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).

Scenic Return

Inverness was really just a pit stop between Dornoch and Edinburgh so I didn't have to do a massive drive in one day. There's not much to say about Inverness either. It was small, quiet and a bit decrepit - if the people and infrastructure are anything to go by. Perhaps my mind could be changed if someone had shown me around, but by that stage we were short on time and patience.

The next day we opted for a more scenic route back to Edinburgh via Glen Coe. It's a deep mountainous valley which postcard peaks and spectacular hiking trails throughout. I had seen photos from Ellis' Instagram account and knew that it would probably blow my mind. Unfortunately the weather gods were not on our side and things stayed at a consistent deluge throughout the day. 

We saw plenty of hikers trudging through the mud, but after some of the wetter experiences of the last week we weren't exactly feeling up for another swim through the mud. The sky briefly cleared as we drove through the narrowest and probably most stunning view points so I stopped the car as often as I could to take some requisite roadside snaps. The valley opened up after that to a wide bleak landscape - perfect for hiking (minus midges and rain).

At the coffee stop later I squealed and screeched over some more highland cow sightings. I let my camera get pretty wet as I snapped away at those stupid adorable creatures chewing on their lunch.

Dank Ness

The drive back to Inverness was a longer drive compared to the last few days, and we decided to take the longer route via Loch Ness, just to tick it off our list. There isn't much to say about the place. The lake is huge but fairly nondescript, and the Loch Ness centre and nearby Nessieland was pretty terrible. Every country has their cringeworthy tourist traps and this is Scotland's. We didn't stay for long but continued the drive around the lake and to a few other falls and castle ruins that I'm already forgetting. Pro tip for future travels: skip Nessie you won't find it.

Royals

We hit the road again the following day, back to the safe reliability of a land-based vehicle. We checked out the sea stacks at Duncansby Head - pyramidal formations rising out like cousins of the Twelve Apostles which looked great in the morning light. 

Further south we stopped to check out the ruins of Castle Sinclair Girnigoe. Much like temples are a dime a dozen in Japan, so too are castle ruins in Scotland. Sinclair Girnigoe did feel a bit special as it's built precariously on the sea cliffs, as if ready to crumble right into the ocean. From my untrained eyes, I couldn't quite see the separation between rock and castle foundation so it looked as if the ruins were carved from the rock itself - a bit like how I imagined Pyke to look in Game of Thrones. 

Dunrobin Castle was next, and it was definitively NOT a ruin. I wasn't allowed to photograph any of the interiors, but the place had a definite fairytale/Disney feel to it. We walked through a steady stream of grand decadent rooms covered in lavish tapestries, masonry, panelling, taxidermied heads and other over the top detailing that you'd expect in a well-to-do castle. We also got to see a falconry demonstration in the gardens where a jolly scotsman showed us his confident handling of several beautiful hawks and falcons. 

That night our accommodation was something else. Partially because he wanted to tick it off some bucket list, and partially because he was really keen to overdo it for my birthday, Jake booked us into a legitimate castle in Dornoch. I knew it was coming, but the suite was huge, lavish and quite over the top; think four poster bed, champagne on arrival and really fluffy bathrobes. I didn't take any photos because I was too busy trying to enjoy it all, but it was amazing and wonderful and so much more than what I deserve </3

To Orkney and Back

With only a short drive to the aforementioned 'glamping' pods in John O'Groats from Thurso, we decided to take a day off from driving and booked ourselves into a day long coach tour to the nearby Orkney islands north of John O'Groats. This seemed like a good idea in theory, but hilariously so much worse in practice. 

We woke up early to wet and windy weather, and things stayed that way for most of the day. Orkney is an archipelago of islands of a similar size to Shetland and the Faroes. Interestingly it also has a history of Norwegian rule, so there's another bit of overlap between Scotland and Scandinavia. The archipelago is separated from the mainland only by the narrow 10km Pentland Firth. Though the trip there only took about 45 minutes, it was one of the wildest and most sickening boat trips I've ever taken. The sea raged, churned and pounded relentlessly on our cork-like ferry which seemed to be moving at an inefficiently glacial pace. I only just managed to keep my breakfast down, but the entire time I was clutching on for dear life and praying for the sweet release of death. It bums me out that something I love so much can be such a merciless take-no-prisoners bastard when it wants to be. 

Arriving at port I still felt sick but relieved to at least be back on dry land. We quickly jumped on our coach and hopped a few islands to get to the capital and largest town of Kirkwall. The main islands are connected via the Churchill Barriers - huge concrete causeways built in the 40s by Italian POWs to protect the huge naval base stationed in the bay of Scapa Flow during WW2.

Orkney is mostly flat (trees are a rarity), and the wind supposedly never dies down, so we were blown about and rained on whenever we got off the bus. We explored the town, and sadly probably spent more time hiding in souvenir shops as the rain kept up its relentless bucketing. Lunch was next in the town of Stromness, which was a postcard-ready fishing village with a surprisingly decent art gallery by the harbour. I love that Scotland appears to have such a decent funding system for the arts - it definitely makes a difference and there looks to be lots of opportunities for Scottish artists popping up in unexpected places.

Following Stromness our tour took us to the site of Skara Brae - the excavated remains of a prehistoric settlement. We were a bit miffed to have to pay yet another entry fee, but the ruins were intriguing in just how OLD they were. There are so many gaps in the understanding of these people, such as their language and why they abruptly fled the site. Not knowing the answers seems to make the span of time between us and them that much more apparent.

More ancient inexplicable archaeology followed at the Ring of Brodgar and the Standing Stones of Stenness. Both formations are similar to the more well known Stonehenge, with the Ring of Brodgar being larger than Stonehenge (though more sparse with only 27 stones left from an initial ring of 60). Coming from a culture without any written language, there's no definitive answer to what the function of these monuments were, but the bus driver seemed to be keen on the idea that Brodgar at least was a site for rituals of sacrifice and other sorcerous shenanigans.

Our last stop before the dreaded return trip was the Italian Chapel. Though a fairly benign name, the chapel was built by the Italian POWs who were already building the barriers. Although technically prisoners, the Italians had good relations with the Orkadians and after a while requested a place for worship. They got the green light to build a church out of two leftover Nissen huts. Those Italians must have been either bored or incredibly devoted because they turned the place into a ridiculously ornate and beautiful little church using only the limited supplies that they could scrounge. The statues were carved from leftover concrete; ironwork came from melted down nails and wire; the candle holders were old corned beef tins; and the plaster-boarded walls were completely painted in a trompe l'oeil style to appear like ornate masonry. Something bizarre and surprising compared to all the other churches I've come across.

Afterwards, it was finally time to board that godforsaken ferry again. Thankfully the wind had died down a bit and the sun managed to make an appearance so the ride back wasn't as bad as it could have been, though still nauseating all the same. My dinner + beer that evening never tasted so welcoming and deserved.

(PS. damn sorry for the essay)

Bad Tongue

After finding breakfast in the morning we drove down to nearby Smoo Cave to have a look around. The cave system is unique in that the initial chamber was hollowed out by the sea, whereas the rear chambers were made by rainwater seeping through the sandstone. The rest of the cave system is inaccessible but the excavators know that neolithic man used to inhabit the inner caves from sampling hazelnut ash that has seeped out through cracks. Interestingly hazelnuts haven’t grown in Scotland for thousands of years, so they can trace it back to a former time and place which I think is super neat. 

We paid 5 quid to be taken on a short tour down into the furthest safely accessible chamber in an inflatable raft and wearing hard hats for good measure. 

When we got out the day was still clear and fine from the previous day, and (surprisingly) there are plenty of beautiful white sand beaches around Durness to explore. We took a stroll along the shore and clambered over some rock formations while the sun stayed out. 

From there we drove into the oddly named town of Tongue to find lunch, but being Sunday and also quite late in the afternoon everything had already closed for a Sunday siesta. Driving along further we eventually found a sleepy hotel with some cheerful ladies running the tavern. We both stuffed ourselves with a proper Sunday roast - Scottish beef, Yorkshire puddings, crispy potatoes, peas and a generous moat of gravy (plus a pint of ale on the side of course). It felt correct.

The next stop was the Forsinard Flows, a huge inland expanse of bog and spongy moss. Although a bit disgusting to imagine squelching through, this sort of environment is supposedly hard to come by these days and supports a large number of native insect and bird species. Being so important it's been designated a national nature reserve and some decent funding obviously went into building the neat winding boardwalk over to the lonely watchtower sitting amidst the vast field. 

On the way to our next stop in Thurso I noticed a random cloud that looked like the shape of Iceland. Not sure if coincidence or omen? Anyway, we stayed that night in a shabby but comfortable hostel facing a chippy. Nothing to gush over but enough to crash safely for a night.