Hi everybody! So no functional fitness this week, because this week I’ve been on holiday with my woman, visiting the beautiful isle of Skye, so thought I’d write about that instead.
I live near Leeds, and even though I’ve driven up to Glasgow many times over the past year, I didn’t really fancy the drive up to Skye. My little motor wouldn’t have enjoyed the journey anyway. And so I was looking forward to a long and arduous train journey to Glasgow the Thursday before Easter where my girlfriend was dutifully waiting ready to spend Thursday night at her parents and make the rest of the trip on the Friday morning. First it began like any other train journey. A steel box hurtling through what can only be described as the greyest parts of west Yorkshire, until we arrived in Settle. Now I'm not one for scenic views. In my opinion once you’ve seen one sheep hopping through a green field on a slightly overcast day you’ve seen them all, but From Settle to Carlisle, the views were spectacular. They paled in comparison to Skye, but were not there yet. Anyhow, I arrived in Glasgow, met my woman, got some dinner and then passed out before nine. Who knew sitting on a train for five hours would have been so tiring. An early night was necessary though, as the Friday was an early start. In fact, it was barely Friday when we did wake up. Who knew there was more than one four o’clock in a day? Not me that’s for sure! When it became light enough to you know, see stuff, the journey became much more enjoyable. I don’t really know what I was expecting as we passed through Cairngorms National Park, figured it’d be just like the Yorkshire dales, but not as good because, well it’s not in Yorkshire. Sadly they made even the nicest spot of my beloved Yorkshire dales look like a swampy cess pit of the worst kind of human excrement, which as a diehard Scott, Emma loved to hear. It was the rolling hills that did it for me. Just near endless waves of green, bordered by towering snow topped mountains. Words, or even pictures just can’t do it justice, it’s just a site you have to see for yourself.
So, enough of this shilly-shally, it’s time for the good stuff. Skye. The weather perked up just in time to make it over the bridge. A sign of things to come I thought. And the view can only be described with one word. Epic. It’s a word I'm not fond of using, but it’s the only one that can do it justice. I mean, this was taken with an iPhone camera, and it still looks amazing. What more can I say? And if I thought the drive up was beautiful, it wasn’t half as stunning as the Isle of Skye itself.
We stayed in the Cullin Hills Hotel, in the town of Portree. It was only a ten minute walk from the town, but we did get a little lost on the drive up, and I was afraid it was going to be a difficult walk back in the dark, after a few bevvies. Turns out it was remarkably easy and I'm just a fool. Now Portree, it’s a small town, maybe only a couple of thousand people live there, with a host of them deciding they don’t want to speak English, and speak Gallic instead, but once a year its host to the Skye Live festival, a small Scottish folk festival consisting of local Scottish bands. The Friday night, I don’t want to say the music was crap; it just wasn’t my kind of music. Not the folky stuff my beloved had promised me, rather a barrage of club and dance tracks, which have their place in society, just not what I was expecting. Well, I got over that, had a couple of bevvies (the beer tent was, I think, the only place in Scotland that didn’t serve their trademark larger, tenants. Instead I enjoyed a refreshing tin of Innis and Gunn. Never heard of it, but it was nice enough) and walked back to the hotel. On the way, as you do, especially when under the influence, a takeaway seemed like a fantastic idea. Funnily enough, it was a great idea. I like to think of myself as a fish and chips connoisseur, and firmly believe that the world’s best fish and chips can only come from this small chippy in Haworth, West Yorkshire. They get their fish straight from Whitby twice a week, they change their friar oil every day, and they make the lightest, freshest batter I’ve ever had the pleasure of scoffing down. But this place in Portree, it defiantly comes a close second. They were so good, that the next night, when the place was closed, I threw a massive hissy fit. But that’s a story for a different time. But onto the second day. Enjoyed a lie in, and a late ‘traditional Scottish’ breakfast and had a leisurely drive to The old man of Storr. Now the weather was a bit foggy, I mean as we parked the car and walked the paths up to the big fella we could barely see a thing, until we climbed above the fog that was. And as I looked out away from the rock over the bay, all I could see was this thick layer of fog covering everything except for a few mountain peaks poking out above the cloud line. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful site, or even that interesting, and we weren’t that high, but it was a totally surreal sight to behold.
That afternoon was the second, and final day of the festivities, and host of the folk bands/artists, and while everyone who played that night was fantastic, two stood out to me as particularly fantastic. Amy Baillie, who’s a singer/songwriter from east Scotland. She played a half hour that consisted mostly of covers but also one of her own songs, which after she finished, I was a little sad she didn’t include more of her own songs. The second artist I particularly enjoyed was the final act, Donnie Munro, the former lead singer for the Scottish band Runrig. Of course, I had no idea who Donnie Munro or Runrig were up until this point, but my girlfriend absolutely loved him. Loved him to the point I got a little nervous. Fortunately, she came back to the hotel with me, and after putting up with my little fish and chips related strop, and moved onto the third day.
Again, being in Skye, walks are the thing. We drove to the base of Mount Quiraing, which, and I'm rather bored of saying this, was a fantastically beautiful drive. Ok, I’ll stop saying that. From now on just assume that any drive I embark on is the most beautiful, most scenic, most however you want to describe it drive I’ve ever taken. We set off walking, and this time, it was a little more challenging than the previous day, than the Old man of Storr. There were rocks to climb and narrow paths with sheer drops, but the sun was shining, and the breeze was nice, which made the whole experience quite a pleasurable one. The whole circuit, by combination of my route march pace and her incessant need to photograph every detail, took just over two hours, after which we took a drive around the rest of the island and arrived back in Portree for dinner and our final night on Skye. Now ive eaten in a fair few hotels over my years, and being a chef from a line of chefs, I like good food, but the stuff they were serving in this particular hotel was in a league of its own. We each had three courses but the main event was something special. I had steak, which I know is sort of a boring choice, I mean it’s relatively easy it cook but this one, I mean it was out of this world. I don’t really know how they prepared it, but I have a feeling they’ve made some kind of deal with some kind of supernatural entirety in order to make such a succulent dish. I had it medium rare, cooked to perfection, served with salad and wedges. The whole meal was a force to be reckoned with, and relatively well priced considering.
That last day was something special. We took a drive to the south of the island and caught the ferry back over to the mainland, where we drove to Fort William at the base of Ben Nevis. Don’t get ahead of yourselves here, I didn’t climb Ben Nevis, this was us back to normal, on a pub crawl from one side of town back to our hotel.
Anyways, that was my Easter. How was yours?
Comments