Travelling Hopefully by Train

 Having exhausted the amusement value of Edinburgh or possibly vice versa I turned my face towards the heart of the Highlands. That’s right I was going to Inverness. The name Inverness comes from the Gaelic words Inver (phony) and Ness (sea monster). The city has served as the de facto capital of the Highlands ever since the Highlands was deemed to need such a thing. 

I arrived at Edinburgh’s Waverley station in plenty of time which gave me the opportunity to sit around for quite some time and wait for ScotRail to catch up with me. I’m not sure it ever did really. Still there was an electronic indicator board which displayed my train and proudly announced that it was on time. What it didn’t mention was the platform that the on time train would depart from. This became more and more of an issue as the time for said departure inexorably approached. With a mounting sense of panic I stared at the indicator board willing further information to present itself. In fact I was concentrating so hard on the indicator board that I almost missed the attendant bellowing out the platform currently occupied by my train. Fortunately it was directly in front of me.

I had bought a first class ticket but due to some inadequate signage wound up in economy instead. By the time I realised my error I was surrounded by people with more people beyond and fighting my way out would have required a troop of Cossacks at my back or, preferably, front. The view out the window was the same, I presume.

The view out the window changed rapidly from the outskirts of Edinburgh to fields and finally to more Highlands related terrain. The ground got lumpier, the horizon got closer and there were trees and gorse and stuff. Why I don’t have a job travel writing I don’t know.

I kept an eye out for deer. What I saw were cows, sheep and the occasional unenthusiastic attempt at agriculture. Despite the slight chaos surrounding its departure the train slid into Inverness bang on time.

Inverness as a destination didn’t particularly interest me but it was the starting point of my tour of the Orkneys. I was due to meet my tour group at the train station the next day. In deference to this  fact I had booked a hotel largely for its proximity to the station. The Royal Highland Hotel was literally a one minute walk from the station. I entered and was immediately entranced by its elegant old world style. I congratulated myself on an excellent choice. I think you can guess what’s coming next.

I announced myself to the receptionist and told her I was staying there that night. “No you’re not,” she replied. Apparently some of the rooms had not proved as rainproof as one would normally expect in a hotel and as a consequence I would not be staying there that night. They had graciously booked me into another hotel down the road. Apparently I should look for a big sign that said B&Bs. I obediently did so and found my place of repose. It was just past the tattoo parlour and the piercing shop a couple of doors along from the gentleman’s club and across the road from the Travelodge. Still it could have been worse, at least it wasn’t in the Travelodge.