Lochaber No More

Ah the power of retrospect...

I can now say: 'when Eddy and I were managers of Chase the Wild Goose Hostel...' Yes, it's true. We have flown the coup, left the nest, taken flight and, um, whatever other feathery expression for 'packed up and left' that you can think of.

As it turns out, four and a half months at the hostel was enough for us. Yes, there were good times...and I think I'll just focus on those. Our last few weeks there were made very enjoyable by the wonderful (non-paying) people who ventured all the way up to the Highlands to visit us. Eddy's mum, Judy arrived in low-key style- she cruised up from London on the sleeper train, changed at Glasgow for the local Highland line and arrived at Banavie Station at noon, rugged up and ready for the worst weather Ben Nevis could direct our way. The weather was pretty bad, but it really didn't matter as having Judy around (in what turned out to be a very quiet week at the hostel) cheered us up immensely. Eddy and I were both amused to hear that she had done the first leg of her train trip (London to Glasgow- average price £90) without a ticket. After all, the posters of stereotypical fare-dodger's that BritRail displays around the place, generally don't look anything like Judy. As it turned out though, it wasn't her attempt to rebel against the system in a one-lady war against overpriced train fares, it was actually due to a very unfortunate mix up with her Britrail flexi-pass. Whilst she was trying to collect it in London as she'd been told to, it was actually sitting on a travel agent's desk in Bathurst. Once this was realised, the agent posted it off by international courier and seven days later it arrived in Fort William, just in time for Judy's train back south.

Ticket drama's aside, we had a great week showing Judy around. Her eye for detail helped us notice things we may not have seen otherwise- the beards of lichen on the birch trees and rings of mushrooms around the base of their trunks, different types of pine cones, hostel curtains that had come off their hooks. A highlight of her visit was walking down Glen Nevis; the sun had come out, but at the same time, it was gently snowing. Spring buds were just starting to open up and the gorge was gushing with water from the snow melting off the mountains. After a lovely week, Judy took the train back south to spend time with family and friends in Dorset and London. Her visit had been wonderful, and when she left the burden of running the hostel seemed to slump back down on our shoulders.

Then, suddenly, Spring arrived - the sky turned a strange shade of blue, and all the inhabitants of Fort William shed their winter skins of thermals, fleeces and rain jackets and could be seen walking around in T-shirts. A fantastic assistant arrived in the shape of a permanently smiling Peruvian called Diego who arrived as a guest and stayed on as a helper. It was during this week that two of my music friends paid a fantastically timed visit. Nicky and Jess are both studying flute as postgraduate students at the Royal College of Music in London. For this they have the privilege of living in a college situated between Royal Albert Hall and Hyde Park. Wow. For this they face the price-tag of being international students. Ouch. I think it balances out somewhat. I met them off the train in Glasgow. Amongst their bags, their flute cases were conspicuously absent. Their insistence that this was a holiday put paid to my dream of being serenaded by double flute concertos in the fire lounge but they more than made up for this with their wonderful, happy, sunshine-filled company.

Our first excursion with them was out to the beach. A week earlier, in the freezing sleet this would have seemed a little unlikely, but in the sunshine, Eddy and I could pretend that we always hung out at the white sanded, turquoise watered, fir surrounded beach at Arisaig. It was the Caribbean of the North Sea we claimed, rolling up our trousers and removing our shoes. Unfortunately, we betrayed ourselves the moment our toes touched the water, but Jess and Nicky were suitably impressed with their first Scottish beach nonetheless. As they were getting the train back to London from Edinburgh, we decided to head down there together a night earlier, leaving Eddy to run the hostel by himself. We stayed at a backpackers in the Old Town, and, under the cloak of darkness, descended into the haunted underground city on a ghost tour. Although the ghoulies didn't make an appearance, it was atmospheric nonetheless and scary enough without them. In the morning, we saw some of the sights and, before they left, gorged ourselves at 'Chocolate Soup', a cafe that is guaranteed to burst the top button on your jeans but in such a pleasurable way that you won't mind.

After their visit, our hostelling days were numbered- this wasn't a surprise though as we'd been counting down from 63 having given 9 weeks notice. But before our career as managers was to come to an end, we had to get through the Easter weekend. We were fully booked (and then some). Every bed was taken and we even had people on mattresses on the floor. The whole fleet of Fort William's formidable accommodation armada was chockers. We'd been expecting it and we thought we were well prepared- that was until a hurricane entered the office in the form of a formidable grey-haired Scottish lassie who banged her hand on the table and cried “What have you done!?!” Unfortunately, for both parties, it was a case of what she hadn't done which was to notify us that her group had grown by three. They'd been out hiking all day and she was not in a mood to admit her mistake. Instead, she rolled up her sleeve and prepared to arm wrestle me for our bed... well, not really, and good thing too because I would have lost for sure- but she did make an awful fuss until Eddy managed to track down the last beds left in Fort William. I would say, what's life without a few difficult customers, but by this time, the answer to that question was that life was much better without them. It was definitely time to hand the mantle over to Tobi and Nadine Muller, the very nice German couple who were replacing us as managers.

We had a lovely send-off dinner. Tobi and Nadine prepared sauerkraut and sausage, Diego cooked some Peruvian food and I made a lemon delicious pudding. Our Canadian friend Heather was staying with us and as always, entertained, singing and playing her guitar which she had spontaneously decided to call 'Diego' after discovering its yearning to be Peruvian. So the last few memories at the hostel were sweet and warm and lovely, very much like my pudding which disappeared in no time at all. The next morning, we waved goodbye to Chase the Wild Goose Hostel and drove away to the pounding strains of Sigur Ros. Little did we know we were leaving Nadine and Tobi to face possibly the hostel's most difficult customers ever on their very first night. But that's another story... the next one.