so where've you been? 38 Isle of Skye, Scotland
I went with a friend on a hiking trip around two Skye peninsulas, and Raasay Island (the nearest approximation of Craggy Island I've ever seen in the real world).
There was tons of fabulous wildlife to spot - oystercatchers, eagles, hares, seals, stags, dolphins, wild otters. And being this close to the Outer Hebrides, to the great cold ocean that you rarely see in little Britain, is romantic and inspiring. And I loved being pretentious and middle aged in an assortment of youth hostels, and cooking something delicious and delicately spiced while everyone else huddled over a Pot Noodle.
But. My main memory is the weather.
(Sorry, Scotland.)
Skye's cold. And wet. And foggy.
No, I mean cold.
People on Skye realise this. Well, sort of. They still maintain they have a 'summer'.
My imagination isn't sufficiently cruel to imagine what a Skye winter could entail.
Admittedly, most people, tourist or local, were wearing fleeces, waterproof trousers, and thick mountain jackets. (There was a sale of Himalayan yak wool mountain gear in full swing in Portree.) But hell, it had been hot enough while packing, down south, not to be able to think yourself into the mindset where you'd be cold as a frozen herring next week.
Some lovely old chaps enquired good naturedly if we might be Australian? (I thought it was the shorts, but they said it was the accent .... ????)
One nice lady shivered when we mentioned it was currently 36 degrees in London. 'Too hot'. She shook herself and muttered that 20 degrees was hot enough for her, full stop.
On Raasay, we estimated the temperature at around 14-16 degrees, and managed to score double duvets before escaping at first light (my fault; Tibet's given me a particular horror of being dangerously under-insulated for temperatures below freezing). The hostel warden insisted we all sit in a tight circle around an oil heater, shivering.
Back in Portree, a local commented that it was 'uncomfortably hot and humid'. As a cold hail threatened to beat down.
Even in Glasgow ... I don't think I've ever been in the position, before - as a preternaturally ashen toned individual who does not ever tan - of being the brownest person in the street.
Oh, Scotland. I feel like we should have bought you some proper heaters.
There was tons of fabulous wildlife to spot - oystercatchers, eagles, hares, seals, stags, dolphins, wild otters. And being this close to the Outer Hebrides, to the great cold ocean that you rarely see in little Britain, is romantic and inspiring. And I loved being pretentious and middle aged in an assortment of youth hostels, and cooking something delicious and delicately spiced while everyone else huddled over a Pot Noodle.
But. My main memory is the weather.
(Sorry, Scotland.)
Skye's cold. And wet. And foggy.
No, I mean cold.
People on Skye realise this. Well, sort of. They still maintain they have a 'summer'.
My imagination isn't sufficiently cruel to imagine what a Skye winter could entail.
A particularly horrible Scots french teacher at school has left me with a lifelong mistrust of middle aged scotswomen who over-enunciate and take the piss outright till you do what they say, but people on Skye were pretty nice, really.They flinched and gaped open-mouthed, though, whenever we wandered into some civilised township wearing shorts, though.
Admittedly, most people, tourist or local, were wearing fleeces, waterproof trousers, and thick mountain jackets. (There was a sale of Himalayan yak wool mountain gear in full swing in Portree.) But hell, it had been hot enough while packing, down south, not to be able to think yourself into the mindset where you'd be cold as a frozen herring next week.
Some lovely old chaps enquired good naturedly if we might be Australian? (I thought it was the shorts, but they said it was the accent .... ????)
One nice lady shivered when we mentioned it was currently 36 degrees in London. 'Too hot'. She shook herself and muttered that 20 degrees was hot enough for her, full stop.
On Raasay, we estimated the temperature at around 14-16 degrees, and managed to score double duvets before escaping at first light (my fault; Tibet's given me a particular horror of being dangerously under-insulated for temperatures below freezing). The hostel warden insisted we all sit in a tight circle around an oil heater, shivering.
Back in Portree, a local commented that it was 'uncomfortably hot and humid'. As a cold hail threatened to beat down.
Even in Glasgow ... I don't think I've ever been in the position, before - as a preternaturally ashen toned individual who does not ever tan - of being the brownest person in the street.
Oh, Scotland. I feel like we should have bought you some proper heaters.
posted by Lectrice at martes, junio 13, 2006
4 Advice:
I hope you gave those sheep a framed copy of their family portrait. :D
No. But I did let them off my frequent, hilarious yells of 'mint sauce!'
When you get the chance, I recommend watching "I Know Where I am Going," a 1940s B&W movie filmed in Skye, or thereabouts.
When you get the chance, I recommend watching "I Know Where I am Going," a 1940s B&W movie filmed in Skye, or thereabouts.
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