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On the Royal Scotsman TrainThrough the Land of
Lochs
Judy 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 I
The 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 3
A 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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TM
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 canapés 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."