12:59 pm

Today is expensive! First, a bus ride to Portree (£3…return), then a bus to Dunvegan castle (£5+£4.50 entry fee), then horseback riding (!) (£10). My rides to Portree and Dunvegan have allowed me to see a fair part of the bonnie Isle of Skye. Dunvegan is bonnie, also, but dry.

I saw snails in their shells! I picked one up. Hate to say it, but they’re gross, worse than slugs, I think !

5:20 pm

What a terrific afternoon!!! It’s about 3 miles to the Portree stables from the town centre. About ½ mile on my way, a lady offered me a lift—she was the owner of the stable! On the way back, I’d walked about ¼ mile when two little old ladies and a not so little old man offered me a lift to the outskirts of town. Instead of walking 6 miles, I only walked about one!

Well… I didn’t get my canter through the moors. Instead, I got something more unexpected, more frightening, and more exhilarating than I could ever have imagined: my first real jump. The horse (a headstrong but manageable purebred silvery, Highland garron male named Toby) was supposed to pick his way across the stream. However, the horse in front decided to jump (luckily, the rider was very experienced) and mine followed suit before I could stop him. Obviously, I wasn’t prepared for the jump, so I was none too graceful but the experienced riders said I handled Toby very well. During the jump I didn’t have time to be frightened. The landing was something else! I did manage a fast trot through a heather moor.

So, another crazy dream almost realised. If I’ve any cash left in two weekends, I’ll go out again. Amazing how your legs stiffen up after only an hour of riding, it’s very much like getting off a boat after a day at sea, your legs get very wobbly! Considering that I’m ‘trained’ in Western saddle riding, I think I adapted rather well to English. That, combined with a year (at least!) out of the saddle, meant I wasn’t totally up to par, but once I got an understanding with Toby about who was boss everything was more or less okay.

I’m not too proud of my dismount, though! I got a foot caught in a stirrup, so I basically slid/tumbled off. But, I didn’t fall flat on my back or tookus, but rather on my own two feet, so I guess I still have some dignity left ! After, I gave Toby a bruised apple I’ve been lugging since Inverness. He was thrilled. So thrilled, in fact, he slobbered all over me and tried to get inside my pocket himself!

But, it was wonderful, riding through a heather moor perched on the back of a surefooted hill garron. There were so many sheep and rabbits, too. Road apples aren’t the only droppings to worry about in these parts!

The most bizarre thing was the weather. This morning, it was freezing and raining. It had been going on like this for hours when I stepped out of Dunvegan castle. I stepped into the loo (The Scots unabashedly use ‘toilet’. Don’t bother asking for the ‘restroom’ or ‘bathroom’. They’ll say the ‘toilet is right over there’!) for two whole minutes, came out, and the sun was shining!!!

So, I had incredible weather for my trail ride despite unimaginable windspeeds ! It was perfect: rolling moors, the occasional hill to climb, a few streams—and greenness, as far as the eye can see, an emerald greenness dotted by the woody-brown greenness of the heather held together by a cyan sky streaked with pure white cotton candy clouds. Heaven? No, Scotland. The land I dreamt about exists. I won’t go so far as to claim that I am ‘home’, but I could live here, and be happy. I have rarely seen a land as beautiful as Skye, a country as diverse in its landscapes as Scotland, and a dream in my waking state. For I have dreamed of this land, never imagining that something so near to perfection could actually exist.

Neither photographs nor words are sufficient in explaining how I feel about this land. Neither do justice to Alba. Two weeks from today, already, my trip will be over. For once, I am not bitterly disappointed about leaving. Why? 1) I’ll be back soon enough; 2) Scotland is coming home with me, in my heart and in my head. I’ll feel loneliness as I watch her lush greenness disappear from under me as I head west across the wide and mighty Atlantic. But, I won’t be leaving a part of me behind as I have in other places. You see, a part of me has always been here, though I never knew it. I’ve found it, am all the richer for it, and will leave it behind when I leave. I won’t be losing a part of who I was, rather a part of who I could be.

I’ll have so many stories to tell as I arrive in Montreal, but also so many secrets to keep. Scotia has made it clear that I must keep a part of her hidden in my heart. So, I’ll return with a knowing smile, a lighter heart, say ‘It was wonderful’ or ‘C’était merveilleux’ and leave it at that. There are a chosen few who will get to hear details and perhaps two who will get to read most of this journal. But I’ll be the only one to know what really happened here in Scotland.

6:40 pm.

I don’t care what anyone says: a man in a kilt is a man in a skirt!