Staying at the end of the world

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 While most of Europe this June was hit by a historic heat wave with temperatures up towards (and in some places even beyond) 40 degrees celsius, we managed to find the one tiny spot  with cold rain and howling winds.


We visited our oldest British friends in their small cabin way up in the northwestern corner of Scotland and after driving for many, many hours along single-track dirt roads, we found ourselves in the most gorgeous landscape.



On a vast heath, surrounded by bald mountains – and with the waves of the North Atlantic ocean hammering towards a sandy shore deep beneath us.

The surrounding area has for many generations been defined by crofting, the traditional Highland type of agriculture with its small landholdings, scattered farm houses, and areas of communal grazing.



After the Highland clearances in early 1800, when tenants where forced out to make room for sheep, many ruined houses now lie scattered across the hillsides. 


Michael did not see much of the landscape, though. He lay ill, probably with Covid, and slept most of the time in isolation.



While he dozed off surrounded by cough medicine and  pots of hot tea, the rest of us braved the rugged landscape and even made a few ventures along the coast and into the small neighboring fishing village of Kinlochbervie.




Loch Bervie is one of the two premier whitefish ports in Scotland and while having a pint or two in the lovely warm local pub overlooking the harbor, we watched a huge trawler arriving and being unloaded of its catches, and we even went inside the market building to watch the auctioning off of the landed fish.



If you imagine an auction as a feverish shouting match, you are way off, when it is Scottish fishing agents doing the bidding.

 A small group of men walks slowly and methodically along the endless rows of ice-filled boxes with sorted fish -  hake, cod, place, monk, etc, etc – and make a low-kee agreement upon the price.




Each agent represents perhaps a dozen different wholesalers and they carry a belt with tags around the waist. When an agreement is made on the price, the tag with the name of the wholesaler is ripped off the belt and placed upon the box.


And the group wanders further down along the row.


Our friends managed to buy their own small parcel of haddock. 


Even though the rain seems to be everlasting, the British are perpetual optimists concerning the weather, and they hoped it might be clearing up enough for a bit of an outdoor barbecue.


Surely, it did!






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