Mull and the Highlands

Unlike Skye, there is no bridge to Mull and one gets there via one of three ferry routes.  Due to the all-day storm and its heavy rain and gusty winds, the main ferry was cancelled (or "disrupted" as the Scots say) and we had to finagle an alternate route over some back roads to get to the alternate.  See Jim's previous post about driving, and then add stormy conditions and improvised route - rest assured that both driver and passenger were glad when we arrived at our hotel around 5pm that afternoon.

A whiskey by the fireside in the drawing room did a lot to soothe frayed nerves.

To call this hotel 'remote' would be an understatement.  We passed no towns, stores, restaurants or commercial establishments of any kind (and perhaps two houses) in the hour's drive leading to the hotel.  Fortunately a tasty breakfast and dinner were available and our fellow guests (from England and northern Ireland) -- stranded since the ferry to take them on to a further island was cancelled --were jolly and interesting.  We learned a lot about the English Parliamentary system, the "troubles" in Ireland, the ramifications of Brexit, and current British politicians, including an Irish MP named Arlene Foster who is apparently so tough she's garnered the nickname "Snarlene".

We ventured out in the rain on Tuesday for a beautiful (and slightly wet and windy) walk

before making our departure on Wednesday, driving the west coast scenic route (again, see Jim's post on the one track roads of Mull). We had lunch in the very nifty town of Tobermory, about two and a half hours from our hotel

before rolling up to the line at the main ferry.  "Booking?" asked the ferry man.  When we replied that we had none, he directed us to the standby lane.  "What are our chances of making it?" we asked him.  "Slim" was the response.  Hmm.  The alternative was more roundabout driving, or waiting several hours, so we stayed to take our chances.  And with a remarkable stroke of luck, we were the very last car to get on that ferry, the hood of our little Volvo tucked beneath the rear bed of the rather large lorry right in front of us, and the rear gate of the ferry a foot behind our rear bumper.  

We spent the night in Oban,  known as the Seafood Capital of Scotland (we sampled widely), and headed off in the morning for the mountains, known here as Highlands.  We're staying in Ballater, a village a few miles down the road from Balmoral Castle, the Royals' Scottish estate.  The Castle is, unfortunately, not open for viewing since She is currently in Residence (no, we haven't seen any royals around though our B&B host says they are quite regularly spotted).  But we did take a walk around a Loch on the Estate this afternoon.  It was, um, a bit breezy...

There were not only white caps, the wind was actually blowing water up out of the lake and creating whirling sprays of water.

Look how happy and excited Jim was to be heading out on this walk!

As we made our way around the Loch we came upon this building:

It is the Glas-allt Shiel house, built for Queen Victoria when she was in mourning after Prince Albert's death.  

Jim knocked to see if perhaps we might get invited in for tea, but apparently no one was home.  Next time, perhaps.