Day 32: Mull of Galloway - Girvan

The day started slowly. But slowly, snail-with-a-hangover slow. Outside, a fine drizzle that looked more like someone was spitting from the clouds reluctantly. And inside, we were in total lazy mode, watching how the Mull of Galloway lighthouse car park was gradually filling up with brave tourists. Around noon, when you could walk without feeling like you were inside a wet cloud, we finally left the camper.

First, we took a walk around the lighthouse complex. There are several interesting things there for humans and some grass for me to show off my style. We walked to the viewpoint of the southernmost point of Scotland. Panoramic views over the cliffs, sea on all sides, and if there is no mist, you can clearly see the Isle of Man and even Ireland. There you can proudly say: "I've reached the bottom of the country and I'm still alive!"

Then we went to the foghorn, a huge fog trumpet that used to shout with a voice of thunder when the fog covered everything. Now it's retired, but it still commands respect.

As it was no longer raining, Daddy Edu decided to do the full visit. But since dogs can't go up the lighthouse (who invented that rule?), he left me in the camper and he went back wanting to get cultured. The entrance works on a "suggested donation" basis, but with prices listed as on a menu. Let's face it, the donation thing is more decorative. Daddy paid five pounds, which is fair, and went in.

First he went up the lighthouse. The Mull of Galloway lighthouse is one of those white, classic, elegant ones. Built in 1830 by Robert Stevenson (yes, the writer's grandfather), it is still in operation today. At the top, a volunteer explained the technological changes: they used wicks, then gas, then huge halogen bulbs, and now only two 250-watt LED bulbs in total. Low-consumption lighting with high-level views.

Downstairs, in the exhibition, another volunteer explained how the foghorn worked. That used three diesel engines, each with about forty horsepower. It doesn't seem like much, but together they drove air compressors that fed the horn. The whole system was more about making the bones tremble than being efficient. Although it is no longer used today, everything is restored and gleaming as if they were going to turn it on at any moment.

After the visit, we went back to the car and headed north, towards Portpatrick. We parked in a large car park, near another, more modest lighthouse. We ate peacefully and took a nap, because this dog body needs energy before each serious exploration.

In the afternoon, we went to explore the port of Portpatrick. The water was surprisingly low, about five meters below the level of the docks, but the boats were still floating as if nothing had happened. Then we did the path to the Killantringan lighthouse. It is a coastal path with gentle ups and downs, green meadows, sea views and wind, lots of wind. At the end of the path, the lighthouse awaited us as if it had been copied and pasted from the morning: another work by Stevenson, white, with its dome and everything. Just like the one at Mull of Galloway, only closed.

The walk was very pleasant, although the air seemed determined to comb me backwards. Back in Portpatrick, the sky had clouded over and the wind was really starting to lash. It was time to find a place to sleep.

And that's where the problem came in: in Portpatrick overnight stays are not allowed, and the wind was so beastly that any corner wouldn't do. We wanted to park with the nose of the car into the wind so as not to feel like we were in a flight simulator all night. But the coast here is so clear that there isn't a single miserable tree to protect us.

Finally we found a car park on the coast, near the town of Girvan. The wind is still blowing hard, but at least it's constant and not in crazy gusts. We parked well oriented, and around there are about ten more motorhomes, all locked up. Nobody dares to go out. I don't really feel like having the wind take me away like a kite with legs either.

So tonight it's dinner in polar storm mode, well wrapped up, and dreams with a view of the sea.