Scottish island experience

She just had to choose a remote Scottish island to visit a friend; who couldn?t put us up because there wasn?t enough space; who lived so far from the only hotel that without a car it?d be tricky to be able to meet up. Since we couldn?t afford to take the car on the ferry (parking at the port was still incredibly expensive) and her friend didn?t have one then it was unlikely we would meet up without incurring further expenses from hiring taxis. And that?s if there were any. We were venturing into the unknown, an unknown friend in an unknown set of circumstances. The only thing we were sure of that the only place to stay was a ridiculously luxury hotel that had eaten four-fifths of our budget.

I suggested calling the whole thing off. This proved to be a strategic error. She kicked off - you just couldn?t let your friends down apparently. I could see she had her doubts but she was using my lack of timing to channel that into a general cumulative stress release that resulted in me feeling remarkably foolish, followed by a keen desire to be quiet and never give any type of opinion likely to cause even the slightest conflict. We were definitely going to a remote Scottish island large enough to need a car to get around but with out a car and therefore no reasonable means of actually meeting her friend.

Even if it meant spending our entire time waiting around in a large luxury hotel in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the sea to catch a glimpse of this elusive friend.

The irony was I had always wanted to visit a Scottish island. The mountainous scenery and rocky shores and wildlife seemed unattainable ? a far away place that if I?d gone to I would have never returned.

But this visit?s background emotional context seemed to throw my desire to engage in the culture and geographical splendour of this ancient land and seascape, it seemed to hammer it down into the base gravel of her road, her interests, her unshakeable determination to visit a friend who hardly seemed in need of a visit.

The weather must have changed a thousand times as we drove north. Weather fronts swung in, sun, rain, wind, hitting us each time with a different flavour of feeling. Engaging with nature this way was mesmerising and cathartic. Crossing the border and winding our way through the Scottish mountains sent our spirits up a level.

We weren?t heading for a luxury hotel in Paris or a luxury hotel in New York, but a rather pompous sounding one in a land that didn?t need to shout or self-congratulate itself. The wilds of Scotland hardly needed to speak for themselves. It was like a dream.

600 miles from home, a tiny ferry chugged us across a strip of sea to the Island. My thoughts of despair at not having the security blanket of a car disappeared as a soft Atlantic breeze caught our hair as we took our first footsteps on the quay.

Then a cute little trailer truck train thingy pulled up and offered us a free lift to the one and only hotel on the Island! Immediately we felt welcomed to what I had previously thought would be a hostile foreboding place. 10 miles long and five miles wide, the Island was sparsely populated and it turned out we were at the other end from her friend?s place. At least we were getting a lift to the hotel.

The exterior of the hotel was grand and imposing, like a castle. Maybe it was a castle. Oh, it is a castle, that?s used as a hotel. Fine. She smiled as the sun briefly shone through the clouds that were now shooting across the sky in the increasing breeze. This may not have been a luxury hotel in Rome but there was something uniquely romantic about this place.

The trailer truck trundled through the large oak gates and into a cobbled courtyard; we entered the main hotel doors, and found ourselves in a large lobby reception area, a real wood fire crackling away at one end. The warmth of this large, high ceiling room felt a continuity of the islands welcome.

It was now 7 hours and 30 minutes since I last felt any trepidation or gloom about going away on a seemingly pointless and expensive holiday just for the sake of meeting a friend who wasn?t even sure they could meet us.

But when it turned out her friend didn?t even know where we were staying and wasn?t answering the telephone I sulked in the grandiose bedroom that was costing us considerably more than the outstanding bills on the kitchen table back home.

I rarely think about the future, because if I add up everything from the present and multiply by it by my expectations then look back and see if that?s happened in the previous two years it doesn?t change, just goes on as a constant. Even if I dispense with my expectations so as to avoid disappointment I?m still struggling to maintain the constant.

In the 1960?s a man walked on the moon and people dreamed of a free and progressive future. Today it seems all this has resulted in is our ability to use computers to switch electricity suppliers. Fascinating.

Our room is on the third floor, it feels and indeed is, high up. I look out across the Atlantic Ocean; white horses appear and disappear on the swell. The weather is edging towards a storm. Rain starts to patter against the tiny windows. Just yards from the castle grounds a long sandy beach trails away round a small headland.

When I reach it I revel in the fact that I am the only person on the beach. I run, walk, stop, change direction, and I?m getting soaking wet. She?s gone to see her friend, courtesy of the chugging trailer truck thingy. I can?t afford to stay forever in a large luxury hotel, but I?m going to find a way to stay on this island forever.