THE COWAL PENINSULA, WEST COAST, SCOTLAND
Delicious Wine, Tasty Tapas, Stunning Scenery and Wonderful Weather
And I’m saving the best bit for last
First-time visitors to Scotland always remark, “It’s so green.”
Yes. It’s green. Because it rains here. Westerlies bring warm, moist air from the North Atlantic Ocean. Perfect for forming clouds — which means more rain. And I was on my way to the greenest part of all.
Patience is a must-have companion on any journey to the west coast of Scotland. Streams of oncoming traffic. Winding roads, broody mountain passes.
The needle hovered at 40 as I followed a caravan of campervans. On a dreich day like this, one questions why anyone would want to sit in a box on wheels on a sodden patch of grass next to a shivering, blustery loch.
Yet, I’m captured. Content. And anticipant of the evening to come.
Funereal skies threatened the next downpour. Dense clouds shroud all but the lower valley, but its blanket cannot hide the rugged, potent beauty.
I arrive at Dunoon mid-afternoon.
I’m staying with friends. The kind I’m genuinely excited to see. I want to know everything that has been going on in their life all at once. We settle into a smiling, gabbling exchange. It’s been nine months. Too long.
Two hours zip by and we scramble to get changed. They are taking me to a wine tasting. Yes. It’s Scotland and contrary to our reputation, whisky is not on the menu tonight.
We take the public service bus around the coast to Blairmore. Blairmore is on the Cowal peninsula in Argyll & Bute. It’s a nine-mile detour around Holy Loch and an adventure.
Holy Loch’s name dates from the 6th century, when Saint Munn landed there after leaving Ireland. It is better known for its use as a British Royal Navy submarine base during World War II and later by the United States Navy.
These days, it only hosts The Waverley, the world’s last seagoing paddle steamer. Mondays afternoons, it decants eager passengers who make a beeline for the tiny Blairmore Gallery with its eclectic collection of arts & crafts.
Our driver makes a detour around town to drop off a passenger at his request like the bus is his personal Uber. Then he stops to chat, briefly, with friends. Blows kisses. Nobody minds.
We make several more stops. Collars, cufflinks, and purple frocks come on board. Older couples. Also on the way to our wine tasting. Hands pat shoulders, eyes crinkle, lips curl. Heads cock and sway.
The Blairmore takes its name from the village. It’s a small cafe opposite the Blairmore Pier, a family business run by mother and daughter.
I’m dutifully informed their Eggs Benedict is heavenly and their copious choice of home-baked cakes are the best in the known universe.
We sit by the window.
It’s cosy. Intimate. Friendly.
Our hosts pour our first snifter, a sparkling Blanc de Blancs. Methode Traditionnelle (like Champagne, but more affordable). It tickled my taste buds with apples and pears.
A jovial conviviality surfaces from the bubbles in our bellies. We are all smiles. Outside, the skies clear. A calmness descends on the loch. The best part of the day.
Our view is even more enchanting for viewing it through the bus shelter opposite. Voluntarily maintained by an American, ex-military, now a local of some years.
It’s pristine. His pride is my pride. This is a singularly striking little corner of Scotland.
We delve into the world of wine. Guided by Eva, our dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked sommelier of Italian descent. We encounter an amusing Languedoc Grenache Blanc. It leaves a distinctive tang on the tongue.
And the alcohol brings a liveliness to the ear. Accents and pronunciations. Best Scottish brogues attempt to articulate the name of a Portuguese white, Quinta de Chocapalha Arinta.
They introduced us to a rosé. Tom isn’t sure if rosés are a waste of a good white or a waste of a good red. Yet, this Rosé from Provence impressed him enough to order several bottles.
Perhaps it was the convivial atmosphere? Friends of my friends stopped by our table for chit chat and all was well in my world.
Our hosts presented us with an indulgent plate of food. Olives, cheeses, oak cakes, sourdough biscuits, stuffed peppers, chutney, garlic hummus, and charcuterie. Moorish and moreish.
We came to the Reds. An Italian Bardolino, the colour of Ribena, and just as juicy and fruity. And finished with a more robust South African blend from Stellenbosch.
With collars unstiffened, some guests decant from the cafe to the bus stop. Home time. Tom sat still, relaxed, and ordered us another bottle to share.
The bus arrived. The daughter grabbed a small package and ran across the road to deliver it to the driver — his supper. Everyone grins. Especially the man behind the wheel. We raise a toast with our replenished glasses.
Sated, we wander into the warm evening and I take more pictures. I’m taken by the colour of the sky above Blairmore Hall.
It’s serene, temperate, heartwarmingly beautiful.
The earlier tempest is forgotten.
I’m no longer curious as to why anyone would want to sit in a box on wheels in this idyllic part of my country. I’m more want to ask, why wouldn’t you?
