#lentphotos - 20 - a reflection

cuilidh

Cuilidh (not to be confused with ceilidh) is a gaelic word meaning retreat (also treasury, sanctuary, secret hiding place).  The Scotsman has been learning gaelic ever since he became aware of the North Uist connection.  It is such a marvellously rich language, reliant much on oral tradition - hence the seemingly multiple meanings of the same word.

From the meanings of the word cuilidh it would seem to be a good place to reflect whether that is in an actual physical place or internally within the heart.  Likewise reflection means different things to different people.  It might be thinking about something read in a book, seen in an art gallery, listened to in a concert hall, ruing a team's poor match performance, an image seen in a mirror, or a visual reflection in water.  

If Julie Fowlis looks familiar it is because she recently sang on the soundtrack to the Disney/Pixar film Brave.  Mainly she sits just under the mainstream radar of popular folk music and Brave aside she sings entirely in gaelic.  Julie also hails from North Uist and one critic says  'the beauty of her music is like trying to grab the Highland mist.'

#lentphotos - 08 - a focus

A little poetic licence...

our trusty ford focus

(parked up at Cnoc an Torrain, North Uist, Outer Hebrides, Sept 2009)

Cnoc an Torrain is the village where the Scotsman's grandmother was born.  It took a little persistence to find because we forgot to take the up to date map, did not have a sat nav and road signage is evidently not a priority expenditure in this corner of the globe.

The village consists of no more than 30 houses, so we parked up on the cattle grid and set off in search of people.  

We encountered more midges.  

Funnily enough although this is Scotland where there's way more midges and sheep than people, it's quite unusual to see many of the little critters on the island. Due to frequent windy conditions the wee beasties spend the majority of their time on the ground.

The only humans we saw were two builders, who came from South Uist, therefore did not know much about Cnoc an Torrain itself.  

However since that visit we have discovered that the Scotsman does indeed have living relatives in the village (not that we really need an excuse to go back to somewhere as beautiful and remote as this.)

Only question is, when we do, will we be travelling in the trusty ford focus?

#lentphotos - 07 - quiet

crofter's cottage

Sollas, North Uist, Outer Hebrides

I make no apologies for posting a number of photos of North Uist on the blog (there will be more).  

This is a well-known scene on the island which encapsulates the breathtaking peace and quiet of the surroundings and is frequently used in tourist information.  We were fortunate on the day we visited that the weather was favourable and therefore the photo opportunities were good.

Its picture postcard tranquility disguises the fact that real, every-day life is hard for North Uist inhabitants.  The peat stack against the outbuilding will disappear during the winter months; it will be used as fuel for warmth during the harsh winter months.

For the visitor it is a quiet place to wait, to drench thoughts in the expanse and restfulness of the view, to taste saltiness on the wind, with the occasional interjection of a seabird's cry.

this blogging thing

So I have been thinking and procrastinating about doing this for ages, this blogging thing.  Mulling over ideas, thinking who might read, does there need to be yet another blog out there.  I have absolutely no idea where it will lead if indeed anywhere but here goes..

Dipping your toes in the water can be a variable experience on the shores of island Britain.  With its diverse geology, unpredictable climate and hidden elements below the water line, appearances can be deceptive.  But you have to enter the water obtain the fullest sensory experience and if you just look you will never know what it feels like.

When our eldest was a toddler we lived near the South Coast and took trips to nearby Bournemouth. The best time of the year was September, after the schools had gone back and the crowds of tourists had left.  1989 happened to be a glorious Indian summer and therefore ideal to take this curious young child for his first sea experiences.  The prolonged warm weather and the shallow edges of the shoreline served to make the sea deliciously refreshing and made this family paddling experience a joyful time.

Several years later when our son was on the cusp of the teenage years and had been joined by a younger brother and sister, we spent a few days on the Devon/Cornwall border.  Beaches were quite shingly and the weather not conducive to spending long periods sitting around, so we were all in and out of the water frequently. I was standing in the water near some rocks and all of a sudden I was knocked off my feet by a more forceful wave and onto the rocks.  Sheepishly I got to my feet and started to walk out of the sea nursing a bruised ego.  However I noticed the water turning pink as I got to the shallows and realised my right big toe had been gashed by the rock.  Being in the relatively cool water had numbed any pain, so the first realisation of any injury was visual.  It was not long before I was yelping in pain and the dashing young lifeguard came running over to see if he could do anything!  Handily it was flip flop weather for the few days following, so the wound healed relatively quickly.

My husband (The Scotsman)'s grandmother hails from North Uist in the Outer Hebrides and in 2009 we were privileged to be able to take the long haul up there to see for ourselves the ancestral land (to take the shortest sea crossing entails travelling right across Skye to catch a ferry).  North Uist is the flattest island in the archipelago. This makes for a general lack of trees on the landscape and those that remained had the appearance of hunch-backed and knarled elderly widows, defiant in their battle to stay in the ground against fierce, Atlantic-borne winds.
Another effect of these powerful ocean breezes is to grind the sand on the shore so fine that in the sunlight it looks dazzling white.  Indeed if the sun is out on one of the rare days, walking on the beach it is easy to imagine that you are on an exotic Caribbean island, until a sharp wisp of wind slashes across your face and you realise that it is at least 20 degrees cooler.  As inviting as the shoreline looks it is impossible to stay paddling in the sea for much longer than 10 minutes at a time, because despite its breathtaking beauty and dazzling azure hue, the water it is just so cold.