Low-Key Exploration

          A couple of weeks ago, we packed the campervan with everything we thought we might need for a 24-day trip, the itinerary of which is shaped like an elongated letter O, taking us from Plymouth up through Wales to the west coast of Scotland, across to Edinburgh, then down the east through Lincolnshire and London towards home. Now, I know that a popular image of campervanning is one of freewheeling spontaneity, but this outing was planned with the precision of a major undertaking, partly because it involves hooking up with friends and relatives, but mostly because age-related control-freakery has set in. Overnight stops were booked in advance and clothing carefully chosen to cope with the fickle British weather. And, as the provisions list grew ever longer, we had to remind ourselves that we would never be more than a few miles from a supermarket.

          We had looked forward to the trip, which has, so far, lived up to expectations. But I do have misgivings about the fact that it takes us to familiar territory, places we already know and are fond of. After all, a major part of campervanning (to my mind), is boldly going to places unexplored and I am wary of becoming too comfortable with a limited choice of destinations lest my curiosity should dwindle. But there is merit in re-visiting places that delighted us on first encounter. A ‘refresher course’ can reveal qualities missed and details unobserved – the missing pieces in the jigsaw of history and landscape that defines Britain. And different circumstances can evoke new feelings. For example, I have been several times to the sweeping estuary of the river Dovey on the west coast of Wales but have never seen it as I did last week, when an enchanting, huge red moon rose slowly over it as we watched with close friends after a convivial dinner.

          When we drove to Scotland the next day, I knew from previous experience where to stop and buy excellent cider directly from the orchard – another benefit of familiarity, I thought, as I later quaffed a glass or two while overlooking the white sands of a perfect little bay on the west coast just a few miles south of Skye. Our knowledge of the area had paid off in the form of a pitch at the prettiest of campsites. And the next morning, I knew that coffee could be had at the boatyard in Arisaig. All right, I got soaked by an Atlantic squall during the walk there, but I was blow-dried on the way back and, that afternoon, it was the sun’s turn to dominate the sky and an opportunity to try out my newly refurbished bike on the single-track road to nowhere that snakes along the peninsula. If I never get on a bike again, that ride will be the one I remember.

          As for Skye, I had last been there in 1977 and remember visiting the MacLeod’s residence, Dunvegan Castle. I would not have gone again this week, but for the fact that I was in the company of others who had not been and were curious to experience it. It is an ugly building – especially compared with Eilean Donan, the iconic castle on the nearby mainland – but its history is intriguing. One of the things I may have missed first time around was the fact that Boswell and Johnson were guests at Dunvegan and their subsequently written and thoroughly effusive ‘thank you letter’ is displayed there. It finishes with the regret that they are “unlikely” to return, which is easy to reconcile this with the fact that tourist facilities were sparse in those days and their journey on horseback must have been long, arduous and uncomfortable. But maybe they were just restless for new destinations.