from Stornoway. He also oversaw the “clearances” of over 500 crofting families from the island to make room for industrial scale sheep farming. Many of the tenant farmers, left without homes, were forced to emigrate to Canada or other British colonies to seek better opportunities.

After Matheson’s death the island was eventually sold for £143,000, in 1918, to William Hesketh Lever, Lord Leverhulme, the soap magnate and founder of the business that would eventually become the Unilever conglomerate. He invested heavily in expanding Stornoway’s burgeoning fishing industry, and other projects with the hope of lifting the town’s economic prosperity.

The islanders resisted his plans to make them employees, and in 1923, a now discouraged Leverhulme gifted Lews Castle and 64,000 acres of land to the Stornoway Trust, a community-owned land trust. During WWII the castle was used as a military hospital and then served as the home of Lews Castle College until 1988, when structural issues forced the school to relocate. After extensive renovation and modernization the castle is now a multi-function destination that offers luxury accommodation, holds a museum dedicated to island life, and hosts weddings and other events. 

On the far side of Stornoway we viewed the Aiginis Farm Raiders’ Monument. Our first thoughts upon seeing the hull shaped monument was that it must mark the site of a Viking raid, but we were totally off in our speculation, as the twin pillars commemorate a January 1888 event in which 400 brave men and women from Point Peninsula, risking imprisonment for their actions, stormed the farm in an attempt to reclaim it for small-scale crofting. This was still the era of the “clearances,” and folks were tired of being forced out of their ancestral homes for the benefit of a few landlords who wanted to raise sheep and cattle. The government sent in the army to take back control of the farm, but by the early 1900s, after other protests across the Outer Hebrides and the Highlands, land reforms were slowly underway, and Aiginis Farm was divided into a number of croft plots.

The ancient ruins of Eaglais na h-Aoidhe, St Columba’s Church, were just past the Raider’s monument. It’s an intriguing old church that is believed to have been first built in the 6thcentury, with the chapel and churchyard later becoming the burial site for the Macleod Chiefs of Lewis. Slowly the boggy soil of the cemetery is swallowing many of the historic gravestones under the ground.

Being from the US, the land where every store is open seven days per week, we were surprised to find that most businesses and restaurants were closed on Sundays in Stornoway. Fortunately, we found the Hebridean Bakehouse, a standing-room only, petite pastry shop that makes the most lusciously sinful sweet and savory temptations. There was a long line out the door and down the block. We enjoyed a tasty picnic in the car before driving onto the ferry for the crossing to Ullapool on Scottish mainland.

 “Slán go fóill,” till next time, Craig & Donna.

The NC500 Part 3 – Adventures on Skye: Mountains, Rain, Whisky and Oysters

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With only two full days on the Isle of Skye, the largest of the Inner Hebrides islands, we were up before dawn and headed out to hike the Old Man of Storr. We had read so much about the Old Man of Storr trail being the most popular activity on Skye that it we thought it wise to get an early start. Several cars were already parked in the lot, still wet from an overnight rain, when we got our ticket from the parking kiosk.

Even in places you wouldn’t expect, paid parking seems to be everywhere across Scotland, and since it’s the UK there’s video surveillance too. At the unmanned attendant’s hut a note taped to the window advised of “less than ideal wet conditions” on the mountain. We had hoped for a clear morning, but the mountain was shrouded in mist.

The first short stretch of the trail was moderately steep and would have been easier if our heart rates were up, though the incline soon lessened after rounding several switchbacks. When the trail leveled, we turned around to survey how far we had climbed and were rewarded with a spectacular view of morning light, in golden rays, cascading through the clouds onto the Sound of Raasay.

It began to rain by the time we reached a set of rough stone steps that would have taken us higher up the slope, but the rocks were getting slippery, and we decided to turn back.

We thought the morning was cold and had suited up with several layers under our rain gear, and were totally surprised when several guys in shorts and just t-shirts, obviously vacationers from the Artic Circle, passed us on the trail, followed by a young couple carrying a toddler.

Even though we didn’t make it as far up the mountain as we would have liked, we enjoyed the views.

By the time we returned for breakfast at The Rosedale Hotel in Portree the clouds were clearing, and we were able to admire the view of the harbor from a window table.

Afterwards we walked along the waterfront, where the view across Loch Portree, with boats rocking at anchor, resembled New England waterscapes from the coast of Maine, in the United States.

Our plan for the day was to make several stops at scenic sites as we headed north from Portree along the coast of Skye’s Trotternish Peninsula. We decided to look for dinosaur footprints at An Corran Beach before turning west across the highlands to Uig, then continuing a southern loop back to Portree.

This time as we approached Old Man of Storr the morning’s mist had lifted, and the mountain’s rugged peaks were clearly visible. The parking lot was also completely full.

The one good thing about all the August rain was that the rivers were high, and the waterfalls were thundering furiously. We had to wait for a few minutes for parking space at the Lealt Fall View Point. Strong winds buffeted us as we walked out onto the viewing platform.

Actually, two waterfalls can be seen from this spot: one flowing from a stream called the Ford is directly across from the platform, while the larger one to the right cascades 90 feet down from the Abhainn An Lethuillt, the River Leath.

From the ridge above the gorge carved by the falls, we followed the water flowing to the sea. The wind on this headland was extremely ferocious and we were fine as long as we had our hoods up and turned our backs to it. But as soon as we turned around a gust of wind threw my hood back and blew my baseball hat off my head. Really, it wasn’t my hat – since I had lost my own, I had borrowed Donna’s this morning, while she was still sleeping. The red hat had a long and colorful history, and was a treasured companion that she had worn on many adventures. The salt in the wound was that it settled only about 12 feet out of reach, down a very steep grassy slope, too risky of a spot to try to retrieve it. Months later I am still hearing about how untrustworthy I am as a hat borrower. I’m a lucky guy if that’s the worst of her grievances. The vistas surrounding this area were beautiful regardless of the weather.

The sun was finally out when we stopped a little farther north at Mealtfalls where the waters of Loch Mealt spectacularly plunged 180 feet onto a rocky coastline and the sea, from a notch eroded into the 295 feet high cliff face of Kilt Rock. If viewed from the sea the basalt stone columns of the cliff face are said to resemble the pleads of a Scottish kilt.

The scenic drive north along the coast was stunning and we stopped many times to take photos. The sun was still shining, but the wind was blowing a “hoolie”, lifting swirling sprays of water into the air from the surf crashing onto the beach when we reached An Corran Beach.

The beach itself is very nice, but since 2002 when a local dog walker discovered the three-toed footprints of a Jurassic era Megalosaurus in rocks newly exposed after a large storm, it’s been a popular destination on Skye. We searched along the rock shelf at the water’s edge, but an incoming tide hindered our exploration.

Our hunger pangs began pinging around noon, and we stopped at several local restaurants only to be discouraged by the long waiting times for a table. We continued our drive. The issue wasn’t that the establishments were full, but that they lacked the seasonal staff to serve the customers adequately. This situation is a consequence of the Brexit maneuver that restricts foreign workers from entering the United Kingdom. This situation was mentioned to us several times by unhappy locals.

Following signs in Stenscholl for the Quiraing Pass we turned onto a serpentine single-track lane that climbed a 14% grade to an elevation of 856 feet above sea level before reaching a viewpoint.

With every fifteen miles or fifteen minutes the weather changed on the Isle of Skye, for better or worse. The deep grey sky was very forbidding and as soon as we opened the car door the rain poured down. The viewpoint and the trails leading from this scenic spot rival the Old Man of Storr’s, and are very popular for the views of the east coast of Skye and the highlands that can be seen on a clear day. It was raining too hard for us, so we continued across the highlands toward Idrigill on the west coast.

The interior sections of Skye are now vast wilderness areas with few signs of folks living in the area. But that wasn’t the case in the early 1800’s when the hills and glens of the island’s highlands supported over 20,000 crofters, tenant farmers, before the notorious “clearances” removed folks from the land to make way for large industrial scale sheep flocks. Many families emigrated to America, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand seeking better opportunities. A slow decline of Skye’s population continued into the 1970’s when it reached a low of 7,100 people. The most recent census shows the island’s population growing to 10,000 residents.

The sky was clearing once again when we reached the Idrigil Viewpoint. It was a splendid spot with panoramic views of Uig Bay and village. We finally had a late lunch at the Anchorage Cafe, across from the ferry terminal. It was nice to familiarize ourselves with the area, as we’d be taking the ferry from the Uig port to the Isle of Lewis and Harris in two days.

After lunch we drove up the western side of the Trotternish Peninsula to the Skye Museum of Island Life, which is a collection of thatched roofed stone cottages showcasing the way folks lived on the island centuries ago. Sheep and several hairy coos shared a bucolic pasture next to the museum when we pulled into the sunny parking area. But it was a deceptive moment of fair weather, and we were soon darting between the buildings, in the lulls between downpours, to see the interesting array of artifacts from seafaring, farming, and other trades on display.

We returned to Portree in time to snag a coveted parking space along the quay in front of our hotel and spent the rest of the late afternoon visiting the various shops in town. Our best find was in the charity shop along the waterfront where I was able to replace Donna’s hat with a warm woolen plaid cap. For the bargain price of fine pounds, she was willing to overlook a moth hole in the tweed.

We set out late the next morning to explore the western side of the Duirinish peninsula, visiting the village of Stein and Dunvegan Castle, both on the shore of Loch Dunvegan, but miles apart. Then heading back towards Portree and stopping in Carbost, on the Minginish peninsula, at the end of the day.

It was an overcast day from the get-go and we took the drive slowly as we followed the A850 though the countryside. At the head of Loch Greshornish we turned off the main road and followed a narrow lane into the village of Edinbane in search of a place to stop for coffee. The village was very quiet and didn’t show any sign of life, even though it was a weekday in the August high season, and several inns were shown on our map. We did encounter an unusual traffic sign that boldly warned with its red triangle that we were in a “Free Range Children” zone. It touched our hearts and made us laugh, while we remembered being kids with hours of unsupervised freedom to roam about. We’d seen many signs warning of stags, hedge hogs, and red squirrels throughout the highlands. Even a road crossing sign near a retirement complex in Edinburgh that featured the silhouette of an elderly couple using  canes, that made its point quite effectively with a touch of humor. Back on the main road the take-away coffee at the filling station didn’t appeal to us so we continued on our way.

Our approach to Stein looked like the soft edged, muted colors of an impressionist painting through the windshield, as the wipers didn’t work fast enough to whisk the heavy downpour away. The rain was too intense to get out of the car. So, we drove slowly through the village looking for a place to turn around, until the road suddenly disappeared as a boat ramp into the sea. Gloomy, wet, and unpleasant, it was definitely a “dreich” day, as the Scots like to say.

With everyone on Skye looking for an indoor activity to do, the parking area at Dunvegan Castle was full. There’s only so many castles you can see before they all begin to feel the same, and we had stopped at several earlier on the mainland, so we didn’t feel totally guilty when we decided to head to lunch instead. There are several restaurants that sit along the road through the village of Dunvegan. Dunvegan this, Dunvegan that. Of course we had lunch at The Dunvegan, a small five room inn overlooking the loch, which features a very nice restaurant along with a café, and deli for takeaway. Even though it was very busy on this inclement day, we found it relaxing, and the staff was very nice. Just down the street, a restored one-room crofter’s cottage houses the quirky Giant Angus MacAskill Museum. It’s run by a distant relative of the seven feet nine inch tall giant who was born in 1825 on the Isle of Berneray, in the Outer Hebrides. I guess that’s close enough to be considered a hometown boy, even though he spent most of his youth growing up in Nova Scotia, Canada after his parents emigrated. His height and strength eventually brought fame and fortune to the gentle giant called Gille Mór (Big Boy) when he toured the world with P.T Barnum and Tom Thumb, the world’s smallest man. Performing before Queen Victoria, she declared him the “strongest, stoutest and tallest man to ever enter the palace.” For a while he was listed in the Guiness Book of Records as the world’s strongest man. Statues of Angus and his stage partner Tom, along with his size 18 boots, and a replica of his huge coffin, fill the space. 

We arrived too late for the last tour of the distillery at Talisker in Carbost, but nevertheless we enjoyed sharing a flight of three single malt whiskies aged for 10, 18, and 25 years, while standing at the bar, as the tasting area and showroom were full of folks escaping the rainy afternoon. Our young barkeep was a well-versed whisky sommelier who described the “smoky sweetness intertwined with distinct maritime notes,” as he guided us through the subtle influences the haar, the sea mists that blow in from Loch Harport has on the aging process. He poetically used a cask full of adjectives to describe the Nose – floral seaside aromas, with gentle smoke palate; a malty creaminess and finish; sublimely spicy; a kick of cloves; an exquisite lingering saltiness.  All were very nice to sip slowly, and on a damp rainy “dreich” day like today we fully appreciated the healing properties of Scottish whisky and why some refer to it as the “water of life” in the highlands.

Just up the hill from the Talisker Distillery is The Oyster Shed. Occupying a metal farm building,

it’s a local no frills, order at the counter joint, with incredibly fair prices, that serves the freshest seafood caught locally that day. We ordered a dozen oysters and a bowl of mussels along with cans of Irn Bru, a fruity carbonated soft drink often referred to as “Scotland’s other national drink.” We sat outside around the corner of the building at a long, shared picnic table with other customers. Simple, delicious and authentic, it was a great way to cap off our day. Parking can be difficult here, so be patient; experiencing the Oyster Shed is well worth the short wait.

The next morning in Portree was beautiful and also our last day on Skye. We made the best of our time before catching the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry from Uig to Tarbert on the Isle of Lewis and Harris, in the Outer Hebrides. Overlooking Uig’s harbor we stopped at Captain Fraser’s Folly, a stone tower built in the mid 1800’s on the spot where Fraser’s Kilmuir estate Factor collected rent from the crofters that lived on the land. Fraser and his Factor were not popular during the clearances and often had to seek shelter in the tower from tenants evicted from the estate. Once in 1884 they even had to ask the Royal Navy to help secure their safety.

Skye’s legendary Faerie Glen, known as a place of myth and wonder, was only a short distance away from Fraser’s Folly, in the hills above Uig. It’s a magical spot, centered with concentric rings of stones, under a rocky hilltop that resembled ruins, that’s called Castle Ewen. The landscape surrounding the glen is rugged and covered with gnarled trees and heather where, according to legend, the Faeries of the glen lived. One of the ancient folk tales speaks of a Clan MacLeod chief that lived in Dunvegan Castle and married a Faerie princess. She stayed with the chief for a year before returning to her world, but left with him a Faerie flag to protect the Clan MacLeod from evil and bring victory in battles. It’s reportedly brought the clan good luck over the centuries.

Inexperienced with car ferries, we made sure we were early in the queue at the Caledonian MacBrayne pier. We had purchased our tickets online, months before, as soon as their summer sailing schedule became available. We read that while being a last-minute walk-on isn’t a problem, car reservations during the summer high season fill quickly. There were special lanes for each category of vehicle – car, camper, truck and bus. Vehicles without reservations get driven on last or not at all depending on available space. It all worked very smoothly with a ferry attendant scanning the barcode of our printed ticket and directing us into the correct boarding lane.

Surprisingly, the ferry was very quickly loaded and with a blast of the ship’s horn we departed Uig and headed across the Minch, the body of water that separates Skye from the Isle of Lewis and Harris. 

Till next time, Craig & Donna

P.S. According to Sir William Connolly, Scotland’s favorite retired stand-up comedian, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing, so get yourself a sexy raincoat and live a little.”

Three days in Edinburgh or Jugglers, Sandstone, Whisky & Thistle  

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Good hosts, Shopkeepers, and restauranteurs constantly apologized for the unusually cold and fickle August weather that Scotland was experiencing. In the Outer Hebrides, on the Isle of Lewis and Harris, strong winds and high tides led to road flooding in the center of Stornoway, a destination on our itinerary. “Normally the weather is perfect this time of year,” was a frequent refrain. “Lively thunderstorms,” such a nice phrase, had delayed our flight from London to Inverness, several days earlier. Later in the month heavy rain and strong winds led to the naming of the 12th storm of the 2024 season, Storm Lilian.

We had donned our Gore-tex rain gear for two days straight, and were thankful we made the investment in some reliable waterproof jackets. But yesterday afternoon as we visited The Kelpies while driving to Edinburgh, it was 65°F and the sun was shining. The weather was brilliant. Rain then clearing storms was the weather pattern that would repeat itself for the next three weeks, which provided many opportunities for some dramatic landscape photography.

With the weather predicted to be nice for the next several days, we planned to head to the Dugald Stewart Monument on Calton Hill for that iconic view of Edinburgh at sunrise. It didn’t go exactly as planned, as we didn’t get up early enough, underestimated the length of time our tram journey from the Holiday Inn Express Edinburgh – Leith Waterfront would take, and we overshot our stop.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed a quiet early morning in the Princes Street Gardens, catching Edinburgh castle in early morning light from the Ross Fountain. Before walking back to Calton Hill, as the city’s streets slowly awakened, and sculptures atop buildings glowed in the morning sun.

Along our route were solid examples of buildings constructed with Craigleith sandstone. The locally quarried stone was the building material of choice for James Craig, the 18th century Scottish architect tasked with replacing the ancient city’s medieval Old Town’s unsanitary tenements and warren of alleys, with a grid of avenues, squares, and gardens. The results, James Craig’s New Town, are today treasured as  a prime example of Georgian era town planning.

An obscure alley-like entrance across the road from the stairs to Calton Hill caught our attention and we followed a forgotten walkway into the Old Calton Cemetery. Long neglected tombs and teetering headstones dotted the graveyard. In the middle was a stately monument depicting a freed slave looking skyward to a statuesque Abraham Lincoln.  

The Scottish-American Soldiers Monument, as it is called, commemorates the six Scotsmen who volunteered to fight against slavery during the American Civil War. Donations for its construction were solicited across the Scottish dispora in the United States with the American business magnates; Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller becoming major contributors. The memorial monument was erected in 1893, was the first statue of Abraham Lincoln outside of the United Sates, and continues to be the only American Civil War monument in Europe.

Even though our heart rates were up, after the walk from the center of Edinburgh, the long climb of stairs to the top of Calton hill was a challenge, though it was well worth the effort for that iconic view across The Athens of the North. The 19th century nickname references the Grecian architectural influences incorporated into some of the city’s most notable neoclassical buildings.

Atop the hill the style is most evident in the Dugald Stewart Monument, a memorial to the Scottish philosopher and mathematician; the old City Observatory; and the National Monument of Scotland, a Napoleonic Wars memorial built in remembrance of the soldiers and sailors who fought in those wars. Afterwards we walked down the opposite side of the hill towards the Omni building, a theater and entertainment center, across from the tram stop at Picardy Place. A tall statue of Scotland’s favorite detective, Sherlock Holmes, commands the plaza located a short distance away from the birthplace of the writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

Our goal now was to walk towards the Port of Leith along the Leith Way to delve into some of Donna’s family history. Here’s Donna to explain:

Before I was Donna Hammell, I was Donna Leith. My mother-in-law was a sweet Italian woman who married a Scottish fellow named John Leith. In the 1970s, they traveled to Scotland to explore the family heritage. They knew that generations back, one of the Leith men had been a sailmaker with a shop along Water Street; another had been a ship builder. Mom and Dad wandered around Leith, trying to find the shop. They were about to give up the search, when they decided to ask at a pharmacy. Turns out that was the very building the sailmaker had occupied, and the people who ran the shop were cousins, once or twice removed. The two women corresponded for decades and exchanged recipes. I just baked a batch of Eyemouth Tarts – deliciously addictive little squares of candied fruit atop a buttery crust. My children are named Sandra Leith and Ian Leith, and I was determined to bring them a souvenir with the Leith name on it. Although for obvious reasons there is some antipathy between my former and current husbands, nevertheless Craig kindly indulged me on this search for my kids’ ancestry. I think he was as pleased as I was when we hit the jackpot at a lovely little store. I cleaned her out on all things Leith.

Leith Way, is one of Edinburgh’s oldest streets, that followed the line of a now long- gone earthen rampart built to defend Edinburgh from Oliver Cromwell’s army in 1650. On either side of the road, it seemed as if every storefront we passed incorporated Leith into the name of their business: Leith Shwarma, The Dog House Leith, Leith Artisan Coffee, Leith Walk Denture Studio, Leith Barber, and Tribe Leith, a yoga studio. Nearing sensory overload, we stopped for a pint of beer at the Boundary Bar. It’s an unpretentious neighborhood pub famously known for its line painted along the floor that marked the border between Leith and Edinburgh, and most importantly allowed customers who crossed to the Leith side of the bar to party an hour longer, when the pubs in Edinburgh closed at 9 PM. Leith’s advantage ended when the two cities merged in1920. Across the street we enjoyed an inexpensive lunch at the Kukina Turkish Bakery, just down from The Wee Leith Shop, which was only twice as wide as its door. Farther along we found a very nice shop, Destined for Home, with all things Leith souvenirs. Donna was thrilled!

Leith’s history was tied to the rise of Edinburgh as the seat of the Scottish crown. Archeological discoveries along the port’s waterfront suggest an extensive wharf area that dates to the 12th century. The port thrived for centuries upon shipbuilding, whaling, fishing, and glass making, along with warehouses storing whisky and wines imported from Europe. Leith was so prosperous that it had gas street lighting in 1822, and electrified its tram network in 1905, years before the town merged with Edinburgh in 1920. Severely hard times fell on Leith after WWII when ship building declined, and the advent of mega container ships required larger, modern port facilities. Notoriously, the city was unceremoniously depicted in the 1993 novel, Trainspotting. It was a much different perspective than that of the Proclaimer’s1988 hit song, Sunshine on Leith, which the BBC hailed as a “love song to the city and Scotland.” The song became an anthem of endurance for a city once down on its luck. But since then, the dock area has undergone a transformation with new office buildings and residential towers being built along the old canals and dock area of the port, reinvigorating the area and earning the designation as the “Venice of the North.”

Later that afternoon we returned to the center of Edinburgh via the tram and walked across town to theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall, a performing arts theater, to see a play hosted by the Fringe Festival. I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change was written by award-winning playwright Joe DiPietro, who happens to be the little brother of Donna’s girlfriend from grade school. The four-person performance, the second longest-running off-Broadway play, was performed in a small intimate space with seating on three sides of the stage. The play was fantastic, and the tickets were extremely inexpensive. 

At this point we need to confess that we didn’t know anything about the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, a large three-week entertainment event held every August in Edinburgh, for over 75 years. It was only after purchasing our airfare, when we tried to book a hotel, six months out, that room availability was severely limited, and we delved deeper as to why. The Fringe Festival started as an act of rebellion against the status quo in 1947 when eight theater companies, not invited to the Edinburgh International Festival, performed on the streets in Edinburgh. The event has mushroomed over the years and in 2024 “sold more than 2.6 million tickets and featured more than 51,446 scheduled performances of 3,746 different shows across 262 venues from 60 different countries.” The Edinburgh Fringe Festival website and catalog of shows was very helpful in planning what to see. Everything we read said Edinburgh would be insanely packed with tourists. But our barometer was a New York city rush hour, and Edinburgh’s streets were an oasis of calm in comparison. Not being able to find any reasonably priced hotels near the center of the city, the Holiday Inn Express Edinburgh – Leith Waterfront, located on the tram line, was the perfect alternative.

For the next morning Donna secured us tickets for the opening time at Edinburgh Castle, and we arrived to join the small queue already forming. The top of this massive rock has been a safe haven since the Iron Age when folks first sought refuge there. It was the seat of the Scottish crown for several centuries after Malcolm III Canmore, the first King of Scotland, set foot upon the Castle Rock in the 11th century, though the principal royal residence, since its construction in the 16th century has been Holyrood Palace.

I imagine the wind carries the stories of Mary Queen of Scots, James VI, Oliver Cromwell, and soldiers barracked, and prisoners of wars in its dungeons, that walked upon the rock. Noteworthy historical oddities include: the first fireworks lit the sky above the castle in 1507 to celebrate a lavish jousting tournament hosted by James IV. In 1838, the 78th Highlanders, stationed at the castle, returned from serving in Sri Lanka with an elephant in tow. The parade ground before the castle entrance hosts a spectacular event every August evening called The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.

Afterwards we wandered the streets and alleys of Edinburgh’s ancient Old Town below the castle. The cheerfully painted storefronts along the bow of Victoria Street certainly brightened the day after a gloomy morning. The streets were busy with crowds gathered around entertainers performing in the squares. Eventually, we found our way to the Greyfriars Kirkyard Cemetery.

The land for the graveyard was granted to the city by Mary Queen of Scots in the mid-16th century. Soon the city started to use the graveyard for the mass burials of thousands that died during the multiple plagues that struck the city over a seventy-five year period. Though there are only several hundred headstones in the cemetery, it is thought nearly 100,000 people were buried there over a three-hundred-year period, and tour guides will have you believing it’s the most haunted cemetery in the world.

After the establishment of Edinburgh’s Medical College in the 1700s, graverobbers often exhumed the recently deceased and sold the cadavers to the school for use in their anatomy classes. The cemetery is also known for the story of Bobby, the beloved pet of John Grey. The Skye Terrier is remembered for dedicatedly guarding his owner’s grave for 14 years before his own death at age 16, in 1872. More recently, the success of JK Rowling’s Harry Potter books have drawn fans of the novels to the cemetery where the author borrowed the names of Robert Potter, Thomas Riddle (aka Lord Voldemort), William McGonagall (a famously bad poet), Elizabeth Moodie, and Margaret Louisa Scrymgeour Wedderburn off the gravestones for some of her important characters.

After lunch at the Greyfriars Bobby’s, a pub at the entrance to the cemetery, we walked across town. At the National Galleries of Scotland we stopped to watch a juggler tossing flaming torches from atop a tall teetering platform, held aloft by members of the audience.

At the Princes Street Gardens the skirl of bagpipes filled the air near the sculpture of Wojtek, an orphaned Syrian brown bear cub that Polish soldiers found in Iran, and adopted while they were serving with the British army in WWII. After the war Wojtek lived out his life in the Edinburgh Zoo.

Our destination was Dean Village, an old, though now gentrified, milling community, that once had eleven mills along the Water of Leith. It’s a tranquil bucolic area with a foot and bike path that can be followed to the Port of Leith, four miles away. Saint Bernard’s Well is along the walkway, and during the Middle Ages the water from the natural spring was believed to have curative powers.

For dinner that evening we headed back into the new town and stopped at The Black Cat pub, which was recommended as having a great selection of whisky, friendly knowledgeable bartenders, and good fairly priced food. We tried a flight of three single malt coastal whiskies. Two were from islands off Scotland’s west coast; an Arran 10 year from the Isle of Arran, and a Ledaig 10 from the Isle of Mull. The third was a Glenglassaugh 12 year distilled near Sandend Bay in northern Scotland. The young barkeep was also a well versed whisky sommelier, and guided us through the subtle influences the Atlantic and North Sea air have on the aging process.  Poetically using a cask full of adjectives to describe the Nose – floral seaside aromas, with gentle smokey palate – a malty creaminess, and finish – sublimely spicy, a kick of cloves, or an exquisite lingering saltiness, to variously describe the warm amber liquors we were enjoying. All were very nice to sip slowly, though the Ledaig 10 was a little too peaty for our taste, and we likened it to inhaling too deeply with your first cigar – it took some getting used to.

The following morning, we set off for the Palace of Holyroodhouse. It has been an official royal residence since James IV constructed the palace in1501, adjacent to the Holyrood Abbey’s cathedral that was completed in 1230. The original palace was destroyed in the 1650s when a fire consumed much of the building while it was being used as a barracks by Oliver Cromwell’s troops. Though there have been many interior alterations over the centuries, the façade of the palace today closely resembles its 1679 construction.

The Renaissance fountain in the forecourt was installed in 1850 to spiff the place up for a visit by Queen Victoria. Sadly, that seems to be the last attempt to improve the place, and our tour of the inside felt like we were walking through spartanly furnished, shabby aristocratic public housing. The Abbey’s cathedral is an ancient ruin, and the gardens surrounding the palace get much better PR than they deserve. For the exorbitant admission price, they didn’t deliver the expected enthralling experience. If you are watching your budget, we suggest skipping Holyroodhouse and visiting Stirling Castle or Dunrobin Castle with its spectacular interior and garden instead.

For our last afternoon in the city, we visited the Royal Botanic Garden, seventy acres of beautiful, manicured rolling woodland with formal gardens. We followed the signs through the park, passing under a 23ft tall hedge over 100 years old, to the Queen Mother’s Memorial Garden, that’s noted for its perennial flowers and collection of indigenous plants.

The gardens were thriving in the moist moderate weather of Scotland, and bursting with color. At the very end of the garden is a small building called The Memorial Pavilion. It’s very unique, with every square inch of the interior walls and ceiling covered with shells collected by school children all across Scotland.

Planted outside was a bed of thistle, Scotland’s national flower. Scottish folklore credits the thistle with saving an ancient village from a Viking raid, when the barefooted invaders stepped on the spiky plant. Their cries of agony alerted the sleeping warriors of the village who then defeated their enemy. It has since become an important symbol of Scottish heraldry, and being invested into the ancient chivalric order of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, is one of Scotland’s and England’s highest awards. The prickly flower was even celebrated in a 1926 poem, A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle, by the famous Scottish poet by Hugh MacDiarmid. The epic, “stream-of-consciousness” poem touches on everything from the state of the nation and the mysteries of the universe to the joy of whisky.

Edinburgh was a fantastic destination, that requires multiple visits to fully explore.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

P.S. The Scotland Explores Pass helped with the price of admission to many sites across the country.

A Road Trip in Scotland:  Monks, Potters, Flowers, and Kelpies or A Day in the Highlands

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Large swathes of sunlight graced the rolling landscape of the northern highlands as the plane began its descent toward Inverness. The change in weather was welcomed after a delayed flight from London put us two hours behind schedule, and we were landing in Inverness after all the car rental agents in the airport closed at 5 pm. It was a situation we didn’t realize until we departed London, and in the air. Being from the states where the airports stay open extremely late, we hadn’t made any contingency plans for this unexpected delay, and it, along with fretting about driving on the left side of the road, filled us with anxiety as the last car hire bus to Arnold Clark’s offsite lot ran at five. While waiting at baggage claim we somehow connected with another couple on our flight with the same dilemma and shared our worries. An audible sigh of relief was released when to our surprise an Arnold Clark agent was waiting for all of us, holding a placard with our names on it, as we exited the baggage claim area. Our cars were parked for us outside. The agent was absolutely wonderful, and prevented a rough start to our vacation. He also recommended an excellent restaurant, The Snow Goose, just minutes from the airport. Arnold Clark really went the extra mile for us, and we thanked the agent profusely.

I think driving away from any new airport is the most dangerous part of many trips. Horns blared. Stay left, look right was our mantra. Lunch had happened many hours earlier, and with a two-hour drive south to Pitlochry ahead of us, we decided to stop for dinner. First impressions of a new destination are important, and ours were pleasantly exceeded when we stopped at The Snow Goose, first with a riotous display of color from beautiful hydrangeas that lined the walkway. Then the realization that customers’ dogs are welcomed inside restaurants, pubs too, and just want the chance to wag their tails, and have their heads rubbed. This is something totally alien to the restaurant scene in the United States, but it was very nice, and all the dogs were so well behaved. Lastly, the food was great. Beetroot and Pumpkin Seed Arancini to start, followed by Seared Sea Bass and Pan-Roasted Lamb.

Grand expanses of heather covered the hillsides between forests of pine, while tufted vetch in infinite shades of purple and pink carpeted the edge of the road.

After a little difficulty finding the driveway, the hosts, a husband-and-wife team, of the Craigroyston House & Lodge greeted us as dusk was descending, and showed us our room. It was late, a friendly “See you in the morning. Good night,” was all that was called for. The Full Scottish breakfast  – bacon, sausage, black pudding, haggis, mushrooms, tomatoes, and egg was a delicious as the dinner the evening before. The small medallion of haggis that accompanied this breakfast was the perfect introduction to the national dish of Scotland that’s made with minced liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep, and mixed with mutton suet, oatmeal, then seasoned with onion, cayenne pepper, and other spices. It really was very good, and we enjoyed it many times with breakfast during our stay in the Highlands.

The Craigroyston House is a small eight-room inn, with a beautiful, terraced garden, conveniently located one block away from Pitlochry’s main thoroughfare. Colorful hanging baskets hung from many shops, and brightened a gray morning. The weather report for the week ahead showed the possibility of rain every day.

Shopkeepers apologized for the unusually cold and rainy August Scotland was having. We soon realized, though, that those dreary mornings often gave way to brilliantly sunny afternoons. Heading back to the inn we stopped at Heathergems, a shop that turns highly compressed heather stems into unique jewelry. If you are looking for a souvenir this is definitely a place to consider.

The plan for the day was to drive to the village of Dunkeld. Then continue to Drummond Castle to wander around its formal garden, before ending the day in Edinburg.

By late morning we arrived in Dunkeld and spent a while searching for parking close to the town’s ancient cathedral. It had started to rain, and it became a futile task competing with other tourists also wanting to find a parking space in the small village. We opted to park along the Tay River at the Tay Terrace Car Park, only a short walk away from the cathedral. The village has a long history that has always been tied to the early church in Scotland since 730AD, when Culdee Monks, Celtic missionaries, built a monastery there. One hundred and twenty years later the small village’s influence mushroomed when the first King of the newly united Picts and Scots, Kenneth I MacAlpin, moved the relics of Saint Columba from the Hebrides’ Isle of Iona to Dunkeld, to prevent their desecration by Viking raiders. Columba was a 6th century Irish missionary who founded an abbey on Iona, and is credited with spreading Christianity in Scotland.

In the mid 1200’s construction of a grand cathedral started above the ruins of the ancient Culdee Monastery. It was finished 250 years later in 1501, but only served in all its glory for sixty years before the altar and nave of the cathedral were seriously damaged when the roof of the cathedral was destroyed during the Protestant Reformation. At this time, the Scottish Parliament outlawed Catholicism and ended centuries of Papal authority over Scotland, which fundamentally altered the country’s cultural and social landscape. “Churches were to be stripped of their idolatrous religious art and decoration and then whitewashed, so that only God and Christ would be worshipped, and not their images, or images of the saints.” 

The choir end of the cathedral was reroofed in 1600 to serve as the parish church or kirk, but was again damaged, when most of Dunkeld was destroyed in the Jacobite Rebellion of 1689. Over time the village slowly re-emerged as a market town, and supported weaving, candle-making, tanning and brewing businesses.

Off to the side and behind the altar in the “new” parish kirk, there is an interesting small museum with sculptures and tombs. Nearby in front of the cathedral, in the town’s old market square, there is an elegant stone fountain detailed with carvings of animals, birds, and Masonic symbols. It’s dedicated to George Augustus Frederick John, the 6th Duke of Atholl, and a Grand Master of the Scottish Masons, who brought piped water to the village in the mid 1800’s.

Dunkeld, with its many nooks and crannies and architectural details, was a delight to explore. When it started to rain harder, we sought refuge and lunch at Palmerstons, a small café busy with wet tourists. They served a great hearty lunch and good coffee at a fair price.

Centuries ago a ferry was the only way to cross the Tay river to Dunkeld’s sister village, Little Dunkeld, but it was extremely dangerous when the river was running high and fast. So, with great relief and fanfare, a stone bridge across the river was built in 1809. It’s a simple seven-arch construction that has withstood the test of time. It was designed by Thomas Telford, who is more famously known for engineering the 60-mile long Caledonian Canal which joined Inverness to Fort William, essentially connecting the North Sea to the Atlantic Ocean.

The Legacy of Beatrice Potter drew us across the bridge. The author and illustrator of the widely loved children’s books, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, The Tale of Jemima Puddle Duck and The Tale of Tom Kitten spent many summers of her youth vacationing in Dunkeld and exploring the flora and fauna along the River Tay. A charming park featuring small bronze sculptures of her animal characters along a pathway through the woods is dedicated to her memory.

We abandoned the highways and drove southwest through rolling hills along the famously narrow single-track roads of the highlands. The lanes, often lined with stone walls and fencing, allow two-way traffic, but in order to pass an oncoming car one vehicle has to pullover into a small bump-out called a Passing Place. These are well marked and spaced along the country roads, but you need to be on the lookout for approaching cars, as the protocol is for drivers to pull into the closest Passing Place on their side of the lane and wait for the other vehicles to pass. It took some getting used to. Surprisingly, the speed limit on these single-track roads is 60 mph, but we were only comfortable driving at half that speed. It was also important to be on the lookout for any stray farm animals that might have escaped their pasture, or equestrians, and those adorable tiny hedgehogs that wander across the road. Fortunately, no one was behind us when Donna, my eagle-eyed co-pilot shouted, “STOP!” and was out of the car in a flash to usher a hedgehog across the lane. The one big drawback is that you are not allowed to use the Passing Places to park and take pictures of the beautiful scenery.

Just beyond Crieff we turned off the main road and followed a mile long driveway through a tunnel of ancient trees to Drummond Castle to see its Renaissance style formal gardens. It was still cloudy, but there was a hint of blue sky on the horizon as we stood in the castle’s courtyard above the gardens and readied ourselves for the walk down a long set of wide stairs into the flowering oasis, when suddenly a cloud burst above our heads and drenched us.

We scrambled back to the ticket office and asked for a refund, as we had only been there for a few minutes, but none was offered. That patch of blue above still teased us. We waited, and the sky brightened. The gardens were spectacular, as if the flowers had received a heavenly command to overcompensate for the bleak weather.

The castle’s original 15th century six-story stone keep still stands, but only the lower 2 floors are open to the public. The other chateau-like buildings were added in the 1600’s and are the private rooms of the Drummond family, which remarkably still owns the place after 500 years. In 1842 Queen Victoria is believed to have planted a beech tree in the garden, and understatedly praised the grounds in a letter to a friend, “Prince Albert and I walked in the garden, which is really very fine, with terraces, like an old French garden.”

After climbing back up the stairs we ordered two cappuccinos to ward off the day’s chill from a barista, boredly pacing in a coffee trailer parked in the courtyard. “Do the folks who own this live here?” I asked. “No, they have other castles but visit occasionally.”  We walked away with a new realization about one-percenters.

As we headed to Edinburg the sky finally cleared. Originally, I had planned our route to follow the M90 south and cross the Firth of Forth bridge into the city. But somehow, we ended up much further west, and were totally surprised when the 100ft tall steel Kelpies, shining brilliantly in the afternoon, towered above the tree line along the side of the highway. We had planned to stop there after visiting Edinburgh, but with the afternoon weather now perfect we seized the day and changed our plans. These equestrian statues are located in Helix Park at the confluence of the Clyde Canal and the River Carron. The steel horseheads are the largest in the world, and were created by the internationally acclaimed Scottish sculptor, Andy Scott. They are based on Scottish folklore where a kelpie is a dangerous shape-shifting water spirit that appears on land as a horse, who entices its unsuspecting victim to ride on their backs, only to be sped away to a watery grave. 

It was a great second day in Scotland. On to Edinburgh!

Till next time, Craig & Donna

P.S. Scottish weather is notoriously fickle and changes dramatically throughout the day. Being prepared to layer up or down and having proper waterproof rain gear and footwear was essential. We invested in some Gore-Tex rain jackets and were delighted that they kept us totally dry.

An Albanian Road Trip: Theth – Majestic Isolation in the Accursed Mountains & A Castle in Kruje

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The day was crisp, the sky a clear blue, the mountains beautiful with their peaks still covered with late spring snow. We zigged and zagged our way along the infamous SH21, higher into the mountains, around many challenging blind corners and switchbacks. In spots the road narrowed to a single lane, but there were pullover areas to allow for oncoming cars to pass.  Fortunately, in late April we had the roads and the overlooks in this pristine region mostly to ourselves. The views were breathtaking. A half-hearted complaint if any, there just were not enough places to stop safely to enjoy the picturesque landscapes.

After cresting the Thore Mountain Pass, at 5,547ft the highest along the route, we stopped at the Monument commemorating Edith Durham, a British anthropologist who championed Albanian independence in the early 1900’s, and was lovingly called, “Queen of the Highlanders.” After that we could have coasted all the way into Theth, like Olympic bobsledders, but we were very judicious with braking.

Centuries ago, the inhospitable, saw-toothed mountains of northern Albania were a sanctuary for folks fleeing invaders. It’s a massive area at the southern end of the Dinaric Mountain Range, with nearly twenty mountain peaks having 9000 ft high summits, and it encompasses the border region where Albania, Montenegro, and Kosovo meet. The Dinaric Mountains are the spine of the Balkans, stretching from Slovenia through Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, and Kosovo before ending in Albania, where today they are called the Albanian Alps. A much friendlier name to encourage tourism than the Accursed Mountains, or “Bjeshkët e Namuna” as the original Albanian name goes.

There are three prevalent legends as to how the mountains got that original title, but hardship is at the core of each. One of the earliest legends credited the creation of the torturously steep mountains to the Devil when he escaped from Hell for a day. While there are streams and waterfalls throughout the mountains, they are not easily accessible and are often dry during the summer months. These dry conditions explained the tale of a mother fleeing her burning village. Her husband was killed in the fighting with Ottoman invaders, and she took her children into the mountains to save them from being forcibly converted to Islam. The days were hot, the terrain steep and unforgiving; her children were thirsty after three days without any water. Distraught, she cursed the mountains for causing their suffering. It’s also believed that soldiers struggling to cross the treacherous mountain terrain cursed the steep slopes, and most likely used many foul adjectives to make their point.

Footpaths and donkey trails were the only way into Theth for a millennium. The village didn’t have a school until 1917. The American Red Cross arrived in Theth in 1921 to help expand the educational opportunities in the Shala Valley. The American journalist Rose Wilder Lane tells of this school building mission in her 1922 book Peaks of Shala. Communication with the modern world didn’t expand until the first dirt track, a single lane, serpentine road that crested numerous mountain passes, was carved into the side of the masiffs that isolated the remote valley in 1936. It took another thirty years before the village received electricity in 1966.  

It is difficult to find accurate figures on the ancient population of Theth, which in some instances includes the entire Shala valley and its nine hamlets, and at other times just the village of Theth itself. But it’s thought that at the end of Albania’s Communist regime in 1991 the remote area had a population of roughly 3000 folks in 700 households, though it is much less today. Interestingly, most of these villagers claim Zog Diti as a common ancestor of the Shala tribe or clan. Oral tradition relates that the name Shala is derived from shalë, a saddle, a gift he was given by his brothers, when led his family into the northernmost reaches of the Shala Valley. They fled from the region of Pashtrik, during the Ottoman invasion of Albania in the early decades of the 15th century to preserve their Catholic faith.

A road changes everything. While it brought progress in its early years, it eventually was the route of exodus for families seeking non-agrarian jobs for themselves and better educational opportunities for their children. It was extremely difficult to recruit teachers to live in the “wilderness.” Currently Theth has about 370 summer residents that return to support the tourist season, but only a hearty, resourceful handful of residents winter over in the often snowbound valley.

Today the village, with its modest tourist infrastructure, is the jumping off spot to pursue outdoor activities in the northern Albanian park system that includes Nikaj-Mertur Regional Nature Park, Valbona Valley National Park, and Theth National Park. This vast area encompasses many diverse ecosystems that include oak and beech forests at lower elevations that transition to pine trees and scree-covered slopes the higher up the mountains you go. The region is home to over 50 bird species, including kestrels and eagles. And if you are lucky enough you can spot gray wolves, wild goats, brown bears, and roe deer.

We arrived at the Royal Land Hotel & Restaurant as the shadows were lengthening and the sun skimmed the snowy ridge across the valley from the hotel. Just a week earlier the hotel had reopened for the season, and we, along with several other couples, were some of the hotel’s first guests of the year. After checking in, we sat at picnic tables on the terrace outside, sipping glasses of their homemade red wine, and watching the inn keeper’s son rototill the fertile dark soil of a garden plot. The sky stayed light for several more hours, but the sun had disappeared behind the mountains behind us. The lodge is very rustic with fourteen cedar-planked rooms, and a glass enclosed dining area, where each table has fantastic views of the surrounding mountains. The Inn’s restaurant is open to the public, as are most of the hotel restaurants in the valley. The family that owns the hotel was very friendly and helpful. Their breakfast buffet and home cooked dinners were delicious, with many of the items on the menu homemade or locally sourced. The sky was clear that evening and the stars brilliant across the night sky. Early the next morning, moonlight filled our room.

Hiking is the main activity in the Shala Valley, and we eagerly headed down into the village to explore the valley. Many folks choose to trek the popular Theth to Valbona trail, a nine-hour hike one way, covering 11 miles that takes you through a pristine high alpine wilderness. Being the city folks we are, we stayed in the relatively flat flood plain of the Lumi i Shalës which tumults from its source in the mountains north of the village. Near the bridge that crossed the river we spotted an understated monument that upon closer inspection commemorated the schools built by the American Red Cross in the Shala Valley.

Farther along we reached Kisha e Thethit, Theth’s iconic church, and could hear music softly emanating from the Sunday service being held inside. Built in 1892, the church is a strong stone building with a steeply pitched roof, and a belltower, that looks like a small medieval castle, ready to withstand a siege. Though, during Albania’s communist era, the building was used as a health center. Nearby a sign pointed the way to the trailhead for the Theth – Valbonë hike. Sheep contentedly grazed as their shepherd checked his cell phone. Untethered horses sauntered nearby.

From the church we could see Kulla e Pajtimit, the Reconciliation Tower, or “Lock-in Tower,” and headed there. The formidable two-story stronghold, with three small windows, was built four centuries ago, and served a dual purpose; to provide shelter for the villagers in times of trouble, and to serve as the reconciliation tower, a neutral ground where disputes within the village were resolved by a council of elders. In more serious cases that involved a murder or threat of murder for revenge, the accused party would be locked in the tower for fifteen days as a cooling off period, while the elders tried to reconcile all parties affected by the crime.

This millennia old tribal custom was widespread throughout Albania and was part of the “Code of the Mountains,” that was passed down through an oral history tradition from generation to generation until it was codified in the 15th century by Lekë Dukagjini, an Albanian nobleman and contemporary of Skanderbeg, an Albanian hero. Since then, the tribal laws have been known as the Kanun of Lekë Dukagjini. The kanun has an extensive set of 1263 rules that cover everything from beekeeping to marriage and honor. It is most famously known for obligating families to partake in gjakmarrja, (blood feuds), that permitted koka për kokë (a head for a head), and hakmarrja, (vendettas), to maintain honor by seeking revenge. The heavy hand of Albania’s communist government had some success in outlawing this practice, but unfortunately, it’s still an issue for law enforcement today.

Later we stopped for lunch at the Thethi Paradise restaurant and enjoyed fresh trout, grilled lamb, and a few Korça beers, at an umbrella covered table on the patio.Surrounded by mountains from end to end, the Theth Valley was absolutely stunning and serenely tranquil in its “majestic isolation,” borrowing a phrase from Edith Durham.

The next morning, we retraced our drive across the mountains to Shkodër before continuing south to the Lezhë Castle and Kruje, where we spent the night. The drive out of the valley was just as beautiful as the drive in.

Our only companions on this quiet stretch were a flock of sheep being herded down the road, and a sow followed by her piglets crossing behind her. The drive was uneventful until the bridge over the river ahead of us was closed for road repairs, and we were directed to follow a deeply rutted farm track through the countryside for several miles. The road surface was so unforgiving that the car bottomed out several times regardless of how slowly we were going. At this point we didn’t have a cell signal, and there were no other detour signs, so we had to dead reckon our way back to the highway. The rental car company had cautioned us that they prohibited driving on dirt roads, and that we would be fined if their satellite tracking recorded us doing so. We kept our fingers crossed.

It was easy to spot Lezhë Castle, perched high on a hill, from miles away. Though getting there was a little more challenging and involved driving on some of the steepest roads we ever encountered. Think hills of San Francisco steep, but worse.

The castle had a commanding view of the surrounding terrain, though especially important was its western vista, where ships on the Adriatic Sea could be spied before they reached Albania’s shore. It was in this castle in 1444 that Skanderbeg, Albania’s national hero, rallied his countrymen to resist the occupation of the country by the Ottoman Empire. The best view of the castle was from the parking area. The area behind the walls is left in a rather rustic state with tumbled ruins and cisterns to explore. Overlooking the sea, we enjoyed a picnic lunch in the shade of the ramparts. 

The hillside town of Kruje, set high above the Tirana Valley, was our last destination in Albania. On our way to the Hotel Panorama we passed a large statue of Skanderbeg astride his steed, which commanded an overlook in a city park.

Albania’s national identify, a spirit of perseverance and resistance, is intimately linked to Skanderbeg and Kruje, his hometown. Born into the noble Kastrioti family during the early 1400’s, his parents were forced to give him to the Ottoman Empire as part of Sultan’s devşirme system. This “child tax” was to ensure a family’s loyalty to the sultan. Only one son could be taken. These children were then taught the Koran, given an education, and raised as Muslims, before being sent to serve in the Ottoman Empire’s Janissary corps, a highly trained infantry. Skanderbeg excelled as a skilled Ottoman soldier and rose through the ranks. But after a 1443 battle in Serbia he renounced Islam and escaped back to his homeland and reclaimed his title. A year later he led a league of Albanian Princes in revolt against the Ottoman occupiers. For over twenty years he rallied his fellow Albanians to repel 13 invasions, and was considered a hero throughout a Europe that feared the expansion of Islam across the continent. The citadel in Kruje was his headquarters during this time and endured three intensive sieges. Ten years after Skanderbeg’s death the castle fell and the Albanians relinquished their independence to the Ottomans for 400 years.

Its name said it all, and the Hotel Panorama’s guest rooms and rooftop terrace were the perfect spot for views out over the town’s ancient caravan market and Kruje castle. An arched stairway descended under the hotel from the main street and led to the historic bazaar, which is over 400 years old. A 16th century minaret towered above us.

It’s believed to be the most historically accurate representation of an ancient marketplace in Albania, with its cobbled street centered with a drainage divert and canvas awnings hung from the shops, to protect shoppers from the midday sun.

In centuries past it would have had a full array of merchants offering a wide assortment of ancient everyday items, and luxuries crafted in faraway lands. Today, it’s a gauntlet of tourist themed merchandise, but we found one hidden gem, the Berhami Silver shop. The proprietor and sole craftsman, specializes in unique, intricately woven filigree jewelry.

We shielded our eyes from the bright sun as we left the long, arched tunnel through the ramparts, and looked up at the Skanderbeg National Museum. Built in a historical style to reflect its surroundings, it was a majestic sight, its sandstone blocks glowing in the afternoon sun, and the red and black Albanian flag full out in the breeze.

Its exhibits feature artifacts from Skanderbeg’s era and Albania history. One of the most intriguing displays was a replica of the hero’s signature goat head-topped helmet. Albania’s flag evolved from the two headed eagle on the Byzantine Empire’s flag which flew over Albania from the 4th to 14th centuries.

The double eagle heads symbolized the unity between the Orthodox Church and the Byzantine Empire. The black eagles above the Kastrioti family coat of arms on a crimson background became the flag of rebellion when Skanderbeg raised it above Kruje in 1443. Its colors black and red represent the strength, bravery and heroism of the Albanian people.

Above the castle we rested outside at a small café with an expansive panoramic view. Unaware of castle’s closing time we headed down the slope to the Tekke of Dollma, a small Bektashi Sufi shrine that contains the tomb of the mystic leader, Baba Shemimi. We reached the gate of the tekke’s courtyard just as the caretaker was about to lock the door for the day.

Graciously, he let us stay for a few minutes. The building was still under repair from the 2019 earthquake, but still very interesting. Legend believes the ancient olive tree in the courtyard was planted by Skanderbeg. The castle was a wonderful site to explore, and if we had had more time, we would have visited its ethnographic museum.

The sun was casting a golden glow across the hillside by the time we reached the rooftop terrace of our hotel. We clinked glasses and reflected back upon a fabulous vacation exploring Albania.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

An Albanian Road Trip: Lin, Lake Ohrid & the Monastery of Saint Naum

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Our planned route for a 3-week trip around Albania looked like a large numeral 6. After starting in Tirana, we’d head south to Berat, and Sarande, before cutting across the southeastern part of the country to Gjirokaster, Leskovik, Korçë, and Lin, on Lake Ohrid. Of course, there were numerous other stops and detours along the way, which we wrote about in our earlier blogs. But the road from Korce to Lin passed through the small city of Pogradec on the southern shore of Lake Ohrid, only 9 miles from the border with North Macedonia. From there the 10th century Monastery of Saint Naum was only minutes away. “It’s so close, and we have the car. It’s an opportunity we’ll regret not taking.”  Let’s go, we both agreed. Many day trips to the monastery originate in Tirana, but if you have a rental car, it’s less expensive than taking an organized tour. Albania and North Macedonia are not part of the European Union Schengen program, which permits unrestricted passage through member nations’ borders without stopping at a border checkpoint for a passport stamp. Traveling between Albanian and North Macedonia is done the old fashion way. Not all car rental companies in Albania allow their cars to be driven into North Macedonia. Notify the car rental company when making the reservation that you want to drive to into North Macedonia, as there are some documents needed from the car rental company: a Green Card, which is proof of international car insurance; permission from the car rental country that they are allowing the car to be driven in North Macedonia; and an International Driver’s License in Latin characters in case it is requested. At the border be prepared to show all travelers’ passports and pay a Border Crossing Fee.

Grey skies hung low over Pogradec as we headed east along SH64. Occasionally we passed abandoned Cold War era concrete bunkers along the lakefront. These were remnants of Albania’s communist dictator Enver Hoxha’s paranoia, which convinced him that Albania was surrounded by enemies, and that Pogradec would be prepared to resist an amphibious attack.

The border crossing at Tushemisht – St. Naum went very quickly, with only a few questions about our intended destinations and length of stay in North Macedonia. Minutes later we entered the manicured grounds of Saint Naum’s Monastery. Our first impressions were that we had arrived at a resort or theme park the way the souvenir shops and restaurants lined the midway as we headed to the ancient monastery.

It was built by Saint Naum, in 905, during the later part of his life, after he had spent decades spreading Orthodox Christianity and literacy throughout the Balkans as a follower of Saints Cyril and Methodius. Past the souvenir shops, boat rentals were available for rowing on the amazingly clear waters of the Black Drin spring. Its waters emerge through an underground stream from Lake Prespa, located higher in the mountains, before they flow into Lake Ohrid.

Getting closer, we crossed a footbridge and encountered our first of several splendid peacocks, roaming freely about the complex. Then there were only directional signs pointing the way around the multistory, three-star Hotel Saint Naum, which encircles the monastery on three sides, and obscured any distant view of the monastery, which commands a small knoll on the lake edge. Saint Naum is recognized as a miracle worker and healer who cured the sick as soon as they looked him in the eye. This belief in his ability to heal has inspired Christian and Bektashis Muslim pilgrims to visit the site since his death in 910. The veneration of the saint’s relics is believed to help those suffering from psychological and fertility issues.

Eventually, we found a very ancient door into the courtyard where the monastery stands overlooking Lake Ohrid. Little remains left of the original monastery. After five centuries, the current church was built atop the old monastery’s original foundation.

The interior of that 16th century church survives, but the exterior design and brickwork has been renovated numerous times over the years, and hardly shows its age. Unlike the ancient churches nearby in Voskopojë, Albania, which still carry every wound inflicted upon them over the centuries.

Inside the chapel is quite small, but richly decorated with warmly polished, intricately carved woodwork, and a gilded iconostasis created by local Macedonian craftsmen in the early 18th century. The religious frescoes that adorn the walls of the chapel were painted in 1806 by Trpo Zograf of Korçë. Many of the lower parts of the murals have been worn away by the touches of the faithful seeking blessings.

Leaving the site, we descended the knoll in a different direction and happened upon the Church of Saint Petka at the base of the hill. It’s a charming petite chapel that serves as the monastery’s baptistry. Brilliantly colored Orthodox iconography covers every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling in a celebration of faith. A comparison between the two churches was inevitable, and led us to reflect upon what the interior of the older church might have looked like ages ago.

The restaurants at the monastery complex were too overpriced for what they served, so we headed back to Pogradec for lunch. During the high season, mostly Albanian vacationers are drawn to the city’s long sandy beach along Lake Ohrid, the largest on the lake, and support a thriving hotel, and restaurant scene.

But in late April many were still closed, and some of the ones which were open didn’t have any customers. So, we opted for lunch at Pizza Restorant Artist, on Rruga Reshit Çollaku, across from the waterfront. The place was fairly busy, and to our great joy they offered an amazing variety of Italian dishes and pizza. It was some of the best Italian food we’ve had outside of Italy, and very budget friendly. Parking on the street was a little unusual as there was an authorized parking attendant that watched several blocks and ran up to us to secure payment when we pulled into a space. He gave us in return a receipt for display on the dashboard. After lunch a window display in a shop next to the restaurant caught our attention. It was the workshop of Pirro Icka, a fourth-generation woodcarver, according to the plaque in the window. Unfortunately, the shop was closed, but the window display featured some wonderfully intricate carved pieces, which would have been the perfect Albanian souvenir.

Late in the afternoon we arrived at Lin. It’s a small, isolated village on a headland that protrudes into Lake Ohrid, like a thumb up on a closed fist. We took a few minutes to scout along the narrow lane that runs the length of the village and passes a mosque and church, before it dead ends between homes near the tip of the headland. We had passed the arrow pointing to House 1960, our lodging for the night, but did not know where to park. The village seemed empty, and we had not encountered any other cars along the lane. So, I waited while Donna followed a walkway between homes and returned a few minutes later with one of our hosts, Emory. His wife, Merita, was waiting for us when we arrived at their home, an older village house, that the couple had renovated with help of their adult sons. The inn was very nice and our room stunning with a high cathedral ceiling.  Accented with gorgeous blond wood trim, it was bright and airy. In late April all the small restaurants were still closed, but Merita offered to cook meat or lake fish, caught that morning, for our dinner. The Lake Ohrid brown trout accompanied with homemade pickled vegetables was delicous.

Fishermen from Lin and other villages in Albania and North Macedonia, which surround the lake, set out early every morning in small boats to catch trout, which has been considered a delicacy, and a staple in the local communities since ancient times. Recently discovered submerged archeological evidence of a community that lived in stilt houses above the lake dates to 6500 BC, and confirms Lin as one of the oldest communities in Europe. The weather still hadn’t cleared as we went to bed, but we kept our fingers crossed for better conditions in the morning.

A brilliant blue sky greeted us and prompted a quick decision to trek to the far side of the headland before breakfast. The trail started where the lane dead ended and wove between several homes before we were out of the village. Walking along the lakeshore, the blues of the lake blended seamlessly into the sky. On the landward side the headland towered over us as we rounded the shoreline. The path was only as wide as our feet and somewhat treacherous at certain points, when a section required a rock scramble across it. The shoreline between the lake and the headland eventually widened to reveal farm plots, separated by rows of rough stone walls. Our host had mentioned the evening before that the folks of Lin pride themselves on being nearly self-sufficient. That it was an ethic and skill passed down over the generations, because of the village’s remote location. It’s a beautiful but not a particularly easy trek to the farm plots on the lakeshore, and yet we saw several older villagers carrying their tools on their daily trek to their garden plots.

Continuing back to the village we worked our way to the apex of the headland, where the ruins of a 6th century Byzantine church are cordoned off to protect a very large and well preserved intricate floor mosaic from an earlier Roman temple. Signage on the fence details the site and mentioned that the mosaics, which are unprotected from the elements, are currently covered with sand to protect them from further deterioration. The information plaque also mentioned that the mosaics are uncovered twice a year for public viewing and included the phone number of the local caretaker.

The panoramic views out over the lake from the top of the peninsula were amazing. The lake’s clear water sparkled, and dozens of small fishing boats rocked gently on small waves that rolled across its surface. No wonder Lin and its surroundings are part of the Natural and Cultural Heritage of the Ohrid Region, an UNESCO site, which recognizes the importance of the unique aquatic ecosystems surrounding the clearest and deepest lake, reaching depths of 945 ft, in the Balkans. Lake Ohrid is thought to be one of the oldest bodies of fresh water in the world, and supports a diverse variety of 1200 different plant and animal species, 200 of which are endemic to the lake.

Walking downhill back through the village we stopped to photograph a scene. It was only when we started walking again that I caught some motion in my peripheral vision and saw the freshly slaughtered cow hanging from a sturdy tripod stand, with three villagers attending to it, in front of a store that had a coffee shop sign above its door. They waved. A little farther down the lane, we passed an older woman walking up the hill carry small buckets of milk.  She must have been 15 years older than us, but she was a hearty soul and ended up lapping us three times.  When we returned to the inn Merita had some freshly baked bread and muffins waiting for us, along with a fig jam, made with the fruit from the tree in the front yard, feta cheese, butter, yogurt, and eggs sourced from various neighbors. We enjoyed our short time in Lin and wished that we had made plans to stay longer.

Back on the highway, the road rose into the mountains and we pulled over for one last look. In the fields outside the village a row of Hoxha’s bunkers sporadically emerged from the soil like mushroom caps, near where the marine archeologists discovered the submerged village on pilings.  Perhaps Hoxha’s paranoia was justified, but he was several millennia late.

Till next time, Craig & Donna