The main business in Inverness is not trapping nor fur. It’s tourism.
If you’re trying to escape the madness of London, don’t go to Inverness, unless you wear a TheNorthFace hat all year long. The place is like to hub to Everest, except all these hardcore free soloists are here for one thing: hike to the Loch Ness for a chance to catch Nessy taking a short breath, which he/she/they does once every 124 years.
The only good thing with American or Chinese tourists in these longitudes , they rarely drive. They might ruin the vibe in the town, but they won’t clog my roads. To be fair to the tourists, the main road clogger in Scotland is road kill.
Piles of’em.
Foxes, lambs (yep), rabbits, cute hedgehogs, kittens, puppies, chickens, crows, pigeons.
A wallaby? Was that a fucking mini kangaroo splattered on A935, a zillion miles from his natural habitat? King Whatever kept Lions in Dunnottar Castle. Maybe some of the local highlanders are fond of wallabies and keep them as pets near the most dangerous road (for animals) in the world.
Exploded. Flattened. Knocked. Brushed (at 72mph, a brush means slow death). All turned into hairy margarita pizzas or feathery strawberry cookies. Back to the mud.
Fuck.
First, I try to ignore it. Then I try the headcount strategy. Then I LOST FUCKING COUNT. I settled on trying to determine both the specie, and the type and speed of impact. Fox, carpeted, 87mph. Cute baby lamb, brushed, 63mph. Probably still breathing. Bird
BTW, I got a few meself. Midges mostly. Some mosquitoes based on the reddish splatters on the car (see for yourself).
If you look long enough, you can start seeing the different species of insects, and what they had for lunch.
Anyhow, Inverness is a tourist destination. And therefore a tourist trap. Even the fucking castle looks fake.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate Inverness. I love Scotland too much. There’s an airport in Inverness (and I was originally concerned about wolves and grizzly bears).
I just think I’m not north enough. tomorrow I’m pushing.
There must be a Scottish person in Scotland, somewhere.
So while « I still haven’t found what I’m looking for », I’m not far. I can sense it. It’s like the Force, or the black crows at Serena and Raul‘s house (yes, the same black crows we shoot with the rifle after a few beers). It’s everywhere. Just not downtown Inverness.
How did I end up in Inverness, surrounded by a 10-1 tourists-locals ratio? I picked the town at random on Google map. Except for Edinburgh and Glasgow, every town looks about the same size on Google map. Inverness sounds a bit like a winterless in French. And it’s aptly located if you’re about to head REALLY north. Like Game of Thrones north. Or even Joe Abercrombie's north (Vijay might get that one).
In the end, Inverness has nothing to do with winter. « Inver » is the beginning of pretty much every town around (Inverquharity, Invergordon, Invershin, Inversnaid) and « ness » comes from the Loch. Ness. Hence the hordes of rabid tourists. But yet, it’s ideally located. I need to stay around. Tomorrow I’m abandoning my “fancy” hotel (meaning with en suite bathrooms).
I just booked myself a cabin in the woods, on the Loch shores, for the next night. On one of the profile picture, you can see two people sitting on camping chairs in the front of the cabin looking at the sky, aurora borealis shining in the background. I’m not stupid. I won’t catch one mid May mid Scotland. No chance. Like, 0.00001% chance. Even less probable than catching Nessy twerking. Just slightly more than winning the lottery. Practically no chance.
But hey, if you don’t buy the ticket, you’ll never win the jackpot.