Hello! If you’ve been waiting for this blog I apologise. I’m not going into why I’ve been absent this time. I’m sure you grow weary of the reasons and are just going to continue reading about our Scotland trip. This is the highlight of day 8 and unlike several others this is based purely on the accommodation from Day 8. It was amazing!
I’d love to put a disclaimer right here about how we had been ‘gifted’ a stay at this hostel, first and foremost because we love a bargain but also due to the fact it would maybe explain my love for this place. It is often the case that a reviewer will receive a ‘kickback’ to some extent to help them write of their love of an accommodation.
As you know we do love a bargain however we were full paying guests and my opinions are based solely on our fantastic experience.
Hartfield House Hostel lies in the heart of Applecross. It is a large white building which shines like a beacon when the sun shines over the Applecross peninsula. Isn’t that just the mushiest stuff you’ve ever read?

There is a long winding driveway at the property and honestly my rising anxiousness at staying in a hostel only rose as we ambled on at the 10 miles per hour speed limit. All was forgotten as over the fences of a pasture ahead we saw the ginger and cream haired Highland Coo’s in all their glory. There they were, after over a week of being in Scotland. They slowly chewed their food while blankly staring at our approach. Our excitement was not shared by our soon to be new best friends.

Todays’ plans were strict in the sense of us arriving at the hostel. With check in at 4pm and only one washing machine and tumble dryer we were on a mission to be clean!
We were too early to check in, in fact the building was locked and so we took the time to check out our neighbours. I am ever so slightly obsessed with the Coo’s now. And I am sure I have way too many photos to share with you. But let the obsession reign supreme! I am sure they’d sooner trample me on my approach for a cuddle, stroke and loving gaze, so I am happy enough just sending my adoration from the fenced pathway. They did not care. More’s the pity.

Watching my watch carefully I raised the alarm to Mr W that check in would start in two minutes and so we returned to the huge building. As we approached the door and car came whizzing into the car park. She called over that she wouldn’t be a minute and I braced myself for what lay ahead. Our money saving schemes were behind us, we had scrimped and saved our way onto this trip, but living it was a different matter. What on earth was going to be beyond that door.
Countless times you will hear horror stories of hostels and how communal living isn’t always the cleanest. We had booked a private double room, well twin bedded room, and the toilet and shower facilities were down the hall to be shared with all other guests. The kitchen and communal spaces were also to be shared. I had visions flooding into my mind of ‘Kumbaya, My Lord’ being sung accompanied by some dreadlocked dude playing a guitar whilst others scraped together a meal of ramen and pickles. Stereotype much!
Check in was insanely easy and we were shown our room, literally walked to our room, when does that ever happen?
The room was huge. Much like the outside, the white walls absolutely shone in the daylight streaming in from the huge window and I stood absolutely astounded at its spotless nature. The beds, although not marriage friendly (though word from the wise, sleeping in separate single beds on an exhausting trip like this really does wonders), were comfy and inviting. Fluffy rugs were under foot and plugs situated around the room meant we could comfortably charge every device we had been reliant on for the trip so far. Sounds pretty normal right? Well, no, on this day, day 8, we had found our first modernised room and it was enormous. It had enough room for us, our bags and our tiredness to fit into! Now that’s something.
We took a moment to check out the bathrooms. The most ‘eeep’ inducing thing about the whole stay. Peeing in a public bathroom is not my forte. In fact I will still hold out as long as possible whilst out and about in London. On hikes I would rather pee in a field than try a public toilet and often do. It’s not necessarily just a clean thing. I think I have a shy bladder. Mr W is often the ‘lookout’ for such events and often thinks two seconds is enough of a warning for incoming walkers. For clarity, it is not. The bathroom was enormous with at least 5 toilet cubicles and 4 showers. It was insanely clean and spacious. I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly but this was far from it. It was bright and beautiful. Maybe I was expecting a dungeon. Maybe bugs.
On returning to our room we quickly decided on our form of attack for the pile of washing that had accumulated in the car. We had both only packed the very essentials for this trip and underwear was running scarce. Priority one! Then there was the clothing we had used multiple times in favour of others due to their durability and warmth. Lessons are learned on the road too kids! With two big bundles in our arms we made our way to the courtyard where the washing facilities could be found. An actual interior courtyard next to the huge glazed kitchen. Our mission to arrive on time had paid off, we were the first there. A cycle of washing and drying cost £5. As I’ve never been to a laundrette I can’t say whether this is normal or pricey but when you are paying £40 a night for two people I’m not sure it matters.
With our stomachs full from a dinner of noodles (not ramen but hey close enough) put together in a chef size kitchen area we played by the rules and tidied up after ourselves and washed and dried our dishes. We then broke the cover of our rooms and headed to the showers. Oh glorious hot water. How we take you for granted!
The cubicle was big, like for a party of 3 big, and I found myself not wanting to leave. I remember now that just the night before I had not showered due to an upset stomach and the massive need for sleep. If you have read the recap of Day 7, we had been at Achmelvich bay and my hair and skin was paying the price for being in the sandy and salty water. This shower was sent from heaven! There was someone in the cubicle next to me, I swear it was a man, the whistling just sounded manly if I’m honest and with the very shiny ceiling I’m unsure if he/they saw anything I had to offer but with the feeling of cleanliness washing over me I don’t think I cared too much. I’m not sure why a man would have been in the ladies showers but it really is hard to care when the hot water doesn’t end and the bubbles keep frothing and your hair is no longer a messy nest. I swear a seagull flew out at one point. Maybe.
Rather than walk the hallways barefoot and wrapped in a towel, I did that awkward shimmy into my trousers. Ya know the one where you’re standing on a wet floor and you dry the chosen foot as much as you can while holding your leg up and attempting to hop your way into said clothing. It’s hardly ever truly successful but always seems the more favourable option until you are face planting the cubicle wall. Feeling squeaky clean I emerged from the bathroom ready to conquer the evening.
We chose to end our night in the communal living area where I would write and Mr W would take some time ‘off’. We sat on our own sofas, next to the bay window and as the night closed around us only one other couple popped in for a look and then left.

I am under no illusion that hostels can be much busier and although we by no means visited out of season, the usual college and university students who meander through these places were back in their classes and we found ourselves the uncrowned kings of the castle. Having spent nearly two hours on our thrones and letting our freshly washed hair down, we pitter-pattered back to our room for a wonderful night’s sleep.

Robustly refreshed, we awoke exceptionally early the next day to leave. Even at 5am the smile of this place was not waning. Mr W and I, already agreeing on plans to return, retraced the road back to the peninsula road.
It is as if this place is the true prize at the end of the winding, butt clenching ride that is the Bealach Na Ba. Forget everything you think you know about hostels and book this place now!
The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself.











