Gearrannan is a collection of restored blackhouses, in a hollow on a lane curling up from a little bay. The houses are made of large stones with small windows: the roof is thatch held down by an arrangement of rope and stone weights. By the time I arrived, the tourists had all gone, leaving the place to us, um, visitors.
Most of the houses are self-catering lets, apart from the hostel and a café and visitor centre. The hostel was newly fitted out and occupied by a welcoming group of mainly cyclists. Much chat ensued about where we'd been, the weather, how much stuff to take with you, etcetera.
After a very good night's sleep I was out early in search of my first full Scottish breakfast, in the café. Well, it is father's day. The weather was perfect for the location: grey, calm, damp, dreich. Just me, the slugs and the rabbits (rabbits are everywhere on the Hebrides). I was greeted by Mairidh, who had been described to me as a bit of a bossy-boots, but was a woman of very few words. "It'll take about twenty minutes". No porridge was offered, and I didn't dare ask.
Just after nine, the first coach load of tourists arrived, and I left. As I was getting ready to go, piped music started, shattering the tranquillity - but it was a real piper, to welcome the tourists.
Song of the day: Skye boat song.
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