Scottish Highlands, 2024.

Once again, Marcelo and I were deep into our usual travel ritual: the “where to next?” conversation.

Scotland came up.

I had already been to Edinburgh, but the Highlands had been living rent-free in my mind for years. Something about that rugged landscape stuck with me and I couldn’t stop thinking about winding, narrow roads slicing through mountains painted in brown and yellow with dramatic castles popping up in the distance.

My brain was screaming: I’m going to love this.

And I had just the perfect company. The Highlands were made for a road trip and we both love to drive.

Spoiler alert: Driving in Scotland is not exactly what we’re used to.

The thing about left-hand traffic…

Here’s a little secret: when we were still tossing ideas around, I already knew Scotland had left-hand traffic.

So did Marcelo. He had just… forgotten.

That fun fact only resurfaced later, when we were discussing accommodations in Skye. I was making a very reasonable case about the distance between Portree and some of the restaurants we wanted to try. Marcelo pushed back:

“Come on, Catia, it’s not that far.”

And that’s when I laid it all out:

“Just keep in mind we’ll be driving after a full day exploring the island… With a belly full of fine Scotch whisky… On a dark, narrow road we’ve never seen before… And on the wrong side of the road — at least for us.”

He looked at me. Then blinked.

And I could see the realization hit him like a Highland thunderstorm.

The part about the narrow road? He’d get it later, first-hand.

But the left-hand traffic? That one came rushing back instantly — and hit hard.

Kilts, cold, and a classic kind of day

After a bit of turbulence — thanks to flight cancellations — we finally landed in Edinburgh, later than expected. Our lovely pre-booked dinner had to be swapped for a sad slice of pizza at the hotel. But honestly? We were just happy to be there.

It was November, and the cold hit hard. Especially for three tropical souls. Scotland clearly had no plans of easing us in. Marcelo and Vander looked a bit panicked, and I could almost see the question in their eyes: How are we supposed to survive this for the next few days?

Edinburgh Castle was just a short walk from our hotel. As we made our way up the hill, I felt a little rush of happiness to be back.

Also, let’s be honest: I was hoping to spot a few men in kilts. My all-time favorite male look. No shame.

Sticking to the classics

Edinburgh is, hands down, one of the most beautiful and charming cities I’ve ever been to. And that wintry weather? It made everything even more magical.

It’s a perfect match — at least for those wearing proper layers. Like me.

There was no need to reinvent the wheel here — we went full classic.

From Edinburgh Castle, we strolled down the Royal Mile, all the way to the Palace of Holyroodhouse. With some very Scottish stops along the way: a cozy pub (obviously), St Giles’ Cathedral, and that colorful street that supposedly inspired Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter series.

Speaking of which — that street?

Absolutely packed. Easily the busiest spot of the day. It was nearly impossible to take a decent photo.

Correction: it was impossible. We tried. We failed.

Haggis for breakfast (and other things I didn’t see coming)

One of my personal missions for this trip was to try haggis — something I didn’t do the first time I visited Scotland.

Naturally, when we stopped at a pub, I thought, this might be my chance.

I wasn’t too hopeful, though. The place was right in the middle of the most touristy part of the city. But to my surprise — they had it.

For those unfamiliar: haggis is a traditional (and slightly controversial) Scottish dish made with minced sheep offal — usually the heart, liver, and lungs — mixed with oats, onion, fat, and spices.

It’s traditionally cooked inside a sheep’s stomach, though nowadays artificial casings are more common.

Which, frankly, made no difference to me.

But then… something unexpected: I didn’t really LIKE IT.

I’m not sure if this first version just wasn’t that great, or if I wasn’t quite ready for it yet. But the Catia inside me insisted: give it another shot.

A few days later, we were having breakfast at the hotel, and there it was — again.

In one of the pans on the buffet, the sign read: Haggis.

Not exactly my classic Brazilian breakfast item, but hey — I was on vacation. So, I couldn’t care less.

This version looked more like crumbled sausage, completely different from the pub’s haggis, which had a proper sausage shape.

And right next to it: something I had never heard of — black pudding.

It looked suspiciously like morcilla, the black sausage I’d tried in Argentina.

Later, I found out it was made with pig’s blood, fat, grains like oats or barley, and spices. So yes, not far off.

And just like that, everything was back in order: I really liked both.

Couldn’t even pick a favorite. For someone who loves spices and bold flavors, these were absolutely perfect.

Maybe not for breakfast in Brazil… but from that morning on, they became a regular part of my Scottish morning routine.

And I’m 100% blaming the vacation for that.

Wrong side of the car, wrong side of the road… 

The following morning, we started our journey toward the Highlands.

On the way to the airport to pick up the rental car, Marcelo casually mentioned he was feeling nervous about the whole left-hand traffic thing — which honestly surprised me.

He’s the best driver I know.

But once we pulled out of the parking lot, the situation became very clear: he was REALLY nervous.

Before we even made it to the actual road, the tension escalated into a minor argument.

There we were — Marcelo trying to fight the instinct that everything was backwards, me holding the GPS and the nerves, and then… he tried to open the window using the gear shift.

We all burst into laughter.

That broke the tension — and we managed to get through the first part of the drive safely.

The weather, however, was terrible. We could barely see Stirling Castle from the parking lot.

Still, we went in.

After the visit, the weather started to clear up, and we felt like exploring a bit.

The village was charming, and as we started walking downhill, we noticed a small crowd gathered outside the Church of the Holy Rude.

In the middle of it all: a marching band — full uniform, kilts included — surrounded by their friends and family.

There were a few bagpipes, of course, which made the whole thing feel very Scottish.

But still not quite the kilt moment I was hoping for.

When the band left, we turned our attention back to the church itself.

They were about to close but kindly let us sneak inside for a few minutes.

Because, of course, no small Scottish town is complete without an old cemetery next to an old church.

This one was no exception.

Walking through a historic cemetery in the UK often feels like visiting an open-air museum.
The gravestones — weathered by time — date back centuries, and many of them carry inscriptions that tell stories of war, immigration, tragedy, and resilience.

Single malt revelations 

Ahead of us, that strange left-hand road again — but just for about 30 minutes, covering the distance to our first whisky distillery.

Which, let’s be honest, is basically a national sport in Scotland.

We were visiting one of the famous distilleries, and the structure was impressive: a beautiful shop and an even more stunning tasting room, clearly designed for whisky lovers and curious tourists alike.

We took the tour, led by a guide who walked us through the entire process. And for the first time, I finally understood what single malt Scotch whisky really means — a whisky made from 100% malted barley, distilled at a single distillery, and typically aged in oak barrels for at least three years (in Scotland, of course).

This was my first time trying a single malt. Until then, I’d only had blends — like Johnnie Walker — which are made from a mix of whiskies from different distilleries.

Given the fact that we were still juggling left-hand driving and narrow roads, we made a smart decision: only one of us would drink.

That lucky person was me.

The moment I sipped that rare yellow liquid — expecting something similar to the blended whiskies I already knew — I was absolutely blown away.

The difference was insane.

The only thing I remember thinking (and possibly saying out loud) was:

“WTF!!! Now I love whisky too!”

Mind the Edge

And the driver that day was… me.

One scene from a movie kept replaying in my mind: An English dad handing over his car keys to his daughter’s American boyfriend in London.

Dad: “Make sure he stays on the right side of the road.” Boyfriend: “Which is, of course, the left.” Dad: “That’s right!”

I wasn’t freaking out — just a little worried.

I had already gotten used to driving on the other side of the road.

The new challenge was keeping the front left wheel away from the edge.

Easier said than done.

It’s crazy how we have zero spatial sense on that side — I don’t remember ever taking a driving lesson called “how to handle the right side of your car.” It just comes naturally. But here, somehow, your brain refuses to adapt. It’s like the other side doesn’t exist.

Marcelo kept saying now and then: “Too close.”

Just like I had done the day before, when he was driving.

Turns Out, Angels Do Drink

After nearly an hour of driving, we arrived in Pitlochry, the official gateway to the Scottish Highlands, for our next stop: Blair Athol Distillery.

We passed a tiny stone house with red doors and windows — straight out of a fairytale — and soon realized that was the reception, store, and bar.

Crossing another red door, we stepped into a lovely courtyard surrounded by other buildings in the same cozy style.

In the center, a few red benches added to the warm, inviting atmosphere.
The place was much bigger than it seemed from the outside — it even had a river running through it!

A few minutes later, a man approached and introduced himself as our guide.

This time, the tour would be just for us.

Excellent start.

He walked us through the production process and showed us the beautiful property.
And this time, I learned about something new: the Angel’s Share — the poetic name for the portion of whisky that evaporates each year during aging in oak barrels.
It simply disappears into the air, and distillers say:

“That’s the angels taking their share.”

When the much-anticipated tasting moment arrived, the guide asked who was driving.
We said it was me, and without hesitation, he said:

“No worries — we’ll bottle your tasting so you can enjoy it later.”

I immediately thought: This is how it’s done when service is perfect.

After the tasting (and a great chat), I left with a cute little box — three mini bottles inside, just like a gift.

After that, I was even more excited to spend money in the shop.

Fantastic experience.

Of Monsters, Myths, and Medieval Stones

The next morning, we checked out of the hotel and drove to Culloden Battlefield.

I wanted to stand on that historic ground — the site of the final confrontation of the Jacobite rising.
And to be totally honest… I also wanted to visit because of Outlander. Maybe I’d find Jamie Fraser. Who knows?

Marcelo, on the other hand, couldn’t care less.

His face dropped the moment he saw what was actually there: a huge field, a visitor center, some stones marking the graves of the fallen — each with the name of the clans who lost their people in battle — and no Jamie Fraser.

The rest of the day was packed with places I had high expectations for — starting with Loch Ness.

It was a rare sunny day, perfect for visiting the famous lake. And the moment we arrived, I knew it would be a memorable experience.

The peaceful water was surrounded by brownish hillsides, as winter was already approaching, and framed by the dramatic silhouette of Urquhart Castle.

Honestly, the lake alone would already make for the perfect landscape — but that unique castle ruin took everything to the next level.

There’s something about ruined castles that creates a dramatic, almost mystical atmosphere.

I immediately started thinking about the family who had built it.

What was their life like? Why is it in ruins now? What did it once look like?

What remains today are Urquhart’s iconic ruins, offering glimpses into medieval life and the world of its noble residents.

Enjoying that view — surrounded by nature, standing in the ruins and looking out at the legendary Loch Ness — was one of those moments I knew I’d remember.

I absolutely loved that place.

Framing a Dream: Eilean Donan at Last

Leaving Urquhart behind, we hit the road again — and I was really excited about our next stop. Eilean Donan Castle had been in my mind for… well, forever.

From the moment you search “Scottish Highlands” or “Scottish castles” on Google, you start seeing one breathtaking image over and over again —that castle.

Actually, wait. Let’s go back for a second.

Because how could I possibly forget about those roads?

Once again, the hills had taken on a brownish hue, and the narrow road twisted along the edge of the lake.

Everywhere I looked, the landscape felt like a masterpiece framed by the car window.

And then — there it was

First, we saw it from afar.

We pulled over to take photos, and I was genuinely breathless. That view was everything I had imagined — and more.

Then, like a dream coming true, we parked right in front of it.

That long-awaited landscape, finally real: Eilean Donan Castle, proudly standing on a small island — as if it knew it was the star of the show, posing for a full lineup of photographers, tripods, and cell phones.

To my absolute delight, the interior still preserves its furniture and sense of majesty.
That’s because it remains the residence of the MacRae family.

We walked around, photographing every possible corner and perspective.

I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to freeze that moment in time.

But the long road to the Isle of Skye was ahead of us — and eventually, we had to go.

So Naive, So November

A glowing bridge welcomed us to Skye, lit by the very last light of the day.

After passing through Portree, the road began to narrow, the light fading fast with every mile.

I was so glad we had decided to switch hotels — staying near the restaurants suddenly felt like the smartest idea ever.

A cozy and charming hotel greeted us at the end of the day, quietly facing a peaceful bay.

The surrounding neighborhood felt like it had been abducted — so silent, so still, it was hard to believe we were anywhere real.

After hours on the road and a day filled with castles, history, and unpredictable skies, this calm felt surreal.

Over a fantastic dinner at a well-known spot, we looked at the itinerary and agreed: we’d need to leave early in the morning to fit everything in.

So naïve.

When we asked what time breakfast started, the answer was simple:

“8 a.m.”

What?!

And then came the casual follow-up:

“Before that, it’s still dark.”

And that’s when it hit us: maybe (just maybe) planning a jam-packed day in November wasn’t our brightest idea.

Down the Stairs and Into the Clouds

After an English breakfast and bellies full of haggis, black pudding, and sausage, we finally started our journey around the island — later than planned.

And to make things worse: it was a cloudy, heavy-skied kind of day.

So when we arrived at the Neist Point to see the lighthouse, all we found was… a solid wall of white.
No cliffs. No ocean. No lighthouse. Just fog — everywhere.

We started to walk down a steep staircase — after all, who do these clouds think they are to get in the way of my lighthouse view?

The path wasn’t just steep — it was long, slippery, and slow-going.

Every now and then, someone almost slipped.

Until Vander finally met the ground — and got a wet butt as a souvenir.

It took us a while to finally see the lighthouse — and even then, only when we were really, really close.

Not a perfect view. Not even a clear one. But it was a start.

No Signs, No Walls, Just History

On our way back to the car, the weather began to lift — and so did the clouds inside my head about the rest of the day.

As we drove, the landscape around us became the very definition of bucolic beauty: rolling hills, white cottages scattered across green and brownish fields, and flocks of furry sheep grazing lazily.

Behind it all, a quiet lake completed the scene.

Finding the next spot was a bit tricky. We got lost for a while — there were no signs for Duntulm Castle, and we couldn’t see the ruins from the road.

Then we spotted a family entering a fenced area, and decided to follow them.

At least we wouldn’t be trespassing alone.

After a short walk, we finally caught sight of the dramatic outline of the old castle perched on top of a cliff.

Compared to Duntulm, Urquhart still looked like it could host a royal banquet — or even a siege. Duntulm, on the other hand, was just a suggestion of what once stood there. A collection of stones on a cliff, barely enough to outline its former glory.

Still, that didn’t take away from its presence.

The place had a raw, haunting beauty that matched the wild view around it perfectly.

Quiraing: beauty, wind, and a harsh truth

The Quiraing walk was next on our list — a circular trail that takes around two hours to complete.

To get there, we had to drive up a steep hill to reach the parking lot, which marks the starting point of the hike.

From the top, the view was absolutely stunning. And stretching out to both sides were trails leading in opposite directions. We picked one and started walking.

I immediately recognized some of the iconic spots I’d seen in photos — it was that beautiful.

Unfortunately, the weather had other plans.

It started raining, and the wind was that sharp, stinging kind that feels like it’s slicing your skin.

Even wearing proper clothing, the idea of the car — warm and dry — suddenly became the most appealing thing in the world. So the three of us ran back to it, slightly defeated.

As we drove down the hill, I looked out the window and realized: it was night. At 5 p.m.

And although we had never intended to complete the full loop — we’d chosen another walk for that day — this was the moment when reality hit hard: we wouldn’t be able to visit all the places we had planned.

Gray skies and golden endings

With our day coming to an undesirably early closing, we headed to the only thing that could still fit into our schedule: Kilt Rock and Lealt Falls.

As they’re right next to each other, it was the perfect combo to wrap up the day.

When we arrived at the parking lot, the rain had finally stopped, and we were able to take in the dramatic waterfall and the steep cliff views in peace.

The sky was painted in fifty shades of gray, with the last light slowly fading.
After soaking in the view for a while, fatigue caught up with us, and we made our way back to the hotel.

At that point, the only thing I could think about was a generous pour of single malt whisky. For that, the weather didn’t matter one bit.

Blaming the Island (and the Angels)

The next morning, I was almost afraid to open the curtain: what kind of weather do we have today?

What I saw wasn’t exactly exciting — but not surprising either. Someone had built that white wall right in front of us again!

Although I regretted having just one day on the Isle of Skye, deep down I was hopeful that we’d leave that terrible weather behind once we were back on the mainland. After all, it hadn’t been this bad before we got here. 

And yes, I started blaming the island for everything.

But before testing that theory, we had one more stop: another legendary Scottish distillery — Talisker.

Talisker’s location is a charm in itself: sitting in front of a picturesque bay and at the foot of a quiet mountain, dotted with just a handful of white houses.

The distillery was beautiful, welcoming, and well organized — the icing on the cake of our first stop that morning. It also happens to be where I bought the single malt that me and my friends in Brazil enjoy the most: the smoky one.

Talisker, the iconic single malt from the Isle of Skye, has been crafted since 1830 — and they say its flavor tells the story of the island itself: sea breeze, a hint of smoke, black pepper, and a subtle touch of sweetness.

Unlike the bolder, more medicinal whiskies from Islay, Talisker strikes a perfect balance.

Unfortunately, I didn´t have the opportunity to check the one from Islay. Not yet!

The bottle I brought home from Scotland? Already gone.

But I’ve found a way to get another one. Exactly the same one.

I’m blaming the angels for that too.

 Lost in Translation: Scottish Edition

And now it was time to head back to the mainland.
We were spending the night in Loch Lomond, and the drive would take almost the entire day — without any rush, and always respecting our limitations with the left-hand traffic.

The road that hugs the loch was full of places I wanted to stop and capture with my camera. Some of them we managed to photograph; others will remain just as memories.

A nice surprise was waiting for us when we arrived at the hotel: its restaurant!
It was charming, yet had the lively vibe of a pub, packed with a joyful crowd. We had to wait a while to get a table — it seemed like the place to be!

Once we were seated, the waiter came over with the menu and asked if we wanted something to drink. Marcelo looked at me — part terrified, part begging for help — and immediately said, “What the fuck is this guy saying?”

I burst out laughing. The Scottish accent was as strong as ever!

I could catch a word here and there, but the rest I just guessed — mostly because it was the usual stuff you’d expect in that situation. Far from understanding every single word.

The food was great, and they even had a respectable whisky list.
The weird part? Almost all the walls were decorated with stuffed animals — every kind of animal. Even some massive birds, like an eagle.

That’s when we understood why the word “Arms” was in the hotel’s name.

On the Road to Skyfall

The moment I opened my eyes the next morning, I noticed a pale sliver of sunlight outside the window — and I couldn’t help thinking: the weather really was worse in Skye.

The highlight of the day would be the scenic A82 through Glencoe. Another loop — this time, on wheels.

Beyond the poetic-sounding stops like Three Sisters and The Meeting of Three Waters, my excitement was fully focused on three other things:
the very road used in 007 — leading to Skyfall, the property where Bond grew up,
Kilchurn Castle,
and Castle Stalker.

Soon, a sign reading Glen Etive pointed the way. Just a few minutes after leaving the main road, we were driving beside a winding river that instantly brought that scene to mind — Bond and M, outside the car, lost in a quiet conversation, the landscape stealing the spotlight.

By pure coincidence, the weather was exactly as it was in the film. I could hear Adele in my head and feel the thrill of being there.
Even without the Skyfall connection, that road was absolutely unforgettable: a narrow path cutting through a vast valley, a river dancing over small waterfalls and perfectly placed stones along its course. Huge brownish hills on both sides completed the scene.

I love cinema, and James Bond has always been a favorite. But this?
This place would be memorable even without 007.

We followed the narrow road until the scenery slowly began to change. Then we turned back toward the A82 — still soaking in the feeling of having just visited a place where a dear friend spent his childhood.

The Castle Count Keeps Rising

Someone might think: doesn’t she ever get tired of visiting so many castles?
Well… honestly? No!

Scotland is famous for its castles — they’re practically a national signature — and I truly believe they’re fantastic and unique.
So, while I’m here, I make the most of them. Besides, it’s not exactly the kind of thing I see while lounging in a beach chair in Brazil.

I was genuinely excited to visit another one: Castle Stalker.
Like Eilean Donan, this one is also perched on an island — but in this case, no bridge.

Next to a charming café where we stopped for lunch, there was a small gate leading to a path. Once again, no sign in sight, and that familiar sense of “are we trespassing?” crept in.
So I asked inside the café, and they reassured me I could open the gate and follow the path.

A few minutes later, I found myself in front of a perfect view:
Castle Stalker, a small yet striking medieval tower house perched quietly on a tiny islet.
The vast loch and dramatic sky around it made the castle look even smaller — but no less impressive.

And one last castle for the day.

We parked the car and started walking, trying to find the right way to get closer.

This one — like Urquhart and Duntulm — is also a ruin, a powerful reminder of Kilchurn Castle’s old days of glory.

Though now roofless and abandoned, it hasn’t lost its imposing presence on the landscape.

I would’ve loved to photograph it from different angles, but the rain was pouring down and I had to give up on the idea and run back to the car.

A Royal Goodbye.

For our last day in Scotland, the initial plan was to visit Glasgow — but when I noticed Marcelo was still disappointed about missing the chance to see Balmoral, I offered to change the route. He jumped at the idea right away.

As soon as we finished breakfast, we took the road toward Queen Elizabeth’s favorite residence — and the place where she passed away.

To say goodbye, Scotland gifted us with a perfect blue sky, something we hadn’t seen in days. And since we were no longer in the Highlands — where the moody landscapes and gray skies are a perfect match — I was actually grateful for that unexpected shift.

Even more grateful when we saw the gate open!

We stepped into the castle grounds and followed a beautiful path lined with towering trees, all leading the way. After a left turn, we finally caught the first glimpse of its stone façade.

I could list every classic adjective used to describe castles — and Balmoral would deserve them all — but what truly struck me was how well it was hidden by the vastness around it.

That fact spoke volumes.

And maybe that was exactly what she loved most about it.

The moment the gate closes, the world fades away. No cameras zooming in, no curious eyes. Just silence and distance — a kind of peace that must have been priceless to her.

In front of the castle? Not one of those British gardens famous for their wild, asymmetrical designs. Instead: a flat green field — big enough for a football match.

Maybe it is!

In memory of Eduardo Penido, who fell in love with Scotland and shared his perfect itinerary with me back in 2017. Knowing how precious it was, I kept it safe — and he could hardly believe I still had it when I finally decided to go in 2024. Being the passionate traveler he was, he described every day of that trip with a sparkle in his eyes during our very last lunch together.