Archive for July, 2006
Broadford to Elgol presented the audacious land formations that we’ve been spoilt by this week. Very twisty single track road that makes for tiring driving if the traffic is anywhere near busy. Easier on the way back because John was in front so all the judgment about when to pull into passing places was down to him.
Something of a drama before we boarded the boat, because Gemma’s camera battery ran out. I let her use my Nikon F50 film camera and she was able to use her Nikon DX long zoom on it – just without autofocus.
The boat took us out to a jetty on the opposite shore, from where you can walk round to Loch Coruisk. They leave you there for an hour or so, and then come back to pick you up. Loch Coruisk is only accessible by boat or by walking for four hours, so there are no burger stalls or shops selling Loch Coruisk pencil sharpeners or jars of Grandma MacDonald’s Scottish marmalade. No phone signal either – not even “emergency only”. Closest I’ve been to a Wordsworth moment, seeing into the life of things.
The guide on the boat who turned out to be the son of the skipper gave a seamless performance on the mic on the way there and back, filling us in on the various inhabitants of the tiny islands off Elgol and pointing out wildlife.
I made a curry in the evening, which went down well all round. Another session on the beach with slightly different sea conditions but equally evocative vibe. More Big Brother prison machinations, and then bed.
Friday started well, with gentle rain. Things got tricky when we were trying to decide what to do with the day – decidedly more damp and grey than the week had been so far. Part of the plan had been to go out to Rasaay but we decided there wouldn’t be much point if we weren’t going to be able to see anything. Judith had wanted to have a look at Dunvegan too. The other element in the mix was thinking that I really should save my driving energies for the long journey down the next day; along with that undefinable pressure and irritability that everyone feels on the last day of a holiday. Flipped a mental coin and went to Dunvegan in the mist and rain. The road seemed to stretch into eternity and it took us far longer than I had hoped to get there. Another scenario where they want your money before you even walk through the garden gate, so you don’t even know what’s in there until you’ve paid. A harridan in the booth made the position unambiguous. I felt that we should at least see the garden, because otherwise we had driven fifty miles to use the toilet, eat some sandwiches and see a gift shop. So we handed over our money and wandered around inside. The castle had an unfortunate council house feel to it – largely due to the pebble–dashed walls. The walled garden was moderately interesting but had a kind of unkempt feel to it. Only an hour to get back to cottage. Focus for the last evening was provided by another barbecue and the Big Brother eviction, although everyone knew really that it was Spiral and Michael who were going to go. We also managed another session on the beach, but it was less successful because there was tension in the air coming from various sources.
On the final morning we were all mobilised a lot quicker than I had expected. I hate putting the roof box back on for the journey back. Mum very kindly dismantled the greasy barbecue. Mum left first, then John, Maggie and Donna. Leaving us to to that very sad business of going in all the rooms to double check that no–one had left anything.
Couldn’t prevent the lump in my throat as I looked at that view from that cottage one last time. Feeling of sadness remained pretty much until we hit the A9. Stopped at the Invergarry Hotel for a quick coffee. Gaelic radio on in the bar, with a small boy talking about Guns N’ Roses and Pussycat Dolls in the same sentence. The bar was very basic, in typical Scottish style, but had a nice vibe. I kind of wished I could stay for a few more hours and drink beer instead of driving 400 miles South into the heat.
Next stop at Bothwell services near Glasgow, for a large cappuccino in a cardboard bucket. Lisa’s chips took an unfeasibly long time to arrive, given that they weren’t very busy. Also stopped at Southwaite services due to abject tiredness. That last section of M6 always has an other-worldly feel to it, like you’re driving into another dimension or something. Maybe “Lost” was dreamed up on a long car journey.
Left the M6 at the wrong junction, like a fool, and ended up going through Blackburn town centre. Joy.
Fast forward to this morning. Even more than putting the roof box back on for the journey home, I detest taking it off the next morning. Definitely all over then. Down to Sowood to get the cats, and then everything is installed for another few months of reality. Tried in vain to buy a replacement fan for the attic. Everywhere had sold out. The usual supermarket run was even more punishing than usual, because I was still weary from the driving the day before.
Pasta salad for tea. Pasta and soup for Gemma. Tonight is transitional. Tomorrow starts the August regime of getting in shape mentally and physically. Bring it on.
Saw on the mega-detailed OS map, that we bought for a mega price in Broadford Co-Op, that Fiskavaig Bay has a sandy beach, so yesterday had a jaunt up there to check it out. Stopped at Carbost and ate lunch by the loch opposite the Talisker distillery. A fair climb up through more very dramatic landscapes to Fiskavaig. Spotted the beach with what appeared to be sand – I say “appeared” because it a kind of muddy brown colour. Made our way to it on foot and realised it was indeed sand but just not golden. I guess it’s a bit like drinking a bright blue cup of coffee – tastes great but doesn’t quite look right. The sea was warm compared to Caithness. Spotted one or two living creatures in the pools. Lisa decided that mine Judith’s pronunciation of “plankton” was hilarious – with artificial emphasis on the second syllable.
The journey back was tiring. When we got to the tourist information centre in Broadford I realised that in order to get out and see places I was spending the best part of the day just driving.
Some tedious shopping in Broadford Co-Op, and then back to the cottage.
Went down to the beach at the end of the garden to drink a beer and generally chill out, absorbing the ambience of the calm sea and mountains and chatting.
Intended to watch Zoolander but the Sky box crashed. By the time I’d sorted it out, we’d missed the start so we settled for Big Brother instead – the prison scenario.
Off for boat trip off Elgol and up into a loch today. Planning a curry for tea. Not going on the trip until 2.15, so may as well let the kids lie in a bit.
Yesterday John had to go to Fort William to pick up Maggie who had changed her mind about coming up to Skye.
Late morning, after the usual waiting period for everyone to mobilise, we went down the coast to Armadale to have a look at the castle and gardens. Turned out the price of entry was too much of a gamble – £14 before you even go through the garden gates. Call me cynical, but many tourist attractions seem set up to fleece families for large amounts of money in return for not very much entertainment or edification. If I’d been on my own, I may have had a look, but we’ve done our time handing over cash at museums and exhibitions when there wasn’t a lot of evidence that the kids wouldn’t much rather be doing something else.
On to the Armadale ferry terminal, which reminded me a lot of John O’Groats – wool shops and ice cream stalls set out like fly paper to attract the money of passing tourists.
After John and Donna had set off to Fort William to go and get Maggie, I had a notion that I’d like to get away from the tourist hordes and look at something more isolated and entirely non-commercial. So we transferred Mum to our car and headed down the coast towards Aird. Very single track and very narrow. I especially remember a bit through a wood where it was very important to steer straight. Generally struck by the fragility of motoring in this kind of environment. The tarmac ran out at the entrance to some common grazing land. The road did continue beyond the gate, but not in a way suitable for normal cars, and it said no entry to unauthorised vehicles anyway. The sign on the gate about a bull put everyone else off the idea of going through, but I pushed on for about a mile just to have a look. Checking the map today, that rough road continues for about three miles before ending up on the opposite coast. I’d have liked to continue, but I was conscious of having left everyone behind at the car park. On my way back I had an interesting encounter with what may have been a bull – large bovine thing anyway, bellowing and stamping in the middle of the road. One of those where you just have to tough it out and walk past nonchalantly. I guess the bovine thing was a metaphorical equivalent of a chav eyeing up your ipod.
Back to the cottage mid afternoon. A few beers, some TV and some planning for tomorrow. We should go on a boat trip at some point this week, but which one? There are so many on offer.
Big Brother, with the whole “best friends” thing, should make for an interesting eviction Friday. If the voting gets skewed by Richard’s unpopularity, I guess it’s possible that Pete might actually go – what with people this week voting for who they’d like to save rather than evict.
The eye seems to be bedding back in quite nicely. Checked the map and headed for the Isle of Skye. The idea behind this was to make a change from the summer norm where we all congregate at Mum’s in Caithness; so I booked a cottage on the southern part of Skye at a place called Ferrindonald. Gemma’s boyfriend was unable to come because his dad broke his wrist mountain boarding and he needs help looking after the kids until his wrist is mobile again.
Lots of debate about whether to take the Loch Lomond route or head North on the A9 and work across. A warning from John by text convinced us to do the A9 thing. So it was the usual route as far as just above the House Of Bruar, and then across via Spean Bridge. Twisting and winding through the mountains past several lochs, which was stunning to look at but made demanding driving after a long run up the motorway. The last section on the way to the bridge at Kyle of Lochalsh was particularly beautiful, especially with the ambience added by OK Computer on the car CD player.
The new car made the journey really well: its first big test. I’ve definitely missed the responsiveness of a petrol engine, and the two litre Zetec seems to pull the estate hulk with grace and elegance. I’m still a little worried that it might be running a little cool. Can’t decide whether it’s just the way the temperature gauge is calibrated.
Skye is surprisingly close to the mainland. Left past the dustbins after the Ferrindonald sign. Very close to the sea. Met by Mum at the bottom of the drive directing us to the right place. Then a quick tour of the house and allocation of bedrooms. Sky plus in the lounge. “I have to get me one of those.” A few beers and some catch-up conversations, and then bed.
View from the living room window is of mountains shrouded in mist across the sea on the mainland.
Sunday we didn’t go very far. No-one was up for very much driving after the run up on Saturday, so we just went and did some shopping in Broadford and had a barbecue back at the cottage. The barbecue was some cheap Asda job that I’d brought up with me. It turned out to take more assembling than I’d imagined, but in end it did the job remarkably well. I’ve never known quorn burgers and sausages be so popular. Something about burning meat or fake meat in an outdoor context appeals to the atavistic urges in us all, I think. Something like that anyway.
Sunday evening we watched Lost In Translation in the newly launched free Film 4, in their “fifty films to see before you die” season. A subtle and original take on the whole mid-life crisis thing, I thought.
Monday was the first proper excursion of the holiday. The aim was to have a look at Portree, with it being the capital of Skye and everything. The journey up there convinced me of why people say that this is such an amazing place. Dramatic mountain formations against brooding expanses of sky. Beautiful, peaceful lochs alternating with dramatic seascapes.
Portree itself was a disappointingly drab little tourist trap.
Next we went to the Aros visitor centre to surf the gift shop, walk in the slightly spooky woods and eat potato wedges. There’s also a small art gallery upstairs that’s worth a brief visit.
On up to Staffin to see if we could find a sandy beach. Lots of stunning views on the way up there – old man of Storr and waterfall. The sand at Staffin proved illusive because the tide was in. Bought some very expensive petrol at a quaint little shop and headed back.