I had been invited by Gleneagles for a solo escape, travelling by train from London to Edinburgh and then onto Gleneagles station. The journey north was scenic and unhurried. I arrived at the railway station with suitcases in hand and an anticipation for a journey about to reveal itself. Driving towards Gleneagles, I had a sense that I was approaching something old, a quiet castle tucked among serene nature once written about in ancient Scottish folklore. Winter in Scotland isn’t just a season; it’s a gentle hum that lulls you into a serenade of comfort, history and experiences older than memory.

The untamed, winding hills gave way to perfectly manicured lawns and I was awestruck. Gleaming in the golden sun, the century old hotel rose majestically. Windows shimmering and the flag waving, greeting me and whispering - tha mi air a bhith a’ feitheamh (I’ve been waiting for you). Immediately I felt at ease. I was transported to a simpler, more profound time with no outside chatter. I was received by a man in a perfect plaid kilt and ushered through the beautiful interiors of a place that felt familiar: a fireplace crackling, polished wooden panelling, pendant lights that glowed and plush furnishings. Gleneagles became a living still life. Everywhere I turned was a delight to the senses. A board on the wall proclaimed that a 12lb salmon was the catch of the day and that 47 clays were hit in the royal shooting challenge. Warm Highland hospitality followed me like a comforting shadow, guiding me through historic hallways that once welcomed monarchs and film legends alike.

I woke up from a vivid dream and I found myself slipping into another. Outside my room window, a couple played tennis, while a soft mist stretched across the lawn. A gentle knock on the door pulled me back. The scent of coffee, fragrant tea, pastries and Eggs Benedict flooded the air. Breakfast had arrived. Morning comforts were never in short supply: slippers and a bathrobe, a strong espresso warming my senses, preparing me for the day in the wild. I opened my wardrobe, picked out my red plaid shirt and dressed it with a wax jacket I had picked up from a vintage store in Notting Hill a few days earlier. I was ready for something unforgettable. In the outdoor breeze, bicycles glistened, a freshly polished green Rolls-Royce sparkled in the early light and a vintage Land Rover awaited me like a chariot. Days at Gleneagles felt timeless and picturesque, scenes from The Great Gatsby flooded my mind as I was met by a smiling young gentleman who greeted me sincerely: “Are you ready to go off-roading?” he asked. The experience was breathtaking. Rugged terrain and unspoiled scenery unfolded into a visually striking journey.

After the thrill of driving a 4x4 Land Rover, I made my way to a different corner of the estate for a new adventure: clay pigeon shooting. Standing at the range felt like stepping into a Highland tradition. Crisp wind at my back, the instructor’s stoic presence beside me, and the first clay disc soaring into the pale sky. The sharp crack of the shotgun contrasted with the gentle hours that came before. Each shot was a burst of exhilaration that echoed across the distance. The Shooting & Fishing School is a must. By late afternoon, the day shifted gear once more as I slipped into the spa, a sanctuary of leisure and calm. When evening arrived, the Strathearn with its timeless interiors and candlelit tablescapes, awaited like a glittering finale. Wonderfully theatrical, dinner felt like a celebration of Scottish reveries from olden days. Cheese soufflé and fresh salmon sliced at the table set the scene for a wonderful evening. Soft twinkling piano notes and the tapping of silver cutlery provided the soundtrack for this final scene. Tuxedoed staff moved gracefully around the chandelier-laden dining hall, their smiles effortless.

As I wandered back slowly through the hallways with hidden secrets, I realised that the rhythm of Gleneagles has become its own story: morning mist on lawns, a slow walk through lush gardens, the sound of clay shooting, the exhilaration of rugged hills and finally the magic within the Strathearn. The day had been shaped by immersion and moments of quiet enchantment. The glorious playground revealed itself to me, gently and everlastingly.

Words and Photography by Ahmad Al-Dabagh

Location: Gleneagles

AHMAD’s THREE WINTER ESSENTIALS FOR A SCOTTISH ESCAPE: