Farewell to Fort William
We arrived at the station quite early that morning, with more than an hour to go before our train was due to leave. Anja and I had already had our coffee at the apartment, but none of us felt like staying there a minute longer. You know the feeling: there’s another journey ahead, new views, a new adventure, and our final stop.
Glasgow.
That day also marked our farewell to the Highlands. After Edinburgh, they had grown on us more and more with each passing day. First came the train journey across the Scottish Highlands to Inverness, then Loch Ness and the route through the Great Glen between lochs and mountains, followed by Fort William, Ben Nevis and that viaduct, which had been one of the main reasons we came here in the first place. And, of course, our boat trip on Loch Linnhe.
Over those few days, we had experienced the Highlands in all sorts of ways: from trains and buses, from a boat, and above all on foot. Lochs, valleys, mountains and small towns, with miles of countryside in between where there seemed to be almost nothing at all, apart from the views that made the journey all the more beautiful and interesting.
With plenty of time to spare at the station, I went to see one last thing in Fort William. Practically across the road lie the remains of the old fort that gave the town its present-day name.
Not much of it remains today, just a few stone ruins scattered across a grassy field. The fort was built in a strategic position on the shores of Loch Linnhe, at the entrance to the Great Glen, from where one of the main routes through the Scottish Highlands could be controlled.
That route through the Highlands still exists today, although its purpose is rather different. This is where the Great Glen Way begins, or ends, a walking trail of just under 120 kilometres between Fort William and Inverness. It follows almost the same route we had travelled over the previous few days.
Plenty of people walk it.
We weren’t quite so enthusiastic about that idea, so we covered the distance in considerably more comfort. By bus.
As I made my way back towards the station, I spotted something across the road that had apparently also recognised Fort William’s strategic location.
Opposite the ruins of the old fort stands a McDonald’s.
By Train Through the Highlands, Volume 2
Here in Scotland, train tickets are something you need to think about in advance, even outside the peak season. I had bought ours through the Trainline app before we even left home, and it turned out to be the right decision. The platform was packed.
When you buy your tickets, you also reserve your seats, although there was a slight concern that we might get a repeat of what had happened on our journey from Edinburgh to Inverness. Back then, the train had arrived with fewer carriages than planned, which meant that our reserved seats simply didn’t exist.
Physically.
So we took whatever individual seats were still available. Each of us somewhere on our own, as if we weren’t a family at all but had had a massive argument just before getting on the train.
We survived that too.
And not only that. Despite everything, the journey itself was beautiful, mainly because of the scenery passing by outside the window.
This time, everything was exactly as it should be. Our carriage existed, and so did our seats. This time, we even had a table.
Perfect.
Soon after leaving Fort William, it becomes clear just how little it takes to find yourself back in the middle of nowhere in this part of Scotland.
The town disappears behind us, with the occasional isolated house here and there, and then there is nothing but nature.
Every now and then, a stream cuts through the landscape, forests alternate with open hillsides along the railway, while water stays with us almost constantly on our right.
Then the train climbs a little higher.
And up here, there really was nothing.
I don’t know, but my first thought was that we had somehow ended up on the Moon. Bare hillsides, with no houses, roads or any other signs of civilisation.
Only the yellowish grass gave away the fact that we were still on Earth.
And then you spot two hikers through the window.
Well, we definitely weren’t on the Moon!
Step by step, they were making their way towards the end of their journey, probably Fort William. Watching them, I almost felt a little guilty. There they were, walking every single metre, while we were comfortably experiencing the whole thing through a train window.
But everyone has their own idea of how to travel.
And I think I can say with some confidence that we were all exactly where we wanted to be.
And then it begins. Through the window, the landscape of the Scottish Highlands starts unfolding before you, each view building on the last.
That yellowish grass is everywhere, of course. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a small loch appears.
Then another.
And then more. The little lochs keep multiplying, with more and more blue appearing among the yellowish grass.
The little lochs gradually give way to a larger one.
Beyond it rise brownish-yellow hills, with the occasional patch of snow still visible in the distance.
Soon, another colour joins the scene. Green. Trees and forests bring it into the landscape.
And above it all, the blue sky completes the picture.
Yellowish grass, blue lochs, brown hills, white patches of snow, green forests and a blue sky.
Each new colour adds another layer to the last, until together they form the landscape of the Scottish Highlands.
It’s Not Over Yet
Somewhere around here, the girls fell asleep.
You almost feel like closing your eyes for a while too. After all that gradual build-up, you don’t really expect the landscape to have much more up its sleeve.
And once again, you’re wrong.
The train runs high above the valley, and just as we are about to leave it behind, a hill suddenly comes into view behind us, looking as though it might erupt at any moment.
Like some kind of miniature volcano.
After that, the Scottish Highlands slowly began to fade behind us.
If I had to compare our two big train journeys across Scotland, I wouldn’t hesitate much. The journey from Edinburgh to Inverness gets a straight five out of five from me. Maybe partly because it was the first, and we had no idea what to expect. This time, we at least had some idea of what lay ahead.
Don’t get me wrong, this journey wasn’t bad either.
A solid four out of five.
Perhaps a little unfair, because the scenery here was beautiful too. But the first one was just that. The first.
And you never forget your first.
Welcome to Glasgow
And what was our final stop before flying home?
Glasgow.
Scotland’s largest city. Just like Edinburgh, there’s stone everywhere, broad streets and imposing old buildings.
But something felt different.
Edinburgh had a certain elegance that you noticed almost immediately. I didn’t get that same feeling in Glasgow. It seemed harder, rougher around the edges.
To be fair, I hadn’t expected much from the city. It had made it into our itinerary mainly because it made far more sense logistically as our final stop than travelling all the way back to Edinburgh from Fort William.
But what do they say?
Never judge a book by its cover.
First, though, we had to get to our hotel. After more than three hours on the train, none of us felt like walking through the city with our backpacks.
Uber. Let’s go.
We didn’t last long at the hotel either. Our stomachs had other ideas. So, back into the city centre.
Within the first few steps, you realise that Glasgow is anything but flat. The streets are constantly rising and falling, and hills are simply part of everyday life here.
After a few days surrounded by lochs, hills and small towns, we suddenly found ourselves back in the middle of a big city. And once again, we had to pay a lot more attention to the traffic.
Especially to the fact that they drive on the left.
You just never quite get used to it. You look left, you look right, and then, just to be safe, you look left again.
Most of the streets were one-way anyway, but at every junction you still found yourself wondering which direction the next car was going to come from.
Well, Let’s Just Go to McDonald’s
We were slowly making our way towards the city centre, still keeping an eye out for somewhere to eat along the way.
At one point, we passed a rather interesting statue. Standing in the middle of the city is a bronze firefighter in full protective gear.
The statue is dedicated to firefighters from Glasgow and the surrounding area. It was unveiled in 2001, and later that same year it also became a place of remembrance for the firefighters who lost their lives in the attacks in New York.
What a coincidence. I’m writing this very section today, on 11 September. Twenty-five years later. On the day when we all remember where we were when it happened.
But there wasn’t a restaurant in sight. We couldn’t be bothered to keep looking. Past the railway station and straight into McDonald’s.
For the first time since we arrived in Scotland.
Maybe it had been meant to happen all along, ever since I spotted that McDonald’s in Fort William that morning.
Along the River Clyde
When we stepped back outside after lunch, something very familiar from Edinburgh was waiting for us.
The wind.
It was blowing pretty much constantly. Glasgow is close to the sea too, of course, except this time we were on the other side of Scotland.
Since we were already here, we decided to take a look at the river that helped shape Glasgow into one of the world’s great shipbuilding cities.
Clyde.
Its banks were once lined with shipyards, while the river connected Glasgow to the sea and the wider world.
And since we were already standing on the bridge, we might as well cross it.
The first thing you notice is the smell of weed. Fair enough, that was nothing new. We’d already come across that in Washington, New York, London, Tenerife and probably a few other places too.
What bothered us more was the state of the surroundings. Some buildings had broken windows, others were covered in graffiti, and the whole area looked rather neglected.
Right, best to get back across the river as quickly as possible.
We definitely wouldn’t be coming back this way.
Buchanan Street and Wellington with His Cone
From run-down to refined as you make your way towards the heart of Glasgow.
Almost every major city has its main promenade. La Rambla in Barcelona, Rua de Santa Catarina in Porto, Via del Corso in Rome. In Glasgow, that role belongs to Buchanan Street.
The broad pedestrian street is full of people, shops and street musicians. Imposing stone façades line both sides, with luxury hotels and shopping arcades among them.
Future Ed Sheerans are trying their luck on the street, but above all, the atmosphere here feels a lot more pleasant than it did just a few minutes ago.
I can’t remember exactly where we turned, but somewhere along the way we came across one of Glasgow’s more recognisable symbols.
The Duke of Wellington. On horseback.
The man defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, but that’s not what makes him famous in Glasgow. These days, he’s best known for the traffic cone that usually sits on his head.
Locals started putting cones on the statue back in the 1980s. The city authorities kept removing them, only for new ones to appear. Eventually, they gave up, and the cone became part of Wellington, and part of Glasgow.
When we were there, though, apparently Wellington alone wasn’t enough.
His horse had a cone too.
I can’t imagine something like this playing out quite the same way back home in Slovenia. I don’t think it would.
That probably says something about the people here.
Why Do They Actually Drive on the Left?
The day was slowly turning into evening, the wind was still blowing hard, and all the travelling had finally started to catch up with us. We didn’t feel like walking any more.
Uber.
I sat in the front passenger seat. On the right-hand side.
And there it was again. Cars coming from the wrong direction, turns being made onto the wrong side of the road, and even after all those days in Scotland, I still hadn’t got used to them driving on the left.
Why do they drive on the left anyway?
That evening, I couldn’t quite let it go, so I did a little digging.
And it turned out that we’re actually the strange ones.
Well, historically speaking, at least.
One of the most common explanations goes back to the days of horses, riders and swords. Since most people were right-handed, they kept to the left side of the road. That way, their right hand faced whoever was approaching from the opposite direction. If that person’s intentions weren’t exactly friendly, your hand was right where you needed it.
On your sword.
Later, perhaps on your pistol.
Later, perhaps on your pistol. Today? I don’t know. Apparently, giving someone the middle finger isn’t considered very polite anymore.
The British later made driving on the left the law and spread the practice around the world through their empire. That’s why people still drive on the left today in Australia, New Zealand, India and many other countries. In Europe, apart from the United Kingdom, you’ll find the same rule in Ireland, Malta and Cyprus.
Now we know.
Time for bed, and to look forward to our final day in Scotland.
