Storyline: A Glimpse of Scotland
And so, we made it all the way to Thurso, a lovely small town close to Dunnett Head, the most northerly point in Scotland. From here we’d return to Inverness and loop down to Aberdeen and then reach Edinburgh.
The line from Inverness to Wick and Thurso in as far north as one can go by train. Return, of course, the same way unless one wants to swim. It was one of the busiest passenger lines we’d taken so far in the great nothingness of the North. Maybe it was the time of the week.
The scenery was completely different from that on our more southerly excursions. Beautiful green countryside, calm and sheeply (Alex says such word doesn’t exist, but it describes what I mean, so there you’ve a new word).
On our way from Inverness to Thurso we had the company of an older English gentleman going to the Orkneys to visit a cousin. He, of course was chatty, with many anecdotes from his years as a consulting engineer and CEO of the related association. He talked a lot about politics, but don’t all old men? (no, I don’t mean Alex, but just wait another 20 years!)
We sped by the Beauly Firth – a source of the Moray Firth, which we had seen the previous day in Inverness, crossed river Beauly and two stops later river Conon to reach Dingwall. Had I done my homework better I’d have known that we’d stop 3 times at this station (On our way from Kyle of Lochalsh to Inverness, and then to Thurso and back). Perhaps I could have booked a night there. Looked like a pretty little town with a castle that once was the biggest castle north of Stirling.
Shortly after Dingwall we reached the Cromarty Firth and pretty soon we noticed the oil rigs and other related vessels near Invergordon.
The train was faster than others and windows dirtier, so most of our snaps on this trip are from train stations, when the doors could be opened. Sitting across from us were two Eastern European guys heavily equipped with hiking gear.
They eventually disembarked at the village of Ardgay. Ardgay? What is there to hike or do in Ardgay? This and few other stops are inland. We read that the line looped deliberately inland, to provide train services to the remote villages. At the time, trains carried sheep, whisky, timber and other inland goods outbound and brought back oil, newspapers and, some books say, tourists. Were these East European guys reading these books? Or were they going to camp somewhere on Dornoch Firth?
The line returns to the sea at Golspie and after Bora it got really close to seashore. There were times I had the feeling the train was touching the waters of the North Sea and wondered how the rails survive the waves or tides.
The old man told us to watch for Dunrobin Castle, which according to him was spectacular, but all we saw from the train was a gate. They should have cut those trees around so all could see, shouldn’t they? At Helmsdale, the line took us back inland, through some barely surviving places just to pop again to the sea at Thurso.
Surprisingly enough it wasn’t the coldest, windiest or the wettest spot during our trip. While the fluffy white sea clouds and the dark grey threatening land clouds were fighting, the sun was winning a spot between, causing me to take a layer off (and I didn’t even have all my layers on!).
We checked into our hotel near the train station and immediately went on a hunt for sights and photo opportunities. A few minutes later we reached the sea. Lovely views but I can imagine the bitter howling winds for a big part of the year. It is only September and the air is rather fresh and cool.
We took the path by the shore and reached the river Thurso estuary with another castle on its far shore. Back into town we walked by Old St Peter’s Kirk – a ruined church.
A lady was waiting there for two young boys, for whom she was going to open the gate. She invited us in too. So, there we had a free guided tour meant for 10 or 11-year-old boys who probably had a homework related to this church. The church was built in the 13th century and had many layers of history and many styles representing different eras.
Thurso is a small place, but it is full of tourists. The accommodations here are not cheap. Rather expensive actually.
We found abundance of hotels and they were all full. Probably partially because of ferry to the Orkneys departs from nearby Scrabster.
The price was steep for what in Canada will be considered a low-end motel. But it is far North. Was it worth it, I ask Alex? Most assuredly, he replies…we should have stayed longer…
They feed you well everywhere in Scotland. The breakfast was fantastic and enough to keep us full for the day in which we took an early morning train from Thurso to Inverness and immediately jumped to another platform and for the train to Aberdeen. Everywhere we have stayed so far, regardless the room size and price, they served a full Scottish breakfast (very similar to an English breakfast, but with a different accent, ye ken – Alex) including choice of poached, scrambled or fried eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato & toast plus a buffet, from which we would only take fruits and sometimes yogurts. But they make lousy coffee (really? You should have had the tea – Alex), so I usually find espresso after.
Thurso is another pretty Scottish town, but is obviously dependent to a great extent on tourism; it’s also obvious that not every venture is successful as there are lots of storefront vacancies. The ones that are successful do well because of the extra inch they walk – and perhaps a little luck.
In our otherwise uninspiring and expensive hotel, they had a nice restaurant (one of the very few and possibly the best of all, because the locals had their Friday afternoon gathering there) and they were also offering to prepare packed lunches.
After the comprehensive breakfast we took off for Aberdeen, our final destination for that day.
The train back from Thurso to Inverness on Saturday morning was rather full. Good I had our seats booked. A big group of students with their teachers boarded the train with us. Some passengers were standing in the corridors. More passengers were boarding at every stop. By the time we reached Invergordon the train was so full that we had the feeling people would sit on our laps. It was like a stretchy glove (“The grandfather’s glove” children’s tale for my Bulgarian friends, which fit in all the animals in the forest). As we approached Inverness, more and more people were boarding the train. Tons more jumped on in Alness, beer cans and bottles in hands. It resembled the Toronto rush hour subway train, with the addition of legal alcohol consumption.
All in all, it was another lovely excursion and we would happily return for a longer stay, but perhaps earlier in the year so we’d have at least a chance of some warmer days.
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