I’ll never forget the drive up to Aviemore – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car in Inverness, full of excitement for our wee holiday cottage break, but about halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some single-track road that seemed to twist into the middle of nowhere. The SatNav lost its marbles, chirping “recalculating” like a flustered pigeon, and we ended up dodging sheep that looked at us as if we were the intruders. By the time we arrived, hearts pounding and laughing our heads off, the sun was dipping behind the Cairngorms, casting this golden glow over everything. First impressions? Magic. The cosy cottage sat there welcoming us like an old mate, all warm lights and that perfect Highland charm.

No sooner had we unpacked than we wandered down to the local shop in Carrbridge, just a stone’s throw away, for milk and essentials. That’s where I met Tam, the chap behind the counter with a beard like a Highland cow’s fringe and stories for days. “Ach, you’re the London lot in Sunnyside, aren’t ye?” he grinned, having clocked our accents before we’d said a word. Turned out the whole village grapevine was buzzing about newcomers. Over his recommended tattie scones (which we snaffled on the spot), Tam regaled us with tales of the time a red squirrel nicked his lunch from the windowsill – “cheeky wee bandit, bolder than a fox on the prowl!” We were in stitches, and he even slipped us a map scribbled with his top secret spots for spotting ospreys by the river.

Next morning, we headed to the Landmark Forest Adventure Park, right nearby, for a bit of zip-lining with the kids. Queueing up, we got chatting to Moira, a wiry local granny with a laugh that echoed through the trees. She was there with her grandweans, kitted out in wellies despite the dry spell. “First time in these parts?” she asked, eyeing our trainers. Before we knew it, she was sharing how she’d once outrun a stag during rutting season – “nearly ended up in the Dulnain River, but I gave it the heid!” Her stories had everyone in the line doubled over, turning a simple wait into the highlight of the day. Moira even waved us ahead in the queue, insisting “new blood gets first dibs!”

Evenings were for the pub in Aviemore, a quick hop away. There, we bumped into Big Davie, the barman who doubled as village philosopher. Leaning on the bar with a pint of local ale, he launched into his theory on why Highland midges form “flying squadrons” – something to do with ancient Pictish curses, apparently. “They’ve got grudges longer than a winter night,” he winked, pouring us drams on the house. His banter flowed like the Spey, full of dry wit about tourists who “mistake reindeer for pets.”

Reflecting on it now, as we drove home, I realised it wasn’t just the stunning views or the adventures that made the trip – it was these quirky souls who turned a simple stay into something unforgettable. They pulled us right into the heart of Highland life, midges and all. Can’t wait to go back and catch up with Tam, Moira, and Davie.