Chronicle for 13 May 2012

We woke this morning to the heavy rain as predicted and lashings of wind. When we say lashings of rain we mean that the rain is flying nigh on horizontally the only variable being the direction. A good day for a sleep in. They told us yesterday that the showers last evening were the first that they have had here for five weeks. We should have come here last week. Never mind, we have our Macs, which is more than what the poor little lambs outside our window have.

Regarding our accommodation it is a converted loft space in one of the many whitewashed stone cottages that we have been seeing in this area. The interior is very batch like, that appears as if it has been refitted with fixtures and furniture of the flat pack Ikea variety, including a square toilet seat that seems to be the fashion at the moment. We agree that sitting on them makes you feel a bit like a wombat, in the sense that you feel as if you should be doing square poos.

It has big Velux windows fitted along one side looking out over the couple of fields leading to the Loch edge. It is a very pleasant place to stay in a very quiet part of the country.

We have been surprised with how populated the isle is, although there is still plenty of space to go around with not only room to swing a cat but room to be beyond shouting distance of your nearest neighbour and large tracts of barren inhospitable land in between.

We left the house late today only because if we stayed in we knew we would get a little cabin feverish by the end of the day. The rain was still lashing down in a near horizontal manner with the force of the wind throwing the rain in our faces so that it felt like hail.

We took a meandering route around the isle admiring the crazy wildness of it all. We couldn't admire the view as most of it was obscured. Our mission was to seek out the art galleries that were open. It seems there is a strong Methodist contingent which insures that much of the isle remains dormant and shut on a Sunday. Each time we exited the car our prime objective was to reach shelter before being lifted of the ground and unceremoniously deposited by the wind.

Our tour around the isle involved lots of little single track roads which either ended in dead ends or perhaps the track deteriorating to the point of thinking that there had to be an easier route. We did experience the interesting sight of a waterfall instead of plunging down, it was being whipped up into a vertical plume of water much like a geyser by the wind.

We asked if this sort of weather was normal and we were told 'usually only in winter'. We were also told that we are at the same latitude as Stockholm here, a fact that we hadn't realised.

After enjoying the lengthy deliberations with the locals everywhere that we stopped we were reminded of a story; two professors of language met. The Spanish expert challenged the Gaelic expert to find an equivalent for the term 'mañana, mañana.' The Gaelic expert thought for a while and then stated that there was no word in the Gaelic language that expressed that sense of urgency. This was exactly the sense of time that we have experienced when talking to people here. This is island life and they really do have all the time in the world.

By the time that we arrived home the rain was lifting and the sun was starting to appear intermittently. The wind was still enough to blow you backwards, but we have the sense that tomorrow is another day.