Highlands in my heart
There are places that are not in fashion and never will be and nothing happens either; if fashions are what they are, "Fashion is the last stage before bad taste", he said karl lagerfeld , and what reason is the one in Hamburg , right?
Well, that, while the instagram planet has taken the streets and coves of Finland, Indonesia, Lisbon or Halong Bay , our Scotland and her mob remain oblivious to the hashtag run run . Farewell to the Highlands, Farewell to the North.
The route starts in Edinburgh , on the banks of the estuary of Forth and with the healthy intention of driving with no other commitment than time: Actually, it's the only true compromise..
But to what we are going, it is not my thing to give the embers with advice (“I will tell you one thing: do not give anyone your best advice again, because they will not follow it”, Jack Nicholson ) but one of the book here is to rent a car, have no fear of British driving and getting lost, that is to say, through the beautiful roads that draw this proud and thorough country ; get lost and found through their mountains, lakes, castles, chimneys, moose and gardens.
Highlands are its secondary roads where driving is still a pleasure, a range of colors hurts from so much beauty (ochre, brown, earth, yellow, moss, burgundy, orange, forest green and vermilion red) and a unique way of understand the soil between respect for memory and looking at the present: what envy, that knowing how to look at the past without fear of what will come.
It is perceived in each distillery , in each showcase and in each pitlochry coffee shop , beautiful corner that we choose as a trench and base of operations for this crusade that is, so many times, life without haste; That's why it's hard not to fall in love with Pitlochry and its autumn landscapes , impossible not to fall in love with his butter cookies, hot soups, tweets, tartans and merino wool ; civilization was this but I spend my days glued to my mobile, what the hell am I doing?
Edradour, 'the smallest traditional distillery in Scotland'
And the whiskey. I drink whiskey because only in a glass (how beautiful are whiskey glasses, so emphatic and so true) nuances, smells, taste, emotion and memory ; "Uisge Beatha", the water of life that reconciles us with time and dialogue.
From this bastion of truth, specifically from the Claymore Hotel, we travel to the distilleries of Dalwhinnie, Glengoyne and especially ** Edradour **, ‘the smallest traditional distillery in Scotland’ —a cathedral, since 1825, dedicated to slow work and a traditional way of doing things; an adult beverage for adult drinkers. Probably the last craft whiskey from Scotland.
We return to the heart of the Highlands, to the blair castle in perthshire , the magic of Enchanted Forest and the majestic cocktail bar of ** Fonab Castle in front of the Tummel River** where James Payne and his Chesters crimson wrap us in burgundy arms, the Cote Rotie , the sherry frame and the stills of single malt whiskey . The hours stop; time crosses the afternoon and the urgent snuggles up to the side of the important. Everything smells of wood, lavender and eternity.
It was true: a piece of the heart stays forever in Highlands.