Breakfast is barely inferior to dinner.

First, we go to Portree, the main town of the Isle of Skye. It is a nice, small, partly very colorful port town (where not colorful also equals concrete gray). We look around in the drizzling rain.

On to Dunvegan castle of the MacLeods. Painted portraits on the wall of the Chiefs van de MacLeod clan show stout men with thick sideburns. However, the last scion of the MacLeods family to be portrayed here is a sweet old lady, Chief Dame Flora, who has managed to bring the feuding chiefs back together.

The castle has an extensive library, where I discover Shakespeare and our own Grotius (Hugo de Groot).

We check out the bay by the castle and the garden.

We drive back home through the rain, and we still have to get out of the car to take pictures, among other things, of stubborn sheep complainingly bleating as they cross the road.

With mild amazement, we look closer at the hotel’s interior. Is this a real hunting hotel? Even the lamp at the reception desk is made of deer antlers.

Taking the steam train to Boat of Garten, a town down the road. Steady conductor and conductress. Conductress rudely throws the door, for which a fellow passenger apologizes to us: she always does.

Walk on the path along the railroad tracks back to the village. Mile or 10 on a beaten track. Cappuccino in the village at The Coffee Pot.

After lunch, we go to Loch Morlich. Across the lake, we can see the snow on the peaks of the Cairngorms.

We go back to the hotel to plan tomorrow’s trip. Again, there are many more things to do than we have time for. Six months is still not enough. Choices…

In the hotel pub, soccer dominates. It’s Sunday, and there is a table full of Guinness. One of the screens has a dominant blue tinge, but apparently, that doesn’t matter.
Tartan on the walls.

Frankie goes to Hollywood in the restaurant When Two Tribes Go To War.