Day 68: Wick - John O'Groats - Georgemas

This morning we started slowly, like a good sourdough starter. While I kept an eye on the gull activity outside the window, Papi Edu started chatting with our new neighbor—a Swiss woman who lives permanently in a Dacia Duster. Yep, you heard that right: her, her (big!) dog, and all her stuff... living in a car smaller than my dog bed. I found it heroic. Though also a bit cramped for a decent nap.

Around midday, we headed out. First stop: Lidl, for life’s essentials (and no, thankfully no kibble this time). Then we drove on to Noss Head, where there’s a car park next to a coastal path leading to the ruins of Castle Sinclair Girnigoe. The name sounds like a Wi-Fi password, but it’s actually a dramatic ruin perched on the edge of a cliff. People say it’s one of Scotland’s most spectacular castles, thanks to the mix of history and jaw-dropping views. Back in its prime, it was a Sinclair stronghold, full of towers, rooms, and juicy family drama. Today, there’s just enough left to let your imagination run wild, with the sea as a backdrop and the wind messing up your thoughts.

We then continued north, and since it was lunchtime, we stopped at a coastal car park near the Nybster Broch. This place is a little gem. At the top of the cliff stands the broch—a prehistoric circular tower built with dry stone, no cement or anything. Experts think it’s over two thousand years old, but no one knows for sure what it was for: defense? a home? a secret Celtic club? Scattered around the field are small stone monuments by John Nicolson from the 19th century. They're hand-carved sculptures that look like rustic little temples in the middle of nowhere. Super curious and very “Echoes of Ancient Scotland”.

With full bellies, we continued along the coast until we reached John o’Groats—one of those places that sounds like the end of the world, and kind of is. But we didn’t stop there. We went straight to Duncansby Head, the true northeastern tip of mainland Britain. There’s a white lighthouse, sheep-filled meadows (the sheep suspiciously calm), and a cliffside trail that leads to the Duncansby Stacks—huge rock spikes that look like giant teeth rising from the sea. They’re impressive even when, like today, a fog rolled in from the coast and wrapped everything in a storybook atmosphere. It felt like a dragon might appear… or at least a ghostly bagpiper.

And the most impressive part: the cliffs were packed with birds. I’m not talking about four bored seagulls. No, no. I mean thousands of birds shrieking, flying, landing on the ledges like it was the noisiest apartment block in the entire Animal Kingdom. The real stars were the common guillemots (that’s Uria aalge, for the bird nerds)—little black-and-white seabirds that look like mini penguins. They stand upright like they’ve just walked out of an important meeting, and they dive off cliffs into the sea without even looking. They're expert divers, able to reach depths of fifty meters. Flying isn’t really their thing—diving is where they shine. And when they’re all together, it’s a total party.

Around eight in the evening, we returned to John o’Groats, which is more a cluster of houses and souvenir shops than an actual town. That’s where the famous signpost stands, pointing to places like New York or Land’s End. There’s also a water tap, where Papi Edu tried to fill our tank—but the flow was so slow, we nearly lost our patience inside the water container.

Then came the hard part: finding a place to sleep. In John o’Groats, everything is forbidden. Okay, no one yelled at us, but the signs made it very clear we weren’t welcome. We decided to try Dunnet Head, a natural area that supposedly allows overnight parking… but all the access roads were blocked with boulders, chains, tractor wheels, and aggressive signs. And according to Park4Night, there are furious locals who throw eggs, block exits, and give you looks that could deflate your camper's suspension.

So, we got out of there like we’d just stolen a sheep, heading south back toward civilization. Eventually, and already at night, we found a big parking area with picnic tables and the company of other campers. The spot was great, although… we realized we’d nearly come full circle—we were only twenty-five minutes from Wick, where we’d slept the night before.

But hey, what matters is that we survived the camper-hostile maze of northeast Scotland. We saw castles, ancient stones, epic fog, penguin-like birds, and rock formations worthy of their own Netflix series.

Now it’s time for dinner, a good leg stretch, and some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day… hopefully without tractors blocking anything.