Portree, Isle of Skye

We couldn't believe no one else had joined Marge last night.

The spot was so beautiful, right on the water's edge.

The sun eventually set, a sunset of the like we'd never seen before. We stayed up until just before 1 am in the hope of seeing the northern lights, but the cloud just would not clear for them to be seen. So, we've been tired today for nothing.

Our sailing back across to the Isle of Skye was at 4pm, so after doing some chores, and John filling the large pothole in the entrance to the parking area, we decided to visit Berneray West Beach.

On the sailing over to Tarbert Angela had overheard a couple talking and, in their opinion, this was 'the beach' in the area. Oh, my goodness! Spectacular. The Maldives in Scotland. Sorry Luskentyre on Harris, you are no longer our favourite beach. Three miles of white sand made up of broken shells accessed through the machair was unbelievable. Large sand dunes towered above the beach and our feet sunk into the sand as if it were deep snow. What a find. What an end to our visit to these outer Hebridean islands. 

Angela, always one to arrive somewhere in good time, ensured Marge was first at the ferry terminal, which meant she was the chosen campervan of the day to be searched. The cheery port official was looking for fuel. Apparently, it has been known for vans to be found carrying large amounts of fuel in jerry cans. Probably because fuel here is around 15p a litre cheaper than on the mainland. Marge passed as innocent we took a walk around Lochmaddy, the 'big town' of the island. To us, a large village.

Just after four o' clock the ferry slipped its berth and the islands where we'd spent the last eight nights became lost in the distance. Would we ever return. Who knows, there are so many places to visit and sights to see in the world. As we approached the Isle of Skye our trip felt like a dream, now we were back in familiar territory. Events on the ship however were a nightmare. the holding tank for the toilets seemed to be overflowing. Or was it seawater? No one say 'Titanic'.

So here we are back in Portree with two French vans. The one next to us has their television blasting out. We miss you Outer Hebrides, your beautiful beaches, solitude, peacefulness and fields of lambs that made us smile every day.