The Isle of Harris

May 2017

The next morning I was off to the nearby island of Harris, which proved a disaster as it was a Sunday. I was told there were two buses running to the ferry, but then neither of them showed up. It turned out they didn't run until July, which was very helpful as it was currently May.
I had started talking to a french couple at the bus stop that were also attempting to get to Harris, so we thought we could try all hitchhiking together to the ferry, but there were almost no cars about so this proved unfruitful.
We then hurried back to the information desk, and they informed us there was another bus which would make it just in time for the one ferry running that day, so off we went!
The nice french couple who didn't really talk much and I couldn't work out if they wanted me to go away or not then bought me beers on the ferry, so I decided they probably thought I was alright.
They were winging it even more than me and had no hostel booked, so I suggested they tried mine which I had booked in advance, it was called the Backpackers Stop, and had good reviews. This proved successful, the hostel owner was nice enough though extremely stressed about everything (I think she may have been in the wrong profession if new bookings make you panic) however free breakfast of eggs from her hens, butter, bread, cereal and milk was lovely. The town of Tarbert where the ferry dropped us was rather cute too, though small enough to walk through in five minutes.














Feeling rather stressed from the running around and panicking, I was exhausted so decided to stay the rest of the evening at the hostel and start bright and early in the morning.  I looked at the bus timetable before bed, to find it was genuinely the most confusing and horrible thing I have ever looked at (even the hostel owner didn't understand it) but I finally worked out a bus to take - there was only about one a day actually running - and it turned out the french couple were taking the same (no surprises there as it seemed to be the only bus actually running on a Monday, as we had failed to ring up three days before and book a bus to run.... funny that). All the shops were closed, but luckily there was a free box of food left from previous tourists, so I was able to snag a box of instant noodles which were rather gross, but hey, food is food!

The next morning we took the bus to as close as we could to Luskentyre beach, and then walked an hour the rest of the way alongside the french couple (who's name I have quite honestly forgotten, and forgot an hour after meeting them. oops.) The walk was very pleasant and quiet, it was a brisk day but the sun was shining, so I couldn't ask for more.















After all the trials to get there, the beach was absolutely worth it. White sand, pale blue water, it looked like a pacific island, only the temperature of the water was not reflective of this sadly!!















It was icy cold and at times started to rain, so I was well wrapped up in a bright yellow lighthouse style anorak.

Realizing there was no way to make it back in time for the only bus back to the hostel that day, we tried our hand at hitchhiking yet again. Luckily this time a camper van containing a friendly elderly french couple picked us up and took us back to the bus stop so we made it in time! The bus was actually a great experience in itself, as it took us past some amazing scenery! We stopped off at a tiny port town with nothing but a pier and a fish and chip van, (we were starving by this point) and had hot chips and calamari while we waited for the next bus to come along. The next one was a mini bus, and had a CD of Scottish music playing! It was all very enjoyable.
It was late afternoon by the time we all arrived back, and the french couple quickly disappeared so I decided to go on a hike through the hills and have an adventure.















The scenery was stunning, and I had it all to myself without another person in sight. My only company were confused looking sheep, and abandoned houses.

I arrived back from my hike about six, exhausted from yet another day of adventures.

The couple had made way too much spaghetti bolognese, so they offered me some for dinner, which saved me from eating more instant pot noodles happily! We shared a nice chat, a truly terrible bottle of cheap red wine, and they gave me their email, should I ever find myself in the Antibes. Overall a successful day! I headed off to bed, knowing my ferry was the next morning back to Skye.

My two hour ferry experience the next day was interesting to say the least, as I ended up sitting next to a home-schooled kid who must have been about 15 from Harris, who had extremely long hair, and proceeded to talk to me the whole way about his katana, dry-stone walling, and his extra tooth. I was only mildly traumatized.
Arriving back in Portree was rather nice, coming back to somewhere familiar. I popped to the supermarket to grab some food and a bottle of wine (because that's the best way to make friends in hostels I have discovered). I met some nice German girls in my dorm, and it turns out one of them was going to New Zealand the next February for a vet placement, in -of all places - Orewa! Basically where I grew up! I was very excited and gave her many suggestions of things to do. I met up with them in the living room at dinner, as well as with Ollie who was still there, so we all ended up playing a game of good-natured Trivial Pursuit over wine. I won and was only slightly smug.
The next day I headed down to Edinburgh, and onto my house-sit in Sheffield.

The Isle of Skye

May 2017

When you mention the Isle of Skye, you'll often hear about the swarms of midges, the lack of public transport, the rain. It's all true, of course. However the friendliness of the people, the stunning landscapes and the picturesque towns all make up for it.
I arrived in the afternoon at the main village, Portree. The bright houses on the water front had me instantly falling in love, though it was such a tiny place I couldn't believe it was the largest settlement on the island!
Apparently Portree was once called Kiltraglen (A much more dramatic sounding name in my opinion) but when James V arrived in 1540 and convinced the islanders to side with him, the name was changed to some unpronounceable Gaelic which meant Kings Port, which eventually become Portree. (I continued calling it poor-tree in my head regardless).















Island life is always different from the mainland, and the isle of Skye was no exception. Search and Rescue sniffer dogs were commonplace, for all the lost hikers (did I mention the entire island aside from Portree had no cellphone reception?) Buses were a nightmare, but ones that did run often did so on request, and would pick up and drop locals to where they wanted to go specifically.
The bus driver that had driven me all the way from Glasgow to Skye had been a friendly middle-aged chap with a broad Scottish accent. I had asked him for recommendations on what to see as he was a Skye local, and after a few hours of chatting he offered to show me a bit of the island the next day, seeing as public transport was so shocking.
This was more like the travelling encounters I had been told of by my parents in the 70s! After talking to the hostel owner, it turned out most travelers still hitchhiked around the island, so I was in good company.
There were two hostels in Portree, Portree independant hostel was meant to be the best (and it's cheerful yellow walls certainly stood out) however this also meant it was unfortunately booked out, so I made do with the YHA instead. The hostel showers were cold, but aside from this it was a nice place, with comfy beds and a nice kitchen.
The next morning I met up with the friendly bus driver (who's name I never did catch) and we headed for the fairy pools, one of Skye's prettiest places, but unreachable by public transport.

These naturally clear pools were just stunning, in the middle of  fields and mountains, the grass lush and green (from all the rain) and surrounded by perpetual fog, I felt like I was in the lonely mountain, and Smaug would emerge at any moment!















 The pools were gorgeous, but far too cold to swim in (or I just wasn't brave enough!)

Heading off to the outter edges of Skye, I thought I would be blown away it was so insanely windy! Neist point was beautifully picturesque, with a lighthouse right at the very edge, before land gave way to endless ocean. It's sort of easy to see how people thought you might fall off the edge of the world if you kept sailing. Sunsets here must be incredible.
















I then stopped off at the old bridge which was lovely and scenic, and apparently had once been the main road into Skye!

















Hearing everything from a local was so unique and ultimately more meaningful than simply travelling alone or looking at guide books. For instance, one of the most common views in Skye is of two flat topped hills against the sky-line; these are known by locals as MacLeod's tables, and harks back to a legend where MacLeod wanted to show the other clans how powerful he was, so feasted with all his men on top of the hill to show his power, and the name stuck.
 I also enjoyed more modern tales of what people get up to in Skye,  including some local lads who get moonshine whiskey sent over by one of their friend's from Ireland, but since its illegal they send it over in petrol cans, and how one fine summer day upon drinking said illegal moonshine, some of them decided to finally do something with the old van that had been sitting in their garden for goodness knows how long, and used their shiny new digger to dig a hole, lift the car into the whole, and bury it, thus destroying it rather soundly. Only to wake up the next morning and realise they'd buried the new work truck instead of the old wreck... yet another reason why people shouldn't play with machinery and alcohol! However my favourite was the same unnamed friend (I get the sense that there's very little to do on Skye if you live there as a middle-aged farmer aside from walk and drink) decided to drunkenly paint their kitchen blue, but accidentally used the blue sheep paint which never dries, thus thoroughly ruining the kitchen. I was amused.
Back at the hostel, I made friends with some people in the kitchen while cooking, Manuel from Spain, and Olly from England, so we ate our respective dinners together and had a good chat.
The next morning Manual was taking part in some crazy running race over the mountains, but Olly and I were both planning to hike to the Old Man of Storr that day so decided to explore together, because company is always fun!

The hike wasn't actually too long or strenuous, and it was absolutely worth the climb. I felt like I was in Middle Earth, headed for the Lonely mountain. The atmospheric mist that always seems to hang out in Scotland certainly helped.

We still had half the day left, so we took the next bus, him heading off for another hike, and me to a museum I had read about. The Skye museum of Island Life was small but informative. I don't think I would bother going again, but it was cool to see the preserved thatched cottages once synonymous with Skye. They had peat fires in the hearth, and it was actually a lovely, soothing smell. It was interesting to read about how people had lived here in the past, plus the views on the bus ride were stunning.
 Interestingly, Flora McDonald was buried behind the museum - the famous heroine who helped bonnie prince Charlie escape the government troops after the Jacobite defeat, by dressing him up as an Irish maid, allowing him to escape to France (sometimes truth is stranger than fiction). Whilst waiting for my bus, a friendly local offered me a lift part of the way there, but as that wouldn't really help me, I declined with many thanks. I love how friendly people were though, and clearly (especially since the public transport was so terrible) getting around by hitchhiking is probably still the best way to see the Scottish isles.
The way back to the hostel on the bus gave stunning views once again though I found myself for the thousandth time wishing I had a car.















I enjoyed a sunset walk around the cliffs by the hostel, ready to depart for the isle of Harris in the morning. 

Onto Fort Augustus

May 2017

Mull was only a brief trip, and soon we were back on the little ferry to Oban. We had one night to rest back in our lovely hostel, and then were leaving in the afternoon. We had planned to just relax in the dormitory, but two rather grumpy cycling girls smelled so strongly of deep-heat cream (Eucalyptus) that we retreated to the lounge for the evening. It turned out lucky we did as a friendly girl gave us a tip on getting a free whisky tour at the local distillery after hearing us discussing it! Oban whiskey is well known, so I was rather excited to see the place where it was made, and how it was made. After Dani cooked us up some delicious corn and bean burritos, we headed for sleep, ready for our tour in the morning.
Having signed up as a 'Friend's of Whisky' for free online, we were awarded our free ticket for the tour and headed to it! The guide was brilliant (and sounded exactly like Oliver Wood to my untrained ears). Every room he took us through smelled different, as each vat was going through a different process. The burned wood and honey aroma from one was quite nice, but the intense marmite one was less pleasant (though very nostalgic for my childhood!)

We then were able to try a couple of different whiskeys, which was fun even though neither of us actually like the stuff. The first one we tried had been aged for 8 years, and can't be sold in the shops as the minimum aging for whisky is 14 years, however this was to show us the taste before water is added - without the water diluting it, the whisky was 68% alcohol and blew both our heads off! The second one was 14 years old and was slightly more pleasant tasting, Dani and I nodded along to the fancy comparisons and comments being made, swirled the stuff knowingly, and then tried to drink it without holding our noses. We then walked back to the hostel clutching each other with laughter at our pretense, as the tipples had rather gone to our heads.
We had originally meant to head for Glencoe for the amazing scenery and walks, but to our chagrin had discovered the night before that all the accomodation was booked (the downside of spontaneous travelling) so instead we headed for Fort Augustus.

We picked the only Youth Hostel available, Morag's Lodge. It was clean and central, though the kitchen was problematically tiny. Fort Augustus turned out to be a gorgeous little town, perched on the edge of Loch Ness, which made for wonderful walks (not to mention one of my locations ticked off the bucket list!) I was very excited about this.

Apparently the village was once called Kiliwhimin (and gosh I'd love to know how to pronounce that without sounding like I want to murder someone) it was renamed after the Jacobite Rising when a fort was built and the settlement grew from there, eventually taking its name from the fort itself. (Sadly no cool Roman history behind the name)
We soon discovered the hostel was a stopping point for 'Haggis tours' (you already know its going to be classy with a name like that) which inexplicably seemed to cater to only Australians. As we were only there two nights, this proved an amusement rather than an annoyance. The cool thing about this was it meant that the hostel put on live music in their little bar area, and we were soon listening away to a mix of brilliant Scottish music and popular songs.

The next morning we headed to Urquhart castle by bus. We had hoped to sneak a peak from the outside and be on our way, but it wasn't visible from the road so we decided to splash out and pay to wander around. It cost about ten pounds each, but turned out to be well worth it. It was one of Scotland's largest castles, and was blown up in the Jacobite rebellion, leaving these ruins behind.

Our bus back unfortunately never turned up, but luckily after waiting an hour and just about to begin the 3 hour walk back to Fort Augustus, another one turned up, the driver rang the other bus company for us, and sorted out our bus! Thank goodness for friendly Scottish people.

Starving upon our return, we inhaled sandwiches and then lay in the sun by the Loch and read. It was our last night together, before Dani headed back down to England, and I continued upwards alone. To celebrate the last evening, we went for a drink and dinner at the local pub.
We were determined to try Haggis - we were both slightly terrified of the idea, but adamant that trying the national dish was an important thing to do. Funnily enough, it was surprisingly delicious, especially with a whisky and cream sauce!


















The next morning we said our goodbyes, and I headed for my bus, ready for the long drive to Portree on the Isle of Skye! Solo backpacking here I come!

The Isle of Mull

May 2017

Mull turned out to be a lovely island, extremely green and lush, and full of walks. We were staying in Tobermory, which was the main town. It was a lovely, brightly colored collection of houses that I unfortunately never got a close-up photo of, but it's well worth looking up. The YHA hostel we stayed in was somewhat less pleasant, but perfectly survivable for two nights (however if given the choice, I would recommend staying elsewhere).
















To celebrate our arrival, and what felt like the true beginning of our trip, we decided to have lunch out in Tobermory. As the weather was rather pleasant, we settled ourselves outside at a pub called 'Macgochan's' by the waterfront, and proceeded to share a pot of mussels - cooked in white wine, they were extremely nice.















Having wandered through the small town in a matter of minutes, we decided to try and find the nearby loch we had heard about, and go exploring. The walk turned out to be very pleasant indeed, and I would definitely recommend walking from Tobermory to Loch a Ghurrabain. It reminded me of something out of of wind and the willows, and it was all so green! I suppose all the rain has to be good for something.















The lake, although artificial, was very pretty, and quiet. We were lapped on our walk by a determined running lady, but aside from that had the area to ourselves.


























 I was hoping to see or hear frogs but no luck, I suppose you'd hear them better at night. We stopped for a chocolate snack about halfway around the lake (a chocolate shop in Tobermory had tempted us)















The area was interesting in that it had some industrial looking ruins littered around. Apparently this building was once a powerhouse that provided electricity to the nearby Aros house, long before the rest of the island was granted such luxuries. The house itself is sadly  long destroyed. Urban decay is always interesting I think, and seeing the slow reclamation of nature is somehow beautiful in its own way.















Upon our return to Tobermory, we sat on the wharf and enjoyed the sunshine and the fishing boats (fishy stench included!) and the sound of the gentle waves, before retiring for the evening.
 It was difficult to base our day on the rising and setting of the sun, as it didn't set until very late!

The next day we attempted to get to Calgery beach, which we had heard was wonderful, but this proved fuitile with buses. We then thought we could visit a nearby castle, but this too proved impossible by local transport. So frustrating! We ended up settling on going for a walk from Tobermory, the opposite direction of the day before, heading for a nearby lighthouse one of the hostel staff had recommended, picnic lunches in our backpacks.

























I became very excited about this thistle flower, having never seen one in real life before.

Of course as soon as we arrived at the lighthouse, it began to rain. We were rather used to it by then however, and simply donned our waterproof gear and munched on our sandwiches in the rain. So far the trip was proving more frustrating than planned (always rent a car in Scotland rather than suffering the limitations of public transport!) but just as beautiful and fun as we had hoped!

Scotland begins!

May 2017

With an awkward gap of about two weeks between house-sits, I had decided to take a trip to Scotland - I wanted to see some lochs!!
Initially I planned to go alone, but after getting in touch with my old school friend Dani, her and I decided to go together for the first week, and then I would continue solo for the second.
Heading up on the train through the Yorkshire dales was a trip well worth it on its own, and to celebrate I bought a beer and some crisps, and felt rather like one of the Famous Five going on an adventure (except with beer instead of lemonade. And no smugglers.)















Seeing Yorkshire by train made me decide I would definitely have to return and explore, as the landscape was some of the prettiest I had seen in all of England so far.















I met with Dani that afternoon in Glasgow, from which we would be taking a train through the countryside to the seaside port of Oban, to catch a ferry the next day to the Isle of Mull. I only spent a few hours in Glasgow, so I suppose it isn't very fair to say I wasn't enamored with it, but I wasn't. It felt like a rather grey city, probably good for shopping and nightlife, but not for sites or history.
 Soon we were on the train to Oban however, and all was well! We spent the long train journey catching up and the views of Scotland had us gaping out the window, it was so gorgeous!
















Arriving in Oban, we were pleasantly surprised by the quite pretty port. We checked into our hostel with no problems, staying a place called 'Backpackers Plus' which I would highly recommend! The kitchen was large and well equipped, tea and coffee were free, and there were tonnes of comfy beanbags and sofas to hang out in! The beds weren't bad either.
Feeling like we should make the most of being by the seaside, we went to get the stereotypical fish and chips, and eat them on the wharf. Not being a fan of fish, I settled for spicy deep-fried prawns, which were surprisingly nice (the Scottish seem to have a special love for deep frying things). Of course being Britain, it began to drizzle as soon as we sat down to eat, but we persevered. 

In the morning we took a brisk walk up the hill to see the views overlooking Oban, and then an even brisker walk back down so we wouldn't miss our ferry to Mull!

Sheffield

May 2017

After my brief respite with friends, I headed to the town of Sheffield for a house-sit, and to search for a flat for September, as to my great excitement I had been accepted in the Masters of Science program in Osteoarchaeology at the University of Sheffield!
I was staying on the outskirts of Sheffield city centre, in a place called Meadowhall, looking after a gorgeous little cat called Poppy, who drooled incessantly and liked to jump up on the sofa back behind you and breathe down your neck. It was charming. She was super affectionate and lovely however, drooling aside.

I didn't spend much of my time actually enjoying the peace and quiet as almost every day I was flat-hunting and viewing prospective places. I did eventually find a flat after just over a week, which was excellent news! The second week of my stay the weather improved, and I spent most of it sunbathing and reading in the garden - there are worse ways to spend your time! The one trip I did take into the surrounding countryside was into the Peak district, the lovely national park surrounding Sheffield. The lady whose house I was looking after had a very kind daughter who took me out for a day trip to a place called Castleton, which was so pretty! It was a lovely, though windy day, and we went for an awesome hike into the hills.

















The landscape was windswept and dramatic, and very reminiscent of the countryside from Pride and Prejudice (little did I know that this was exactly the region in which it was filmed!) Sheffield itself felt like quite a grey city, but having these wonderful hikes on your doorstep sort of made up for it. I told myself I had to spend a good deal of time exploring it once I started university - if I could find the time!

















Looking just slightly puffed, here I am at the top of our hike!

















Rather than walk all the way back the way we had come, we decided to take a 'short cut' through some farmland, which actually worked better than expected and allowed us to bump into these adorably friendly dudes!

















Castleton itself was a gorgeous, quaint and quintessentially English town. It was also rather deserted so we wandered at will, enjoying the little river that ran through the heart of the town. Sadly I didn't see Mr. Darcy, though I was half expecting him to pop out from somewhere!

Our last stop for the day before heading back to Sheffield was to one of the many tunnels that riddle the Peak District, back from the mining days. We took a tour, which involved a long boat ride in narrow, flooded tunnels, while the boat driver mildly horrified us with stories of how quickly the tunnels flood when a storm hits. 

Day trip over, we returned to Sheffield, where I thanked my kind tour-guide of the day and went to feed poor Poppy, who came bounding over before I could even unlock the front door, clearly starved for attention!

Hike to the Roaches

May 2017

Upon getting to good old England, and with it turning somewhat summery (as summery as it can feel after Europe, that is) I stayed with Joy for a week, bathed in the ease of speaking English, and went for a hike. This was the first time I had properly heard of the national park the Peak District - like the lesser known cousin of the Lakes District, expect much cheaper, much quieter and just as gorgeous, I was an instant fan.

Little did I know that in less than a year, I would become far more familiar with the Peak District than I expected, as I would move to live on the edge of the National Park!
My first experience was memorable. Hiking isn't something I was ever a fan of, which seems ridiculous when you consider how lucky I was growing up in NZ, which has more hikes than you could ever complete. I don't know when it changed but somewhere along my travels, I realized I loved hiking - as long as it was at my own pace! There's nothing worse than hiking with people who march along like they're on fire, leaving me huffing behind (I blame my short legs, definitely not my fitness level hah!)
Luckily in my present company I knew there'd be no running off and missing taking in the beautiful scenery around, due to a rather heavy package called Harvey. This was one of the last times - to my knowledge- that Joy used her brilliant Kathmandu backpack that Harvey was carried in, and for good reason - he had become atrociously heavy! 

It was on the cusp of summer, and still overcast and windy but that just meant there were fewer people to interrupt our wanderings. We had picked a walk in the charmingly named Roaches, which was far more beautiful than I expected. 

Our destination was the whimsically known Lud's Church, situated in the Black Forest, by the River Dane (feel like you're in a fantasy story yet?). No wonder Tolkien was able to come up with such wonderful place-names for his novels with this sort of thing to draw on.

It's not surprising then I suppose that this place has an interesting history, steeped in folklore and myth. Descending into the cool depths of the chasm known as Lud's church, it suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched that it was known as such due to it being a secret place of worship by the Lollards in the 15th century; or perhaps it was named after the god Llud, Celtic deity of healing. There are numerous etymologies.

The stories of Robin Hood hiding down here were slightly harder to believe, but I guess Sherwood forest isn't too far away!

None of the myths explained this strange phenomenon though, a soft tree trunk that coins from all ages had been pushed into.

Feeling very windswept, we finally found our way out of the chasm and out onto the top of a hill, from there it was only an amble back to the car, affording lovely views of the lovely English countryside.

















One of my favourite things about this country is their dry stone; sometimes called drystack, this age-old method (no really, it's been going on since the Neolithic times) of making stone walls involves the careful interlocking of stones without any mortar to bind them. It's something of a dying art in many places now, which I find sad as not only are the traditional methods rather brilliant, it also looks lovely. Far better than the wire fences hanging at sad angles from old wooden posts that characterizes New Zealand farmland anyway!

A more stereotypical photo of England I couldn't manage if I tried. It's overcast and windy, and the sun doesn't come out nearly enough, but I'm sort of starting to love England, its charm creeps over you without you noticing.