Highland Serenade

The remnants of once monstrous evil smells still linger in the rooms.
The washing machine has been doing double shifts.
Flocks of Tesco bags cluster in the kitchen drawers.
...and my bank account moans a silent lament.
In short:
I'm back.

Truth is, I have been back for a couple of days, but it was only today on my way back from Aldi that my brain caught up with my body and reunited we look upon the neatly stowed away camping utensils and piles of accurately folded clothing.

The water heating system doesn't work, my pay has not been paid, two papers await being written and I need to teach some private lessons in order to afford the toilet paper.
Yes, the vacation is definitely over.
But still memory lingers. (I know, this is the second time I use this word but I just like it so much, so there, whatcha gonna do about it?!) My nose still seems to smell the heather, the vast mountain panorama is still almost in front of me and my feet will certainly never ever talk to me again.

For a detailed account of my trip, come over for a cuppa or just utter the magic words (anything containing the words "Scotland", "Highlands" or "camping" will certainly do) and I will keep you entertained (or at least keep talking) until the tea turns solid, but in this here entry, I will but shortly intruduce you to some of the best people, places and moments of my first encounter with

The West Highland Way:

Three singing dutchwomen I met on the train to Fort Bill:

Colin, a guy from Dundee whom I met above Blackwater reservoir and who insisted on carrying my backpack down to Glencoe:

Lovely Laura, his girlfriend:

Taking rest on a patch of grass next to wooden bridge crossing a gargling creek. Probably my favourite place in the world.

"Erbsenkopp" they used to call me:

15 minutes from Kinlochleven I asked two gentlemen to take a picture of me so I could prove
a) I was really there
b) I did look like a gay donkey

Ben Nevis, eight o'clock in the morning:

Ben Nevis, half eight in the morning:

Ben Nevis, ten in the morning:

Most days I was alone with THAT for miles on end:

View from out of my tent in Kingshouse, Glen Coe:

The Devil's Staircase and my more than slightly swollen hand:

My favourite place in the world: Glen Coe; I spent about an hour there, just looking around. Recommendable: the water from the creek.

Morning mist in Glen Coe, about eight in the morning:

And here endeth the trip: I took a train that took my back to Glasgow and next year, I'll do the rest of the way.