Portree, United Kingdom

Glenbrittle Campsite, Isle of Skye Green hills tumbling into the loch of still stillness water gently lapsing against its feet These islands in their rocky starkness stand testimony to Scottish boldness Woolly sheep on stick thin legs gently grazing the greenest green The landscape on Skye inspires the poet and artist in me, neither of which I am very good at. A resolution – I need to learn to sketch. The photographs are beautiful, but I have an indescribable to engage with the landscape in more than just the click of the a button. I also realise that I tend to forget detail – I have been here before, albeit many years ago, and can hardly remember any of the detail. Hence the blog – but it is such a one dimensional account of events. I want to sketch it and write poetry about it for one day when I sit on the stoep of the Old Age Home. Apart from having to dodge the Fokkertjies, we cannot wish for a more peaceful and beautiful campsite. Another braai, more new potatoes and coleslaw (the gift that keeps on giving), red wine. During the night it rains non stop – music on our roof that lulls us to sleep. We wake up to clear skies and decide to take a hike up the hill to a land locked lake. No sooner had we ventured out (fokkertjie nets and all) and it starts POURING down again. We have to make a runner to our campervan and arrive soaking wet. Change of clothes and we decide to pack it up and venture further north. Not before we have a coffee from the little campsite store – the real deal with strong, hand pulled coffee that makes up for the bad weather in an instant. Our first stop is at Carbost, a tiny village that only exists thanks to the Talisker distillery. Now I am not a whiskey person, never have, never will be. I have tried it over the years and yet it never fell softly on my palate. Nevertheless, we decide (well V did) that we should explore. I am always keen to learn how things are made, so we sign up for the tour of the distillery. Laura, our guide with the broadest of Scottish accents (and the longest of noses) is informative and interesting in her tour. Fascinating to see oak casks and original copper distilling kettles. I dread having to taste the end product… Well, you can teach an old dog new tricks. The whiskey produced is quite incredible – thanks to the peat smoked barley (malted) the whiskey has a definite smack of smokiness with sweet undertones that apparently is unique to Tallisker. Considering the price per bottle, Tallisker will not replace my gin habit. But I will treat myself to a “wee dram” from now on on the odd occassion. Our route takes us north to Dunvegan Castle, seat of the clan MacLeod for over 700 years. To this day the castle is inhabited by the chief of the clan, one High MacLeod of MacLeod. He is chief no. 30, and the man has a passion for gardening. The small garden of the castle is a feast – we get totally carried away by the sheer luxury of so many species of flowers and shrubs and glorious trees. Very informal in its lay-out (except for the one central piece), the gardens are just so voluptuous and overflowing with beauty. I was not aware of the bloody feuds between the clans, nor of the many Crofters who were set off their land in order for the rich to farm with sheep. A fascinating history that is so reminiscent of our own in South Africa. Our stroll through the garden is manna for the soul. I realise how I love having a garden… After Dunvegan we head for the Red Roof Gallery, recommended by the guide book for their food. It is clear that Skye is the Knysna of the islands. Rich Yuppies with their little arty ***** shoppies and airy fairy galleries. (Unkind, I know). The Red Roof Gallery has stopped serving lunch, so we are stuck with two choices – a fish soup or a cheese scone. I settle for the latter with a soft local sheep’s milk cheese and pickles. (My longing for Mrs. Ball’s). Not their best item on the menu I am sure, but they make up for it with a moist date and walnut slice and their superior coffee (for which God will strike you dead if you add sugar, according to very pretentious write up in the menu). Well thank God that the cake is so sweet I don’t need sugar in the coffee. (I am not ready to be struck down yet, thank you.) Thanks to the starch overload I can’t keep my eyes open, and Victor takes the wheel to get us to Portree, capital of Skye, where we will spend the last night on the Isle of Skye.