I See Sea

Here’s some of what I’ve painted so far. I had decided before getting here that I would jump back into painting seascapes, seeing as I’ll be surrounded by water for five more months. It does feel a bit like jumping back on a bike again after a long absence. There’s a bit of rust but I’m slowly getting back into the rhythm of pumping out views of the sea.

I ordered another beautiful sketchbook from Choosing Keeping, a really lovely stationary store in east London that I stumbled upon the last time I was in town (right before Iceland). An impulse purchase of a small grey sketchbook grew into my Sixty Views of the Sea series, and now here I am doing a sequel of sorts to that. This time I’ve opted for a larger book (23cm x 26cm, up from 15cm x 15cm) in cream instead of grey. Hopefully things can pan out well for this lot of paintings as much as the last series. 

Cliff Walks

After about five days of near continuous gales, I was starting to think that maybe this would just be the norm. It didn’t help that I started feeling (and still do) a bit under the weather. It’s nothing life threatening, just a lot of congestion and excess phlegm/snot, but in that state you just want to hide inside anyway. Today however I noticed that the background howling had gone away at last (momentarily at least). 

Feeling like conditions could change in an instant I dropped what I was doing and went for a brisk stroll along the cliffs heading south towards the end point of Bressay. As always my shoes, socks and feet got a bit wet striding through thickets of grass and scrub, but at least I avoided sinking ankle deep into any mud puddles this time. 

Approaching in from the road, you don’t get a sense of the lighthouse’s position on the sea cliffs. However as I walked away in the opposite direction and up the hilly cliffs I realised that the lighthouse sits on a promontory that has its own dramatic rocky archway jutting out into the water. Obviously the archway doesn't sit right underneath the buildings so there’s no immediate threat of everything eroding and crumbling into the sea, but it is very cool nonetheless.

As I ventured closer to the cliff’s edge I imagined all the mindless sheep over the years taking a step too far and falling to their deaths in the search for good grass. It wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the Cliffs of Moher, but I was very much aware of how alone I was up there, and how no one would probably hear me screaming if I took a tumble. 

Further along the cliffs opened up and suddenly I was surrounded by hundreds of sea birds (mostly fulmars) whose nests lined the rock walls below me. It was a bit overwhelming to stand up there with a panoramic view of the North Sea while curious gulls flew unashamedly close, maybe wondering what kind of bird I was. From the top I could see for another few miles to the peninsula that caps off the southern point of Bressay. The rain had started up again by then so I decided not to keep going and made the descent back to the cottage. 

Beginning

Time is of the essence, and I think I’ll be using Queenstown as a yardstick for how much I can get done in a month (unless one of these residencies end up producing more work). I’m aware that it’s about quality and not just quantity, but I’m feeling optimistic that I can get a lot out of this experience. 

The grocery shop to end all grocery shops went well. My suitcase was groaning under the weight of all the stuff I tried to cram in there but it should last me a few weeks at the very least. As long as I have 3 meals a day and a surplus of coffee then I’ll be fit to carry on working. 

I polished off a quick sketch of some waves this morning. I just wanted to hit the ground running and have something under my belt! The light is beautiful but the wind has also kept up a constant barrage, so I feel a bit housebound for the time being. If it stays like this I’ll have to just accept it and attempt a weekend out exploring the rest of Shetland anyway. Let's see what happens.

Hello Bressay

The trip entered into its next phase today as I caught a bus, plane, boat and van to get to my next residency at Bressay on Shetland. I went to bed last night with a slight tingling sensation - similar to how I felt the night before Christmas when I was only in my single digits. I had told countless people about this upcoming residency, but even saying 'living in a lighthouse for two months' sounds a bit ridiculous until you're actually here. 

The sky was clear and golden this morning when I left Aberdeen, and it slowly got worse as I inched towards Bressay. The flight up took less than an hour in a minuscule plane. Shetland's main airport is actually within spitting distance of the Sumburgh Head lighthouse where I will be settling into next month, so I got a good look in as we swooped past towards the runway. 

From there I caught a bus to the capital of Lerwick, which randomly reminded me a lot of Stromness in Orkney. I lingered long enough to wander the empty streets (commonplace in most parts of Scotland outside of the main cities on Sundays) and grab a pub lunch before I hopped on a 10 minute ferry to take me from Lerwick to the adjacent Bressay on the other side of a narrow strait. 

Shirley (local school bus/taxi driver) picked me up at the docks and drove me the last few miles to the bottom end of the island where the lighthouse is perched. The custodian Frank met up with me to let me and all my bags in. By this stage the rain had gone from spitting to a deluge and the wind speed accelerated as if desperate to show me what it could do. 

I'm now writing from the comforts of a cosy little flat in a cottage by the lighthouse. Unfortunately I don't actually have access to the lighthouse itself, as it's all automated. One of the cottages has been converted to a self-accommodating b&b while I get the building next to that which is separated into my flat and some studio spaces next door. It's clean and comfortable and there isn't a single person wandering around to interact with. 

I also found out when I arrived that there isn't any WiFi! Fortunately (and I'm honestly more shocked by this) the phone reception is sitting comfortably on 4G, which is something I never expected here, especially after going right across the highlands and islands and barely eking out a signal anywhere at all. I'll just buy a great big load of data and tether the mac to my phone. It'll work a treat. 

Other things I wasn't provided with was much toilet paper (2 rolls?) and any basic kitchen provisions to speak of. So tomorrow I am taking myself and an empty 70L rucksack back to the mainland via Shirley's magic school bus and attempting to buy 4 weeks worth of food at the local Tesco. Wish me luck!

The above photo was taken in between running to the laundry (the only thing I need that's outside of my building) in a delirious state trying not to get blown off the cliff. The gales were picking up, but the waves look so beautiful when they're being whipped up into a frenzy. 

An Evening With...

Glasgow has been lovely. I didn't expect it to be so much bigger than Edinburgh but the place does feel a bit more urban/bustling, with a little less of that Hogwarts vibe. Maybe because I'm living right in the city centre and not in some typical touristy Old Town part of the city.

I've caught up with a few friends, and it's been lovely to see familiar faces and be forced to reflect on the last few months of madness. The main reason of course for being in Glasgow was to see my all-time, absolute, ride-or-die favourite band Sigur Rós. To say I'm a fan is an understatement, and I do think some of the blame for my current cycle of travelling/residencies can be pinpointed to when I saw their achingly beautiful doco Heima, which documented a summer tour through various parts of Iceland in the mid 00s. Seeing the Icelandic wilderness soundtracked to Sigur Rós lit a fire in me to see the country. That led to my first trip to Iceland, which then led to my first residency in Iceland a few years later, and then onto all the other residencies to follow. 

Sitting in the auditorium I realised it was my 5th time seeing the band (6 if you include a Jónsi solo show) in 9 years, so pretty good innings so far! My enthusiasm might go a bit dormant in between albums, but seeing them live just reminds me of why I am so thoroughly in love with what they do. 

The show was divided into two hour-long sets with an interval in between, and the setlist ran the gamut of their back catalogue (minus the always-forgotten debut Von). There were also four new songs sprinkled throughout, and hearing three of those for the first time brought back memories of seeing them for the first time as a nerdy 17 year old who didn't quite knowing what he was getting himself into. I was impressed that they actually managed to pull off half of (), which I listen to constantly but is maybe a more difficult albums to digest. It was a gutsy move to whip out Dauðalagið especially, or as I like to think of it, the 13 minute banger that's guaranteed to send Mish to sleep when I try to play it in the car.

The stage design, lighting and projections were huge and immersive, and made the whole thing a real Production. It really added to every climactic ending to a song when the entire stage exploded with strobes and threw a literal wave of sound and light crashing into the audience, as if just listening to them live wasn't emotionally exhausting enough on its own. 

Every live show will always end the same way with the rousing and overwhelming Popplagið. I can't help but feel a bit melancholy when those first chords ring out, knowing that it signals the beginning of the end. In a way it's a similar feeling to watching the last episode on a regular Game of Thrones season and realising you're about to start a year-long wait for the next season. However I do feel really lucky that my favourite band also happens to be alive and well at the same time as me, and that I get to look forward to more music and more gigs in the future. It would be a different story if I felt this way about, say, the Beatles. 

Anyway, I've had my fill of starry-eyed gushing for tonight. I get a surge of so many emotions every time I go to a Sigur Rós gig, but I don't think I'll ever be able to feel disappointed by them. Takk fyrir, as always. Looking forward to the next one.

Croft Life

I found out fairly last minute that Ellis and Keith’s cabin was completely off grid, although that really only added to the experience more than anything. The cabin sits in a wooded part of the McDonald croft on North Uist, an island about midway through the Outer Hebrides. Inside is rustic and cosy, and the sort of thing that people dream of escaping to. Keith built the whole thing from scratch for next to nothing, using mostly salvaged materials. With a larger building there might have been more regulations and building permits to navigate, but the cabin is small enough to bypass all of that. Not being connected to the grid, there was no running water, electricity, or heating. Instead the water came from a rain tank (impossible to empty thanks to the copious Scottish rain), light was provided with candles, and the heat source was a small iron wood stove that filled the cabin with deliciously smokey peat fumes. It’s something I had only tasted in scotch before, but that smell to me epitomises Scotland and I think I’ll really miss it when I get back home. Fortunately there was a bit of WiFi, which had been hooked up using probably wizardry - the power for that came from a portable battery pack. Keith’s family lives in the main house on the property about a mile away. Showers, laundry and cold storage were all there if/when necessary. Lastly, next to the measly build cost there’s also the great bonus of a non-existent mortgage! So all in all a rather great alternative to living in the ways that I’m more accustomed to. El’s a lucky gal.

The five nights/four days spent there were mostly dictated by the shortening daylight and weather. The days were spent out and about and we would retire to the cabin to eat, drink and chat by the fire when the sun went down. I was happy to go along with whatever was happening at the time and experience a little bit of croft life, rather than be a demanding house guest. On the first morning we joined up with the rest of the family to dig up their small field of potatoes. Ian and Joan were proud to point out that their tatties were only fertilised naturally with dried seaweed gathered from the shore, and the organic spuds were a lot more variable in size. I got better towards the end at picking out the blight-affected potatoes from the edible ones. I got a bit tired after spending the entire morning hunched over, but it felt rewarding to focus on such a simple honest task while not having to think about anything else. 

Another morning was spent unsuccessfully herding sheep. The croft sits in an area of North Uist that breaks off into a raggedy complex of islands and skerries, some of which only turn into islands if the tide is up. A few sheep had stupidly gotten stuck on one such island so we followed Keith and his beautiful/friendly/well-trained/affectionate border collie Meg to try and relocate them. Unfortunately we weren’t so lucky in predicting the tides so we left Keith and Meg behind to do the dirty work. 

A lot of the land is marshy and peaty, and seemingly unable to ever fully dry. My hiking boots have served me well up until this point, but were really never designed to work as well as gumboots. I won’t describe the smell of my socks/feet, but I had a similar fear of trench foot as I did during the NC500 after consecutive days of walking through so much wet grass, heather and mud.

There was great weather over the last few days, and we took advantage of that by driving around to the nearby islands of Berneray, South Uist, Benbecula and Eriskay. Alongside North Uist, this stretch of islands is entirely connected by causeways so we managed it all in the van. Beyond that there are well-serviced ferries to take cars and passengers to Barra in the south and Lewis/Harris in the north. We stopped at several beautiful beaches up and down the islands, which was something I definitely didn’t expect to find this far up in the middle of the North Atlantic. 

The stay was a good way to recharge my batteries, and I think most of all it was great to catch up with an old friend who understood what I was doing and why I need to do it. Not to mention that Ellis seems to be thriving in her life and career, based on a stellar combination of hard work, determination, stubbornness and a little bit of luck. A part of me does feel a bit jealous, but I'm so happy for her and it makes me want to knuckle down and just keep on keeping on.

I got dropped off at the docks this morning for the ferry up to Leverburgh on South Harris. I’m now writing from a shabby hostel in the village of Tarbert. The original plan was to spend some time exploring Harris and Lewis on foot and by bus, but the weather has gone back to atrocious. I’ll now be heading down to Glasgow a day early to avoid some potentially horrible weather and a Sunday ferry which is more than two hours longer thanks to an extra stop in Lochmaddy. There’s the chance that tomorrow’s ferry will also be cancelled due to the weather, but I’ve booked every other connection already (including a mind-numbing 7 hour bus trip from Uig to Glasgow) so I’ll just have to cross my fingers and maybe have a bucket on hand. 

Part of me feels a bit bad for not trying to get more out of being here, but I'll content myself in knowing that I got A LOT out of North Uist!

Back On Grid

The last few days have seemingly passed at a different pace compared to the rest of the trip, and in hindsight it was just what I needed. We had another almost full day on Skye before the evening ferry to North Uist, so I’ll cover that here before I move onto my time in the Hebrides in the next post. 

The weather was great for our last day in Skye, so we took the opportunity to drive a little further to Neist Point on the westernmost point of Skye. On the way we stopped by at the Steinn Inn (self-reportedly the oldest pub on the island) to eat lunch in the precious Scottish sunshine. 

Neist Point juts out from the surrounding sea cliffs, so you get a great view of the coastal outline on either side as you walk down towards the lighthouse. The lighthouse itself was a bit decrepit, which was a shame as we both agreed that the location would've been ideal as an artist retreat or just as luxury middle-of-nowhere accommodation (especially now given the tourism boom in Skye). We wandered over the rocky cliffs sloping down towards to water’s edge and kicked over some of the annoying rock stacks that bored tourists seem to have a habit of building whenever there are small flat rocks provided in abundance. I just thought it ruined the scenery - a mild reversible form of vandalism. There was also a particularly high cliff that sat in front of the lighthouse, blocking it from view from the road. We huffed and puffed to the top and given the clear conditions were able to enjoy a view of the Outer Hebrides in full as a line of shapes rising out from the horizon. 

After that we drove back up to Uig in the north ready for our ferry to take us out west. The weather stayed calm and the almost two hour trip was gloriously comfortable and free from any white knuckles or sick green faces. We arrived late to the cabin where Keith was waiting with a hot home cooked meal and I with some Talisker. We drank and ate in front of the pungent peat fire and I started to get a little of the appeal of living a crofter’s life. 

Old Man, Old Friends

I was finally reunited with dear Ellis today, and it was like nothing had changed. She's still the same wide-eyed, joyous and enthusiastic creature that I hung out with all the way back in that odd little town of Skagaströnd. 

We caught up on the last year and a half, and only scraped the surface I guess. I'm heading back to her off-grid cabin in North Uist tomorrow evening so the catching up can continue then. Today we hit up a few Skye icons. First stop was the Old Man of Storr, which I think of as one of the most iconic views in Scotland. The walk up was steep and windy, but never too taxing, and from the top it looked like we had climbed a mountain. The Storr refers to the vast rocky hill behind (first photo) and the Old Man specifically is the singular lump that stands out in front of the rest. There were plenty of tourists milling about but as we got further up the tourists thinned out as well. You can see tiny specks of people in some of the photos which really capture how massive these formations are. Breathtaking stuff.

Following that we drove over to nearby Kilt Rock and Mealt Falls. Kilt Rock is a sea cliff that supposedly looks like a kilt in colour and shape (I don't see it but ok) and the adjacent waterfall flows straight into the ocean from a nearby loch. It was beautiful, but I couldn't get a decent shot from the token lookout point. 

Ellis left for the Cowshed after an early dinner and I'm off on more adventures tomorrow! 

Benevolent Strangers

I've just come back from a night out in middle-of-nowhere Portnalong, where the complete lack of wifi/phone reception was more than made up for by all the wonderful strangers I met and the weird unplanned night that ensued. Gather 'round as I recount the story

In a way, these 5 nights in Skye were a last minute solution to a gap in my plans that needed filling. My itinerary across the isle has really been governed by whatever hostels I could find last minute, as Skye seems both more popular with tourists and less built up with infrastructure, which I don't mind at all. As much as I love Reykjavík, parts of the city feel like they've given themselves over completely to the tourism industry with more souvenir shops, hotels and hotels-under-construction than you can throw a dead puffin at. It definitely feels like a certain amount of natural charm got bulldozed to make way for the 5th or 6th Hilton.

Anyway, I digress. I found myself booked into the punny Skyewalker Hostel (complete with a vague Star Wars theme running throughout) in Portnalong last night because it had good reviews and seemed the only place with a spare vacancy. I took a bus back to Portree in time to hop on the after school bus leaving from Portree High bound for Fiscavaig.

For supposed 'insurance reasons' the hostel completely closes between 11 and 3 to do a full top-to-bottom clean which although frustrating for early arrivals, at least ensures the hostel is spotless and much more welcoming than any of the other dirty city hostels that I've set foot in in years past. I was only about 40 minutes early so was told to wait it out in the geodesic dome out the back, which acts as a common area during cleaning hours and otherwise. 

There I met a travelling pack of 10 retirees from Kent who were cycling/driving through the Western Isles. They were a friendly jovial bunch, and offered me a sandwich and some shortbread while they politely inquired about what the hell I was doing out here. The lot of them honestly looked like they should have just booked themselves onto a cruise liner, so I was pretty impressed that they had decided instead to tackle a self-guided cycling tour. 

After the late lunch with the cyclists, I checked in and settled down with a book and made friends with Cassandra - one of 4 Seattle girls doing a brief Europe trip (she'll come up later in the story). Not knowing anything about the area, and without much mobility, I decided to trek to the nearby-ish Talisker Bay. The guy at the desk highly recommended it, and the clouds had begun to part so I thought I'd walk there in time to see a (hopefully) spectacular sunset. The walk to the bay was roughly 5 and a half miles and took just short of 2 hours to reach. The first half followed a winding road towards Fiscavaig, and the second half went across a muddy/swampy/puddly path overrun with sheep. I just about managed to get through without accidentally landing knee deep in mud, but I knew that coming back would be an absolute nightmare in pitch darkness. 

Unfortunately the sunset ended up being pretty average, although at least the rain didn't threaten a return, and the sea cliffs and crescent-shaped beach were stunning regardless. I was reminded a lot of the Lofoten beaches I had trekked to back in July, which now seem like they happened a lifetime ago! I took way too many photos, despite the fading light, and before I knew it I was faced with the task of getting home.

There were a few other photographers on the same stretch of sand, obviously having the same idea as me. With a touch of opportunism, I struck up a conversation with the friendliest looking girl. Vicki and her colleagues Craig and Lee were all from the camera shop Jessops (think Teds or Michaels) and they were in Skye to set up a photography/travel course in the near future. After the most subtle of nudges, I scored a lift in their van back to civilisation. However they were going in the opposite direction to Skyewalker so I was dropped off at the town of Carbost, which was still an hour from Portnalong but at least the shorter hour long hike would be along a sealed road. Carbost is home to the Talisker Distillery and the Old Inn, which I knew had live music on Friday nights. I decided to pop in just to warm up a bit before heading home. 

The live music was really just a random assortment of locals huddled at a large table jamming. They kept up a constant stream of lively traditional folky stuff on their fiddles, pipes, drums and guitars. It was spontaneous and unrehearsed but everyone involved obviously knew what they were doing and the encircling crowd was thoroughly into it. The atmosphere was buzzing, but relaxed, and I happily watched on from a corner as I drank a liquid dinner of local ales (the kitchen had closed by the time I arrived). 

As I was about to leave in walks Cassandra, along with the rest of her posse Megan, Sarah and Alana (I'm trying at least to recall names here, so they don't immediately fade into obscurity), and miraculously I scored my second free ride for the night straight back to the hostel in their rental. I had a really great night, and I couldn't have planned for much of it which really made it that much more memorable. 

I left this morning from the hostel feeling good about the world. Before I left I had time to fit in a long-winded gossip session with Lisa the hostel owner who revealed between giggles that one of the cyclists had been an absolute diva/drama queen/toddler - mostly through not knowing or appreciating how a hostel operates. Shame for him because I would thoroughly recommend Skyewalker. Guess you can't win em all.

The only Saturday bus available would only be passing Portnalong at 12.40pm, so it made no sense to wait around a closed hostel for almost 2 hours. I had a nice stroll in the rain back over to Carbost to find lunch. I managed a third lift from a man with a van about half way in. I wasn't even trying to get picked up but I think he took pity on me. There was a surprisingly great coffee stand opposite the distillery and I had a lunch of freshly shucked oysters and chips at the Oyster Shed - a farm shop and takeaway food stand that served fresh lobster, langoustine, mussels, oysters and other seafood fished straight up from the waters surrounding Skye. 

I'm now relaxing back in Portree at the local hostel, and waiting for Ellis to arrive at last tomorrow for the start of another road trip. The weather is looking great (all things crossed) so hopefully it lives up to the incredible 36 hours that I just had in Portnalong. 

Getting to Uig

If I were to describe my movements through Scotland so far you might think the plan was always to just erratically jump on any old bus and see where it ended up. I've criss-crossed around this beautiful country with some semblance of a plan, but it mostly feels more labour-intensive than necessary. 

The ride from Aberdeen here to Uig took about 10 hours all up, including an hour and a half spent charging my phone at the Maccas in Inverness and a last ditch cab ride for the final leg. The bus from Inverness to Skye would have taken me all the way to Uig, but unbeknownst to me the evening bus only gets as far as Portree (Skye's capital). I would have hitched but it was already dark by the time I arrived and the roads looked pretty empty regardless so there was naught to do but to hail a taxi. 

Ellis recommended me this lovely hostel that I'm now writing from. The Cowshed honestly looks like it should cost a lot more for a night (20 quid for a dorm bed). It's easily the cleanest and shiniest hostel that I've ever checked into. The beds are comfortable and cozy with individual privacy curtains and no squeaky bed frames/springs. The bathrooms are shared but large, spacious and private with excellent water pressure from the shower heads. Like the rest of rural/northern/country Scotland the wifi isn't great but I'd have been more shocked if it was anywhere near as good as Norway. 

So far Skye lives up to the hype. The rain is either bucketing down or threatening to start up at a moment's notice, but the landscape is gorgeous and green - probably thanks to the rain! I went out this morning to the nearby Fairy Glen - a small area dotted with cone-shaped hills, pools and rock formations. I didn't know what I was walking into, so it did feel like stepping into some hidden away fairy habitat when I crossed around that last bend in the road to get to the glen. The hills looked particularly vivid when the sun peeped momentarily through the clouds. 

After a bit of wandering, I walked over to the Uig port to find lunch and took a detour on the way back to a forest path that lead to a roaring waterfall. I made it back in time before another downpour started up so I think I've done alright today. Here's hoping the next few days are a bit drier, if possible.

Lethargy

The last few nights in Aberdeen have been quiet. It's a very grey city, both in terms of colour and mood. I'm about to head over to the bus that will take me to Inverness and then over to Skye where I'll stay for a week or so. As mentioned earlier I'm just ready to start the damn residency already and I think I'm just tired of living such a transient existence. Of course I have no objections to travelling, but I've been on the move for so long and living out of a backpack that I think I'm just nearing the end of my tether.

I know how ridiculous this is, and it really is the epitome of a first world problem that I feel ashamed to even put it into words, but I am just feeling tired. It didn't help that the mattress at the hostel wasn't so much a mattress as it was a loose bag of springs. I've slept so so badly for two nights and I'm definitely one of those people that can only function properly with a decent amount of quality bedrest. Anyway, enough complaining. Onwards and upwards. 

Greenery

I haven't been keeping on top of this as much as I'd like to, but it feels reasonable to neglect this in favour of the trip in question. 

I'm now in Aberdeen after one last long weekend in Edinburgh with Jake. He left this morning for a flight to Berlin, and the rest of his trip. It feels strange to be back doing a solo trip, especially as the last fortnight has been so epic and eventful. I honestly just want to get to the lighthouse now. I'm more than ready to start working again, but there's still 3 weeks to kill before I head on up.

Edinburgh felt like a different city after Fringe. The busloads of tourists were still around, but that crazy frenetic buzz of Fringe had died down so the air didn't feel so heavy/claustrophobic. 

Edinburgh Castle is hard to miss, sitting up on it's huge rocky hill in the middle of the city. It's also another overpriced and overhyped tourist trap. After the lavish excess of Dunrobin, Edinburgh Castle just felt like a weird medieval theme park - complete with bad actors in costume and poorly painted facades.

So I'll skip right past that and have a gush about the Botanic Gardens. Jake's probably more of a plant obsessive than me, but we were both super keen to go see the ten enormous greenhouses - stuffed full of ancient palms, huge lily pads, monstrous climbers and aroids, huge terrariums of carnivorous plants and other incredible specimens that were growing at such an unthinkably oversized scale. It was a magical place (and I couldn't keep my camera down).