Fortunately for me, I spent all of three hours there before hitching my ferry to Mull. Of course, some of my frustration with Oban could have something to do with the fact that I spent a good portion of those three hours looking for any place with internet access so I could email my final paper for my pathogenic microbiology course. I managed to find a small library near the harbour and sent my horrid screed on the minutiae of necrotizing fasciitis etiologies just in time to drive aboard the underbelly of this behemoth:
Eww, my windscreen looks foul. My poor little Hamish took quite the beating in the two weeks I had him. No telling what the cleaning though whe they got him back. (Honestly, it was just the driver's side that was all mucked up, thanks to my hiking boots and the perpetually wet terrain.)
Steaming ahead toward Mull, I went to the upper deck of the ferry to bid farewell to the mainland for the second time in my trip. The skies were overcast, and there was a light drizzle, but the Munros (mountains over 3,000ft) of Argyll could be seen in the distance.
On my first trip to Scotland, I had half-heartedly planned a trip to Mull, mainly to make my way to the holy island of Iona, the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland. I never made it to Iona or Mull my first go round, opting to go to Orkney instead. Once I drove off the ferry, however, I felt a slight tinge of regret for putting off this trip for so long.
Mull is an absolutely striking island with high, rocky cliffs, sandy coastlines dotted with brightly colored villages such as Tobermory, and a wild interior that seems so vast and desolate that it belies the island's relatively small acreage.
Sadly, the dual carriageway that extends from Craignure, the major port of Mull, to my stop in Fionnphort (Finn-uh-fert) only lasts for a few kilometers before turning into single-track roads around the perimeter of the island. As much as I love driving on single-track roads (it's fun, and people are so polite), it gave me very few opportunities to get out of my car and snap photos. Don't get me wrong, I took a couple hundred, but I'm quite selective when it comes to which photos I post on this corner of the blogophere. Can't have people thinking I'm an amateur.
The beach next to the teeny-tiny port at Fionnphort. This is also the view to which I was treated each morning, she says smugly.
On my second day in Mull, after arriving back from tours of Staffa and Iona (still to come), I managed to drive around the island a bit and get some fairly decent shots. In the next two, I loved watching the clouds pour down the mountainsides like a cascade, shrouding the peaks in mist. Regardless of where I go in Scotland, there is invariably something which will make me stop dead in my tracks, inhale sharply, and say, "Whoa." (I know, I'm a regular wordsmith. My poignancy knows no bounds.)
Later that evening, I was heading back to Fionnphort to sample some of the amazing seafood caught fresh off of Mull, racing the sunset.
The Ross of Mull (the large peninsula to the right) and the Sound of Mull as the sun began to set.
The Ross of Mull a few miles closer to Fionnphort.
Fionnphort is on the west of the island, and by the time I arrived to my guest house, the sun was dipping behind the isle of Iona, and the sky was blazing orange and gold. I sat out on one of the rocks on the shore, hugged my jacket tightly around me, and drank in the warm colors of the sky. I'm no poet, but sometimes I wish I were so I could do the scenery adequate justice when describing it to others.
While on Mull, I also had a few run-ins with the wildlife, both domestic and otherwise. It was here that experienced my first true Scottish traffic jam:
It's a good thing sheep are pretty cute, because they are maddeningly stupid animals. They are the pheasants of the ungulate family. And yet, you can't help but want to snuggle the bellies of each supine lamb, soaking in the Caledonian sun. I will have myself a pet sheep, homeowners' association be damned.
Another Scottish ungulate made several appearances in my travels around Mull. One lucky family had a small herd of red deer grazing in their lush pastures. Although red deer are not particularly shy (as compared to roe deer), I was surprised to see them grazing in the wide open. Usually, they are trampling up the sides of fells where we can't see them very well.
Finally, one of my favorite side trips on Mull was the Ardalanish Weaving Mill, a modern weaving mill using 19th-century technology and native Hebridean sheep to produce absolutely stunning handwoven woollens with as little impact on the environment as possible. I stopped in for a fantastic tour and spent waaaay too much money on a beautiful wool blanket. (Actually, it was a perfectly reasonable price, even a tad low, given the quality and the craftsmanship, but the flipping exchange rate screwed me over.) However, it was well worth the investment, as it's a souvenir that will remind of the wonderful time I spent in the Hebrides.
Finally, at the tail end of my tour, the guide offered to let me see some of the other goodies he had out back, namely several orphaned Hebridean lambs.
I used to be a devotee of the white lambs with black faces, but after meeting these guys, I'm sold on the Hebrideans. I may as well be dead, I am practically catatonic as a result of the cute. Baaaaby animals!
Allow me to reenact the phone call I made to my mother later that evening:
"MomMomMom! I got to see some baby lambs and ohmigod I want some can we have some my landlord won't mind I promise he'll love them as much as I do, ohmigodohmigodohmigod" --DEEP BREATH-- "must have a Hebridean sheep you don't understand I got to pet one and they're so soft and I could name it Charlie or Seamus or Duncan or Dougal or something really Scottish, PLEASE?!"
You see this? One little black lamb has the power to turn an otherwise intelligent, articulate, self-sufficient 23-year-old woman into a blethering idiot. Baby animals, it seems, are my one downfall.
That, and smart boys with glasses.
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