We Planned the Destinations – But the Journey Stole the Show

 Unexpected encounters, Scottish strangers, and one terrifying Irish road — getting there was half the fun.

 

Embarking on our dream trip to the UK and Ireland, my sister and I excitedly planned our itinerary and off we ventured. Somewhere between our transatlantic flight, ScotRail commuters, and Irish roads barely wide-enough for our car, the journey itself became half the adventure.

Who knew modes of transportation could be so impactful.

Planes – Soaring the Stratosphere

Walking the jetway to the plane, then hoisting our 22lb backpacks into the overhead compartment, we nestled in for our 9-hour flight from Atlanta, Georgia to London. As the diverse line of fellow travellers passed us in the aisle, I wondered what their own adventures might hold. Were they just beginning their trip like us, or were they weary travellers returning home?

Preparing for takeoff, the adrenalin raced through me as the engine vibrations intensified. My excitement grew as the tarmac whizzed by faster and faster, and the front wheel lifted off the ground. London calling! 

Then came that exhilarating moment – when the G-force pushed us into our seatbacks. I felt the power of the massive beast hoisting several hundred souls off the ground. The world grew ever  smaller outside our window, finally leveling out into the emptiness, on the edge of the stratosphere. Peering through the window, I watched the wingtip gliding above the fluffy cotton clouds.

As the hours passed, we chatted about our upcoming adventures and synched our movie screens so we could watch together, one of my favourite films, The Nonas. After the film, we periodically switched the screen to watch our progress as we traversed the night sky.

Nearing our final stretch, looking out the window, the city lights of London twinkled into view. The iconic Tower Bridge welcomed us in the darkness of night! 

At this point in every flight, my dad’s words always surface. A 20-year pilot in the Air Force, he professed, “Every landing is a controlled crash!” 

Descending on our approach to Heathrow as the city lights grew closer, I listened for the change in the engine sound signaling the reduction in speed. Taking a deep breath, I waited to feel the wheels touch down on the tarmac. Then a sigh of relief as the beast safely barreled down the tarmac with its cargo of souls to the gate.

With the smooth landing complete, we disembarked, beginning our long awaited whirlwind return to our childhood stomping ground!

Standing on tiptoes we extricated our backpacks and made our way out of the plane and through the jetway. There’s nothing like the power of flight.

 

Trains – A Ticket to Local Encounters

In contrast to exploring the stratosphere, traveling by train covers the distance while also allowing time to engage a variety of locals.

A quick 15-minute jaunt on the Heathrow Express from the airport, and we were arriving at Paddington train station. The threshold of our long-awaited return to the UK and Ireland stretched before us.

Exiting the train, the sound of a large band filled the airwaves of Paddington station. Smiling to each other, our hearts filled with warmth. A welcome sound from the past. Ambling through the station, the sound grew. We soon discovered the origin of the welcoming music. 

We were stunned to discover the music was not piped in, but a regimental band performing amidst the hustle and bustle of busy commuters.

Clad in their tall bearskin hats, grey wool overcoats, black trousers, and black boots, they stood in a semi-circle formation with instruments in hand. The drums thumped and the brass notes reverberated through the rafters of the high ceiling. Mesmerized and flooded with childhood memories, it was a storybook welcome with the British pageantry we remembered so well from our youth. 

Travelling the rails on a daily basis, whether in England or Scotland, our world opened up to the most delightful seatmates and glimpses of local cultures. 

After a brief 24-hours sojourn in London, jumping on and off the underground “Tube” trains like experts, we boarded the train at Kings Cross Station for York. Sitting side-by-side in our assigned seats noticing the emptiness of the train car, we discussed our preference of sitting opposite each other for the hours ahead. 

 

One gentleman joined our conversation comparing Halloween attire and customs in the medieval town of York to that of the U.S. He further educated us on the lighted seat reservation system displayed above each seat grouping, which greatly improved our seat selection going forward.

With our new found seat knowledge, my sister and I began playing musical chairs, bouncing between seats, to find our desired arrangement. Our Scottish friend must have been rather amused by our game.

From our new vantage point, we marveled at the change of scenery whizzing by. Industrial cities gave way to open countryside, sporadically dotted with small towns, each one a mix of modern and medieval buildings. 

 

Throughout the week, other train encounters included a primary school group periodically charming us with outbursts of songs they were practicing for their upcoming performance in Inverness. Listening to these excited youngsters filled us with energy and delight as the miles ticked by. 

Further along our route, a business commuter joined our conversation about Ireland, scrolling her phone’s photo gallery, she enlightened us about an exquisite ice cream parlor on the Dingle Peninsula, which she said was a must-do experience. 

On another occasion, we were joined by a jovial group of silver haired Scotsmen, one of whom, Steve, inquired about our plans for Scotland. While all of our train interactions contributed to our overall travel experience, he was the most impactful.

Entertaining us with stories and suggestions of places to see and experience, “real Scotland”, Steve punctuated his words passionately, cupping his hand into a fist, thumping his heart, “that’s real Scotland!” For almost an hour, he regaled us with fascinating stories of Scotland.

Disembarking at Edinburgh Waverley Station, Steve wished us well. Sitting in our hotel that night, we feverishly wrote down everything we could remember about his travel recommendations. 

Our trip itinerary had come to a junction. How much of our trip could we change to incorporate Steve’s suggestions for experiencing the real heart of Scotland? 

A great deal! Scrambling our former itinerary became a new game. 

What’s in a train ride? As it turns out, quite a lot! Chance encounters can be as impactful and memorable as the sites you see.

 

Boats – Finding the Real Scotland

Contrasting the local interactions of the train, a few days later, we took Steve’s suggestion, exploring the rugged beauty of Loch Lomond, gateway to the Highlands, via a guided boat tour. 

Steve promised us “real Scotland” which now stretched out before us.

Rather than interacting with other tourists, crammed against the outside railing, we chose the quiet solitude of the cabin lounge with its massive windows through which mesmerizing scenery awakened us to the heart of Scotland. 

The autumn colours against the rugged landscape were barren of modern civilization, capturing our imaginations. The preserved wilderness transported us across the centuries to a time when “outlaws roamed”, as the voice melodically stated, wafting over the airwaves explaining Scottish and clan history.

Gliding around the lake, the rippling water gently rocked the boat, relaxing us to our cores. Gazing out the windows we marveled at the beautiful wilderness. Bathed in gold and brown hues, the endless unscathed countryside spoke of the heart of Scotland.

Returning to shore, chirping birds overhead welcomed us back to land as they circled the marina. Moss covered boats tethered to docks, spoke of boaters long since preoccupied with other activities. 

The tranquility of the morning offered us a poetic and magical break from our busy travel itinerary, and seemed a world apart from the hustle and bustle of Glasgow’s city streets to which we returned.

Automobiles – Driving in Ireland, it’ll be Grand!

Focused on our plans of reuniting with cousins in Ireland whom we hadn’t seen since 1970, we rented a car. The independence it offered was paramount. Driving on the left couldn’t be that bad. We were a team and worked well together

With my sister behind the wheel and me navigating/co-piloting, our mantra became, especially when negotiating the roundabouts, “Stay left – Look Right!” 

Leaving Dublin and becoming accustomed to the highways, we started relaxing a bit, proclaiming, “We’ve got this!” 

Googling a local coffee shop the next morning, we jumped in the car and confidently headed down the road. No worries. Relaxing, we admired the town as we drove up to the top of a narrow shop lined street to our destination. 

Or so we thought! 

Suddenly, our eyes bugged out of our heads. The narrow one-lane street was lined with parked cars half on the footpath and half on the street, many with their side mirrors folded in. Sending a quick prayer to the universe, we folded our mirrors in, and following the car in front, gingerly drove half on the footpath and half off, like threading a needle down the hill. While my sister maintained her focus on the steering wheel, I symbolically waved to our targeted coffee shop as we passed by, vowing to find a new destination.

Unbeknownst to us, this was the first of two harrowing driving experiences. 

 

Regaining our composure at the foot of the hill, one street over, we found the café our cousin had recommended. It was a delightful, cozy shop with the bonus of a spacious car park.

 

Coffees in hand, we ventured forth exploring our grandfather’s home area, purposefully choosing our roads – and then they narrowed.

Of course, the Irish navigate the narrow streets and rural roads with the expertise of a surgeon, as happened in our second encounter with a semi-truck.

Clinging to the shoulderless road, navigating the numerous curves, our eyes suddenly became saucers of fear. Rounding a bend, coming head-on, a semi-truck loomed before us, seemingly occupying the entirety of the so-called “two-lane” road! 

Sitting horrified in our now hedge-hugging parked car, we willed ourselves to shrink. Leaning through his window, the driver told us to drive on. Not envisioning that possibility, my sister answered politely, “No. I’m not moving”. 

Relinquishing every centimeter of space and folding our mirrors in, we sat tight.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he surgically guided his behemoth of a truck down the road, passing us with merely a hair of space between us.

Surviving our initiation to Irish driving, we gathered our wits and proceeded to our destination of our grandfather’s childhood home, as sweat and laughter overcame us.

The most memorable part of travel is not always the destination. From the roar and G-force of the plane, to the chance encounters of Scottish train travellers, the magical sweeping views on a boat cruise, and terrifying encounters on rural Irish roads, some of our best memories came from the journey. 

That’s the magic of travel.