I’m fiercely independent and averse to small talk, but I wasn’t going to let that get in the way of my dream. When my French partner declared that he had “zero interest” in boarding the Royal Scotsman, a Belmond Train—a journey I’ve dreamed of taking since it took to the rails in 1985—I went ahead and booked a ticket anyway.
I hoped that the random group of strangers with whom I’d be sharing a 10-car train for the next seven days wouldn’t be too intolerable. Especially since the American political situation makes travel especially fraught these days; one never knows when they will encounter an elephant in the room, so to speak.
As I walked onto the platform at Edinburgh’s Waverley station, I was greeted by a bagpiper in a full Highland kit—kilt, plaid cloak, bonnet, and sporran—as well as our guide, Mark Nash, a retired British military officer.
It was a lovely surprise to discover that the good-looking couple who’d had a light lunch in the bar across from me were among the 38 passengers. In fact, the entire cast on the Royal Scotsman was much more interesting than the wealth-adviser’s-waiting-room types I’d been expecting. There was an Argentinean woman traveling with her mother, a large Indian family who lives in Switzerland, several gay couples, and some rail-mad Germans.
Recalling a favorite verse of the Scottish poet Robert Burns—“Know prudent cautious self-control is wisdom’s root”—I settled into my twin cabin. With a writing desk, two very comfortable beds covered with plump plaid pillows and duvets, and plenty of ingeniously designed storage and closet space, it was perfectly appointed. Same goes for the en suite bathroom, whose spacious shower had plenty of water pressure.
As we made our way out of Edinburgh, we started off with an excellent high tea, including fresh-from-the-oven scones. (The train’s top-notch culinary staff includes a baker and pastry chef.) Finishing a glass of champagne, I hung back as the others drifted away to their cabins.
Momentarily alone on the open-air observation deck, my heart jumped at the sight of Forth Bridge. This cantilevered, trussed, red-painted 54,000-ton steel marvel is a mile and a half long. Completed in 1890, it crosses the estuary between Fife and Edinburgh. I’d been dreaming of it ever since my junior year of college, when I studied abroad in London. (My focus: the art, architecture, and literature of Victorian England.)
“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” asked Nash over my shoulder. “It became a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2015, and for once they got something right.” I confessed I’d been obsessed with Victorian engineering ever since my first visit to Great Britain, in 1972. He chuckled and clapped me on the back. “No worries, Alec,” he said. “Your fetish is safe with me.”
I switched gears to a Negroni and admired the autumnal mellowness of the moors, an undulating tapestry of gold-, crimson-, prune-, and spruce-colored vegetation cradling the train on our way to Perth. A judge and two epidemiologists joined me. All three had traveled on the Royal Scotsman previously and were returning specifically for this itinerary: the Grand Tour of Scotland.
In addition to the Orkney Islands, the Isle of Skye, St. Andrews, and Drumlanrig Castle, I was also eager to see the Tay Bridge, another marvel of Victorian engineering, which crosses the Firth of Tay between Dundee and Wormit.
Our first evening, we dined on seared sea bream with fennel and pickled ginger; venison with roasted pears, puréed beets, wilted spinach, and pan gravy; and sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce and vanilla ice cream. It was just one of the outstanding meals by executive chef Mark Tamburrini, whose made-from-scratch specialties included haggis and potato scones.
On the fourth day of our adventure, not long after I’d settled into a moss-green tweed armchair with a tumbler of Glenmorangie, the train manager, Max Jackman, introduced a vocal group, Mànran, whose name is Gaelic for a “melodic sound or a sweet tone.” Listening to the sorrowful voice of singer Kim Carnie, I had to take a big gulp of scotch to prevent myself from weeping.
Each day included an excursion, and after disembarking the train, we were divided up among a fleet of Range Rovers. There was much scenery to explore, and the most magnificent sight was Drumlanrig Castle, the 17th-century home of the 10th Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry. We spent our final evening at a gala dinner there. Some guests wore kilts of their family tartans, while others had rented them for the occasion. (A few, like me, made do with a tuxedo.) The affair included a torch-lit welcome by several ranks of pipers and a guided visit of the palace, which has one of the greatest private art collections in Britain. (Rembrandt’s An Old Woman Reading is the standout.)
By the end of the trip, for the first time in my life, I finally felt connected to Scotland. It was the country of origin for more than half of my ancestors, who had ultimately settled in Boston, Halifax, and Connecticut, where I grew up. Until then, I had always been much more enamored with the meager strands of DNA I shared with my Italian great-great-grandfather and his French wife from Aix-en-Provence.
But while admiring the Scottish countryside as the Royal Scotsman made its way back to Edinburgh, I was reminded, once again, of how the greatest journeys hold the possibility to transform us in all sorts of unexpected ways.
The writer was partly hosted by the Royal Scotsman, a Belmond Train. Rates for the Grand Tour of Scotland itinerary begin at $28,000 per person, based on two guests sharing a twin cabin. Rates include all meals, unlimited soft drinks, and excursions as outlined in the itinerary
Alexander Lobrano is a Writer at Large at AIR MAIL. His latest book is the gastronomic coming-of-age story My Place at the Table: A Recipe for a Delicious Life in Paris
