Red Skye at Night
I've been having troubles writing about Skye, figuring out which pictures and stories to post, and it took me a bit to figure out why. I'm so used to seeing things like ruined abbeys, fallen cathedrals, castles that don't exist anymore, and those are easy to write about. I can write about getting there, or what it looked like, or how it felt. But this tour was different, and not the least because most of the beauty is in the landscape, and not in individual places.
So, what should I say? I stayed in a place called Kyleakin, a tiny village with three pubs and a couple of youth hostels. We stayed there two nights, spending the day in between driving around Skye. They call it the "Winged Isle", but I have a hard time seeing why. I guess if you squint when you look at the map, you can see a pair of wings and the like.
What I remember most about Kyleakin was how incredibly still it was... you could hear the lap of the ocean at the coast, the way the air moved through the village, anyone coming up close to you. I remember looking up at the sky, seeing a million stars.
I remember the mountains, and the sudden realisation that I'd never seen mountains outside of Canada before. They looked odd to me, because I kept looking for familiar peaks and not seeing them. I spent a few years living in Hinton, and a summer in Japser, and it's strange to see snow-caps that aren't Roche Miette.
A lot of people have been saying to me "Your descriptions of the Highlands makes me want to go there." I'm rather torn, though.
I mean, on the one hand, I could probably go back up there and live, maybe see Loch Ness every morning. I could walk around in a town like Kyleakin, or Inverness, or any other place up there, and see the mountains every day, and look up and see the stars every night.
I suspect, though, that I'd forget to keep looking up after a few months, and that makes me sad.
But I'll go again, soon, I'm certain.