On the Isle of Skye

Feb 10.

Sitting here in a café in Portree, Isle of Skye. Various parts of the room painted in differing bright colors of red, blue, orange, and yellow, with the assorted heterogony leading to a distinct eclectic flavor balanced by the more serene view out the window. I have spent the better part of this hour gazing out there at the boats spotting this harbor and the inlet further beyond, with all overlooked by these cliffs. Some cliffs sheer, others with a perceptible climb to them, all with this fog and mist that alludes to just how moist the green and brown vegetation spreading across them must be. The magnitude of it reminds one of why this part of the world worshipped gods associated with nature. Even with the current relative calm of a simple persistent wind, one recognizes the inherent power that they must encounter upon the seas. Just as cathedrals were built in great sizes in order to remind oneself of how small they are compared to the might of God, these natural behemoths of cliffs and crags and waters bring one to a place of true recognition of one's spot in the midst of the elementals.

Though there is a constant feel of an overcast sky making its presence known, the sunlight also manages to make remarkedly pronounced bursts through its tunneling. My favorite moments thus far have occurred when the clouds are dark and angry, but a beam forces its way through regardless of the surrounding tempestuous mood.

Feb 11.

Back in the same café again, with the same view. As though to mirror my quelled excitement after seeing and doing so much yesterday, the winds and water of the bay have calmed significantly. The first activity of the day yesterday was also the highlight, as my research had anticipated. The hike up to the Old Man of Storr was at first merely windy, but still sunny throughout. But as one approached the rocky fingers, the local climate underwent a significant change from springtime sunny to foggy with harsh winds and sleet. I ran as full speed as I could only to be blown back, my face painfully pelted by ice, and it was during this time that the Old Man took my hat with my name on it. But even in the midst of this, the contrast and the views throughout were constantly breathtaking even as they varied by weather and elevation. We reached a point where a fence blocked the way as the ice pellets attacked, so we turned around and tried another way which gave us an incredible view of the mainland as well as the old man. We then decided to make the trek back down, and from there moved on to Kilt Rock and Mealt Falls, which fortunately consumed significantly less of our time than had the old man. We then ventured on to the Fairy Glen, where concentric circles had been placed. We heard that animal sacrifices still took place there, so that is a weird thing.

That evening, I resolved to have coffee after such a long day so that I could further enjoy the night, but I did end up just deciding on sleep. This has been a consistent decision for me, in part because it allows me to wake up early enough for alone time, contemplation, and writing these entries.

Today began with a trip to Sligachan Old Bridge, where legend has it that if you can hold your face in the water for seven seconds and let it dry off naturally, you get eternal beauty. If that is the case, then I have hereby earned my eternal beauty. From there, we drove on to Dunvegan Castle, but it was unfortunately closed with no opportunity even to see it from afar. So we drove onward toward the lighthouse on the far west side of the island, but this is of course when our tire went flat. Though we missed the Talisker distillery tour, this forced stop did allow us time to first roam the nearby hills, then finally sit and journal in the midst of that windy rugged landscape. Typing is easier, but there is something about the use of a pen on paper.

We had fortunately paid up for the priciest insurance policy on the rental, so there was no need to worry over the bill to come for the tow truck across the island nor for the tire replacement. We were taken back to town, the tire replaced, had dinner, and then ended the evening with a stop at the most popular bar that for tonight was hosting a billiard tournament. The skillset was lacking, which I only know from time spent around folks who were competitive in such an arena. My friend competed and after sampling some of the scotch that I would otherwise likely have tried on that missed distillery tour, I excused myself to write this.

That time with the flat tire in particular was a highlight for the day. Being forced to sit and listen to the silence, to stop fidgeting or looking at a distraction like one's phone, and instead to just be present and try to write something, anything. A form of peace is found in such a practice, and I miss the times in which I would do so more regularly. Part of my excuse for not doing so has been my laptop's keyboard, which does malfunction frequently, but is clearly up to the job of composing my thoughts (with occasional pauses to correct issues).