Driving from Glasgow to the Scottish Isle of Islay and into London and back around, this traveller saw some wonderful sights–all the while remembering to stay on the right(i.e., left)side of the road

It was a dark and stormy night —well it was dark anyhow, since our plane was delayed by a few hours. . . . This past May, my wife, Mary Lou, and I took the first flight from Hamilton(what a pleasure compared with the chaos in Toronto) to Glasgow with the newly operating discount Scottish airline, Flyglobespan. For many reasons, we planned a two-week, tightly scheduled, drive-yourself trip in the United Kingdom.

The Kintra Farm bed and breakfast on the Ilse of Islay is an old farmhouse with antique furnishings, great breakfasts—and only the writers and his wife as guests.

A long time ago, when we were very young and I was a postdoctoral fellow in chemistry, we were married. Within 24 hours, we moved to England where we lived in Reading for a year.

On our recent trip, we wanted to see our old neighbourhood in Reading, plus rush into London, visit some relatives near Salisbury, and most importantly, drive(there is a ferry)to the Isle of Islay. Islay is located off the west coast of Scotland and is world famous for its seven single-malt whisky(there is no “e” in “whisky” in Scotland)distilleries. Some of Mary Lou’s McTaggart ancestors came from Islay in the 1800s during the terrible times of poverty and starvation.

Nothing ever goes exactly as anticipated. Because I have replaced hips, I set off the metal alarms at airport security and then, despite having to remove a great deal of “suspicious” clothing, was subjected to a “pat-down” in the middle of the departure area(entertainment for the first transatlantic Hamilton passengers). Flyglobespan(cheap and late)was using an Air Iceland plane and crew. The “direct” flight to Glasgow stopped at Gatwick, where a Scottish training crew got on board. We couldn’t leave the plane and the multiple waits with no more food and only a glass of water for sustenance had passengers in a rebellious mood. We were so late in reaching Glasgow, we had jumped ahead almost a full day—apparently somewhat of a cure for jet lag. Mid-flight, I was asked to attend to a fellow suffering from nausea and diaphoresis. His problems did not seem cardiac in nature, so I didn’t need the contents of the Air Iceland emergency kit, containing enough various drugs to supply a small hospital. Since I was in the only malfunctioning(non-reclining) seat in the plane, the experience was a welcome diversion. We were upgraded to much more comfortable first-class seats when we flew home.

Internet blessing and curse

A proud highland cow in Islay island.

The Internet is a travel blessing and a bit of a curse. Online, I had booked accommodation for our entire two-week trip—fine, except you have to keep exactly to the itinerary planned. In our “round-trip” from Scotland to England and back, I drove 1,500 miles(yes miles, and on the wrong side of the road)with my wife navigating, using the superb downloaded trip maps on the U.K. automobile association site. If you plan to buy gas, eat or go to the bathroom, you have to add about 30% or 40% to the AA driving time estimates. You can’t drive all day and look for accommodation at dusk, the way we did years ago. Britain is so popular now that B&Bs are booked up months in advance. We booked ferry tickets and London travel/sightseeing passes well ahead of time.

I should have known that although I booked a car rental online, I should have done it on the Canadian website. There is a curious quirk in car rental. If you book from Canada on Mastercard, you can call Mastercard before leaving, and for about $30 a year, acquire a clause that means you don’t have to put down an enormous “potential excess damage deposit” when you pick up your car. Since I booked on the U.K. site, I was told when I picked up the car that the clause couldn’t be used. Although I drove a standard years ago, I found our Peugeot 307 automatic much less stressful—with many roads about a half-car wide and up or down a 45° angle.

Gas was £1.05 a litre or about $2.50 a litre. Motorways were fast and had frequent elaborate service centres—one even had a casino.

After leaving Glasgow and re-learning the eccentricities of left-side driving, roundabouts and narrow unpredictable roads, we were glad to reach and spend one night in Tarbert, close to the 7 a.m. ferry to Islay. On the ocean, Tarbert has been a fishing village for centuries and still has a curious, currently unused “shell beach,” deeply layered in shells dropped off by boats over many years. The early morning ferry ride to Islay was smooth and two hours long.

Whisky tasting at Ardbeg

Views like this have attracted countless tourists to the British Isles.

Islay was wonderful. We had good weather, spent very little time in the distilleries after one mandatory tour and whisky-tasting at Ardbeg. We stayed at Kintra Farm B&B: a huge old house with antique furnishings, great breakfasts, hundreds of sheep, miles of beach—and nobody there but us! Lambing occupied the farmer from dawn to dusk—we never saw him. His wife was at a choir festival in Canada. Someone dropped into the house for a couple of hours a day to make our breakfast and tidy up. Otherwise, we were the only inhabitants of the manor.

We drove the entire Islay road system in two days, making it to Lower Killean where my wife’s ancestors lived. It’s also the site of the experimental wave-action power generator called the Limpet(better appreciated on the Internet than in person)and the round church(reputedly built so the devil wouldn’t find a corner to hide in)at Bowmore, Finlaggan—site of Scottish rule in the 1200s and the lovely intact Celtic cross at Kildalton.

Travelling back to Kennacraig ferry terminal(just north of Campbelltown on the Mull of Kintyre, where Paul McCartney has a home), following a scenic drive back past Loch Lomond and then speeding down the M6, we reached Reading. We visited our old neighbourhood, which was somewhat changed, but a few old haunts such as the laundrette and the fish and chip store were still there. At the university, a couple of old semi-retired chemistry profs vaguely remembered me.

Reading is an ideal spot to stay, with or without a car. Accommodation is vastly cheaper than London and a frequent high-speed train takes you to Paddington Station in 30 minutes. Day passes for the underground make city sightseeing easy. The Tate Modern Art Gallery(all galleries are free in Britain)kept us out of the rain until our pre-booked British Airways “flight” on the London Eye, which is a gigantic slow-moving(non-scary)wheel that lifts pods of visitors high above central London and affords spectacular views.

From Reading, we drove to the Salisbury area, briefly met some distant relatives, then moved on to Woodhenge and Durrington Walls(archeological sites of important recent excavations)near Stonehenge. Years ago we could walk among the stones at Stonehenge. Now we didn’t bother to return; you can’t get close because of the crowds and the barbed wire. In Wales, we stopped at Hay-on-Wye to see the many bookstores, then to Arthur’s Stone, a Neolithic burial chamber hidden down a virtually non-existent road in the Golden Valley.

A long weary drive back to Glasgow left us ready for one last day of sightseeing (the Burrell Collection, the House for an Art Lover and the city centre), then our return flight to Hamilton. Oddly enough, I was asked again to attend to a nauseated, diaphoretic passenger. By the way—whisky is much cheaper at Duty Free in the airport, than it is at the actual distilleries.

Islay was the “jewel” in the ring we followed around Britain.

Robert Dickson is a semi-retired GP in Hamilton.