The Observer, 30 May 30, 2004

The revamped ‘Riviera in the Highlands’ celebrates its 80th birthday next week. Carl Wilkinson finds it still young at heart

There can’t be many 80-year-olds that look this good. The original features are still in great shape, nothing is sagging or worn and it’s still leading an extremely active life.
Gleneagles, the ‘Riviera in the Highlands’ as it was dubbed when it opened in Perthshire, Scotland on 7 June 1924, turns 80 in just over a week’s time and it’s never been in better health.

While the celebrity visitors of 1924 (whose black and white pictures hang in the hotel bedrooms) came for golf, those who visit the hotel’s 850 acres of manicured countryside today (celebrity or otherwise) are spoilt for choice.

A £58 million investment has left this classic grand hotel in fine form. Off-road driving, shooting (pictures adorn the hunting lodge of famous shooters: Sean Connery, Steven Spielberg, Harrison Ford and, um, Ronnie Corbett among them), swimming, archery, tennis, cycling, walking, horse riding, falconry, massages and facials in the spa: it’s all on offer. I was there for a weekend and barely had time to try a fraction. Not being much of a golfer (a statement once a sacrilege at Gleneagles with its exceptional courses, but no longer) I chose to go hunting with harris hawks while my girlfriend went for a facial.

The British School of Falconry, set up by Emma and Stephen Ford (pre-eminent figures in the world of falconry) has been based at Gleneagles since 1992. The school, the first of its kind in the world, has an incredible range of birds from peregrine falcons (the fastest in the world with a top speed of over 200mph), golden eagles, and harris hawks (many named after Bond characters - Odd Job, Q, M).

It’s very hands-on. Within 10 minutes I’m wearing a thick leather gauntlet and have a bird sitting on my hand. William, the falconer who takes me for my lesson, has been flying hawks for about 15 years. He kits me out with wellies and, armed with Pepper and M, we head out in the Land Rover to a neighbouring estate.

If golf is the best way to ruin a good walk, falconry has got to be the best way to enhance one. I slip on the gauntlet and take M onto my hand. It’s disconcerting to have a large bird of prey perched about 10 centimetres from my face - eyeball to eyeball practically. But the hawks are well behaved and frankly more interested in rabbits than me. It seems alien at first but I soon start walking with a Henry VIII-style swagger.

The chase is exhilarating when it comes. Pepper has been sent off to perch on a nearby fencepost, M is on my arm and William and I are walking through swampy ground to flush out rabbits. Then all hell breaks loose. A rabbit breaks cover, Pepper takes off, M launches himself from my hand and the two hawks go racing down towards the prey in near-suicidal dives while William and I run after them shouting ‘Rabbit!’. From a distance we must look utterly mad, but we don’t care. It’s fun. This time the rabbit gets away, but it almost doesn’t matter. It’s utterly thrilling - I can see why this is one of the hotel’s most popular activities.

Back at the falconry centre I say goodbye to M and Pepper and head in for a swim. Built by the former Caledonian Railway Company to get people to travel by train (the hotel had its own station), Gleneagles was once described as the ‘eighth wonder of the world’. Styled on a French chateau, with gardens inspired by Capability Brown (during his golf course phase, presumably) the hotel is utterly beautiful, tranquil and charming. It has all the characteristics one would hope to find in a distinguished octogenarian: it’s classy but not stuffy, dignified but not overbearing.

The bar is modelled on an ocean liner and the Strathearn Restaurant, serving local Scottish produce, is vast and oozes laid-back 1920s elegance. There are several other smaller restaurants, including themodern Michelin-starred eaterie run by Scotland’s top chef, Andrew Fairlie, offering superlative French cuisine.

The hotel service is modern and approachable, there are loads of children enjoying the open space and swimming pools (but not in an annoying, screaming brat way, the hotel’s big enough to get away from them) and the rooms are not chintzy or fusty, but cool and modern with well stocked mini-bars and useful items like an iron, ironing board and kettle.

On the Sunday evening our porter, loading up the car, asked, ‘Any golf clubs, sir? No? Perhaps next time…’ One guest was celebrating his 100th visit to the hotel during our stay, which I think is a resounding endorsement. But then with so much on offer, he’s probably working on the same principle as me. Golf? Perhaps next time.