The is quintessential Scotland. Low timber beams, tiny doorways, whitewashed walls, inside and out, and a stone edged fireplace. The inn sits on top of a hill overlooking the sea and a wild coast; the specialty is of course seafood. Out the window are fields of green and whitewashed cottages. I am the only one here tonight and the poor waitress is having a terrible time understanding my accent. She thought scallops sounded like lobster and was totally bemused when I said any gin would do. There were about a dozen to choose from. I plan to eat and then have a big walk along the sea in the hauntingly beautiful Catterline.
I am like an Asian tourist taking pictures of the food but it is amazing. Freshly baked bread still warm, scallops and fish with risotto, and baked artichokes. It was seriously good. The waiter, with Scottish charm, is waving gingerbread pudding under my nose. Well I did say I plan to walk. I have just completely horrified him when I told him any whiskey will do. He reminded me sternly that I am in Scotland and any whiskey won’t do.
The Chapel of Barras; what an intriguing name for an exceptionally comfortable farmhouse B and B surrounded by green fields and cows. Seems the ‘bloody English’ razed the Knights Templar chapels to the ground on the way to the dust up at Culloden. Thanks goodness Michelle and Dave’s lovely stone house stands in this idyllic spot
As I head toward Aberdeen I stop at the apparently stunning Dunottar castle. I am sure that it is here somewhere amongst the summer ‘mist’. William Wallace was once holed up here and they hid the Scottish Crown Jewels here when Cromwell was being difficult.
No wonder the Scottish Crown Jewels were well hidden, I can’t see an inch in front of my face. Don’t know how a whole damn castle ruin can disappear but alas that is the Scottish summer (and I never did get to see the castle even though the signs said it was one metre in front of me)
Sleeping under the stars 