On�the Royal Scotsman TrainThrough the Land of LochsJudy Babcock Wylie
The brochure said dress was casual but sophisticated during the day and dinners required nice dresses for women�and jackets for men.� Two evenings were formal,�when men were expected to wear tuxes and women cocktail dresses or evening gowns. It was a great excuse to go out and buy a couple of new frocks, and I did. Soon the train rumbled out of the station, heading west, passing red-roofed villages, fat brown cows and their calves standing in broad green pastures, corrugated metal barns and�fields with eight-foot high rolls of hay�that looked like enormous shredded wheat biscuits. Inside, the tapestry drapes swayed from the train�s gentle motion, and the passengers made those cordial but tentative gestures of greeting to each other you make when�you find yourself in a fantasy environment far from home and don�t know a soul. Cheerful, down-to-earth�Iris Barry, the train�s guide, made conversation easier. She plopped herself down and spoke�about the landscape we�d be going�were going through loudly enough so we could all eavesdrop. �The two people who made the Highlands of�Scotland famous were� Queen Victoria� and Sir Walter Scott. When the Queen read Scott�s� romantic novels set in the Highlands she traveled by train through�Scotland and decided she must have a� Highlands estate, making it the fashionable thing to do.� Looking around the train, it was�clear if Queen Victoria were alive in the 1990�s you could bet she�d take the Royal Scotsman, which reflects high Victorian style in its decor and white-glove service, right down to the books by Sir Walter Scott in the library.�
Day IThe train continued west,� past lochs sparkling in the sun, each with a village clinging to the shore; and Iris pointed out the croft properties, which were strips of land that included some pasture, a croft or cottage, and access to the shore so the owner could fish. On the other side of the train pastures stretched away to gray-blue mountains in the distance.
That evening we could choose from two dining cars, the Raven, with a plush red interior and one long table, or the Victory,� with intimate seating of twos and fours in brown tapestry chairs.� I sat at the larger table in the Raven, and found it easy to get to know other guests. Most of the� passengers were Americans, with a few Europeans,� all people over 50 years old� and� well-off financially but down-to-earth... Wines flowed, a Chateau de Rully and a La Chenade, Lalande de Pomerol, and soon the group began to jell and the evening felt like a rolling house party. Dinner was served on fine china and in three simple courses, a lemon sole and crab parcel as a first course,� a breast of chicken in truffle sauce, and a pear creme brulee for dessert. The food was tasty but the portions were smaller than we�re used to in American restaurants, and I also missed having a salad course. After dinner, we sipped coffee and nibbled chocolates� in the observation car, swapped travel stories and listened to silver-haired Paddy Shaw play �My Love is Like� Red, Red Rose� and other tunes on the Scottish version of the accordion.�� While the time came� I was delighted to slip back into my own cabin, lean back against the plush pillows and� read a British mystery I�d brought along,� Later, there was no problem of train motion bothering� your sleep because the train is parked on a rail spur every night. The main problem I had was keeping the bed on. Instead of the usual sheets and� blankets, the beds are made with a thick cover resembling a huge feather taco, which you wrap around yourself. Occasionally this taco would fall open in the night and I�d wake up, a bit cold, to re-wrap it.� Day 2
Day 3A visit to the Highland Wildlife Park took up most of the morning, where we saw buck deer duking it out with their antlers �for possession of a herd. After joining the train again we sped north to Inverness then turned west to Kyle of Lochalsh, reported to be one of the most scenic routes in Britain, with lochs, villages, and lots of sheep.� At Kyle we got off to tour the Eilean Donan castle built on a rocky spit of land where three lochs meet. The castle is an imposing sight,� the most photographed castle in Scotland. Inside the decor was� part medieval decor, part 1950s, when the family had last redecorated it Back on the train, passengers dressed in their formal togs for dinner. Women wore beaded dresses or silt suits, and some swept in to dinner in� long gowns.
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As the bagpiper puffed up his cheeks and piped us down the platform toward the sleek burgundy Royal Scotsman train in Edinburgh's Waverly Station, it was clear this was going to be one train trip we'd� never confuse with Amtrak. While we boarded late Sunday afternoon, smiling waiters in black coats served champagne and smoked salmon canap�s in the Observation car, which was furnished like a gentleman�s club with plush red plaid seats, burgundy pillows and gleaming burled-wood walls.
The Royal Scotsman can only�take�up to 36 passengers. It's�a lot like a small cruise ship that visits selected ports, as the train has daily excursions planned to a fish smokery,�a single malt scotch distillery, castles, a wild-breed park and a family estate for a cooking lesson. I had signed up for a four-night tour that would go west from Edinburgh to the Highlands region, then back, and� north to Perth and beyond, including a visit to the isle of Skye, before returning to Edinburgh four day later. 
When staff member Neil Sandilands led down the narrow passage to my cabin, �P� and opened the door,� it was clear it would be hard to pry myself out of it. later. It was not large, in fact it was a little snug, with less that 3 square feet of walking space in the cabin itself,� but it felt like the plush inside of a jewel box, or the boudoir of a wealthy Englishwoman in some Merchant Ivory film. Burgundy tapestry drapes drew over the windows, engravings of� proper kilted Scots hung on the walls, and two built-in beds were covered with silk plaid coverlets. When I pulled open the top drawer of the mahogany vanity and chest,� creamy note cards and an oval� silver box with a sewing kit lay in it, and the air was kept moving by a� a paddle fan overhead. A small closet could hold a few items, and through the door the� bathroom and its shower� were� bigger than I expected. The cabin�s walls gleamed with mahogany� and a big etched full-length mirror hung on the� door. 
The train stopped late in the afternoon near Dalmally so we could visit a fish smokery, and when we returned to the Victorian station at Taynuilt� there was a surprise:� staff were standing on the platform in front of the train holding silver trays of Rob Roys� to welcome us back, a daily� tradition that sometimes meant Black Velvets, and once hot chocolate.� 
By 8 a.m. the next day we were barreling along again, running on a narrow shelf of land between the slopes of the mountain named Ben Cruachan and the River Awe, with vistas of sheep with black faces grazing in the distance outside the windows.� At breakfast in the dining car the light poured in,� glinting off the starched linen tablecloths. The menu listed� eggs, sausage, lamb�s kidneys, black pudding, fish of the day, scones, French toast or oatmeal.
The first excursion was a visit to St. John�s Kirk where John Knox preached the sermon that ignited the Reformation in 1559. The train then sped north through Dunkeld, where Shakespeare set part of �Macbeth,� then� reached Carrbridge, site of a lovely curved bridge built in the 1700s.. A coach then took us to see� Ballindalloch castle in the Spey Valley, handed down through rhe Macpherson-Grant family since 1546. The� lady of the castle gave a formal talk while we stood outside on the grass under a threatening sky. Inside in the perfectly restored home we could explore on our own, from the case of stuffed birds in the reception hall to the formal dining room with portraits to the master bedroom with a fireplace mantle carved an inscription from the 1500s. After a ramble in the gardens� we gathered for tea, in the tourist�s tea and souvenir shop, � 
Men wore tuxes except for one brave American soul who wore a complete kilt outfit, considered formal wear here. Catching a view of the elegant group reflected in the dark window,� it looked like a magazine ad for very expensive scotch.� 
The journey ended the next day when the train crossed the graceful bridge at the Firth of Forth and roared into Edinburgh in mid-morning. Disembarking, no bagpipes were played or Rob Roys served on silver platters. Instead, warm smiles and good byes from new friends filled the air. What I had liked the best was the time we were on the train itself.� Sipping tea poured from a silver Georgian teapot, nibbling Scottish shortbread, and chatting with the small group of guests as the train's staff tended to our every need made me feel, if for only a few days, as if I was one� of God's chosen. And I understood for the first time what� Robert Frost meant when he wrote: "Happiness makes up in height� for what it lacks in breadth."