How to Spend the Perfect Day in Oban by Lewis Nunn

Lewis Nunn is a Senior Travel Editor and presenter based in London. He is one of the UK’s leading authorities on luxury travel and cruises, with his perspective shared in major newspapers and magazines around the world, including The Telegraph, The Sunday Times, The Daily Mail, The Guardian, and many others. He joined Forbes in 2023 and and has been covering all things luxury travel and cruises ever since, most recently sharing his thoughts on how a Hebrides cruise is the perfect way to see Scotland. Today, however, he details his perspective on the ultimate Oban itinerary...

Nicknamed the “Gateway to the Isles,” Oban is a harbour town nestled on Scotland’s wild west coast—renowned for its fresh seafood, whisky heritage, and sweeping views of the Inner Hebrides. With its dramatic cliffs and deep maritime roots, Oban draws travellers venturing into the Highlands—a place where artists, fishermen, and distillers thrive. At its heart lies the iconic Oban Distillery, a pillar of local tradition and a must-visit for Scotch. But today, I’m uncovering how to craft the perfect day in this coastal gem.

The morning light in Oban has a softness to it—like the town itself, nestled between sea and stone, it wakes gently. I arrive just after sunrise at the Oban Railway Station. The harbour is still hushed: fishing boats bob in rhythm with the tide, and the air carries a briny tang mingled with the faint smell of malt drifting from the nearby distillery.

As I wander along the esplanade, the sea laps at the stone wall and the view stretches out toward the Isle of Mull. The town begins to stir—shopkeepers lift shutters and fishermen haul in their daily catch. Out in the open, I stumble across a weathered yet welcoming seafood shack—MacGillivrays Seafood—its chalkboard menu promising fresh oysters, buttery scallops, and steaming bowls of Cullen skink. The result? Seafood heaven for the next hour.

By midday, I’m drawn toward the heart of the town—toward Oban Distillery. It’s impossible to miss: its stone façade pressed between cliff and street, a sentinel of tradition. I book a distillery tour, eager to understand the whisky not just as a drink, but as a story.

Inside, the distillery feels like stepping into a living archive. My guide leads me through the mash tun and Still House—explaining how a small team produces every drop of Oban whisky. The process is meticulous, almost meditative. In the old filling store, the smell of oak and spirit hangs heavy, and I imagine the decades of barrels aging quietly in the dark.

Then comes the tasting: four iterations of Oban whisky, each poured with care and introduced like old friends. The first dram is the classic 14-year-old—honeyed, smoky, with a whisper of sea salt. I let it linger on my tongue, the warmth blooming slowly. The second has a sherry cask influence, richer and rounder—with dried fruit and spice. While the third is a limited release—bold and peaty—evoking windswept shores and bonfires. The final dram, the most exclusive, is delicate and complex—notes of heather, citrus, and something elusive I can’t quite name.

What strikes me most is how each sip echoes the landscape: the cliffs, the sea, the quiet resilience of the town. My guide encourages me to close my eyes, to let the whisky speak. And it does.

Later, I venture just a few miles north of town to Dunstaffnage Castle—perched on a rocky promontory above Loch Etive. Built in the 13th century by Duncan MacDougall, this fortress once guarded the seaward approach to the Pass of Brander. Its weathered walls whisper tales of siege and sovereignty—from its role in Robert the Bruce’s campaign to Flora MacDonald’s brief captivity here in 1746 after aiding Bonnie Prince Charlie’s escape.

As evening falls, I climb up to McCaig’s Tower—the curious crown of Oban’s skyline. Perched atop Battery Hill, this Roman-style colosseum was commissioned in 1897 by local banker, John Stuart McCaig, as a memorial to his family. Construction halted upon his death in 1902, leaving only the outer granite shell behind. Today, the tower’s 94 lancet arches frame sweeping views of Oban Bay and the Atlantic beyond. As I stand—gawping at the mouth—Oban shimmers below me, its windows aglow, the distillery’s chimney silhouetted against the sky. I think of the whisky again—how it carries the essence of this place in every drop. And I feel, quite simply, grateful. For the day, for the dram, for the quiet magic of Oban.