Haggis, Highlands and Single Malt

Forthwith, the remainder of our Scottish exploration.

Departing Edinburgh, we headed to uncharted ground: Glasgow, Islay and Fort William.

Glasgow was a one night stopover. Having not been to the city, thought we should give it a peek, enroute to Islay.   One would require much more time to get under its rather dull looking surface and experience the culture, shopping and dining for which it is becoming known.

Through a raging downpour we trudged from our no-nonsense Thistle hotel room down to the main commercial area. I bought Andy a birthday pint at Sloan’s (purportedly oldest pub in town) before dragging him and the kids a few more blocks to check out the River Clyde ( I have a thing for checking out waterways in cities). Kind of felt like we had jumped in the river, we were so thoroughly drenched. Then on to Café Gandolfi, a 30 year stalwart on the Glasgow dining scene and an intriguing combination of Scottish and Italian cuisine!

Walking in like drowned rats, we were glad to take refuge in the brightly lit, warm and happy space. Wooden carved tables, high ceilings, lots of diners. A great room. Here I endeavoured to knock two Scottish delights off my list. White pudding – the kinder, gentler answer to black pudding – and haggis.  Pleased to say both were a ‘toffee apple’, to use my Dad’s phrase for ‘easy’. My appetizer of white pudding with baked apple and Cumberland sauce (berry-based) can only be described as scrumptious. Sweet, spicy – I could eat it for dessert or breakfast too.  The white pudding is just oatmeal, flour, lard and spices. Nothing scary there.  A bit like a sautéed savory muffin. Then on to Haggis, Neeps and Tatties. First the haggis – spicy mince meat mixed with oats, historically cooked in a sheep’s stomach. Modern version is very palatable, if a little bland, at Café Gandolfi. My Mom’s mince was much tastier. Neeps and Tatties are just mashed turnip and potatoes, two things I love.

Andy had the smoked haddie (haddock) which he quite enjoyed, dubbing it  ‘fish bacon’ for its smoky, salty yumminess. Emily and Cameron stuck to the Italian side of the menu and were safe with their pastas.

The next day had us leave the land of motorways and travel the much more humane secondary roads. Making our way to the coast, we drove north along beautiful Loch Lomond before turning south-west to the ferry terminal to Islay. Driving through rolling green hills and along loch after loch was good for the soul.  Emily stuck her head out the window and positively exalted in the fresh air. That’s my Vancouver girl. No smelly big city air for her. The picture perfect town of Inverary, with its gorgeous 15^th century castle (the current home of the Duke of Argyll, and head of the Clan Campbell which happens to be the Clan associated with my Burns surname) had us wishing we’d bypassed Glasgow for a night in this quaint loch-side slice of history.

Catching the Caledonian MacBrayne Ferry from Kennacraig to Port Askaig on Islay, we arrived on the southern Hebridean isle by mid-afternoon. The colour of the landscape is what is most striking. There is a soft light and tone to the area that defies description. Green peat moss, purple heather and a beautiful but unfortunately named yellow weed called ragwort dominated the island palette, along with the ever present sea. The magical light and the fact that sheep must outnumber residents 10-1 on Islay are two of its defining features.

Our home for two nights was the Islay Hotel in Port Ellen.  Brand new as of last fall, you would never guess as they’ve done an excellent job of rebuilding the hotel in the style of the original one that stood there for well over 100 years.

Our whole reason for visiting Islay over any of the many other Hebridean isles was Andy’s love for the characteristically peaty malts the island is famous for (Lagavulin, Laphroaig and Ardbeg in particular).  So the first order of business was a distillery tour. We picked Lagavulin and were heartedly rewarded with our choice. Our guide, a young women whose grandfather was a cooper at the distillery and who has lived her whole life in the tiny remote village of Port Ellen gave an excellent one hour tour of the process. Thinking that the kids and I would merely be humouring Andy in his peaty passion, I was surprised to find how fascinating the whole process was.  Andy figured it was because it was all about artisanal crafting/cooking of an exquisite local product. What’s not to love? Other than the gawdawful taste of the stuff. I did partake of my free dram, post tour, but even with the gentler double matured 12 year old, I was at pains to say I could enjoy it.

Speaking of not being able to enjoy but being game to try , I finally screwed up the courage to sample black pudding at breakfast one morning, much to the disgust of my family. Black pudding is a sausage of congealed cow blood mixed with oatmeal and spices and then fried. Not surprisingly, it looks and tastes like congealed blood that has been fried. The texture does not help – somewhat gummy, sinewy. Ugh, I shudder at the memory.  Stornoway black pudding was on almost every menu I saw in Scotland so it’s clearly a favorite staple, but most definitely an acquired taste. I’ll willingly down a bottle of Lagavulin before I put lips to black pudding every again…..

What I CAN say I’ll try again and again is Sticky Toffee Pudding. Yes, I can make this quite well at home but served in a seaside inn on Islay with a good dollop of double cream is just about heaven on earth in my books.

The rest of our time on Islay was spent finding ‘walks’ to do (British for hikes). Our first had us traipsing along the coastline out of Port Ellen towards the peninsula of Oa. Alas, we only got an hour out before driving rain and a trail that had disappeared into the boggy ground had us heading back for dryer land.  The next day we had better luck when we found a mostly sunny walk over to the historic settlement of Finlaggan.

Starting at a farmer’s gate, we walked smack through a pasture of cows and sheep that had Cameron somewhat nervous “Dad, where’s the bull?” “Will the sheep attack us?”. Only the midges (Scotland’s answer to mosquitoes) were attacking and the cows and sheep wanted nothing to do with us. We wanted nothing to do with their cowpatties but this was easier said than done.

Leaving the farm, we started across a sloped hill above wee Loch Finlaggan, to our destination at the northern end of the loch, the medieval home of the Lords of the Isles (equivalent to the Kings of Scotland, these rulers oversaw the Islands back in the early middle ages).

A small note about the gravity-defying nature of water on Islay. It does not flow downhill. It therefore does not follow that, if you move further up a slope from a water body, you will find dryer ground. This is because Islay is one big bog and it is pretty much like walking on a sponge unless you are on a hard packed road or beach. We squelched our way across the hill to the end of the loch, with no apparent path to follow and at least a half dozen creeks to cross.

But we were rewarded with a really excellent tiny visitor centre and a fascinating visit to the tiny island, with medieval ruins intact, where the Lords of the Isles convened. Cameron was completely mesmerized with the place and the curator at the centre spent a lot of time giving him all her knowledge. She was delighted to have such a keen listener!

Leaving Islay late in the afternoon, we retraced our steps back to Kennacraig, and headed north to our highland destination of Fort William.  Along the way, I fell deeply in love with the innate beauty of the lochs and highlands.

Islay was pretty. The Highlands are magical.

The light in the post-rain, sun-dappled late summer evening was breath-taking. Stopping briefly for provisions in the pretty town of Oban, I can attest that it is worth a longer stay, but our destination was Fort William. Speaking of which, think Squamish and you’ve got some sense of the nature of this small highland town. Situated at the head of Loch Linnhe and the intersection of the Nevis and Lochy rivers, it is a biker, hiker and skiers playground, not to mention lots of water sports fun too. We stayed for 4 nights to take maximum advantage of our time there, and, frankly, to catch our breathe and do laundry.

Day one saw us summit Ben Nevis after 3 hours of walking from sea level to 4406 ft. The peak of Ben Nevis is the highest in all of the UK and therefore a popular goal.  Alas, it is therefore very tourist-laden so the pathway up the rocky and then scree-sloped hill has basically been ‘paved’ with cobbles and was a bit of a congo line on the day we did it. Given that the peak is rarely out of the clouds, and we managed to get a weekend day where we had clear views from the top, I’m not surprised that we had so much company on the path. We were quite happy to get 5 hours of good exercise though. To quote Emily recently “I can’t remember the last time I felt hungry…”

Giving our knees a break, the next day we rented mountain bikes and checked out the Witch’s Trails at Nevis Range, the local ski hill. This is the site of a World Cup DH MTB race every year and also hosted a World Cup XC a few years back.

So they’ve got the biking thing dialed. Great trails, great rental set up, great café where we could get decent food and a pint if we so desired. Beats the Longhorn at Whistler for charm and quality. We stuck to the XC trails and had a hoot ripping around on relatively easy trails, with the occasional challenge to keep us on our toes, especially since we were riding British bikes with the front and rear brakes reversed! Oh, the joy to be on a bike again!

Rounding out Day 2, we drove to the little village of Glenfinnan which is famous for two disparate reasons. Most historically significant, Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his standard here during the ill-fated Jacobite uprising that ultimately led to the tragic defeat of the Scots at the battle of Culloden. (Google it if you have no idea what I’m talking about). Less significant but more current is the Glenfinnan Viaduct which came to fame during the Harry Potter movies as the path the Hogwarts Express steam train followed when it transported Harry and the gang to the school. Apparently a fair bit of the movies were shot in the area, with the Quidditch World Cup taking place at the end of Glen Nevis, where we were staying.

Day 3 found us hiking to a hidden valley (Coire Gabhail) in my favorite spot of the highlands, Glen Coe. This is another historically significant area where the Macdonald Clan were treacherously murdered in 1692  by the English as  result of not signing an oath to the new king (William of Orange) promptly enough. Again, Google or Wikipedia can help you out. I love the place for the unparalleled beauty of Loch Leven and the craggy mountain range known as the Three Sisters that dominate Glen Coe.

Our hike was short and sweet, up a technical, picturesque valley drainage and through a bit of a gorge before popping out into a wide, hidden valley. Despite warnings of heavy rain, the sun shone on us and we had one of our signature hiking picnics (bread, cheese, wine, chocolate), lazing in the sun while the kids had fun scrabbling up and over the big boulders in the valley. We rounded out the day by letting the kids demonstrate their inner monkey at the High Ropes course at Nevis Range while Andy and I fed the midges on the ground.

Andy declared our final night in Fort William as his virtual birthday for the three simple reasons that we

1) went to a local pub (the Grog and Gruel) where he enjoyed a local cask-conditioned ale ( a REAL ale – not too cold, not too fizzy, just right!)

2) enjoyed an excellent curry at the Indian Garden (his vindaloo was A-1 and my Chicken Patia was the perfect balance of fire and sweetness) and

3) topped off the night at the 16^th century Ben Nevis Inn where Andy’s dram of Laphroaig was a mere 2 pounds and I can honestly say that I thoroughly enjoyed my dram of Glenmorangie.

It was with some sadness that I bade farewell to the highlands the next day as we made our way down to northern England. As we drove through visually stunning Glen Coe and over the pass,  then later along pretty Loch Lomond, my heart was full of feeling for this country that is the land of my ancestors. I definitely feel a deep connection to the rugged, natural beauty of the area – water and mountains, and green as far as the eye can see. Sounds a lot like home, no?

Land of my high endeavour

Land of the shining river

Land of my heart forever

Scotland the brave

Photos here.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/slowmoitalia/sets/72157631248551638/