Dispatch from Edinburgh #2–Return to Mull & Iona

Posted on July 2, 2026 by JC Reilly

I know I said I was going to write about the Isle of Skye next, but my trip to the Isle of Mull and Iona is on my mind, so I’ll come back to Skye. (I will always come back to Skye—that place is amazing.)

For this trip, I took a train over to Glasgow to pick up the Rabbie’s tour which was leaving at 9. But my train was at 6, which meant I left my flat at 5 and walked to Waverly Station at a slow pace to accommodate my dumb foot. The 6 o’clock train was an “express” which meant it only made 5 stops, as opposed to later trains which would make more like 13 stops and would take up to an hour and a half to get to Glasgow. The last time I took a regular train to Glasgow we had a 30-minute delay, and I didn’t want to take the chance that might happen again. I made it with no trouble to Glasgow, though, walked to the bus station and, like John Lennon, “[waited] for the van to come.” Fortunately, I got to the bus station before it decided to rain like hell.

When our tour guide arrived, he was great fun from the get-go. He asked where people were from and did a find job of remembering everyone’s names. And then he said something which totally surprised me. He said, “I’m not going to say anything that JC Reilly doesn’t already know.” I said, “What?” He added, “She’s been on 50,000 Rabbie’s tours.” And then of course he continued the joke to say that I had also been to Vegas, and what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas. It got a good laugh from everyone, but I was mystified, because how could he have known that I’d been on so many Rabbie’s tours in the past? I was determined to figure out this mystery. (Turns out, he looks people’s Rabbie’s records up before a tour and saw I had been on a ton—so he thought he would yank my chain a little.)

We made our first “comfort break” at Luss, which is on Loch Lomond, and it’s a card-only payment to get into the bathroom. But the card-reader wasn’t working. So I thought I would use the baby-change/ handicapped bathroom, but as I was about to put in my 50p, the woman who came out gave a scathing review of the bathroom—there was something foul all over the floor (the toilet was leaking). She said, “It’s grim in there,” which was remarkably subdued for a Scot to describe something, and then she and I had a nice little blether right there in front of the bathroom. She said she thought I was Scottish but then picked up on my accent, and asked me about home. She wandered off to get someone to clean up, and I decided the smart thing I would do on a full bladder was buy a 2 liter bottle of seltzer water. Because that makes sense. But I did eventually use the bathroom and it was fine. And you might ask, why did I share this? It’s because talking with strangers would wind up being a theme for the weekend.

A landscape of a distant loch with mostly blue sky and some mountains

Loch Tulla

I’ve not mentioned this before, but the trip up North to the Highlands has two paths—either you go through Glen Coe (on the A82) or you go through the Cairngorms (on the A9), although it basically makes one big loop. After Loch Lomond, we drove up to a viewpoint at Loch Tulla, and then through Rannoch Moor, where we stopped to see Etive Mòr. Besides being the most photographed mountain in Scotland, as I mentioned in the previous blog, Etive Mòr has the distinction of being featured in Skyfall, the 2012 James Bond movie, and our guide, Nick, was very good with the tunage, because he played Adele’s song “Skyfall,” which I’d never heard before (because I live under a rock) and I liked it a lot (though it was a big repetitive)—very appropriately Bond-ish. I didn’t get out of the bus to take another picture, but I did enjoy seeing the mountain again.

Rannoch Moor

Then it was off to Glen Coe to see the Three Sisters. By this time, the rain had burned off, and the Three Sisters stood in their majestic sunny glory. What was unusual this time at the mountains was that a man in full kilt played the bagpipes—badly. Nick, walked past me and said in a low voice, “It’d be guid if he could fookin’ play the bagpipes right.” I had to smile—Nick was so vehement! The poor playing did not, however, despoil the beauty of the Three Sisters, and actually, even though the piper wasn’t so great, I thought it was nice that he was out there piping away. His collection plate was pretty bare—but that didn’t seem to stop him from doing his busking thing.

After I enjoyed (?) a plate of interesting Scottish nachos (fortunately haggis free) at the Glen Coe Visiting Center (sorry for no photo—I couldn’t find my phone, but the chips were like 1/2 inch triangles), we continued on our way, driving on the Ballachulish Bridge over the narrows of the saltwater Loch Linnhe (pron. linny) and Loch Leven, a bridge that I’ve been over before, but I hadn’t heard this story which I’m about to relate.

Loch Linnhe

Apparently, the residents of this area were very superstitious and never wanted a bridge, because it had been predicted that if a bridge was completed over the Loch, danger and heartbreak would befall the town. (Faeries might have been involved.) But with the closing of the Ballachulish ferry, people still needed to cross the water. So when the Cleveland Bridge & Engineering Company talked to the locals, they learned about this superstition, and honored it: when they built the bridge, they left the last bolt off, which meant the bridge was not complete, thus keeping the town safe.

We finally got to the ferry point; first, we took the 3-minute Corran ferry ride, then we drove a bit more to get to the second ferry, this one which dropped us off at Fishnish (?) on Mull. (It might have been the Lochalline-Fishnish ferry, but I’m iffy about the placenames.) Whatever ferry we sailed on, we got the chance to get out of the bus to sit in the lounge on the port side. It was raining so hard by this point that you could not even see the horizon—it was just a wall of water. But 20 minutes or so later, we were back on the bus and driving off the ferry to make the 17 mile trip to Tobermory where our accommodations were. Unfortunately, while my B&B was very nice, it was at least a 20-minute walk for a person with good feet down a steep, steep hill (meaning coming back up would be a nightmare) to get to the harbor at Tobermory, so I just decided I would do without dinner because I wasn’t going to be walking.

Another person on the tour staying at the B&B, Victoria, knocked on my door and asked me what my plans for dinner were, and I told her that with my foot, that I was just going to stay in for the night. She offered to get me something but I said thanks anyway, and she toddled off. But much later I heard a tiny knock on my door, and she had shown up with a sandwich and “crisps” for me. Her kindness floored me—and she wouldn’t take any money for her gift. I was so touched. And believe me, it was the best “British Pork and Mature Cheddar” sandwich (minus the pork) I’d ever eaten. After that, I slept.

At 8:40 the next morning, Nick picked us up and we went around Tobermory and gathered the other tour members. It was drizzly, although the sun peeked through here and there. Normally on this tour, we’d have taken a boat ride to the Isle of Staffa, and I was looking forward to going, because the last time I went, I didn’t feel well (and I neither climbed up the scary steps to get to the top of Staffa to see the puffins, nor did I risk the long but tiny path around the side of Staffa to explore Fingal’s cave). This time I had planned on being brave and trying to walk to the cave (even with the bad foot), but because of the unpredictable weather and choppiness of the sea, the voyage was canceled. Everyone on the tour was disappointed. But Nick planned for us to visit Duart Castle instead.

Southern view of Duart castle on a grassy lawn

Duart castle (south view)

Duart is, as castles go, a moderately-sized castle with some white-washed walls. It is the ancestral home of Clan MacLean (pron. Mac-layne) that dates from the 12^th century and it sits on the tip of a peninsula that juts out in the Sound of Mull. It was used as a home well into the 20^th century. The first room you enter is a small kitchen with a coal hob, used up until 1960. It’s hard to believe that a kitchen that small served a castle, and I read on one of the notes on the walls that by the time the food reached the dining room (which was another floor or two up), the food was often cold. (So you can imagine that water for baths would also have been cold!) Living in a castle, while the dream of every young girl (and old girl like me) could not have been particularly comfortable or cozy. But early castles were built for defense, not luxury, after all.

The ground floor also contains the dungeons and small jail cells that a person could barely sit in. But after you pass through the dark and dinge, you climb up the stairs into the Pantry and Sea Room, which was a later addition to the castle, allowing for a beautiful view of the Sound and Loch Linnhe. I sat there as the castle guide talked about the restorations of Duart Castle and looked north out into the Sound. At the very far edge you can see Ben Nevis, and somehow the guide was quite pleased that we could see Scotland’s tallest mountain, despite the clouds.

A glass case filled with silver soup tureens and pitchers at Duart Castle

Silver service at Duart Castle

The Sea Room leads into the Great Hall (which included the dining room) which impressed with its antiques and silver, although it was not overly large. There was a fire going in an iron stove and it smelled woodsy and wonderful, and helped chase the chill from the room. In cases were jewelry and weapons and on the pool table was a glass case full of silver tureens, pitchers, bowls, and other table settings. But my favorite thing was a large smoky quartz brooch that a person would wear on their cloak. They offered a replica of it in the gift shop, but it was a little out of my price range, especially because it wasn’t silver.

Brooch

Upstairs were the bedrooms/ staterooms for guests, as well as the bathroom that still had the toilet, tub, and sink from the 1912 renovation by Sir Fitzroy, the 26^th Chief. I didn’t go upstairs to see them—I watched a video—because to get there you’d have to climb a spiral staircase with a hand rope, and I didn’t think I could manage it. After visiting the Great Hall, I left the castle and went to stand at the battlements and look out over the water for a bit before going into the café for a cheese scone.

And then we were off to Iona. The CalMac ferry only took about 20 minutes to get there, and because we didn’t have a trip to Staffa in the offing, Nick gave us over 3 hours on the island. This visit I was determined to see the Abbey—the last time I was there (2023?), we’d only been given an hour for lunch on the island because we needed the rest of the time to get to Staffa, and so I didn’t get a chance to walk there. This time, I was going. It had grown cold and windy though, so the walk to the Abbey was bracing. I found a bench across from the hotel gardens and enjoyed the many dogs that walked by, but eventually after resting my foot, I continued the walk and got to the Abbey itself.

Iona Abbey

Iona Abbey is smallish, but appropriately sized for being the first Christian site in Scotland. Apparently, how the aristocratic St. Columba chose its spot had to do with his wanting a place from which he could not view Ireland anymore (he had been chased out of that country over a plagiarism dispute around 560). Unfortunately, he chose a site on a dark, dreary day; when the sun came back out, he could see Ireland after all, but he chose not to move his community. The Abbey dates from around 1200, long after St. Columba’s time.

A view of a courtyard with arched entry ways in the foreground

Iona Abbey Cloisters

I walked around the cloister which faced a courtyard with a statue in it. On the walls were gravestones, but they were mostly unreadable. The cloister connected the monks’ cells with the church and offered a space for prayer and quietude. The gift shop was an offshoot of the cloister; you almost wouldn’t know it was there except that the door was open. I poked around inside, and then wandered into the Church and said some prayers for my family, and my kitties, and the world at large.

Stained glass window of St. Columba

Surprisingly, the cloisters felt holier than the church did to me. The church offered some beautiful arches and stonework, but not much more in the way of decoration. And that could be because it’s not a Catholic Church anymore—or because the church had been raided by Vikings and the Protestant Reformation. Or, because, being on a remote island for a small Christian flock, maybe decoration wasn’t a big priority. Anyway, it’s now the home of the Iona Community, an ecumenical church founded by George MacLeod in 1938, and made up of many religious denominations. This community sounds peaceful and good and believes in social justice matters. In fact, there was a table full of dishes of ribbons for which you could donate coins for such causes as Black Lives Matter, the environment, AIDS/HIV, and others. (I had bought a little monk bear in the gift shop and gave some spare change for an environmental ribbon, which I pinned to his robe.) As for the altar, it was pretty plain and the stained glass windows were small, but the church had a good vibe to it.

On the way back to the harbor, I stopped at the Larder to get some lunch and ate my cheese sandwich, crisps, and Coke Zero on a bench in front of the store. A woman and her husband sat down beside me and we began a very interesting conversation about their visit to Iona. Apparently they are Scottish but have been living mostly in the United States for the last 20 years, although they have a flat that belonged to her mother somewhere in Scotland. Where in the U.S. did they live? I asked, and was surprised when they said, “Oh, Durham, North Carolina.”

So we talked about Durham and about Charlotte and Atlanta too. I asked what they did with their flat outside of the 6 weeks that they stay there every year—did they AirBnB it? This got a laugh. It’s pretty difficult, they told me, to set up AirBnB’s—because of Scottish laws that allow people to stay beyond the time they’ve contracted to stay in a place. In other words, they don’t have to go, even if you want them to. I thought that was amazing and weird. But we had a good chat—it felt a little like I was home somehow, especially when we spoke of Charlotte and Atlanta. And it was nice not having to be embarrassed that I was American and to perform my embarrassment like I have been doing every time someone asks me where I’m from.

Iona Nunnery

I finished my lunch, and they were going to continue to the Abbey so we said our goodbyes. I stopped in a craft shop and then a Celtic jewelry store (Aosdàna) where I found delicate, silver handmade earrings. I loved the jewelry there—although most of it was crazy expensive (several hundred pounds). And I’ve been wanting to buy myself some jewelry from Scotland for years. So I splurged and bought a pair of earrings. They’re so delicate, though, I’m not sure I’ll ever wear them!

After passing through the Nunnery, I returned to the harbor where I found a bench to wait out the time before our ferry would return. And this man comes up to me and says,

“Are you someone important?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You look very important. Like you know things.”

“I’m not that important, but I am a published poet.”

“Really? Have I read anything you’ve written?”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh.”

He seemed truly disappointed that I didn’t turn out to be a VIP—although, I doubt I looked like a VIP, windblown with my raincoat and beanie on. He said goodbye and turned away, and I thought, I’ve missed an opportunity to brag on myself. And then I remembered, I’m no braggart, and nobody cares about poetry anyway. So no big deal. And then, one of the ladies on the tour sat down next to me and offered me the most delicious strawberries I’d ever eaten. So sweet and so red they make the strawberries we get back home look like anemic little ghosts. And just as suddenly, it started to rain and she hurried off.

But by then the ferry had arrived and we all shuffled back on to Mull. I haven’t had a chance to say that here is true beauty to be found in the Isle of Mull—I know the name is rather dull (ha! dull Mull!), but if it’s possible, Mull is even greener than the Highlands, and the mountains seem steeper and more mysterious. Driving around Mull, you tend to see a lot of red deer (as well as sheep and cows) just running along the hills; I think Nick said there’s some phenomenal number, maybe 6,000, that live on the island. (We only saw a few, and one of them, sadly, was dead by the side of the road.) But with the rain and dark clouds, the island was moody and bleak and lovely. I kept thinking how much I would like to live here.

This time, when we drove back into Tobermory, Nick said he’d give us all 30 minutes if we wanted to find something to eat and then he’d drive us to our B&B’s. This was a godsend, because by then it was raining like hell and there was no way I was going to walk into town from the B&B for dinner. But since we were there, I went to Hook’d and got a beautiful piece of haddock and chips, and ate that in the B&B and went to bed early.

The CalMac ferry to Mull on a backdrop of Mull's mountains

CalMac Ferry to Oban

The next day, we took the ferry from Craignure to Oban. Right as I left the ferry terminal, I smelled the most delicious garlic buttered seafood at a harbor kiosk but didn’t have enough cash to get some scallops for lunch—a true pity. I suspect everything they were selling came fresh from the sea that morning. I decided to skip touring Oban, even though I wanted to check out the Oban distillery for a dram, because of the dreaded foot. So I hung out in a Costa coffee shop and read a book until Nick retrieved us. The ride back to Glasgow seemed long. We made a few too many stops for my liking, one at the Nether Largie Standing Stones (in Kilmartin), one in Inverary, one in Glen Crowe at the Rest and Be Thankful viewpoint, and one at Loch Lomond again (just a potty break). I didn’t get back to my flat in Edinburgh till almost 9 p.m. And I pretty much fell into bed after a shower.

I recommend Mull and Iona—and Staffa, if the weather permits—because seeing these places is somehow holy and remarkable. And if you want a good book that talks about these places, I really recommend Madeleine Bunting’s Love of Country; it’s replete with details about the history of the Hebrides. And it’s wonderful.

Pennygown graveyard

Old ruins of Pennygown church

A picture of Pennygown graveyard through tall grasses

Pennygown graveyard, Mull

Duart Castle

Inner courtyard of Duart Castle

A view of the Sound of Mull, with grass in the foreground and clouds in the back

Sound of Mull (from the Duart battlements)

The Sea Room

A long view of the Great Hall, with antiques and paintings.

View of the Great Hall from the entrance

A piano in the Great Hall of Duart Castle, right as you go in

Piano at the entrance of the Great Hall

Portraits of Lady MacLean and Col. Fitzroy MacLean

Ten small, fancy daggers in their sheaths in a glass case in Duart Castle

Daggers in the weapons case at Duart Castle

Another view of the Great Hall from the opposite view. In the foreground is the dining table and a chair.

Great Hall looking north toward the entrance

A view of herb gardens with the Sound of Mull in the background

Hotel gardens on Iona

St. Oran’s Chapel at Iona Abbey

View of the Sound of Mull

MacLean’s Cross

A view of the cloisters, with light coming through the arches on the left side of the photo

Another view of the Cloisters at Iona Abbey

A large statute that looks something like a closed flower with a dove sitting on it.

Cloisters statue

A long view of the inside of the church, featuring wooden chairs in the foreground an a large stone arch in the back.

Inside the Iona Abbey church

A detail from the cloisters of a man's head about to drink from Jesus's cup.

Detail of the Cloisters

The Iona Abbey great stone arch over the altar space.

The Arch above the altar space

Statue of St. Columba beneath an arch at Iona Abbey

An altar statue at Iona Abbey church

Sepulchre of St. Columba

An altar at Iona Abbey, with ivy growing on the walls

The altar at Iona Abbey

A big house with lush gardens in the foreground. It is George MacLeod's summer home, near the Abbey

George MacLeod’s summer home, Dunsmeorach, near the Abbey

A stone burial crypt of the Duke and Duchess of Argyll

Duke and Duchess of Argyll’s crypt at Iona Abbey

Another view of the ruins of the Iona Nunnery

Iona Nunnery wall

On a leafy background a fat little bird stands on a branch

This chubby guy was singing his heart out in Iona harbor.

Ruins of the Iona nunnery

A sunny mountain view from the Craignure ferry depot

A tall, white lighthouse on the Sound of Mull

Lighthouse on the ferry ride from Craignure to Oban

A statue lying down near the altar at the Iona Abbey

A statue near the altar at the Iona Abbey

A large standing stone from the Kilmartin cairns

A standing stone at the Nether Largie standing stones

Sheepies running free

A flock of sheep behind standing stones at Kilmartin cairns

Nether Largie standing stones

A large fishing trawler docked a Loch Fyne, called The Vital Spark

Fishing trawler at Inverary, on Loch Fyne

Loch Fyne

Another lying-down statue at the altar at Iona Abbey

Another statue at the altar of Iona Abbey

View of Glen Crowe, known as the Rest and Be Thankful viewpoint

A sunny day in the churchyard at Kilmarten

Churchyard at Kilmartin

A tall, thin stone church next to some grave stones

Kilmartin Church (for sale)

Last stop of the weekend… not that we went on the cruise

Another Nether Largie standing stone

Another view of the inside of the Iona Abbey church, looking towards the altar

Another view of the altar

Me, freezing my face off on the ferry to Oban

The Isles of Mull, Iona, and Staffa

Posted on July 11, 2023 by JC Reilly

A long day lay ahead of me on the weekend I decided to go see the Islands of Mull and Iona. For one thing, the tour left from Glasgow, so I had to take an impossibly early train, which meant I’d have to leave even earlier to walk the mile to the train station. And when I got there, the ticket machine couldn’t locate my e-ticket, and the ticket counter was dark and closed. So I wound up having to pay for another ticket, which really ticked me off. But in for a penny, in for a pound (£27 to be exact). I needed to make the 6:07 train so that I could get into Glasgow on time; the bus was leaving at 8:30. Despite the drama with the tickets, the train ride itself was uneventful, and I arrived in Glasgow at 7:30. I walked (in the rain) to Buchanan Bus Station, and waited for my tour bus to arrive.

When the bus showed up, and I saw the driver was Stewart, I was delighted. Stewart, you may recall, was the driver for my Speyside Whisky tour I took last year, the one where there were only 5 of us on the tour. There were a few more people on this tour (ten), but Stewart remembered me and seemed as happy to see me as I was to see him. I was suitably complimentary about his tour guiding to the other people on the bus, and I think that eased everyone’s anxiety. We knew we were in for a good time.

Loch Lomond in the rain

Because the Hebrides are islands off the coast of the Highlands, the first day of driving was mostly stopping to visit Highlands-related sights. But I did like the way Glasgow looked as we drove through it (industrial, shiny, and large) to get to Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park, our first (rainy) stop. It was really just a bathroom/coffee break, but Loch Lomond gleamed in the rain. I sheltered under a ledge at the coffee shop, and discovered a nest of five baby birds, maybe magpies, though I’m no birder. They seemed hungry, and a parental bird flew to the eaves on the other side of the coffee shop, but these little babies were left alone, tweeting their displeasure.

Birbs!!!

Stewart and I chatted about whiskies and places I’d visited since I’d gotten back to Scotland while we waited for the other passengers to get their caffeine. He was interested to hear when I had arrived, and whether I was teaching Scottish literature again (which I am). And he asked if I’d be coming back next year. “I hope so,” I told him, imagining for a moment the Scottish books I would teach. But then the moment was over, and we all hustled back on the bus.

We stopped a number of places, including Glencoe and the Three Sisters, which never get old to me. Especially in the rain, the Highlands reek of Scotlandness. Glencoe was suitably misty and broody, and The Three Sisters disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. I felt that wild call again, that primal spirit of place that Scotland holds for me, though I don’t know why. If any place (besides Louisiana or Venice) should capture me, you’d think it would be Ireland—being as I’m Irish, and yet, I don’t have a compelling desire to go there again. (I mean, I wouldn’t say no, if someone invited me to go with them—I’m not a lunatic!) Maybe the difference depends on my staying in Scotland as long as I have been—my affinity for the place has grown.

Achnambeithach

At the bottom of the glen, we stopped in Achnambeithach, a National Trust for Scotland heritage place. It’s really just a white cottage at the base of the ben (that’s Scottish for mountain!), and I’m not sure why it’s a heritage spot, but the views are spectacular. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s not the cottage that’s the historical site, maybe it’s the bridge…hmm. Anyway, you can look back up into the whole glen and be inundated with beauty. The rain had let up a little bit, and blue sky peeped through some of the heavy clouds, making the dull, rain-soaked green of the mountains flash veridian. The light gleamed off the loch, and the stream that fed it bubbled.

Returning to the road, we ate lunch at the Glencoe Visitor Center (I tried cock-a-lackie soup, which was not my favorite, not the least of which because it was a chicken soup, and I don’t eat chicken), then drove through more mountains until we got to our first ferry stop of the trip, the Lochaline Ferry Terminal which would bring us to Mull. The trip over the Sound of Mull to Fishnish took maybe 20 minutes, and Stewart encouraged us to get out of the bus if we wanted to, although it was raining and between rain and sea spray, I’d just as soon stay inside, cozy and dry. But others got out and apparently gawped at the many jellyfish in the water, which they were only too excited to talk about. For myself, I was eager to be going to an island less touristy than Skye had been two weeks before, and couldn’t wait to see what Mull would offer.

Seals that look like rocks to me

And Mull delivered! First, we saw some seals—I’d say they were sunning themselves, but actually there was no sun to be found, so they were merely lazing on a little islet. We stopped to take pictures, but the distance made the seals somewhat indistinguishable from the rocks. We stopped again at the site of three old wrecks, apparently hired by some wealthy gent in the early 1900s to sail around the world but they never left Mull, just sat there in the water and decayed for 100 years. We stopped to look at some Heilan coos, and a scenic overlook at Lochan na Guailne Duibhe. Then we drove up to Tobermory, where we would all be staying for the night.

Tobermory

The wrecks

Tobermory is a lovely fishing village, where fresh fish is on the menu at all the local restaurants. The buildings are each painted different colors, like Portree on Skye, and I was staying at the very end of the harbor, in a little red cottage apartment that was ghastly expensive. (Because Rabbies claimed they couldn’t find me a place to stay—even though I booked the tour two months in advance—I had to find my own accommodation, and this was what was available.) It was clean, with a comfortable bed and wonderful black-out curtains. The downside of Otter Apartment (besides the fee) was the doorlock situation—which is to say, I couldn’t figure out how to lock the door when I left the building. But fortunately, no one felt inclined to enter the apartment while I was out.

I would have liked to have eaten at the Mishnish Restaurant (the yellow building in the photo above), first opened in 1869 and a Mull institution, but silly me, I hadn’t made reservations. (I am not used to making reservations at restaurants, but that seems to be a thing you do here in Scotland.) So after being turned away by a concierge with a pitying look, I got a few items at the local Co-op grocery instead, and made a passable dinner of mint-yogurt potato salad, Doritos, and a Coke Zero. Then I crawled into bed, read a little, and went to sleep.

Old stone bridge

Stewart picked me up a little before 9 the next morning, the last person on the bus before another day of touring. We drove along the single-lane roads of Mull, thousands of foxglove plants purpling the hillsides—so lovely, and so deadly, making a photo stop at an old stone bridge dating from the 1800s. All the burns and waterfalls collected in a river that ran beneath the bridge. When we arrived in Fionnphort we took another Ferry to the Isle of Iona, but this time Stewart stayed behind with the bus, because only inhabitants of Iona can have vehicles on the island.

A nunnery window

Nunnery walls

I ate lunch at the Argyll Hotel, whose dining room was decorated in pleasant seascape blue and gray—another nondescript cheese and chutney sandwich and a bowl of soup. But because I ate lunch instead of hot-footing it over to Iona Abbey (a poor choice, considering the quality of lunch), I didn’t get a chance to look at it, and I’m sorry about that, because it appeared lovely from the ferry, and it is a Christian pilgrimage site. Iona is where St. Columba established a monastery in the 6^th Century, when he came over from Ireland, and it’s the place from where Christianity spread in Scotland. Since I missed the Abbey, I went to the ruins of the Nunnery, took photos, and then called Mom to catch up with her. (She was fine.)

The big activity for the day was taking another ferry to the Isle of Staffa—really just a boatride in an old, dusty tub that took an hour. The Atlantic swells impressed me, tall as they were, but I was seated inside, so I didn’t feel them as much as others who were sitting at the back of the boat did. One guy mentioned to me that he loved the rolling so much, and the next time I looked at him, he was fast asleep. The ride was loud—the engines booming—but we saw some seals before we arrived at the Isle of Staffa, and it was beautiful.

Cliffside, Isle of Staffa

The rocks form natural steps (not that you’d take these steps, because you’d take your life into your hands) and long columns, almost as if someone chiseled the side of the island to look this way. The island name of Staffa is from the Norse meaning “pillar” which makes sense. What I didn’t know was that in order to see the puffins, which apparently settle here in the summer, I’d have to climb up this itty bitty, windy but very scary tall stairway to get to the top of the island, and all I could think was I’d get halfway up there and have a panic attack because I do not do heights well at all. So I stayed at the little boat launch and read or watched the tidal pools. The air was seafresh and salty and I saw some jellyfish congregating in the tidal pools. The wind was terrific, though (another reason I was scared to scale the wall), and so I pulled up my raincoat around me to keep the wind at bay. The other option was to go to Fingal’s Cave (which everyone said was amazing) but that also required walking on a very narrow step path right above the water, and I just imagined I would slip. (I had on my sneakers, but honestly, I am just clumsy, and I didn’t want to risk a fall.)

Fingal’s Cave

Our boat arrived after another hour, and I climbed onto a seat toward the back this time, where the Atlantic swells were huge. The ship bounced so much that sometimes it felt like I were on a rollercoaster, and the other passengers “whoooed” with every swell. But it was fun, and I saw several puffins flying in the air, so I didn’t feel too deprived about missing them on Staffa. They flew so quickly they just looked like stripes of orange and black.

By then it was late in the day, when we got back to Mull, and we drove up to Tobermory, but not until after we’d stopped again at the stone bridge, where a herd of Heilan coos were congregating in and by the river. With the sunlight hitting the water just so, the cows looked as if they had been painted there. But the smell was realistic enough: the path that took us to the cows was awash in cow paddies, so I was extremely careful where I stepped.

The nice weather of the day gave way to more rain, so when I got back to my apartment, I zipped out to a food truck for fish and chips, and slinked back, a little damper, with dinner.

The last day of the trip began early enough, and we had to make our way to yet another ferry, this one from Craignure to Oban, another rainy passage. Because the ferry had been overbooked the day before and was still backed up, Stewart couldn’t get our bus on the 11:00 ferry—he was shunted to th 2:00—but we went as passengers of the ferry. It was a huge ship, ginormous. I’m not sure I’ve ever been on a ship that big, with multiple decks, several coffee shops and a diner. I thought about getting something from the diner, but I didn’t really see anything I wanted (and I did not fancy another drab cheese and chutney sandwich), so I wandered the decks and got an iced latte in one of the coffee shops in the stern of the ship. Let’s be honest, this latte was basically a large glass of milk and a shot of espresso. And it was delicious. That’s the kind of latte I like—mostly milk! Once I added sugar to it, I was hard-pressed not to suck it down in two sips. (I’m mostly kidding.) After I’d finished, I decided to head out on deck (even though it was raining) and watch the water. I had hoped to see whales or dolphins, but I suspect they didn’t want to come out in the rain 😊. I enjoyed the air, wet as it was, and stayed outside till I grew cold.

Oban, with McCaig’s Tower (the Colosseum-looking structure) in the background

Oban, where we docked, was great. Yeah, it was raining like hell, but I really enjoyed what I saw of it. I walked the high street for quite a distance, and stopped into Oban distillery to see if I could take a distillery tour but the answer was no. (They only take 16 on a tour, and I was #17.) I ate at Nories Fish and Chips for lunch (established in the 1960s), and then wandered down toward the water where I found the Oban Chocolate Company. Its reasonable prices encouraged me to buy a small bag of truffles, and a bag of white and milk chocolate cats. I wandered some more and watched the harbor for a bit (hoping for dolphins, but alas), and got some icecream, then made my way to the other side of the harbor where I knew Stewart would pick us up. There was still an hour to go, but the rain was relentless, so I holed up in Costa Coffee, and waited out the rain.

When Stewart arrived, I said, “I went to Oban distillery, but they wouldn’t let me on the tour.”

Stewart said, “That’s no’ right. D’you go to the tastin’ bar and have a flight?”

“I would have,” I said, “if I’d known about it.”

He shook his head, as disappointed as I was.

(I’ve yet to try a dram of Oban whisky, but then I haven’t really stopped in any bars.)

Kilchurn Castle on Loch Awe

Pretty much after that, all that was left of my Mull and Iona tour was a stop at Inveraray (where I called Mom again), a stop at Kilchurn Castle ruins, and then the ride back into Glasgow, although we made a picture stop in Glen Croe, near Loch Lomond. At the base of the glen is an old military road, but we were on the “new” road at the side of the bens, where large metal nets ridge the mountains to catch boulders and falling objects.

As I was getting off the bus, Stewart told me that he hoped he’d see me next year, with my husband, on the Islay whisky tour, and I hope I can arrange that, because Stewart is a great tour guide, and even though I don’t like peated whiskies (which Islay is famous for), I’d be thrilled to get reintroduced to them with Stewart’s guidance. I’ll have to see if I can contact Rabbies next year to find out when he leads the tour, assuming that a) I teach in Scotland again, and b) I can arrange it. Even if I don’t think I’d enjoy the whisky, I’d enjoy seeing Stewart again. And if C could come with me, that would be even better. (Get your passport, C!!!)

More photos: