By sea to the Island of Skye

After running from the cafe where the last post was written, I made it to the train to Mallaig with minutes to spare, buying my ticket and stepping on board just seconds before the train started to move. This leg of the west highland line was, if possible, even more spectacular than the trip from Glasgow to Fort William, with high craggy mountains sloping down first to the lochs and then, as we drew further north, to the sea itself. At one point the train passed over a curving stone bridge that towered over the valley and small farm far below. We caught a glimpse of forests and white beaches and then, as the train slowed, we pulled into the small harbor town of Mallaig.

In Mallaig I caught the ferry north to the Island of Skye. I stood out on deck–something not possible on the ferry from Belfast–and talked with a man from Germany who planned to walk the length of the island, a 75 mile or so trek. As it started raining halfway across the bay and didn’t seriously let up until I left two days later (this morning), I sincerely hope the weather improves for the end of his journey at least.

The ferry docked in a cold, clinging rain and the other passengers and I hurried off with coats pulled tight. Most made for a nearby cafe to wait for the bus; I, on a tight budget, sat down in the bus station. I was soon joined by a young Russian couple who both worked in Scotland. The girl had been here longer, and worked in a hotel on Skye, while her friend worked as a professional chef south of the Isles in Scotland proper. He’d traveled around the world with this job, working at one point on a ship off the coast of Africa for around a hundred USD a month–which meant when he was offered the opportunity to come work here, he accepted without looking back.

They were headed only ten miles up the coast or so, so they caught a ride with a local while I waited for the bus and chatted with a couple of older Scottish ladies, both of whom smoked and informed me about the various Scottish whiskey traditions. As far as I can tell neither smoking or hard alcohol carries the same stigma here as it does in the U.S., which means that they are both mroe common as well as less likely to be used in an act of rebellion byy the younger generation.

Finally the bus arrived and carried us up to the island’s only serious town, Portree–pretty enough, but full of tourists, and raining. I looked around a bit before walking out of town to pitch camp, where I had a good dinner of wine, bread and cheese from the local supermarket and finished my book.

The next morning I became quickly acquainted with the infamous midges of the British Isles, and barely escaped with my sanity. Fortunately, they seemed restricted to my particular campsite (of course), and didn’t follow me when I walked into town. As the day had cleared up somewhat I bought the six pound day pass to the island’s busses and headed out of town to its most famous geographical feature, a finger of black volcanic rock called the Old Man of Storr. It was a steep climb, but short, breaking quickly out of dense, almost primeval forest onto a wide marshy meadow that sloped up to the black rocks of the mountain and the Old Man.

I climbed further up until I crested the ledge and from there up to a small lookout peak. From here I could see out in all directions, with the beautiful Scottish Isles laying out to sea and a single white sailboat tiny in the distance. This, I thought, this is definitely worth the midges.

After climbing back down I took the bus again in a wide loop around the north section of the island, a bit over an hour all told. Because the human population here is so spread out, the tourist bus system doubles as a school bus system, so my bus was half full of tourists and half full of children, all in the local school uniforms. The girls were screaming about some sort of bee and huddled in the front while the boys, displaying their manliness to the girls, clustered in the back and thoughtfully surveyed the offending insect while discussing possible methods of doing away with it.

After this I made full use of my day pass to head south and just off the island to the adjacent Scottish coast at Kyle of Lochalsh. On the bus ride down I made what is certainly the most random acquaintances thus far this trip–a couple who not only live very near me in Northern Virginia, but where the wife also works at the legal institution affiliated (and located on the campus of) the college where I go to school. They kindly took me out to dinner, and we talked about history, travel, and the experience here in general. I gave them the address to this website–if you’re reading this, thanks again for the dinner, and I’ll quite possibly see you when I get back in August.

I again made camp outside of town–fourth night in a row–and caught a train next morning to Inverness. Ready to sleep in a bed for a change and avoid the rain, I booked a hostel as soon as I arrived–predictably, the weather looks to have cleared up completely. So it goes. At any rate, I intend to explore this city some more tomorrow morning before starting south–I hope to be in London by the 24th, only two nights away. Where will I be tomorrow? Time will tell!