The thing about cities, and especially London, is just the crush of people. This is great for urbanites like us. We feel comfortable in crowds: it in some ways validates our decision to be wherever we are; it suffuses our purpose with some feeling of shared intent and destiny. We like that in a city this big and crowded, there’s bound to be something to do. If we’re having a cranky day, they’re also an easy excuse for a nice stress-releasing rant. Everybody loves to complain about the Tube, or the roving gangs of hooded teenagers, or the giant double-wide baby-stroller / Ben-Hur-style scythe-chariots that force you off the sidewalk into the paths of oncoming buses.

But for a while now I’ve been dying to get away from the city, and the last few trips we’ve taken have all been to other cities: Krakow, Bilbao, Berlin, Brussels, etc. And all our trips have been outside the UK, which seems a funny thing since we’re in London. In the same way living in Vancouver might mean you’ve never been north of 60 or east of the Prairies, but somehow have been to Mazatlan 4 times, too many Britons moil through their whole lives within 5 miles of their home, never even venturing to other parts of their own city, let alone the rest of the UK. It’s a real shame.

I’ve also always been the kind of guy who likes to just sit somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, by myself, and take my time doing something. Photography’s a good example of this need to slow down: even at the pace we generally travel, sometimes I just need a few more minutes to get that shot right. Since touring around Scotland almost 8 years ago, I’ve known this is a great country for that contemplative, escape-from-your-routine getaway: spectacular scenery, rugged landscape, and total isolation. This last one’s hard to come by: 60 million strangers shoehorned into a BC-sized island means you’re never that far away from a binge-drinking 250lb football fanatic. I reckon the Outer Hebrides, off the northwest coast of Scotland, ought to do the trick. After 5 hours on a ferry, the next stop is Iceland.

So for the first time since getting married over 3 years ago, I’m planning a solo trip. While unemployment has few benefits (and none from the government, according to our UK Visas), one of them is freedom to travel. The only thing stopping me was the guilt of abandoning Nazma for even a few days, attached at the hip that we are. No regrets, though: I have her blessing (and even encouragement) and, since she doesn’t particularly want to go where I’m going, she won’t feel like she’s missing out. As she says, it’d be a bigger regret if we left the UK without my ever having gone.

The internet-research is underway, and what I’ve found is, logistically speaking, difficult. Seeing as it’s so isolated, the ways are old: staunch Christianity means there isn’t any question about shopping for groceries on a Sunday—it’s not on. In fact, a lot of restaurants will be shut, and not even the buses will be running. I’m not up for renting a car, so I’ll be relying totally on public transport or hitching. I won’t be cycling, and I’m also not equipped or experienced enough for any off-road hikes longer than a couple of miles. And, urbanite to the end, I won’t be camping. Because of all this, I’m preoccupied with dodging the Sabbath shutdowns and playing Connect-the-Hostels now. But it promises to be a total romp. Even with Gale Force 8 winds (yesterday’s weather).

There’ll be interminable rides: 8-hour coach up to Glasgow, 12-hour coach back to London, 10 hours total on ferries in butt-clenching seas.

There’ll be anxious transport connections: despite the laid-backedness I’m looking for, I’m still bound by the timetables. 20 minutes between buses in Inverness means the difference between arriving home triumphant the next morning, and sleeping in the bus shelter that night.

There’ll be potentially miserable conditions: 2 rain days out of 3 even in summer, and it ain’t summer yet. After huddling around our radiator all winter, I’m thinking of fashioning an insulated, fake thumb for hitchhiking.

And if the winds keep up, I might be flung, flying-squirrel-like, off a sea cliff.

But if I’m right, there’ll also be vast sea-bird colonies, whales and seals, misty peaty expanses, sandy beaches (!), the oldest rocks in the world, mad storm-watching opportunities, friendly people, plenty of photo ops and, hopefully, the wind-swept isolation that I’ve been looking for.