Scotland Diary: Isle of Skye
We were both pretty blasé about visiting the Isle of Skye at first, we had more excitement for the Isle of Arran, Harris, Mull, Barra etc. But seeing as those islands were harder to get to during Covid with ferry limitations, we decided on the Isle of Skye. All it took to get there was crossing a bridge. Simple.
Rachel had booked an Airbnb, and for the life of me, I don’t remember why. Possibly due to the overcrowdedness and the fact that we had already pre-judged the place.
Crossing the bridge to Skye
From Glencoe, it took nearly 3 hours to reach the Isle of Skye. There were still roadworks in Fort William which delayed us and by the time we eventually got there, we were actually pretty tired. It also coincided with the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony, and with it being in Tokyo, we were actually quite excited to watch it.
When we arrived at our Airbnb, the owner came out and introduced himself. He was called Sam. He didn’t introduce his partner who was standing right next to him and he only had eyes (or eye I should say) for Rachel. He didn’t even look in my direction, let alone ask for my name. On this trip we have often wondered what people might think of us and if they think we might be a couple. I am not tactile in the slightest but Rachel on the other hand, Rachel loves being close, having cuddles and even tries to hold my hand in public. So perhaps Sam was just feeling uncomfortable? Not sure.
We settled into our room pretty quickly and up came the dreaded topic of what to have for dinner. We still had camping food that we could cook but seeing as our room didn’t have anything besides a kettle, it soon became apparent that that wouldn’t be possible. As if on cue, Sam messaged Rachel’s phone through the Airbnb app. He said that most places were closed for dinner and other places had been shut down during Covid. The nearest place would be the Indian which involved another drive. In the end, we settled on some ready-made pasta where all you need is hot water to make it edible. Turns out, you’d need more than that to make them horrible packet mixes edible.
The Skye Bridge
The Olympics Ceremony turned out to be a huge disappointment so we binge-watched some Below Deck instead. Sam kept messaging Rachel with updates on where to go for food but it was already starting to get late and let’s face it, we just couldn’t be bothered.
After handwashing all my dirty clothes in the bath, I started hanging them up around the room. Rachel dyed her hair turquoise. Don’t ask me why we thought that would be a good idea, we saw a Home Bargains store next to a Costa on the way up to Skye, and on impulse, decided to buy it. It didn’t come out half as good as we expected it to, she basically looked like she’d dipped her head in a bag of seaweed.
Sam texted again, he let us know that he didn’t have any bookings for the next day so not to rush when clearing up and checking out. We decided to take him up on that and in the morning we set off for an early walk. My clothes were still soaking wet, which was fantastic, so I had to wear the same clothes I’d been wearing for the previous few days. We walked all the way around the pier, saw a shipwreck, walked back, visited the little local shop, bought fizzy drinks then meandered back to the house to begin packing and figuring out where to go for the day.
The view outside Sam’s
Rachel had already organised a stay in a basic cabin for the night, so all we needed to do was breeze through the Isle of Skye and make our way over to Plockton for that evening.
Little did we know that we actually had quite an adventurous and strenuous day ahead of us.
Once we had re-packed the car and I’d shoved all my soaking wet clothes over the boot in hopes that they’d dry, we were off. I’d dressed in my favourite Carhartt dungarees, mainly because I wanted to feel less like a tourist and more like myself but also because I had absolutely no clean clothes available whatsoever. You’ll soon see why mentioning this is important.
The multicoloured houses in Portree
The first stop that we came to was Portree. An idyllic and quaint town with lots of character, different coloured houses and a heck load of tourists. Rachel was hungry, which in turn made me hungry, and as she scanned the streets for baked goods, I turned my attention to the hoards of tourists dawdling about. I hate dawdlers. I don’t know why. I get very impatient with them, especially when I’m walking behind one and they just stop so suddenly that I might crash into their backs. Then as you start to reroute yourself around them, they start moving again. It really boils my blood.
And the tourists weren’t the only thing I was getting annoyed with. I was starting to feel a slight hint of resentment towards my favourite dungarees. Carhartt dungarees are working dungarees. They are made to be overalls of sorts, so you can stick them on over your clothes to protect them and store your tools. I am a huge fan of wearing men’s clothes as I just find them more comfortable and stylish than women’s most of the time. So when I bought these dungarees, I bought them in men’s and I bought them LARGE. I was convinced I’d wear them whilst working on farms somewhere, but actually, as it happens, on this trip they actually turned out to be my one piece of ‘smart wear’.
However, in the stoned streets of Portree with the sun gazing down on me, my dungarees were not my best friend. I was hot and uncomfortable, and I couldn’t keep up with Rachel’s long strides as the crotch was practically to my knees. I needed to ditch them ASAP.
We tried a few cafes to eat in but everywhere was busy so we ended up on a street-side picnic table with some fish and chip shop chips. After that, we slowly made it back to the car where I looked at my vast display of wet clothes over the boot. Still soaking. But if I wanted out of these dungarees then unfortunately a pair of soaking wet leggings had to come on. Gingerly feeling the material between my fingers I tried to convince myself that it was no different to putting a wet wetsuit back on. I’d done that thousands of times, so why couldn’t I do this?
I bundled myself into the front passenger seat whilst Rachel played on her phone at the wheel and started to undress. We’d, unfortunately, parked facing the path so whoever and whenever another person came by, they’d be able to look straight into the car. I did stop for the first couple of people and cover-up but after the 4th or 5th one, I just thought fuck it everyone’s seen boobs before and got out of my tank top and dungarees. The bliss of a baggy t-shirt going over my head was soon halted by the fact I had to squeeze my chubby little legs into some dripping wet leggings. At one point, after flinging myself about in the passenger seat, I just got out of the car and wrenched the things on. Weirdly enough, they cooled me right down after all the struggling, and so I sat on the nearby curb with my legs stretched out in front of me where the sun could reach and dry them.
Old Man of Storr
Next, we drove to the Old Man of Storr. We had planned to hike it but after finding out we had to pay for parking and that the walk would take roughly an hour and twenty minutes, we thought better of it. We couldn’t be late for our cabin check-in later and who knew what else we’d see whilst in Skye. So after a few quick pictures of what we could see, we began to drive off out of the car park.
And this is where it all started to go a little wrong for us.
Exiting the car park wasn’t quite as smooth as we thought it would be. There isn’t a height restriction when entering but there sure is one when exiting and Rachel was convinced that we wouldn’t be able to fit Susan underneath the bar with the roof box. I tried to tell her it would be fine but she simply wasn’t having it. She put Susan into reverse and proceeded to reverse around the car park before landing in a small corner space.
‘We can’t do it, Jade, we won’t fit, we won’t fit!’ she panicked. It wasn’t until she saw a van in the distance that had managed to squeeze under the metal bars that she plucked up the courage to drive and try again. But when we got to the bars -
‘You’ll have to get out and have a look, Jade! Get out! Get out and see!’ she said, getting slightly hysterical. But there was no way on this planet I’d be getting out to check that we were perfectly fine. A queue started to form behind us and even though a van (much taller, wider and bigger than us) had gotten through underneath the restriction, Rachel was still paranoid that we wouldn’t.
‘Rachel, just drive the bloody car. We’ll be fine’, I told her. I could see the impatience in the rearview and finally, Rachel crept Susan forward to roll under the height restriction. Funnily enough, we didn’t even scratch the bar. If there was ever an opportune moment to eye-roll, this would’ve been it.
‘Oh, how embarrassing’, Rachel laughed. I’m sure the people behind thought the same as they were driving so close to us that they were practically up Susan’s behind.
The van Rachel saw when hyperventilating about the exit
They carried on like that until we decided to pull over on the left to let everyone pass. From where we were, the ground looked ok but as Rachel veered to the left I could suddenly see how rocky the side really was. ‘Slow down!!!’ I yelled but it was no good, we rocketed off the road until we came to a screeching halt which had us both stuck in our seats, arms outstretched in front of us. ‘The brake wouldn’t work!’ Rachel was saying but all I could focus on was the impatient idiot behind us, roaring off up the rest of the road.
We decided to do a quick check of Susan, pump up the tyres and calm down a bit before heading off again. But things didn’t improve and we quickly worked out that the people on Skye drive like absolute maniacs. Even the cyclists were difficult!
It’s a cow’s life! The view from the ditch in the road where we stopped to take a breather
We’d been set on driving up to Uig to have a look around but Rachel thought it would be a good idea to follow some cars up in front. They were all turning left, so of course, she turned left.
Left did not lead to Uig.
Left lead to some awful, perilous, single-track road all the way up into the fucking hills. It seemed to go on forever and required our full concentration. Campervans and busses loaded with tourists were making their way down this single-track road which made it so monotonous having to keep pulling over to let the bigger vehicles through.
It just seemed like we were driving upwards into the mountains forever, making way for one campervan after another on the road to Valhalla, with no end in sight.
To be continued….
Read the next entry ‘Scotland Diary: Plockton’
Read the previous entry ‘Scotland Diary: Glencoe| Day Two’
