Lisbon, Barcelona and Paris

November 2019

A week or two before we set off on this journey to Lisbon, emails started arriving talking about how southern France was flooded and no trains were crossing the Franco-Spanish border. Other information suggested that efforts were being made to work around the floods and connect somehow with the French TGVs to Paris. So because any potential problems were limited to the route home, I resolved to carry on as if there was no problem at all and deal with whatever occurred as it happened.

The taxi, due at 3.15am, was early and sat outside our open bedroom window gently purring while we got dressed. Bang on its due time the phone rang loudly to let us know it was here and we set off into the chill morning headed once again for St Pancras International. After an uneventful crossing we trundled out of Gare du Nord towards the waiting taxis to cross Paris to the Gare Montparnasse where we were to catch the TGV to the Spanish border. It seems to take ages and we pass through unfamiliar parts of the city but we finally arrive and get dropped at a side entrance to the station, where there was work going on, lifts out of action and signage not as clear as it might have been, particularly for the non-francophone. Time was on our side though and we soon found a staircase, hauled our cases up to the drab concourse and found a grocery cum coffee shop for a more than adequate late-ish breakfast of croque monsieur and café au lait while we await the train to Hendaye.

Incidentally, travelling through Montparnasse leaves just Austerlitz of the Parisian mainline stations we have yet to set off from, so perhaps a visit to Provence will be in order in the future.

It's an awkward winding stair down to the platform when you've got suitcases to manoeuvre, and the security barrier is both overmanned and porous, but we find our way to our carriage and board. Settling in on the upper deck of our train, we leave the capital and head off towards the Atlantic coast. Sarah starts knitting some extremely complex Sanquhar gloves and I read my book and look out of the window before the desire for a smattering of lunch drives me to the buffet car. Catering on TGVs is so much better than what's on offer from the trolley on SWT and OK, it was €8 but lunch was a very tasty cheeseburger that did not suffer at all from being microwave reheated. The wine was of a pretty decent quality too. As we travel on towards the coast the weather worsens and it isn't long before announcements are being made about delays. The high speed line was flooded in several places so we have to use the regular lines between Bordeaux and Biarritz (which, incidentally, looks glamorous even through the deluge). Our original connection time was 50 minutes and estimates of the delay range from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. In the event we make the connection at Hendaye for the Lisbon sleeper, the Sud Express, comfortably, even allowing for some confusion surrounding a group ticket ahead of us in the queue.

Retiring to the buffet bar to enjoy whatever they have to offer for supper (bacalhau à brás as it turned out), we end up sharing a bottle of wine with a lovely Dutch couple, bemoaning the absurdity of Brexit and drinking to future Anglo-Dutch relations before turning in.
The tracks across Spain are a little bumpy but you get used to sleeping in fits and starts and letting the swaying and rhythm of the carriage rock you back to sleep and this cabin was cleverly designed to be roomier than most too. A knock woke us about 30 minutes out from Lisbon.

Lisbon Day One

The only problem with arriving by sleeper is that your hotel is never ready for you to check in that early. The train approaches the city, as most do, through its least salubrious areas arriving alongside the cruise terminal. Giving the address of our hotel to the taxi driver, we travel the short distance up the hill of Alfama until our path is obstructed by a police officer who, for some undiscovered reason, was preventing vehicles from going any further up that street. In an echo of Tangiers we drag our cases up the remaining 50m of cobbled street to our poorly-signed hotel. As expected, we couldn't check in but they were extremely welcoming, stored our cases and even gave us breakfast. With the rest of the morning to kill we set off for the castle at the top of the hill, winding through the narrow streets and arriving just as it opens. For a while we have much of it to ourselves and after the obligatory photos of the spectacular view, and a wander through the romantic garden, we settle at a outdoor café table for a coffee and our first pastel de nata, surrounded by peacocks, in the warm Lisbon morning sunshine.

The Castelo de S. Jorge is the perfect place to start your visit to Lisbon. There are stunning views in every direction from the ramparts and towers, and it has the added bonus of a camera obscura with regular 'shows' in a variety of languages. We happen to time it just right to get it to ourselves, in English, which helps add to our growing familiarity with Lisbon's topography.

Outside the castle is a regular looking bus-stop and we would have passed it by unnoticed but for a sheet of A4 paper pasted to the back. It's funny how in a place surrounded by an unfamiliar language, the sight of something in English catches the eye. This was a sign about how the popularity of the authentic experience offered by Air BnB was encouraging landlords to evict local tenants in favour of tourist dollars and begging visitors to use hotels rather than opting for staying in such a local apartment. Not something we'd ever considered before and certainly thought provoking.

Just below the castle is the church of Santa Cruz. After a quick stop at a 'convenient' pissoir (for me), we visit both the charming church and its adjacent bell tower, payment for which supported its restoration and affords us access to the very interesting photo exhibition of life in mid 20th century Lisbon up in the gallery.

It's getting pretty warm by now and we stop for a beer at 28 Café, decorated as one of the traditional yellow trams that hurtle around the narrow streets of Alfama and are a vital transport option around Lisbon. We wander further down the hill, visit the darkly impressive cathedral and poke our noses into a nearby church before fetching up for lunch in a port bar at the bottom of the hill just off the Praça do Comércio. It has a whole wall of Port and some other Portuguese wines and plenty of tables. There is a bewildering variety of port by the glass available but before we can order the waitress draws our attention to the fact that they only take cash. Strange, given the prices of some of the vintage port on offer, but there's a nearby atm and we share a plate of charcuterie and cheeses washed down with a delicious dry white port (or two).

By now we figure we'd be able to check in and freshen up so we climb back up the hill to the hotel. Our room is very comfortable and a quick doze seems in order. The hotel also has what it calls a fitness centre in its other building just up the street, which includes an outdoor pool and Sarah loves a swim. We try it out, which means making our way through a garage area, past a couple of gym machines and out into a quite pleasant garden, again with great views. The pool however is freezing cold and the swim doesn't last long.

I like to book a table at a restaurant near the hotel for our first night at least, just so we know where we're going to be eating. This time I have booked at Fado and Wine, hoping it delivered on its name at least. It's just inside the main commercial area of the city, so we take one of the several staircases down the hill, squeezing past a group of young people noisily milling around boxes of books seemingly being hawked by someone or other. The restaurant turns out to be more of a wine bar with food, much like we'd had at lunch, but the host was delightful and charmed with us being English so we had a very pleasant meal before beginning the climb back up the steep staircase to the hotel. Barely 20m from the hotel however is Tasqinha Canto Do Fado and we fancy a beer. It's getting quite crowded as they've got live Fado on tonight (and as it turns out, most nights of our stay). We cough up €7 for a table and are thoroughly entertained by two fado singers accompanied by the traditional guitarist and guitarrista. So we drink more beer, and a cocktail, and finish with coffee before booking a table for dinner the following night, prompting our hosts to refund our €7 and a packed first day in Lisbon draws to a close.

Lisbon Day Two

We've decided to spend our second day in the city out in the Belém area. There's a lot to see out there so first we head down to the Praça do Comércio to pick up our Lisbon cards and catch tram to Belém from the main square. It stops eventually outside the Jerónomos Monastery which is a beautiful confection of Gothic Manueline architecture.

We spend a large chunk of the morning exploring the monastery, together with an exhibition that includes a very helpful timeline of Portuguese history set against world and wider European events. By the time we emerge into the late morning sun we're more than a little thirsty and scout around for a café. All we can find however is a little coffee truck near the monument to Portuguese explorers on the waterfront. It's very welcome. Just along the way is the Museu de arte popular, not something we'd noticed in the guidebooks but what could be wrong with a 'popular art' museum. Nothing in the end, but popular means 'folk' in this instance and there's not a huge amount in it but for an extensive exhibition on basket weaving with many and varied examples of the basket maker's art. Curiously, given that we were pretty much the only people in there, the attendant paid us very close attention all the way round.

We continue along the waterfront towards the tower as it approaches lunchtime. There are several options nearby but we settle on a café literally on the water, and share a curious pastry sandwich with some daring sparrows before going to take a look at the Belém Tower itself, pausing only to admire the memorial to the first aerial crossing of the South Atlantic, undertaken in 1922 by two Portuguese aviators Gago Coutinho and Sacadura Cabral in a Fairey III.

The Belém Tower is another gorgeous example of Manueline architecture but there's not a lot to see inside and it will be some time before it reopens today so we content ourselves with a good look round what we can see of the outside before crossing the park to a very open footbridge across the main road so we can visit the Museu Coleção Berardo with its impressive array of modern art including a couple of very interesting temporary exhibits before weariness gets the better of us and we catch the tram back to the Praça do Comércio and stagger back up the hill to our hotel.

We indulge in a brief snooze before showering and dressing up for dinner at Tasqinha where we are thoroughly entertained by Fatima Garcia and others while we eat very presentable food served by our extremely friendly hosts. It's gone midnight before we stumble into bed.

Lisbon Day Three

I'm probably a little hungover as we start our third day here. There's a flea market sprawling over the hill behind the cathedral, but I need a coke and a coffee before I can face diving in. We spend all morning poking around the vast market before catching the iconic Number 28 tram down to the centre in search of some lunch. The tram is packed and hurtles breath-catchingly close to some of the buildings in the narrow streets of Alfama but it's a lot of fun.

The weather has turned a bit dreary and there's rain in the air as we wander about looking for a suitable place to eat. There's a good many cafés, and many a tourist trap before we settle on the fish restaurant Concha d'Ouro with tanks of fresh seafood lining the entrance and where Sarah dives into a hearty fish stew. I, still on the delicate side, have something grilled with chips. It's all delicious. The restaurant is packed but the service doesn't flag and we have a great time.

Just around the corner is the Santa Justa Lift. Built in 1902, the lift is a magnificent cast iron edifice linking the commercial district with the Bairro Alto. Today there's obviously something amiss, perhaps understaffing, as the queue takes forever to deliver us to the, admittedly very well appointed, lift compartment for the ride up. It's still gloomy and damp as we wander around the Bairro Alto and we're not sure whether to stick around or head home but I've heard the Church of Sao Roque is worth a visit. It's not very inviting from the outside, but the interior is more than spectacular and the associated museum turns out to be well worth a visit too. It's one of the earliest Jesuit churches in Portugal and the inside is Baroque on acid; gold, lapis lazuli, marble, Azulejo tilework, sculpture and art compete screamingly for your attention. We're very glad we made the effort.

We have had enough wandering now and even though it's properly raining now, walk back down the hill through some of the more high end shops and find our way back to the hotel before another evening of food and Fado at Tasqinha.

Lisbon Day Four

It's Sunday, and it's going to be a busy one; Sporting Lisbon are at home this evening and we've got tickets. First up however, is the tile museum; it's a little out of the centre so we catch a bus that should go past the door. After about 20 minutes it's clear we've gone too far so we get off and cross the road to catch one going back the other way. We get Google maps out and take a guess at which bus stop to get off at this time. The driver is clearly puzzled as to why these English people want to get off here and pulls up beside us and asks where we're going. We tell him, he rolls his eyes and says to get back on; "Why didn't you ask?". We shrug instead of trying to explain how unlikely it is an English bus driver would be as helpful. Two stops later we get off at a Lidl and follow the signs to short way to our target.

The museum is excellent and well worth the trauma getting there. After over an hour looking at tiles we catch a bus from just outside the museum this time and successfully find our way to lunch in a café near Praça Dom Pedro IV.  We're heading north today so catch the metro at Rossio so we can get up to Museu Calouste Gulbenkian for the afternoon. Suffering a minor diversion after turning left instead of right on leaving Sao Sebastiao metro station, we find the museum complex with its two architecturally interesting buildings situated in a lovely park. There's a very wide range of works from the ancient to contemporary art from around the world collected by the British Armenian businessman and philanthropist Gulbenkian and a modern exhibition centre including a brilliant timeline of modern Portuguese art history. The café is thankfully great too, as refreshment is much needed by now.

The José Alvalade stadium is further north and a change of metro lines away. The stadium is a riot of green and yellow atop, among other things, a large Lidl store where people are still shopping as the fans gather. I try to order some food and end up with what turns out to be a cold hotdog topped with chipsticks! The football is pretty good and 'we' end up winning quite comfortably.

Back in Rossio, in the square, there's a large marquee affair and lots of noise and bonhomie. It's a food fest and after our weird hotdogs, we're still a bit hungry. We stop for mulled wine while we decide what to eat and get a bell ring and hearty cheer when we tip the enthusiastic server. We settle on a vast quantity of grilled pork to eat and finish the day with, yes, a drink at tasqinha.

Lisbon Day Five

Day five is largely set aside for any shopping we still have to do, various gifts are purchased along with some Port for us and a couple of t-shirts for me. We visit the oldest bookshop in Portugal and brouse some of the more 'fashionable' precincts. After a couple of hours wandering the streets of central Lisbon we fetch up at the small beach by the main square and buy a cone of roast chestnuts from the nearby cart. It's warm and sunny and it's nice to relax for a little while and reflect on our time here.

We've arranged a car to take us to the station, further out of town this one, where the sleeper to Madrid will leave at about 10pm, so there's plenty of time for some food and a last drink at tasqinha before we leave. The train is a bit late and the platform is cold but ultimately we're on our way, sad to leave Lisbon but a day in Barcelona beckons.

Barcelona

There's quite a queue for local train tickets across Madrid to the Atocha station from where the Barcelona train leaves. We've been here before and grab some breakfast at a small concession before looking for our platform. The indoor rainforest is still quite impressive but the security queue and the queue for the travelator down to the plaform are both a little chaotic so we have no time to linger.

It's still very early as we leave Madrid and the onward problems we have thus far ignored are now beginning to play on our minds. We consider several options as to how we might complete the next leg, given the floods in France and the apparent lack of a connection across the border. SNCF still considers our TGV cancelled. We arrive at Sants station a couple of hours later and search out the Renfe help desk where they are utterly unconcerned at our worries, pointing to an A4 sheet of paper that we are assured says we are to turn up on time in the morning and all will be fine. Mollified we cross the Placa de Joan Peiro to our smart and business-like hotel, check in, freshen up and nap.

We have no firm plans for the day but want to do something so we decide to head for La Rambla and see what happens. The Metro calling itself Barcelona Sants is, judging by the length of the tunnels we have to walk down to get to it, actually in the next county. We're tired and thirsty and perhaps a bit tetchy but we get there and wander about until we find a suitable, if somewhat trendy, café for much-needed refreshment.

The Palau Guell is around the corner and we settle on that as a suitable visit, one we hadn't been to on our previous trip to the Catalan capital some 18 years earlier. It's an impressive Gaudi concoction hidden away in an otherwise anonymous side street. 

Another wander and we stumble upon the Mercado de Las Boqueria and we love a local market. This one is beautifully presented and we spend a happy hour there before catching a metro at Liceu back to Sants.

In most cities the area around the main railway station is less than salubrious but the neighbourhood behind our hotel is wonderfully "local" and we have a mooch around and grab a beer at a small bar while we wait for our restaurant to open. I cannot recommend La Tere Gastrobar enough. Modern, delicious, tapas style menu, beautifully presented, it turns a one-day stop-over into a memorable part of the holiday. We sleep with smiling faces.

Journey to Paris

For once we need no taxi, tram or other transport to the station, which is becoming a familiar place to us and we buy breakfast at the concession we'd used twice before. The queue for the Paris train, which SNCF still insists doesn't exist, is growing so we join it and are eventually given new reservations and an explanation of what is to happen. We will get a regular Renfe train to Beziers where we'll be put on coaches to Montpellier (a strange station in the middle of nowhere as it turns out) where we will catch the TGV from there to Paris Lyon as planned and only a couple of hours later than scheduled. A quick email to our Paris hotel reassures us both that we'll be there, just later than we'd arranged and we're off. The journey goes almost exactly as they had said, even if I did have to email SNCF to get on the TGV wifi because our ticket reference was for a train that wasn't running!

The taxi to our hotel gets stuck in a jam along a street that seems entirely populated by wedding shops but eventually turns up the hill of Montmartre and pulls up outside a large blue door. The building used to house Theo van Gogh and we take a few minutes to decipher the instructions for the gate lock to find our boutique hotel looking like a small house in the garden. We are welcomed heartily and shown to our basement room, which is very funky with a bath nestled in an alcove. More or less across the road is what one would describe as a typical French bistro and we have a typical French bistro meal and thoroughly enjoy it.

Day Nine - Birthday in Paris

Today is my birthday and I've woken with a stinking cold. It's a chill morning, the warmth of Lisbon long behind us, and it's not promising to be a great birthday. We climb Montmartre to Sacre Couer and find a pharmacy where after a few questions the pharmacist sells me a packet of cold cure which knocks the whole shebang on the head within twenty minutes, certainly by the time the Montmartre museum opens at 10am.

The museum itself is set in Renoir's house and is packed with everything relating to Montmartre and its artistic legacy, including the brilliantly preserved atelier de Suzanne Valadon, model and painter, the first woman painter admitted to the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts.

It's going to be a very "arty" day. At the Grand Palais, just off the Champs Elysee, they're hosting two exhibitions; El Greco and Toulouse-Lautrec and we're off to see both. We emerge from the Metro just outside the Palais to be confonted with a labyrinth of barriers making up an elaborate queueing system. But there's no-one in it. Fairly relieved, we twist and turn our way to the entrance and get a double ticket each. Turns out there's no queue because everyone is already inside. The El Greco is packed but brilliant. There's a café and we manage to get in, find a table in what turns out to be a lull in proceedings and get a pretty good lunch before tackling the Toulouse-Lautrec, which is equally fascinating.

Dinner is at La Maison Rose, a charming restaurant in Montmartre run by a lovely couple; she very business oriented, he just loving having people round for dinner. It's a great meal and a lovely end to my birthday.

 

 

 

 Day Ten and Home

The oft dreaded 'last day' arrives and we book an Uber to Gare du Nord, who turns up on time but for some reason 50m up the road. The Eurostar lounge at Paris is as grim as usual with the added confusion of a lost belt. Okay, mislaid. Thoughtlessly I wore trousers requiring a belt to stay up which, having a metal buckle, had to be removed for the x-ray machine. Trouble was, it didn't seem to come out the other end and it wasn't in there - they checked. Train waiting, passports to be checked meant I had to abandon the mystery and move on. Only after getting through the entire check-in process and finding a seat for the duration did I find it tangled up in my coat. Oh well.

The traffic in London was appalling and our taxi driver got caught in a worse jam by taking a 'quicker' detour but we got to Waterloo in time and caught the train home after lunch at the café we had breakfast after Scotland. The journey had a final twist however as we were taken via Winchester seemingly just for the fun of it. But home we were.

Carbon saved by not flying: 320kg

The Drachenfels Railway

October 2019

A quick post to celebrate this delightful rack railway running from Königswinter to the top of the Drachenfels mountain, just shy of 300m above the Rhine.

Sadly, it's only 1500m long so doesn't take very long to travel although there is a midway stop for the Schloss Drachenburg. The castle itself is a rather magnificent Gothic confection and worth a visit.

The trains themselves consist of two carriages with integral driver, run on overhead electric cables at a gradient of up to 20%. Very classic design.

Whisky Galore

June 2019

It was to be the trip of dreams (and drams) and, if we ignore the journey home, it was pretty wonderful.

A couple of years ago four friends went to Champagne (by car, so no report here) for a tasting and gastronomic journey into the world of bubbles. It was brilliant. We had a great guide for our tour and a happy day of chance discoveries when left to our own devices. The resolve to do it all again was strong from the start and after wondering whether to return to France and perhaps Bordeaux or Burgundy, we decided to indulge on of our other shared passions; Scotch Whisky.

I was left to research options, come up with an itinerary and then make the necessary arrangements. The advantage Champagne has over Scotland, on this instance at least, is that it is much more compact - we could not, in any reasonable amount of time, be expected to cover the whole gamut of whisky production in the same way as we could méthode champenoise in France so we would have to be much more selective. The other problem would be getting about; three of us could drive but none of us wanted to. The answer was to avail ourselves of a driver/guide for a couple of days to drive us around adding 'local colour' where appropriate. After many hours pouring over maps of Scotland, maps of distilleries and researching those whiskies we might prefer to visit, we settled on establishing a base in Fort William because it was convenient both for several Highland Distilleries and Speyside, and because it would enable us to take advantage of the opportunity to enjoy two of the world's "must do" rail journeys - the Caledonian Sleeper and the Jacobite Express.

And so it is, in late June, the four of us board a noon train at Fratton (of course).

Day One 

We cross town from Waterloo to Euston, leave our luggage at, appropriately, Left Luggage and tube it down to Soho because when one embarks on such a trip, it's best to start as you mean to go on. In that spirit I thought the best thing to do to really get us 'in the mood' was a private tasting at Milroy's whisky bar in Greek Street, and what an inspired idea that turned out to be. We booked a 3pm tasting of premium examples from each of Scotland's five whisky regions. We got a thorough outline of the basics of whisky production from our very knowledgeable host and a dram of some very fine malts, finishing with an astonishing Octomore, just the thing to set us up nicely for our journey.

With further astonishing foresight I had booked a table for dinner a few doors down at 10 Greek Street but after the tasting we had a little time to kill so a restorative coffee at Tintico across the street was very welcome. Only I noticed Burn Gorman at the next table reading a script and because I'm not one to disturb people just because they're a bit famous, it was quite funny to point out his presence to the others once he'd left. After coffee we had just enough time to buy a ridiculous/beautiful shirt at Zegerman's before our dinner at a very hipster but equally high quality restaurant at Number 10. That left plenty of time after dinner to take the Underground back to Euston, retrieve our luggage and wait in the crowded hall for the board to confirm the platform for the sleeper north.

When we booked, the website was all about the new rolling stock and how wonderful it would be compared with the tired old stock. As we approached the barrier it was clear that the new stock was not yet in operation on the Fort William route at least. A woman with a clipboard stood in place of the not-yet-operational electronic ticket barrier, who was keen to underline the fact that they were 'very short staffed' on the train tonight and could we get our breakfast orders done within 30 minutes of departure. Hmm. Anyway, we found our cabins and even though they seemed a little more cramped than those on European night trains we had used before, we settled in. The lounge was full, and restricted to first class passengers, while the kiosk/bar was very late opening due to the aforementioned staff shortages. By this time we had tired of the idea of a night cap and settled on sleep.

Any grumbles about the train the previous night disappeared upon waking. We spent the next three hours trundling through the most wonderful scenery, stopping at romantic sounding highland stations before this wonderful journey ended somewhat prosaically alongside Morrison's in Fort William.

Day Two

I would stake ready money on the fact that a significant proportion of visitors to Fort William arrive by sleeper train. This makes it all the more bizarre that our hotel was so intransigent when it came to checking in. This was not possible they assured us, under any circumstances before 3pm. Any circumstances. The train had berthed at 10am so there we were, less than twenty minutes later in the lobby of the Clan MacDuff Hotel failing to check in. They could look after our cases but that was it. Even in normal circumstances having over four hours to kill would be annoying, but because the hotel was a mile or so out of town it was necessary to take a taxi there and back it felt like a wasted journey. This is even before you factor in the rest of our day's itinerary.

We're booked on the Jacobite "Hogwarts" Express, which leaves Fort William for Mallaig at 2pm. We can't check in until 3pm. Okay we say, we'll check in when we get back from dinner. That's fine, they say, as long as that's before 10pm. However, the Jacobite doesn't get back to Fort William until after 8pm so we end up making a special trip back to the hotel just to check in before going out again to eat. We did, briefly, consider the option of eating at the hotel, but the restaurant only opens between six and eight. Really.

After a moment's staring at the loch across the road we resolve to spend the intervening hours in town and reception calls us a taxi. Just as we're beginning to wonder about Scottish hospitality, a Very Helpful taxi driver takes us to the heart of Fort William's main drag and points out several options for lunch and after a bit of a wander round, we end up at the Ben Nevis bar for perfectly tasty meal and some pretty good beer too.
The weather, I should say at this point is Hot, heatwave hot.

The Jacobite express to Mallaig is on many a "top ten" rail journeys list, and rightly so. The landscape of the "Road to the Isles" is beyond spectacular and travelling through it on a steam train is just perfect. Crossing the Glenfinnan Viaduct we can see crowds of people on the opposite hill aiming, it transpires, for the perfect shot of said Hogwarts Express as it passes by, ignoring in large part the monument to the Jacobite rebellion in the valley below. There's a few minutes to take a breather at Glenfinnan station and a quick look around the small museum before we head off again for Mallaig.

This west coast port turns out to be somewhere you go to get somewhere else - there's not much to do on such a visit as ours, although we later see an advert for a short sea safari that guaranteed to be back in time for the return train. Our wait is eased by some fat crab sandwiches and a cream tea of epic proportions. It is spoilt by an awful busker operating from the boot of his car opposite the café.
The return journey is naturally just as beautiful but the heat is now exacerbated by regular hot smuts from the engine being blown in through the necessarily open windows. We're starting to flag a bit now and we have yet to make the trip back to check in. We take the chance to change and freshen up before another taxi to the curry house we had booked earlier. I had a very decent chicken dansak but my companions were left raving about the quality of their various lamb dishes. One of the best curries we've had was supremely enhanced by the view over the loch. By the time we had finished eating it was approaching 11pm and it was still not dark. Just time for a nightcap before turning in. Thankfully we'd had the foresight to buy a bottle of Bunnahabhain from Morrisons for the purpose. It was still light when we turned in.

Day Three

Day three is Distillery Day One. The driver I had booked for the two days arrived as promised at 8.30am and we set off for the furthest distillery of the day, aiming to work our way back via Blair Athol and Dalwhinnie. After a pleasant drive through the stunningly beautiful landscape skirting the Cairngorms, we arrive at Edradour near Pitlochry.
Edradour is charming. Set in the small valley of the burn that feeds it, it looks like the sort of thing Disney would build if asked for a typical, Scottish, Olde Worlde distillery, all white walls and red paintwork, everyone in kilts and some of the finest whisky around. By now we were becoming very clear on the "how" of whisky production so when it came to our second stop of the day we headed straight to the bar. The Blair Athol distillery bar is a fine thing. Made from an old copper still and staffed by a very knowledgeable young woman who guided us expertly through a six dram tasting. (By the by, the Blair Athol distillery is in Pitlochry, not Blair Atholl a few miles away).

We had had a mild panic as a booking misunderstanding had become apparent - I had assumed that Stephen, our driver, was going to make any necessary arrangements but he had believed I was making them. A quick bout of googling reassures all that appointments were not always necessary and there are plenty of places to visit anyway. We lunch in Pitlochry. When we return to the car Stephen is redeemed as he has made arrangements for us to join the last tour of the day at the otherwise booked up Dalwhinnie distillery, the highest in Scotland. A fairly uneventful tour was enlivened by a tour leader approaching the nether end of her tether and an assistant of the less than helpful variety. It had clearly been a long day. Interestingly, Dalwhinnie had chosen to match their various expressions with handmade chocolates and not entirely unsuccessfully either.

That night we dressed up for dinner at the Lime Tree restaurant and art gallery and very good it was too.

Day Four

Today is to be spent on Speyside. After the previous day's non-booking misunderstanding, I had spent some of the evening checking and revising our proposed itinerary. It meant two things - one, we would not be able to visit the Speyside Cooperage, principally because it was shut, and that a visit to Aberlour was unlikely to be possible as tours were restricted owing to some remodelling work. A quick conversation with Katie, a friend and part time distillery guide, confirmed this. Despite this last minute chopping and changing, a suitable programme was worked out and a great day was had.

First stop is still Cragganmore, a bit more than a mile from the main road despite what the sign says. Again we opt not to take a tour, even though we had thought about their interesting food matching tour, it was still early and none of us were hungry enough. We settled on a full tasting in the shop and are suitably impressed. Impressed enough to spend a substantial amount on one bottle and a staggering amount on another. Our enthusiasm gets us a view of their stills anyway as they have very unusual flat tops and we ought to see them.

The next destination is Dufftown, putative capital of Speyside with a specialist shop, seven distilleries and a museum. On the way we pass the cooperage and stop for pictures anyway before rolling up Dufftown's main street to our first stop, the museum. Quaint doesn't even begin to describe it. Occupying a single shop front, it barely qualifies as a museum but does have a good number of antique whisky-making accoutrements and ephemera all presented by a delightfully enthusiastic and friendly woman who also points us to the local Costcutter as the best place to buy our whisky. She is right, it has almost as many whiskies on sale as the specialist shop and many at lower prices.

We decide to take lunch just outside Dufftown at Glenfiddich which is all super corporate polish but has a very decent café with whisky pairings for their menu. We all order the burger with its suggested dram of Glenfiddich IPA (for a separate, brief review see Will it Mac?). We're not too bothered about the rest of their products but look round the shop anyway before heading off again.
Final stop of the day is The Glenlivet, deep in the countryside, where after a wander around their very smart museum cum display and a quick tasting we are officially "Whiskied out". At least for now. We are all a bit jaded as we are driven back to the hotel where we wave a cheery farewell to Stephen and get ready for dinner at "The Geographer's".

Day Five

We awake to a change in the weather. No longer hot and sunny, it has turned quite dramatically and is now wet and windy, grey and misty. Which is a shame, because today's plan includes a boat trip on Loch Linnhe. After breakfast, something the hotel is pretty good at, we check out and get a taxi to the station to leave our bags in one of their very large lockers. While there my phone rings; it's the boat operator - 'were we still coming?' they ask. We confirm that we are and will be there before too much longer. The weather appears to be easing a bit but it's still not ideal by a long chalk.

"Souter's Lass" is an old Royal Naval tender that worked on the South Coast as "Bournemouth Belle" before operating as a ferry between John o’Groats and Orkney from 1980 to 1987. She now runs cruises on Loch Linnhe and thankfully has a sheltered, downstairs bar offering many things, but today the hot chocolate is most welcome. The mist clears quite well as we set off and we can see everything our guide talks about, with the added bonus of a sea eagle seen flying down the loch. Just before Corran, we turn back towards a rocky island where a colony of seals basks, as best it could. The skipper expertly approaches the isle and we get fantastic views of the creatures.

Handily, the boat is operated by the same people who run the very popular seafood restaurant on the pier and our lunch booking meshes neatly with the end of the trip. The restaurant doesn't disappoint with some excellent seafood nicely washed down with a bottle of Picpoul.

After lunch we head for our last distillery of the trip, the Ben Nevis distillery on the outskirts of Fort William under the shadow of its namesake. It's a much more industrial affair than the others we'd seen and, although the weather is not helping, it has an air of disappointment about it. Almost all its output is snapped up by its Japanese owners, leaving too little to market anywhere but at the distillery itself. It's nice enough, and its rarity is tempting but we resist adding to our seven bottle haul.

A last visit to the Ben Nevis pub is absolutely called for before picking up some picnic items for the journey home.

We get to an unnervingly deserted station but we're early so don't panic until Sarah notices the screen says our train is "cancelled", not 'late' or 'delayed' but "cancelled", and there's no-one there to explain themselves. Eventually someone is coaxed out of the back of the ticket office to tell us that the train broke down on Friday and they haven't managed to sort a repair or replacement in the intervening two days. We were to be ferried to Edinburgh by coach where we would wait for the Inverness section of the train to join. A three hour coach journey, a three hour wait at Edinburgh Waverley before we could board (and sleep), but we would get to Euston on time. Hooray. Grrr. The coach journey is horrendous and only briefly lit up by passing through the always stunning Glen Coe. The journey through the Trossachs is beautiful but coaches make me queasy at the best of times and this road is very twisty-turny. Eventually arriving at, or rather near, Waverley station to endure the further long wait until we finally board the train at nearly 1am. We do indeed arrive at Euston on time but its a fairly rag-tag bunch who fetch up at Waterloo for the SW Train back to Fratton.

We have since agreed a compensation package for our homeward journey troubles.

Carbon saved: 112.5kg