There is a folklore legend from the Scottish Highlands about the youngest son of a king called “The Brown Bear of the Green Glen”. The king had become blind and his two eldest sons set out to find water from the Green Glen in order to cure his ailment. The youngest son, John, tried to follow but was considered weak and forced to set off on his own. In his solitude, he met a brown bear who offered him guidance on his journey. For three nights the bear left him to sleep at a different giant’s house of increasing aggression before he finally proved himself to the third giant and was given a ride on an eagle to the Green Glen, where he found the magic water he and his brothers were seeking. The myth goes on to include a refilling bottle of wine, a beautiful woman, and betrayal before John rightfully takes on the throne and lives happily ever after.
Before my trip to the Highlands with friends for Reading Week, I considered this another myth. A fairytale—in the same realm as trolls and mermaids. But there is something about the Highlands that can only be felt in person, some magic quality that cannot be put into words. Something in the size of the mountains and the way they fall into lochs – in the width of the trees and the way moss soaks out of the forest floor. It somehow makes you feel as if you are the wrong size and suddenly myths of giants don’t seem so far-fetched.
Three friends and I left St Andrews on Tuesday in my friend’s car. We had University Hall Ball on Sunday and were looking forward to some time together outdoors. We drove north and although we quickly got randomly stuck in Perth (apparently there was a recycling plant explosion overnight and a bridge was closed), we eventually made it to Inverness. In usual circumstances, this is an easy drive, especially with a good playlist and even better company. In Inverness, we stopped for food and a grocery trip to Tesco Extra for supplies. Our grocery run included a comedic mix of a magnum Prosecco bottle, way too much pasta, some bananas, and multiple bags of Galaxy minstrels—the essentials.
We then left for our AirBnB located in the small village of Loch Carron, where we immediately felt at home. It was a small, well-equipped cabin with breathtaking views and just enough room for us to spread out. That night we walked down the hillside to the Loch Carron Hotel in search of a pub. Although a bit pricy, the pub grub was delicious and pints were welcome after a long day in the car. That night back at the cabin we exchanged drinking games at the dining table—namely Irish Snap and Ring of Fire. The games quickly dissolved into chaos when rules were set in place that meant every time you spoke you had to start with a word that started with a “K”, repeat it, and repeat the final word of your sentence. It had been forever since I had laughed that hard.
The next morning we woke late, ate waffles, and set out to go on a walk. Loch Carron is a saltwater loch that connects out to the Atlantic—we chose a walk just outside the village called the Leacanashie and Ardaneaskan circuit, which offered forestry and coastal views. It was one of the first instances some of us had where we were in nature of our own free will (in no forced nature from our parents) and actively noticed how beautiful it all was. How quiet the air was, how dense the trees were, how peaceful it was. Someone brought up how this always existed. When we were stuck in Main Library the night before a deadline, when we were doing disgraceful things in the Student Union, when we disperse for the summer, this place will always be right where we were then, existing quietly and gently as it has for hundreds of years. I found an unexpected peace in that. We then came back to the house and discovered new and strange BBC shows before starting to cook dinner. We eventually ended up with some kind of version of chicken alfredo, although it was very much a “how many uni students does it take to fix it” kind of ordeal. We watched movies and danced in the kitchen that night and polished off any kind of sweets stores we had accumulated alongside an embarrassing amount of prosecco and vodka.
We rallied in the morning and headed off to the Isle of Skye, an hour or two from Loch Carron. This is one of the reasons I found our location so opportune: we had access to the Isle of Skye and the Highlands and were able to experience both. We stopped by the Eilean Donan Castle first, and although we didn’t go in, we took a few pictures and appreciated the view. If I were to do this trip again, I would pay the £10 fee to take a look inside—however, I am currently just using it as an excuse to go back in the future. After we trekked up to Portree where we walked around and got lunch at The Granary, which offered a wide sandwich collection and a cosy atmosphere—so cosy we debated staying just to nap in the booths. We then went further north with the intent of doing the walk to the Storr and seeing Kilt Rocks. However, due to the fact it was off-season, they were doing some (much-needed) roadwork and work on the Kilt Rock viewpoint, so time was not on our side. Although we didn’t get to do either, we instead saw much of the Isle by car, and the views were indescribable. I’ve never seen any place quite like the Isle of Skye. The only way I can verbally do it justice is that it really felt like the edge of the world. Especially at the coast, when the hills just ended in cliffs and all you could see was the ocean. As an American I was aware of the idea that Scotland is a magical place—from the official animal being the unicorn, to its identity as the home country of Hogwarts, to the Disney movie Brave. But there was something so tangible and mystical about the Isle of Skye that really stays with me now. Even as an English major, I don’t feel I can adequately say with words how astounding it was. It’s something you simply must experience for yourself. However, my friend who drove would like to add a suggestion that maybe that experience should happen from a 4X4 car until the roads are done being updated. Potholes abound.
That night we came back and watched more movies. I went on a walk through town to the water and called my mother to talk about the day. While on the phone I noticed at the water’s edge dozens of pieces of China and pottery—handles, intricately decorated plate edges, old and worn pieces of glass. My mom, on the phone from home, suggested they were probably the remains of centuries worth of trash from the village that they’d thrown into the deep lake to be rid of. And maybe it’s a bit poetic of me, but there’s something about how concrete it all was. The folklore of the area, the history of the people who had been there for centuries, the pieces of plates, and the remains of croft houses. It made me really appreciate Scotland; a duty I think we all have as individuals who live here to be here. Even back in St Andrews now, I feel more connected to my adopted country with a new awareness and appreciation of my environment.
We had pizza for dinner and packed up. We left the next morning and had an easy four-and-a-half-hour drive home, making it back before 3 pm. Reflecting now, I still think back to what my friend suggested when we were planning our trip and trying to decide between Prague, Budapest, or another European cultural capital or somewhere closer to home. He mentioned that as a Londoner, it is significantly easier to get to Paris than it is to get to places like Inverness and Loch Carron and Portree, that somehow they feel much further than Madrid or Milan. This is why, now, I find myself urgently recommending that you too take a trip into the Scottish wilderness in search of quiet. It’s a short-lived opportunity offered by our premium location and never ceased to be thought-provoking. Although my revelations might be attuned to the literature I’ve been recently reading from the Romanticism period for coursework, the space to just sit and think is so direly important. My friends and I believed that in one way or another while we were there our heads felt so empty of thoughts – but maybe for once we just didn’t need to be aware of our thoughts or worries. Instead, we could just stare at the way the hills creased and the water rippled and just let everything drift through.