Most people’s idea of a romantic getaway probably involves a luxury hotel in Paris or perhaps a condo on the beach. Mine, was a stone hut in the Scottish highlands shared with ten other people. At first glance the cabin nestled below a mountain range looked like nothing more than just that, a bothy in which hikers could shelter from a storm, as opposed to where a couple might enjoy a weekend away. Not that I really got a first glance, as we arrived at 10 pm in the middle of a downpour. As I awoke from my long car journey snooze and peered out into the murk from the warm confines of the van’s backseat I was somewhat confused by the lack of civilisation to be seen. It was at this point that I was cheerily told by my friends that the cabin was “just a quick walk”….through a bog. Although retrospectively the walk could not have been more than ten minutes, carrying two heavy bags and wading (OK, in was no more than ankle height) through cold water made it feel a lot longer. For the sake of honesty I should probably point out here that the reason I was there in the first place was to spend the weekend hiking, and it has been suggested by my friends that as an active member of the university’s mountaineering club I perhaps should not complain about a ten minute walk…
However, all this trauma was soon forgotten once I was inside the hut, and my mind was focused only on getting into my flannelled pyjamas and sleeping bag as soon as humanly possible. Perhaps the romance of this weekend could be salvaged…? Heading upstairs to bed I discovered that the people who had refurbished the bothy were apparently not too keen on monogamy, as the “bedroom” was a large open plan room containing about 14 sleeping mats all laid right next to each other. Cosy.
After spending the following day romping around a very wet mountain we all spent the evening eating Christmas dinner around a log fire in the hut and swapping tales about our day. The mulled wine was flowing and my flannelled pj’s were out. This was more like it. As my grandpa always said – the best part of a walk is the pub. Well, we were miles from any pubs but this was a good substitute. Deciding that upstairs was far too cold, my boyfriend and I slept downstairs by the fire. Finally some romance. Until we heard what sounded like a rocket taking off and realized that our friends had decided to take advantage of the warmth too, and were (not-so) gently snoring nearby. Dreaming of five star hotels in Paris, I went to sleep.
My “romantic” weekend away may have involved me spending more time with grass and sheep than my boyfriend but in the end I still had a lot of fun with all my friends. Paris is overrated anyway. (Unless you are my boyfriend reading this, in which case, I LOVE Paris, and Christmas is coming up…)