Another Edinburgh morning went without a hitch. Woke up at 8:40am to blaring alarms with a head full of dreams stretching all the way back to childhood (perhaps last night’s advocate’s whisky in the evening has a way of unlocking those guilty mental filing cabinets).
Figure 1: Nice breakfast in the train.
Booked an Uber XL to Waverley station. Our driver, Ibrahim, was kind enough to drop us near the elevators—bless him for sparing us the luggage-dragging marathon that station entrances usually demand. Turns out we were early birds (yet again, as per Nidhi) and the Inverness train hadn’t yet arrived. In the meantime, the Great Scottish Breakfast Hunt commenced. Vanya snagged a couple of omelet sandwiches from Pret A Manger. Nidhi, a loyal McDonald’s customer of Egg McMuffins, dragged me along to “find” one. Vanya drew the short straw and was left guarding our mountain of luggage. We added Costa coffee’s lemon cake and a latte to our breakfast haul, and were ready to board our train on platform 15. Our reserved seats, row 38 C, E, and F, formed a cozy quadrangle right next to the luggage rack—prime real estate on Scottish Rail. We were on our way!
Figure 2: Baby Coo, Highlands
Vanya is absolutely besotted with Highland Coos (and yes, that’s the proper Scottish term for these adorable shaggy beasts). We searched desperately for ways to spend quality one-on-one time with them. A village on our route, Duirsham, had a place called The Craft Cafe with Coo visitation rights. Sadly, they’d experienced a freak snowstorm and had to close their “Coo Rendezvous” for the day—a tragedy of Scottish proportions. We made plans to seek out the elusive Coos on our way out of Portree instead.
A wee criticism of Scotrail: the service is impeccable and punctual, but the onboard wifi works about as well as a chocolate teapot. Perhaps they believe limited connectivity enhances the scenic experience?
Figure 3: Mostly Perth Station, Scotland
Four hours and 15 minutes later, we reached Inverness—and miraculously, the sunshine never abandoned us! The weather gods, usually so fickle in Scotland, were showing unusual favoritism.
I left the girls to guard our belongings at the station while I hiked up to Enterprise Rent A Car to collect our royal chariot: a Mercedes, no less! I was only half-hopeful—rental companies typically perform the old switcheroo when you arrive—but this time they actually delivered! The sales chap tried selling me an extra £150 worth of insurance so any damage would have a max out by me at £250. Highway robbery, if you ask me!
Back at the station, I collected Vanya and Nidhi and loaded up our fancy German steed (mule?). Apple CarPlay connected smoothly, making navigation a dream, with one small hiccup: the navigation voice was loud enough to wake the dead in Scotland. No matter what buttons we pressed, it continued to bark orders at us like an overzealous drill sergeant.
Driving on the right-hand side again (after India) proved less seamless than I’d hoped. I hugged the left side of the road so devotedly that the local police pulled us over, concerned there might be a problem. Upon learning I was an American with Indian roots, they sent us on our way with that uniquely Scottish blend of amusement and pity reserved for confused foreigners.
Figure 4: Picturesque Highlands on display.
The UK traffic laws are stricter than a Victorian schoolmaster—speed cameras lurk around every bend, and the signage is so prescriptive it almost sucks the joy out of driving. Thank goodness for the heads-up display, saving me from constantly peeking at the dash like a nervous driving student.
Figure 5: Margaret, the owner of Gable BnB.
We reached The Gables in Portree around 6:20pm and met our B&B host, Margaret—a woman so pleasant and cheerful you’d think happiness was included in the Scottish water supply. Margaret has an awesome thing going on - her son lives in Australia, so she spends her winters down under, and rents her rooms for summer in Portree. Margaret also told us of a few horror stories with her guests: melted hair dryers for wet shoes and boiled pasta in electric kettles. Ah, the joys of the hospitality industry—where every day brings a new creative misuse of household appliances!
After quick introductions, we immediately set off on what would become The Great Portree Pizza Hunt of 2025.
And… after a mile of walking, we found precisely nothing that appealed. Not even the grandiosely named “Prince of India” (the ambience and smells suggested the prince had fallen on hard times). The pizza place we’d shortlisted had closed a mere 9 minutes before our arrival—typical Scottish timing—and many other establishments were mysteriously “opening on Wednesday” (is Tuesday a sacred day of rest in Portree?).
Finally, we selected another pizza place open until 8pm. Red flag: no answer when I called. But a hot cheesy pizza that melts in your mouth makes fools of us all, doesn’t it? We walked another 20 minutes to find what turned out to be a shack, only for the fellow to inform us he’d “run out of pizza” by 6pm. In Scotland, apparently pizza is a breakfast food! His suggestion for “good” food was to trek to the edge of town—advice we promptly ignored with the determination of starving travelers.
In desperation, we settled on an Indian place: “Taste of India,” boasting a middling 3.5 stars on TripAdvisor (beggars can’t be choosers when stomachs are performing whale songs). The owner, a self-righteous Bengali gentleman, initially insisted we needed to order three main courses for a “sit-down” meal, but graciously waived this rule upon discovering our Indian heritage—a small victory! The food was passable, and with full bellies, we hiked back to our B&B, ready to fight another day in the Scottish Highlands.