Northwest Coast, aka Playing Chicken for 200 Miles

After filling up on burgers and hot soup in a pub overlooking Ullapool harbor, we climbed back in the van and headed off on what would turn out to be a very long road trip. Starting in Ullapool, we drove south along the western coast to Gairloch, then to Torridon and back to Kyle of Lochalsh. This area came highly recommended by Daniel's relatives, and even on a gloomy, cloudy day, we can see why. You're winding along tiny single-track roads, with craggy green mountains on one side and rugged coastline on the other.



We saw a lot of these signs. OK, so basically you're in the middle of nowhere. It's stunning, majestic, jaw-dropping. There are no people, no houses, very few villages ("towns" would be pushing it). Just jagged mountains, deep lochs, and emerald ground so spongy that when you step out to take a photo you sink up to your ankles in peaty bog. Waterfalls tumbling around every bend. Sheep grazing. Stiff wind, very little sunshine, a dampness in the air that sinks into your lungs. You get the idea. We're in the Highlands, people. It's romantic and gorgeous but also wild and kind of desolate.

Now, you're on this road. It's "single-track." This means one lane. You're in a 9-seater van. Your husband mans the driver's seat, which is on the right side of the car, and the van is on the left side of the road. Except there is no left side because, once again, it's barely wide enough for one vehicle let alone two. Oh, and did I mention it's hilly and steep and twisty?

Please be aware that sometimes the cars behind you will feel your speed is untenable. They will politely but persistently ride your bumper until you get to the next pull-out and allow them to "overtake" you.

This, however, is not your real problem. Watch out! Racing toward you at 50 miles per hour is a sporty Euro-car and guess what? They're not slowing down. As you careen toward each other (little to no brakes being employed as you bite your tongue to avoid irritating your spouse by commenting on his driving), both drivers spot a tiny pull-out. At least you're banking on the fact that the other guy sees it because as I mentioned you're barreling toward each other at full speed. This pull-out is usually barely big enough for a mini car, and sometimes spacious enough for the full length of a van. At the last second, one of you--the van or the slick Euro car--zip into the pull-out, aiming for concrete rather than rubble. The other driver whizzes by, waving cheerfully (Scottish people are very polite and friendly), and you yank back onto the road.

Now, repeat this about 1000 times.

For 200 miles.


Fortifying ourselves with the outstanding baked goods and hot drinks at Mountain Coffee Company in Gairloch. The plum tart and key lime pie were incredible. When we saw a hot chocolate drink called "The Colorado," we had to try it.


Apparently there are pristine, isolated beaches to be explored--Red Point, Applecross, Plockton. But most of them weren't on our loop. We would have had to drive 20-30 miles on more single-track to get to each one, then drive back out. We moved on.

The moody landscape of Glen Torridon. Apparently it's a famous "walking" (i.e. hiking) paradise. See what I mean about single-track roads and pull-outs?

I couldn't get over the swaths of magenta foxglove and other flowers blooming everywhere. After playing chicken all day while hacking like a troll, my nerves were shot despite all the beauty. It was absolute heaven to pull up to our little cottage and have dear Asanuo wave cheerfully through the kitchen window and hand us a cup of hot tea as soon as we walked in the door. The house was filled with delicious smells and Asanuo ushered us to the table for another of her incredible gourmet dinners.