Glenwyvis Madeira

Tourists bleating their disorientation. The harbour below with its thrum of gurgling diesel engines and the easterly ocean breeze, mingling with the fish and chip shop’s fryers kicking in to supply the gathered hordes with its salty wares. A fleeting sniff of sugary decadence from the ice-cream shop, now open for the summer season. It’s the definitive coastal ambience. 

And we sat. Nothing spoken, no silence filled, no comment offered. Just a shared moment in a small village on an island at the edge of the world. And I knew then that this person, sitting beside me now, will be a pal for life.

Sabrina travelled from Belgium to walk the lands of the Misty Isle. The Quiraing, a monumentally beautiful geological rift that splits the Trotternish peninsula like a spine, was high on her list of trails to tackle. The first time you catch sight of the Quiraing, you have no choice but to stand in absolute shuddering awe at the jagged rock mass towering above you. Poet Alexander Smith, according to Wikipedia, called it a “nightmare of nature”, and you can see why – it’s as much intimidating as it is spellbinding.

Walking is Sabrina’s way of relinquishing the strains of being a teacher, something she loves doing, if a little less in recent years – bureaucracy and politics getting in the way of children and their education. Still, with the sun baking us from above, and a week of exploration of Trotternish ahead, Sabrina was content to soak it all in.

From the continent, through the Chunnel, around London and up to Glasgow, a long bus journey through Glencoe and finally, mercifully, arriving via luxe Citylink bus in the Sommerled Square of Portree. She disembarked with a rucksack the size of a fridge and a big warm smile on her face. We’ve been messaging our love of whisky to each other for what must be years now, letting the blame fall, for her Ardnamurchan FOMO, squarely on my shoulders.

For a while the Misty Isle has been calling her back. Here she is now, and here we are, joined through whisky and a shared love of storytelling.

I’m a sociable person, despite what some say, and meeting new people is one of my most treasured pastimes. People’s history. It’s the easiest thing you can do to feel connected to the world, having a chat about another person’s history; what was the path that led to us talking now? I could spend hours chatting to people about their history and, as my knees smouldered in the sun, we did just that.

Sabrina routed around in her fridgebag to recover a paper-wrapped object that, upon unfurling, was revealed to be a bottle of whisky. A Little Brown Dog bottle of whisky that she spent a long while picking in Glasgow’s Good Spirits Company, because she wanted it to be surprising, new and exciting for the recipient. She handed it to me as a gift.

For why, I asked? Because of the words that I’ve written, she said, and immediately my bottom lip started quivering. A bad week at work and things not going the way I’d hoped had set me into a bit of a self-doubting dirge. Sabrina arrested my downward spiral with her astonishing generosity.

I felt a bit sheepish because, assuming that me arriving with litres of whisky for her to carry in her fridgepack as she walked the mountainous landscapes of Skye wouldn’t be appreciated, I’d brought just two little samples for her to try, for when the tent was up and food was in her belly. She gave me a telling off for bringing her any samples at all.

Many hours later we realised the time and, with regret, I had to give my excuses – a small furry bullet was launching her way around our house and a bigger, less hairy bullet was being dragged behind. The big red bazooka that keeps us all in check would be wondering if she should call 999 for missing persons. I wasn’t missing. I was trying out Sabrina’s ultra-light and ultra-comfortable camping chair, and finding ways to justify buying one despite not camping anywhere.

Sabrina’s campsite for the evening enjoyed a dazzling view of the full Cuillin range from the elevated position over Portree, and when I left her in the late afternoon sunshine, Sabrina waved me off warmly and later sent me pictures of her setup with that view of the Cuillins positioned so that she could see it from her tent. A consummate professional.

Over the course of her week here, she travelled around the island, sampling the myriad experiences on offer – cuisine and nature, whisky and people, cursed the rain, watched a stunning sunset over the Outer Hebrides and got stuck at Dunvegan on account of there being no buses on a Sunday. Salt of the earth. A people person. A connected person, at one with the earth and letting herself be awed by the beauty of nature that unfolds before her every step.

Yet I sit here, in the 5 sq/ft of space I’m allocated in my own house, and lower my fingers to a slab of plastic squares, making letters appear on a digital screen. I do very little, yet I’ve been rewarded so undeservingly plentifully for it. In whisky aye, but more than any whisky that will ever pass these rubbery lips, I’ve been rewarded in something far more valuable to me: friendship.

The people who have connected all over the world, as a result of the Aqvavitae Barflies community and through our shared love of whisky, of sharing whisky, but most of all, of sharing time, know how valuable this space is. Whisky is infinite – there will always be whisky. Time is not. Which is why spending an afternoon with Sabrina on a sunny Sunday was so valuable to me.