5 Airports
4 Planes
3 Cars
2 Buses and 2 Taxis
1 Brother

Those were the ingredients in traveling from Bloomington to Fort William, Scotland. No problems until after I met up with Grant at London's Luton airport (the 4th airport for me). After boarding our plane a technical problem was noticed with the brake system. For a one-hour flight we sat on the tarmac for four hours, including moving to a new plane. I thought the other travelers were surprisingly accepting of the situation. If this had been in the US, there would have been many more complaints and questioning of our airline's competence.

After landing in Inverness, we rushed to the taxi stand outside and told the driver we were trying to make the last bus to Fort William. Suddenly we were going 70 on two lane country roads. I wasn't bothered at first, till I remembered that the British Isles still use miles and not kilometers. I was secretly relieved when our driver got stuck behind a line of cars he couldn't pass.

With 20 minutes before the Fort William bus, Grant ran off and found a chippie and fetched us both an order of fish and chips (fries). Unfortunately, the chippie was very slow and we hadn't even taken a bite of our food when the bus pulled up. Unable to take food onboard, we had to stow the fish and chips with our luggage under the bus.

Alongside my growling stomach, I now had to expel what I last ate 11 hours previously. My comfort was not improved on seeing the "Out of Order" sign on the bus's toilet.

For the next two hours we watched Scotland in the long lasting twilight as we drove past the towns we would be walking by over the next few days: Drumnadrochit, Invermoriston, Fort Augustus, Laggan, and Spean Bridge. Besides pondering the unequal qualities of a two-hour bus ride and a 5-day walk, I mostly thought of our dinner, growing cold below us.

Grant and I sat on a bench across from the train station and behind a Safeway eating our less-than-piping-hot fish and chips surrounded by the dark streets of Fort William. It all felt like a scene from Trainspotting.

Not looking forward to a hour long walk to our hostel in Glen Nevis, we located a taxi for the final leg of our trip. In less than 10 minutes we were checking into the Scottish Youth Hostel Association's Glen Nevis location and disturbing the other 5 residents of our room.

We fell asleep listening to the River Nevis flowing by, across the street and under the flanks of Scotland's tallest mountain, Ben Nevis.