The Romantic Ideal Grand Tours of Scotland

200 years ago, the landscape of Scotland was regarded as hostile and dangerous.

This was a place to avoid, a land where famine and poverty worked hand in hand with armed rebellion.

But then something remarkable happened -

Scotland was reinvented as a place to visit.

Landscapes that once seemed threatening suddenly had an appeal

for a new breed of traveller - the tourist.

To help meet the needs of these new visitors, special guidebooks began to appear,

and this is perhaps the most influential of them all - Black's Picturesque Guide to Scotland.

Published in 1840 by Charles and Adam Black, it contains various itineraries that allowed

the tourist, really for the very first time, to explore the exotic and romantic landscapes of Scotland.

My own well-thumbed copy of Black's Guide has been in my family for generations.

It was always in the glove compartment of my father's car when we went on holiday

and now it's inspired me to make six journeys of my own.

Letting Black's guide me, I want to retrace the steps of the early tourists,

to find out how Scotland became a jewel in the crown of tourist destinations.

On my way, I'll meet some extraordinary characters and visit some truly world-class locations.

On my first journey I'm in search of the romantic ideal - travelling to places that inspired

tourists as well as artists, musicians and writers with the magic of Scotland's unique landscapes.

My first excursion takes me into the heart of the Trossachs,

where I hope to unlock the area's romantic secrets

before travelling North and West to Oban, Mull, Iona and on to the fabled Island of Staffa.

This is Callander, where for the last two centuries, travellers have departed

to visit Scotland's earliest tourist destination, the romantic heartland of Loch Katrine and the Trossachs.

Now according to my copy of Black's, "Callander offers the tourist a convenient centre from which

"to make various excursions, particularly to the Trossachs."

Now this is what's brilliant about using the old guide,

because it shows what's changed and what stays the same.

There's a lovely drawing of the old Dreadnought Hotel which is still here, with a coach load of Victorian

tourists about to leave on just such an excursion, pretty much

as they continue to do today, although sadly, of course, without the horses.

To have a more authentic experience of early travel

I've turned my back on the diesel coach and boarded this fantastic horse-drawn brougham carriage,

exactly the sort of conveyance the Victorian tourists would have used.

What better way to be taken up the Trossachs?

Beautiful Loch Katrine and the Trossachs has been a must-see tourist destination

for the last 200 years, and is,

without doubt, the most significant location in the whole story of Scottish tourism.

Black's Guide gives a clue to what started the great rush to the Trossachs.

The pages are scattered with literary quotes and nearly all or them

from the pen of one man - Sir Walter Scott, literary virtuoso and wordsmith wizard of the North.

Born in 1771, Sir Walter Scott became a hugely prolific and influential historical novelist.

In 1810 he wrote The Lady Of The Lake, an epic poem set right here in the Trossachs.

The poem became a runaway bestseller, but its success had unforeseen consequences.

To find out more, I'm meeting up with Canadian historian and Scott aficionado, Kevin James.

Kevin, the poem was enormously influential, was it not?

It was. It was published in 1810

and within the first 8 months, some 25,000 copies were sold.

Within a few years this place had become popularised as a district

that had been so magnificently described by Scott in The Lady Of The Lake.

So why were people coming here? What were they expecting to see?

They were expecting to see, I think, a lot of the sights that he described, and they were expecting

also to kind of inhabit the world, however fantastical, that the poem laid out.

And what was the poem actually about? What was the story of the poem?

Well, it was a very romantic and fantastical story about an ethereal

beauty who inhabited this region, and it was about lovers, rival lovers.

It was about romance, it was about violence and a King in disguise.

And it really did bring in the tourists?

It did - it brought in a 500% increase in tourists in the first year alone.

So in some ways the tourists who were coming here weren't coming to see the landscape,

they were coming to see a literary landscape, a kind of a fantasy landscape that Scott had created.

I think that's very true.

Because Scott's poem was written with real locations in mind, it became a sort of guide to the area,

and my copy of Black's exploits this, quoting verses that lead the literary tourist onward.

To discover for myself how the places mentioned in the poem

correspond with the landscape, I'm leaving Kevin James to continue my Trossachs journey on foot.

Now Scott describes Loch Katrine as a sort of

enchanted never-never land, far from the realities of the modern world.

Hidden away, it was only possible to reach the loch

by means of a sort of ladder made of heather roots and branches.

But of course there is no such ladder, there never was, and access

to the Loch has always been pretty straightforward, so Scott definitely used poetic licence here, and when

the modern tourist arrives at Loch Katrine, the scene isn't quite the tranquil one depicted by Scott.

Perhaps it takes the imagination and the eyes of a poet to see the magical realm he described.

"Loch Katrine in all its extent Bursts upon the view,

"With promontory, creek and bay And Islands that in purpled bright

"Float amid the livelier light, And mountains that like giants stand,

"To sentinel enchanted land."

To find out why Scott and my guidebook

felt the need to exaggerate the scenic qualities of the landscape,

I've come aboard the aptly named steamer Sir Walter Scott, which

for a century has been the most popular way to explore Loch Katrine.

Douglas Gifford has written about the enduring appeal of Scottish scenery and its relationship

to Romanticism, a revolutionary artistic movement that swept Europe in the 19th century.

Douglas, what were the basic principles of Romanticism?

It's nothing about being romantic, these are not love stories we're talking about.

Romanticism had quite a precise meaning - what was that?

I'm sure you're right to say two different meanings for romantic.

You know, we're so used to the soppy one,

whereas Romantic was quite,

not a hard word, but it was a very, very ambitious word in these times.

Suddenly the poets and the painters and the thinkers are switching on to a new tack, that maybe they'd

been looking in the wrong place into prudence and reason and orderliness and society, and instead they should

be taking inspiration from the wilder places, the more

extreme imaginative thoughts, the mysteries of the human mind as well.

So in that sense Romanticism is the rediscovery both...

in a sense, you could say the rediscovery of another kind of God,

of another kind of morality, another kind of aesthetics, and it stands everything on its head.

Suddenly you're pushing people out into these places of history

and places that are wild and natural and...

Places like Scotland, places like Loch Katrine?

Exactly so, exactly so. Scotland's a suitable candidate for treatment by Romanticism, yes.

Romanticism had a profound influence on the way people responded

to landscape, and Scott's writing helped focus these ideas,

leading tourists to see what they expected to see - the Romantic ideal.

Painters were also inspired to produce images of an idealised Trossachs, making wee Ben Venue,

at just 2,300 feet, look more like an Alpine peak, and Loch Katrine resemble an Italian lake.

The reason why artists transformed landscapes like this had to do with

ways of seeing the world, and to do that required certain techniques.

Some artists believe that to truly appreciate a scene, you first had to

frame it and then accentuate its features artificially to truly see the essential,

romantic, picturesque qualities in what they were looking at, and to do that, they used this special

dark piece of glass - a Claude glass - it's like a dark mirror.

The idea of the Claude glass was to hold it up and to look at the view

you wanted to appreciate as a reflection over your shoulder.

Now this revealed the essential romantic picturesque qualities

of the scene that you couldn't see with the naked eye, as it were.

Bizarre.

Views that had a calming effect on tourists were called "picturesque",

while more dramatic landscape was called "sublime".

In the 18th century the word "sublime"

had a quite precise meaning - it meant to be awe-inspired by the wild, untamed forces of nature.

One of Scotland's earliest tourists and devotee of sublime beauty was the traveller Sarah Murray.

In 1796, she came to the Trossachs and wrote breathlessly about the beauties of Loch Katrine.

"The awefulness, the solemnity and the sublimity of the scene

"is beyond, far beyond description, either of the pen or pencil.

"Nothing but the eye can convey to the mind such scenery."

I love Sarah Murray.

A widow in her early 50s, she spent three months rattling around Scotland

searching for the sublime, which for her usually meant finding a waterfall somewhere.

In 1799 she published a book, A Companion And Useful Guide To The Beauties Of Scotland.

Full of helpful tips and advice on all things Scottish, Sarah urged the would-be tourist,

"to provide yourself with a strong, roomy carriage and have the springs well corded.

"Take with you linchpins and four shackles, a hammer and some straps."

Sounds like the tourist was in for a bumpy ride.

Continuing my journey through the Trossachs, I follow the road as it leaves Loch Katrine,

heads overland and down to the harbour at Inversnaid, nestling on the shores of Loch Lomond.

For many years, Inversnaid was a significant tourist hub.

According to Black's guidebook, steamers left here for destinations north and south

or west, crossing the loch and on to the coach road to Oban, which is where I'm heading next.

Sadly, such a bewildering choice of routes is a thing of the past,

and the loch can no longer boast of regular steamer links.

However, there is now a faster, more efficient and exciting way of getting to Oban - by sea plane.

For a country with a disproportionately long coastline, and hundreds of inland lochs,

I've often wondered why Scotland never really capitalised on its sea plane potential.

But recently a Scottish-based company is rectifying this with a network of air routes.

My flight today from Loch Lomond to Oban takes less than 20 minutes.

Back in the days of Black's guidebook, this journey was a two-day coach ride.

This is absolutely exhilarating. What better way to see the West Coast of Scotland than by sea plane?

It's all down there - mountains, lochs, rivers,

glens, spread out like a map. It's absolutely magnificent.

It's quite awe-inspiring.

It's actually quite sublime.

Had Sarah Murray been able to exchange her carriage for this sea plane ride, I'm sure she

would have been more than thrilled as we skim across the waters of Oban Bay.

In Victorian times, Oban was the Charing Cross of the West Coast,

the centre of an integrated transport system

that connected steamers, trains, carriages and charabancs

to places as far afield as Glasgow, Fort William, Stornoway and Orkney.

A German tourist arriving at this busy port in 1858 provides a rather early example of his nation's

unfortunate desire always to be first.

Now we all know that Germans hate standing in queues and absolutely hate being last, and the same was

true back then, so when the German tourist Theodor Fontane disembarked from a steamer and

saw a large group of people moving towards the hotel, all his instincts told him to hurry on ahead.

Fontane later described how he and his friend trotted along the quay

in a sort of race with a number of Scots to secure accommodation at the Caledonian Hotel.

In their unseemly haste, the Germans got to the hotel first,

but their efforts were all in vain - it was fully booked.

If only they'd made a reservation, they were told.

A rare example of poor German planning.

Oban is still a very busy place, but the steamers that once shuttled back and forth have been replaced

by the ubiquitous CalMac ferries, taking islanders and tourists to the Hebrides.

But the golden age lives on in the shape of the lovely old paddle steamer Waverley.

I'm boarding her to sail to the Island of Mull.

In Victorian times, paddle steamers were the life blood of the West Coast.

Without them, mass tourism would have been impossible.

On board the Waverley, the world's last ocean-going paddle steamer, you can still get a glimpse of the

old magic, a time when Macbrayne steamers were famed for their luxury.

Orchestras played while silver service waiters fawned over diners in the restaurant.

There was a book stall, fruit stall, post office, and for those in need

of some remedial follicle care, there was even a hairdressing salon.

This was the modern world, and the Industrial Revolution

that made it all possible also created the modern tourist.

Enterprising Victorians were quick to see the potential of mass transportation,

and one man in particular seized the opportunities to become an unlikely tourist innovator.

To find out more, I've come below deck to meet the travel historian Nikki MacLeod.

Nikki, it seems to me that the Industrial Revolution was a

crucial factor in the development of tourism in Scotland.

Here we are on the Waverley, an example of the early steam power that drew people to the area,

but as I understand it, there were some key personalities that latched onto the idea that this

new technology could be harnessed to bring people to the Highlands.

Exactly, and the most famous of those was Thomas Cook,

now a household name.

Thomas Cook was one of the very early pioneers, one of the first people to actually take

those transportation modes and sort of package them together into easy itineraries for people to follow.

Up until then, the only people who could really have afforded to take a trip to Scotland

were those with the money or the leisure to make what was a difficult journey.

Remember at this time, there was no direct rail link between England and Scotland.

What kind of character was Cook?

He was a Baptist and a very, very keen worker for the Temperance Movement.

And much of the impetus behind arranging these excursions was the idea that if you provided rational

improving entertainments for people, it would keep them away from the gin palace.

Now as I understand it, Thomas Cook was someone with

a social conscience, and he brought that attitude into the Highlands with his tourists.

Yes, in fact it was really in Iona.

He was horrified at the poverty he found on the island, and he set up there a fund

which his tourists subscribed to year upon year, and in a number of years they'd actually raised enough money

to buy the islanders a fleet of fishing vessels, 24 fishing vessels in fact, one of which

the islanders named The Thomas Cook in gratitude, really, to their benefactor.

So not only did he invent the package tour, he invented tourism with a conscience?

Exactly, yes, a very influential figure.

History is nothing if not ironic.

For most early tourists, including those on Cook's Tartan Tours, coming to Scotland was an escape

from the new industrial cities of 19th-century Britain, which were the

very antithesis of the sublime they were looking for in nature.

But to reach the romantic landscapes of Scotland, tourists increasingly depended

on inventions like the steam engine, a potent symbol of the industrial world they wanted to leave behind.

This is Tobermory on the Isle of Mull - in my opinion,

the prettiest harbour in Scotland, but then I'm biased - I have family here.

Black's guidebook sings the town's praises too, but can't refrain from

seeing the place as if it was somewhere else, describing it like a fishing village in Italy.

But why would Black's want to compare Mull with Italy?

Because, let's face it, they're pretty dissimilar.

Well, the answer reveals a kind of cultural snobbery.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, aristocrats on the Grand Tour

travelled to Italy to absorb the culture of classical Rome.

Anything Italian, therefore, acquired an added value.

By extension, anything that looked Italian was also worthy of consideration, even here on Mull.

This no doubt explains why Black's guidebook

makes the unlikely comparison of the island's Ben More with Mount Vesuvius.

I've come to the west of the island to visit a place forever bound up

with ideas of tragedy, romance and the awful power of nature.

This is Gribun, lying beneath the forbidding cliffs of Ben More, the wildest mountain on Mull.

The story concerns an event that took place some 200 years ago and features this enormous boulder.

Now according to local legend, it was a

"dark and stormy night" as they say, and a young couple were consummating their marriage in their new home.

They were in a state of nuptial bliss when high on the mountain,

this enormous boulder was dislodged by torrential rain.

With a furious roar, the boulder smashed its way down the

mountainside, landing on the young couple's cottage, killing them both.

And this is where they still lie, crushed beneath the boulder

that destroyed their home and their hopes.

Ever since it's been known as Tragedy Rock.

Now I'm a big fan of Mull and despite the salutary tale of Tragedy Rock, even felt brave enough

to get married here, which I suppose is endorsement of a kind for the island's romantic charms.

But not every visitor has been quite so well disposed towards Mull's romantic beauty and allure.

John McCulloch, a 19th-century geologist

and friend of Sir Walter Scott, whinged on about almost everything.

"Mull is a detestable land, trackless and repulsive, rude without beauty, stormy and dreary."

Doctor Johnson, the great man of letters, was similarly unmoved.

"It is natural in traversing this gloom of desolation

"to enquire whether something may not be done to give nature a more cheerful face."

There wasn't an ounce of sensibility in either of these men.

Their eyes and minds were entirely closed to romantic ideas of the

sublime and the power of nature, unlike the wonderful Sarah Murray,

who wrote rapturously about the magnificent scenery and her first view of Iona.

"My eyes were fixed on a view so wild and yet so sublime.

"Huge fantastical rocks of fine red granite standing and lying in every imaginable form,

"and then the ruins of the Abbey that made the mind reflect

"on how frail and uncertain is human greatness."

Iona Abbey was restored in the 1920s and 1930s,

but when Sarah Murray came here, the great ecclesiastical buildings were in ruins.

Now if anything, this made them even more attractive to the Victorian tourists who came after her.

There was something exquisitely romantic about the shattered remains of a lost world,

and walking amongst the broken stones,

some tourists felt close to the Celtic twilight of myth and legend.

They were also moved by the idea of Iona as the cradle of Celtic Christianity.

1600 years ago, St Columba arrived from Ireland, bringing the faith to the heathen.

This struck a chord with Victorians, who were inclined to describe the

ambitions of the British Empire as "illuminating the darkness".

Iona, like Imperial Britain, was a civilising beacon in a vast sea of superstition and ignorance.

High-minded ideas like this brought Thomas Cook to the Island.

Standing in the ruins, he educated his tourists about the strength of religion,

the evils of drink, and the frailty of mankind.

But Cook's doctrine of temperance wasn't to everyone's taste.

There was another wilder destination to head for, one that spoke to the seeker of the Romantic ideal.

In 1796 Sarah Murray braved the elements, and made the pilgrimage to visit the most dramatic

and sublime spectacle on Scotland's West Coast - the island of Staffa.

Getting to Staffa has always been something of an adventure.

The island lies eight miles off the west coast of Mull, and even on a calm day,

the swell and the tides make for a bumpy and exciting crossing.

But why would a small uninhabited lump of rock lying in the

turbulent North Atlantic become a mecca for early tourists?

Well, the answer goes right to the heart of the Romantic ideal and the Romantic way of seeing the world.

In 1762, James Macpherson published what he claimed were fragments of ancient Gaelic poetry.

Macpherson said they'd been composed centuries earlier by the blind bard Ossian, who celebrated the deeds of

Fingal, a bold hero who lived in the Celtic twilight of a pre-Christian world.

MUSIC: "Fingal's Cave" Overture by Felix Mendelssohn

In 1772, just 10 years after the publication of the Ossian poems,

the explorer James Banks of the Royal Society

was forced to shelter from a storm and discovered the island of Staffa and its unique and marvellous cave.

Although Banks was a scientist, he was greatly influenced by the romantic cult that had

grown up around Ossian's poems, and named the great cave Fingal's Cave, and you can see why.

It's a place of truly heroic proportions.

The cave is 75 metres long and the roof rises 20 metres above my head, seemingly supported by hundreds of

angular basalt columns, reminding me of the vault of a Gothic cathedral.

It's an inspiring place and sums up everything the early

Romantic tourist was looking for - wild, remote, spectacular and full of heroic associations.

When Sarah Murray came here in 1796, she could hardly contain herself.

"The atmosphere of the deity filled my soul.

"I was lost in wonder, gratitude and praise.

"Never shall I forget the sublime, heaven-like sensations with which Fingal's Cave inspired me.

"I was in ecstasy."

Just about everyone who considered themselves to be someone

made the difficult journey to this improbable rock in the Atlantic.

Artists, writers, composers and musicians came to gape in awe at the sublime power of nature.

The poets Wordsworth and Keats came.

Sir Walter Scott came.

So too did the early French science fiction writer Jules Verne.

Robert Louis Stevenson made the journey.

So too did the young Queen Victoria, who thrilled at the sound

of the National Anthem played in Fingal's Cave.

But perhaps most famously, the 20-year-old composer Felix Mendelssohn

wrote his celebrated Hebrides Overture after a stormy but inspiring visit in 1829.

Mendelssohn's overture is the first piece of classical music I remember as a child.

Listening to it during school assembly, we were encouraged to

let our imaginations wander to the Hebrides, and in my mind's eye

I could see the bow of a boat pushing its way through a green sea towards an enchanted Island.

Now that's what I call a romantic image, and

that's why people still come here searching for the romantic ideal.

My next Grand Tour takes me in search of the sporting life,

as I travel from Perthshire to Royal Deeside.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

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