Scotland! Going for the Green

by Jeff Miller

Photos by Connie Gilles

Q: Where in the world is the opposite of dry, sunny, brown Santa Barbara?

A: Somewhere near top of the list, based on our recent travels, should be wet, cloudy, green Scotland.

It all started when our son enrolled in a music school in London. We decided to accompany him to help him get settled, and then to zip around Scotland for a while, since we were already over there and it was a trip of a lifetime sort of dream.

It happened fast. Usually, you plan a trip of lifetime for months but we had only a few weeks. Due to the haste I decided to enlist the help of a travel site, whose experts savaged our plan for being hopelessly naïve. “You’re trying to fit a size-12 foot into a size-6 shoe,” one pro carped. But we did it anyway, and it was great. Part of the greatness was the serendipity that comes with haplessness. For example, I would highly recommend starting any visit to Scotland by losing your phone in a cab in Edinburgh right at the start.

It’s the kind of mistake that can ruin a trip. But this turned out to be a lucky launch.

“I am Sami,” said the driver with a big smile an hour later. Hearing the phone buzzing frantically in the back seat, he’d responded. He’d been at the airport, but would bring it all the way back to us in town. “Sami from Syria,” he went on. “Americans don’t like my real name.” “What is it?” “Osama.” With that, Sami from Syria handed me the phone. Considering how miserable we’d felt a little earlier, it was like salvation. I handed him a ₤20 note. He insisted it was too much and gave me ₤10 change.

That was our introduction to Scotland. And it turned out to be the country in capsule form. It may not be the friendliest place on the planet but it’s got to be close.

In Edinburgh we stayed one night (huge mistake, howled the pros) because we wanted to zoom straight into that green countryside. Our lodging was the Scotsman Hotel, the former home of The Scotsman newspaper for over a century. It was very reasonable, again, because we were idiots abroad making last-minute plans that somehow worked out. Icing on top for the editor in the group: We were given the former editor’s office for our room, and it was beyond lush. Sample: Robes you could live in forever and two small bottles of Monkey Shoulder scotch to fortify the weary traveler.

More serendipity: a little folder on the desk advertising dinner and a movie. Dinner where? Downstairs. Movie where? Farther downstairs, in the new, magnificent, cozy, red-velvet screening room. What was showing? Downton Abbey. Foirfe, as they say in Scots Gaelic. Translation: perfect.

Once reunited with the lost phone, we cruised north (driving studiously on the left) toward Isle of Skye. The thing about driving on the left is, it’s not that hard after a while. Yes, the roundabouts are tricky, and there are lots of them, but once you’re frantically checked right two dozen times, you’re okay.

After driving past many lochs we landed in Portree, Isle of Skye, staying bang on the quay beside the harbor from which fishing boats departed every morning. Our lodging was an Airbnb, so it was a home, which serves as half of our excuse for this appearing in Food & Home Magazine.

For newbie Santa Barbara visitors to the UK, lots of things seem intentionally different, and not just driving on the left. For electrical switches, ON is down, not up. Plugs require UK adapters with three prongs, including a round ground. But hair dryers require a different adapter.

A pound was worth about 30 cents more than a dollar when we were there. Who knows what it is now in these Brexiting times. But a kilometer is only two-thirds of a mile. Gas looks cheap on the signs but it’s by the liter, which is only a quarter of gallon, so it’s not. If you weigh 150 pounds in Santa Barbara you only weigh 10.7143 stone in Scotland. Congratulations!

And speaking of weight, here’s the thing about Scottish food (the other half of the excuse for this appearing in Food & Home). It’s good.

Once upon a time I read somewhere that Scotland’s cuisine was voted worst in the world after they invented the deep-fried Mars bar. But things have changed (except for the bacon). Example: After lots of remarkably good grub, we decided to find some of the bad stuff. It happened whilst driving through the countryside. We figured a far-flung pub would do the trick. No dice. The house salad dressing was pomegranate/prosecco-based.

That happened on our foray through Gourock, on Scotland’s west coast. We had rashly (last-minute, of course) booked a room in a 15th-century B&B castle that was suspiciously inexpensive. But there’s a suit of armor in the corner! Book it! We did. We went. We stayed in The Knight’s Bedchamber. Of course the place was rumored to house a ghost named The White Lady. Never saw her but did drink orange juice from a goblet. Iogantach! (Translation: Wonderful.)

Looking back, it’s hard to grasp how we managed to fit that size-12 trip into that size-6 shoe. Once again, serendipity lent a strong hand. On a jaunt to St. Andrew’s, the Rusacks Hotel desk clerk said we couldn’t expect a view of the Old Course for the price we were paying. But we got to our room and she had obviously played us, because there was a sprawling panorama of the cradle of golf. It might have helped that I mentioned it was our anniversary.

We’ve had our share of bad trips, so I don’t feel too guilty about raving for this one. And in the end, it was serendipity that gets most of the credit. Like the time we were cruising along and a sign for the Clan MacPherson Museum suddenly appeared. My wife, Connie Gillies, sprang to attention. “Gillies” is a subsect of the MacPhersons! We went. The guide wore a kilt. His mother was a Gillies.

Sheesh.