SACRED SCOTLAND [4]: LEAVING THE GROUP
Creepy Sconsor Lodge With Abusive Bad Tempered Owner, The Isle Of Skye, Scotland.
Trouble At Sconsor Lodge
We arrived at Uig on The Isle of Skye late in the afternoon. That night we stayed at a hideous accommodation, run by an ill tempered and hostile chef/owner. The old building was set on the edge of a large body of water and was described as an ex-hunting lodge. Jamie took the opportunity to get drunk again. After a few drinks he then turned to me, even though I was not engaging with him, and remarked, "you are the kind of woman, who would have sex with Jack The Ripper." I didn't respond. I had known before going on this trip, that it was going to be abnormal. Months later, I was to find put that Gothic Images Tours, was not licensed. It was just an internet site, and most likely another way, for Jamie to support his drug and alcohol addicton.
The room was okay, even with a lumpy bed and a shower that ran either too hot or too cold. During dinner I was served sour tomatoes in my food. Not wanting to cause a scene, I quietly asked for something to deaden the taste. So the wife of the owner brought out a jar of peanut butter, half used, from her daughter's fridge in a flat out the back. She then slopped it onto my plate in front of the group with a large spoon. I watched dumbfounded. I ate the meal with trepidation, then was sick during the night. Half awake, I sensed that the room was packed with many men who looked down at me with unblinking eyes. Then, as I woke, the voice of a young man cried out, help me! The place was obviously haunted. The next morning I asked the owner that I only pay for the second night's accommodation, but not for another meal.
He immediately acted like he had been insulted and shouted me down. Then he stormed out and went upstairs. When I went up to collect my stuff for the day, I found that the double window had been flung open, so that rain came in on all my belongings that were laid out on the bed. I then met two other guests from Ireland in the foyer, who said that one night was enough and that they were getting out of there. I told Jamie that I would not be staying there the second night and that he could book me into a place down the road. But Jamie refused, even though it was my money he was using. So far on the trip, I had put up with him drink driving, not stopping anywhere I wanted to, vegan meals had not been provided as promised, and a number things that were advertised on the website had not happened. Enough was enough. I finally asserted my right, as a paying customer, to be treated with respect.
Dunvegan Castle And The Dying Lamb
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That day Jamie was driving the group to a place called Dunvegan castle. What made the place unique, is that the owners, [the clan of Macleod], had apparently won all their wars by flying the fairy flag. On the way there, I saw a lamb on the side of the road. It was not dead. Jamie drove straight by it. I said, "The lamb is injured. We've got to stop." But he had refused. |
Sheep And Lambs Amble Along The Roads In The Highlands Of Scotland.
I insisted that we stop for the lamb, but was ignored. Once we reached Dunvegan castle, I felt sick. I was no longer interested in this trip. I thought, what is the point of all this spiritual stuff, when a car load of people could leave a lamb to die on the side of the road? I said in the car, "Who cares about this when a lamb is dying!" It began to rain. Once at the castle, I went to the ticket office and told them of the situation. They took it seriously and said they were calling a farmer, who knew that section of road, to go and pick it up. Meanwhile, Jamie had gotten into trouble over another money issue. I did not like the Dunvegan castle. It was meant to be fairy, but whatever had been painted into the eyes of the original family, of that place was less than loving. It was an old glaring malice that followed one from room to room.
That evening Jamie refused to take me to another accommodation. Instead, he told me to go an buy some vegan food in a healthfood shop in Portree, where the group was allowed to wander around for an hour, before heading back to Sconsor Lodge. While there, he got drunk and then turned up at the healthfood shop, stumbling around and knocking things over, so that one of the male customers was going to beat him up. Once we got back to the Sconsor Lodge, an argument broke out and I was left standing outside in the rain, with Jamie holding all my money needed for the rest of the trip. He wasn't giving any back. I ended up storming off and then I hitchhiked to an accomodation down the road. They found me a place to stay, with a kindly old woman, in a local Bed and Breakfast, who ran me a bubble bath and served me porridge with salt the next morning. But not before I had engaged in an all night battle, with a dozen toppling teddy bears, along a stale floral bedspread. I would head to the Isle of Iona, alone and independant of the group, the next day.
On The Way To Iona
I got up at first light and wheeled my suitcase into the small town of Portree. I was soon picked up by a business man, who told me that he would drive me to the ferry terminal. On the way, he told me some interesting facts about Skye and I found out that what Jamie George had refered to as 'burial mounds', was a naturally ocurring landscape formation signifying glacial activity on the island. It didn't suprise me that he would be making things up, or simply saying whatever came to mind. I now realised that it was because he didn't actually know anything. Such are the dangers of booking trips online, where every man and his dog could set up a website.
Once at the terminal, I was seen by Doris, whose mouth dropped wide open, in a show of horror and dismay, that I had turned up. I remembered her from night before, standing up in her room behind her curtain, silently looking down at the argument in which Jamie and I were engaged, like some character out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I was relieved to be away from the group and talking to other people that were friendly. It was a sense of excitment and freedom that I carried with me for the remainder of the day. I got off at the ferry terminal in Mallaig.
Once all the cars, including the black car containing the group, left the ferry, the place became quickly deserted. Having no transport, I began walking with my suitcase towards Fort William. I then tried to hitch by an old stone bridge, in the thickening rain, now well out over the ocean. A bus ended up picking me up and giving me a lift to Fort William. The driver didn't even want to take the fare, telling me to fix him up later. I was very pleased to get into that bus. Along the winding but steady route, on the Shiels Bus to Fort William, I felt cocooned by a presence greater than myself, like the entire bus had an invisible force field around it. It felt like being drawn in close to the will of another. This created a tremendous sense of security, that felt like I was being held and observed, inside an invisible bubble.
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Once in Fort William, I hailed a taxi to Oban. The driver was thrilled with the fare, so it was a great trip, with him in high spirits, suddenly breaking into poetry, about an old Scottish battle, in which "the Mackenzies and the Mackays fought so valiantly." Again, this was no accident, that I was placed in a position to hear this, as it now appeared to be, that the clans of Mackenzie and Mackay, had shared in a common past. |
A Rainy Summer At The Fort William Terminal In Scotland.
Earlier on, while staying back in Edinburgh, I had come across the tartans of our clans. After reading what was written on the back of a bookmark about our clans, I thought, why not get him a gift? In regards to the Mackay clan it said, 'with a strong hand.' Whereas the Mackenzie clan saying was, 'I shine not burn.' I thought that this was appropriate and so I bought it for him. Just because someone was dead and considered evil, that didn't mean he might not like kindness or acknowledgment.
View From The Terminal A Ferry From Oban To Craignure On Mull
While waiting for the ferry at Oban, I was told to get up and walk to the other side of the terminal. I did this immediately and when I looked out the window, there was the a ship with the words; 'nan' and 'Eilean'. My dead nan's name was Elieen. I took this as continuing reassurance from my guides that she was okay. I boarded the ferry from Oban to Craignure on Mull. I then caught the bus across Mull to Fionphort Ferry terminal. The roof of the bus was leaking as we went through deep green valleys of mist, appearing in and out of fogs, that were warmed with summer and fanned by ocean currents, to rise steadily up alongside the mountains. It felt like a pilgrimage and like I was being driven by an inside energy to be able to make it Iona that day. I stood amongst the people who caught the last ferry for the day from Fionphort on Mull to Baile Mor in Iona. The tiny ferry was standing space only, with no vehicles allowed. We boarded with our suitcases and before us in the distance, floating in the middle of the ocean, in the late afternoon sun, was a jewel, the Sacred Isle of Iona.
The Sacred Isle Of Iona, In The Late Afternoon Sun, Was A Welcome Sight, After A Full Day's Travel. |
