106 - mon 14 aug - isle of skye (dunvegan)

there are no supermarkets in dunvegan. just so you know. but small corner shops can do the trick. we finally managed to buy some food this morning. after our adventures at numerous corner shops, we got some coffees at the only place in town that was open and serving coffees, a place that was nominally a bakery and cafe, but was in truth more just like your grandma's holiday home that someone had accidentally baked too many loaves in and had started to sell them to disgruntled and dirty workmen. it wasn't as quaint as even that sounds. but hey, country towns. we squeezed in between two other tables to sit down - at one table sat two italian couples, and a gurgling baby. their 'cappuccinos' sat ominously untouched as they idly chatted; at the other table, the scared frenchies again! and they looked even more scared today than yesterday! she, with her eyes darting around nervously, with her hands in his, them both sitting in silence. classic. when our cappuccinos eventually came (after a twelve year old boy took our order, looking as though he'd much rather be watching cartoons - or whatever it is kids do these days on sunday mornings, update their myspaces i guess).. when our cappuccinos came, they sat similarly untouched until we decided that we'd sat there long enough, and we left. there are no good cafes in dunvegan on sunday morning. just so you know.

we drove a short distance to coral beach, where we took a long walk over green hills and ruined old stone walls to get to a patch of bright white sand. it was great though you had to dodge a lot of poo. afterwards, back in town, we visited dunvegan's answer to drumnadrochit's formidable loch ness attractions - do all country towns have to have at least one really lame, weird exhibit that can be loosely termed a 'tourist attraction'? it was the angus macaskill centre, devoted to the world's tallest true giant. angus was a guy that was just really freaking big, and it didn't have anything to do with overgrown glands or hormones, like the guys you see in the guinness book of records. though angus himself is in the guinness book of records anyway, kind of as a footnote to the other taller freakish dudes. all of this was explained to us by the man who runs the modest angus macaskill museum. angus had been his obsession for many decades, he said to us in a vaguely disinterested tone that struck me as not particularly obsessed at all. perhaps not too obsessed any more, now that his obsession has amounted to a small converted barn in the middle of a quiet town, a rarely-visited tourist attraction. there was a life-size paper mache model. there were some giant sized clothes - suz asked if they were his, and he replied, again with a sigh, that they were reproductions. on panels the story of his life were told, from humble beginnings impressing local townsfolk with helpful feats of strength, to years of touring the world impressing out of town folk with amazing feats of strength, to the strange incident that happened soon after his early retirement, where he attempted to prove something to someone by throwing a giant anchor from a dock, only to have it snag his shoulder as he was throwing it. after the severe injury he was never the same, although still very strong. he then died, too young like most people in those times, of meningitis or something unfortunate. so that was the angus macaskill museum.

back at our campsite we busted out the aluminium pans and the gas stove and treated ourselves to our first camp-cooked meal! snags and beans.

click here for photos