Isle of Skye Tour Day Two
Day 22: Tuesday, November 1st, 2011
So, I’ve been praising and prattling on about the Scottish highlands without really explaining them, or describing them. I was putting it off because words simply can’t describe the effect that they had on me, or our entire tour group, from what I could judge.
With the rough edges and massive heights and thirsty winds, they’re scary. You can’t imagine people living there today let alone thousands of years ago, but people did, and with that simple fact you get a sense of the badassery of the Scots, the Celts, the Gaels, the Vikings and what have you who weathered the elements, the land and the innumerable battles between each other. Made me proud to have some of that heritage in my blood.
Today it’s one of the most sparsely populated regions in Europe, due in part to the Highland Clearances and probably because people can’t be fucked to actually try and make a living out here. I’m not sure how people farm in the highlands of Scotland, but they do, and it’s their biggest industry outside of whiskey and good fun (I made that up but it sounds close to the truth). But as I looked at the remnants of volcanic mountains and the geographic windfall they caused, the hills, the rocks and the wide open landscapes created by glaciers, the millions of sheep and sheepdogs (Bandit!), I couldn’t help but imagine myself living in a hovel with a woman and a Border collie, diddling away on a type writer and sipping on whiskey. In this fantasy I usually turn into the Highlander and slay all that are responsible for the historical innaccuracies of Braveheart.
So that doesn’t do them justice, but it at least gives you an insight into what I felt about them, as I was shivering and terrified on the top of the windswept shaft of the Old Man Storr’s erection on day two of our tour (a giant who was swayed by witches to party through Sunday to steal his gold, and was blasted down by God for his sin, with the evidence of his lust ever apparent in the sky; and we fucking touched it after a “wee” hike).
Most tours are tailored to everyone, to old people, to people who don’t wanna fucking get out of the bus, but I don’t know if Richard does this to everyone, or just our young and fun loving bunch, but he made us get out, get into the highlands, take long hikes and get our hair wet (literally: he made us all wash our hair in a waterfall for seven years good sex and to dip our face into a river for everlasting youth and at least half of me believed that the stories were true).
We walked through ruins of the McDonald clan’s castle, and tiptoed through some of the McLeod’s clans lands as well (Luke, you related? I know it’s spelled differently but I saw a ton of your family in old graveyards). On one of our stops I had two sausage rolls and a black pudding and bacon roll that were divine. We walked through St. Columbo’s old church and burial ground, and I learned that Tolkien wrote some of LOTR in the Isle of Skye. You can see why. You can imagine orcs, dwarfs and elves fucking around on these mountains.
That night we played King’s Cup by a different name and crazy rules, showing that there are an infinite number of replications of this game. Afterward, there were two rounds of Twister I didn’t participate in (though did photograph creepily). Then we went to the pub, I was persuaded to play pool which is always a mistake, and finding the atmosphere different than last night, we returned back to our hostel, and had a chat about life by the fireplace with a couple of our group. It was nice.
Next: The final day and back to Edinburgh.