30/8 Islay’ve You
6:30 is shown on the phone. It should have rung at 6:15. The day starts off well. Or rather, the far‑too‑early morning. Luckily I already packed last night and only have to throw on clothes. There’s a one‑hour morning ride over Skye to the ferry terminal. That has its charm at this time, but I have no patience. I just stare at the GPS to see if the arrival time still matches the check‑in time. It does, to the minute. Off to the ferry and first relax again. Today’s destination is the Kennacraig ferry terminal, to reach the most beautiful of all islands, at least for whisky connoisseurs that’s what it is. As a strategic travel destination, Islay wasn’t exactly the first choice, because it’s more of a dead end and requires taking the ferry twice from and to the same point. A short conversation with Bernde, in which he nudged me north, and a few minutes later I held a ticket for Islay in my hand, virtually speaking. In the old days without phones and internet stuff you would just go to the harbor and let yourself be surprised. Modern technology makes many things easier, but it has also drastically changed travel. Paper maps and “Mom, I’m off now” are no longer a thing today. I’m also not the type who throws the tech aside and pulls out a paper map again. I could skip the travel blog during the trip, but I don’t want to miss the extra benefit of spontaneously researched additional destinations along the way. That’s life.
Where did I leave off? Ah, ferry terminal towards whisky, um, Islay. The route offers no alternatives today, so I mostly have to follow the main road. Through the outlying Highlands, past a Harry Potter bridge – the worst tourist spot, by the way – and increasingly towards the sun. One might think spring is coming. After a coffee break, part two of this morning’s episode follows. My GPS doesn’t count down when the bike is stopped. When I get moving again, the GPS works correctly and on the right side, where the arrival time is displayed, suddenly reads: “That’s tight, super tight!!!”. The AWO now has to give everything, and so do I, fully loaded not even that light on the continuously paved roads, but still with some ruts and unevenness. Moreover, the route is mostly dry, but behind every curve a little stream can cross the road. In maximum tilt you don’t survive that long. It strains you terribly, keeping concentration high for 2 hours straight. It’s not about speeding, but the extremely winding route and poorly visible bends. Let’s say it was a bit tricky here and there, but at the ferry terminal I was greeted with “You come to the right time!” Yes, Islay, I’m coming.
Port Ellen is exactly the little town that I associate in my mind with places that have the name “Port” prefixed. My chosen wild‑camping spot is less than 3 km away. I don’t even put on gloves thanks to the finally warming sun. A few campers are on the meadow near the water. I can stretch out completely forward and just enjoy myself. About Islay, the view, the AWO that doesn’t give up, and especially the privilege to be here and be able to.
