December 2013 Edinburgh -- Pitlochry -- Edinburgh

An offer on EastCoast trains back in the late summer finished convincing us to take an extended weekend to God's Land. Visiting no-one, this time, due to diary clashes.

Thursday, the 12th December

Banana lassi and
an interesting cocktail

Lunch menu starter

Arrival on time in Edinburgh. We walk the short distance to the bed & breakfast and check-in well in time to still see the city. 14 Hart St is a lovely, old-fashioned house (Georgian? Edwardian? Victorian?) close to the centre of town with no sign that it is indeed a B&B. The host recommends a few places to eat and we decide to start there. Lunch at Khushi it is, then. Very nice Indian meal, though their lunch menu represents way too much food. Oh, well, we will skip supper and that is sorted.
Off to the castle we go. It is obviously an expensive tourist trap, but JS has never been, I have not been for over 20 years and given the season and time of the day, it seems like a good idea, as there should be fewer people. In fact, it is pretty much deserted. The downside of this season is it also gets dark around 15:30, so the views from the courtyard, we do not see much.

This one, we do, though

We spend a lot of time in the army museum, pause in front of the 1 o'clock cannon (what time does it go off, we are never told!), take a shot of Mons Meg in the night before finishing the visit with the Crown and Honours of Scotland. I had distant memories of this part: a long, meandering exhibition that ends in an overly-crowded room where the Honours are on display. I managed to get a quick glimpse the first time, before being rushed away, stuck between many sweaty tourists, sticking their necks out in an attempt to see something. How different today is, I cannot even begin to translate. There is a guard in the room (of course), us, and... no, that is all. A third visitor joins us after a few minutes, that is it. We have ample time to study the craftmanship of the crown and the sceptre, which both illustrate the Auld Alliance with an omnipresent combination of lily flowers and thistles. There is no point describing the majesty that emanates from the items -- better go see them and make up your own opinion. No photo allowed inside, by the way.

Boom.

It is night by the time we come out. The staff is slowly shutting down the place while we exit the mighty stronghold. Off to the shops!
The Royal Mile (the long, straight road that links the castle to the Hollyrood Palace is tourists' heaven and the essence of everything our Scottish friends loathe: Nessie plush toys, cheap tartan, bagpipe recordings, toffee, Walker shortbread and souvenir whisky. It is also, however, home to several very serious ports of call for whisky enthusiasts. How those specialist shops can put up with the constant requests for, 'I'd like a Scotch whisky for my [insert relative's role], not sure what they like, price, kinda mid-range. Can you help me?' I do not know. It makes it difficult to engage a more enlightened conversation with the staff (by "enlightened," I mean something as pedestrian as, 'Have you tried the recent St Magdalene and how is it, please?') Very likely, they are in speak-to-unknowledgeable-tourist mode by default.
We try a Mortlach at the Whisky Trail (their own, bottled by GMP), the recent Allt-A-Bhainne and Balblair at Cadenhead's, while spotting several interesting things mostly everywhere. Royal Mile has a particularly impressive couple of shelves, though no price is indicated, which is worrying. I ask and it is indeed frightening (3500£ for a Brora 1972 RMS, I do not even bother checking which one).
It is too early in the trip to buy anyway, but we do take notes and, if the Cadenhead's guy is initially sharp and rather disagreeable (i.e. in speak-to-unknowledgeable-tourist mode), he agrees to keep a bottle on the side for a couple of days with no further guarantee than a first name, which is rather nice. Remember this, I will come back to it.
We decide it is time to rinse our gobs (we are foolishly not carrying a bottle and are close to dehydration) and head for the B&B... but miserably fail at leaving another shop alone. They have a tempting Imperial, as well as a Littlemill from an obscure bottler -- both affordable on their own... if we had not already found multiple targets. As we are ruling them out, we are asked whether we want to taste something. Never one to say no (that would be rude), we are given the choice between Dalmore 12yo OB, Jura Superstition OB and a Fettercairn OB. This last one is the only one I have not tried, so it is the obvious choice. The Whyte & Mackay representative (W&M own all those distilleries) is as passionate as he is friendly, which means we chat at length, completely neglecting the rest of the staff (us) and the other customers (him). It turns out he appears in a documentary we saw a few weeks ago, which is highly amusing. After a while, we still do make it back to the B&B with headaches from lack of water. Some refreshments and a shower put me back on track for the rest of the evening. Supper is still out of scope (Full of Indian food, still), but we want to visit the SMWS. After that experience, we make our way to the B&B once more and I catch The Dilemma on the box. It is a rather terrible film.

Friday, the 13th December

Hearty it is, too!

Short and very disagreeable night -- dehydration, undoubtedly. Nothing a hearty breakfast cannot cure, though -- and this one delivers (full Scottish). The host funnily will not ask me to settle the bill, so I feel I have to stop the conversation  and stop beating about the bush. Next time, I will try leaving without paying. ;-)
It is an easy walk to the station, we are well on time for the train to Pitlochry.

Atholl Palace

Hu!

We arrive there around 12, walk past shops that catch our attention and make mental notes. The B&B (Beinn Bhracaigh) is a bit off the beaten path, yet we find it rather easily all the same and drop off our bags. The room is not ready -- we do not care. We change into our hiking boots, and off we are.
After about half a kilometre on the road, we take a path around Atholl Palace into the (very peaceful) park, then forest and fields. In the first field, on the first corner, we come across a dead owl, completely unharmed. While we try to understand how it died, lots of birds (tits, a redbreast and chaffinches) go about their business in the trees behind us. Trying to observe them, I spot a red squirrel, which pumps adrenaline into my system. Further across the fields, we pass Caisteal Dubh Maohlinn, a 13th-century stronghold I had mistaken for a fortified farm. The site is rather poetic, if lodged in the middle of a pasture. The view from there is impressive, all surrounded by hills. The wind has gathered flocks of clouds against some of those. The sky above is also becoming very dark and dramatic.

We hit the road again in Moulin and follow it to our next halt: Edradour distillery. It starts raining about halfway. A lady we come across is quite annoyed with her broken umbrella. Fortunately, it stops raining right when we reach the distillery. It is shut (we knew it), but the setting will look better on photograph, now that the sun is shining. There is a funny note on the portal from someone who was obviously not as well informed, 'Thank you for updating your Web site!'

Call that a fall?

We head South from the distillery and back into the fields. Looking back to wait for JS, I am awestruck by a full rainbow near us. A petty physical phenomenon to some (light diffraction), a marvel of nature to others. The path follows the stream (Edradour Burn) and enters woodland, while the descent becomes steeper and steeper. Then we reach rapids and small falls. We stop for a few shots of the most impressive cascade -- probably around two metres tall. But then we carry on and realise the Black Spout, the actual waterfall, is 30 seconds away and must be well over 20 metres. We laugh, enjoy the view and gaze at the chaffinches nesting on the cliff opposite the path.

Nah! That's a fall!

A brief walk later, we reach Blair Athol distillery (notice the different spelling of Athol). We missed the last tour of the day, but that is fine. The shop is still open -- typical Diageo shop, without a trace of a bargain, but some nice items all the same. It is the end of the season, unfortunately, and if they have tons of t-shirts, the polo shirts have sold out.
Further up the road, we reach Pitlochry for a bit of bottle spotting and some purchases, before we head back to the B&B. Quick shower, then we are off to the Auld Smiddy Inn for great food (roasted salmon on tagliatelle for JS, pork belly with sausage slices and Dauphinois gratin for me) and dodgy wine.
After supper, I want to explore the bar at the B&B: interesting selection -- mostly basic bottlings, but some were bottled in the 1980s at the latest. The level on the interesting ones is scaringly low, however. A quick sniff confirms they have all suffered an agonising evaporation. Although the prices are reasonable, I refuse to pay for something that is clearly not going to be enjoyable. I warn the hostess about the risks of keeping open bottles with a low level for so long, but it falls on deaf ears, I fear.

Clo(i)chard Pl.

We pick a DVD (The Hunger Games -- not very good) and fall asleep halfway through it.

Saturday, the 14th December

Better night and better breakfast to come (rösti and bacon and brie for me, salmon on scrambled eggs for JS). Once replenished, we decide to finish watching the film (still meh) before hitting the shops.

WIN!

Full of good too

Pitlochry is not exactly a metropolis, but there are a few things we spotted yesterday we want to check out. We spend quite a while in a eco shop/hiking maps joint/art gallery, admiring pretty pictures. In a corner, a couple of Audubon birds are waiting to be released. I inquire about them -- it turns out that is the children's playground and the birds are toys for them. We have a couple of things put aside, then go back to the B&B to collect our bagages. Still a couple of hours before the train, so we stop for a drink (and to write postcards) in the local tea shop. En route to the station, we collect our items from the leftfield shop, where I manage to convince the clerk to let us free a green woodpecker, yay! The subsequent wait at the station goes by swiftly. In no time at all, we are on the train to Waverley.
Once there, I leave JS at the station, because I am a man on a mission: Cadenhead's closes at 17:30, it is late already, we are heavily loaded and the B&B is in the opposite way. I need to go solo for this hit-and-run. I rush there, wait for hours for the previous tourists to get their goodies, then finally get the guy's attention. He addresses me by first name, asks me how Pitlochry was and confirms the bottle I wanted. Not so disagreeable today, eh? He asks whether I still want the second one as well, but I decline, as I cannot afford it, today. I pay promptly, then I spot an unmarked bottle on the shelf, with an open book by it: it turns out to be a bottle of Auchnagie, recovered from the wreck of SS Wallachia. Needless to say I am a LITTLE excited to see such a historic piece. It is not for sale, only for the show -- not that I could afford it anyway.

The humble lounge

Back to the station to collect JS and the bags. We cross the old town to the B&B, which seems easy enough on the map, but turns out to be very challenging indeed, courtesy of the pouring rain, the vicious wind, construction sites and the fact that we are loaded as cattle. JS tries to fly a few times, using a large frame we bought as a wing. We eventually make it to the address (2, Cambridge Street) in one piece, but rather miserable. Again, no sign on the door that it is indeed a B&B. Crossing fingers when knocking! The most original of hosts opens the door to the most original B&B we have ever stayed at. We spend some time drying up in the lounge, chatting with our host (who is from Shetland, via Orkney) before changing into dry footwear. Before we leave, we discover the key feature of the grand room: the amor-a-tron!!1



Off to shops again to spend more money we do not have on things we will never be given access to again. Although our host gave us plenty of recommendations for places to eat, we end up settling for supper at Albanach, which came recommended by the Whyte & Mackay representative, the other day. Their selection is good to very good, with sensible prices too (we can unfortunately not afford the absolute top of the shelf this time, but hope to be back soon).

The room is OK too...

What this is, we will never know

Back at the B&B for a much-needed shower and a good night's sleep. The bed is all warm, as our host buried a hot bottle in it. Old school and pleasant.

Sunday, the 15th December

Pineapple from the garden, naturally

Another great breakfast (roasted pineapple with yoghurt, then toasted soda bread with Italian ham, fried eggs, tomato and basil for me, poached eggs on baconed-up asparagus and scone for JS. We quickly pack up. The weather is a lot more clement, today, but with our load and the steep climb along the castle, it is a warm yes when our host offers us a lift to the station (in his Saab 900 straight from 1991, including 1991 Blaupunkt radio/tape player). We are on the train well in advance for a rather comfortable ride, bar a small incident with an Eastern European who took the wrong train and wants to use her mobile phone to tell the whole world about it. In a quiet coach. She does not even seem to grasp the concept, if her decomposed face when I make a remark is any indication.

May 2013 Speyside

Saturday, the 11th

The train to Edinburgh in the quiet coach goes by quickly enough, reading The Distilleries of Campbeltown, the rise and fall of the whisky capital of the world. Recommended, though not for those in search of something easy and thrilling. It is mostly record logs, business correspondence and the likes.
The train arrives in Waverley at 19:20 instead of the announced 19:28 to the sound of an annoyed train conductor, 'Finally reaching Edinburgh. they put a local train ahead of us again -- we could have arrived five minutes ago!' which amuses me enormously.
Murrolo picks us up at the station and we proceed immediately to Queen Street for food and drinks.

Sunday, the 12th

Murrolo has the brilliant idea to cook breakfast. Sausages and eggs in, then off to the station for an early train to Aberdeen. A short but pleasant stay in Edinburgh it was.
The journey is magnificent as always -- I will never tire of the Forth bridges. Once in Stonehaven, we cannot see Dunnottar Castle from the train, frustratingly enough. The plan is to drive back here this afternoon, though. We reach Aberdeen 15 minutes late.
Aberdeen is a grey and extremely dirty city, from the little we see of it. We get lost on the way to the car-rental office, which means we are an hour late when we eventually find it. It is closed. A quick call: the number on the booking form is obsolete. The new number answers -- phew. I am told they sent a cancellation to my booking (after they had sent a confirmation), yet I never received it. The only office open on Sundays is now closed on Sundays. Disaster. I am told we have to go to the airport office: it is open and they have cars. We trawl back to the station for some whisky-spotting (two Cadenhead's bottlings) and lunch (a way-too-greasy macaroni and cheese for me, pizza pannino for JS). We find out the bus to the airport is frequent, quick and relatively inexpensive, which is a relief.

Heather at the Glenlivet

At the airport, the car-rental office is free of customers. Once the necessary paperwork is out of the way, we have a car -- same price too: they reworked my "cancelled" booking. The car is a Kia Venga, which leads to the obvious Venga Boys connection. We will later name it Sabrina, for reasons the reader should know.

JS and Sabrina

All in all, we take possession of the car at 16:00 instead of 12. Naturally, that sort of comes in the way of going to Dunnottar. Oh well.
We are now en route to Craigellachie (pronounce: craiGELlachie). Sabrina is a joy to drive. The scenery is calming and soothing, pastoral and agricultural, laid back. It is not too different from my native shores, in fact. Too much traffic for my liking, but that goes away as soon as we flee the main roads.
We arrive Dufftown and casually drive by Glenfiddich, Balvenie (and I suspect Kininvie) distilleries. Mortlach is a wee way further: I spot it on time, we stop for photographs.
Downtown Craigellachie is but minutes away. A quick drive through the metropolis and we find our accommodation. the host recommends a pub we will never find and another to eat in, which we had already spotted. We go for a walk to the Telford bridge, then off to supper and a dram or five (solid ones, at that!)

Telford pretty much built Scotland

Monday, the 13th

Goodness.

Breakfast is head and shoulders above pretty much any other we have ever had: eggs on French toast for JS, bacon and brie baguette for me. We indulge.

Not too shabby either.

Once replenished, the distillery spotting can commence: Craigellachie, Aberlour, Dailuaine and its lovely, dark-grain-processing smell, and the lovely Imperial, the goal of this trip, a Detroit-like, warehouse-cluttered ghost town, beautiful and sad at the same time. Follow Benrinnes, Glenfarclas, a trap for Taiwanese tourists with a classy tasting room reconstructed from a ship lounge, Cardhu, Tamdhu, where we spot a chaffinch and a flock of siskins before taking a few steps on a rail-road track without rails. Slightly further, Knockando, then Tomintoul rear the back of their heads. At this point, we start seeing pheasants everywhere.

Siskin in Tamdhu

Tamnavulin, Glenlivet, Glen Grant, Glenrothes, Glen Spey are on our path. We never find Caperdonich (it has been demolished), but do pass by Speyburn, where a workman offers a distillery tour; it is late however, and we need a place to stay, so end up leaving (if you read this: another time). To balance it out earlier in the day, we stop for shopping

Words are very unnecessary

 (and drams) in Tomintoul and end up way poorer than we came in. One of the things we try is a Port Ellen 27yo 1983/2010 (50%, DL Old Malt Cask 50º, Sherry Butt, C#DL6836, 528b): light peat smoke and barbecued ribs that slowly unveil a barley taste, which is unexpected from a 27-year-old whisky. Upon being told I have "happiness in a glass," I cannot help but observe how overrated Port Ellen is, as of late. Not that it is bad or anything like that, of course. Simply, there are better drams around for a fraction of the price. 7/10

A flock of siskins and a hidden chaffinch

We then drive North to Elgin, pass BenRiach and Longmorn, but do not stop. The tourist information office is still attended, which helps a lot, since no accommodation was booked. We spend a minute waterfowl-spotting near the pond outside: mallards, mandarin ducks, a

Heston Blumenthal's inspiring buddy

'Let's hope the fat one doesn't see us'

Muscovy duck, swans and gulls. I phone up a couple of B&Bs and find one promptly. We drop our bags, get an unconvincing recommendation for dinner (it would seem that not many places are open, which explains) and end up, after some wandering around town, in a hotel called Sunninghill. The confused staff make me wonder if we should stay (we are asked about seven times which table we want to sit at), but when food is served, we have a great, great late-ish dinner (asparagus salad, nut roast and crumble for JS, salmon and prawn, duck and profiterolles for me). I have a Lochside 1991 (46%, GMP Connoisseurs Choice) to go with it: nose: cannot smell anything, since they poured it in a tumbler. Mouth: sweet and gentle, milky and nicely body-buttered. Finish: very nice yellow-flesh fruitiness (well ripe peach, juicy canary melon and hints of distant passion fruit). Nothing revolutionary or spectacular, but a nice and easy dram all the same. Probably an 8/10 in a proper glass. The table next to us is full of men nearing retirement age talking about golf. Amusing.

Balsamic asparagus

Salmon, herring and shrimp plate...
without herring

Finger-licking nut roast

Duck

Crumble

The profiterolles are disappointing

'Strawberry, whipped cream, choux dough...'

Our B&B is a huge, old-fashioned house, very nice and quiet. The bed

Toung-si nan-peï!

is too soft, though. Sore back in the morning.

Tuesday, the 14th

Breakfast is good, but more traditional than yesterday. Black pudding, though -- yay.

Chaffinch

The whole point of coming to Elgin was to visit the Gordon & MacPhail boutique. They open at 8:30 and I want an early start, so am nervous we only reach there after 9:30. And gutted the whisky section (it is a full grocery store) only opens at 10. At 10, it is off to the races. Glenury, Glenlochy, Kinclaith, Caperdonich, Glen Albyn, ... They are all there. All of them too expensive. The new Glenugie and Millburn are not available and too expensive anyway. I only buy a handful of minis. Disappointing visit to say the least, really. I was full of anticipation for it; the goods are there, but the prices are exorbitant.

Breakfast of champions

Gordon MacSucceed

Off we go and more distilleries we see. We take snaps of Inchgower under a hail shower, then take the tour at Glenglassaugh, who have a whole range of indie bottlings on display. The tour is nice enough, if slightly standard. They were recently bought out by The BenRiach Distillery Co. and are undergoing some works and structural maintenance (the warehouse roofs are about to cave in in parts). Porteus must have made a fortune with Glenglassaugh: not only the mill, but every other piece of metallic device is from the Leeds company. Interestingly, at some point in the distillery's history when it was bought over, the wash and spirit stills were inverted, as the then-wash still was actually smaller than the then-spirit still. The tour finishes in a bonded warehouse, then back into the shop, where we try Glenglassaugh Revival (46%, OB, b. ca 2013) and Glenglassaugh Evolution (57.2%, OB, b. ca 2013). Everyone agrees the latter is better. Ingvar Ronde enters the shop as we are about to leave. I find it an astonishing coincidence, but then no-one else seems to know who he is.
We drive to Banff, missing the distillery site completely. The clerk at the tourist information desk does not know it exists and is stunned to find out she drives by it every day. We are told there is a coastal walk that leads to the location. It is a sunny afternoon, we take the opportunity to put our hiking boots on. After a short and easy walk, we are on site -- not that there is much left to see: they are building flats, but one of the original buildings still remains, I think. Walking back, we spot Russians practising their drive on the coast... and into the sea.

Плоуф

We never find the Macduff distillery in the village of the same name, avoid Fraserburgh and Peterhead, completely overlooking the fact that Glenugie used to be there, and start looking for accommodation an hour's drive away from Aberdeen. We will never find any vacancy. Not in Aberdeen not at the airport, not in a fifty-kilometre radius around it either. Speedbird Inn kindly lets us use their Internet connection to try and find something within driving distance (keeping in mind we need to return the car by 10 tomorrow), but it is a lost cause.
We end up accepting we will have to spend the night in the car. Good thing we are not pedestrians, this time!
Hungry all the same, we go back to Aberdeen for a couple of atypical burgers, follow the Arsenal vs. Wigan game (' weare forced to follow' is a better phrase), then drive out to a remote parking lot for the night.
After a few hours of sleep, some idiots wake us up by parking right behind us and talking very loudly. They end up leaving, but damage done.

Im Fasanerie

The temperature goes down to 2ºC, which prevents us from enjoying the last handful of hours much.

Wednesday, the 15th

The good thing about being so far up North is that dawn starts at 3:30. It does not get any warmer any sooner, though. Before we freeze to death around 5, I decide to drive to the airport, even if it means waiting there for a couple of hours. The journey will warm up the engine and provide a bit of heat, at least.
We reach there a little before 7, write postcards, return the car, take a bus back to the station, indulge in a copious breakfast, buy the whisky we spotted upon arrival and finally board the train for the long journey home. Needless saying we sleep through a lot of it. :o)


Good times. Even the misadventures with the car and the accommodation are an interesting couple of experiences (they were not at the time, of course).
It is definitely not my favourite part of Scotland (quite touristy), nor was it the best holiday (driving prevents from enjoying to the full and it was a bit rushed, at times). Having said that, it was certainly a nice, extended weekender. A little whisky centric, perhaps, hence a good thing it did not go on forever.

The end.