Heather Glen Guest House
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TripAdvisor Reviews Heather Glen Guest House Elgin
Travel Blogs from Elgin
... time I've done it since Rachel and I started traveling. I was so excited to be there, I've missed it a lot. Ended up staying for three hours. After Belfast we took the ferry to Scotland! And from the very start we both loved Scotland. Our first day was quite amazing, we traveled up the western coast, which is from what I hear, the most beautiful place in Scotland. The views all the way up were completely breathtaking! We met some amazing people along the way as well. ...
... on this fine North Eastern tour
was the fishing port of Lossiemouth. It’s a marvelous little village built on
the fishing grounds that used to provide its income. It has seen its share of
tragedy as has most fishing villages. Most notable is the Stotfield disaster on
Christmas Day 1806. The upshot of this was that the village of Stotfield west
of Lossiemouth was left with 17 widows, 47 orphaned children and 2 old men. It
never recovered. Of note in ...
... We reach the platform. I check the board. I say, “Oh, Aberdeen 17.31 – it’s on the other side.”
A woman overhears me.
Alison, quite startled by the unexpected outcry and ensuing cacophony of sobs and curses, promptly runs back to the car and zips off in a vain attempt to pick up the flowers and return to the station in time.
Meanwhile, everyone is staring at the crumpled heap ...
... to Elgin to grab some lunch.
Mary was busy cooking dinner when we got back as Gillian and her girls would be coming over for dinner along with their son Richard. We enjoyed a really nice dinner and chat around the table which again, made us feel like we were back at home!
Yet again, we have been made to feel very welcome and have loved staying with James and Mary. Wish it could have been for longer!
Tomorrow, we head north to Dornoch!
Brendan and Lauren ...
... to the place one uneventful morning in June, as a small coffee haven serving Bologna's most creative cappuccinos by far (see pictures attached) and often, in my case, accompanied by a bold, heart-attack-inducing pastry. Therein lay the problem. It's always the bloody pastry.
As I simmered indecisively by the counter, little did I know that a short, very curly-haired Italian with a wide grin hidden in bumfluff was lurking observantly nearby.