Day 6 Portree and the Real Scotland

The view from the window is even better in daylight.
I've actually slept in a postcard.

Having no plans for the day and being a couple of days ahead of schedule, I've decided not to touch the car or drive anywhere.
Breakfast was a real experience - my first confrontation with classic american tourists. Mrs. Mac serves up the full scottish breakfast - and I mean full: porridge, sausages, bacon and eggs, and even black pudding.
To set the scene, I'm sitting alone in the homely dining room and there is an american couple with 2 adult offspring. The meal is punctuated with silence whenever Mrs. Mac enters and constant whingeing the second she leaves. "There's no ketchup." "It's too cold outside." "It's too hot in here." "Don't they have a television." "What's this?". "Do I have to eat that?"
"They call this a harbour - its only a few fishing boats." "I can't understand what she's saying."
My impression is that, at least for this group, they can't see the virtues of what's was in front of them for what it is. They are blinded by all the things they think they can't see!
Mrs. Mac rolls her eyes and smirks as they leave and pauses for a friendly chat the minute they go.

After a couple of hours pottering around Portree's quaint waterfront I hit the shops.
It soon becomes obvious which shops are which. My Islay experience helps.
There are two types of shops. Those with the door open and an unpronounceable gaelic name, and those with the door closed and simply D. Mathieson discreetly written on the window.
The former are the tourist traps, the latter where the locals shop.
This leads to Bluedawn's Rule #1:
The longer the gaelic name on a business, the greater the chance it is run by Yuppie English!

The Americans just wouldn't have "got" the day's highlight:
I was browsing around a "local" shop when my landlady walks in, hat, gloves, overcoat and all - just like Grandma going off to church in the 60s. She formally greets Mr Stewart in gaelic and he formally responds. I'm enchanted by the lilting conversation in a language I don't understand. It really is as if I'm travelling a timewarp to my own Brigadoon.

The Tongadale pub is perfect for several visits during the day - modern traditional music, warm room with fire, cold beer and even wallpaper featuring lighthouses.

Portree is the real Scotland I didn't realize I'd been pining for.
Again, as I seem to have been saying each day so far, the trip has been worth all the anguish, sacrifice and preparation already - and I've 12 more days to go!
I could never have wished for a better day for me!