Day 34: Fairlie - Troon ⛴️ Brodick - Kildonan

We woke up super late. But when I say late, I mean really late, the kind of wake-up where you don't know whether to have breakfast or just order dinner. It was after ten when papi Edu and I peeked out of the camper. Not a ray of light came in, thanks to the insulating panels that cover all the windows. Very practical, yes, but also a bit of a bear-in-hibernation-cave style.

Outside, the panorama wasn't inviting: intermittent rain, fog as thick as oatmeal, and that cold that seeps into your legs. So no trails today. Papi started planning this week's route with his map, his coffee, and his "don't talk to me, I'm concentrating" face. And after a while of moving fingers on the screen and muttering "hmm" and "aha," he decided: we're going to the Isle of Arran!

The Isle of Arran is one of those hidden gems (although the Scots don't hide it, they have it quite in plain sight). It's on the west coast of Scotland, in the Firth of Clyde, and it's like a Scotland in miniature: mountains, beaches, castles, whisky, sheep, more sheep, and even more sheep. You can only get there by ferry, and like good modern folks, papi Edu booked the tickets online. But, oh surprise: this week they don't leave from Ardrossan, which is right next to where we were, but from Troon, a little further south. And we passed by there yesterday! If we had known...

Around noon we set off. We crossed the moor again, which is what they call the extensive open fields here, with gentle hills covered in heather, puddles, and that green that only exists in places where it rains eleven months a year. They are beautiful, but if you let yourself loose without a leash, you can end up smelling like a dead sheep for days.

We took the highway to Troon and parked on the outskirts, in a free parking lot next to the beach. They only charge if you sleep there, and since that wasn't the plan, it was perfect. We took a short walk on the sand, between showers. Those walks that are half adventure and half shower.

Papi was craving fish and chips, but without the fish. That is, just chips. On this strange island where people put milk in their tea and fry everything that doesn't run away, that doesn't seem so strange. But it turns out that at the fish & chips places you can't pay with a card. All the signs said the same thing: "Cash only, sorry". And us, of course, more digital than a Casio watch.

We hadn't seen a single bank with an ATM, only those machines in supermarkets that give you pounds but with a worse exchange rate than a Monday without a walk. Even so, papi decided to withdraw 50 pounds... which cost us 75 euros. A robbery with rain included!

With the warm pounds in his pocket, he found a nice place where they served him his hot chips. I went in too, no problem. The girl who served was very nice, although she spoke with such a strong Scottish accent that it seemed like she was swallowing the words. I didn't understand "sit," but I smiled with a face of "how good you are here, even if I don't understand you at all."

We walked a little more around the town, which honestly doesn't have anything special. Four streets, a pharmacy, three closed shops and many people walking without umbrellas as if it wasn't raining (spoiler: it was raining).

Around five o'clock we went to the port. We got on the ferry without problems. And yes, I could go in too, but not in the normal and warm area with sofas and soft seats... No. The dogs get the second floor lounge: hard chairs, cold, and the smell of dampness. Luckily it was only an hour and a quarter.

The boat set sail at six o'clock sharp and arrived at quarter past seven, with the sea a little choppy. It didn't get to seasickness, but it did to staggering. More drops flew on the deck than seagulls.

On the Isle of Arran we received a very Scottish welcome: rain, wind and more rain. We drove for about twenty minutes south and found a parking lot to spend the night. Maybe there are sea views, but with the fog we only see a uniform gray that could well be the sea... or a wall.

There is only one more motorhome. But with this weather, nobody moves. We turned on the heating, prepared dinner and were very comfortable in our camper. Outside, the world is made of soup. But inside, we are at home.