Which were great! We went up to the farm on Friday after Bertie got the all-clear from the vet (and more biscuits). Had a great few days on the farm, including a lovely dinner out with Andrew's folks and his aunt and uncle. I got lots of presents and so did Andrew, so we had a little opening session every day. There was also a small drama involving Andrew's other aunt and the Cawdor estate drama -- for a few ghastly minutes she thought she was to be evicted from her cottage, which the estate owns, but it was a misunderstanding. Phew.
Sunday we left for Skye, had a great drive there, stopping for a late lunch at the railway station cafe at Plockton. The bridge tolls have to be the friendliest anywhere -- the attendant sweetened the £4.70 charge with a handful of biscuits for Bertie!
Our first stop was the B&B at Eabost West -- very comfortable.
View from the lounge (same as from the bedrooms):
Tasty breakfast too!
We had a good walk to wear that off, to the Coral Beach near Dunvegan Castle. There was a "no dogs" sign, but we decided it really meant "no terriers". Bertie behaved himself perfectly, apart from eating sheep droppings (ewww!) After a quick cup of tea in Dunvegan, during which it rained, we headed south to um, er, a place near Carbost, long Gaelic name where we scrambled around on cliff tops in a cold wind. Brrr. Next port of call was the Talisker whiskey distillery, where we were disappointed to learn that the next tour wasn't until 4.30pm, too late for us. But a group of Norwegian submariners just happened to be there having a private tour, so we tagged along with them. Very interesting, lots of fascinating smells and sights. We weren't allowed to take photos because of the firefighters' strike.
Then it was back to Moira's B&B to wash and dress and walk the dog. Then, hurrah! We were off to the Three Chimneys for our birthday treat (a major treat for me, as Andrew picked up the tab!! What a guy!)
It was the most extraordinary route to an award-winning restaurant, driving for miles down a single-track road keeping an eye out for straying sheep. But well worth the effort -- the food was divine. Here are some snaps:
My starter: Skye seafood croustade with scallops and lobster, mmmmmmm
Andrew's starter: black pudding with mushrooms and apple. It looks odd but he says it tasted sensational.
My main course: lamb, perfectly cooked, on leek mash with roasted root veg and a port wine sauce.
Andrew's main course: Scallops and monkfish, luscious.
We also had half a dozen raw Skye oysters each, fresh and delicious. First time I've had raw oysters for a long time.
I didn't take photos of the deserts because by then other diners had arrived, but I had a dreamy chocolate tart, which managed to be creamy, rich and light all at the same time, and Andrew had marmalade steamed pud and drambuie custard. The wine was a German sauterne, just off dry, very nice.
We were full as ticks after all that! It was the best restaurant meal I've ever had, wonderful.
Andrew was falling over, he drank so much ... no, he's trying to be artistic. "There's something wrong with your chin," he said. Yes, the famous family chin, glowing away roundly.
The next day we moved to our next accommodation, at Flodigarry, but first we went off down to Elgol, another looooong single-track road. At one point it was guarded by a fierce highland cow. We had to shout at her to get her to move. Bertie was very impressed by her horns and didn't even THINK about barking at her.
Then black north to Flodigarry, stopping for lunch at the Aros Experience at Portree and for a steep walk at the Old Man of Storr. I stopped before the top -- ran out of steam -- but Bertie and Andrew pushed on up to the Old Man. It was a rush because it gets dark at about 3.45.
The hotel was great, a real treat. It's quite expensive in season, but at this time of year it's almost cheap -- £35 each. There's a vast lounge with several sofas, a grand piano and a roaring log fire, a swanky dining room and a fairly scuzzy bar. There were hardly any other guests, so we got to have our bar meals in the dining room and had the lounge to ourselves. Bertie wasn't allowed down there, but he was exhausted so didn't mind too much.
Pics:
The hotel was built as a private house by a descendent of Flora Macdonald -- she used to live in a cottage nearby.
These were everywhere -- big mice, dressed up. Bertie was creeped out by them. So was I.
The bar is in the battlemented white bit you can see in the view of the house, on the right. It has a Moroccan theme -- the original owner lived there -- but the hotel owners haven't let that influence the decor.
Meanwhile, back in the lounge...
It was comfortable in a tatty, well-worn way.
Well it's 6pm and I've got to have a shower and walk the dog before I go out. I'll finish this later on ... maybe tomorrow night at work. Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment