The Paps Are Alive to the Sound of Music

Got up at 6:20am to plan today’s walk to Barnhill and have an earlier breakfast so I could catch the 8:05 bus to its northernmost point, Ardlussa, which is about six miles from Barnhill. Gwen makes only two runs a day during summer, unless by special appointment.

I ducked into a garden for a photo of some lovely prayer flags catching the breeze, then headed north on the narrow lane. I was soon accosted by a handful of very friendly orange cows who probably would have come up for pets on their very wet noses had I not gently edged them away over a ditch so I could pass.


The road to Barnhill is paved, then graveled, before it degenerates for the last four miles to a rugged road that only a 4x4 with new shocks has any business going over. The view is endless grasses in all directions (green at this time of year), with occasional glimpses of deer and the Sound of Jura and the mainland of Scotland beyond. The UK has so much coastal land, yet most of it is completely undeveloped. In America, houses would be crawling over every hillside in an attempt to claim their part of the water view. Certainly that’s what it feels like in California and most of the west coast.

Barnhill is famous for having been George Orwell’s home while he wrote 1984 in the Forties. It’s a pilgrimage site for diehard literary fans, but the place is a private residence and closed to the public, which tends to dampen the effect of bragging rights. It’s the white house in this photo.


For me, going to Barnhill was a chance to try out a long-distance walk—12+ miles in preparation for the coast to coast walk in two weeks. I covered it in 6.5 hours, including 45 minutes for lunch and another 50 dallying for photos, breaks, and rests.

On the way back, I sang—loudly. Only the hills and grasses and heath birds could hear, so I really belted. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (while it was raining), “Memories” (loads of ’em), “Magic All Around Me” (which was absolutely true), “This Is the Moment” (and it was)—lots from the repertoire I created while I was learning from Scott. I felt totally happy and in love with life, and the four miles of rocky road went by in just over an hour.

Arrived back at Ardlussa in time for a siesta waiting for the bus, and enjoyed the banter with Gwen and another rider as Gwen delivered milk and bread and forgotten sunglasses to residents and pointed out landmarks such as “her” viewpoint (a section of road that friends cleared of trees so she could enjoy an unobstructed view of Loch Tarbert on her daily runs).

I felt very tired when I got back, so I showered and napped before walking into town for my last supper at the Jura Hotel—leek and potato soup, haddock with cheese, mushrooms, and shrimp, and the Craighouse Special for dessert: toffee ice cream, bananas, butterscotch, and whipped cream. Thoroughly replenished in the fuel department.

I have found that the most deeply affecting parts of this trip are also the ones most difficult to record. Tomorrow I leave Jura, and I feel both sad and glad. I saw the guestbook waiting for me to sign at The Manse and felt tears spring to my eyes—this has been the best stay of the trip so far. I’ve felt fully received as family at The Manse. Being able to learn about the island’s unique culture from Ani, to sit with her friends over tea, to share personal time (and laundry duties) with my B&B hosts, and to get out in nature in ways I never have before—they have all created an experience that surpasses all others to date.

As fearful as I was to come to a place where there’s “nothing to do and nowhere to go,” I’ve been rewarded for following my intuition. I’ve cracked open parts of me that I once barely sensed were there. To attempt to put them into words is as pointless as it is difficult. This has been a deeply internal process, at a subconscious level, to grant me a new kind of self-poise and balance.

I discovered solitude and its joys. Clarity and its patient ways. Resiliency and its reservoir of optimism that keeps affirming my body, my mind, my spirit’s ability to meet each day, each challenge as it comes.

Today it doesn’t matter if I’m alone or with other people. I am as I am, walking this planet along with millions of others who are here to experience this world.

Until now, I didn’t ever feel as if I truly owned my life. I get that now. I have infinite choice available to me, all of it good, all of it okay, all of it safe.

What will I choose next for this life that is mine?