Dublin, Ireland: A Return to the Motherland (For the First Time)

Ah, Ireland. The home of some of my ancestors (presumably the ones who provided my lovely pale complexion and scarlet beard), the source of probably my favorite beer (Guinness), the origin of my second favorite holiday (St. Patrick's Day), and the epicenter of of something I'm now borderline obsessed with (Irish folk music). But before I got bubblin in Dublin, I had to get there. And to do that, it was fated that I should embark upon my first experience with Ryanair: a 6:30 am flight out of Glasgow.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Ryanair, they are an Irish-based super-economy airline. They are known for their ridiculously low fares (often less than $25-30), their ludicrous extras policies (often checking a bag will cost twice the price of the actual flight), offensively early departure times, draconian red tape policies (it is a huge pain to book on their website-the only place you can do so, or that you have to print your boarding pass and bring it with you or they charge you a huge reissuing fee), and their often less-than-convenient airport locations.

For example, my flight out of Glasgow wasn't actually from Glasgow International, it was from Glasgow Prestwick (about 45 mins away), and in order to get there for a flight that early, I has to take a special bus at 4:30 am from the bus station (or pay 35 pounds for a taxi). To make that bus I had to get a taxi from Alan's place at 4:00, and to be ready for the taxi I had to be up at 3:30. Since we didn't get to bed until after midnight, I arrived at Prestwick in a fine state. But provided you follow all of their crazy policies and can get to their inconvenient airports, flying Ryanair isn't all that bad. And it was heaps cheaper than I could have done otherwise. 

Inside the airport, the most striking thing about the Ryanair waiting area was that, at 5:30am, at least 40% of the people were drinking. And it wasn't like these people were already hammered and were having a bridge-the-gap beer to get them to their destination. They seemed mostly sober- like it was the first beer of the day. These people were legitimately starting their day drinking in the Prestwick airport. And even more astonishingly, it wasn't all youngsters on their way to some sort of tropical booze-soaked holiday. It was an even split between youths and middle aged adults. I saw an old guy with a glass of whisky and his wife with a Bloody Mary. You can see two guys drinking beers and the people at the bar in this shot. Even the little girl looks horrified.

Shaking off my surprise at this very surreal observation (it's rare I find myself looking at others having a drink and thinking "that just seems unreasonable"), it was time to board the flight. And by board the flight I mean line up like cattle in the middle of the "lounge" in front of the man holding the sign reading "Dublin" and wait to be unleashed onto the plane in an all out boarding frenzy. Another oddity: in people's rush to get seats in the very front or back they completely overlook the exit rows- so despite boarding about middle of the way through I got an exit row aisle seat. Ryanair and your patrons: you befuddle me.

Coincidentally, James from York and Edinburgh was going to be in Dublin at the same time so I booked into his hostel, The Generator, which was a tremendous decision as it's probably the best hostel I've ever stayed at. Really great beds, clean, safe, good staff, great bar w cheap drinks for Dublin, very solid breakfast (actually had it twice!), good Internet, excellent showers, and a really really awesome common area- with tvs, pool tables (yes TWO), and a ton of computers to use. It's located in a former hotel that was previously part of the old Jameson Distillery. The only two complaints I could have were that the rooms were a tad warm at night and the internet was spotty in the main area, but this hostel absolutely gets a 10 that notwithstanding.

I dropped off my stuff (while breaking my new pair of aviators in the process) and James met me in the lobby. First item of business: free walking tour. On the way to the meetup we got a lovely stroll along the Liffy river, which splits central Dublin from east to west, creating a natural rivalry between the northsiders and southsiders.

Since we had a few minutes before the tour we stopped in a cafe for a bacon sandwich (of course) and a coffee and we got to see the Guinness trucks sputtering by making their morning deliveries of fresh Guinness to all of Dublin's pubs. The first thing stop on the tour was the town hall building where apparently if you are a big enough deal they will serve you a champagne brunch right in the middle of the atrium.

Next up was the Dublin Castle which has been built, destroyed, rebuilt, destroyed, rebuilt and so forth over the years. The inner courtyard by the main entrance is relatively new.

From behind the castle you can see from right to left the castle chapel, the Record Tower (only remaining element from the original medieval castle), the more newish section, and the really new brightly colored part that our guide affectionately called "Legoland."

Right next to the Castle is the Chester Beatty Library. I know it's there because there are about 20 signs pointing to it, plus it's written on the front of the building in about 15 places, and just in case you still missed it, they hung some 40 foot banners. A short walk away is St. Patrick's Cathedral, funded by Benjamin Guinness (of Guinness Brewery fame), and at one time I believe there may have been a bar inside where you could get a beer. And if not there should have been. Salivation to go with your salvation, I like it.

Next main stop was a break in the infamous Temple Bar, not an actual bar, but coincidentally a neighborhood that happens to be loaded with them. Having been in the home of Guinness for over five hours without trying one, it was time to remedy the situation with all possible haste. So James and I used our break to savor the first of many Guinnesses over the next two days. And when people say it just tastes better in Dublin, trust me, they aren't lying.

After polishing off our liquid lunch, we rejoined the tour and I noticed seething odd. There was a sign advertising Papa Johns pizza. This was one of the first Papa Johns I've see in Europe. According to our guide, there are a ton of US fast food places in Dublin because of all the Americans living and working in the city. Only this Papa Johns was a bit odd.

One, it was combo'd with a burger, kebab, and sandwich place. Two, you could get fries and drinks with your pizza as a combo. Finally, taking a page from the Pizza Hut playbook, they offered a stuffed crust option. I really wanted to try it just to see what it would be like but I just couldn't justify getting Papa Johns in another country- I can't even justify it in the States. The last two stops on the tour were the infamous Trinity College (which I'll discuss more later) and St. Stephen's Green, which our guide claimed people say is just like Central Park but I informed her of the folly of her claim.

The tour ended around 2:30 and James and I unanimously agreed that the best, nay only, course of action for the remainder of the afternoon was to embark on the infamous Guinness Brewery Tour. The tour is pretty pricey, at 16€ self-guided, but it's really fun and exceptionally informative. It probably took us 2 hours to get through it. You get to stick your hands in some barley, smell live hops, see all the old Guinness marketing materials, and learn about the detailed history of the beer and brewery. It was really cool- well worth the money. Then, toward the end you get to pour your own "perfect pint" of Guinness.

Look at that concentration! I even wore green and black just for the occasion. Then you proceed up to the Gravity Bar which provides nealry unparalleled views of Dublin.

We decided hold off the pub crawl until the following night so we could commit some serious time to that beautiful black beauty: my Guinness. Have I mentioned how much I like Guinness? Despite perhaps being just a trifle over zealous, I ended up getting a good night's sleep. A little post-black velvet weariness aside, we decided to spend the next afternoon taking a leisurely stroll around town. First was walking across the ha'penny bridge. So called because in the old days it was the only bridge from the north to the south and you were charged a half penny toll each time you crossed.

Feeling a bit peckish I happened to notice out of the corner of my eye a place that looked way too familiar: Ray's Pizza. Not Famous Original mind you, but a Ray's pizza. No way it could have any connection but I decided to check it out anyway and sure enough the place was plastered with NYC stuff and what's more, the slices looked good! It was too much to overcome- I had to have one.

I had pizza, and it was good. We took a long stroll up past the canal to the north part of St. Stepehen's Green. On the way I got to do something I've been wanting to do since my early days of Scouting: help an old lady across the street. This poor tiny white haired Irish woman was having trouble with her vision and couldn't see the oncoming cars so I took her arm and led her safely across the street. She was so adorable! "Thank you- you're a good lad" she said as I sent her on her way. After some 16 odd years I can finally check that merit badge off the list! Eventually we made our way to the Museum of Archeology which is free and has a ton of artifacts from Ireland's past including Viking skeletons and weapons and the remnants of a hymn book that's over 1000 years old.

Our final stop of the day was back to Trinity College. Inside the Trinity College Library are three things definitely worth seeing: (1) the Book of Kells; (2) the oldest Irish harp; and  (3) the Long Room of the library. But I would recommend going 30 minutes before closing as you get in for half price and it's only about 20-25 minutes worth of seeing anyway. The Book of Kells is a surviving script of the Bible in Gaelic with exquisitely elaborate drawing and engravings throughout the text. The only bad thing is they only display 2 of the 4 volumes at a given time and only 4 pages of the volumes are visible. But if you're interested in a fun fictionalized account of it, check out the animated film The Secret of Kells.

The harp was about as expected. The best part, in my opinion, was the Long Room. Unfortunately they don't let you take photos of any of these things because of a squabble with George Lucas. Lucas wanted to use the library as the Jedi's archives in Attack of the Clones but the University wouldn't allow it. So he sent a minion to take hundreds of photos and then digitally recreated it. That guy. But here is a photo courtesy of radicalpatron.com:

And for good measure, what it looks like in Star Wars:

That night James and I grew a pair, summoned all our courage, and joined the Dublin Pub Crawl. Let me just say, it lived up to everything I had hoped it would be. The girl running it was hilarious, more Guinness was consumed, but by far my favorite part was going to the old school Irish pub where they had live Irish folk music and we all had to dance Irish jigs.

This one night of music also started me on what I'm calling the "Great Irish Folk Music Bender of 2012." it's all over my iPod and grooveshark. I simply cannot get enough. Later that night, James and I met some new Canadian friends who were nice enough to humor us in our dancing and long-straw-concoctionnery attempts.

It turned out to be a pretty late night and the next morning I could barely drag myself from bed, wish James a fond farewell, and make my way to breakfast. At breakfast I checked my messages and found a note from Ula, one of my friends I met way back in Porto who lives in Dublin. She suggested I take the train out to Howth, a small Irish town by the sea, so I could traipse along of the famous Irish cliffs. Great idea! The town itself is a seemingly sleepy little harbor and fishing town which apparently has a massive passion for sailing. As I strolled down the main street in the beautiful sunshine I noticed something rather foreboding on the horizon- just past all of the moored sailboats.

A typical Irish rainstorm was on its way. But what true day of Irish exploration would be complete without a little rain? As you make your way up to the cliff walk, you are afforded some great views of the surrounding area. And if you're lucky, a rain shower.

But once I had joined the cliff walking trail the sun came back out and the foliage along the path was beautiful.

But that of course paled in comparison to the cliffs themselves.

About an hour into the walk you will come across a great vista which provides you an incredible view of some of the cliffs and the old lighthouse jutting out at the end of a sharp peninsula.

This is another one of those times you should pop on over to flickr because there are just too many for me to post. After about an hour and a half you get to a junction. You can either wall back the way you came, take another route that gets you back to town in two hours or so, or continue around the peninsula and complete the loop in about 3 more hours. Having nothing to do and loving the walk I elected the latter. At one point, though, I lost the trail and ended up walking trough a very ritzy neighborhood. Eventually I found my way again through this lush meadow pass.

The cliff walk ends near the Martello Tower which faces across the back to Blackrock. From here you more or less follow the road back to the Howth town center. By this point I was pretty hungry and Ula had insisted that I try the fish n chips and seafood chowder while out there. I really wanted to pick some up at this cool little kiosk but they were all out of soup. Right across the street was a little restaurant that happened to have a lunch combo of seafood chowder and mini fish n chips. Perfect!

The fish was a bit different from what I had before, kind of an Italian style breading, but the benefit was that it was way less greasy. The chowder was one of the best I've ever had. Chips were just meh. Thoroughly full, I made my way back to the station to catch the train back to Dublin. In the city I did some souvenir shopping for the family. I don't usually do that but since it was one of our "motherlands" I thought it was appropriate.

I had planned to meet up with Ula for some dinner later in the night but by the time I made it back to the hostel I was absolutely gassed and I had another early flight the next day back to London. So we decided to defer until next time as there is a reasonable chance I get back to Dublin before the end of Stint 2. Honestly my trip to Ireland was too short. I wanted to do Belfast and Galway and maybe even Cork. But that just means I have big reasons to come back.

The reason I was off to London was to crash with Mike and Deana for one night (and make use of their laundry hospitality- huge thanks again!!) before flying of to Ljubljana, Slovenia the following day for the start of my one month crushing the Balkans! And it couldn't come soon enough- I was losing all of my tan! That night in London Mike, Deana, and I went up to the pub so I could try the last English delicacy that had escaped me- steak and kidney pie with mash and a real English ale. Oh baby, it was everything I had ever hoped it would be. And more!

To top it off we had another local treat, sticky toffee pudding. By this point I was bursting. Thanks UK and Ireland. Between you and France I gained back all the mass I shed in Spain, Portugal, and Morocco! But that's ok, hot hot Balkan weather and lots of walking should fix that up. Oh- and no more ale and my beloved black velvet. Here's to some hot days and sober nights!

Glasgow, Scotland: Culture With a Side of Beer

The first train, back to Inverness, got off to a rocky start. Adjacent to me were two young boys and their father and about every 6 seconds the youngest would yell "daddy! blah blah blah!" These days that really doesn't bother me, but with head pounding, knee bleeding, and the beautiful mountains swirling all around me, that voice was like nails on a chalkboard. The only problem was I was also too hungover to get up, move all of my stuff, and find another seat. I also had no music as my headphones died somewhere around Edinburgh. The best I could muster was gritting my teeth and focusing on the unparalleled scenery whizzing by.

As bad as that ride was, I fared much worse on the train from Inverness to Glasgow. I only had a 7 minute connection in Inverness and our train was 4 mins late. So it was a mad dash but I made it and was thrilled to find a table to myself. Looking forward to a quiet ride I put on the sunglasses and started to relax. About 5 minutes in, however, 4 teenagers either going to or coming from a football match stormed in. Displeased that there was no open table for the 4 of them, they hovered around the table I was at and started chanting loud football chants and banging the back of the seats.

Clearly their play was to drive me from my seat by causing a racket. What they didn't count on was that the level of hangover plus irritation from the prior train was just as likely to cause me to snap and bash a fire extinguisher over one of their heads as get up and politely move. It was an old fashioned stand off. The louder they yelled the more I yawned and looked nonchalant. Eventually we reached the desired impasse. I wasn't going to move or respond to them so they were wasting their breath chanting so they finally moved on. Old Mike would have been furious and likely caused a scene. New Mike applied stoic anti-conflict resolve and won the day. I must admit though, at one point it would have been incredibly satisfying to rearrange the face of the one who looked like a poor man's McLovin. But I played it cool boy, real cool.

Since the UK was crushing my trip budget I decided to attempt another couch surf in Glasgow. A nice fellow named Alan agreed to host me and I coordinated where to meet after I arrived. Problematically though, he was going to be at a block party his sister was throwing when I arrived, and in my haste to leave Skye I forgot to google map my way to his apartment. So I ended up employing an age old go-to move out of the seasoned traveler's playbook, finding a McDonald's for free wifi.

I haven't talked much about McDonald's or other fast food joints frankly because I've hardly gone to them. In fact McD and Starbucks are the only two I've visited and each time that was (with the exception of wanting to try the "royale with cheese" in Paris) specifically for internet access. As always, the McD button hook right was executed to perfection and I found the right bus and made my way to Alan's. Just as I got off the bus he returned my call and told me to "walk up the street to the church, go in and have a beer and I'll meet you in 15-20 minutes." At this point I was still not that interested in a beer but I couldn't resist the curiosity sparked by his statement. A beer in a church you say?

Turns out it was an old church that had been converted into a very happening bar. I would even go as far as to say the scene was jumping. I'm beginning to notice a theme in Scotland with unused churches. A bit later Alan arrived and since it was the nicest day in Glasgow in about 2 weeks we decided to have another dink or two in the "beer garden" and chat. Basically Alan wanted to get a feel for me, what I was interested in, why I was traveling, if I was a conservative gun-toting Mitt Romney loving tea party supporting lunatic.

Obviously I told him that I'm a former consultant, current writer, interested in traveling, reading, writing, and drinking (not necessarily in that order), and hell yea- I was packing heat right then. To my delight sarcasm does play in Glasgow. Back at Alan's he cooked me an excellent pasta dinner and I came to find out he is a travel and food writer. So for the remainder of the night we chatted about food, travel, and the state of journalism until before I realized it, the time for raising hell in Glasgow had long passed. Finally!! A quiet Saturday night! Well, with the exception of him ripping me a little for some of my blitzkrieg style tourism. For example, he found the idea of spending any less than 2 weeks on Skye incomprehensible. Actually, I can see his point on that one.

Also I should note that Alan has an amazing flat  the couch he put me up on was super comfy, the temperature was great, awesome facilities, just amazing. A 5 star couch experience. The next morning he purchased some fresh baked rolls for breakfast and then offered to show me around town. We started in the east end of Glasgow which is one of the oldest parts of the city. He took me into some really interesting malls that had been constructed out of historic buildings. One was a former. Ballroom of a museum and another was an open air atrium that was roofed with glass and the exterior of the buildings were opened up into a new interior. Really cool. Also I love the escalators.

Next we just happened to walk past the oldest (and I believe only) active 1800's music hall in Europe, the Britannia Panopticon Music Hall. And as fortune would have it, they were about to start a free concert in Venetian-styling. The venue itself is steeped in history. After shutting down as a theater in the early 1900's it was used as a carpet factory, munitions warehouse, and eventually storeroom and makeshift zoo before being discovered and returned to a music hall. It's also where Stan Laurel of Laurel and Hardy got his start.

If you want a sample of one of the performances, there is one on flickr here. Afterward we passed by the Tollbooth Steeple which is one of the last remnants of the ancient wall around Glasgow. Unlike Edinburgh who seemingly just build around old buildings, the Glaswegians have no qualms about demolishing and rebuilding at a whim.

Next we went through the Glasgow Green where one can locate the gate, the Tennants brewery, the People's Palace, and the terra cotta fountain to the four territories Australia, South Africa, India, and Canada. No US representation. Wasn't that the issue with how the whole independence thing started anyway? But the coolest part of the greens is located in the middle-north. There is an old carpet factory that looks like an Indian palace and right beside it is a microbrewery, West, run by a German using German purity standards but with Scottish ingredients. The result is some incredibly tasty beers.

Alan didn't actually plan to take me there, we just sort of naturally gravitated there. I swear I didn't even know it existed. Just seems to happen to me. From there we headed back into the city center where I purchased a replacement set of earphones. Just can't deal without music. Then Alan showed me a hospital that looks like a church, Glasgow's oldest restaurant (decorated with parts from the Queen Mary dining room), the Museum of Modern Art (where we watched a film montage set to a reading of the Marco Polo translated diaries- very unique), and finally to George Square.

Next Alan wanted to show me Glasgow University, his alma mater, which was moved from the East End to its current location in the West End. When I say moved, I mean that the University folk were sick of being in the increasingly slummy East End so they hired Sir George Gilbert Scott to design a new University and demolished everything else. Oddly, he designed the University in his youth, but is probably most famous for designing the iconic red telephone booths that you'll see all over London in his very advanced years. And, here at the University, you can see two of his greatest creations side by side, youth and elder.

Only a few elements of the original buildings survived demolition and were moved to the new University. One was the main gate house which sits at the bottom corner of the university entrance, and the other was the unicorn and lion staircase, which it's apparently good luck to have your picture taken on.

The architecture of the main University building is stunning, with the notable exception of the features resembling one Duke University. Barf. But the inner courtyards look like something out of Harry Potter, or what imagine Harry Potter looks like as I refuse to see the films until Brad Neely does audiobooks for all seven.

Finally we stopped in the Kelvingrove Museum which is the second most visited tourist attraction in Scotland after the Edinburgh Castle most likely because it's free. It's also a very unique museum because it shirks the old convention of separating art and artifacts by wings. Here the art is scattered casually in with the artifacts, creating, in my mind, a much richer experience. Instead of just painting after painting you can glance at some animals or old swords or an airplane then back to more art. It's like cleansing your palate with ginger between bites of sushi. If you don't switch it up, it all begins to taste the same. Personally I love it but according to Alan it was met with some fierce resistance early on.

After our museum going it was time to reward ourselves with a pint or two at the Brew Dog brewery across the street. I remember Jack telling me about this place in Newcastle as microbrew that was bringing "bitters" to popularity. In addition to that and brewing some other excellent beer, they are known for their super-high alcohol beers: the Tactical Nuclear Penguin (32%) and the Sink The Bismark (41%). At these percentages the TNP is more of a cordial and the STB is a straight up spirit.

I went with the Punky IPA as my main beer (a lightly hoppy and sooth IPA by American standards) and then opted to try the TNP for two reasons. One, TNP is a stout which I reckoned would be soother than the STB which is an IPA. Two, Tactical Nuclear Penguin just sounds cooler and I'm a huge sucker for anything penguin related. So I gave it a go. Pretty good- smells a bit like a port but definitely has a stout like finish- lacks the sugary sweetness. The taste is complex, like a very smoky tawny. The IPA was great as IPAs go, since they are not one of my favorite beers.

After our beers, Alan offered to take me to the best curry place in Glasgow (remember he is a food journalist) which was just up the street. I'm excited to announce he was right on the money with the quality. Excellent curries and not all that expensive considering the location. Here is the spread.

Afterward we had a quick "nightcap" in the restaurant his nephew works while waiting for the bus. Back at the apartment we attempted to watch a little bit of some movie but we were both ready for some sleep, especially me as I had to be up before 4am for my first experience with Ryanair- a 6:30am flight to Dublin. Ago after two relatively tame nights, I was fully ready to tear it up in Dublin- one of my motherlands!

Isle of Skye, Scotland: Alone With the Gods

Early the morning after my restful day in Inverness I made my way to the train platform to catch the train to the Isle of Skye. Remember when I said public transport around Scotland was shaky at best? Well there are only two trains that run from Inverness to Skye. In fact, they don't even run to Skye; they stop in Kyle of Lochalsh, which is a small town right across the bay from Skye.  From there you can proceed on foot across the Skye Bridge into Kyleakin where, fortunately, there is a youth hostel. 

Since there were only two trains, it was imperative that I make it so I left probably 30 minutes before I really needed to and then spent those minutes standing around in the station (which was almost completely devoid of people) looking like a creeper.  But to the relief of those few in the station, I did eventually board my train and once I did I was rewarded with a veritable browbeating of natural beauty. The whole ride was breathtaking but it got increasingly more so as we approached Skye.

When the train reached its terminus in Kyle of Lochalsh, I threw on my pack an made my way toward the bridge. Not surprisingly I was the only one walking. I briefly considered testing out my newly discovered hitchhiking skills, however, I really wanted to scale the bridge so I could get some pictures of the surrounding area.

The whole walk to Kyleakin only took about 40 minutes. When I arrived at the hostel around noon I was greeted by a sign at the reception informing me that check in would become available at 5pm and that I was welcome to leave my stuff, help myself to fee tea or coffee, and more or less bugger off. Ok then- so I did just that. 

In the kitchen was plastered a plethora of useful information including local bus times and things to do in the immediate area. The latter proved extremely useful as after consulting the former I came to realize there was no way I could get a bus up to anywhere in northern Skye and then make a return bus back. If I went, I'd be making a one way trip. Hm, pass. Luckily there was plenty of stuff to do and see in the immediate vicinity. First I took a stroll through the lovely little town of Kyleakin which has about 30 total buildings.

Next I made my way to the ruins of Castle Moil, which at first I worried I would be unable to find. That is until I exited the hostel and realized I could see it from the front door. But the proximity of these ruins doesn't in any way diminish their appeal. On the contrary the remains are really interesting and you can wade through the bog and past the signs reading "beware of tides" and scale every inch of the castle to your heart's content.

The story behind the castle is also a good one. Apparently around 900, a Norse princess married into the MacKinnon clan who owned the castle. She went by Saucy Mary, yes really, and her and her husband set up a heavy chain that was tethered to the other side of the sound. When boats came along they would tighten the ropes making the river impassable until the boat paid their toll. Warren Buffett would be jealous of Saucy Mary running the what he deems the "world's best business." From the ruins of the castle you can contemplate life or existentialism or dinner while gazing out over Kyle of Lochalsh.

By now it was probably around 2pm so I still I had several hours of good daylight to spare. One of the other things the hostel wall recommended was to "climb a mountain." Now that's more like it! I began following the hostel's prescribed directions: walk from hostel to roundabout, go straight, walk 15 minutes to old road on the left, follow it to the end, then take the trails to the left. So I did all that and I ended up in the middle of a valley that had been deforested probably 5 or so years ago. The "trail" just ended there, no signs or anything. 

I began to doubt the validity of this "trail." But I'd be damned if I let that stop me from climbing some sort of mountain. So I picked out the highest hill in my reasonable vicinity and started following the 1 foot deep imbedded truck ruts (still there after all those years) up the hill. Since it had been a while, thick grass, ferns, and moss had blanketed everything underfoot making progress slow. Summoning my inner Lewis and Clark, I forged ahead undaunted until I finally reached the top. Victory!

 

Afterward I made my way back to the hostel, checked in, and cooked myself a well earned dinner of tomato soup and toast. Ok, that's not really what I wanted to eat but the UK was killing my budget. I had a can of soup I had been carrying around for a few days and the hostel had free bread. Sometimes simple and free is the way to be. Before planning the next day, I noticed the sun setting over Kyleakin and rushed out to take a few photos of the iridescent Skye Bridge and lighthouse in the last rays of the evening.

I was planning to pay to join a tour of Skye the following day because looking at the bus times it seemed logistically improbable to see much of anything via public transport, especially the two things I wanted to see most: Storr and the Faerie Glen, which are on opposite sides of the northernmost peninsula. However, I was flummoxed to discover that the tour was only done on Wednesdays and Saturdays and the next day was a Friday.

So I considered renting a bike but then I checked the weather and it was slated to rain on and off all day. Biking over 100km in rain up and down hills along the highway seemed completely unreasonable. So I checked the bus schedules again and came to discover that if I timed it perfectly there was actually a combination whereby I could see the things I really wanted to check out, however, accomplishing this feat was going to require a change in traveling tactics. Specifically, the return of Mike Steele Master of Logistics! So far on this grand journey I've tried to go with the flow and not over-plan anything, but this was going to have to be an exception. Here is the exact schedule as I had it worked out.

10:20 bus kylealin to 10:37 broadford
10:40 bus broadford to 11:20 portree
12:10 bus portree to 12:31 storr
14:39 bus storr to 15:00 portree
15:25 bus portree to 16:05 Uig
17:14 bus Uig to 17:40 portree
18:20 bus portree to 18:58 broadford
Hitchhike broadford to kylealin?

Just like traveling in the old days. Notably, there was no last bus back from Broadford to Kyleakin. I was going to have to wing the last leg. But I'd worry about that later. First I had to catch the bus to Broadford and make my 3 min connection to Portree. From there I could catch a bus that would take me up to the parking area for the Old Man of Storr where I'd have about 2 hours to hike around before I needed to be back at the bus stop to go back to Portree. The first two buses went off without a hitch and I arrived in Portree right on time- in an absolute downpour. I had smartly decided to wear my waterproof boots so I pressed on exploring the moist little town.

Emphasis on little. It took me about 30 of my 50 free minutes to stroll all around town and down by the port. The bus to Storr was on time as well and by 12:30 I was standing at the foot of the hills of Storr. If you are unaware, as I was prior to investigating Skye, the Storr is a protruding rock formation on the island, part of the Trotternish landslip, which is the largest in Britain. The landslip produces a number of fascinating spires of rock, the most famous being the Old Man of Storr. Also, if you have seen Prometheus, the place where they find the cave drawing in the beginning is shot at the Storr. Back at the base, I started climbing. About 20 minutes in I got my first glimpse of the Old Man peeking out through the fog.

 

Hiking through the trees for a few more minutes and you've come to the end of the tree line. From here, the only thing in between you and that elusive old curmudgeon is about a half a kilometer's worth of slippery grass and loose rocks comprising a 30-45 degree grade. Piece of cake. As I climbed the views got better and better and the rain stopped. It wasn't until I had climbed a little further that I realized it had stopped because I was now IN the cloud.

When you get within a stone's throw of the old man the grass pretty much disappears and you're looking at a 45 degree grade of really loose rocks and dirt. Not a problem if you're careful with where you step and grab. Finally, I made it up and slapped that old guy on the foot. From here I could see out over what felt like the entire world.

And as the clouds receeded and I stood there in complete silence, the only sound the slight fluttering of my jacket in the wind, I felt an electric buzz flowing through my entire body. Starting at my ears and trickling down to my fingertips and toes. I was perfectly calm, my core felt cool and my skin was warm and I could sense the moisture in the air gently settling on my cheeks. And my thoughts at this moment were of nothing. A complete blank slate of white, in sheer perfect clarity.

I stood there for what felt like hours staring out at he expanse of earth below until finally my thoughts returned to me. And the first and only thought in my head was "I need to climb this." so I made my way around the back, deposited my coat, looked for some good foot and handholds and started up. I wasn't thinking about anything except getting to the top. 

Finally about 15-20 feet up my right foot slipped a little and I snapped to my senses. "what the hell am I doing!?" I thought, "I don't know how to rock climb!" and I looked up at the 80 or 100 or whatever feet that was left and then down at how far I came and immediately started descending. All I could think was "oh no, I'm going to be one of those idiots who tries to climb something and gets stuck and the national guard has to come and chopper them out." Much to my great fortune, I made it down quickly with no problems and then scaled my way back to the front of the old guy before starting my descent. I'm prone to do stupid things from time to time but rarely really stupid things. This was nearly an exception. Crisis averted, I still felt a bit proud of my singular focus and gusto.

As I went down, the mist began to roll back in, swallowing up the incredible rock formations, almost as if I arrived just in time for the start of a play which now ended sees the curtains closing.

I highly encourage you to check out the pictures of Skye on flickr as there are a ton of incredible shots that sadly don't do the actual beauty anywhere near the justice it deserves. I made it back down to the car park with about 20 minutes to spare and immediately regretted my decision to descend early as I was swarmed by midgies. 

Midgies are little gnats the same as back home in the Stats with one notable exception: they freaking bite! And they just keep biting until you swat them. To top it off the bus was 10 minutes late so I spent the better part of 30 minutes pacing the parking lot and swinging my arms wildly in the air looking convincingly like a lunatic. I considered trying to hitch a ride but only families were coming down from the hills at this point, and they avoided the mad man swatting the air like the plague. Finally my 8 wheeled salvation arrived and I was back in Portree in short order.

I had about 25 minutes until my next bus so I proceeded with all possible haste to the bakery across the square to acquire a mobile lunch. They had two specialties: a bacon pastry and a chicken tikka sandwich on a roll. Uh.. Huh? I guess when in Portree eat local. So I got both. The bacon pastry was kind of greasy and bleh but the chicken tikka roll was really good- so if you're ever in the main square in Portree go to MacKenzie's Bakery and get a tikka roll. That has to be the most random and likely near impossible food recommendation I've ever given.

The next stop on my itinerary was the Faerie Glen near Uig. When I was waiting for my bus I noticed that there were two buses leaving Portree at exactly 3:25 and arriving back at the exact same time and then it hit me: they are going opposite directions on the loop around the northern peninsula. So the tactic I had plotted out was to take the last bus going west, get off 1/4 through the loop, run to the Glen and get back to the stop before the other bus going the opposite direction got to the 3/4 mark. Now that's serious logistics. When I got off at my stop the rain had resumed and as I walked down the windy road to the Glen the nearby sheep lazily took notice of me.

The landscape was typically beautiful- large rolling hills, farms, houses, and then all of a sudden things started changing dramatically. A ton of tiny hills began springing up, their sides wavy, cascading almost like icing on a cake. And then, right around a corner I was there.

The first thing that struck me was the massive hill and rock outcropping in the middle of the Glen. Keeping with the theme of the day, I had to climb it. At the top, the pathways are extremely narrow and if you tip too far you're in for a very fast roll down either side of the hill.

On the rock side, if you scramble up between a crevice you can summit the outcropping. From there you're likely to meet another tourist or two who will undoubtedly want their picture taken. And conversely, they will be obliged to return the favor.

From atop the outcropping you'll notice the entire area peppered with geological wonders: waterfalls, hills covered in ferns, more outcroppings, and groves of little tress resembling the canopy of mangroves. Those little trees were my next destination and I made my way gingerly back down. As you walk through the trees the name Faerie Glen becomes strikingly apt. Dust and water particles drift in the air, illuminated by the rays of sun beaming through the foliage. It really felt as if you sat still waiting for dusk, you could just catch a glimpse of a faerie or two emerging from their daytime slumber and fluttering off into the twilight.

But I was there during the day so I saw none of that. Moreover, I had a counter clockwise deadline chugging along the coast that I had to rendezvous with. So off I sped back past the hills, by the pond, around the sheep, next to the farm, across from the old Scottish graveyard and finally to the road leading to the bus stop. At this point the rain had broke and I got some nice photos of the church on the hill overlooking Uig.

The bus was right on schedule and the driver looked stunned to see me as he must have noticed me waiting for the clockwise bus in Portree. I offered him no explanation but a smile and happily took my seat knowing I had made the crucial bus and that I'd have plenty of time to make my last connection. In Portree I strategized how I would make my way the final leg back to Kyleakin. Hitching seemed he obvious answer but if that failed the only other option appeared walking. I glanced at the sky- it stared back menacingly, threateningly, almost daring me to try walking. "How can I increase my chances of getting a lift?" I thought.

Then it hit me like a bicycle seat blow to the scrotum, I'd acquire some groceries, which I needed something to cook/eat anyway, and then I'd just appear as a non-threatening guy who had gone to the store and needed a lift. Genius. Less menacing via prop acquisition. The trick was buying enough stuff so it looked like a legitimate shopping run but not so much that it would make walking back unbearable. The solution I came up with was some pasta, sauce, beans, cheese, a roll, and a couple ciders. I figured if the hitching didn't go, I could make a cheese sandwich and drink the ciders to lighten the load and the rest I could take with me to Glasgow. If it did, they would accompany my pasta meal nicely. This is Mike Steele Master of Logistics in full on planning mode, down to even optimizing weight/bulk of groceries with the appropriate sides of the meal while factoring in long-term portability.

I took my groceries and caught the last bus from Portree to Broadford. This is where it gets really interesting. I was the only one on the bus and I went all the way to the back because those seats had more legroom. No one else got on and the driver completely forgot I was on the bus. Eager to get home and start his weekend, he was absolutely hauling ass down and around the mountains, I'm getting tossed around like a rag doll in the back, and meanwhile the sky has cleared and we are blasting past some of the most incredible things I've ever seen. It looks like stuff out of a fantasy painting.

So I'm frantically trying to hold the camera level, focus, and capture some of this and meanwhile his driving is working me over like a new inmate. I'm smashing my face into the glass, flying back an forth across the seats... I have no idea how he didn't hear me back there.

Finally once we got out of the mountains and down to the water the ride smoothed out a bit, but the scenery stayed incredible.

When we finally reach Broadford he doesn't even go to the bus stop. He pulls straight into the bus depot and parks it. Then when he sees me stand up in the back he goes, "oh! I completely forgot you were back there!" You think?! Haha. I just laughed and said, "that was without doubt the best most thrilling bus ride of my life. Thank you sir." Outside the depot I started making my way down the street and, remembering what the guys at the hostel said about hitching in Scotland, I tried to find an area where a friendly car could pull off. It just so happens that a it was a scenic pull off.

Well I tried for about 10-15 minutes with no luck so a bit downtrodden I started walking. But in hindsight I'm glad I did because the day was really turning around- the clouds had parted and the setting sun was casting a beautiful spray of colors across the water.

As I walked I kept my thumb out there even despite my resignation that I'd be walking that last five miles back. Just before I was about to crack into the first cider, someone actually pulled over! A nice couple from Scotland who were cycling around Skye for the past week who had been picked up by a car the day before and decided, to my great fortune, to pay it forward. 3 for 3 hitchhiking! Next time I have a car and see hitchers, I have a few debts to repay for sure.

That might in Kyleakin the folks at the hostel persuaded me to come down to the local pub with them. As you can guess they really had to twist my arm. There is actually only one pub in Kyelakin, obviously named Saucy Mary's, so when I say "the pub" I mean THE pub. On this night they had live music which was one guy somehow playing all instruments in each song via synthesizer. A bit cheesy but he was surprisingly good. Plus he was really working at it, just pouring sweat, so it was hard to find fault with his effort.

Later I got to talking with some of the staff girls about the hostel's policy of 4 hours of work per day getting you free room and 35 pounds of "food money." Sounded like a great deal and most of the staff were short-termers availing themselves of it. Single malt and Tennants were the drinks of the evening. Eventually I ended up talking to some guys at the bar who were celebrating a pal's 30th bday. They bought me a jagerbomb (the universal drink) and then a shot of some liquor that was made with the coca leaf. I'm not sure if it gave me the extra "pep" they said it would but it certainly provided the extra alcohol. What was supposed to be a quiet night on Skye before a wild night in Glasgow turned out completely the opposite (which ironically so did the night in Glasgow).

Back in the hostel around 4am I'm sound asleep in my top bunk when I awaken and realize I need to pee. Damn you Tennants! So I threw off the sheet and put one foot on the ladder and started to leap down. That's when, a moment too late, I remembered the sheets at this hostel were like a sleeping bag- the bottom three feet of the top sheet is sewed into the bottom sheet making a sort of sleepy-time human taco. As you've likely already foreseen, foot number two didn't clear the sheet or the bed and what should have been me stepping confidently and quietly to the floor with both feet was instead me performing an aerial somersault and crashing to the floor on my knee and side. I must have woken up everyone in that side of the hostel- I mean I'm a large man, if fall, even if it's in a forest, I'm making a noise. Extremely embarrassed I mumbled something unintelligible and ran out the door.

After peeing and composing myself I slinked back into the room and went back to bed. I was so embarrassed by all this I didn't bother to check for damages. Apparently when I hit the carpet I slid on my knee which took off just about every layer of skin. So when I woke up in the morning and looked at my sheets I thought I was in that scene from the Godfather and started looking for the horse head.

Well, ok no, it wasn't really that bad but it did make for an alarming wake up. A momentary wave of panic. Did I kill someone? Do I have malaria? Is it that time of the month? Oh, no I'm just an idiot and fell out of the bed. But, running late and having to catch the only train out of Skye before that night (and a connecting train to Glasgow) I quickly showered and got out of there. So the wound basically patched itself up the old school way- sticking to my jeans until the bleeding stopped. Just like being 8 all over again. Long story longer, I did make that train and despite my best intentions the prior day, I was making my way to Glasgow hungover, bleeding, and dreading the possibility of a night out.

Also, while that story is really great, I hope what you take from this post are the great images and descriptions of the beauty of Skye and not of me making an ass of myself falling from a bunk bed. Nah- just kidding, remember the buffoonery.