So, Cruden Scotland. Yeah, I went there. Everyone talks about the golf, right? The fancy links course, all that history. That’s what got me interested in the first place, thought I’d finally tick it off the list.
Getting There Was Half The Battle
Booked a trip, thinking it’d be straightforward. Fly into Aberdeen, rent a car, easy peasy. Well, let me tell you, “easy peasy” wasn’t exactly how it went down. First off, the car rental place, they tried to give me this tiny little thing, barely fit my golf clubs. Had a bit of a barney with them, finally got something decent. Then the drive, the sat nav decided to take me on a “scenic route,” which basically meant every single tiny backroad in Aberdeenshire. Got proper lost for a bit, phone signal cutting in and out. Classic.
Finally rolled into Cruden Bay, feeling a bit frazzled. The place I booked, some little guesthouse, looked grand online. In reality? Let’s just say the photos were… optimistic. The room was tiny, the heating made this weird gurgling noise all night. Not exactly the luxury escape I’d pictured after hearing all the hype. But hey, you make do, don’t you?
What I Actually Remember
The golf was, yeah, it was tough. Wind whipping in off the North Sea, felt like it was trying to blow me over. Lost a fair few balls, I can tell you that. But the thing that really stuck with me? It wasn’t just the golf course itself, stunning as it is with those dunes.
It was the rawness of the place. I took a walk, away from the manicured greens, up towards Slains Castle. Or what’s left of it. Proper spooky, that castle. You can see why Bram Stoker got his ideas there. Just standing on those cliffs, with the wind howling and the waves crashing below, that was something else. No tourists around, just me and the seagulls. It felt ancient, powerful.
- The smell of the sea salt.
- The sheer drop from the cliffs.
- The silence, apart from the wind and waves.
And the people, met a couple of locals in the village pub. Proper characters. Didn’t care much for fancy talk, just straight up, told me stories about the fishing days, the storms. They weren’t trying to sell me anything, just sharing. That’s what I remember more than any perfectly hit 7-iron (not that there were many of those, mind you).
So yeah, Cruden. Went for the golf, which was an experience in itself, no doubt. But it’s the other bits, the unexpected bits, the slightly rough-around-the-edges bits, that’s what I actually took away. That’s the “practice” I suppose – sometimes you go looking for one thing and find something completely different, and maybe even better. Or at least, more real. It wasn’t the polished brochure version, but it was certainly memorable. And I learned that sometimes, getting a bit lost, or having a dodgy heater, it all just adds to the story you tell later, doesn’t it?
