Summer of ‘24 Pt.3 - Scotland

A Bonny Homeland

I return to writing upon the conclusion of the Christmas period and the new year, the receiving of exam results, and the prospect of a busy and stressful semester 2. Coined by GU students as the ‘suicide semester’, I find myself grasping for any excuse to take my mind off the vacuous subjects I’m faced with this semester. Where else better to find solace than the best country I have ever visited - Scotland.

Although this is part of my ‘Summer of 24’ series, I will not limit my reflections to just one Scottish staycation. It simply would not do it justice. However, it is upon the memory of the 24’ trip which I will begin. After two foreign trips, a family camping vacation to the remote north west coast of Scotland was a welcome break from the hassle and pressure of travelling abroad. Having everything planned and paid for is a luxury which becomes a more scarce occurrence with every passing year. Thus, any chance to take advantage of it is a more than welcome one.

So, my parents and I jumped in the camper van and began the 5 hour drive to the quaint hamlet of Achiltibuie. Just north of Ullapool, this west coast escape provides stunning views of the quiet majesty of the summer isles, and the rolling coast of Gruinard Bay. The campsite itself sits adjacent to a pebbled beach and has ample facilities for a comfortable camping experience. Our time spent there was mostly occupied by cycling. The quiet, winding single track roads of the Scottish highlands provide excellent cycling opportunities - if you can brave the weather. My parents are far more committed cyclists than I, but I dont feel any shame in being a ‘fair-weather’ cyclist. While we weren’t cycling, my Dad would be out exploring the inner isles in his sea kayak, my Mum and I would stay cozy in the van with a book or a heartwarming television show. Although the weather is unpredictable and often less than ideal, when it decides to be nice, you’d be hard pressed to find any place more breathtaking. The image at the top of this blog is one I took from the hill above the campsite. I walked up around 9pm as the late sunset reached its peak. I sat down on the grass and watched, as my mind went quiet and I fell into the warm and familiar embrace of my homeland. Perhaps it sounds cliché and pretentious, but it’s rarely you’re given the chance to feel so nostalgic and proud of where you come from. In a time where national identity is more of a dividing issue than ever, at that moment, as the faint crashing of the waves whispered from below and the soft chirping of a dotterel hummed from above, I couldn’t be more proud of being Scottish.

The midsummer sunset from the pebbled beach of Achiltibuie

The conclusion of that summer trip marks the half way point of my 24 travels. After seeing such beauty, for a while it’s easy to find everywhere else left wanting a little.

My family and I have been on countless trips through the Scottish highlands. Most notably, the village of Plockton. A tiny fishing village just north of Kyle of Localsh. Like my parents, and my grandparents before them, Plockton is an annual summer holiday tradition. There’s a great comfort in familiar destinations, not only is the drive far less stressful when you know where to go, but the familiar faces create a home-away-from-home sort of environment. Even now, as I plan a trip to Plockton with a friend of mine, I try and decide who I should go to visit and when - and available discounts as a result. However, a frequent gripe of my grandparents, and a harsh reality for any regular Highland holidayers is that the community aspect of these little villages is disappearing. Because of second homes and Airbnb’s, Scotland’s quaint villages lie desolate in the winter months, and that sense of community only exists in the memories of those who once experienced it. Although councils are trying to take action to prevent this, the fact is that trips to Plockton will not look the same as they once did. This may be an inescapable fact, but the unique charm of bucolic life cannot be allowed to dissolve like so many parts of Scotland’s rich heritage. Unfortunately, only time will tell if these highland communities can be saved, or if they are destined to be hollow holiday towns for fair-weather visitors.

A second highland clearance is happening right under our noses

My other most nostalgic Scottish staycations were primarily in the small towns of Killin and Braemar. My dad and I would pack the tent kit, get in the car, and drive up through the Cairngorms or the Trossachs to the town campsites. Upon arrival we would rendezvous with my Gran and Pops. Braemar and Killin were their go to spots for trips in their beloved caravan. We would spend the days exploring the surroundings and spend the nights cozied up inside, playing dominos with warming cups of tea. I reflect upon those times with the utmost nostalgia. Any time I feel lost or down, I take my mind back to those nights, and I can feel a sense of familiar comfort washing away the blues.

The stunning view of the Gilbert Scott Building of Glasgow University from the Cyprus duck pond in Kelvingrove Park

Before I conclude, I ought to pay homage to my new home - the city of Glasgow. No amount of rain could dull its vibrant culture, and it would take more than clouds to obscure its beauty. I am very fortunate to be able to call this place my home. Wandering around Kelvingrove Park, stopping in cafe’s along Great Western Road, feeding the squirrels in the botanical gardens; the charm of Glasgow could not be overshadowed by any other city. Most tourists understandably visit Edinburgh and leave Glasgow as a time-filer on an empty day - for which I hold no judgement - even I must concede Edinburgh is a terrific place to visit. However, to live, work, and study, I could not imagine a better place to live than the dear green place I now call home.