Dunvegan Castle, Neist Point Lighthouse, Sea Breezes retaurant
Though David is chomping at the bit to do some serious hiking up, down, and around the isle’s natural wonders, the morning’s weather and David’s better planner, known as Cynthia, have other ideas: Climb tomorrow when it might NOT rain, and we can go to Dunvegan Castle and be inside today while it IS raining. Into the tiny Mazda and off we go.
On one-lane switch-backed roads pitted with potholes disguised as puddles. We drop into most of them. We learn a whole new etiquette about “passing places:” basically crescent-shaped spots about half as wide as a small car where the ever-present roadside ditch (usually deep enough to swallow a car) has been filled, or where the roadside rock ledge has been gouged to form a niche. If you see a car coming toward you on the one-lane road, you have to determine which car is closest to the passing place on its side of the road. The car closest to its passing place is supposed to pull into it, letting the other vehicle pass. You should NEVER pull into a passing place on the opposite side of the road – in Scotland or England, the opposite is always, of course, the right side.
Sometimes a passing place is so short that the car in it cannot fit and get its rear off road enough so the other car can pass, so the passing-place car must inch forward as the ”right” car passes. It’s a dance called the mutual swerve. The mutual swerve is nigh impossible when groups of two or more cars face each other. The correct solution to that problem is prayer.
Tourists who are selfish AND stupid troglodytes or local residents who are simply churlish and impatient may bypass such subtle nicities, which can lead to perilous maneuvers in reverse and colorful language punctuated with some dexterous finger pointing. ‘Nuff said.
We pass The Three Chimneys Restaurant on our way to Dunvegan Castle. The eatery is in the middle of nowhere and practically inaccessible and totally booked for both lunch and dinner three months in advance. A “Destination.” We stop and David goes in to ask if by any chance…. As he waits for the Maitre d’, he realizes that a nearly sepulchral hush is exercised by the diners at the tables. It’s like they might disturb the feng shui of the food or, like laughter during a sermon in church, detract from a spiritual experience by talking too loud. To be honest, or maybe it’s just sour grapes because the Maitre says, “No chance,” it was just too precious. Moving on …
Dunvegan, the 42,000-acre seat of clan MacLeod, is a place where its owner actually stays when he chooses to leave London. Like Eilean Donan, this castle has a tempestuous history from the 14th century and was eventually remodeled and restored by Flora, who became the 28th Chief of the clan and inherited it in 1935 when her father died and the few less-direct male descendants of the clan refused to take on the responsibility. She united the far-flung-across-the-globe clan and died at age 98 in 1978, leaving it to her grandson, John.
And just so you know, the “Dame Flora MacLeod of MacLeod Trophy for Open Piobaireachd” has been presented, since 1969, to the best bagpiper at the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games in North Carolina.
The castle is huge: a lot of rooms with a ton of exhibits and treasures (largest elephant tusk in private hands … mastodon large). Go if you get a chance.
We leave and wynde along a trachle (getting the hang of Scottish now) with occasional mutual swerves on a … can’t call it a road anymore, let’s say it’s a path … to the Neist Point Lighthouse where David finally can do some hiking while Cynthia stays in the car. The weather has decided to curtain the landscape with a mist so thick we cannot see more than 20 feet on the drive (this is not, for once in this long blog, either hyperbole or exaggeration: We are talking “whiteout”).
Neist Point is one of the photographs you see when your television is on autopilot and Amazon is displaying unbelievable landscapes from around the planet. We won’t delve into it. You gotta go if you like places that are simply elemental.
Back in Portree’s small harbor, Seabreezes serves up some truly fine mussels and other right-out-of-the-water food. End of day.
Two Tramps 