The Isle of Bute

My Bute route round the coast is "d" shaped: from the ferry in the north to the backpackers hostel in the capital Rothesay, a surprisingly long way after a long day, round the island and then back up the long road to the ferry again.   A scenic ride into Rothesay, passing through Port Bannatyne a vishing village, round the corner from and virtually conjoined with Rothesay.

Rothesay glowed in the evening sun.  It is reminiscent of Bournemouth with a small formal garden the centrepiece of the seafront, and a few regency style hotels. It's big: a proper town with the usual high street shops, a ferry connecting to Port Wemyss on the  Ayrshire coast, and a castle with a proper moat.  I guess it was a popular destination for Glasgow holidaymakers in Victorian days.

There are two types of backpackers hostel: some are very modern, clean and efficiently run.  This was the other kind: an older building, very homely, with extremely relaxed administration.  In the end I allocated myself a bed (in a room overlooking the sea) and got on with it.  

Bravely, I left my washing outside to dry overnight.  Predictably, it didn't.  The best way to dry it is to wear it (I do have other clothes with me by the way), so I set off shivering, but not for long. It's another muggy, warm day.  

Bute has its own cycle network, with blue route signs and bike locking places all over.  It's not big or particularly high, but it is surprisingly hilly.  You could spend several days here doing not-too-adventurous cycling combined with a bit of walking and lazing on the empty beaches, never more than ten miles from Rothesay.

The south eastern coast, overlooking the Firth of Clyde, is lined with gentrified residences, but the rest seems mainly agricultural, and it's easy to escape civilisation.  Views of sandy bays backed by the silhouette of Arran's mountains.  

One omission in the council's tourism drive is the lack of cafes. It was 30 hot miles before I found one, at Ettrick Bay: a big touristy tea room with 20+ tables.  Bute marks a transition for me, from the functional simplicity of the Highlands to the busier, more organised tourist playground of the south.