Skye’s the limit

I’m going to say, and I think it’s fair to do so, that the average user of a bunkhouse isn’t delicate with fire doors or cognisant of hushed tones. It was a short night’s sleep back in basic digs in Mallaig.

Michelle is a great travel buddy as we can sense each other’s vibe well. Today she’s doing a long walk along a loch and I’m catching the ferry to Armadale in Skye, so I can get an onward bus to Portree and pootle around there for a few hours.

Based on the deserted lounge between Mallaig and Armadale (a grand term for what it was), this is not a popular route for foot passengers. Bus services from Armadale, which is on Skye’s south-eastern Sleat peninsula, to Portree are limited to two per day. Therefore I had time to kill and explored the community, which has a tight knit feel and a store that gave me major Scandi vibes. This whole region does. At the checkout the staff were discussing a whale spotted earlier in the morning. This region would be so excellent to live in if winter wasn’t akin to crawling through a dark wet tunnel of pain for six months.

The bus ride to Portree was fantastic, through a landscape of inlets, churches, bays, cabins, boats and low cloud. Plus all the colourful browns, oranges and greens exposed by the low tide. The scenery was worth the cost of the Day Rider ticket alone.

By Scottish island standards Portree is very large. It has at least two Co-ops. There is a very cute old quay with colourful buildings, a useful array of shops and a feature known as The Lump, a rocky outcrop with good views. It was chilly and I’m not sure whether the temperature ever gets above 12 degrees. Judging by today, it’s the kind of place where people still sit out in 12 degree drizzle in great numbers on Somerled Square as this qualifies as comparatively good weather.

I walked to the outskirts of town close to where the appetisingly named Scorrybreac Trail begins, and plonked down on a quiet stretch of beach for food. That was my favourite part of the day.

I reversed the bus and ferry journey to get back to Mallaig where I ate dinner on a bench at the train station, which is right in the middle of town. Only after chowing down did I remember the station doubles as a seagull nursery and is more like a scene from The Birds than somewhere you can go for a quiet bite.