OK, so we’re back in Scotland. The locals are violent, the sheep are duly respectful and the bus is ready to rock. But let’s get the timing right here:
After meeting up at the usual pick-up point, most of us head down to the misplaced creature known to mankind as Skavsta Airport. Though they spent a few million refurbishing the place they still can’t sort out the fact that it is closer to Miami, Florida than Stockholm, and the hamburgers in the restaurant are basically shit. At Skavsta we were joined by newbie Anders Mellström and veteran John Tshilis, who refused the communal experience in favour of an hour more at work and a car trip down instead.
Proceeding to board the plane, most of us had priority booking, meaning we were treated to a VIP que rather than the regular cluster of people. The fact that the VIP section had more people than the others just proves that Ryanair are on to something. The man who happened to be first in line was very upset at John approaching him, and used no soft wording in explaining where in the line he ought to be. As we were let on board, he got the full Ryanair humiliation as he was one of the select few not actually booked as a priority VIP. Gravity always wins, as they say.
The flight itself left little to mention, and we were treated to in-depth analysis from Peter ”El Mannio” Mannio on the full extent of the hard rain waiting for us. Also, Robbe managed to sit quietly through the security instructions, which was a first for him.
At Edinburgh airport we were met by the nothing but glorious sight of Gordon Cook and two 24-size cases of beer for the trip to Pitlochry. Robbe and El Mannio joined us asking ”where did you get your luggage from?”. They entered the Guinness book of world records as ”the first couple to be so heavily engaged in disucussion that they missed the whole luggage-band room”. Congratulations.
Bus picked up, we headed north towards our first destination – Pitlochry and the Beinn Bhracaigh guest house. A quick pit stop along the way allowed us to decorate the bus properly with our newly fabricated magnet-logos, ensuring us that no Scottish town would be entered discreetly. In Pitlochry we found the guest house to be nothing short of magnificent, with a huge bar all operated on the honesty principle, leading to massive sampling of various malt whiskies and local ales.
First stop on Thursday was Blair Athol, the beautiful distillery in the south of Pitlocbry. We had a very nice tour and finished off by pulling out a few cask samples and tasting with the regular 12yo in the shop afterwards. Anders Fridén realised we needed to extend the Blair Athol experience and bought a bottle for the bus, which was consumed backpacker-style on our way northwards to next stop: The Macallan.
Arriving literally on the minute we were booked proved once again the planning skills of the Stockholm Malt & Metal Society go beyond the ordinary. We were then split into two groups and got to do an in-depth tasting under the tutoring of Margret, famous to those of you who own a ten pound note from The Bank of Scotland. (Not the Royal Bank of Scotland or any of the other four note-issuing banks the Scots feel they need, but The Bank of Scotland). See the girl on the note standing next to the stills? That’s Margret.
The tour was extensive, informative and very interesting. There’s not much that beats 15 copper-stills in one room. Well, maybe the sight of a further six in the house next door, but not much else. The hard rain which was forecast didn’t show up, and we were treated to blue skys and a spring-warm afternoon.
Following the visit to Macallan, we spent a small country’s net worth in the shop and headed over to Dufftown for the night. We headed over to Taste of Speyside, where Sandy greeted us with a surprised look, and quickly got the platters in with a suitable amount of beers, whiskies, and in Peo’s case, the green chartreuse for another session of ”Statues of Liberty”. An inhuman amount of whisky was consumed and dissected where the Mortlach 1970 was a high point, and an unnamed malt the low-point, given the tasting note ”bird that has been dead. For a long time.” by Jens.
Leaving Sandy, a group of us headed down to holy ground and visited Mortlach. As they don’t accept visitors, we don’t accept office hours, and a 1:am visit seemed perfectly logical.
Friday started off with a visit to Tamdhu. Not as much the distillery but the maltings, which turned out to be very interesting. Once again we were split in two groups with half of us walking round the maltings, and half having a cup of coffee with Margret. The maltings are a very loud place to be, and there is more hard work than you would expect in delivering the barley in a malted fashion to the distilleries. Some of us were lucky enough to be allowed into the kiln, referring to it as ”a life-changing experience”. The rest of us were duly pissed off.
A nice long drive followed over to Isle of Skye where we arrived slightly less punctually than at the Macallan. The true soul of the Malt & Metal Society had been revealed. At Talisker, we were taken into warehouse no. 1, where a full set of whisky had been set up for an in-depth tasting. Life can be good sometimes. As we finished our tasting, Georgia asked if we had any questions. Peo had one: ”can I have some more of the 57 north?”
We headed up to Portree for our stay, and went for dinner at the Bosville Hotel. Following the dinner, which was nice for those who actually did get what they ordered, and for those (yes Tomas Hegert, we’re thinking of you) who swiftly emptied Jens carefully selected bottle of red wine before the food arrived, we hit the town. In real life this means going to the one place open after midnight, and interacting with the local population. In our case, that meant being asked to go out and fight several times by a drunk Portree-based car mechanic. The offer for a fist fight was repeated until we informed him of Robbes status as just released from prison for assault. The information sunk in, and we were left in peace. At least for the Friday night.
Saturday was what is usually referred to as ”hangover-day”. Everyone was a bit tired and spent a rainy (congratulations El Mannio!) pacing up and down the streets of Portree, singing for Jens on his birthday before hitting the pubs when they re-opened. Some of us decided to take a trip to Uig, where we stopped to watch some other-worldly views of the Sound of Raasay, and encounter the perfect storm. Incredible, and probably a bit more life-changing than any kiln could offer. In Uig, rugby was watched at the local pub over an Isle of Skye ale before the english army off-loaded a force that could invade a medium sized nation in front of us. We saw the signs, and drove back to Portree to be met by the rest of our society in a properly marinated state of mind.
As it turned out, they had been to all of the towns pubs, only to be jeered at and verbally attacked by various other locals. During the evening we got company by an extremely drunk man who varied between buying some of us drinks and pulling a knife on us. Island life is glorious indeed.
So as we left the island on Sunday morning we weren’t really left with a great impression of the local community unfortunately. That such beautiful nature can produce such utter bastards is one of God’s great mysteries, and baffles people still to this day. A nice short six hour drive took us back to Glasgow, with a minor detour through the city centre as our driver (yes, David, we’re thinking of you) ignored the signs to Kilmarnock, despite the big sign saying ”for Prestwick Airport, follow signs to Kilmarnock”.
The flight back was nothing worth mentioning, and even Robbe and El Mannio managed to remember their luggage as we headed out to the bus back to Stockholm.
Once again an amazing trip all in all, and the planning is already in place for Islay 2010, when we head back to welcome our cask 666 to the world of whisky. (by the way, should you wonder – yes, we’ve been to Islay and managed to drink all over the place without being asked to fight or threatened by drunk knife-weilding jerks.)
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