Dreaming the Skye bridge (Scozia)

Dreaming the Skye bridge

One day I woke up from a dream where I was on the Skye bridge.

I understood Scotland was calling me.The last time I had been in Scotland, about 20 years before the dream, there was no bridge but a ferry from Kyle of Lochalsh to Kyleakin.

I thought it could be a good idea to go see the bridge, and see the isle of Skye again.I decided it had to be a solo trip: on my own, wandering through lochs and glens, to make my dream come true.That’s why I arrived in Prestwick at the beginning of May, took my rental car and started my adventure, on the other side of the road.

For the first couple of hours I drove like safety cars do in GPs: never exceeding 40 miles per hour, and every time I looked in the rear mirror there was a moderate and patient row of cars behind me. 

In my defence I say that I used to pull over and let them pass.

My first stop was in Arrochar, and I must say it took some time to get there. 

Of course I got lost around Glasgow, but I found myself not far from the Erskine Bridge, which I later understood is the better way to reach Loch Lomond. 

There I met Scottish kindness at its best: I pulled over to ask for directions, and the man I asked told me: “Wait just 5 minutes, I need to finish what I’m doing here and then I’ll lead you to the right road”, and then he did so, he led me to take the right road and left me with a most accurate hand-drawn map to my destination.

Loch Lomond is wonderful, large, surrounded by hills and mountains and with hundreds of lovely paths to walk, but I could only look at them with longing eyes: I must in fact introduce here my travelling companion, the rain, and I’m sorry but I don’t like it that much walking and getting soaked.

Arrochar is a small nice village between Loch Lomond and Loch Long, which is famous because during WWII it was home to a submarine and torpedoes testing station. Now the station is dismissed. The site was chosen because the Loch flows into the sea at Greenock, and also because it was very unlikely the enemy could spot the facilities, because of the usual heavy layer of clouds… The very kind owner of the B&B where I stayed told me about this, as well as about the recent plan to build a luxury hotel on the other side of the lake.

This was another encounter with Scottish kindness and the love for sharing stories about their place and their life, and making you feel at home.

On the second day my plan was to reach the Isle of Skye, and make the dream come true, by crossing the bridge.

I drove via Inveraray, passed  the “Rest and be Thankful” site, and then headed to Fort William on the A828, the road of the Sea-Lochs.From the “Rest and be Thankful” there’s a great view over the glens

Later on during the day I found more travelling companions, besides the rain (and my map, and the guide): a couple of very young hithhickers from France. At first I was to leave them close to Oban but they ended up coming with me up on Skye.

The road was peaceful and lovely, winding through woods and close to lochs.

I must say something about Fort William: it's the only place in Scotland I don't like that much. There must be one, I think.

I’ve been there twice in 4 days and it never stopped raining for a minute. It was very windy, too. The mountains around are gorgeous and beautiful, Loch Linnhe is a big beauful loch, but the town...

No, wait, I like the happy resting hiker statue:

After Fort William it’s another pretty stretch of road to the Skye Bridge. The landscape is more rugged, woods and trees are sparse, and the mountains then were still snow-capped.

At Spean Bridge we went to see the Commando Memorial, fighting wind, rain and tourist buses.

A little before the Skye Bridge there's the famous castle, you probably heard of it, Eilean Donan, the Highlander castle.

After crossing the bridge everything changed.

Somebody says that because of the bridge Skye is no longer an island, but the feeling I got from my 2 days on Skye is that Skye is remote, distant, different.  

I cannot say that the West Coast of Scotland is crowded, especially from the point of view of somebody living in a really crowded big city like me, but only when on Skye I really felt emptyness and solitude. And enormous beauty. 

Skye really is beautiful, inspiring, magical, moving; even though temperature was 8°, the wind was strong and it rained, too

.

On my full day on Skye I went to see the Old Man of Storr (well, “see” isn’t fully right: better say that I reached a place where there was a big dark shape looking like a standing stone, whose summit was deeply covered in fog and clouds. Which I took to be the Old Man of Storr

Then I went to see the Diatomite beach and the Kilt Rock waterfall

By that time I had already experienced driving on single track roads, which is exciting and exhilarating,  and I had already had the proof that highlanders do wear kilts:

Then I drove the single track up to Uig along cliffs, meadows, rocks, the sea, streams, fences, barren hills, sharp bends, and even an en-plein-air toilet.

In Uig I went to see the ferry to the Outer Hebrides, with Harris a powerful shape  just in front of me, and I promised myself I'd go there, too.

Then I drove along a deserted and sunny road to Dunvegan castle: maybe because I finally saw the blue sky, maybe because of the sun, but it really looked wonderful to me, with amazing gardens full of flowers

And suddenly it was time to go back to Glasgow, via Glencoe. 

This is another truly magnificent area

 

Some things I learned from this short trip: Scotland needs time, to allow the weather to change. And time to enjoy its many wonders. Then I learned I wanted to come back, and walk those beautiful walks on loch shores. And get lost in glens and lochs, and streams and hills.

And I learned that travelling alone can be wonderful: you are seldom alone, because you are open to the world. But being alone in such a remote area as the Isle of Skye gives you the chance to get to know yourself better, to rediscover, and redefine yourself.

And I think that there must be a meaning in that dream about the Skye bridge. A bridge is a symbol, a link from somewhere to some other place, a connection between people, a way to move distances closer.

A short rainy trip, mine was, but a very inspiring one.

The Maker and the Elements* (Islanda)

One of the Makers of the Universes one day decided to play with Elements.

Thor was his name, and he was very popular among the Makers: he had been awarded an important prize for the most beautiful coastline having drawn Norway's.

He felt ready for a new challenge.

Earth, water, air, fire: the Greek would have built the philosophy of nature on these, he was to make a country out of them. The most beautiful of all countries on Planet Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy.

He was not afraid to play with fire and shaped some volcanoes and scattered them nicely along a gorge reaching very deep, at the very heart of the earth, where life originated from, and he had fire meet with water so that water could extinguish the most burning ones, being in turn warmed by them. 

Such lively encounter needed holes to let the energy out and the Maker thought that some hot springs would have added beautifully to the rugged landscape and provided shelter and comfort to the dauntless hikers that were to walk the valleys and climb the slopes. He also made some pools intermittently emit hot water in high gushes, that were to get more than one cry of wonder from passers-by.

He was not done with fire. He had the volcanoes erupt and had the lava gently flow down the sides, finding its way through the rocks and the fields, and then he waited for it to cool off, and enjoyed the black streaks through the brilliant greens. He added some extra red and ochre touches, feeling like a painter mixing colors on his palette. 

He also liked the lava to paint some sandy beaches and felt they matched so well with the deep blue waters. He waited some more and arranged the volcanic rocks to create imposing cliffs overlooking the ocean, strong enough to stand the storms but also pliant to the waters and the winds, willing and happy to change their shape, in a festive reunion of all the elements.

And as for water, he almost felt overwhelmed by all the possibilities. He was kind of biased to water, he liked it falling, running, storming, he liked it clear and he liked it dark, he liked it gentle and he liked it strong. So he had rain and snow and storms; and then he made water run down the mountains, through the planes, down into the fissures and out to the sea. He made rivers and streams and creeks, and lakes and puddles, and he placed waterfalls everywhere, some elegant and thin like organza and some powerful and majestic and awe-inspiring. He had water meet with chilly air from the Ocean and the North and had it freeze and create the most strange figures in ice, always melting, always changing, always rearranging themselves. Hence, he decided, the name: Iceland.

And then he placed this land he loved so much in the centre of the Ocean, so that the air could freely roam and start all over again.

He understood he could play forever with the Elements in Iceland and smiled.

* special thanks to Philip José Farmer and The World of Tiers

To the moon is often Iceland compared. And rightly so (Islanda)

"Walking back from your house, walking on the moon…" sang The Police, back in 1979.

Walking and the moon have often been together, as being carried away by happiness, immersed in deep thoughts, living life at its fullness, inebriated with joy. 
It's more than in seventh heaven, it's on the moon. 

The moon is also a distance to measure a very big love: I love you to the moon and back. 

The moon can also be seen as a loyal companion to share your hopes and desperation alike. What are you doing, big moon, in the sky, tell me what are you doing there. 
The ever-changing moon, with rhythms and phases who shape and arrange life, like notes harmonized in symphony.

To the moon is often Iceland compared. And rightly so.

Not only for the rugged terrain, the deep fissures, the powerful insides finding ways to get outside. 

Not just for the windswept hopeless loneliness of the coasts: fjords and cliffs and beaches of stunning beauty and hostile inaccessibility.

Not even only for the out-of-this-world colors, greens and black embracing themselves, with reddish ochres and all shades of blues and greys looming around. 

Neither for the ever-changing landscape in which the history of earth is inscribed, nor for the un-expected welcoming and relished hot springs.

Iceland is also compared to the moon because of the distance, so huge and un-measurable, from everything we are used to. Iceland is different, and sets new standards.

Once you've seen any Icelandic waterfall, no other waterfall in the world will ever stand the comparison. By sheer beauty, power, energy, remoteness.

Once you danced to the northern lights, your breath fast and cold, and tears falling and freezing on your cheeks, silence so thick you can hear your blood in turmoil, you'll feel like having been to the moon and back.

Once you travelled in no hurry on Iceland roads, forded their many streams and rivers, and learned to change your point of view with every bend, then you are likely to reach Iceland's heart.

In Askja such heart is located for me, but you'll find your own secret place, and you'll bow in awe in the presence of Eros and Thanatos, you'll feel life and death always together, love and hate, lust and absence, fear and desire, all forever intertwined, the bright and the dark side, and you'll be over the moon with joy, amazement and respect.

That's why to the moon is Iceland often compared. And rightly so.