Slow was the only way to go on our first summer holiday with Baby Albie. And travelling by car and ferry from Switzerland to Yorkshire and Scotland not only saved us another unnecessary flight, but opened our eyes to a world of new wonders.
We took two days to drive from Zurich to Zeebrugge, making our way slowly through Alsace, with its sun-scorched sloping vineyards and hilltop fortresses, and into Luxembourg then Belgium, with long breaks at roadside "aires" to allow Albie to lie down and kick. If we had flown, I never would have known what beautiful countryside there is here - miles and miles of unspoilt rolling hills and dense woodland, speckled with golden stone-cottaged villages like North Yorkshire, and, further north, East Yorkshire-like flat landscapes studded with poplars carpeting the way to the sea.
On a three-day stopover at my childhood home in East Yorkshire, we do little more than stroll beside canals, savour fruit loaf and pork pies from the nearby butcher-baker, and spend long afternoons introducing Albie to family. Then it's northward to Scotland, on a day of driving that we break with a lazy lunch and detours off the motorway into sleepy villages with meandering rivers and unkempt hedgerows.
Our next base: Carry Farm, Tighnabruaich, Cowal Peninsula
Such a rare treasure of a find in these days of human encroachment on the countryside, the setting is virtually untouched. Vivid yellow flag irises dance among reeds that swish and sway beside a rocky beach and the silver Kyles of Bute that separate the peninsula from the Isle of Bute. Oystercatchers protecting nests patrol and swoop, crying at us as we wander along the shore.
Our lodge at Carry Farm, a small collection of lodges and caravans at the end of a narrow country lane near Kames on Argyll's Secret Coast, is a lesson in meditation. I feel a desire for nothing but gazing at the scenery - these layers of acid, lime and olive green beneath a sullen steely sky. We spend our time walking along the shore, spotting reed buntings and Hebridean sheep, and making friends with farm donkeys Barney and Louis. My ears listen but can hear nothing. The silence is perfect - until Albie makes himself known, of course!
One day we walk to Kilbride (Ostel) Bay, where a horseshoe of white sand lifts and dances among machair grass, and a translucent water shimmers more beautifully than the most expensive diamonds. Another day, we take the ferry to Bute. It's a journey of no more than six kilometres as the crow flies, but the setting is so removed that our drive takes about an hour along bumpy, rhododendron-lined roads.
We visit Mount Stuart, home to the Stuarts of Bute, an exquisite vision of Victorian Gothic architecture in red sandstone, elaborate arches and sharp turrets. Inside, astronomy-inspired stained glass windows, a dazzling white marble chapel and ornate pillars delight the eye. There are interesting details - squirrels munching acorns carved into the trim around the dining room, and a casket used to transport the 3rd Marquess's heart to the Holy Lands (the keys to the casket were returned to his wife so she would have "the keys to his heart"). It was the first house in Scotland to have electric lights, an indoor swimming pool and a telephone, while the 300 acres of grounds are a luscious landscaping of unusual trees and plants from across the world.
Perhaps my favourite walk is in Glenan Woods close to Portavadie. In these ancient oak woods, twisty Atlantic woodland houses numerous moss species. On the shore, jellyfish slumber, translucent, awaiting high tide to carry them away. Thrift and sea pink flutter in the breeze and wild mustard glows in the sunshine. Our lunch at nearby Botanica at The Barn is just as colourful: my open sandwich with edible flowers and cream cheese on homemade sourdough is absolutely delicious.
The following day, we gaze at Glenan Woods from our ferry heading for the lively fishing village of Tarbert on Kintyre for our onward journey to the Isle of Arran. The trees seem to be whispering stories of centuries gone to a sea that sparkles unceasingly.
Onward to the Isle of Arran
Albie lies on our picnic blanket, kicking and gurgling in delight, his eyes wide and smiling. Tufty grass billows around us, before the ground tumbles away into a whisky-coloured burn. In folds like green velvet, the flanks of Glen Easen sweep up to meet a sullen silver sky.
We didn't know what to expect on our first caravanning holiday with Albie to Arran - the "Scotland in miniature" island that we know so well. Would there be enough suitable walks? Would staying in a caravan prove too space-restrictive? But from the start, we know we have come to the right place.
On our walk up Glen Easen above Lochranza, the undulating boggy ground slows our pace, and allows us to spot a leaping frog, a slithering adder and a lonely orchid. Albie peers out from his sling in wonder as we pass deep pools fringed by rowan trees and tumbling waterfalls. It is here that the local distillery sources water for its whisky, and we later call at the distillery cafe for a slice of homemade Arran Gold cake. Albie loves playing with the farm animal jigsaw on our table.
Another nice walk leads along the sandy beach at Sannox, where the sea shimmers silver between island and mainland, and into woodland of oak and sycamore. We gaze at waves lapping onto the sand and hissing as they fold back on themselves, and Albie smiles as he watches. There's also the five-kilometre Fairy Dell circuit from Newton Shore in Lochranza, with the loveliest views of the Kilbrannan Sound and Kintyre.
But a favourite activity is swimming at Auchrannie Resort in Brodick, which has a family-friendly pool with family changing rooms and swim nappies for sale. Albie splashes and kicks in delight, and is so worn out afterwards that he sleeps for most of the afternoon. Mummy and Daddy prefer to recoup with millionaire's shortbread from Brodick bakery Wooleys!
Before leaving, there's time to visit Brodick Castle, a former seat of the Dukes of Hamilton. A baronial tangle of centuries old stonework and 19th-century turrets, it is filled with dark wood, stags heads and sporting trophies, and sits in gorgeously landscaped grounds overlooking Brodick Bay. Albie's a bit too young yet, but we can't wait to take him back to play games in the Victorian Arcade and in the extensive woodland adventure playground.
As we sail away from Arran the next day, Goat Fell is bleached by the sun and the turquoise sea twinkles. Brodick Castle glows bronze in the woodland above the shore; beside the water's edge, the pencil-thin road winds its way around the island's contour towards Lochranza in the northwest and the whispering wilds of Glen Easen. For us, a slow drive to Yorkshire awaits, followed by a night on the ferry from Hull to Zeebrugge and a leisurely two-day travel back to Zurich. We have holidayed as we mean to journey: slowly.
