Episode 50 - Scottish Highlands ⛰️
Munros, lochs, and some more munros
I recently got a text from my sister that was simply a lovely quote. I was very happy to get this text, partly because it was a well-written quote, but mostly because I was the one who wrote it so well:
With churches doing their cash collection like this, I have no doubt that if Jesus were alive today, he’d be wearing a quarter zip Patagonia and ordering salads at Sweetgreen.
Asking what made that stand out to her (I have pick-me energy sometimes, you know), she replied that my last blog was much more meme than usual.
And after some thinking, I’ve decided that I quite like the idea of my blog being memed. Memey? Meme-esque?
Not too sure what the exact term is, but I’m excited to focus on this a bit more today. After all, the point of this whole let-me-write-about-my-adventures is to entertain myself, and sometimes I forget that while traveling because I write so many blogs.
So, dear reader, consider this a course correction. The ship is back in line, the iceberg is avoided, and our beloved Leonardo doesn’t have to drown needlessly. We all know he could’ve fit on that door.
Also, 50 episodes?! That’s crazy! Thanks to everyone who’s been here since Day 1 :)
If this is your first episode and you’re like “what in the world is happening”, start off here.
Wednesday, April 23rd, 2025
After my few hours of exploration in Glasgow, I got on the train at the Queen Street Station and was off to the Highlands. Finally!
The scenery was stunning the entire way up, and I was having just the best time writing my Yorkshire blog. Eventually, the train conductor came around to check tickets, and told me that I was sitting in the wrong carriage of the train.
I was a little confused since I wasn’t in the first-class carriage (that is probably a one-and-done adventure to Kirckaldy), and wasn’t too sure how I could be in the wrong carriage of the train.
“No no no, the train will split in half when we get to Crianlarich, and only the front two carriages are going to Tyndrum Lower.”
Wtf? Split in half?
Turns out, the train would, in fact, split in half in the town of Crianlarich — the front half would go to Tyndrum Lower (my destination), and continue west to Oban, while the back half would go to Upper Tyndrum, and continue north to Mallaig. The town of Tyndrum, it seems, has been blessed with not one, but two ScotRail train stations. My oh my, Tyndrum is a lucky, lucky place!
If you’re just as confused as I am, here’s a helpful map of the train line so you can figure out what’s happening:
I thought this entire train-is-splitting-in-half thing was crazy, and surprisingly, the train conductor invited me to step off the train at Crianlarich to actually witness this detachment with my own two eyes.
And so that’s how I found myself standing on the Crianlarich train platform next to two Scottish people I’d just met, in butt-fuck-nowhere-rural-Scotland, and watching as the two train cars detached. It was pretty anti-climactic tbh.
And before I knew it, I was arriving in Tyndrum. The Lower part, mind you. The Upper part was about a 5-minute walk away.
I have to say, Tyndrum was quite nice! It was a very small town in a very remote area, but it is blessed with being a major stop along the West Highland Way, so it gets a ton of visitors each year. The West Highland Way, for those of you who don’t know, is a super popular walking route from just north of Glasgow, all the way to Fort William, about 100 miles away. Think Appalachian or Pacific Crest Trail, but way more popular, with something like 100,000 people undertaking it each year.
So needless to say, Tyndrum was popping off. I went on a stuuuuuuunning walk along the Cow Creek Trail1, found a nice geocache, and headed back into town to finish up the final draft of the Yorkshire blog.
At this point, it was around 2 pm, and the ultimate destination for the day was the Kingshouse Hotel, about 20 miles north along the A82 highway. I had heard about the Kingshouse Hotel from my friend from UCLA, Jack (hey!!), who did his own little adventure around the Highlands a few years back2.
He recommended hiking around Glen Coe and staying in the Kingshouse Hotel bunkhouse, a plan I had discussed and confirmed with James at his kitchen table back in Fife. With that plan all set, and myself now in Tyndrum, the only thing left to do was figure out how to actually get the 20 miles north to the hotel.
Hitchhiking was the obvious solution, and I had read a bunch online that hitchhiking is super easy in the Scottish Highlands. I was particularly excited to try this out (especially after my great hitchhiking successes alone in Alaska and with Federico in Ireland), so I figured it would be easy to get a ride up to Kingshouse.
And since Federico and I got a very easy hitchhike in Ireland, where I was told hitchhiking is quite hard, I figured that it would be extraordinarily easy to get one in a place famous for its hitchhiking prowess. That was the plan, at least.
But, since there was plenty of daylight and the West Highland Way kept the A82 highway within eyesight on this part of the route, I figured I could walk to the next town north (Bridge of Orchy) and get a hitchhike from there. This way, I could hike a bit of the West Highland Way (which I really, really wanted to do), and still make it to Kingshouse by dark.
So off I went!
It was honestly magical — I was in such high spirits the entire walk, and the nature and scenery were just so beautiful. I was all alone on this beautiful trail, with tall mountains and yellow flowers all around, and I couldn’t be happier. What a magical feeling.
After about 5 miles on the West Highland Way, I decided it was time to start looking for a hitchhike — it was around 5ish pm, and I was ready to get to the warm bunkhouse at Kingshouse.
I cut through some random sheep pasture (right to roam, baby!), made it to the A82 highway, and found that there were absolutely no good hitchhiking spots heading in the direction I needed to3. I figured that eventually a good spot would appear, so I got on the shoulder of the road and started walking north.
I ended up walking 2 miles along this road, all the way to the Bridge of Orchy. Smh. Should’ve just stayed on the West Highland Way at that point and cut my losses. Next time, I need to check satellite maps to see if there are good hitchhiking spots on my desired roadside. Lesson learned there!
In hindsight (and some tips if anyone wants to do their own Highlands trip one day), I should’ve just taken the train straight to Bridge of Orchy4 and walked along the West Highland Way to Kingshouse from there. That would’ve been only a 12-mile hike, very doable for a humble young man of my extraordinary fitness level wearing a Hyperlite backpack, and would’ve balanced my desire for walking some of the West Highland Way with my desire to get to Kingshouse before dark.
Alas, I was left with walking to Bridge of Orchy, getting there around 6ish pm, and still needing to hitchhike to Kingshouse. Definitely took the L on that one.
Bridge of Orchy is a tiny town, and there’s not much there except for a hotel and a train station. I was feeling a little demoralized at this point, but fortunately, the hotel had a full bar with a wide selection of alcohol readily available for purchase.
One pint of cider later, I was back in high spirits and back on the road to Kingshouse. About a half mile outside of Bridge of Orchy, I found a wonderful hitchhiking spot, set my backpack down, stuck my thumb out, and waited patiently for a ride north. I wasn’t too bored, fortunately, because I had my boys Ben Gilbert and David Rosenthal keeping me company. iykyk
It was getting pretty late at this point, I was getting pretty worried I wouldn’t get a ride, and then my hero arrived — Jack!
Scottish Jack (to differentiate from UCLA Jack) was heading north to meet up with his dad and go to a music festival in the northern Isles. He pulled up in a sick converted van-life van, and revealed that I was the second hitchhiker he’d ever picked up. Wow, I am honored!
We had a lovely conversation on the short ride up to Kingshouse, where basically Jack told me that now that he’s 30 years old with a wife, 2 kids, and a job, he can’t travel carelessly like I am because he has responsibilities and people counting on him. Basically, he was a case study on Jack Raines’s The Case for Traveling More, and was very excited that I was going on this grand tour of the British Isles.
Best part was, he even subscribed to this blog to stay tuned to the adventure. Jack, welcome to the show, and thanks for the best hitchhike ever!
I was dropped off by Jack right in front of the hotel sign, and it was a quarter-mile walk to the hotel. On the walk over, I called UCLA Jack to tell him the tremendous news that I’d made it to Kingshouse, months after he’d recommended it to me. I saw a deer, checked into my bunkhouse, had my emergency meal deal for dinner5, and fell asleep in my nice warm bed immediately. What a day!
Thursday, April 24th
Slept in today and honestly had the most chill morning ever. Most of the people in my room were hiking the West Highland Way and left quite early, so I had the room to myself when I woke up.
Got some free breakfast in the main lodge, and chatted a bit with the dude at the bar — he was from Dundee and is working at the hotel for the summer for some money, and liked being here in remote Scotland because he’s a “chronic spender”.
And despite the fact that it’s pretty boring to live in rural Scotland all summer, it is much easier not to spend all your money when there’s nothing to spend it on. lol
The plan for the day was to go on an epic hike in Glen Coe — glen means “valley” in Scots Gaelic, so there are a bunch of valleys around in the Highlands with names starting with “Glen”. Glen Coe is one of the nicest and most famous ones, and so I found myself with the epic plan of hiking around there today.
James, in his infinite Scottish hiking wisdom, had recommended two different hikes to me, depending on whether or not I could get a hitchhike down from Kingshouse. The nicer hike was further down the valley and would require a ride, whereas the less-nice-but-still-very-nice one was closer to the hotel and one I could walk to myself.
And so I set off along the road, optimistic about getting a ride down Glen Coe. I make it to the first pullout, and ask a couple walking to their parked car if I could get a ride. They say yes. That literally couldn’t have been any easier.
Crazy thing is, the couple is from Texas (yeehaw 🤠), married, spoke American, and the wife is a consultant at PwC and frequently flies to Oakland for her project. I live like half an hour from Oakland. Wild
Even crazier, the husband went to business school with someone who works at the BCG Seattle office, someone whom I practiced case interviews and met in person. That’s actually insane. Here on the other side of the world, I met some Americans with whom I had some mutuals.
Within 10 minutes, our car arrived at the trailhead for James’s recommended hike (it was only 5 miles from Kingshouse) — the Americans were a bit worried that I was going by myself to trailblaze up a mountain, but I convinced them I was fine, hopped out the car, and was off. Scenic vistas await!
The hike had some super epic terrain, mostly because the topography was a bunch of glacier-formed hanging valleys with steep ridges all around. Around halfway up the mountain, I got a bit bored with the normal trail, decided to exercise my right to roam (again), and made the executive decision to walk pretty much straight up a nearby cliff face.
Here was the planned route:
It was definitely the right move — I carefully zigzagged my way up to the top of the first plateau, took some AMAZING photos of Glen Coe (the view was just unbelievable), and proceeded to partake in the wonderful Scottish tradition of ridgewalking up to the summit of a Munro.
It was unbelievably fun, and one of my favorite hikes I’ve ever done. Crazy scenery all around, I’ve never seen anything like it before nor since, and the terrain was STEEP. One-sneeze-and-you-fall-1000-feet kinda terrain. Wow
At the top of the first Munro, I enjoyed my lovely sandwich and some milk chocolate, then carried on up another ridge to the top of Bidean Nam Bian, the high point of the hike.
It was pretty windy at the top of that Munro, so I descended down even another ridge to a different hanging valley to make it back to the trailhead parking lot. And I must mention that along the descent, I built a snowman. Of course.
His name is Lil’ Snowy, he grew up in a really rough part of Glasgow and used to have a debilitating heroin addiction, but he’s been clean for the last 5 years. He and I go way back.
I was flying down that other valley, passing people left and right, and just in tremendously high spirits. I’m feeling in such great shape, and can’t wait for the PCT to start in a few weeks. The descent was also pretty crazy because it was about a million super steep switchbacks, and I could just see the mental pain and anguish of those poor hikers heading uphill. Rough
The highlight of the descent was when I passed a family going downhill too, and the dad told his kids to “let this kind gentleman pass.” King gentleman? Me?
Back at the trailhead, I chilled for a bit before getting my shit together and deciding it was time to get a hitchhike back. Honestly, there’s quite a big mental block to asking random people for rides, and I do hope that I get over it eventually. Hitchhiking is going to be my main form of transportation for the next few months on the PCT, and I’m gonna need to get used to it.
Anyway, beggars can’t be choosers, so eventually I started asking around for a ride, and was given one by a lovely Swedish family in Scotland for the weekend. They had packed a van full of family members and were camping around Glen Coe, and fortunately, they had room for one more in their van. On the ride over to Kingshouse, we chatted about funny traditions (basically I wanted to tell them about the Glasgow traffic cone on the statue), and they were telling me about how some random Swedish town builds a huge goat out of straw every year, and some hooligans inevitably burn it down, much to chagrin of all the police officers tasked with guarding it 24/7.
Looks like I need to go to Sweden with some matches. If you know what I mean.
I later read the Wikipedia article about this Gävle goat, and it was even better than the one for the Duke of Wellington statue. I had to go down the rabbit hole and read the entire thing, and it turns out that the goat was burned down 42 out of 59 times, with detailed descriptions of each burning. My favorites:
In 2001, the goat was burned down by a 51-year-old American visitor from Cleveland, Ohio, who spent 18 days in jail and was subsequently convicted and ordered to pay SEK 100,000 (US$9,681.35; equivalent to US$20,697 in 2024) in damages. The court confiscated his cigarette lighter with the argument that he was not able to handle it. He stated in court that he was no "goat burner", and believed that he was taking part in a completely legal goat-burning tradition. After he was released from jail he returned to the US without paying his fine.
Even better, there are two factions in the city, and each one builds its own goat to rival the other:
The next year there was a Goat war: the Southern Merchants understood the publicity value, and erected a huge goat, the Natural Science Club erected a smaller one in protest. The Southern Merchants had intended that their huge goat would reclaim the world record, but the measurement of the goat showed it fell short. Over the following seven years there were no further attempts on the world record, but there was some hostility between the Natural Science Club and the Southern Merchants, evidenced by the fact that the Natural Science Club put up a sign near their goat wishing a Merry Christmas to everyone, except the Southern Merchants.
1973 was a crazy year:
The goat was stolen by a man, who then placed it in his backyard. He was later sentenced to two years in prison for aggravated theft.
And it looks like someone in 2005 stole my idea of lighting the goat afire with a flaming arrow, which I mentioned to the Swedish family in the drive back to Kingshouse:
Burnt by unknown vandals reportedly dressed as Santa and the gingerbread man, by shooting a flaming arrow at the goat.
2009 was another great year:
On the night of 23 December before 04:00 a.m. the South Merchant goat was set on fire and was burned to the frame, even though it had a thick layer of snow on its back. The goat had two online webcams which were put out of service by a DoS attack6, instigated by computer hackers just before the burning.
2012:
On the evening of 12 December, the fire department had fireproofed the goat at 22:497. At 23:46, the official @Gavlebocken account tweeted about "feeling good". At 23:56, the goat had been burned to the ground.
Whoever wrote these entries had a bit too much fun.
Back at Kingshouse, I celebrated the successful day by destroying a venison burger at the hotel restaurant, recommended by UCLA Jack. It did not disappoint. After relaxing for a bit in the hotel, I headed back to the main road (I’ve walked this road to and from Kingshouse about 6 times already) with all my things to hitchhike back to Bridge of Orchy, the town I got my first ride in yesterday from Scottish Jack. I’m having a bit too much fun differentiating these Jacks.
I was taking the train up to Corrour to spend the night at the Loch Ossian Youth Hostel, and the only train that day left at 8:20 pm. If I didn’t make that one, I was kinda screwed.
Once I got over the mental hurdle of standing on the side of the road with my thumb out, I stood on the side of the road with my thumb out, and within 10 minutes, I already got another ride. They really weren’t joking about hitchhiking being easy in the Highlands!
This driver was also very interesting8 — he was from Glasgow, owned a chain of luxury hotels across the Highlands, and was driving a Rolls-Royce while wearing a solid gold watch and drinking an Iron Blood soda. You really can’t make this shit up.
We had a pretty funny conversation that was mired in accent problems — he’d tell me something in a Scottish accent so thick that I’d have no idea what he said, and I’d feel really bad asking him to constantly repeat himself to me. We did have a great conversation about glacial erratics, though, and he was telling me that he found it comforting that his lifespan was insignificant on the scale of the Earth’s. It came out of nowhere, that comment, but honestly I respect it.
He also told me that he’s probably driven the A82 highway at least 300 times to check up on his 5-star hotels, and offered me a room if I ever had trouble finding one. What a dude.
Back at the Bridge of Orchy, I enjoyed another pint of cider at the hotel in town, then headed up to the train station to make sure I didn’t miss the last one of the day. The funny thing about the train station was that it had a little bunker where you could hide from the elements, and this bunker was full of snacks and drinks that you could buy yourself.
It was honestly pretty crazy the amount of trust placed in the public regarding this bunker — there was a huge pile of snacks and drinks, a list of prices, and a card reader with a bowl of cash nearby where you’d pay. Any person could walk in and just loot the entire pantry and take all the money, but of course, no one does. People who do this kind of crazy outdoorsy stuff are self-selecting, honest folk.
To support the local economy, I decided to get a Snickers and a cup of tea. My go-to.
The train showed up and left a few minutes early, so thank goodness I was there super early or I would’ve missed the last train of the day.
It was smooth sailing, with pretty sunset views out the window. 45 minutes later, we arrived in Corrour (the highest train station in the UK!), I got off, and walked the mile in the darkness to the Loch Ossian Youth Hostel.
I randomly found this hostel when I was looking for a place to spend the night back in the Bryden house, and found it on Hostelworld with an empty bed for the night. Turns out, this is quite a famous hostel because it is in the middle of nowhere, and I was walking on this random dark country road when a super cute and cozy cottage popped up.
I checked in with the super-friendly hostess, said hi to all the other guests (there was a big French-speaking contingent exploring the mountains nearby), and went to bed super early in the really comfy bed. What a day!
Friday, April 25th
Another day, another slay. I have had nothing but the comfiest sleeping situations in Scotland, and between Rachel’s floor, the Bryden’s guest room, Kingshouse, and the Loch Ossian Youth Hostel, I’m convinced you could sleep anywhere in Scotland and it’d be comfortable. What a place.
I mentioned earlier that the Loch Ossian Youth Hostel is quite famous for its remoteness, and that seemed to be the case from all the pictures and paintings on the wall. There were some from 80 years ago, and some of the visitors have been coming here for decades to explore the surrounding Munros and go bothying.
You may be wondering what in the world bothying is (as was I), and it’s another wonderful Scottish invention on hiking around the mountains to reach these stone, hand-built huts called bothies. They are just shelters from the wind with dirt floors, and people pull up there to camp or hide from the elements:
There’s a detailed registry of all these bothies, and people come from all over to backpack around and visit many of them. The hostel I was staying at is a very popular base camp for those looking to go bothying, especially because it’s in the middle of nowhere with running water, food, and a kitchen.
And this hostel is where I found myself on this nice Friday morning. lol
The plan for the day was to enjoy the morning around Loch Ossian (Loch = lake in Scots Gaelic), then take the 11:20 train down to Fort William and an afternoon bus to Inverness.
Funny thing is, when I had called Joe earlier in the week and told him I was going to Corrour, he got really excited because it’s the sight of a very famous scene from his favorite cult-classic movie, Trainspotting. I ended up watching the movie at Kingshouse to become culturally enlightened, and since I had a few hours before my train arrived, I decided to recreate the Corrour scene from the movie as a mini present for Joe:
This scene was tricky to recreate because it clearly features a departing train. This station is so remote, however, that there’s only one train leaving at 9 am before mine at 11:20, meaning I had exactly one shot at glory.
I arrived 20 minutes before the train to scheduled to, set up my camera on the grass across from the track, and here was the result:
Not the worst attempt in the world!
After that funny little adventure, I walked back to the hostel, made myself a YUMMY cup of coffee, and enjoyed reading through the logbook in the common room. Every visitor of the hostel had signed the journal (basically like a mini geocaching log), and it was actually so fun to read through all the entries and hear everyone’s tale. It took me about 45 minutes to read through all of them, but it was well, well worth it.
The coolest part by far was just seeing how different everyone’s handwriting was — handwriting is basically like an accent, but for your hand.
And like with the Swedish goat burning, I wanted to share some of my favorite entries here:
June 25th, 2024
I rent a car in Glasgow, and I told the person who works there that I am going to Fort William, stay the night there, then drive to Isle of Skye.
I was telling the truth. However, the GPS in the car led me here - Loch Ossian Youth Hostel in Corrour. OK. Let's rewind.
I got off A9 [the road], and I started to see lots of trees and mountains and narrow roads. I drove about one hour? (maybe) and I started to see trails, no real roads anymore.
“Is this the right way?” I thought, but I don't have any signal on my phone, so I decided to turn on the GPS in the car. Things start to get weird, because the trail is so narrow, and there are lots and lots of rocks and grass. The car started beeping, and I could hear the sound of the rocks hitting the bottom of the car. The sound is so loud! “Please, please, don't break!” I start to pray. My hands and legs are shaking, but I can only keep going because there is no way I could turn around. I saw two gates on the way, the first one is made of steel. I got out of that car, and wow, “the gate is not locked!” So I opened it and passed through! The second one was made of wood, much bigger than the first one. Luckily, it's also not locked.
“Keep going, I might make it to the hostel in 30 minutes.”
I saw a group of backpackers, so I stopped and asked if this was the correct road to the hostel. He didn't tell me that this is the WRONG road. He just said yes, there is a hostel, keep going. “OMG! I saw a house that must be the hostel!” I parked, I opened the door, and I saw Alex. He took me to see Fiona (the manager of the hostel), and Alex said: “Did you drive here?”
“No car can arrive here? How did you manage to get here? How did you pass the gate?” People started to talk to me as they were amazed that I drove here. However, I started crying, partly because I felt bad driving on a private road, partly because I had been really scared for the past hour, and now I see welcoming faces. I was offered drinks and food because I didn't have anything to eat. Then I asked if this is Fort William, and they said “NO! It's Corrour!” Apparently, I booked this hostel and I thought this hostel was in Fort William.
I will have to drive another hour to get out tomorrow, I have been worrying that the car will break, and with no signs, what should I do? But that's for tomorrow, tonight I will just enjoy this fairy-tale-like place and the amazing people who are sitting around me right now!
P.S. I am the first ever to drive a car to get here! And my name is Runze Yang! My IG = runzeyand (A girl with a camera in the picture)
Update my Pauline [another person who stayed in the hostel during this time]: She didn’t make it to the Isle of Skye by now (the day she left). She’s staying the night in Inverness as her car broke down 🙃 She’s alright though, she laughed while calling and she misses us. All of us ❤️
Makes my blog look tame.
Another favorite:
With a weather forecast full of poetic terms such as
“Visibility abruptly appalling”
“You could be blown over”
“Will feel a cold -14°C directly in the wind”
“Frequent precipitation and heavy showers come in, often one after another”
We didn’t expect blue skies, a beautiful full moon with a glitter point down to the loch, and to make it up Beinn na Lap. The weekend has surpassed all expectations… I have wanted to stay here for over 20 years — so delighted to finally make it. So cozy, so beautiful!
And another:
A perfect morning spent photographing ducks…
Sounds like a perfect morning to me!
I’m also realizing that this blog episode is turning out to be very long with both these logbook entries and the Swedish goat Wikipedia page highlights, but yolo I guess. I left the hostel in high spirits, and would love to come back one day to see the hills blossom with purple heather in the summertime.
Since the Corrour station is so remote and the next train came in 4 hours, I decided to leave the hostel super early so there’d be no chance I’d miss it at all.
I got there 30 minutes early, read my book for a bit, and got on the train with no problems. Crisis averted!
The train route was super, super pretty (this route is where the Hogwarts Express was filmed), and we arrived in Fort William after some epic views of the high mountains and the ocean.
I had a few hours until my train left for Inverness, so I passed the time by walking around Fort William. It was a pretty cute town with not much to do — I found a geocache, saw some seagulls, walked down the high street that had about 3 shops, and checked out the Highlands Museum. It was free, and I was bored.
It was in this Highlands Museum that I saw the perfect picture that encapsulates what I think of when I hear the word “scheme”. It’s literally this guy:
Every time a Scottish person tells me about a “scheme”, I picture this dude.
After getting another meal deal for lunch, I got on the bus to Inverness and read my book the entire way there. The highlight was definitely the 30 minutes we drove along Loch Ness, the famous lake with its monster. I unfortunately didn’t see Nessie (the monster’s name), she must’ve been hiding underwater that day.
Once we got to Inverness, I chilled in a lovely little bookshop for a bit, got a pint at the northernmost Wetherspoons in the UK (according to Joe), took a 7-minute-long tracking shot of a Scottish seagull, and checked into my super nice hostel on the hillside. It was a super talkative one and very social, but I didn’t really have a desire to meet new people and went to bed pretty early. lol
Saturday, April 26th
My last day in Scotland was another lovely one — I woke up feeling pretty well-rested, made myself a delicious cup of (free) coffee, and just went for a little stroll around the city.
The River Ness flows through Inverness, which drains from the famous lake of Loch Ness. I had read that in the middle of the River Ness are the lovely Ness Islands, so I decided to check them out this morning.
This part of Scotland loves its Nesses, it seems.
It was a very pretty walk with lots of cherry blossoms, and reminded me a lot of walking around near Whistler in British Columbia — similar nature and vibe, and the same level of peace and relaxation. I’d honestly live in Inverness if it weren’t cloudy here 330 days of the year, but once again, it seems that I brought nice California weather along with me on my travels.
I chatted for a bit with a (unsuccessful) fly fisherman I met on the trail, and noticed that, on average, people weren’t really smiling in Inverness. Pretty much everyone would seem visibly shocked when I told them “hi”, and reluctantly would say hi back. Maybe it’s because I’m American or something, or maybe it’s the weather. I don’t know.
Back at the hostel, I had a lovely conversation with an Argentinian guy on his first trip abroad, and I have to say, it’s a very curious feeling to have a conversation with someone you know you’ll never ever meet again. In a way, it’s very freeing and makes for some very frank and honest dialogue. Really should’ve had him subscribe to this blog and encourage him to start his own, but I unfortunately forgot to and felt melancholy about it all morning. If I were in Inverness another day, I would’ve hung out with him and visited the battlefield he was going to, but alas, we chatted in the kitchen, never to cross paths again.
It’s pretty crazy how these things turn out. Sometimes I wonder about how any new person I meet could be another Joe figure in my life, but we end up never making it that far. Life’s just crazy like that. What could’ve been!
Got some Tesco’s for breakfast, then walked over to the train station to head toward the airport and back to London. I got myself a nice little coffee there, and was extremely impressed by the fast and amazing quality of service the barista had. She whipped up that Americano perfectly in about 15 seconds, and it was delicious. I also saw this amazing sign, which was super helpful for someone like me who’s always confused by what the different coffees are:
And so I found myself on the train to the Inverness airport, heading back to London. Bye bye Scotland, it’s been a pleasure!
Some more anthropological observations:
Pretty crazy, but honestly nothing new to report here
Media appendix:
I was just so excited to be in the great outdoors again, I was hooting and hollering that entire little hike
Jack ended up doing the entire northern half of the West Highland Way
For those inexperienced in hitchhiking, a good spot has a pullout ahead of it so that drivers can stop for you, and is ideally on a long, straight road where drivers can see you from far away
This would’ve involved getting on the back half of the separating train to go to Upper Tyndrum. The next stop on that line is Bridge of Orchy, and then the line turns northwest, away from Kingshouse and Glencoe, and toward Corrour
My friends from Paris know that I always carried an emergency baguette in my bag in Paris — here in the UK, I carry an emergency meal deal
A hacking method where a computer network is overwhelmed by flooding it with fake traffic
Imagine this conversation: “What do you do for work?” —> “I unsuccessfully fireproof straw goats”
I’m honestly convinced at this point that anyone who picks up a hitchhiker is bound to be an interesting person, because it’s 100% the self-selecting group of people who’d actually stop to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Since the ride is free, you just repay the driver with an interesting conversation yourself. What a great trade