Portree is the main town on Skye. Its name comes from the Gaelic Port-an-Righ, which translates as "King's Port" and dates to a visit by King James V, plus a fleet of warships, in 1540, to persuade the island clans to support him. It had earlier been known as Kiltraglen. The main street running parallel to the back of the harbour is Bank Street, and is best known for the Royal Hotel. In an earlier guise, as MacNab's Inn, this was where Bonnie Prince Charlie bade farewell for the last time in 1746 to Flora MacDonald, who had famously aided his escape and conveyed him "Over the Sea to Skye". The whole harbor looks something like this:
We took a little guided tour by a local resident who had volunteered for a new program to assist tourists. I think we were her first ones, as she had to repeatedly refer to her notes. I was, however, able to find the most interesting sights all on my own.
We pressed on, stopping occasionally to shoot whatever caught our eye.
As it was my turn to pay for diesel, Chuck ran the tank dry until we had to refuel at Uig, the end of nowhere, at Skye-high prices. (Sorry.)
Diesel in Scotland was a lot more expensive than we later found in Ireland. This shows a price of nearly 1.38 pounds per litre, which is 1.06 quarts. So this translates roughly to $8.85 a gallon. YIKES! Keep a light foot, please, Chuck! Actually for a car of this size and weight, and carrying four people and a boot full of luggage, we seem to be getting very good mileage. That’s if you can trust the on-board computer. It says we’re getting right around 40mpg. Well, that’s the same as my Prius, so I’m suspicious. I know that my Prius computer is optimistic on gas mileage. Still, we have to be getting in the mid-thirties at least, and that’s impressive enough.
Our next stop in the guidebook was the museum of life, a group of preserved croft cottages with thatched roofs, perched on a hill high above the sea. Nothing dramatic, but it was interesting that families continued to live in these homes right up until modern times. Gad, that must have been a tough life, heating by peat fires (the smell still lingered, powerfully) in these tiny houses. Loni’s holding her cap because the wind was really blowing. However, inside the houses, it was perfectly snug. Amazing.
Inside a few of the buildings, they had really cheesy mannequins that looked like outtakes from the Dawn Of The Living Dead. The one of the blacksmith was the least cheesy. I didn’t take shots of the others because after I shot the blacksmith I saw the signs saying “No Photography Inside The Houses.” Oops. My bad. I was intrigued by the way they anchored some of the thatched roofs with hanging stones.
We went on to the view of Kilt Rock and the Mealt Falls, which plunge 60 meters over a cliff down into the ocean. The Kilt Rock is seen in the background of the left photo, a cliff in which the vertical basalt columns are supposed to resemble the pleats in a kilt, and the intruded dolerite is the pattern. Whatever. It’s a pretty sight. The right shot is from the same camera location, but looking the other way (south).
I took a video of the falls, but it seems mysteriously to have disappeared from my computer.
At this point, I get to scream. I started this post yesterday, and worked on it for nearly 3 hours, using Microsoft’s Live Writer. I was completely done, and scrolling up to spell check, when everything disappeared. All my work, gone. I wanted to throw the computer off the nearest cliff. I was on a roll, with good info and pics. Gone. So, tonight (the next day), I’m starting over. It’s never the same.
We continued our trip past more dramatic mountains, none of which are all that high, but which look much bigger due to lack of vegetation. They seem more like our Alpine peaks in the U.S. above the treeline. Again, the little white dots are sheep. They’re everywhere!
We stopped along the way to explore some other falls, but they turned out to be less than riveting. However, the cliffs along the shore were another matter. See the sheep on the hill below the people?
While we were out here the wind was really ripping. I’m wearing my bought-for-this-trip Tilley hat, which has a dual strap system to keep it on in just about any gale. One under the chin, and one that goes behind the head. Really works!
Below is the rock formation known as the “Old Man of Storr,” shot from the moving car. It’s located on the north of Skye in the area known as ‘Trotternish’. From this angle, it’s just a big phallus, but I guess from some other vantage point it has some old-man look. It was created by an ancient landslide.
Out of the high country, we set sail for Dunvegan Castle, home of the MacLeod clan (and Dennis Weaver? Only oldtimers will get that reference.).
This place was a treat, as it has been the residence of a member of the MacLeod clan for 800 continuous years! It didn’t always look like this, of course, as it has been added to and reconstructed over the centuries. The inside is filled with a lot of beautiful furniture and relics from the past. On display are many fine oil paintings and clan treasures, the most famous of which is the Fairy Flag. Legend has it that this sacred banner has miraculous powers and when unfurled in battle, the clan MacLeod would invariably defeat their enemies. Must have worked, since they’ve been here that long. The Fairy Flag itself is just a faded bit of tattered cloth, but they believe in it. We weren’t able to take any pictures inside the castle, but I was able to shoot some pics out the windows to show the views from within.
It was a very nice location. I wouldn’t mind living there for 800 years. One of the most notorious of the MacLeods was Norman MacLeod, who burned and pillaged the Island of Raasay, harassing its inhabitants for many weeks in the late summer of 1746. As a result, he became known as "The Wicked Man". According to the docent, that wasn’t all of his wickedness. He is alleged to have gambled away the equivalent today of 20 million pounds, bankrupting the family and destroying his grandson’s inheritance. To boot, he is believed to have murdered his first wife. Nice guy. They still prominently feature his portrait, nonetheless. One of the grandsons managed to accumulate sufficient wealth to keep the castle in family hands.
Dunvegan Castle is also known for its five acres of formal gardens which began life in the 18th century. In stark contrast to the barren moorland and mountains that dominate Skye's landscape, the gardens are a hidden oasis with an eclectic mix of plants, woodland glades, reflecting pools, waterfalls and streams. I was reminded most of Butchart Gardens near Victoria. I had to run like hell to get in this picture that I took with the timer.
Done with Dunvegan, it was back to our hotel for a brief stop, then back to last night’s restaurant, Red Skye. It definitely deserved a return visit. And, you didn’t think I could omit pictures of food, did you? I had a starter of chicken liver parfait (!) on brioche, with chutney, followed by roast venison with a juniper berry and red currant wine reduction sauce. Loni had wild mushrooms & cream over brioche (not shown) and duck in a plum/ginger sauce. We both had raspberry crème brulee’ for dessert. Our diets are coming along nicely, thank you.
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