getting away from it all in the highlands of Scotland

I am on holiday for just a few days, with myself.

OH (my other half) has business to do in China, and I am not invited. He is going with his 'team'.

That means he can be as naughty as he chooses in my absence, and myself and I will try, but probably fail, to be equally naughty.


So for me, a trip to the highlands. The Hebrides via Inverness.

I started with a night near Inverness airport, as flight schedules to Stornaway did not allow otherwise.

The hotel was on a dual carriageway next to Carpetright and a few gorse bushes.

I thought you would prefer to see the gorse.

gorse bush, Inverness

I arrived in Inverness late at night and jumped into a taxi to my hotel.

The taxi driver was meant to be picking someone else up, but he couldn't be bothered to wait for her, so took me instead. As we neared my hotel, the pre-arranged pick-up passenger called him on his phone. He pretended he didn't understand, and she told him she would get the bus.

I felt sorry for her.

And for myself, just relief to be at my hotel; always apprehensive as a single female alone in an unknown taxi when no one knows where I am.

The driver cleaned me out of all my cash, and I disappeared upstairs to bed.

I awoke this morning to sunshine, and a feeling of  happiness at a few days with no particular plans.

I wrote a poem in my notebook about the futility of worrying, had a very good breakfast, and then headed out for a walk and to look for some cash to get me on the bus back to the airport.

OH might have reprimanded me at this point for not having enough cash.

I decided that looking of a cash point was a valid way to spend an hour on a sunny morning..... in such a scenic part of town. And if all else failed, and the bus driver didn't take a card, I still had time to phone for a taxi driver who would.

I headed off down the road lined by car salesrooms that led into town.

It was a colourful route, full of flags and balloons.

The air was fresh and felt extraordinarily clean.

I saw a sign ahead for a petrol station, and was hopeful of a cashpoint.

closed petrol station

Silly me.

This is Scotland, and every single shop is closed on Sundays. As were the car showrooms.

Which made for a very peaceful stroll.

I felt calm and happy despite my urban environment.

I was on my way to one of my favourite places in the world, the island of Harris in the outer Hebrides.

Next I passed Fraser signs.

I was taken by their logo. Mountains and water.... clearly they share my values.

Just not my looks. Or gender.

I couldn't help taking a couple of photos of litter.... plastic trapped in a tree that was about to burst into bud.

But I also found some dandelions and blossom just to show you that I don't only think about litter.

All of this life on an industrial estate.

I got to wondering about how we choose and filter what to show of where we have been.

You may be expecting some artistic photos, that being my passion. But today I choose to show you a bit of real life. Balloons and all.

I could have left out the cars and the bank.

A bank! I hear you exclaim. You found one?

Yes, reader, I found one, hiding next to an old factory.

Happy was I.

I had just begun to give up hope.

Jack fills up with cash

Jack and I stacked up on cash, and it was time to get back to catch that bus.

The worry was over.

the worry was over

And the bus was dead on time.




I made my way to the airport in the morning sunshine, via Tesco and Tornagrain, a new housing estate trying to look like Poundbury.  Brand new houses styled on very old houses and a couple of brand new empty shops.

'a community in the making...' say the developers.
It hasn't happened yet.

I was intensely jealous for a moment of the lady sitting on the bus reading 'Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine'. It is such a wonderful, unputdownable read. And how come she can read sitting sideways on a bus?  She is a very lucky lady.

I didn't eat at Inverness airport, as I knew the flight might be a bit bumpy.

That was a bit of a mistake, for on arrival in Stornaway airport I remembered that they take Sunday very seriously.

The chiller  cabinet was bare.

And the coffee shop closed.

no food on Sundays in Stornaway airport

I could have done with a sandwich whilst waiting for my hire car.  Irn bru and a Crunchie was not going to do.  I am not that naughty.


But I was calm and happy. Queuing with myself is a perfectly pleasant experience.

 ..... 30 minutes in the queue, 5 customers in front of me, and not a single comment from anyone about how scandalous the wait was. Not a fidget or glance exchanged from anyone.

Everyone so delighted to be in the Hebrides that there was no need to get agitated.

I was last in the queue; a situation that might be frowned upon by certain people...

The wait provided me with time to photograph the dining facilities, to study a town map of Stornaway, and book a table for dinner.

As I said, when travelling with myself, everything is rosy.

And instead of heading out on the road to explore the local area, I slobbed around town, inspected the local fishing nets, drank some tea, had a shower and enjoyed my warm and comfortable accommodation.

arrival at Stornaway airport.

For I am on holiday.

And tomorrow is another day.



                                                                 *************




I'll leave you with some Hebridean trees from Lews Castle.

There are not many trees in the Outer Hebrides, so I felt compelled to record their presence.

a bus ride over the Andes - in which we break down and some of us think we are going to die

Over the Andes by bus.

What could be more romantic.

A high altitude journey from one high altitude salt plain to another via the Jama pass.

Accompanied by Tom Cruise in another impossible mission on the bus TV.

As we wended our way around one hairpin bend after another, Tom was busy saving the world on a motorbike.

Taking photographs through a bus window is not to be recommended; window reflections, tinted glass and movement all make for technical challenges that I make no apologies for. 

Grainy black and white the only realistic option to cover up for all of these difficulties.

Leaving behind the cactus dotted countryside in Puemamarca, Argentina, we began our journey.

Climbing steadily the landscape changed with every turn.

mission impossible over the andes

Tom was in a tricky situation, but I was more interested in what was going on outside my window.


Abandoned dwellings appeared from time to time.

A few other buses followed us as we ascended the Andes.

Tom was busy on a motorbike elsewhere.

The road wound relentlessly.

I reminded myself of the nearest exit.

After the ascent we crossed a vast plateau covered with salt.

Dry salt harvested in vast operations.

Salt piles organised in tidy rows.

And then dry scrub. Dusty desert.

And the occasional llama.

Vegetation changed as we passed through different altitudes; scrub giving way to grassy tussocks that dot the mountainside .

The odd volcanic peak appearing in other worldly style.

As the hours passed, all we could do was gaze in wonder.

Tom was no match for this.

We completed customs declaration forms in readiness for the Jama frontier zone.

A small cluster of buildings in the middle of nowhere.

We dutifully took ourselves and our baggage for inspection, feeling the altitude as we queued in the small customs hall.

Bags searched with a laxity that made me wonder.

The air was thin.

A mild nausea and light head was palpable.

4320 metres.

And then we were in Chile, with no phone signal for 130 km.

Obviously the best place for our bus to come to a grinding halt, about 10 minutes away from the border.

We were in the middle of nowhere, very high up in the Andes.

There was no passing traffic.

The engine was inspected.

Steam and water were leaking out.

It looked old.

The driver and his mates tapped and fiddled.

They didn't seem to know what to do.

They released some steam and banged with spanners.

Meanwhile we looked at the most extraordinary scenery around us.

Quite a spectacularly beautiful place to break down.

Out of phone reception.

At very high altitude

where the nights are very cold.

Folk paced around.

Time passed.

My other half paced anxiously.

No phone. No oxygen. Not much food.

We were in trouble.

A cold night on the mountain was not a prospect to look forward to. We were in full catastrophising mode.  Death almost inevitable. A cold and breathless one.

Pullman buses were no longer our friend.

No lorries or cars passed. We had no way to call for help.

We needed Tom.

The road was deserted.

And then, by some miracle, an hour or so later, the engine cooled, water was added, and we crawled off towards our destination several hours down the mountain.

An unscheduled stop was made to collect water in buckets from a local stream, in comedic style; three men running across a field, leaving us locked on the bus.

The scenery changed again.

We hoped for the best.

Lakes of vivid blue appeared.

Snow too.

And some new volcanoes, snow topped and majestic.

A few signs of life appeared.

And a deep ravine appeared beside the road.

We descended thankfully.

As we neared our destination, and phone reception kicked back in we felt safe again.

The small town of San Pedro de Atacama was a welcome sight.

A town built for tourists, eager to see the rock formations and geysers on the Chilean side of the mountain.

The volcanoes drew back into the distance.

We had arrived.

And in all the excitement we never did find out whether Tom saved the world.

Our mission was complete.

Over the Andes by bus.

A once in a lifetime journey that many of the locals in Chile have never experienced.