Chilling in Kirkcudbright, Scotland by Motorhome

Greetings from sunny Dumfries and Galloway in south-west Scotland! We’re at the artist and harbour town of Kirkcudbright, in the community campsite overlooking the town’s rooftops. When we tried to pronounce the name of the town to Ju’s aunt Grace, she smiled and repeated back to us ‘kir-coo-bree’. We knew we’d pronounce it completely wrong, which is one reason we write blog posts rather than recording YouTube videos!

The site here has a reception building, but normally no reception staff. You book in using the site’s website, choosing a pitch from the map. They email you a code, which you use to open the barrier and drive onto your pitch. Simple enough. If you remember the email that is. We didn’t and were scratching heads for a mo when we drove up the hill and up to the entrance.

It’s £30 a night here, which includes services and hook-up (it has a drive-over grey drain). There’s also a five-pitch aire down by the swimming pool near the town centre which looks good for £10 or £15 a night (reduced price at the mo as there’s a problem with the service point). Or you can freebag it. There’s a motorhome parked up for free in a car park with chair and washing out along from the aire. Lots of options, choose your poison.

We’re happy with our choice. It’s deadly quiet up here at night. And during the day too, other than the birdsong and a bit of grass cutting. The site is terraced so all pitches have a view. We like using aires plus some free camping to keep our costs down, but we also enjoy the full-on relaxed feeling we get at a campsite like this.

We opted to head this way as, well, I can’t quite remember! Grace had told us most folks head straight up towards Glasgow, bypassing this part of Scotland. She’d also said that was a shame, as it’s very pretty. We can’t argue so far, Kirkcudbright is a lovely little spot to while away a couple of days. There are also Parkruns in this area of Scotland, which are an attraction for us as they often give us a chance for a chat with the locals.

The town has a tidal dock, with commercial fishing boats tied up alongside and a polished Aistream-style Scran Van selling gourmet-sounding, well, scran I guess? Yesterday we had a chat with a nice German chap by our van, mainly about tyre pressures (as you do). We later spotted him tucking into the scran with his wife, giving us a thumbs up of approval as we wandered past.

We’d been taking in the sights of the town and harbour, and bypassed the scran van as we had an even-more straightforward meal in mind. Into the chippy we headed, where they knocked up a fresh fish and chips as we sat and eyeballed the menu. No deep fried Mars Bars, but they did have Haggis Pizza to satisfy our lust for stereotypes.

Grace had also told us she was heading this way on a bus trip next week to see the work of a local artist. Ju and I had nodded along, as we’re utter neanderthals when it comes to art. Yup, we’ve had the chance to visit many of Europe’s famous galleries and see works by the greats. Yup, we appreciated their incredible talent, imagination and skill. Did we really understand much of it or take it in? Nah, probably not. Our home has a few of our photos knocking about but no art. Maybe we’re lost causes?

Feeling a little chastened, we did seek out a couple of galleries. They happened to be free/donation-based (ahem). Also, one of them, the town’s Tolbooth, didn’t have an exhibition on. We tried though, honestly we did. The Tolbooth (website here) did have a small but fascinating museum relaying its role as a prison of old. Folks would be locked up in here (or chained by the neck outside) for anything from throwing stones at birds to speaking back to their superiors to alleged witchcraft to being a bit too sozzled.

The latter option seemed to happen a lot. Perhaps not surprising given the town’s role as a port. Sailers didn’t always know if they’d make it back alive from the next trip. We had a look around the graveyard on the hill above the town. In among all the sad ‘died in infancy’ memorials (making it to adulthood was far less guaranteed in past times) were plenty for folks lost at sea or accidentally drowned.

I’ve just looked up William Marshall, whose grave is pictured above. The BBC’s information about him (taken from here) is worth repeating. It’s written as fact on their website, but I feel less than convinced!

“Billy Marshall (1672-1792) was born in Ayrshire, was said to be or Romany stock and is described as the King of the Gypsies in south-east Scotland for most of the 1700s. His career included time as a boxer, and in the services. The stories about him are that he deserted from the Army seven times and from the Navy three times, he married 17 times and he had a huge crowd of illegitimate children (four of whom he is said to have fathered after his 100th birthday). He is also said to have been involved in murder and robbery, running a gang of gypsy tinkers in Galloway. He was the so-called ‘King of the Randies’, and having served as a soldier he was able to organise the country people who lost land when landowners built stone dykes and walls – his men went round knocking them down. Marshall died at the age of 120 and his grave is in the churchyard of St Cuthbert’s in Kirkcudbright.”

So, that’s us. We’re here tonight and plan to head west tomorrow, joining the steady flow of lorries towards Stranraer. The ferry to Ireland departs from near there, so there are plenty of trucks but it’s a wide-enough road. We’re not heading to the Emerald Isle, but are instead thinking we’ll head up and over to the Isle of Arran maybe. After a look around there we’ll get a ferry back to the mainland and continue north somewhere. Planning is loose, we’re just meandering about.

A few more pics from Kirkcudbright:

Cheers, Jay