Tarbert, Harris

Oh my word, the power of healing in one little ibuprofen tablet, carried for emergencies by me and not by His Lordship, the man with the dodgy knees.

So pleasantly surprised was he with its restorative powers, that we walked from Tarbert over part of the original track to Rhenigidale, a place described to me by a friend who lives there as 'the back of the back of beyond'.
Until about 20 years ago the only way to reach the hamlet was to walk over this track from Tarbert or to sail in by sea. A new road now winds its way through the hills for about 12 miles- a road that we drove along last year in a car with an ailing clutch.

The scenery in north Harris is strewn with ancient rocks, granite, gneiss, basalt, moulded and contorted by year's of seismic upheaval. On our walk we saw not even one sheep, so inhospitable is it, although there was evidence of cattle hooves in the boggy parts of the track.

We have read with a certain amount of jealousy the weather we are missing back home. Here, summer has passed by and we have resorted to wearing anoraks, scarves and wooly hats as the wind has a cruel chill in it. The temperature is 13 degrees but we note with horror that in our final stop in Barra at the weekend it is reported as going to being 9 degrees. We can only hope that they have missed out the 1 before the 9.

The debacle with the accommodation yesterday saw us being saved by a nice lady in a B&B, but because she couldn't take us for tonight we are staying in a boutique hotel in a room above the bar which hosts a noisy karaoke night on a Thursday. We intend singing along in our beds.