The city of Nice seen from the surrounding hillside bathed in sunshine

Home Travel Stories Camping In Scotland 2006 - By Ren Withnell

Camping In Scotland 2006 - Fort William to St Andrews

Of course I’m awake again, listening to the din of birdsong, drifting in and out of surreal and confusing dreams, pondering where to go today and bemused at how the gf manages to sleep for 10 hours and still be tired when she wakes. The usual routine now of visiting the facilities then making “noise” to wake her ladyship sees us up and packing not too long after 8am.

I take time to look at my legs, they are dotted everywhere with midge bites. They are itchy and tender but somehow I seem to be able to ignore them for the most part. It would seem midges like the evenings and the mornings. I look like I have a nervous affliction as I constantly swat, flick, scratch and fight off the little devils. It is all to no avail, I am bitten more and more. The gf seems to be fine, rather annoyingly. History tells me I am primary target as midge food, the whole of the Scottish midge population has been anticipating my arrival and now I am here they will feed enough to see them through the next 5 years.

We talk more on our next move. We decide to head east, to the Perth area, to see what that side of Scotland is like. As we pack the campsite owner, a tall, athletic and friendly chap comes over to chat. He’s a biker and tells us of his forthcoming trip to Norway with his wife. He also warns of incoming rain and advises the eastern side is the better place to be. With that settled we set off once more out onto the open road.

The A86 takes us quickly, smoothly and picturesquely past Loch Laggan and to a turning signposted Dalwhinnie. This road is a little smaller with more corners and bends to play with. There is only the occasional car to overtake, even though these are still travelling at very acceptable speeds. On top of one plateau the view opens out across a range of mountains, still showing their snow-covered caps even on the last day of May. I slow down to take in the scene. There is a cliché, “breathtaking views”, I chuckle to myself as I notice I have just gasped in awe. I cannot find the words to describe the scene to even myself, endless, vast, awesome, magnificent and grandiose don’t capture what I see and how I feel.

Dalwhinnie rolls into view as nothing more than another hamlet that would not even be an estate let alone on the map back in Manchester. It does offer a place to refresh so we stop outside a hotel. It is the “Inn at Loch Ericht”. Inside it is a most strange place, modern architecture and furniture mixed with traditional colours and styles. I actually like it, a lot. We sit on 2 big comfy leather settees and drink tea which I find very relaxing. We have only travelled 40 miles so far and the signs are telling us Perth is only 50 miles or so away, perhaps we should venture further. We consult our maps and after some discussion we settle on St Andrews.

Outside I strike up a conversation with another foreign biker. This guy is from Spain, has come up through France then England, has been over the Applecross road and is now on his way to Heysham for the ferry and the TT races. I am most impressed, he’s a real traveller, not like us with our 150 miles a day and stops every hour or less. He needs to be in Heysham in 5 hours, he’s got some motoring to do I reckon. As we get back on the bike I feel a bit pathetic, Scotland, the big adventure for the guy from Bolton, is just a place to pass through for the guy from Spain. Oh well, I never said I was a hero.

We are on the A9 now, a major road through Scotland. The traffic here is a little heavier but moving along smoothly enough. One surprise is the speed cameras, something I have not seen elsewhere north of the border. They are dotted here and there and tell you that you are back in the land of bigger towns and firmer regulations, not out in the wilderness any more. Perth comes into view and presents itself as a clean town and has the same feeling of space as Dumfries did. We stop to eat and refuel at a supermarket then visit a Honda shop on the way back onto the major roads. It’s a shiny shop with shiny bikes and shiny sales staff, not my kind of place at all really.

A short stretch of motorway and good signposting leads us quickly towards St Andrews. The A911 and A91 take us through another kind of scenery now. This land is much more arable, with crops and cattle in rolling fields and slightly lager villages closer together than the highlands. This reminds me more of Cornwall or The South Downs as opposed to the emptiness and vastness of the western mountains.

St Andrews is definitely all about golf. The town is quite quaint with a high street full of modern shops in old buildings, odd fortifications and cobbled areas. Every turn, sign, shop and hotel seems to have some connection with golf. Everyone is claiming to be the place to be for golfers, offering the best golf or the pinnacle of golfing excellence. Amongst all these references we get a little lost and end up back out of town. Some map reading and lucky guesswork leads us to the Craigtoun Meadows Caravan and Camping Park. We are somewhat abruptly relieved of £16 for a pitch, but it seems worthwhile as this place boasts a shop, restaurant and excellent facilities.

We settled on St Andrews because of what this site has to offer. Our ongoing frustration so far has been that campsites are out of town. This is good to avoid noisy streets and see some beautiful views, but it does mean not being able to settle too early as the procurement of food and entertainment requires a trip back into town. Here we can get food and relax in the restaurant in the evening, then walk back to the tent nice and easy. After pitching we visit the shower block. This is indeed impressive, clean showers, private baths in their own rooms, toilet cubicles with sinks inside them and even hairdryers on the walls!

The toilet block at Craigtoun Meadows.jpg.
The toilet block Craigtoun Meadows.

After we both have a long wallows in deep piping hot baths we meet back at the tent. Outside the tent each pitch has a bench, a handy place to make another brew and sit for a chat before going over to the restaurant. And so we walk over to the restaurant. It all seems very quiet…closed in fact. The sign on the door says it is closed all day Wednesday, the remaining opening times are for short periods only! DAMN IT! Ok, there’s always the shop, we can get a snack or something. Well, yes, but the shop is only open in the mornings and sometimes in the afternoon if they can be bothered, and only for short hours. We walk away.

It seems we are the unwilling victims of a sales pitch. Were we being to presumptuous when we assumed a restaurant would be open in the evening? Were we expecting too much to have a shop that opens for more than a few hours each day? No, we don’t think so, we think these facilities are provided to gain extra AA points and entice visitors such as ourselves to the site. Perhaps we are supposed to be so impressed with the toilets that we casually overlook the other facilities being only “occasionally” available. We had planned to stop here 2 nights, but this is looking very unlikely.

So it is we end up back on the bike and heading back into St Andrews. St Andrews does not seem to offer anything suitable for our mood tonight, so I find a road out of town in search of a country pub to offer sustenance and a warm welcome. None are forthcoming and soon enough we are in the small coastal town of Anstruther. We park on the harbour and purchase yet another chip shop meal. It is good but my beefburger is battered and deep fried. It tastes great but what is this Scottish thing about battering everything then cooking it. I’ve heard rumours that you can buy battered and fried Mars bars and even ICE CREAM in Glasgow! God only knows how that works, and I’m not riding round Glasgow in search of these places to find out.

Anstruther Bay. Don't let the fading light deceive you, the weather has been great.

Anstruther is worth a walk around as the sun starts to set. It’s a nice enough place but we soon leave and head back along the coast road and back to the campsite. Along this road we are joined by a Tesco delivery van. He must be from the west coast, he is driving quite fast in the “lets get on with it” manner, I do hope there are no fizzy pop or champagne bottles being delivered! We crawl into bed again and settle for another night.