Today I've been a tourist. And that in the best way possible; with a local as guide.
Jeff Kirk, a local yachting enthusiast , offered to take a team of 10 people around Isle of Skye in his minibus.
First stop was at the beginning of the Cuillins-mountain range. Jeff pointed to the sky and told us, that those were the red and black Cuillins-mountains. The red ones are round and female, the black ones jagged and masculine. A myth says, that once upon a time the two mountain ranges always fought one another. And there was no beauty in the land. No birds' song, no beautiful sunrises, no joy.
The red mountains was an ugly and repulsive princess. The black mountains a rude and ruthless warrior. Eventually the fairies were fed up with the everlasting strife and they were succesful in making the two mountain ranges make peace. Then all was good. And the roaring river, at which we stood, is made with tears of joy.
"It is said, that he who puts his head in the water for seven seconds - no more and no less - will achieve eternal beauty," Jeff smiled. And Ove couldn't let that challenge pass unanswered. When Ove got into the bus, his face dripping wet, Jeff thought he already saw an improvement.
Jeff also gave us a story from real life. At the foot of the 773 metres high Glamaig Mountains is an inn. After a few days hard mountaineering in the Black Cuillin Mountains a team of mountaineers from the Scottish army sat in the bar getting drunk. In the corner of the bar a despondent person sat alone at his table with a pint.
"Hah, I bet you couldn't manage in the Black Cuillins. Yeah, you'd barely be able to reach the top of that mountain there," a drunk soldier challenged the quiet man and pointed towards the Glamaig, one of the red Cuillin mountains.
The quiet man in the corner had a sip of this beer, took of his shoes and without a word he ran out of the bar. And all the long way to the top of the almost 800 metres high The Glamaig. 40 minutes later he came back - still running. Sat down at his table. And finished his beer. And wasn't bothered by the soldiers anymore. What the frisky Scottish soldiers didn't know was that the man in the corner was a Nepalese Gurka soldier.
Next stop was the harbor of Port Righ, the main city of Isle of Skye.
At the lokal baker's I bought a tuna sandwich and sat down by the quay. I did notice that the seagulls had quite an interest in my lunch, but I still had a nasty surprise when a seagull attacked my from behind. I looked around to see if more were coming, but no, the coast was clear.
"Henrik, look out!" yelled Axel, sitting a bit further down the quay. And in the very same second the same seagull attacked me again, now closer. I could feel its wing hit my neck.
Dammit, I thought, and again looked around. But as I looked around, prepared for the next wave of attack, the clever seagull came in from the other side and snatched my sandwich out of my hand.
"NO!" I yelled, as hordes of seagulls plummeted into the harbor to eat themselves fat on my sandwich.
After a lot of fun on my behalf, Susanne offered me some of her lunch. A sandwich and some french fries. She held the tray of fries in her left and the sandwich in her right hand. But not for long. Soon the sandwich of the nurse had been stolen right out of her hands. And minutes later also Solvej had been attacked - this time even with a cut in her finger as result.
Now, when four of us had been robbed of our lunch, we decided that this resembled Hitchcock and "The Birds" a little too much. And we sought shelter in Geoff's minibus.
We drove on for the Old Man of Storr, a 48 metres high freestanding rock on the back of a mountain range. The information board said that the rock was as high as 11 doubledeckers on top of each other. More interesting was that in 1890 a huge amount of Viking Age-coins were found by the rock. Maybe a Viking hid his fortune, using the Old Man of Storr as landmark.
Like the Storr-mountains the rock was built from a 300 metres thick layer of volcanic ashes from that time, about 55-61 millions years ago, when there was intense volcanic activity on Isle of Skye.
When we a little later were standing on Kilt Rock - a vertical cliff by the ocean where we a couple of days ago came sailing for Kyleakin - Jeffe told us a story about the ship who lies next to the Sea Stallion.
Vanguard is its name, and once it was a supply ship for the submarines practising in the deep waters between Isle of Skye and the Scottish main land.
When one of the submarines was sold to the Canadian fleet, a great party was thrown on board Vanguard. The captain, the admiral and their wives and a large number of VIPs were on board the Vanguard, when the ship suddenly hit a submerged rock and a hole was torn in the hull.
After the shipwreck the captain sailed Vanguard into very shallow water on purpose, to prevent it from sinking in the deep ocean. It lay there four weeks with a list, before it was towed to Kyleakin.
And here the ship still is, the day to day. No one wants it. A private person wanted to buy it as a supply ship for hospital ships. But as Vanguard was about to depart Kyleakin, the port authorities demanded 38.000 pounds in harbour dues.
You see, the old harbour master in Kyleakin had died in the meantime. And it was he, who had made a deal with the new owner, that Vanguard could lie in the harbour at no cost.
Life at sea can be rough. But for many a ship it is land, which seals its destiny.
Now noone claims ownership of Vanguard and she is today a rusty maritime "Black Man" who noone wants. Just to the aft of the Sea Stallion. The beauty and the beast. In the harbour of Kyleakin.