I have only recently started to appreciate scotch. A couple years ago, a friend introduced me to the special variety of scotch that comes from Islay, an island that is part of the Inner Hebrides on the west coast of Scotland. I enjoyed it so much that I built a trip around visiting the distilleries on this remote paradise.

My friend, Tony, and I took the 30 minute flight to Islay from Glasgow at 8am and returned at 6:30pm the same day. This was a bit pricey ($225 round trip) but saved a lot of time. The alternative from Glasgow was a 2 hour bus to Kennacraig, then a 3 hour ferry to Islay, and spending at least one evening there.

The flight was easy and picturesque. If you’re lucky enough to have clear skies, it would be stunning as the plane flies quite low over several islands. It was cloudy when we flew but we still enjoyed nice views at take off and landing. We disembarked on the tarmac and entered the building through the Islay Airport’s only gate. 15 seconds later, we walked out the front door and began talking with the sheep in the adjacent field. There is a bus route into town, but it wasn’t scheduled to arrive at the airport stop until 9:41am. Instead, we hopped into Carol’s Taxi for the 10 mile ride for $16. She was waiting in one of the twenty or so parking spots.

We pedaled off to our first stop 1.5 miles down the coast, Laphroaig. This was the brand of scotch that I had tried a couple years ago, and I was excited to finally see the distillery. The narrow, rolling road was flanked by green and brown hills that drifted away like large swells in the sea, and soon we were coasting from the road down to our destination. It’s an idyllic setting, the buildings literally yards from the water. Laphroaig means something like “the hollow of Broad Bay” which is loosely translated from Gaelic and Norse. And this is exactly how it appears, a small inlet off of a larger bay.

From Laphroaig, we continued down the coast to two other distilleries, Lagavulin and Ardbeg. While there are notable differences, these distilleries all have a very similar appearance and appeal. We didn’t do a tour but checked out the grounds and gift shops. Ardbeg also has a nice cafe where I had fish pie, containing salmon and white fish. The cafe was busy and we waited 20 minutes for a table.  There are very few places to eat, at least in the area we visited, so it’s not surprising that it was so busy. 

From Lagavulin, we could see an old stack of rocks balanced precipitously on a high point along the shore. An employee explained that this is the ruins of a castle.  We biked a few blocks to the east, turned down a poorly paved road, coasted down a grass path that ended at the ruins. A slight drizzle did little to dissuade us. We climbed up to the base of the walls and took a couple risky steps across a 30 foot channel that drops to the sea.  This put us in the middle of the ruins which we later learned are crumbled remains of Dunyvaig Castle.  This was originally a naval base built in the 12th century and then destroyed late in the 16th century. Below left, is the view of the Lagavulin distillery from the ruins, and the right is what’s left of one of the wall castle walls.

It had been raining on and off since we’d arrived, and we took advantage of a dry moment to ride back to Port Ellen, the small town center in this part of the island.  We went to the post office which is located within a small gift shop so I could send a postcard.  We also got to overhear some local gossip while waiting in line, and we encountered Christine.  She was complaining quite prominently about what a terrible day she was having.  It was both sad and slightly comical, an exaggeration that seemed like an SNL skit.  We continued another block to the east where we had a cup of coffee and biscuits at the Islay Hotel café.  Shortly after we arrived, Christine ambled slowly down the stairs, moaning all the way until she plopped into a chair.  The clerk cheerily shouted out, “Hello Christine, how are you?,” to which she sighed and delineated her ailments including a bad back, a car accident, and crappy weather.  We got back on the bikes and finished exploring Port Ellen, a 5 minute excursion, and returned the bikes to Jim. 

Jim called Carol who earlier said that she would take us back to the airport, but she was too busy.  Jim then explained how we could take the bus to the airport and walked us through a path to show us the way.  As we came out the other end of the path, Jim greeted another man who, as soon as he understood our mission, offered to drive us the half mile to the bus stop.  There is no shortage of friendliness around here. It’s amazing how these small acts of kindness leave a tremendous positive impression!

The bus arrived in a couple of minutes.  The fare from Port Ellen to the airport is 4 pounds, about $5, compared to $16 for the cab ride earlier in the day.  In the minutes before the bus arrived at the stop, I saw Christine shuffling along the sidewalk as passersby were cheerfully calling out to her. 

Back at the airport, we were boarding the only flight on the departure board.  Surprisingly, the security process was intense.  There were 15 passengers and we all received personalized attention.  One woman endured a lengthy body search involving two hands,, firm instructions, and a wand.  Tony and I and many others watched the officials unload our luggage in search of incendiary devices.  My small jar of Vaseline survived the inquiry, and I was cleared for boarding. 

I spent less than 10 hours on Islay and enjoyed it very much.  It’s such a peaceful and rural island.  This is not the place for everyone, and I may have regretted if I’d spent a night or two, but I also think I would have found other sights to see.  

Islay is part of a 10 day trip to the British Isles