Beaten Tracks

 Imagine a shipping container, one of its sides made of glass, perched high on a cliff-edge overlooking the North Sea, with me inside enjoying a first-class brunch served by cheery young staff. It’s just a roadside café near North Berwick but its cheeky, innovative approach has made it a ‘destination’ venue and a beacon of hope for those of us seeking alternatives to the tourist trail tearooms offering tacky souvenirs and stodgy scones.

Driving through Scotland is at times an exhilarating experience, bowling along roads that wind through seemingly endless mountains and skirt all those vast, glittering lochs. Even the minor single-track roads have charm, though they challenge patience and skill. But when it comes to stopping for refreshments, the discerning motorist keeps an eye out for clues that might define the nature of the offer. The container café, for example, was signposted ‘Drift’, a name that holds more allure than, say, ‘The Bothy Tearooms’. At least it does to an intrepid campervanner intent on finding moments of spontaneous delight in off-the-beaten-track locations.

This is, of course, a dream, since all of mainland UK is actually on beaten tracks. Every place is accessible by road – with the exception of the Old Forge pub at Inverie on the Knoydart peninsula. But I’ve been there already. So, the compromise is to seek out the odd, quirky or ‘alternative’ establishments, the ones that are different enough to spice up a journey. Such a place is ‘The Pillars of Hercules’, which is essentially a farm shop on a smallholding near Falkland, Fife. And, much as I would like to claim credit for its discovery, it was recommended by a friend who lives locally. I don’t know why it has such an odd name, but I did learn that it was established in 1986 as a roadside outlet for its own organic produce. It has since expanded and now stocks wholesome produce from many sources (including a promising-looking organic Montilla-Moriles Fino, which I could not resist buying but have not yet broached). But the real joy of the place is the additional facilities: an adjoining café with veranda overlooking the greenhouses; a camping field with fire-pits and a covered area for gatherings; and a small meadow reserved for the use of a few campervans. It was here we chose to spend a night, charmed by the simplicity of the site, its position nestled in the rolling countryside and the reassuring proximity to superior coffee and scones just one hundred yards away.

And, reinforcing our sense of smugness, we were joined on the field by a Dutch couple, whose pioneering credentials were evident in the tiny van that they had ingeniously but cheaply adapted to serve as accommodation during their adventures abroad. They were as enchanted by the ethos of The Pillars of Hercules as we were and stayed on after we were obliged to leave by the limited connectivity and recharging facilities. Such is the reality of life for nomadic workers like my OH.

And so we decamped to the large Caravan and Motorhome Club site on the outskirts of Edinburgh, where a team of gardeners seem intent on disturbing the peace all day long with their strimmers, trimmers and mowers, taming the shrubbery and shaving the lawns to suburban levels of perfection. Still, there is wi-fi. And we have been to city hairdressers to have our own growth tidied and preened in advance of a clan gathering we will be attending on our way back home. It felt like a ceremonial end to a wild adventure, a rite of passage back from hippiedom to the mainstream, though to say so would be to over-egg the pudding.