With mild amazement, we look closer at the hotel’s interior. Is this a real hunting hotel? Even the lamp at the reception desk is made of deer antlers.

Taking the steam train to Boat of Garten, a town down the road. Steady conductor and conductress. Conductress rudely throws the door, for which a fellow passenger apologizes to us: she always does.

Walk on the path along the railroad tracks back to the village. Mile or 10 on a beaten track. Cappuccino in the village at The Coffee Pot.

After lunch, we go to Loch Morlich. Across the lake, we can see the snow on the peaks of the Cairngorms.

We go back to the hotel to plan tomorrow’s trip. Again, there are many more things to do than we have time for. Six months is still not enough. Choices…

In the hotel pub, soccer dominates. It’s Sunday, and there is a table full of Guinness. One of the screens has a dominant blue tinge, but apparently, that doesn’t matter.
Tartan on the walls.

Frankie goes to Hollywood in the restaurant When Two Tribes Go To War.

Spotless blue skies in Aberfeldy while the Netherlands is flooding.

We drive to Pitlochry. We walk to the dam, along which a salmon ladder is built. Fly fishers stand in wading suits in the water. The jumping salmon on their way to the dam do not let themselves be caught. At the salmon ladder is a display with a counter: 569 salmon have already climbed the ladder this year.

We walk to the city center. Pitlochry turns out to be a tourist village with a luxury market. Got lunch stuff at the Coop.

On our way to Balmoral, we pass the King and Queen’s Scottish castle. The route through Cairngorms is beautiful. We ate sandwiches at Devil’s Elbow, which has a pretty name and a nice view over the valley.

It starts to rain, no pour, no, it pours from the sky. In the parking lot at Balmoral, we sit in the car watching the weather report. Soaking wet tourists pass by. We decide not to and drive off.

We drive into the hills. To the left of the road, a small river thunders down the slope at tremendous speed. Further on, the water washes over the road. The water is getting higher. Oncoming travelers tell us it is better to turn around. The water is even higher where they came from.

We pass Balmoral again. It has now become drier so we decide to give the castle a second chance.

We take a nice walk around the grounds and look at watercolors by Prince C (Charles’ signature: “C”; what does that say?). Review: cool little works, distant.

With a detour, we drive back into the Cairngorms over an even more beautiful road. At Corgarff Viewpoint, a camper stands on the deserted slopes. A man hangs on his bed, the camper’s doors wide open, facetiming with home, showing them the magnificent view.

Balmoral Castle.

Camera status: I left the battery out all night, but still, some buttons don’t work. This raises more doubt. Did I actually bring my battery charger (it should be in the back of the car)?

Not a single European employee works in the service and kitchen on this boat. And we are all so against immigration. The ship employs almost only Asians, Thai, and Filipinos. White people are served by non-white people.

I shoot into review mode: I think 10 euros is a lot for 1 MB of data via satellite. The alternative is bad ferry wifi for 5 euros an hour. Is this 2024? Or am I really that spoiled?

We go along the coast towards Aberfeldy, up to Edinburgh. We pass Edinburgh along the highway and leave it behind. This time, the only significant city we’ll visit on the trip is Glasgow.

Idea: a week, month, year, total frugal life. Minimal food, no alcohol, greasiness, other blandness.
What will you miss?

I should throw those work-related apps off my phone.

I am read Kevin Kelly‘s Advice.

My photo camera (Sony A7Rii) is broken: several buttons no longer respond. That’s nice. We haven’t sailed a meter yet. F10 or P is all I can still choose. The pictures look okay; I’ll check everything later.

In the Columbus Lounge one plays, what do you want, lounge music. We drink a beer with our legs on the windowsill. The ship doesn’t seem too full.

Slowly, clouds from the sea penetrate the land, covering the harbor in a light fog. A little later, it begins to rain.

Someone enters the toilet. Burping loudly. Lets out a thunderous fart. I turn to wash my hands. A man is peeing with his member in one hand, and with the other hand, he is scrolling through his phone, which he holds close to his face.

I notice this conversation next to me (in Dutch): “Links is woke en half Nederland stemt PVV. Dat vind ik zo slecht. Dat is echt dom. Dat is echt dom wat links heeft gedaan, zij moet echt die arbeiders erbij pakken, die lage inkomens. Links weet gewoon niet hoe ze campagne moeten voeren. Arme mensen zouden links moeten stemmen maar die stemmen allemaal PVV, dat is toch dom?”

(Straightforward translation: “The left is woke and half the Netherlands is voting PVV. I think that’s so bad. That’s really stupid. That’s really stupid what the left has done, they really need to get those workers involved, those low incomes. The left just doesn’t know how to campaign. Poor people should vote left but they all vote PVV, that’s stupid, isn’t it?”)

Flora on the ferry to Newcastle.