Island fling

From the safety and warmth of the campervan thingy (ok, a Fiat Ducato van) we could have a great wake up view from the carpark in Tobermory, with an information centre that remarkably gives you information. For example. "No, ignore that sign, do stay here, no one will tell you to go or tow you away, you can use the facilities and the shop over there that does fishing trips will be open at 10am tomorrow morning... " Meanwhile interactive displays about whales kept Little Agu interactive. That's the story in Tobermory. Ben and I watched the rain lashing down and stayed grubby til the morning.

The weather was too rough for fishing, so we decided to head further North (huh?) to Mallaig, where I thought there had to be something fishy going on. It seems not. You have to go to Kyle! We had a hilarious time booking a ferry crossing for the next morning, having to confess that M is infact an international spy.

We went back to Arisaig to a campsite where the owner recognised me and seemed a little shocked it was about fifiteen years since we saw each other (for one night, but it was true, I recognized her). Another idyllic place plus sunset. I swam in the beautiful bays until it was time for a reviving g and t infront of a fire by the beach and watched the cows come down for their funny rituals with their calves. I think it was all about getting them to wash their feet, but it took hours of careful placement of aunty and mother.

The boys did their thing, Ben was waving, but it looked like it was a Highland fling.