This is the easiest way to see the islands of the southern Hebrides
I hadn't realised that we'd joined the ranks of the super-rich until we stepped ashore for the first time.
The Glen Rosa had set out from Oban on a sparkling Saturday afternoon to cruise southwards across a silvery sea hemmed in by hazy shoulders of land. On deck to spot whales and dolphins, we ended up watching the swirling and dimpling of the tide as it barged between the islands of Lunga and Luing, taking us with it.
Then the skipper, Jem Greaves, did the nautical equivalent of a handbrake turn and headed nor'nor'east to where Argyll and Bute waggles its long, bony fingers in the Atlantic. On our port bow we passed the private island of Shuna, owned by Viscount Selby, followed by the remote but lavish Kilchoan estate, where the Chilean multimillionaire Nicolás Ibáñez Scott had his helicopter parked on the lawn.
After this we 'dropped the hook' — that's anchoring to you landlubbers — in Loch Melfort, where the water came to an end in a forested natural amphitheatre filled with birdsong. Chef Damien conjured up a venison tagliatelle, and the rest of the evening was lost in a gentle haze of wine, sunset and the rocking of the Glen Rosa, with the enticing prospect of a late show from the northern lights.
It was next morning that we stepped ashore off Glen Rosa's tender into an armpit-shaped stretch of land at the head of the loch and wandered up to where Melfort House — pink-walled in Arts and Crafts style — and the adjacent Melfort Village were secreted among the trees. At the Village welcome desk — the estate cottages have been turned into an upmarket retreat with swimming pool and tennis courts — the receptionist became very effusive when she realised we were 'off that boat in the bay'.
'Here's my card,' she said, offering to open the restaurant in a minute or two if we cared to wait. I can only surmise that she thought that we were the Glen Rosa's owners; possibly oligarchs looking to add to our assets. That was fine by me. I regularly count myself among the super-rich — albeit in experience rather than in cash.
• Read our full travel guide to Scotland here
I also know what I like and until now I've shied away from mainstream cruising. But this kind of small-boat cruising, inveigling ourselves into narrow inlets and shallow bays unannounced and (virtually) unnoticed, in a part of the world that has always felt like a spiritual home, struck me as a very different proposition.
The Majestic Line, based out of Oban, operates four tiny ships, the largest of which carries just 12 passengers. Most of the fleet tends to head for the northern Hebrides, particularly to the Isle of Skye. But my mother is from there, so I know Skye well, which is why I opted to drop south on a lesser-known 'Southern Hebrides and Sea Lochs of Argyll' itinerary to explore the lands of the lairds and their ladies, along with a personal chef, my wife and a handful of like-minded others.
After that first overnight in Melfort, Greaves turned our bows south again with the glad tidings that the overnight swarm of jellyfish 'hasn't been sucked into the generator inlet, so all's well'. There would be coffee.
Almost every peninsula in Argyll seems to be castle-defended and Duntrune, opposite Crinan where the canal of the same name begins, is no exception. The partly 12th-century tower stands high and austere on a rock supervising the bay, still privately owned and supposedly haunted by a ghost of a handless bagpiper.
• 14 of the most beautiful places in Scotland
We saw no ghosts, but there was definitely a presence in the abundant castle gardens, reached through a couple of stag-topped gateposts and announced by a sign saying 'You found us! Well done!' The invisible hand had also secreted figures of naked satyrs and nymphs among the azaleas, bronze buttocks among the floribunda.
Returning to the rock below the castle, we fell into conversation with Jim, a local fisherman. 'Off that boat?' He asked. 'And you have a chef?' We acknowledged we did and when Damien came to pick us up with the tender, Jim dug into his bag and produced a fresh sea trout, which became that evening's appetiser.
• I love Scotland more than anywhere else. These are my 25 top stays
From Crinan we moved across to the island of Jura, a famously trackless wilderness where George Orwell wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four whose tattered rags of green make a poor attempt to hide naked bog and rock. This is one of the least populated places in the UK, and so savage were the various Jura clans that there was a human skull guarding the entry of one of its caves well into the 20th century.
The sea was rough that night, so Greaves moved Glen Rosa to an anchorage on Jura's Loch Tarbert, opposite the remote lodge at Glen Batrick, where the former prime minister David Cameron used to take his holidays as a guest of Lord Astor, the owner of much of the island.
• Read our full guide to cruises
After Jura, the next stop was its posher, more fertile neighbour, Colonsay. This is Baron Strathcona's demesne and the island shop was well stocked with fine wines. It was a Tuesday, so we were told that the gardens of Colonsay House were open to the public and the family were away. We did, however, bump into the baron's nephew's elegant Australian fiancée, weeding the vegetable patch in the rain.
It looked like the Macleans of Lochbuie were away, too, because there were no lights on in their baronial property when we arrived offshore that night after crossing the Sound of Mull. In the morning we landed on Lochbuie's unblemished beach, where the Maclean mausoleum stood on a small knoll surrounded by trees. Inside, inscriptions honoured a long line of military men and 'distinguished country gentlemen'.
Our last stop before heading back to Oban was Iona, run by the National Trust, but whose metaphysical laird is (in some people's eyes) the ultimate aristocrat. The island is a little green chip off Mull's southwestern corner, a place of pilgrimage ever since Saint Columba sailed over from Ireland in 563 and founded a monastery that would become a key hub in the spread of Christianity.
That day was one of those perfect moments when the Hebrides impersonates the Caribbean. We joined the flood of pedestrians coming off the Mull ferry, wove our way through all the temptations of tartans and woollens, coffee and cake, did the obligatory tour of the (admirable) abbey church and its cloisters, and then decided enough was enough, and walked away from the pilgrim crowds.
Iona's northern tip is springy machair — wildflower-rich grassland — lined with white sand. Here Traigh Bhan Nam Monach (White Strand of the Monks) is one of those places with aquamarine water so inviting you just have to strip off. Except, I confess, I am a cold-water wuss — and somebody had to hold my wife's towel.
Frankly, it was exhilarating enough just to be there, soaking oneself spiritually in the Sound of Iona, its topaz waters flecked by divebombing gannets. On days like these, the Scottish islands can be heaven on earth, and not just the domain of saints and aristocrats.Andrew Eames was a guest of The Majestic Line, which has a full board, six-night Southern Hebrides and the Sea Lochs of Argyll cruise on the 11-passenger Glen Massan from £2,995pp, departing from Oban on June 21 and including wine with dinner (themajesticline.co.uk). Fly or take the train to Glasgow
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Time Out Dubai
2 days ago
- Time Out Dubai
Bar Des Pres in Dubai
There's something about dining 51 floors up that makes every bite and sip feel extra special. Add in panoramic views of DIFC, a sushi counter glowing softly under copper lights, a menu that dances between Paris and Tokyo and a late-night bar that hums with understated energy – and suddenly, you're not just out for dinner. You're somewhere else entirely. New to the city, but not to those in the know, Bar des Prés is the brainchild of French chef and TV personality Cyril Lignac. The space is home to a layered sophistication you'd expect in the backstreets of Saint-Germain, only here, Parisian blue velvet and copper tones meet bamboo and rattan. It's moody, it's elegant – and it nails the balance between luxury and cool. From the moment you step inside, it's clear this isn't your typical fusion spot. (Credit: Bar Des Pres) Food-wise, you'll want to start with the signature crispy rice, topped with a trio of tuna, salmon and yellowtail, a dish that's as satisfying in texture as it is in flavour. Each golden, bite-sized block of rice is pan-seared, offering a warm, toasty base for the trio of raw fish layered on top – tuna, salmon and yellowtail. Finished with a brush of soy and a whisper of lime zest, the starter is next level. No visit to Bar Des Pres would be complete without trying the chef's signature crab and avocado galette. Avocado sits on a bed of madras curry crab before it's topped with small bites of green apple for a little bit of acidity. A dish you might not stop thinking about long after you've left. From there, options lean indulgent. Chilean sea bass with a complexly flavoured tom yum foam is a clear standout – flaky, rich and delightfully sweet. While the A4 Japanese wagyu entrecôte comes charred and tender, ready to be dragged through a sticky barbecue sauce. As for dessert? You'll want to make room. Lignac's pastry background shines in the vanilla mille-feuille with pecan praline, though the Guanaja chocolate biscuit (which is actually a hazelnut fondant) might just steal the show. (Credit: Bar Des Pres) Service is slick and well-timed, albeit a bit rushed. You could be in and out in under 90 minutes, whether you're seated at the buzzing sushi counter or in one of the comfy booths. Bar des Prés doesn't lean too hard into formality, and prices are relatively reasonable for the area. Whether you fancy a quick lunch or a leisurely late-night dinner (a DJ comes on nightly from 9pm), the vibe stays consistently cool but approachable. It's easy to see why this elegant newcomer is already making a good impression on Dubai diners – 51 floors up, but very much grounded in good taste.
The Herald Scotland
6 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
CalMac Glen Sannox's ferry - will it help Arran bounce back?
This is not to declare the decision in the procurement process, led by Caledonian Maritime Assets Limited, that it should be a dual-fuel ferry capable of operating on marine diesel and liquefied natural gas did not add unnecessary and lamentable complexity. Rather, it is to observe the scale of the vessel, including its capacity, and the passenger experience. The mood on the packed vessel was no doubt helped by the fact that the sailing was on a Saturday at the peak of the recent long sunny spell, arguably a heatwave by Scottish standards. The stillness of the water was a lot more reminiscent of the Greek islands than the west of Scotland, and its colour, while not quite as vivid as the Aegean perhaps, was as impressive as it was uncharacteristic. There were seals swimming close to a buoy as the ferry departed. And the water in the distance at the base of Arran appeared almost white. CalMac's roll and bacon and potato scone was of the usual high standard. Memories of the coffee from the days when I travelled on CalMac ferries regularly when working for The Oban Times were of a large mug of strong black coffee. These days, you can purchase a latte in a takeaway cup featuring CalMac's yellow and red logo. The boat is very well fitted out, and the passenger experience is undoubtedly a good one, comparing it with some very pleasant ferry crossings throughout Europe. It was impossible, even in the relaxed atmosphere and glorious sunshine, not to contemplate briefly the effect on Arran of the Glen Sannox at last being in service. In this context, it is worth bearing in mind that the Glen Sannox is for now sailing between Troon and Brodick. And the Troon experience is quite different for a foot passenger arriving by rail from the arrangements at Ardrossan, where the train station is right next to the ferry terminal. CalMac will be operating the returning Caledonian Isles between Ardrossan and Brodick during its summer timetable, while the Glen Sannox will continue sailing between Troon and Arran. Clearly, residents on Arran have had to get used to a lot of upheaval in recent years, and the island has undoubtedly been hit hard by the unreliability of ferry services as it waited for the Glen Sannox. The Glen Sannox started sailing on the Troon to Brodick route in January (Image: Ian McConnell) Years late too is the Glen Rosa, which is also being built at Ferguson Marine and is now not expected to be in service on the Troon to Arran route until the second quarter of next year. Colin Morrison, finance director and company secretary of Auchrannie Resort, highlighted in an interview with The Herald in January the effect of the lack of reliability of ferry services in recent winters, and crucially also the publicity around this, in making people less confident about visiting. Mr Morrison, noting the new vessel's greater capacity and ability to operate in weather conditions in which the smaller Isle of Arran ferry could not, said then: 'It is good to see it in service. Certainly in the first couple of weeks it has been sailing in winds which would have prevented the Isle of Arran from sailing.' Read more It has been difficult to escape the impression that some politically motivated observers who have delighted in what has become known as Scotland's 'ferry fiasco' might almost have been hoping the arrival of the Glen Sannox on the route would be less smooth than has been the case. That said, minor issues have generated huge headlines. This is perhaps not surprising, given the high profile of the vessel caused in large part by the monumental cost overruns and delays in the building of it as well as the effect of this woe on CalMac services. However, what is surely important now is that Arran recovers from the troubles caused by ferry service disruption in recent years, and that tourism providers and others on the island can benefit from the arrival of the Glen Sannox, and eventually also the Glen Rosa when it turns up. It was interesting to catch up with the management of Auchrannie this week to find out about the resort's experience of the Glen Sannox, now that the vessel has been operating on the Troon to Brodick route for more than four months. And it was good to hear this experience has generally been positive. Auchrannie is obviously a business which relies so much on the CalMac ferry services. It has over the decades worked closely with the ferry operator, including offering packages inclusive of CalMac sailings. Tom Jessop, head of finance at the employee-owned Auchrannie Resort, said this week that 'ferry reliability has improved significantly since Glen Sannox entered service'. He did note that 'the weather since then has also been comparatively favourable'. Mr Jessop revealed that '2025 occupancy and forward bookings at the resort are up 5% on last year'. He added: 'We believe this is due to improved ferry reliability and capacity, better weather conditions, and less negative press coverage, which translates to an increase in customer confidence. With all of that said, signs look good that the Glen Sannox can sail in more challenging conditions than older ferries, and this bodes well for the future.' While there are obviously lessons to be learned from the delays and cost overruns in building the Glen Sannox and the Glen Rosa, what matters for people and businesses on Arran is what happens from here. In this regard it is most heartening to hear Auchrannie, a major employer on Arran which works closely with other businesses on the island and plays a big part in attracting visitors, express positive sentiments about the experience so far of the Glen Sannox sailing on the route and the outlook.
Times
20-05-2025
- Times
This is the stylish way to see one of the world's greatest deserts
'Do you like rollercoasters?' inquired my long-haired, rocker-style Chilean guide with a grin as we turned off the tarmac and on to a rock-littered track across the Valley of Patience. 'Because for the next half hour it's going to feel like one — so hold on.' My heart was already thundering after a day's hike at 3,300m in the cold, oxygen-depleted Andean air outside the town of San Pedro de Atacama. By the time we'd careered over the compacted ash, wound through vertiginous orange cliffs and then gingerly manoeuvred down a rocky, 45-degree slope, I had begun to badly need the glass of Chilean carménère that Sebastian del Campo had been promising. But reward came when, just around the corner, he suddenly stopped the car. Our jaws dropped in amazement. Before us lay a panorama of the Atacama desert in all its sunset-bathed glory: the snowcapped, volcano-tipped silhouettes of the Andes glowing burgundy and purple; the sky above awash with pastel yellows, pinks and apricots; the rising full moon's soft beams shimmering over the parched crusty skin of the earth. Wherever we looked, the scars of our ravaged planet were plain to see in the celestial light. Parallel lines of giant orange turrets, eroded into fantastical shapes, rose like an army of spiny-backed dinosaurs across the plains. Horizontal layers of squashed white gypsum crystals sparkled across cliffs. Rounded, wind-scoured hillsides rolled in waves. For a few minutes we just stood there, poleaxed by the splendour. Then, as darkness descended, Del Campo came to his senses. 'We'd better come back to earth,' he said, shaking his head in wonderment. 'We still have to climb down to camp — ideally before dark.' This wasn't a camp as most of us know it. The site, on the banks of the San Pedro river, 20 miles outside the town, was a temporary one, chosen specifically for me as a fun add-on because I was en route to the Tierra Atacama hotel in nearby San Pedro, which has just been redesigned and relaunched. But its tents could be set up pretty much anywhere to suit a bespoke traveller's itinerary, according to Ivan Costa, the founder of Glove Travel. He conceived the idea of a roaming place to stay in seven years ago, so that luxury travellers could 'get in touch more with nature and have the experience of being on their own, in silence, in the desert'. When, five minutes later, we came to a stop and I looked down into a canyon, I couldn't quite believe where I was about to sleep. Below steep cliffs, on a wide riverbed, sat two tiny white bell tents: my bedroom and my bathroom. To the right a fire had been lit beside two pouffes: my bar. And along a path a string of solar lamps had been planted next to a dining table. Other than those, there was nothing around but desert and sky. 'Don't worry, you won't be totally alone,' Del Campo said by way of assurance. 'My tent is round that corner and you'll have a radio.' After a tour of my accommodation — the bedroom cosily floored in Andean rugs; the wood-slatted bathroom fitted with a compostable WC, basin and gas-heated shower — we settled at the campfire, where a feast had been laid out by the charming local chef Leonelo Cuevas. As I happily sipped carménère, Cuevas delivered Chilean treat after treat: first olives, guacamole, quinoa crispbreads, purple crisps, cured local meats and cheeses; then soft slow-cooked beef with four varieties of coloured Andean potatoes; and finally a caramel-like mousse made from the syrup of a local fruit, chañar. If I hadn't been dead on my feet and almost comatose with carbs, Cuevas would have apparently also serenaded me with his guitar. Instead, following a surprisingly hot shower, I reclothed myself in every layer I'd brought and, after another besotted gaze at the thick, sparkling, almost-purple whirls of the Milky Way, I climbed into my big double bed. Although it was about 2C outside, in bed I felt as cosseted as Rapunzel, sandwiched between a thick mattress-topper and heavy blankets, duvet and llama-wool throws. Lulled by the comforting trickle of the nearby San Pedro River — and smiling as I tried to imagine my position in this giant desert not far from Chile's borders with Bolivia and Argentina — I passed out. • The otherworldly desert that's brilliant for stargazing I could have stayed for days, breakfasting on espresso and dulce de leche-filled croissants from the acclaimed La Franchuteria bakery in San Pedro, but I had an appointment with one of the town's smartest hotels. In 2008 the Tierra Atacama was one of the first hotels designed to welcome luxury travellers in the Atacama desert. When it reopened in March, following a two-year, $20 million renovation, it had become the smartest. The Tierra Atacama has always been stylish. The founding owner Miguel Purcell, architect Matias González and interior designer Carolina Delpiano are well known for their sensitive collaborations, which combine the landscape, vernacular architectural styles and endemic crafts. But since Tierra was sold in 2022 to the Australian Baillie Lodges company (which itself had gone into partnership with the American KSL Capital Partners in 2019), the hotel has fixed its eyes on the ultra-luxury international market. Hence the transformation of eight rooms into four suites, the addition of an alluring wine wall and outdoor 'fire kitchen', and the expansion of its spa and gym. Although it is now more polished, the hotel's old spirit remains. Thanks to Delpiano, the four new suites are beautifully understated, their floors lined with local pitted, creamy travertine, and their walls clad in Chilean woods or painted the dark blue of the night sky. Chairs are adorned with Andean llama wool throws and there are photographs of Andean festivals by Andrés Figueroa and giant astral-inspired installations by Maria Edwards. Then there are the expansive patios on which to sit and gaze at the Andes. That is, if you're ever in your room. Each suite comes with its own private car and guide for excursions. That's possibly the greatest treat of all as you can dictate your route and your stop-offs. So every day, armed with a picnic lunch and binoculars, I went out with the enthusiastic 34-year-old Patagonian guide Carolina Wilson. In a desert that's more than 1,000km long and, at 105,000 sq km, about half the size of Britain, getting anywhere takes hours. In two days we could squeeze in just four key spots. One day it was Rainbow Valley (a multicoloured array of mineral-rich mountains), followed by a rock face carved with petroglyphs and then the white, mineral-encrusted salt flats, home to flamingos. And the next day, after exploring a high-altitude area punctured by boiling pools and spouting geysers, we hiked in a canyon, stopping to admire a wild black llama, herds of golden vicuña, a pair of viscacha (like a shortsighted fat rabbit with a long tail) and, rather thrillingly, a cave littered with still-bloody bones: remnants of a puma's dinner. • Read more travel advice in our South America guide Mainly, though, I soaked up Wilson's knowledge about the area's fauna and geology, learning to distinguish volcanic lava from meteorite, compacted ash from clay, copper residue from sulphur. I clocked up a list of my favourite Atacama plants: the llareta, which creeps over boulders like a luminous green carpet; the single-stemmed cardon cactus, used to make church roofs; and the 'mother-in-law's-cactus', a pincushion of spikes that glint wickedly in the sunlight. In between, Wilson and I talked about everything from the terrifying dictatorship of the 1970s and the landmines that still litter the desert to the devastating impact of lithium mining that is drying wetlands and the vast copper mines polluting entire towns. And as we drove through the world's driest desert, we discussed water. • Chile travel guide: what to do, where to stay and why you'll love it This is an area that gets only about 30 to 40mm of rain a year, mainly in February, so life depends almost entirely on snowmelt from the Andes. In fact, so precious is water in Chile that it's owned by the local communities across the country; in San Pedro, the community sells it by the hour from irrigation channels that crisscross the town. All potable water has to be bought in big plastic bottles. The Tierra Atacama hotel gets eight hours of community water every 20 days, much of which is wasted because the hotel has no storage tanks, and also pumps from a salty supply 42m underground. It needs every drop it can lay its hands on because every suite comes with not only an indoor shower but an outdoor one too, as well as a pool and a deep bathtub. The spa is equally aqua-centric. Alongside a steam room, there's a pool with hydro-massage jets (which often don't work because the speed of evaporation is so fast that the water level keeps dropping), a Jacuzzi and a pretty outdoor pool, whose towels (rather hilariously) are accompanied by a note asking you to reuse them to save 'limited resources'. When staff are so friendly (the young ones giving me kisses in the morning as if I was a favoured maiden aunt), when the design is so thoughtful and when the chef is clearly trying to incorporate local ingredients into menus (not always successfully), it feels ungracious to bang on about water. But when communities to the east are now unable to grow crops in increasingly dry soils, when village streams have dried up because lithium mines are diverting water south, when even flamingos are migrating to Bolivia to find new pans, I felt guilty even dipping a toe in the communal pool, never mind my own. In such a rapidly changing world, there must surely be smarter alternatives to therapies that use water. After all, the desert is littered with pumice stones, minerals, muds and salts. Just as animals and plants are having to adapt, perhaps it's time for hotels to do so too. Especially almost-perfect ones like Grainger was a guest of Audley Private Concierge, which has eight nights' full-board from £15,200pp, including four at Tierra Atacama (three in a suite and one glamping), one in Santiago, a city tour, two at a luxury wine hotel in the Apalta Valley, business class flights and transfers (
