Port Char-lash

Two weeks into the job and I feel like the transition from Edinburgh to Islay is almost complete. All too easily the horses have filled the void which used to be taken up with seeing friends and doing city-ish things. This became worryingly apparent when, on seeing a friend of mine from Edinburgh across the yard today, I actually trotted towards him in excitement. Were I trying to flirt with him I’d have moved on to screeching, stomping my foot and throwing my head around to try and impress him, I’m just certain it would have worked.

Thankfully he overlooked the trot and offered to take me out for a drink this evening. Having no car I have sadly not adventured beyond the farm since I’ve arrived, not a helpful fact when I’m trying to offer a sort of tourist guide service of Islay for the trekkers, so I was thrilled to accept.

We went to the Port Charlotte, one of the larger villages on the southern end of Islay. It’s a beautifully white-washed village set right against the shore-line giving it a sort of exuberant freshness. My grandfather had been a minister both there and Kilchoman in the late 40s so I loved being able to imagine the scene of island bliss from the early days of his and my grandmother’s marriage when they lived in the manse in Port Charlotte.

The Port Charlotte Hotel’s whisky collection was another thing worth the visit. I think Islay has at least 7 major distilleries but this display of bottles far exceeded that in variation. I felt wildly inappropriate ordering wine, sadly I am JUST not man enough for whisky, but it buoyed me up for the journey home and as I looked over the rolling fields as the sun set over them I tipsily thought, I rather like Islay.