Cycling into Girvan: Discovering a Hidden Coastal Gem in Scotland

One of the great things about traveling by bicycle, especially when your plans are not planned, are the opportunities to experience villages and towns you’ve never heard of and otherwise wouldn’t plan to visit.

When a friendly Scot reached out to me on social media and offered me a place to stay in a little fishing village on the west coast of Scotland, I gratefully accepted.

It felt surreal to be leaving Ireland after cycling around the island for a month, but I was also looking forward to experiencing Scotland, especially since I would be meeting up with my friends in Edinburgh a little later.

I took a ferry from Belfast to Stranraer. The plan was to cycle from there to Girvan, however the winds were pretty intense and it was quite chilly that day. I figured I would attempt to catch the bus instead.

I waited for an hour and a half before the bus arrived. I asked the driver if I could bring my bicycle on board. He paused for a moment, glanced behind him inside the bus, and waved me in. Had the bus been full, I definitely wouldn’t have been able to fit my bike on. My luck would have it, there were only a few people riding, so I parked my bicycle in the handicap/stroller space.

About an hour later, I was dropped off at the train station in Girvan. I text my host, who advised me to meet him at the supermarket just across from the station. He was a tall, skinny man, maybe in his mid 50’s. Very friendly, heavy Scottish accent. Sometimes I had difficulty understanding him. Nevertheless, he liked to talk! 

He talked about history, politics, social programmes, music, movies, money, culture. No topic was off limits. His delight in imparting knowledge was a great benefit when he took me for a tour.

Immediately, though, we bought groceries and walked them to his apartment a short walk through town. He allowed me to take my bicycle upstairs; I parked her against the wall in the large front bedroom he had made up for me. He shared with me his vision for how he wanted to fix up the apartment. There was a lot of painting and remodeling work he planned to do. It needed work, but was a proper comfortable pad.

The location of his place was ideal; it was only a short 5-minute walk into town and 12-minutes to the harbor and city center.

My host was excited to show me around some of his favorite places. He didn’t have a car so we began by walking down to the park at the beachfront, and taking a stroll around the harbor. He described to me the history of the town, which has a population of only 6,500, and was once a popular retreat for those traveling by sea.

We walked down Dalrymple Street as the coastal winds whipped my hair around my head. My friend took me by the War Memorial before we made our way to the harbour, which has long served as an important port for fishermen. We could see the Craig in the distance, a small volcanic isle which my friend says is the only source of green granite used to make curling stones for the Olympics. This bit of information led me down somewhat of a rabbit hole as I learned that the curling stone game was first played on frozen lochs in Scotland centuries ago and is a winter Olympic sport still played today. Apparently, athletes use brooms to slide stones on a sheet of ice to a targeted area. Kind of resembles shuffleboard, I think.

As we walked further along the coast, eventually cutting our way down to the shoreline, my friend pointed his finger towards Turnberry Lighthouse off in the distance. If I recall correctly, he may have proposed to his wife at this spot. 

We took a right turn up a tiered wooden staircase which led us onto a forested path of conifers and beech trees. We walked many kilometers through the forest until we came to a clearing. It was a sprawling park with picnic tables, gazebos, and an elaborate children’s playground that featured a castle-like structure for hours of imaginative play. A smooth path ran along a large pond aptly named Swan Pond. I spotted sea creatures, including the loch ness, posing in the waters. We made our way around the pond back into the woods, where we walked a short distance to Culzean. (I later checked the distance - from my friend’s house to Culzean is approximately 20km, or 12.5 miles.)

As we walked through the fields and the forests of the sprawling estate, my friend recollected fondly how he used to run through the gardens and spend long summer days here as a kid. He even recounted a school field trip from his youth.

The gardens were lush with bright-colored flowers and meticulously trimmed bushes that created walls for visitors to navigate through the gardens. We walked into a forest that was decorated with life-size wood carvings of woodland animals and mystical creatures. On interpretive panels Scottish fables could be enjoyed by all. My friend’s favorite, and you may have heard of this one, is the Gruffalo. I used to read the book to my daughters when they were little so I felt a sprinkle of fondness seeing it myself.

Finally we came upon a grand castle sitting at the edge of Ayrshire cliff against the sea, overlooking the Firth of Clyde. You enter underneath a big stone arch and walk across a bridge surrounded by green trees. My friend could be a tour guide the way he was able to articulate the history and facts about the estate without taking a breath. It was clear he enjoys sharing his knowledge with visitors.

We made our way down to the cove to the right of the castle for more fascinating historical facts about the evolution of life in Ayrshire over the centuries. We walked back up to a small square featuring a cute little book shop, a gift shop, and a cafe. We took a short break before resuming our walk up the hill to the bus stop.

We took the bus to a small but charming village called Ayr. My friend took me to visit the home of the famous poet, Robert Burns. It was too late in the afternoon for us to go inside the house, but we took a gander around the garden. We then visited a very special place to walk the Poets Path. The walkway is decorated with sculptures and ten iron wrought weather vanes that each depict a scene from Robert Burns’ famous poem, Tam O’Shanter. My friend described each scene for me - it was a real treat! The poem is basically about a man named Tam and his drunken adventures on his way home one night. He encounters witches and even Satan, and the overall moral is to drink responsibly.

The path took us out to the museum, and from there we headed towards a small cemetery where we read the short poems on some of the gravestones. Just a few steps down the road was a group of high school students; girls in their glittering prom dresses and young men in their kilts. They were taking photos in front of the chapel and would probably have a fancy dinner at the top-end restaurant next door.

Behind the restaurant was a stone bridge that was built over the River Doon. My friend regaled me about his time swimming, canoeing, and fishing in the river as a child. We walked through an upper-class neighborhood of houses that were, themselves, sights to behold. My friend led us down a path into the woods, where we walked along the river. We spotted a kingfisher soaring towards the water. 

The forested path led us out to a beachfront. We walked along the esplanade past runners and children and people walking their dogs. The coast was beautiful, though the wind was pretty wild at times. 

We finally made it to our final stop, Wellington Square. My friend wanted to grab something for dinner so he took me to a little fast food joint called Marco’s Fish & Chips Shop. It seemed to be very popular with the locals, as the tiny lobby was full of people waiting for their number to be called. I ordered a meal of fish cakes (fish and mashed potatoes fried in breadcrumbs) with chips (fries). I haven’t had fast food in years but I have to admit, it was pretty tasty. Ever since Ireland, I love me some chips with vinegar.

We enjoyed our fried goodies on a bench in the square. I was getting pretty tired, but wasn’t going to bonk out just yet. My friend meets his friends every Wednesday for trivia night at Wellington’s bar, which is just steps from where we ate our supper. We walked down a few stairs into the pub, and sat at the bar. His friends were lovely and they brought snacks to share, though I was full from dinner so couldn’t really partake. I just sipped on my one beer until the games began. It was really fun. I am pretty much the worst at trivia, but the questions in this one were mostly about pop culture and not at all challenging. I was very proud to have offered a correct answer that the rest of my group did not know!

It was a long but fabulous day, and having my own personal tour guide was pretty special. What was most beautiful about it was the joy it seemed to give him to share with a complete foreigner about his home, a place that is probably not circled on most tourists’ maps. Perhaps it should be.

I had previously written a post about my time spent in a small coastal village in Ireland called Youghal. Like Youghal, Girvan has experienced its ups and downs. It has, at times, been thought of as a popular getaway destination but has also struggled to attract tourists. You’ll see many empty shops in town, and even in June it was really quiet.

After spending several days there, I can highly recommend Girvan as the perfect little place to visit for a quiet weekend away. It’s in a convenient location for several attractions, many I’ve mentioned in this post already. It treats locals and visitors alike with stunning views of the nearby isles and a charm that is sure to enchant.

I loved visiting Girvan, and I appreciate its beauty and rich history. But what made my visit there even more special was my host. It was so nice to have a friend, and one who was so generous with his time. Before I left, he granted me with a gift: a tiny wooden pin with a carving of the Craig.

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