The landscape started to change soon after crossing the bridge over the Firth of Forth. Speaking of the bridge, it’s a mighty great suspension bridge, magnificent, but without the romance of the cantilevered Forth rail bridge that runs beside it.
By the time we’d entered Perthshire, the mountains were in sight- in the distance, covered in snow. I’ll tell you more about them in a minute.
On the highway just outside Pitlochry, and just before Blair Atholl, sits a department store. The House of Bruer. Located at the base of the Bruer Falls, it’s in the middle of flipping nowhere. Literally. We’d been told that it’s a little like the Harrods of the North…so we stopped.
Inside was everything you’d need to be a well-dressed country lady. Tweeds as far as the eye could see- tweed skirts, jackets, vests etc- in a multitude of different colours. Speaking of colours, the stock was all colour coordinated- wool pullovers stacked in neat piles of graduating shades of blue, or green, or purple…just in case you’re not sure what goes with what.
Around the corner was a huge fireplace with big leather lounges. In those lounges sat me of a certain age reading newspapers while their wives shopped. It was one of the funniest sights I’d seen in ages.
We spent ages in the food halls. Plural. Salivating.
We ended up buying some cheese, pate and oatcakes for later, and some pies to eat for now. Which we did. Here.
Back on the road the mountains got closer. Then we were in them, then my camera was out madly snapping through the windscreen.
Known as The Cairngorms, the road through reminded me a little of Lindis Pass in New Zealand- but just a little.
I won’t bore you with any more words on these- the pics say it all. Oh, apologies for the clarity- these (with the exception of the last three) were taken from out of the car window.
We’re staying in a cottage on a sheep farm between Inverness and Nairn for the next few nights. I intend hurting whisky and monsters.