Highland photo journal part 8- Glendale, Skye
Some places you go just have that magical feel that make you want to stay forever. Glendale was one of those places.
It may have been the charming b&b we stayed in, the Byre, where the views were spectacular, or the food cooked by the landlady Diane, especially her gooseberry crumble, which the most lovely comforting home cooking….
…or the charming people like Craig, one half of Craig and Ellie who we met at the Red Roof Cafe and Gallery where they own and run a lovely place full of was gorgeous looking home baking, food made from local produce, art and often music, or the stunning walks, like the one to Neist Point where the sheep have to have a head for heights and a good sense of balance…
or the walk through Glendale village past the old crofts and honesty ‘creel’ to where the cliffs meet the black sand shore…
In between wanders round Glendale we spent an afternoon visiting friends at their house in Herbusta, on the Trotternish peninsula, for another lovely home cooked lunch. The drive past Uig and round the coast was stunning. Some of the views were so epic, it was impossible to capture the scale on camera. Just try to remember, every white dot is a house, even the tiny tiny specs.
While there we stopped by to see the grave of Flora MacDonald at Kilmuir Cemetery. Incidentally, we later learned this is also the place where designer Alexander McQueen is buried. What a beautiful peaceful spot, a world away from the chaotic and fickle life of the fashion industry he was the darling of.
Our final night was spent drinking champagne on the terrace overlooking Glendale before taking a dusky walk to the beach where we enjoyed a wee dram of whisky from the hip flask in the sun, as we reflected on an amazing tour of the West Coast.
Arisaig seemed like such a long time ago but what a fantastic journey.
After a hearty home cooked breakfast courtesy of Diane we were on the long journey home. We did have time to stop at Jann’s cake shop in Dunvegan for supplies before we were off one final trip over the Skye bridge and down though Glencoe till the Highlands disappeared into a blob on the rear view mirror.
Luckily the memory won’t fade as fast as the scenery did as we reached the sloping green fields of home. I wonder where we will cover on our next trip?