Robert Hampton

Part 7 of my trip to Hamburg. I’m nearly at the end, honest!

Hamburg is a port city, straddling the River Elbe and welcoming ships from all over the world. It’s the second largest port in Europe behind Rotterdam, and the ninth largest in the world. The best way to see the harbour and port up close is, of course, by boat. It was our last day in Hamburg and we had a few hours to kill before our flight home, so we headed for the river and the pier at Landungsbrücken.

The ferries in Hamburg function as part of the public transport system. The routes are numbered just like bus routes, and you can hop on board as easily as you would a bus (well, almost).

We were joined by some of Boris’s friends from Friday night for the trip. At the Landungsbrücken pier we boarded a number 62 ferry for a short journey west. The weather was cloudy with the threat of showers, but we still took ourselves upstairs and stood on the upper, open deck.

Great views were available in all directions: on one side of the river, office blocks and apartments rise up; while on the other, mile after mile of docks and industry line the bank.

20 minutes later we arrived at Neumühlen, where we alighted and went for a short stroll. There are some impressively posh houses and a short length of beach here, with a slightly incongruous backdrop of cranes and docks on the opposite bank of the river. I’m reliably informed that anyone going for a paddle has to look out for the wakes generated by the huge ships which go past.

Time was growing short and we needed to get back to the hotel for our bags. We headed back to the pier for a ferry back east. We had to wait a few minutes and a crowd of people built up. When the ferry arrived it was already quite crowded, but we joined the procession of people waiting to board and assumed there would be no difficulty.

As I boarded, one of the ferry crew stepped onto the gangway behind me to obstruct it. I didn’t quite catch what he said, but it was clear that the boat was full and no more passengers would be allowed to board. The problem was that one half of our merry band was still standing on the pier, and I could only watch as we sailed off, leaving Boris and co behind.

There was a happy ending though. Boris got a lift direct to the airport while I rushed back to the hotel on the U-Bahn to collect our luggage, then manhandled two suitcases onto the S-Bahn to the airport. Well, I guess it was happier for Boris than me.

I need to start by apologising to Logan, the guy manning the catering trolley on the 8.30 train to Mallaig. Ian and I used that train on both Wednesday and Thursday morning. On the second day, you recognised us, and tried to engage us in friendly conversation. Unfortunately Ian and I were both so struck by your good looks that we got tongue-tied and could only babble the briefest pleasantries while you pumped your hot water urn. Sorry about that, Logan. If it makes you feel better, all you missed out on was some awkward and borderline inappropriate flirting from two men who are roughly a decade older than you. Don’t take it personally. You did a good job and your hot chocolate was very nice.

Where I was I? Oh yes, travelogue…

For the second day in a row, we were heading to Mallaig. This was the last time we would travel on the West Highland Line on this trip, but I already knew I’d be back. I want to visit Arisaig (most westerly station in Britain, fact fans) and Glenfinnan (home to that-viaduct-from-the-Harry-Potter-films and a small railway museum).

Our destination was, once more, Mallaig Harbour. No tiny Knoydart Seabridge this time, however. Instead, we were going to board the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry to Skye. As it was included in the validity of our Highland Rover ticket, it seemed rude not to.

Our plan for the day was audacious in its scope. When Ian first suggested it to me, I thought he was mad. MAD, I tell you. Of course, I went along with it, because I am quite mad too.

First, we would take the ferry to Armadale. From there, a bus would take us to the small settlement of Broadford, where we would change to a second bus to continue over the Skye Bridge to Kyle of Lochalsh. There, we would rejoin the rail network and take a train to Inverness, where we would spend Thursday evening.

There is, of course, a direct bus from Fort William to Inverness which takes a little under two hours, but where’s the fun in that?

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The next morning Ian and I found ourselves on yet another train. ScotRail (bless their thermal socks) offer a Highland Rover ticket, providing unlimited travel on the lines around Fort William and Inverness for 4 days in any consecutive 8, and it’s a bargain at just £81.50. You can even buy it online. We weren’t actually going to get 4 days’ worth of use out of it, but we managed to get great value from the ticket regardless.

Head north from Fort William and you will eventually reach Mallaig. It isn’t a long journey (about 1 hour 20 minutes) and there’s plenty of views to be seen from the window:

Ah, right. On Wednesday the weather took a turn for the inclement, a shame as the scenery on this section is perhaps even more spectacular than that south of Fort William. Ian and I were, in any event, distracted by a man sitting near us, who spent a significant chunk of the journey with his right hand firmly inside the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. Never quite understood why men feel the need to do that – actually, I can well understand the need, but in public?

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