Thursday, 19 November 2015
I'm casting my eyes back eleven years, when I had newly arrived in Lewis. I was based in a backwater of the island, some 22 miles south of Stornoway (by road) and it would take me a busride of 45 minutes to get into town. On the way back, there would not be a connection, so I would have to walk back 5 miles along the road. Not that was much traffic, fortunately. At one time, I was offered a lift by a young mum with a baby on the backseat. She had her chariot stoked up to 80F to keep the bairn warm. On another occasion, I had had a glass of coke in the local watering hole, and was offered a lift up the road by some of the patrons. They had definitely had something stronger than coke, and were flinging the beercans out the window as they blasted down the road at 60 mph - on a road where 40 mph was the top-end of advisable. The area was unremarkable, but I enjoyed exploring its many lochs, moors and hillocks. I left after three months, and was happy to do so. Next stop: Stornoway.