Tartan adventures in Glasgow

Highland scenery on the way to Glasgow

For some reason, I remember very little about this particular day. Since I know I can rule out 'alcohol consumption' and 'traumatic head injuries' as possible causes of this memory loss, I can only conclude that today was - well, a bit too dull to be remembered.

As we drove from Fort William towards Glasgow, we stopped off briefly at a town called Stirling. To be completely honest there wasn't much there except a steep hill that we walked up and down while trying to find something interesting about Stirling. The scenery changed as we drove from sweeping highlands, to a lush rainforest-like environment, and then finally to a sprawling and heavily industrial city.

Glasgow is a tough and gritty town. Gone were the pretty surrounds and charming architecture of Edinburgh  - this was not a town purpose-built for tourists. In fact, when we were given the afternoon to explore the city centre, I was a little dismayed to find that the biggest attraction was shopping, something I'd already done plenty of. I knew I also had another full day to spend here on my own: how was I going to fill those hours?

With a 'Scottish appreciation evening' looming (our Contiki tour guide's idea - "dress in Scottish attire as we go on a pub crawl on our last night with the England and Scotland peeps!"), I set myself a personal quest to acquire something in tartan that I wouldn't feel like an idiot wearing. As it turns out, since Glasgow shops cater for its citizens rather than its tourists, this was more difficult than I'd expected.

Then, finally, I stumbled across a shop that would perfectly fulfill my every tartan need: Tartan Plus. An entire shop dedicated to everything that was deeply (and superficially) Scottish. Shelves adorned with mugs, scarves, models of the Loch Ness Monster - and most importantly for me, tights. I left with tartan stockings which I felt sure I'd never wear again, but would suffice for the evening.

And it was one of the more awesome evenings of the tour. Pubs are the hidden gems of Glasgow, and our tour guide took us to three that were astonishingly diverse and utterly fascinating. The first was a fairly standard bar frequented by locals who glanced at us with a hint of a long-suffering stare as we giddily invaded their regular watering hole in our crazy Scottish outfits.

The next place was incredible: Waxy O'Connors, a multi-level establishment decked out almost entirely in wood, complete with an enormous tree growing up through its centre. It felt like we were exploring the world's biggest treehouse, which also served drinks and had a small dancefloor just for us. I've seen other reviewers describe Waxy O'Connors as "Tolkienesque", which seems fitting given the fairy lights and the wood-carved organ and the timber absolutely everywhere. We'd entered Middle Earth and were just waiting for the Elvish to turn up.

The final place, however, was even more impressive. The Corinthian proved to be bigger than Waxy O'Connors, much classier, and very, VERY posh. Multiple rooms, all filled with jaw-dropping displays of elegance and wealth: huge domed ceilings with chandeliers, a dance floor with walls of padded velvet, and opulence oozing from every light fitting or intricately-carved cornice. We definitely didn't fit in here and we revelled in the luxury.

Of course I wanted to leave early. One of my travel companions joined me for a freezing walk through Glasgow with McDonalds as our goal. Upon finding the McDonalds, we also unfortunately found an extremely talkative security guard who assailed us with stories of his home in Africa, his experiences in Scotland, his belief in God, his dislike of Glasgow, his plans for the future...it might have been easier to take had we not just walked the freezing streets, exhausted and searching for a late-night burger. We were finally able to make a break for it and hurried back to our hotel after our final night as a group, and my final Contiki pub crawl of the United Kingdom.

Nessie, another castle, the Isle of Skye and more scenery

Eilean Donan castle

We kicked off the day with a morning cruise on Loch Ness. Once again, it was hardly a party cruise, and we were treated to a commentary about the history and native plants in the area. The only point of interest was seeing some more castle ruins - this time belonging to Urquhart Castle, from where there are a lot of reported sightings of the famous monster. And no, we didn't see Nessie. I wasn't exactly devastated or surprised.

As we drove along towards the Isle of Skye, we stopped off at the Eilean Donan castle. By this stage, my UK journey was beginning to veer into 'castle overload' territory, but this one takes the prize for the 'Prettiest Castle' category. Even the most amateur of photographers were able to capture some stunning shots, aided by the weather and picturesque surrounds.

The Isle of Skye is apparently the second biggest of 790 Scottish islands, and a third of the population there speaks traditional Scottish Gaelic. The drive there was loaded with great scenery: fog hanging eerily just above the surface of the lake near Eilean Donan, followed by rocky streams which zigzagged haphazardly across an endless parade of green, treeless hills. Portree was the name of the town where we stopped for lunch and a short wander through the shops (most of the group headed straight for the pharmacy in an attempt to cure their coughs and colds. Once again it felt incredibly strange being the only healthy person present.)

Since there was only one way to get to and from Skye, we drove back along the same route - except this time, as we passed good old Eilean Donan again, it was absolutely pouring with rain. Thunder was booming, lightning flashing, and it was all very spectacularly stormy. We all had to check our cameras to make sure this was the same location where we'd experienced beautiful sunny weather only hours before.

The evening was spent having dinner at a pub in Fort William and spending ages searching for a taxi back to the hotel. I was left feeling a little more hopeful: since today had been much better than yesterday, perhaps tomorrow would be better.

Disappointment on the road to Loch Ness

St Andrews Cathedral

We journeyed further north through Scotland, away from bustling Edinburgh and into the wilderness. Along the way we stopped off at St Andrews, home of golf, the ruined St Andrews Cathedral and equally ruined St Andrews Castle.

Once again, we were given a generous amount of time to wander around a place where there really wasn't much to look at or do. Wandering through the cemetery and ruins of the cathedral was interesting, but if you weren't into golf, then that was about all the town had to offer, really.

What followed was a lengthy drive through the highlands, broken up by 1. a quick stop at the Spittal of Glenshee, an extraordinarily small 'hotel' in the middle of nowhere, where we were served soup and sandwiches for lunch, and 2. 'Braveheart' being played on the coach's DVD player for all to see. The scenery was nice and the movie highly disturbing.

At one point, as our coach had to cross a very small bridge over a stream, the vehicle kept stopping and jerking abruptly forwards. It turns out if our coach had been even a metre longer, we would have become stranded in the middle of the bridge, wheels off the ground and stuck like a beached whale. Needless to say we were all very relieved to make it successfully to the other side.

We also made a brief stop at the Glenlivet whisky distillery where we were given a tour of the place. I'm sure it was great for fans of whisky, but for those of us who aren't into alcohol that tastes like alcohol, it was a bit nauseating. The stench in one of the distillery rooms was repulsive and overpowering, like a lab room full of agar plates that had been left for months with their lids removed.

Finally, at the end of the day, we pulled into our next hotel in Drumnadrochit, near Loch Ness. I discovered I had absolutely no phone reception and we struggled to get wifi in the hotel. I've never felt more useless as when we had a Contiki trivia night that evening, where I barely knew an answer to a single question, and of course there wasn't a single science-based one at all.

Despite my desperate attempts at optimism, this was such a disappointing day. Every stop was fairly dull and the tour felt increasingly like we were kids on a school excursion. I also kept feeling like I was reverting more and more back to my old self: shy, awkward, extremely clumsy, self conscious and strange. All my confidence had been left behind in Europe and now I was stuck feeling miserable because my expectations had been set unrealistically high.

Em in Edinburgh

Edinburgh

I generally don't get hangovers after a night of drinking. I don't wake up with a pounding headache and nausea from the generous consumption of alcohol.

No, I get hangovers from lack of sleep.

Invariably, I have the same reaction to a big night out regardless of how much I've had to drink: I feel utterly destroyed. Headaches aren't uncommon. The most noticeable trait, however, is a vague grumpiness that I then have to spend the whole day trying to suppress. All I want to do is crawl back into bed.

But of course, that would be an unwise decision when you only have a day to spend in a brand new city. Naturally I wanted to explore Edinburgh, so I dragged myself out of my deliciously comfortable bed and made it onto a bus into town with the others just in time.

I tried to enjoy Edinburgh Castle. I really did. I mean, it was another castle, and castles are cool, right? I loved the one at Caerphilly, and I hoped this one would be more of the same, just bigger and better.

I should have realised something was up when the price of admission proved to be 16 pounds. (Caerphilly cost 3.60, in comparison.) I balked at the price and almost decided not to bother going in, but the other two people I was with were extremely keen, so I swallowed and handed over my cash.

It was almost the complete opposite of Caerphilly, which seemed ancient and sort of untouched and you could just explore wherever you wanted to go - and there was hardly anyone else there. Edinburgh Castle had been a little too well-restored, filled with modern exhibitions and museums in its halls and through the rooms, souvenir shops abounded, and the place was absolutely crawling with people. I felt it wasn't quite worth the 16 pounds. It had been changed too much to fit with tourist ideals and I was disappointed.

Afterwards we headed to the Elephant House cafe, famous for being "the birthplace of Harry Potter." JK Rowling used to frequent the place and worked on manuscripts there, so the cafe was filled not only with elephant figurines, but also with Rowling-related claims to fame. Every surface of the bathrooms was covered with Potter-themed graffiti: messages to the author, quotes from the book, or other statements of fandom. My personal favourite read "I may not be Luna, but I sure know how to Lovegood."

With the rest of our afternoon, we chose to explore some shops: first a few chain stores (in H&M, I fulfilled my mission to obtain thick jumpers for what I assumed would be a chilly few days ahead), then some cute boutiques with overpriced but very unique dresses inside.

And then, we caught the bus back to the hotel, and I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alternating between napping, joining everyone else for dinner, and then a night of blissful sleep.

Scotland is surprising

Having a hoot in Jedburgh.

Like England, I was never entirely sure what my fascination with Scotland was based on. For some reason I just really wanted to go to there. Possibly for the accents. Definitely not for the bagpipes and haggis though.

We crossed the border into the little town of Gretna Green, famous for "runaway marriages" often performed by blacksmiths. Historically, young couples in England were unable to marry without the consent of their parents until they were both 21 years of age. In Scotland, this law didn't apply: couples could marry without parental consent when the boys were as young as 14 and the girls 12, so many would skip the border into Gretna Green and marry before their angry parents could object. Of course we had a mock marriage ceremony where two Contiki-ers were joined in matrimony over the blacksmith's anvil.

I also bought a whole block of Turkish Delight for only one pound, which I thought was a bit of a bargain.

We then reversed our journey and headed back into England to visit Hadrian's Wall. Now, I'm not sure how many people have heard of children's entertainer Peter Coombe, but I was possibly one of his biggest fans when I was extremely young. He had a song about Hadrian's Wall (where it was claimed that the wall was built not to keep out the Picts, but to keep out cats. If I were in charge, I'd be the one to secretly let the cats in), and this song would not leave my head for the entire day.

Needless to say, the wall was in a bit of a state of disrepair, and our visit involved carefully side-stepping sheep dung as we walked from coach to wall up a hill that seemed extraordinarily steep at the time. We then had an hour to spend (upon hearing this one of our group remarked "A whole hour? What are we meant to do, walk the length of the entire wall or something?").

With an air of history about us and the soles of our shoes encrusted with grass and droppings, we then headed back into Scotland, stopping briefly at the border so we could take touristy shots of the 'Welcome to Scotland!' sign. Here we got our first surprise: a bagpiper playing for tips at the border. Only in Scotland.

The next surprise came soon after, when we stopped off at the town of Jedburgh for lunch. And outside the shop-slash-cafe, I discovered what would turn out to be the highlight of my Scotland experience.

For outside the front of the shop were people with living, breathing, holdable OWLS.

Three of them in total, plus two falcons. I gazed at the owls in fascination because they were feathery, fluffy, fierce and adorable. We were able to pat them, and after donning a protective glove we were able to hold one for a while. It stared at me blankly as I buried my fingers in its feathers and grinned like a maniac. Owls and squirrels are all that's required to make me happy, it seems.

Edinburgh was our next destination, where we were treated to a traditional Scottish three-course meal at a restaurant, plus entertainment from a bagpiper who told us some hilarious stories. I managed to avoid eating haggis, but I did try some Irn Bru (pronounced 'iron brew'), an orange-flavoured soft drink which is apparently more popular than Coca Cola in Scotland. It was a strange experience: I kept expecting it to taste like Fanta, but it wasn't quite the same. More orange-y and vaguely reminiscent of cough medicine.

A party night out in Edinburgh followed. The tour itinerary had promised an experience of the "pumping nightlife" of the city, and I'd envisioned bars and clubs full of people and music and Scottish character. And after the incredibly quiet tour so far, I was keen for something a bit more lively, despite my introverted roots.

Well, the nightlife was hardly "pumping". By the time we'd left the first pub (after ingesting many drinks and whispering apologies to our livers) and had moved on to a dance club, we reached the dancefloor and there wasn't a single other soul present. The music and the lights and the drinks were there, but zero locals or fellow partygoers.

This suited me just fine. It seemed others didn't feel the same way, believing the place to be dull and lacking in atmosphere. I don't know, I didn't mind. We had a dancefloor practically all to ourselves. Besides, it was a Monday night. What did everyone else expect?

Unfortunately I couldn't last any longer than 1am, so decided to catch a taxi back to the hotel with another of the group. Edinburgh by night is quiet, chilly, and all the buildings are shrouded in an eerie fog, obscuring higher floors and giving the place an almost haunted appearance. Thankfully we made it back to the hotel without seeing any ghosts.

I'm having my parents' holiday

Lake Windermere, where they enjoy boats

Somewhere in between cruising Lake Windermere and wandering around quaint shops in the Lake District on the third day of my UK Contiki tour, the thought struck me: I was having the kind of holiday my parents would dream of.

I'd been on more cruises and boats in the past few weeks than in the past few years - something my Dad would love. I'd pottered around cute little shops and quaint little stores selling cute and quaint and country-ish things - something my Mum thoroughly enjoys. The countryside was always green, the roads were often winding and fairly quiet, the pace of the trip was gentle and steady, and the weather was neither hot nor humid.

It struck me while I was sitting in a boat on the middle of Lake Windermere that this particular cruise couldn't be further from those I'd experienced in Europe. In Amsterdam and Lucerne there were free drinks, upbeat music, plenty of opportunity to mingle and socialise with everyone else, and fascinating sights as the boat made its way through the water.

In England, we all sat down quietly in our seats and watched misty green hills drift past the windows while our captain kept up a running factual commentary of the locations we were passing. The drinks included coffee and tea - and the coffee was dreadful.

When we arrived back on shore in Bowness-on-Windermere, I expressed a desire to have a traditional English afternoon tea involving scones. Thankfully there were a few others who shared this desire, and the very British Lake District (where we also visited the official Peter Rabbit / Beatrix Potter shop) seemed like a good place for indulging. Four of us found a small cafe and ordered our food.

And then we waited.

And waited.

We watched as the time crept ever closer to when we had to be back on the coach.

We waited, and began to stress.

At last, with ten minutes until departure time, our plates arrived: two pieces of cake, an enormous scone with jam and cream on the side, a sandwich cut into small triangles, and a pot of tea or coffee. We launched ourselves into the food without abandon. There was no elegance or class, just the rapid consumption of as much as we could shovel down in five minutes. We requested paper bags and took the remainder with us, frantically munching scones and cakes as we rushed back to the coach, which we made with only a minute or two to spare.

Our next stop was the town of Keswick, further north in the Lake District. Some of the group went to do a high ropes course, but as I stared at the rain dripping steadily from the sky and felt the chill of the outdoors, I felt glad I'd opted out of what promised to be a wet and muddy couple of hours. Instead, us sensible types were taken into town and left to wander for several hours.

It was during this time that I finally obtained gumboots (or Wellingtons, as they're called in the UK). A nice black pair with purple soles and a smattering of polka dots all over the outsides. I knew that they also shouted "TOURIST!" louder than my Aussie accent as I walked through the town, but I didn't care. My feet were dry and the boots were only 20 pounds.

It seemed like good food was the theme of the day, as we found a cozy cafe selling strawberry kebabs dipped in melted Belgian chocolate. It was amazing, and I was also heartened to experience the best coffee I'd had so far in the country. Afterwards we all met at a pub (of course) with some who had done the high ropes course, where we had dinner before being taken to our accommodation for the night in a place called Shap: a hotel situated, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. In the centre of a field. With sheep. In the surrounding field.

Quiet, secluded accommodation in the middle of nowhere? That's another tick in the Parents' Holiday box.