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.

Sollas, North Uist

A cockerel sounded the dawn this morning, awakening the lapwings and oystercatchers in the nearby grass lands who joined the chorus. The sun once again shone, and once again the wind blew, though the speed a little reduced. We were heading up to North Uist today and had chosen some points of interest we wanted to visit along the way.

Firstly, the ruins of Trinity Temple, a thirteenth century nunnery. Set in a field, populated by sheep, the lambs calling for their mothers as we approached. The building emitted just so much history.

Next the five-thousand-year-old Barpa Langass neolithic chambered cairn. sadly, because of collapse inside we couldn't enter, although John thought Angela could squeeze in. No Way! 

Nearby, the Pobell Fhinn standing stones, easily missed, and unimpressive after the standing stones we'd seen at Callanish on the Isle of Lewis. So, with sightseeing complete it was onto tonight's stop on the north coast.

Wow! A beautiful bay swept out before us, white sand, turquoise water, blue skies. At last, Uists, this is what we'd been looking for. Across the Sound of Harris, we can see the mountains Marge had to cross to come here. It is a very beautiful spot, but very cold, the wind blowing from the north east, hardly ice cream weather. But this'll do wont it, Marge? Let's leave the Uists tomorrow with this view in our memories.

Last night unbeknown to us the northern lights had been visible, and they are due to make an appearance tonight so we'll stay up in the hope of seeing them. Meanwhile there's just us, Marge and the oystercatchers here. So peaceful, just how we like it.

Cula Bay, Benbecula

Marge suffered a battering during the night. The wind didn't relent. Although it wasn't the greatest of overnight spots, we luckily managed to shelter her a little. Despite the unrelenting wind the sun crept out of the clouds and this morning was pleasant enough. We'd read on the 'ever so reliable' internet that there were public showers near the ferry terminal, so we went in search. Result. John, dressed only in essentials went first. He soon returned. An old-style pound coin was required to operate them. It feels remote here, but this was something else. Sorry Marge, your facilities are required. Sitting out the weather for a while we logged into the ferry companies wi-fi, blogged, checked out some overnight locations and the weather. Let's go for it, Marge, hang onto your hat though, it's going to be a rough ride.

First Flora Macdonalds house. She's famous for helping Bonnie Prince Charlie leave Scotland bound for France by rowing him across to the Isle of Skye.

Then, onto the nine-metre granite figure of The Lady of the Isles, The Madonna and child. It was O.K. The view from her better. Then over the causeways that cut through a mosaic of lochs and peat bogs. Marge fighting with the wind all the way.

The Uists are not doing it for us. Whether it's the weather, or the rubbish we don't know. There are old rusting lorries, coaches, farm machinery and well, just rubbish everywhere. It's like being in Scotland's scrapyard. We're sure in the summer, when the wild flowers cover the machair and the heather is purple your eyes will be distracted from the eyesore. 

Cula Bay is tonight's stop. We layered up against the wind, now cold and walked through the sand dunes to a sweeping bay with aquamarine water and incredible stones and pebbles, but sadly yet more rubbish. Come on Uists, you have a day and a half to impress us.

Lochboisdale

 The German lady travelling with her cat left first this morning. We left last. The sun shone, the sea sparkled and the views mesmerised us. We hoped we would never forget this magical area.

Feeling we'd seen the best of Harris and Lewis and being so near the ferry to Uist, along with increased wind speed overnight we drove down to the ferry terminal at Leverburgh where we telephoned the Cal Mac office at Tarbert and changed our crossing tomorrow to four o' clock this afternoon.The lady from Cornwall, next to us last night, arrived and did the same.

With time to kill we drove up to the tiny church of St Clements at Rodel. The church dates back to the sixteenth century and was well worth the visit. The stonework is in remarkable condition considering the elements it is battered by on the cliff top. Several of the clan Macleod are buried there.

As the ferry slipped from its berth we both had that feeling of nervous excitement when you travel somewhere for the first time. We'd become used to Harris and Lewis and its rugged terrain and white sand beaches. We did not really know what to expect of the Uists. 

Our plan on arrival was to drive to the most southerly point at Eriksay, Norse for Eric's Isle, so we could enjoy the views whilst the sun was still shining, as tomorrow rain is forecast.

As beautiful as it was driving the length of North Uist, Benbecula and South Uist via the many causeways, we abandoned the overnight stop. The wind was strong, forecasted to increase. Sometimes life doesn't go too well. Angela really

A cove at Sgarasta Mhor on our way to the ferry, the water was so clear it was hard to imagine it was 6 - 8 feet deep.