Fort William, first day

Before heading off to Fort William today, I visited the Oban distillery, which was the best distillery tour I've done. However I can only compare it to two or three others, so that's not saying a whole lot. It had a satisfying blend of the old and the new, because the premesis hasn't changed since the 1700s when it was built. A lot of their equipment was new, and a lot had been in service for many years. And the whole building had significantly more character than the sterile stainless steel of Midleton's. It was overall very informative and seemed to place genuine emphasis on teaching you about whisky and how it's made, rather than just giving you some pretty things to look at and herding you through quickly so the next tour group could come through. As the distillery is still in use, though, there was no photography allowed. I plan to visit some more distilleries in future, so I hope they are all at least as good as this.
So then I headed off to Fort William, situated at the end of Loch Linhe. As such it was an important strategic location for Oliver Cromwell for controlling the Highlands, so he built a fort here, little of which remains, though the town that grew around it is obviously thriving. It's a nice enough town, smeared across the steep sides of the loch like so much peanut butter, but it means the streets stretch out back and forth like tapeworms in the world's largest set of intestines. Since a lot of them are one way it means that it you want to go backwards you have to drive all the way to the end and back again. But the pretty scenery makes up for it.

Ben Nevis

It's also a great base for seeing Glen Nevis and Britain's highest mountain, Ben Nevis. I arrived at Fort William between about 12 and 1 in the afternoon, and so I decided to spend the afternoon checking these out.
Now, I do love walking, and I particularly love climbing monuments, but unfortunately on this trip I'm ill equipped to climb any major mountains - the occasional small hill or valley, but something like Ben Nevis would just be a pain in the ... feet. So I went to the visitor's centre and did a two hour walk approaching the mountain and coming back. It was breathtaking, but I did sorta regret not going to the summit. Well, maybe next time I'm in the area.

Pub Challenge 52 - 55

Something to take note of if you ever find yourself in Scotland: Oban has (in my opinion) some terrible pubs. For the four I drank a pint in, I visited at least another 4 that I just walked straight out of. Only Coasters, the last pub I visited, seemed any good, but they had a bucks party at the time, so I chugged my pint and high-tailed out of there. And I've never had so much trouble striking up a conversation either! Usually asking for a photo is all it takes, but not one person here felt like talking.

Donnell's Irish Pub, Oban

The Lorne Bar, Oban

The Cellar Bar, Oban

Coasters, Oban

Isles of Mull, Staffa and Iona

The way to Mull

Today was quite an adventure, leaving on a ferry from Oban at 9:30 in the morning and returning at after 8 at night. The weather was not looking very friendly this morning, but it made for a dramatic trip to Mull. It felt like I was embarking on a monumental journey to the ends of the earth. I headed off into the hazy horizon on the grey sea, as barren rocky islands passed by with the sea lapping ferociously at their rocky shores while gulls cried mournfully, circling around their summits.
Or something like that.
Mull is actually quite a large island, and we mainly experienced it from the one and a half hour guided bus trip from one side to the other. Part of the reason it took so long is because the island is quite underdeveloped, and its roads are mainly single lane, which meant we had to stop and let all the cars coming the other way past. The scenery, however, was spectacular, with mountains, glens and lochs everywhere you look. Unfortunately it was streaming with rain, which makes the already shitty photos from a bus even shittier, so I didn't bother. I quite enjoyed it actually - it made me remember that I wasn't there to sit behind a lens and enjoy my holiday when I got home - I was there to enjoy it then.

On the other end of Mull we arrived at the port where the ferry would take us to the tiny island of Staffa.
I noticed that the ferries I was encountering were getting progressively smaller. The one that took me to Scotland was very big, the one that took me to Mull was large, and now I saw one waiting at the dock that was merely average. This ferry, however, was intended for Iona, the island that lay within spitting distance of this point. I, however, was going to Staffa first, and the boat that came bouncing over the choppy water to take me there was tiny by ferry standards.
The Atlantic swell is truly a thing to behold, and experiencing it in such a small boat you'd better have a strong stomach. It was only after passing over the first handful of swells that I realized there was a definite chance I would not drown, as the boat passed over them confidently (albeit startlingly).

Isle of Staffa

The trip took maybe half an hour, and the island that greeted me, well - you couldn't imagine a more forsaken, desolate speck of land. It made Inishmore look like Bali. It's surrounded largely by basalt column cliffs with a deep sea cave on the edge that first greeted us. The cave is called Finbar's cave, after the supposed giant that was the arch-enemy of the giant Finn McCool. It's interesting to note that Staffa and the Giant's causeway are linked both scientifically and mythologically. In reality the basalt columns that form the island were formed by the same geological processes that formed the giants causeway, and even have the same hallmark polygonal shape. Mythologically the two formations resulted from a fight between the two giants in which they threw rocks at each other.

This place was too harcore even for monks to settle. I think I've mentioned before that monks in the middle ages liked to punish themselves by building monastaries and churches in the nastiest, most inhospitable places they could find. The only signs of settlement on Staffa, however, is a single stone wall - presumably where someone started building a house and then realised what a stupid idea it was and gave up.

Iona Abbey

After an hour on the island, where the ferry left us completely alone to make us feel as abandoned as any human being ever can, we went back the way we came but stopped at Iona.
Iona is a much friendlier place, which would make anyone that's visited it but not Staffa wonder about my sanity. In the 6th century Saint Columba, who was a quite well-off statesman from Ireland, traveled to this speck of rock to set up a monastary and bring Christianity to Scotland. This is where the famous Iona Abbey is. The place slowly became a popular place for pilgrims (because they like to punish themselves almost as much as monks), but when the reformation brought protestantism to Scotland the place was abandoned and slowly fell into disrepair. Eventually in the early 19th century the Duke of Argyll bought the place because he recognized its significance and ever since restoration has been going on in the monastary and church.
Just down the way there is also a nunnery, built later but also abandoned during the reformation and never restored (though effort is put into preservation).
I have to wonder if having a nunnery in such close proximity to a monastary resulted in a miraculous amount of virgin births on the island... (as if one isn't miraculous already)

Oban and Bjorn's Revolution against Public Transport.

Well, the proletariat's discontent against the public transport bourgeoisie finally reached boiling point today. Just down the road from the youth hostel is a bus stop. The timetable there clearly stated that a bus was supposed to be heading to Oban, my destination today, at quarter past nine this morning. At twenty to ten and after nearly forty minutes of waiting I decided it probably wasn't coming. Another bus showed up and the bus driver stopped to have lunch. I asked him how I would best go about getting to my destination. He didn't seem hopeful, but eventually his advice led me to a twenty minute walk into Balloch, another twenty minutes wait for a bus at the "bus station" (a carpark with a poxy bus shelter), a fifteen minute trip to Dumbarton, and another half an hour walk. It is here that I arrived at a place that hires out cars.
Let me tell you, the people have risen in revolt, and things will never be the same.
I always shied away from hiring a car, thinking it would be too expensive. But the price I eventually paid for it was well worth avoiding the heartache I've been experiencing, and I doubt it was significantly more than tickets on buses and trains.

My beast, and weapon of the people.

I picked up an embarassing little Ford Ka. The seat's uncomfortable and it struggles up hills, but it beats the bus any day. Of course there will be some amount of annoyance when I return it, because I have to bring it back to the exact place I got it (it's only a small chain) and then get a train to Edinburgh, but Edinburgh isn't that far away from Dumbarton anyway.
So today I took my little car and drove it to Oban, taking the scenic route (which the bus, had it ever showed up, would certainly have avoided)

McCaig's tower

A description of Oban (emphasis on the O. I keep getting that wrong!) in a travel guide would probably contain the word "nestled". It's sitting amongst some pretty hills on Loch Lorne with a good view of the Isle of Mull and a few other islands. Perched above the town in the hills, like a vampire's fortress, is McCaig's tower. It's actually not much of a tower, and it was built in the 1890s and early 1900s. It's really just a ring wall surrounding a garden, built by John Stuart McCaig, an entrepeneur, to give all the unemployed masons in the town work as a memorial to his family. It naturally has the best views in the city.
Heading back down to the town from the tower I descended the so-called "Jacob's Ladder" - a relatively steep, winding set of steps heading down the hill. Despite what it's name suggest, I was barely electrocuted at all. I imagine that you'll get the shock going up. (No don't laugh. I shouldn't be encouraged!)

Loch Lomond pictures, as promised

Yes, this was my hostel while I was at Loch Lomond.

Pub Challenge

Mint and Lime, Glasgow

Waxy O'Connor's, Glasgow
I at a bowl of haggis here. It was tasty.

The Scotia Bar, Glasgow. One of three puibs I visited
that claim to be the oldest in Glasgow. This one is the best
contender, and also once a favourite haunt of Billy Connelly

Old College Bar, Glasgow. Second pub claiming to be
the oldest in the city. This one was a pretty crummy
bar, and apparently their only claim to age is because they've
held their license the longest, but have moved venues.

The Clutha, Glasgow. I decided to do something
special for number fifty, so I jumped in the river Clyde
beforehand. I also spent a fair amount of time writing the sign.

Waterhouse, Balloch

Loch Lomond

I'm seeing another disturbing pattern emerging. After all my grievances getting to Glasgow, I had reruns of it getting to my youth hostel on Loch Lomond. The information I had about it told me it was in a town called Alexandria right near the Loch. The people at the bus station were woefully unable to tell me how to get there, so I took a train with no trouble. When I got there the lady at the station told me the hostel was actually closer to the town of Balloch, a further 15 minutes down the road. So I had to take a bus after all. There were two services going to Balloch, stopping on either side of the road. It was pouring with rain so I naturally stood on the side with a bus shelter. And of course the first bus to come along stopped on the other side. Cars were whizzing past, so I signalled to the driver, but he didn't see me. I had to wait for the next one.
As I got on I asked the driver if he was stopping anywhere near the hostel. He told me when we arrived he'd show me how to get there. Of course another passenger thought this wasn't the best way to go so suggested I get off at the next stop and take a different bus. Then another passenger had a better idea, and before I knew it the whole bus was in conversation about how to best get me to my destination. The bus stopped and the conversation spilled out onto people in the street. I stood there quietly hoping I would get there somehow.
Eventually a girl sitting next to me said she'll be taking a taxi to near the hostel from the next stop anyway, so I just decided to get a lift with her. Balloch is really only half an hour away from Glasgow, but it probably took me an hour and a half all up.
But it was worth it. The hostel is absolutely stunning. It's an old manor called Achendennan House and it was apparently built on the site of Robert the Bruce's hunting lodge. Now, unfortunately I am again using a computer that won't accept my camera, so I'm afraid you'll have to wait until tomorrow for the pictures.
I arrived at shortly after 11am and to my disappointment I found that the damn hostel is closed between 10am and 3 pm. Let me stress, my impression of the area so far was that it was quite in the middle of nowhere.
Wailing and gnashing my teeth I decided to ring the "after 12" bell. Waiting about a minute I was greeted by a bloke wearing latex gloves, obviously in the middle of cleaning. He told me I couldn't check in yet, but I could leave my stuff in the foyer. He also told me how to get to the visitors' centre for the Loch, which was surprisingly close but well hidden. So I set off again, in the rain.
The visitors' centre is a big, modern complex of buildings with shops and cafes aplenty. And I finally caved in and bought a rain jacket. Of course it stopped raining about 20 minutes later.
I also took a cruise of Loch Lomond. Unfortunately I had the bad luck of taking the same cruise as a tour bus full of Americans. Ignorant annoying Americans too. One of them even argued with the barman (bars are not uncommon on Irish and Scottish cruise boats, even relatively small ones like this) about why she couldn't pay in Euros. The barman very patiently explained to her about the difference in currency and exchange rates, but I honestly don't think she got it.
But yankees aside, it was a very nice cruise. Loch Lomond is the largest body of fresh water on mainland Britain, and it's scattered with little islands and surrounded by mountains. Sitting on the Highland Boundary faultline, it makes a natural border between the highlands and the lowlands. There was a bit of a commentary on the various islands, but to be honest they were largely forgettable. One island, however, is home to a colony of Wallabies introduced in the 1950s. I watched it closely as we passed it on the lookout, but all I saw was a few emus, a koala and a tasmanian tiger.
Other than a few tidbits of interesting information, the cruise's highlight was really just the spectacular scenery, which you will unfortunately have to wait for. I, however, just have to look out of the window. Jealous?