Very nearly heaven on earth
We’re in Portree, Isle of Skye, having just been to one of the most beautiful places on earth, a place I didn’t even know existed till a couple of years ago. In 2007 my friend Jane married Alasdair from North Uist, Outer Hebrides, and this weekend they christened their son Harris (named for the Hebridean islands, where Alasdair’s father was born).
The christening was held at the end of the regular Sunday service (at noon so everyone has time to drive the long distances to get there), and it was surprisingly moving, and Harris was incredibly good and sweet. The whole family and Steve and I went back to a little hotel for tea and sandwiches afterwards, then on to the family home for dinner.
Before I go on, I have to at least try to tell you how unearthly beautiful North Uist is. The reason I say unearthly is because the land feels ancient - like it’s a world out of time. The landscape can’t be considered apart from the wind - I have a feeling that many things on North Uist revolve around the wind. It doesn’t whistle, nothing so thin and insignificant. Our first night there, the wind was booming around the house, and when I woke at 2am it sounded like the most enormous seas were crashing just outside the window. And yet it’s the kind of wild wind that makes you want to get out in it, no matter how cold it is.
The land is gently undulating, with spectacular colours, and not a single tree. I don’t remember seeing even one, and yet the landscape is incredibly beautiful. There are ruined stone crofts everywhere, in various stages of decay, and all over the island, anywhere you go just about, there are small lochs ruffled by the wind, changing with the changing light, either light silk-grey or intensely dark blue. There’s a sort of rust-coloured weed in the lochs, and add that to the grass and the dusty purple, orange and magenta of the heather and you get this incredible strata of emerald, purple, blue, rust and black, then with the pure-white dots of the black-faced sheep under a sky that changes more and faster than any I’ve ever seen. Sometimes the sun is obscured by cloud, but a gap will open up, and then there’s this wonderful effect, as though the light is moving over the land like a gold spotlight. Or there will be complete shadow and yet one place, far away, where the sun is enlivening every colour into vibrant purple and gold and green. Or if the ever-present sea is grey, there’ll be a patch of brilliant silver in one spot, so bright you can’t look at it. I often felt tearful, it was so beautiful.
And seeing Al’s family home, I could understand how it’s a place that would keep drawing you back. The house is set on the side of a small hill, with a further slope up the back of the house. At the bottom of the hill is a small cove, dark-blue water ringed with rusty weed, a rowboat rocking gently in it. We took Harris and climbed up the slope behind the house, and when we got to the top could see the sea stretching to the horizon in one direction, dotted with islands, some of which belong to Al’s dad.
“That’s a bad sheep,” explained Jane, pointing to a lone sheep on an island offshore. “If they’re bad, Al’s dad puts them in the boat and rows them over and they have to stay by themselves for a few days.”
In the other direction in the far distance were the islands of Harris, and on the ridge in the foreground the house Al’s mum grew up in. Behind us was the ruin of the two-room stone ‘old house’, where Al’s dad grew up.
We went inside to the warm kitchen, where Al’s mum was sitting by the Rayburn. I love old ranges, so I asked her about it, assuming it was gas-fired. But no. It was an actual peat-fired range, to which is connected the central heating, the water heating, and where they do all the cooking. It had the most wonderful smell, and I felt like I’d stepped into a dream. We had a lovely dinner and all sat around talking and drinking whiskey.
The day was amazing, partly because it was so special for me to be at Harris's christening and to see Al and Jane, but also because Al’s parents and siblings are such incredible people. They made us so welcome and extended such hospitality that Steve and I were both a bit emotional when we said goodbye last night. All weekend I had a feeling of gratitude that there are places like that and people like that still in the world, that not everything is about cities and pollution and competition - life can also be about love and family and hospitality and the land, and caring for your neighbour. Of course, I’m looking at it from the outside, and there are definitely challenges to living in such an extreme environment. But I felt blessed and privileged to have experienced such a place and met such people.
On the drive home, warmed by my first ever whiskey (!) the night was capped off when we startled a bird sitting on a fence, which launched itself up and flapped across our vision away into the dusk - an enormous white owl with brown markings. Magic.
Now, there’s absolutely no way to capture this place with a crappy digi-cam, but here are a couple of shots to give you an idea. (Can you BELIEVE I forgot to bring camera film?!)
The view from our B&B
At the end of the road in the pic above, looking across the sea.
Jane and Harris and I on the hill above the house, bad sheep on island to the right.
The cove below the family home.
The incredible colours in the landscape, ruined croft on the ridge. (See what I mean about the sun and shadow?)
Steve on a point of rock near the church, while waiting for the christening to start.
An old house on the sea
The christening was held at the end of the regular Sunday service (at noon so everyone has time to drive the long distances to get there), and it was surprisingly moving, and Harris was incredibly good and sweet. The whole family and Steve and I went back to a little hotel for tea and sandwiches afterwards, then on to the family home for dinner.
Before I go on, I have to at least try to tell you how unearthly beautiful North Uist is. The reason I say unearthly is because the land feels ancient - like it’s a world out of time. The landscape can’t be considered apart from the wind - I have a feeling that many things on North Uist revolve around the wind. It doesn’t whistle, nothing so thin and insignificant. Our first night there, the wind was booming around the house, and when I woke at 2am it sounded like the most enormous seas were crashing just outside the window. And yet it’s the kind of wild wind that makes you want to get out in it, no matter how cold it is.
The land is gently undulating, with spectacular colours, and not a single tree. I don’t remember seeing even one, and yet the landscape is incredibly beautiful. There are ruined stone crofts everywhere, in various stages of decay, and all over the island, anywhere you go just about, there are small lochs ruffled by the wind, changing with the changing light, either light silk-grey or intensely dark blue. There’s a sort of rust-coloured weed in the lochs, and add that to the grass and the dusty purple, orange and magenta of the heather and you get this incredible strata of emerald, purple, blue, rust and black, then with the pure-white dots of the black-faced sheep under a sky that changes more and faster than any I’ve ever seen. Sometimes the sun is obscured by cloud, but a gap will open up, and then there’s this wonderful effect, as though the light is moving over the land like a gold spotlight. Or there will be complete shadow and yet one place, far away, where the sun is enlivening every colour into vibrant purple and gold and green. Or if the ever-present sea is grey, there’ll be a patch of brilliant silver in one spot, so bright you can’t look at it. I often felt tearful, it was so beautiful.
And seeing Al’s family home, I could understand how it’s a place that would keep drawing you back. The house is set on the side of a small hill, with a further slope up the back of the house. At the bottom of the hill is a small cove, dark-blue water ringed with rusty weed, a rowboat rocking gently in it. We took Harris and climbed up the slope behind the house, and when we got to the top could see the sea stretching to the horizon in one direction, dotted with islands, some of which belong to Al’s dad.
“That’s a bad sheep,” explained Jane, pointing to a lone sheep on an island offshore. “If they’re bad, Al’s dad puts them in the boat and rows them over and they have to stay by themselves for a few days.”
In the other direction in the far distance were the islands of Harris, and on the ridge in the foreground the house Al’s mum grew up in. Behind us was the ruin of the two-room stone ‘old house’, where Al’s dad grew up.
We went inside to the warm kitchen, where Al’s mum was sitting by the Rayburn. I love old ranges, so I asked her about it, assuming it was gas-fired. But no. It was an actual peat-fired range, to which is connected the central heating, the water heating, and where they do all the cooking. It had the most wonderful smell, and I felt like I’d stepped into a dream. We had a lovely dinner and all sat around talking and drinking whiskey.
The day was amazing, partly because it was so special for me to be at Harris's christening and to see Al and Jane, but also because Al’s parents and siblings are such incredible people. They made us so welcome and extended such hospitality that Steve and I were both a bit emotional when we said goodbye last night. All weekend I had a feeling of gratitude that there are places like that and people like that still in the world, that not everything is about cities and pollution and competition - life can also be about love and family and hospitality and the land, and caring for your neighbour. Of course, I’m looking at it from the outside, and there are definitely challenges to living in such an extreme environment. But I felt blessed and privileged to have experienced such a place and met such people.
On the drive home, warmed by my first ever whiskey (!) the night was capped off when we startled a bird sitting on a fence, which launched itself up and flapped across our vision away into the dusk - an enormous white owl with brown markings. Magic.
Now, there’s absolutely no way to capture this place with a crappy digi-cam, but here are a couple of shots to give you an idea. (Can you BELIEVE I forgot to bring camera film?!)
The view from our B&B
At the end of the road in the pic above, looking across the sea.
Jane and Harris and I on the hill above the house, bad sheep on island to the right.
The cove below the family home.
The incredible colours in the landscape, ruined croft on the ridge. (See what I mean about the sun and shadow?)
Steve on a point of rock near the church, while waiting for the christening to start.
An old house on the sea