Day 5 "My Hieland Hame"

My plans had scheduled 4 nights on the Waternish Peninsula, based at Hallin.
That is not going to happen.
I haven't come all this way to be sneered at by an arrogant English poonce in the heart of the object of the trip.
What to do?
Should I try and do everything in one day or head off to friendlier parts of Scotland?

At dawn I sneak over to Geary and soon see that it wouldn't matter how long I spent there the photographs will not improve. This place really is remote.

Next stop is the Trumpan Kirk. I know at least 2 ancestors are buried here but they do not have headstones. It's quiet, a bit gloomy and I'm alone. It's a bit surreal among the ruins and graves.
The Outer Isles of Uist and Harris are shadows on the horizon as dawn breaks.

A few miles further back I get good views of Loch Bay from Lusta over Stein.
I find a restored crofter's house and the ruins of several cottages alongside the fast flowing burn.
I'm sure I've seen the daily views of my McLeod ancestors.

Back to the B&B for a barely digestible breakfast and to settle the account.
I'm filled with a sense of outrage that such a person as my host owns a piece of my heritage - the almost mystical Isle of Skye that my Great Grandparents, my Grandparents and my mother have passed on to me - and doesn't understand it in his ignorance and arrogance.
It's taken less than 24 hours for me to decide what my great great grandfather decided after 24 years- there's no point in staying here once the english take over.
With a bittersweet combination of elation and disappointment at reaching the pilgrimage's goal I decide to compress the 4 days activities into one as I drive across the Fairy Bridge on the way to Dunvegan.

If anywhere has been held up as the core of our family's scottish heritage it is Dunvegan Castle - ancestral home of the MacLeod of MacLeod.
There is a photo of me as a 4yo with Dame Flora MacLeod taken in Australia in 1957. The concept of the Clan and the Castle and the Isle of Skye have accompanied me through a Presbyterian childhood and around 40 years of kilts, playing bagpipes and country dancing.

It's drizzling as I arrive at Dunvegan Castle's carpark at 10am on Sunday morning.
I'm anxious to get the obligatory visit out of the way so that I can get organised and find somewhere to sleep for the night.
The gate to the Castle grounds is open but on reaching the doors a neat sign says that the Castle itself doesn't open until 11 am. My Skye curse continues!
After 10 seconds I decide to stroll around the extensive gardens to fill in the hour. Absolutely alone I explore the gardens, the waterfall and the loch - intermittently sheltering when the rain is at its heaviest.
Its absorbing.

At 11:01 I enter the imposing entrance and am greeted with "Are you a MacLeod?"
My "I'm not sure" response leads to a quandary over which page of the visitors book I'm to sign.
I explain about my great great grandparents and the 1957 photo with Dame Flora.
By chance, I'm told, the current clan chieftain John MacLeod of McLeod (Dame Flora's Grandson) is "in residence". But he's at church at the moment.
An hour is spent absorbing every detail of the public areas of Dunvegan Castle when a chap in a kilt comes up to me - "Mr Dunne - I'm John MacLeod - Welcome to Dunvegan!"
He takes me into his private office and I explain my heritage and the photo.
Generously, he writes a note for my mother and after half an hour says "I'm in a rush -let's get a photo".
We go outside and, as she is taking the photo, a staff-member asks "Are you a MacLeod?"
J.M.of M. responds on my behalf with "He's more of a MacLeod than I am!"

Despite myself, I float out to the carpark.
I can't help being exhiliarated.
50 years of romantic legends of McLeods and Dunvegan, 12,000 miles away, have a physical effect on me. I'm sure the tears come from the heritage and recognition, not the 100 pounds blown in the gift shop!

But, its 1pm and I have no idea where I'll stay the night. I phone a researcher who had done some work for me and am invited to Claigan for afternoon tea. The narrow road from Dunvegan is magic - McLeod's Tables and Loch Dunvegan are on the left as I dodge magnificent Highland Cattle who think they own the road.
Mr. and Mrs MacInnes are delightful, and refreshingly scottish, and I gain more insights into the language and people.
They couldn't understand me referring to the native language as "gay-lic".
"Oh, you mean "gar-lic"". I ask if the language is pronounced "gar-lic" then what do you call the vegetable I put in my spaghetti?
"That's easy - it's "garrrrr-lic"!

3pm. as I return past Dunvegan and an hour before dark. I decide to head to Portree, the most populous centre on Skye. Surely Ill be able to get a reasonably priced room for the night there.
Portree's TIC is closed when I arrive @ 4 pm. I see a hotel and am greeted by an Australian (!) receptionist. As I'm not anxious to spend another $au250 on a room she suggests I try the string of B&B's up the hill.
At the first I try, a snobby Englishman tells me they "don't do" single rooms as he slams the door. At the second an English lady apologises for not having a room available and suggests I try "Mrs.MacPherson's" 2 doors down.
Tentatively I knock on the plain door of the plain building. It's opened by a stern scotswoman, Mrs. MacPherson, who apologises for only having one single room available and that she'd have to charge me 25 "poonds", but that would include breakfast. She is the same as the various scottish grandmothers of my childhood who melts and smiles when she realises I'm an Australian as she welcomes me into her home. She apologizes for the tiny room - it has a single bed and not much else - but I don't care. And I can smoke!
I'm exhausted, frustrated with the English spoiling "my" Skye, in emotional turmoil, yet ecstatic over the visit to Dunvegan.
I toss my bags on the bed.
Then I open the window and look out.

I'm in Paradise!