Kilts and Campers

Wee Scotland. Technically it’s part of Britain, but this far northern chunk of land has an identity all of its own. Even the language is starkly different. If you think the Scottish speak English, think again. They speak Scottish. Try and eavesdrop on a couple of locals having a conversation in a pub and you will understand. Luckily they speak slower and clearer when conversing with unsuspecting Aussie tourists.

The Highlands of Scotland are nothing short of incredible. Silvery lochs are sprinkled like fairydust between daunting mountain ranges. Some Lochs are fed by the sea and are tidal, others are fuelled by melting snow and contain monsters. There are so many Lochs it almost seems sometimes that there is more water than land as you drive through the country. There’s Loch Ness, Loch Lamond, Loch Ericht, Loch Maree, Loch Shiel, Loch Tay, Loch Linnie, Loch Morar, Loch Awe and my favourite Loch Lochy.

We wound our way through the highlands heading north in search of surf in a little town called Thurso. Along the way, we stopped to meet a friend in the village of Golspie. Sarah runs an epic surf camp with her husband Yudi in Aceh, Indonesia, but is back in Scotland to pop out her first baby. Yudi was still waiting for his visa to come through, so was in Indo while we were there. Sarah was unbelievably welcoming, letting us into her home, cooking us a warm meal of dahl and taking us on a walk along the beaches of her hometown. It was like spring had finally sprung when we got there. The sun beamed down to smile on our backs as we walked past old boats, a castle and fields of blue bells. It was a huge departure from the rain and wind of Ireland.

Sarah gave us directions on how to get to Thurso, and we hit the road early to catch the best of the wind. When we finally got to there, it was clean and flat. 

With over 2 weeks between our last surf, my salt:blood levels were getting dangerously low. I chucked a little tantrum on the beach, swearing and kicking the sand. Tara tried to calm me down, reminding me I wasn’t the only person in the van who hadn’t had a surf in a while. I simply answered her reasoning in grunts. Like a junky looking for a fix, we sniffed the air, consulted our Storm Rider guide and drove a few miles west, through the cow paddocks, past a couple of silos and emerged at Brims Ness. It was our last hope. As the furthest headland jutting out into the Atlantic, it is supposed to be a swell magnet. 

There was a wobbly looking slab heaving onto shallow rocks. With no one out, it was unclear how big it was. I asked the cows near our van what the water was like, but they weren’t sure. Being the eternal optimist, and fuelled by a wave carving craving, I donned my booties, hood and 302 and jumped off into the abyss. Tara wasn’t brave enough to wear 10 degree sucky slabs on the head, so she wisely opted to take photos. It felt like I was surfing at the end of the world. The Orkney Island’s were visible in the distance, and I knew that not too far across the horizon, in a straight line between Iceland and Greenland, was Antarctica.

In between 4ft sets, it was flat, and I kept looking down at the kelp-covered bottom, hoping it really was just me in the line-up. After a couple of good rides, I finally made one turn and almost exited a spitting tube before getting rolled along the flat reef. I was happy. Grinning from ear to ear I washed up onto the rocks at Tara’s feet. She had her real husband back!

There was only one city in Scotland we had any desire to visit, so after a sun and salt injection, we made a bee-line for the hub of literature and culture that is Edinburgh. Cobbled streets, whiskey, cannons, and ghosts greeted us. 

We strolled the Royal Mile, meeting a clansman from the past, who wanted to attack me with his sword and marry Tara. We went on a Ghosts and Ghouls tour, above and below the streets of this old city. If anyone has the pleasure to go to Edinburgh, it’s something we highly recommend you do. The ghastly history of the city, told in a Scottish accent cannot be mimicked anywhere else. The depths of the haunted, pitch-black vaults is enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, let alone be down there while being told tales of the ghosts who inhabit the place.

It’s pretty crazy, walking around Edinburgh. On one hand you have normal shops from home, like Starbucks, or McDonalds. On the other side you have people playing bagpipes on nearly every corner, street performers trying to vie for the tourists’ spare change and centuries old, arched laneways, which twist around a dark gothic castle. Tara commented that it’s like walking around in a Harry Potter movie, which is explained when we learned J.K. Rowling did a lot of her writing in Edinburgh.

While we were in Edinburgh, a mate from New Zealand, Kelly Clarkson and her Irish man Adam, were also there. A well overdue catch up with them and their friends at a Scottish bar provided a fun night out. There’s something incredibly comforting, meeting familiar people in a strange city. It’s like it makes you feel as though you can belong anywhere as long as there is a face you know, smiling at you from across the table. It was the perfect way to wrap up our Scottish experience, sharing it with some old and some new friends. We were a little sad that it was only for one night, but we know we’ll see them again sometime soon and any more time on the booze would have drained our energy and funds too low to hit our next stop: England.