Islay

Nowhere else in the world is the New Year heralded with so much passion as in Scotland, so they say. Hogmanay, which the Scots celebrate on New Year’s eve, is celebrated as only the Scots know how, with beer and whisky, a rendering of Auld Lang Syne on the stroke of midnight, and a lot more whisky, so it seemed …

Three Singaporeans and two Englishman hardly sounds like exciting company, and it did seem so for five or so days in a tiny cold cottage by the windswept shore of Port Charlotte on the isle of Islay. Visits to a round church in Bowmore, made so that there were no corners for the devil to hide in, a couple of distilleries, and a hail interrupted trek to catch a glimpse of winter geese in the west of the island with only the bags we were carrying to shelter us didn’t feel quite so exciting as well. The highlight of the week spent in Port Charlotte wasn’t the Ceilidh, but the pub on Hogmanay and the wee hours of the New Year. Equipped with pint glasses after a couple of beers, the atmoshpere changed on the stroke of midnight when amidst the strains of Auld Lang Syne, through the smoke filled pub air, lo and behold, all the whisky bottles in the pub (or so it seemed), were laid out on a long table, at the disposal of all in the pub. Before long, single malts were downed by the pint, and our glasses were never empty, despite attempts to empty them into a drain where we were seated outside the pub. It was probably about 2 or so in the morning, when we noticed on of our mates missing. Staggering back from the pub at dawn, we stumbled onto the missing man sprawled on the flowerbed outside our cottage, in temperatures that must have been close to zero … how he did not get hypothermia eludes us … maybe it was his rather expensive fleece jacket that saved him.

Port Charlotte, Islay

The Round Church at Bowmore, Islay